1 When I woke up from the car crash, six years had vanished. I was married to my childhood sweetheart, and we even had a son. Our little boy was the spitting image of his father—quiet, guarded, and painfully adorable. I couldn’t help myself. I scooped him up and covered his chubby cheeks in kisses. Just then, my phone rang. It was an unrecognized number. I pressed answer, and a man’s drunken voice slurred through the speaker: “She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?” My five-year-old son immediately gripped my hand, his knuckles turning white. “Mom… are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again?” “Dad will be so sad.” He lowered his head, his voice cracking. “And so will I.” … When I first opened my eyes, a beautifully dressed little boy was standing at my bedside, staring at me with wide, anxious eyes. “Mom, you were having a nightmare. Are you okay?” Why was he calling me Mom? I blinked, taking in his features. He was incredibly handsome, a perfect, miniature version of Jasper. Then, my eyes drifted to the wall. Hanging above the headboard was a massive, elegant wedding portrait of Jasper and me. I had only been in a car accident. How did I wake up married to him with a child? But looking at the sweet little boy, logic went out the window. My hands moved faster than my brain, pulling him into my chest. I hugged him tight, kissing him repeatedly until his face was damp. That was when the phone on the nightstand buzzed. The caller ID read: Beckett. I answered, and the heavy scent of alcohol seemed to bleed through the line as a man groaned. “She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?” I was completely bewildered. “Who is this?” The voice on the other end grew cold and exhausted. “Hazel, stop playing games. You know I’m in no mood for your drama right now.” “I’m at our usual bar. Old place. I’m waiting.” With a sharp click, the line went dead. I checked the time. It was two in the morning. Who was this lunatic, demanding my presence in the middle of the night? Did he think I was some cheap, desperate girl? My five-year-old son squeezed my fingers, his chest heaving. “Mom, are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again? Dad will be so sad.” He looked down. “And so will I.” I stared at him, a deep sense of unease settling in my chest. Why did this little boy look so incredibly insecure? Seeing my silence, his grip slowly loosened. His shoulders slumped, a look of profound disappointment crossing his small face. “If you have to go, Mom… I’ll get your coat.” “It’s cold outside. You shouldn’t catch a chill. Remember your scarf, too.” He was so heartbreakingly sweet that my heart melted. I quickly grabbed his tiny hands, my voice softening. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. How could I leave you all by yourself in the middle of the night?” “Come here. Let’s cuddle and go back to sleep.” The boy froze, staring at me with a hesitant, shy, almost overwhelmed expression. “Is that… is that really okay, Mom?” “Of course it’s okay! A mother sleeping with her baby is the most natural thing in the world.” I pulled him under the warm duvet, wrapping my arms around him. “By the way, what’s your name, sweetie?” He reached up, placing a cool hand against my forehead. “Mom, do you have a fever? I’m Tristan. You were the one who chose my name.” “Tristan? Like the knight?” He shook his head, his voice dropping. “No. You said it meant sorrow. Because you hated us.” I went completely numb. Tristan? Sorrow? Why on earth would I give such a beautiful, innocent child a name like that? The next morning, I woke up late to find Tristan already dressed. He was sitting quietly on a small chair, reading a book without making a single sound. My god, I had given birth to an angel. I adored him instantly. I wanted to call his name, but “Tristan” felt too heavy, too thick with a past I couldn’t remember. So, I called out softly, “Sweetheart.” “Where is your father?” Hearing the endearment, Tristan’s ears flushed a bright red. “Dad… he was working late at the office last night.” “Oh. I see.” I thought about the six-year blank in my memory since the car crash. I offered him a warm smile. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me test you. How is the relationship between your dad and me?” Tristan hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor again. “Not very good, Mom. You seemed to really hate us.” “Dad said you lost your memory after the accident. Since you didn’t have any other family left, he brought you home to care for you, and you two got married shortly after.” “But after I was born, you were unhappy every single day. Dad said it was postpartum depression, that you didn’t hate me, you were just sick.” “But then you met Uncle Beckett, and you started smiling again. You told Dad that Beckett was your medicine.” A bitter, old-beyond-his-years look crossed his face. “And then, you didn’t want us anymore.” I searched my brain, but the name Beckett conjured absolutely nothing. “Who is this Beckett? Why would I care about him so much?” Tristan shook his head. “I don’t know.” “But on your anniversary with Dad, Uncle Beckett called Dad from your phone on purpose.” “Dad thought it was you calling, and he was so happy when he answered.” “But you didn’t know the call was connected. You were busy talking to Uncle Beckett. He told you he didn’t love you, that he was in love with his brother’s fiancée, even though they could never be together.” “You asked him why, if it was so painful, he couldn’t just consider you instead.” “Uncle Beckett said that if you got a divorce, he would consider it.” “And then, Mom… you said, ‘Okay, I’ll divorce him.’” “Dad… Dad was so heartbroken that day.” His voice trembled. “And so was I.” I sat there, utterly stunned. In my son’s eyes, I was nothing but a desperate, pathetic simp. I was throwing away my family for a man who was pining after his own brother’s fiancée. It was the plot of a cheap, trashy soap opera. I reached out, gently covering Tristan’s ears. “A child shouldn’t have to carry these heavy things.” Tristan blinked, looking at me with confusion. I let out a long, heavy sigh. Jasper was my childhood sweetheart. When I was seven, my father worked as a driver for the Lu family. Because my mother was gone and my father was always busy with work, he would often leave me at Jasper’s estate. My classmates had warned me, telling me that rich kids were cruel to their bones. They said Jasper would treat me like a toy, bullying and tormenting me every day. But the moment I met him, those fears vanished. Jasper had no sense of superiority. He looked at me and said I looked like a delicate porcelain doll. I was fragile and sickly back then. But despite being the pampered heir of the wealthy Lu family, Jasper would kneel on the frozen ground to put on my socks in the winter. He carried my backpack to school every day. When I was sick in bed, he would sit by my side, holding my hand and refusing to leave. Later, when my father died in a tragic accident, none of my relatives wanted to take in a penniless orphan. It was Jasper who took my hand and led me into his home. The Lu family was one of the most powerful dynasties in the city, but he never let me feel like an outsider. To me, he wasn’t just a lover. He was my family. Before the car crash, we had been planning our wedding. We had already picked out our future home. I had teasingly told him the bathroom needed a double tub, a massive mirror, and floor-to-ceiling windows so we could play around. Jasper had smiled and promised me everything. And yet, during the six years I had lost to amnesia, I had treated him like garbage. The guilt tore at my chest. “Sweetheart, let me ask you one more thing. When is our wedding anniversary?” “November twenty-first, Mom.” That was just two days ago. I couldn’t let my husband suffer like this any longer. When Jasper came home, I was going to make things right. That evening, Jasper returned from the office. The house was dark, quiet, and cold. As usual, there was no one waiting for him. He let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and reached for the light switch. The moment the light flared, I stepped into his path, a brilliant smile on my face. “Surprise!” The living room had been beautifully decorated, and a warm, steaming dinner sat on the dining table. Jasper froze, his briefcase slipping slightly in his grip. “Hazel? What is this?” “I know we missed our anniversary, so I wanted to make it up to you tonight.” Tristan was already fast asleep, leaving just the two of us in the quiet room. “Just an anniversary dinner?” “Of course. What else? I made everything myself. Come, try some.” I pulled him toward the table, making him sit. I stared at him, taking in his features. He was breathtakingly handsome, like a painting of a modern prince. I wanted nothing more than to drag him to bed and ruin that perfect, neat composure. I tilted my head, offering a soft smile. “Does it taste good, honey?” Jasper’s fork paused mid-air. He looked at me as if I were a ghost. “It’s been a long time since you called me that.” He took a slow bite. “The food is excellent.” I winked. “If you like it, I’ll cook for you every single day.” But there was no joy in his eyes. “Is that so? That must be incredibly exhausting for you.” “How much money do you need this time, Hazel?” “After all, you worked so hard to learn how to cook healthy meals for Beckett’s sensitive stomach. You wouldn’t waste those skills on me without a price.” I went entirely rigid. Just then, my phone began to blare. It was Beckett. I immediately swiped decline. But a second later, the screen lit up again. Jasper placed his fork down, his eyes dark and empty. “Why don’t you answer? Are you afraid I’ll hear something?” “You don’t have to hide it from me. Just do what you want.” His voice was a hollow whisper. “I already know everything anyway.” Left with no choice, I swiped accept and pressed the speakerphone button, laying the phone flat on the table. Beckett’s irritated voice snarled through the speaker. “Hazel, you actually dare to hang up on me now?” “You had quite a spine last night, actually refusing to show up. Is this a new game? Playing hard to get?” “I have to admit, you’re slightly more interesting than before.” He let out a patronizing chuckle. “I have some good news for you.” “My brother is marrying his girlfriend next week. I’m going to plan the wedding myself. Maybe once I hear her say ‘I do’ to him with my own ears, I can finally let her go.” “And then, I’ll give us a try.” “As for you, make sure you clean up your mess and cut off whatever ties you need to on your end.” Jasper listened to the entire speech, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. “How touching. You gave him your heart, and now you’re going to give him your official status too.” “Should I start packing my bags to make room for him?” Before he could say another word, I reached out and pressed my fingers against his lips. “Husband, shut up for a second and let me handle this.” I cleared my throat, speaking into the phone with cold precision. “Beckett, right? I am a married woman with a family. Please have some self-respect.” “Stop trying to insert yourself into my marriage. My husband and I are deeply in love, and we don’t need a third wheel.” “We’ve just finished our romantic candlelight dinner and are about to go to bed. I need to warm his sheets now. Goodbye.” With a swift tap, I disconnected the call. Then, right in front of Jasper’s stunned eyes, I blocked the number and deleted the contact permanently. Surely he would believe me now. But Jasper only stared at me, his shoulders slumped. “You don’t have to force yourself to play these humiliating games for his sake.” “How am I forcing myself?” He looked away. “We’ve been sleeping in separate rooms for a very long time.” I blinked, thoroughly confused. “Why on earth would we do that?” My eyes slowly drifted down to his lap, my voice dropping to a cautious whisper. “Is it because… you can’t perform?” That didn’t make sense. Before the accident, Jasper had been insatiable, going through an entire box of ultra-thin condoms every night until I was begging for mercy. Jasper’s face flushed a deep crimson, a mix of embarrassment and anger flashing in his eyes. “You were the one who demanded it!” “Because you said the mere thought of me touching you made you sick.” I wanted to punch my past self. How could I have kept such a masterpiece of a man out of my bed? Was I out of my mind? “Well, tonight, we’re touching.” “Husband, I’ve missed you so much. Let me feel you.” I slid my hand beneath his shirt, pressing my palm against the firm, defined muscles of his chest, gently teasing his skin. It had been years since I had touched him like this. His body went rigid, a low, ragged groan escaping his throat as he grit his teeth. “Enough, Hazel.” “Beckett’s company just secured its funding. You don’t have to disgust yourself by seducing me anymore.” He pushed my hand away, stood up, and walked out of the room. Looking at the back of the man who used to look at me with nothing but warmth and adoration, my heart shattered into a million pieces. I tangled my fingers in my hair, staring at the empty doorway. What had I done? Could a man as proud and dignified as Jasper ever forgive me?

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1 Rumor had it my sugar daddy was tired of me and wanted to break up. Helpful and civic-minded as always, I immediately hopped onto a popular gossip forum to recruit his next replacement. In-network referral for my ex. Great performance, low maintenance. 30% finder’s fee. Serious inquiries only. Within a day, two thousand candidates had signed up. Left with no other choice, I created a massive group chat and auctioned off his private itinerary, letting them battle it out and compete for the position. Hounded and cornered on all sides by eager bachelorettes, my sugar daddy, Barrett, finally snapped. When he got home, his face was blacker than coal. “My darling, I gave you my primary black card. Was that not enough?” “Do you seriously have to monetize every single breath I take…?” … I had been with Barrett for three years, and he had finally grown tired of me. According to my undercover informant, Barrett had been sitting in a VIP lounge, casually playing with his lighter, when he tossed a dismissive remark to his friends. “Marry her?” “Where did that ridiculous rumor come from?” “I guess it’s time to break it off…” Hearing this tragic news, I didn’t waste a single second crying. I immediately logged onto my socials, determined to squeeze every last drop of value out of him before my eviction. In-network referral for my sugar daddy. Great performance, low maintenance. The man is a local billionaire, handsome, generous, mentally stable, drives million-dollar cars, and owns real estate worldwide. I am resigning from my post due to force majeure. Now selling his contact. Only charging a 30% finder’s fee. Serious inquiries only. Perhaps the title was a bit too blunt, but the post immediately drew a massive crowd of onlookers. Within half a day, two thousand people had applied. The comment section was pure chaos. Me! Me! Pick me! Give him to me!!! I have the least self-respect! Let me go first! With so many applicants, I had to create a giant group chat. After a quick preliminary screening, I gathered all the interested candidates. I’ve uploaded some of my soon-to-be-ex’s private files to the group folder. Please review @everyone. The chat erupted like a bomb. Holy shit, the admin’s boyfriend is Barrett?! Who? Who is Barrett?! A massive tycoon. Third-generation old money. I can’t say much more or my account will get banned… ????! Is everyone eating this good nowadays?! I’m currently serving a sugar daddy who is eighty and has terrible gas. I can’t take it anymore. Can I get priority, please… No way, first come, first served! I’ll put down a five-thousand-dollar deposit right now! Ten thousand! Fifty thousand! I just want a meeting. I’ll handle the rest myself @admin @admin. Let’s just auction off his itinerary! Everyone gets a fair, competitive shot!!! I stared at the screen, blinking. Sigh. This kind of money seemed significantly easier to make than a finder’s fee. As for Barrett’s itinerary, I didn’t even have to dig for it. Lately, he had been taking his “doting boyfriend” role far too seriously, sending me daily play-by-plays of his business trips, down to the exact hotel room numbers. All I had to do was copy, paste, and watch the cash flow into my account. This was brilliant! I immediately took action and posted in the group. We are now holding a bid for Barrett’s current hotel location. Highest bidder wins. If the winner defaults, it goes to the next runner-up. None of the women in this group were short on cash. The bidding war kept driving the price up until it reached nearly six figures. In the end, a girl with the handle PeachBunny claimed the prize, transferring several hundred thousand dollars without even blinking. Looking at her profile, she was an absolute stunner. Her skin practically glowed, and her feed was filled with yachts, private jets, and luxury galas. A high-class socialite. She was a world apart from someone like me, who took her sugar daddy’s allowance and spent hours debating which brand of cheap chips was the best value. Barrett was a lucky bastard. But that was none of my business. I was just a middleman making a tidy commission. The moment the funds cleared, I packed up Barrett’s location details and sent them over without a single ounce of hesitation. Once I made enough from this, I was going to retire back to my hometown and buy a farm. That night, to verify if my information was legit, the losing bidders camped out in the chat, waiting for PeachBunny’s live updates. Under the watchful eyes of thousands, she finally logged on at eight. I saw him. That single sentence sent shockwaves through the group. !!!!! It’s actually real! The admin is a goddess! Ahhh! If I’d known, I would have bid another ten thousand! How was he? Is he handsome? Did you talk to him?! Give us the details, please! Faced with the onslaught of questions, PeachBunny was happy to share. He’s incredibly handsome, way better-looking than any movie star. But he’s freezing cold. I pretended my heel broke and fell toward him, but he literally stepped out of the way, letting me slam onto the floor without even reaching out to help. Then he turned to his assistant and said, “The quality of this brand is garbage. Tell them to stop sending their seasonal collections to my girlfriend. I don’t want her twisting her ankle.” … The highly active group chat went dead silent. Oh no. This was directed at me! Barrett was taking his doting boyfriend act way too far! How was I supposed to run a business like this?! Since when did he ever pay attention to my shoes?! As my anxiety began to peak, PeachBunny posted again, offering some comfort. It’s fine. He probably just didn’t like me. We all still have a chance. This just proves how incredibly well he treats his woman. Once one of us succeeds, we’ll get the same treatment. It’s definitely worth investing in. I stared at my phone. Aww, Penelope was such a sweetheart! The atmosphere in the group warmed up again, and everyone began talking at once. Damn, my competitive spirit is fully ignited now. I want seasonal luxury collections delivered to my door too! Who doesn’t, sister! But he’s so hard to crack… Honestly, getting into Harvard sounds easier than getting into Barrett’s bed. True! Since the admin is resigning anyway, can you share some of your success secrets? Give us a roadmap. Great idea! We need a guide! Please! Agree! Please!!! Success secrets? I scratched my head, feeling a bit embarrassed. On the day I met Barrett, I had just been screamed at by my horrible boss. Fuming with rage, I had vowed for the two-hundred-and-fiftieth time to marry a rich man. Then, I turned around and saw Barrett. It wasn’t because of his expensive suit. He was just too handsome, practically glowing among a crowd of balding executives. In a fit of reckless courage, I grabbed a glass of champagne, chased him down, and splashed it all over his chest. When he finally lost his patience, he glared at me. “Are you trying to give me a bath?” I raised my hands, my eyes shining. “Hehe, can I?” Barrett was speechless. Perhaps he had never met anyone so utterly shameless. I ended up beating out a sea of models, actresses, and socialites to become his official “girlfriend.” Of course, in reality, I was just a kept canary. Looking back at Barrett’s family tree, not a single male heir had ever married a commoner, and I knew I wouldn’t be the exception. So… I really didn’t have any real secrets to share. But as the demands in the chat grew louder, and the girls began referring to themselves as the Billionaire Capture Alliance, I reluctantly typed out a reply. He seems to prefer classic drama plots. Like… throwing drinks on him. The good news: Thanks to Penelope’s glowing review, the alliance trusted me implicitly, and my business was booming. The bad news: Barrett was back from his business trip. Embodying the perfect spirit of a kept canary, I ran downstairs to greet him. The carved wooden doors swung open, the golden twilight spilling into the grand foyer, outlining his tall, aristocratic frame. But as he stepped into the light… His collar was torn, his shirt was wrinkled, and his coat was soaked with a mixture of wine, tea, coffee, and several unidentifiable stains. The entire man smelled like… a trash bin. I froze. Usually, the moment he walked through the door, I would throw myself into his arms. But right now, even my professional work ethic couldn’t bridge the gap. I took a step back, horrified. Seeing my hesitant expression, Barrett closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and surrendered to his fate. “I’m going to take a shower first.” I watched his retreating back, feeling a wave of silent awe. My clients were far too aggressive. I had to tell them to tone it down. If they drove my cash cow to his grave, who was going to pay my bills? After a shower, Barrett dragged me onto the bed. He was incredibly passionate, barely letting me catch my breath. But my mind was entirely focused on my thriving business. I wanted to check my messages. My phone on the nightstand was buzzing constantly. It had to be the girls clamoring for more information. My heart was in the chat room even though my body was in his bed. I reached out toward the nightstand. Slap! A large hand pinned mine to the mattress, completely cutting off my escape. “Maisie, focus.” Barrett frowned, his fingers tightening slightly on my chin as he pulled my face toward him. “I’ve been gone for days. Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

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It was the final event of my boyfriend’s company gala: the couples’ waltz. The familiar opening notes drifted through the ballroom. It was the “Serenade” waltz, the exact song we had danced to ten years ago at our college dance championship. Standing beside me, my best friend, Becca, gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh my gosh, Summer, this is your song! Ten years later, and Gavin has finally taken the hint. Do you think he’s going to propose tonight?” A soft smile touched my lips as I smoothed down my dress, taking a step toward Gavin. But before I could reach him, I watched him take the hand of a young girl and lead her onto the floor. They moved with seamless grace, perfectly in sync with the music. It was obvious they had practiced this countless times in private. The spotlight followed their elegant silhouettes across the room. I stood frozen in the dim corner, feeling like a dusty, expired relic. Gavin looked alive, his eyes bright with a spark I hadn’t seen in years. But he had no idea that this waltz was the very last chance I was willing to give him. Ten years. The waltz had expired, and so had my love for him. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick reply on my messaging app: Mom, I accept the arrangement with Nolan Sinclair. … “Summer! That little secretary did that on purpose!” Becca hissed, pacing back and forth, practically vibrating with rage. “I saw the way she looked at you during those spins. It was pure provocation!” I gently caught her wrist to stop her. “Let it go, Becca. I’m done waiting for him.” Becca’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, babe. You deserve so much better.” As the music faded, the young girl walked over to us, her hand still tucked comfortably into Gavin’s arm. “Oh, Summer!” she chirped, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. “I heard you were the waltz queen back in college! I’m so clumsy. Gavin tried to teach me a hundred times, and I still can’t get the steps right.” Gavin patted her head affectionately, a gesture so tender it belonged to someone coaxing a kitten. “You’re not clumsy at all. Besides, Summer only won back then because the competition was weak.” I swallowed the sudden tightness in my throat. With one casual sentence, he had completely erased years of my hard work. “I don’t dance anymore,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ve forgotten the steps anyway.” Sensing the shift in my tone, Gavin’s brow furrowed slightly. “You’re thirty years old, Summer. Don’t be petty with a kid.” I offered a polite nod. “Of course. You two were wonderful. Would you like me to clap for you?” Amber lowered her head, her lower lip trembling with rehearsed vulnerability. “Summer, I really didn’t mean to take up so much of Gavin’s time. But since you don’t work in the corporate world, you might not realize that social dancing is a necessary skill for networking.” Gavin nodded in agreement. “She’s never set foot in an office, so she wouldn’t understand. Don’t worry about it, Amber.” For the rest of the night, Gavin kept Amber glued to his side. He even intercepted drinks meant for her. “She’s just a kid, guys. Don’t make her drink.” I watched them, my mind drifting back to our early days. During the first year of his startup, I was the one drinking myself to sickness to secure clients for him, pushing through a severe alcohol allergy until my body literally went numb to it. I remembered him holding me by the curb as I threw up, his eyes filled with absolute anguish. Summer, you’ve suffered so much for me, he had cried, clutching me close. I swear I’ll give you the life you deserve. The vows back then were real, and his love was genuine. But just like that college waltz, it had a shelf life. And it had finally expired. “Get in,” Gavin said later, opening the car door. “I called a driver.” I slid into the passenger seat and immediately noticed the tilt of the backrest had been altered. When I flipped down the vanity mirror, a familiar tube of lipstick rolled into my lap: Dior 999, Rogue Red. It was a bold, crimson shade I never wore. The bullet of the lipstick was visibly worn down. In my mind, a vivid picture painted itself: Gavin driving Amber to a business dinner, her sitting in this very seat, applying this red lipstick while chatting away. But it wasn’t just the lipstick. In the glove compartment, there was an eyebrow pencil, a small makeup bag, and even a few personal hygiene pads. Amber was marking her territory, staking her claim piece by piece. Gavin had to have seen them, but he chose to look the other way. The city neon flickered across the window, casting a pale, exhausted shadow over my reflection. I looked drained, empty of the warmth I used to carry. “Gavin,” I murmured, staring at the glass. “Let’s end this.” He was sitting in the back seat, completely absorbed in his phone. He didn’t hear me. “It’s pouring out,” Gavin said into his receiver, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “You won’t find a cab at this hour. Go wait in the hotel lobby. I’ll come back to pick you up in a bit. Don’t catch a cold.” The rearview mirror caught his expression: tender, protective, and warm. It was a look that had once been exclusively mine. “Did you say something, Summer?” he asked, not bothering to look up from his screen. The blue light illuminated the sharp angles of his face, making him look distant. “I said, Gavin, let’s break up.” He finally raised his eyes. He froze for a second, and then a small, patronizing laugh escaped him. “Are you seriously jealous, Summer? Amber is dealing with a lot right now. I’m just trying to help her out where I can.” I remained silent, staring out at the rain. His tone took on a sharp edge of irritation. “Have you forgotten how hard it was for us when we first started? I’m just trying to be a decent person. Stop overthinking everything.” The car pulled up to our villa. The moment I stepped out, the tires screeched as the car reversed and sped off. He was in a rush to get back to Amber. He had worried about another woman getting wet in the rain, but he forgot that our driveway had no awning, and I had no umbrella. Drenched, I walked into the empty house. The first thing I did was turn on the stereo, playing that familiar “Serenade” waltz. I opened my cloud drive and found a video saved from ten years ago: our sophomore year dance competition. In the video, he was vibrant and young; I was radiant and full of life. I watched it to the very last frame, and then, without hesitation, I pressed delete. It was a quiet, final closing of a ten-year chapter. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Gavin. Amber sprained her ankle during the dance but didn’t say anything. I’m at the hospital with her now. It’s going to be late, so go to sleep first. Goodnight. I typed back a single word: Goodnight. In the past, I would have reminded him to drive safely, to hurry home, to text me when he arrived. Starting tonight, there would be none of that. I began sorting through the cabinets, pulling out old keepsakes. Among them was an unfinished oil painting from our days in the damp basement apartment. Gavin had started painting it years ago, trying to capture the two of us dancing. Seven years after graduation, the canvas remained half-blank. It was the perfect metaphor for our relationship. My fingers traced the dry, textured brushstrokes. Beside the canvas lay a half-empty pack of cigarettes. I had begged him to quit so many times, telling him it wasn’t healthy, especially if we wanted to start a family someday. He had always brushed it off. We’re not even married yet. We can worry about kids later. Perhaps he had never envisioned a marriage with me at all. I took a cigarette and lit it. The harsh, bitter smoke flooded my chest for the first time in my life. I ended up in a coughing fit, tears burning my eyes. Gavin was just like this cigarette: toxic, foreign, and never meant for me. Slowly, I pressed the glowing cherry of the cigarette directly onto the oil painting, burning a black hole right through his face. A sudden, intoxicating rush of relief washed over me. At three in the morning, the front door finally clicked open. Gavin walked in, carrying the faint, sweet scent of Givenchy powder: Amber’s signature fragrance. She was supposed to be a struggling intern, yet she was draped in luxury brands. I had chosen not to speak of these things, but it didn’t mean I hadn’t noticed. “Sorry I’m so late,” Gavin said, coming up behind me after his shower and wrapping his arms around my waist. “The ER doctor was a resident and took forever with Amber’s bandages.” I quietly shifted toward the edge of the bed, slipping out of his embrace. “Gavin, let’s break up. I’m not joking.” His body went rigid for a second, but then he pulled me back, locking his arms around me. He buried his face in my hair. “Summer, stop it. I know I shouldn’t have stayed out this late. But she’s my employee, and she has no one else in this city. I couldn’t just abandon her.” Another cheap excuse. But I didn’t care enough to argue. He let out a heavy, weary sigh, his voice softening. “Summer, we’ve been together for ten years. How many ten-year stretches do we get in a lifetime? You know you’re the most important person in my life. There is nothing going on between Amber and me.” “It’s not about her,” I interrupted. “I’m just tired, Gavin. It’s over.” If it wasn’t Amber, it would be someone else. When the love is gone, there is no point in pretending to hold on. Gavin’s patience snapped, and he sat up abruptly. “Summer! Why are you acting like a child over a little girl? I’ve already told you, you’re the only woman I’ll ever marry!” His eyes flashed with annoyance. He was done trying to soothe me; the facade was slipping. When we lived in that basement, he would save the best pieces of meat from his instant noodles for me, promising a beautiful future. Now, his company was public, the basement had been replaced by a sprawling villa, and his old bicycle had turned into a Porsche. And Gavin had become the very type of man we used to despise: arrogant, cold, and drunk on power. Was I supposed to be grateful that he hadn’t discarded me yet? “Gavin, you still don’t get it,” I said quietly. “I have absolutely no interest in being your wife anymore.” He stared at me, stunned for a few seconds, before his anger boiled over. “Summer, I have an exhausting job and massive responsibilities! Don’t try to use these petty threats to control me!” He threw his hands up. “Compared to the other guys in my circle, I’m a saint. At least I haven’t replaced you!” Even though I had already detached myself, his words still cut like a knife. It was proof that in his eyes, I was merely an object: an old appliance past its warranty, kept around out of sheer habit. He took a long, sharp breath. “Amber’s right. A woman who’s never had to survive in the real business world just doesn’t get it. You have nothing better to do than throw tantrums.” He stood up, grabbing his pillow. “Take some time to cool your head. I’m sleeping in the guest room.” I lay in the center of the massive bed, watching the city lights outside slowly fade into the gray light of dawn. The tears on my face had dried, leaving a tight, cold sensation. Did this man, who had lived with me for a decade, actually know me at all? He had no idea that I had built my own art studio and opened a gallery. He honestly believed I was just a kept bird, spending his money and waiting around for his return. It was almost laughable. Legally, his company and this villa had nothing to do with me. Yet he kept insisting he did it all for my sake. The next morning, I began sorting through my things, ready to purge my life of the past. Our college photos, the old dance trophies, the portrait sessions we had done years ago. I realized with a sudden jolt that for the last five years, we hadn’t accumulated a single shared item. Gavin came out of the guest room, dressed for work. He stopped when he saw the boxes scattered across the floor. “What are you doing with all this old junk?” You’re the junk, I wanted to say. But instead, I kept my voice neutral. “They’re just memories of our youth.” But those memories had died years ago. People change. The love we had back then was real, but so was the cold indifference of the present. A smug smile returned to his face. “I’m glad you’re finally being reasonable. See? Ten years of history. We have too much to throw away. Be a good girl, and once this busy season is over, I promise I’ll give you the most beautiful wedding.” He leaned down to press a brief kiss to my cheek. “Don’t worry, Summer. You’ll always be the most important person to me.” His steps were light as he walked toward the door, clearly believing the storm had blown over. “Gavin!” I called out. He turned back, his eyes carrying that familiar, easy smile. Ten years ago, he had looked at me the exact same way, pulling a cheap bouquet of roses from behind his back: a gesture that had cost him his entire week’s food budget. Summer, will you be my girlfriend? I promise to love you forever. I stood up, meeting his gaze with absolute clarity. “Gavin, I’m tired. Let’s break up.” The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, familiar mask of superiority. “It seems you still haven’t cleared your head! I won’t be coming back for the next few days. I’ve clearly spoiled you too much.” The heavy front door slammed shut, the sound vibrating through my chest. It didn’t hurt. My phone lit up with a text from Becca. Summer! Look at what this little snake just posted! She is literally declaring war! A screenshot popped up. It was a selfie of Amber, her collar pulled down slightly to expose her bare shoulder. In the background was our kitchen, where a man wearing my pink apron was busy over a simmering pot of soup. Her caption read: It’s pouring outside, but the boss’s homemade soup keeps me warm. The comments below were nauseating: Amber, you’re so lucky! I had no idea the CEO could cook! She gets all the special treatment because she deserves it! There were dozens of likes. Most of them were people who had been with Gavin since the startup days. They all knew about our ten-year relationship. But in their eyes, I had already become invisible. I replied to Becca: It’s fine. Gavin and I broke up. Becca replied instantly: Good! That trash doesn’t deserve you anyway! It took me less than half a day to pack my life into boxes. A decade of devotion, reduced to a few cardboard cartons. Later that afternoon, I carried the old keepsakes to the backyard incinerator. As the flames took hold, the remnants of my youth turned into ash. Gavin began a silent war of cold shoulder. In the past, he would text me his schedule every day. Now, our chat was a desert of silence. Over the next week, I arranged for my belongings to be shipped to my new place and bought myself a new car: a clean start so I could leave whenever I wanted. The first message I received after a week of silence came from Amber, using Gavin’s phone.

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1 During the awards segment of the annual charity gala, the host suddenly walked onto the stage leading ten young children. “Tonight, we have a very special award recipient,” the host announced, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “She passed away in a tragic accident, but before she took her last breath, she donated all her organs, saving the lives of the ten children standing beside me today.” In the front row, Christian Collier kept his head down, staring at his phone. Hearing the host’s words, he did not even bother to look up. “Who would be stupid enough to chase fame even in death?” Beside him, Gideon Harrison, a man known throughout the city for his philanthropy, let out a soft sneer. “To be buried with an incomplete body means the soul can never rest in peace. Her family must have been incredibly heartless to allow it.” He turned to Christian, half-joking. “Christian, once you marry my sister, you better not let her lose a single hair, or I won’t let you off easily.” Christian offered a faint, dry smile. He turned to his secretary, whispering quietly, “Find out which family this donor belonged to. Cancel all our current and future business contracts with them immediately.” On stage, the host’s voice rang out once more. “Now, let us invite the donor’s fiancé to the stage to accept this honor on her behalf. Mr. Christian Collier, please.” The entire ballroom fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Every guest froze, their eyes turning in absolute disbelief toward the front row. The host, still smiling warmly, urged, “Mr. Collier, please come up to the stage. You are entirely deserving of this beautiful legacy of love.” As the shock wore off, hushed whispers began to ripple through the crowd. “The donor was the Collier heir’s fiancée?” “But isn’t the Collier family engaged to the Harrisons? That would mean the donor is Gideon’s sister, the Harrison heiress.” “I thought Gideon was incredibly traditional. How could he possibly allow his sister’s body to be harvested like that?” Every single word drifted straight into Christian’s ears. The cold indifference on his face shattered, piece by piece. He snapped his head up, his gaze cutting toward the host like a blade. “What absolute nonsense are you babbling?” His voice was cold, practically laced with ice. “My fiancée is alive and well.” Gideon stood up as well, his face pale and furious. “No one in the Harrison family has passed away. Think carefully before you speak another word!” Terrified by their reactions, the host took a step back, quickly looking down at his cue cards. He checked the document three or four times, cold sweat beaded on his forehead. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice trembling. “Mr. Collier, according to the official records, the donor was indeed your fiancée, the daughter of the Harrison family.” “Shut your mouth!” Gideon’s eyes were already rimmed with red. “My sister is currently in Europe on her graduation trip. She sent me photos just two days ago. How could she possibly…” Christian turned to the host, his eyes dark. “I am giving you one last chance. Tell the truth.” Gideon, growing increasingly frantic, grabbed Christian’s arm. “Christian, call Vivian. Call her right now. What if something actually happened to her?” Christian pulled out his phone and dialed Vivian’s number. The line rang. Once, twice, three times. No one answered. His heart began to sink, heavy and cold. Gideon was also dialing frantically, over and over, only to be met with the same empty ringing. Just as their faces began to drain of all color, the phone suddenly vibrated with an incoming call. Christian answered it instantly. “Vivian!” The screen lit up to reveal a young, pretty face. Vivian was rubbing her sleepy eyes, her hair a messy bird’s nest, clearly having just been woken up. She mumbled sleepily, “Christian? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Did you forget the time difference?” Gideon shoved his face into the camera’s view, his voice thick with panic. “Vivian, are you okay? You scared me to death!” “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Vivian blinked, a soft laugh escaping her. “I told you guys not to worry. It’s just a graduation trip!” Gideon breathed a massive sigh of relief, murmuring a few sweet promises before hanging up the call. Christian turned back to the host, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Did you see that? My fiancée is perfectly fine. You will provide a formal apology to both the Colliers and the Harrisons for this sick joke.” The atmosphere in the room turned incredibly hostile. As the host stood frozen on stage, unsure of what to do, the oldest of the ten children, a young girl, timidly raised her hand. “It wasn’t that lady.” Everyone’s attention snapped to her. The girl bit her lip, whispering softly, “My dad showed me a photo of the lady who saved my life. Her name was Nora Harrison.” 2 The whispers in the room erupted like a sudden storm. “Nora? That name sounds familiar.” “Isn’t she the sister Gideon adopted a year ago?” “I heard a rumor that Nora and Vivian were switched at birth. Nora is actually the biological daughter.” “So Christian’s real fiancée was actually Nora?” I floated quietly behind Christian and Gideon, a bitter, hollow smile gracing my spectral lips. They were right. I was the biological daughter of the Harrison family, and by all rights, I was Christian’s true fiancée. Years ago, Vivian’s parents had intentionally switched us in our cribs. Vivian became the pampered princess of the Harrison family, raised in absolute luxury, while I spent eighteen years living a nightmare. My foster parents were abusive gamblers. Every time they lost, they took their anger out on me, using belts, burning cigarettes, and whatever else was within arm’s reach. I survived by digging through trash cans for scraps of food. Eventually, my foster father trapped me in my room, trying to assault me. I defended myself with a pair of scissors, wounding him, but they turned around and accused me of seduction. They beat me so severely I was nearly dead by the time the neighbors called the police. With the authorities involved, the truth of my birth was finally revealed, and I was brought back to the Harrison estate. I thought my misery had ended. But shortly after my return, both of my biological parents fell ill and passed away. My older brother, Gideon, blamed me entirely, believing I was a curse that had brought death to our parents. When Vivian packed her bags, weeping and saying she should leave now that the real daughter was back, Gideon’s resentment toward me reached its peak. He held her close, comforting her, before turning a cold, disgusted glare on me. “Vivian is my sister. Don’t even think about driving her out.” Gideon even dropped the charges against my abusive foster parents, paying them a massive settlement to secure Vivian’s legal status in the family. He never once asked how I had survived those eighteen years. I still remembered the icy indifference in his voice when he made his decision. “I’ve raised Vivian as my sister for nearly two decades. Revealing the truth now would destroy her. For now, we will tell the public that you are an adopted sister we took in.” Christian was the fiancé my parents had chosen for me in their will. But the first time he met me, I was wearing one of Vivian’s ill-fitting hand-me-downs, trembling as I greeted him. The sheer disappointment in his eyes was impossible to hide. I was consumed by insecurity, desperately throwing myself into learning etiquette, trying to become the perfect lady he wanted. But his gaze remained cool and detached. One afternoon, I overheard him speaking with Gideon. “I don’t know what our parents were thinking, forcing you to marry Nora,” Gideon had grumbled. “Everyone knows the only girl you love is Vivian.” Christian’s calm, level voice followed. “I will call off this engagement with Nora, no matter what it takes.” At that moment, my heart sank into a dark, bottomless ocean. Gideon didn’t want me, and Christian didn’t want me either. Now, hearing my name spoken aloud at the gala, Christian remained silent for a long time before offering a cold, indifferent response. “You have the wrong person. Nora Harrison was never my fiancée.” Gideon’s face went blank, followed quickly by a wave of deep disgust. “How could it possibly be her? She’d do anything to survive. Someone as selfish as her wouldn’t have the courage to die.” I was already a ghost, but my hollow chest still flared with a sharp, ghostly pain. Sensing the curiosity of the crowd, Gideon began to speak, exposing my supposed sins to the entire room. “On Vivian’s birthday, Nora threw a massive fit, demanding that Christian cancel his schedule to take her skiing. Christian had no choice but to go. While they were on the mountain, an avalanche hit. Christian’s leg was crushed, trapping him under the snow. And Nora…” He paused, his voice dripping with venom. “She ran away without looking back.” “If Vivian hadn’t arrived with a rescue team in time, Christian wouldn’t be standing here today.” Gideon’s voice grew even colder. “Nora spent all her time at home bullying Vivian, even though Vivian was always kind to her. She knew Christian loved Vivian, yet she clung to him out of spite. When he rejected her, she abandoned him to die in the snow and vanished. A person like that doesn’t deserve to be called my sister.” The host spoke up, hesitant. “So, you haven’t seen Miss Harrison since that incident?” 3 Gideon let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “She probably fled the country out of guilt. She knows what she did, and she’s too much of a coward to face us.” He added with deep disgust, “That’s just who she is: a coward who runs away when things get tough.” Christian said nothing. He leaned back in his chair, slowly closing his eyes. He remembered the moment the avalanche struck. His first instinct had been to shield Nora with his own body before the world collapsed around them. But when he finally woke up, she was gone. She had left him to die, exactly as Gideon said. All her sweet words, her gentle affection: they were all a lie. A sudden, sharp ache bloomed in Christian’s chest, and he clenched his fist, trying to push the feeling away. When Vivian had finally arrived with the rescue team, throwing herself into his arms and weeping, “Christian, I finally found you,” he had asked her, “Did you find the rescue team?” He had desperately hoped for a different answer. But Vivian had nodded, and the final spark of light in his eyes had gone out. “Never mind,” he had murmured. “It doesn’t matter.” He had looked at her with gentle affection. “Vivian, will you marry me?” The host’s voice broke his train of thought. “But have you ever considered that Miss Harrison didn’t run away? What if she died in that very avalanche?” The ballroom fell into a tense silence. The host continued, “Perhaps she didn’t abandon you. She might have realized that with your crushed leg, staying by your side meant you would both freeze to death. So she went out into the blizzard to find help, but met with an accident before she could return. Mr. Harrison, did you ever bother to investigate?” “What absolute garbage!” Gideon slammed his hand on the table, interrupting him in a fury. Christian merely stared at the host, his eyes cold. Floating above them, I could only manage a bitter laugh. Even a stranger could deduce the truth of my death, yet my own brother and fiancé refused to believe it. Before that ski trip, Christian had demanded to end our engagement. I had agreed, but on one condition: he had to spend Vivian’s birthday skiing with me. They all thought I was being unreasonable. But none of them remembered that Vivian’s birthday was also my birthday. I just wanted to be chosen, just once. When the avalanche buried him, I had clawed at the snow with my bare hands, digging until my fingers were shredded and frozen, completely losing all feeling, before I finally managed to pull him out. He was unconscious. I wrapped him in my coat and all my warm gear, leaving myself in nothing but a thin sweater, and walked out into the freezing storm. I walked for an entire day, collapsing and dragging myself up again and again, until I finally stumbled upon a rescue team. I gave them his coordinates. They told me to wait by the road while they went up. But less than ten minutes after they left, an out-of-control truck plowed into me. By the time I reached the hospital, it was too late. Before I took my last breath, I begged the doctors to harvest my organs, hoping that a piece of me could go on to see the spring I would never experience. The guests in the ballroom looked back and forth between Gideon and Christian, their belief wavering. If the host was right, then they had completely misjudged Nora. Gideon’s lips began to tremble, his confidence slipping. But Christian spoke up, his voice incredibly calm. “She isn’t dead.” Everyone turned to him. Christian raised his chin, his voice steady. “I have proof that Nora is alive.” Gideon turned to him, startled. Christian lowered his gaze, his voice dropping. “After she vanished, I received a letter from her.” 4 “In that letter, Nora explicitly stated she didn’t regret running away,” Christian continued, his voice dripping with cold mockery. “But she knew neither I nor the Harrison family would ever forgive her, so she planned to disappear forever. She promised never to bother me again, on one condition: I had to transfer five million dollars to her account. I sent the money.” Gideon’s face flushed with renewed rage. “We should have never brought her back to our family! She was a parasitic disgrace from start to finish!” Hearing this, the guests immediately turned their sympathy back to Christian, whispering insults about my memory. “This Nora was truly heartless!” “Five million dollars? She didn’t have a shred of shame!” “Honestly, she belongs in prison!” A barrage of ugly words rained down on my spirit. But on stage, the young girl spoke up once more, her voice trembling but fierce. “Don’t you dare speak about Nora like that!” Her eyes were red, her small body shaking with anger. She pointed to her own eyes. “My dad told me my corneas came from Nora. I can see this beautiful world because of her!” The other children began to step forward, their small voices rising in unison. “She gave me her kidney!” “She gave me her liver!” “Nora’s heart is beating right here, in my chest,” a young boy said, placing his small hand over his heart. “The doctor told me this heart belonged to a very, very kind girl. She was not a bad person!” Watching those ten children, seeing them healthy, alive, and full of hope because of my sacrifice, a soft, warm light seemed to wrap around my cold, spectral body. The crowd wavered once more, the children’s testimonies carrying far too much weight. Gideon clenched his fists, his lips shaking. Christian felt a sudden, suffocating pressure in his chest, as if a heavy stone were pressing down on his lungs. He forced himself to dismiss the feeling, his mind racing. Suddenly, a realization struck him. A confident, triumphant smile returned to Christian’s face. “Fine. If you all insist she is dead, then where is her body?” He scanned the room, his voice booming. “She only donated her organs. Her remains must be somewhere, right?” The children on stage looked at one another, their young faces blank with confusion. They didn’t know the answer. Christian let out a cold sneer. “There is no body. This entire story is a fabricated lie.” The room fell quiet, the tension stretching thin. Just then, the host’s phone buzzed with an incoming document. He tapped it open, his eyes widening in horror, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. He held up his phone, his voice shaking violently. “Wait… I know where Nora’s body is.”

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My boyfriend’s half-Russian brother never liked me. But while his older brother was away on a business trip, the younger twin dyed his golden-brown hair pitch black, showed up at my door in the dead of night, and tried to seduce me. He wanted to prove just how shallow I was, assuming I wouldn’t even be able to tell them apart. I looked at the 6-foot-2, hard-muscled college athlete standing outside my door and plastered a look of pure surprise on my face. I pointed toward a package, hinting at the kinky outfit Victor had always flat-out refused to wear for me. “Victor, babe, the stuff you bought just arrived.” “Did you plan this on purpose? You have to wear it for me tonight, okay?” Felix maintained his brother’s signature ice-cold expression, but a flicker of sheer panic betrayed his blue eyes. “I… bought this?” 1 “Yeah, and you also got…” I blinked, looking at him with feigned confusion. “Don’t you usually love playing these games with me?” “Why are you acting so weird today?” Felix clearly hadn’t prepared for this. He probably never imagined that his aloof, untouchable CEO brother was into such twisted bedroom games in private. His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily. He swallowed hard and decided to commit to the bit. “I do like… this stuff. I’m just a little surprised you’re being so forward tonight, baby.” “Since you came all this way to surprise me, I obviously have to return the favor.” Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, I shoved him toward the walk-in closet. “Hurry up and change. I’ll be waiting.” Fifteen minutes later, the closet door clicked open. My eyes immediately lit up. I had to admit, Felix’s physique was just as sculpted as his brother’s. His hard pecs and defined abs looked incredibly sinful pressing against the sheer, black mesh fabric. His naturally pale face was flushed violently red all the way to the tips of his ears. He couldn’t even bring himself to meet my eyes. “Ahem. So, does it look the same as usual?” I knew he was secretly recording this, so I deliberately ignored his question. Leaning in close to his ear, I whispered in my softest voice, “You are being such a good boy for me today.” Felix let out a muffled groan, his entire body going rigid in an instant. I smirked. With a swift click, I locked his wrists into the padded cuffs. “What are you doing?” Felix was genuinely stunned now. “Didn’t you always say this is how you like it best?” Before he could process that, I quickly discovered that the twins were equally, incredibly gifted in certain departments. I let out a soft, breathy laugh. “You really didn’t lie to me, babe…” The corners of Felix’s eyes were burning red. He interrupted me in a complete panic. “Ba… baby, can we pause for a second? I’m not feeling too well today.” I raised an eyebrow. He was already in this deep, and he still refused to confess and apologize? Then he couldn’t blame me for taking my revenge all the way to the finish line. “What hurts? You feel exactly the same as usual…” Before I could even finish my sentence, his lips crashed down, silencing me completely. 2 The next day, I slept until nearly noon, waking up with my entire body feeling sore and delightfully weak. The other side of the bed was, of course, empty. The thought of Felix fleeing at the crack of dawn, totally unaware that his brother and I had actually already broken up, made me want to laugh out loud. I took a moment to savor the memory of his flushed, desperate expressions from last night. Thinking of Victor, I suddenly remembered that right after I sent him the breakup text yesterday, Felix had shown up before I even got a reply. I reached for my phone on the nightstand. Swiping the screen unlocked it, and my heart skipped a beat. There were over a hundred unread notifications crowding the screen. Almost all of them were from Victor. [Sienna, what the hell do you mean, break up? Are you playing hard to get?] [This tactic won’t work on me. I’m busy. I don’t have time for these childish games.] [It’s been ten minutes. Why aren’t you replying?] … [Baby, I’m booking a flight back right now. We’ll talk face to face, okay?] [Missed FaceTime call] x 10 [Why won’t you answer my calls?] [I do not accept this breakup. Baby, please just talk to me.] And then another massive wall of missed video calls. 3 I stared at the screen, utterly shocked. This manic, obsessive text bombing was completely out of character for the usually composed, icy Victor Kensington. Even back when we were at Stanford, Victor was famously unapproachable. Anyone who tried to get close was met with a freezing, “Not interested. I don’t do relationships.” That changed a year after graduation. To rebel against his family’s arranged marriage plans, Victor needed a smart, cooperative fake girlfriend. I had worked with him on an AI project under the same professor, and since I was currently consulting for his tech firm, I became the perfect candidate. In the beginning, I admit I had my own romantic fantasies about him. But reality set in quickly. Whenever Victor took me back to the suffocating environment of the Kensington estate, he would act incredibly affectionate, calling me “baby” just to put on a show for his father and Felix. But in private, his texts and conversations were always just a few cold, sterile words. On special occasions, he just had his assistant buy me some random limited-edition bag from a luxury brand. No warmth. Just clinical detachment. The only time he wasn’t cold was when we were in bed. But trying to get him to do what I tricked Felix into doing last night? Impossible. “This kind of trash is for a lapdog. What the hell do you take me for?” he had growled that night, his voice dark and rough as he punished me for the suggestion well into the early morning hours. 4 Lately, Victor had crossed the line. Before this New York trip, he ghosted me for half a month. When he finally reappeared, he offered zero explanations and actively avoided me. Who could endure that kind of freezing out? So, after a lot of painful thinking, I finally pulled the plug. I glanced down at the timestamps on Victor’s replies. The first one came exactly ten minutes after I sent the breakup text. That was weird. It was 10:00 AM in New York. Victor was supposed to be in a crucial, high-stakes board meeting all morning. Knowing his ruthless work ethic, he would never deal with personal drama during business hours. Felix knew this too, which was why he felt safe impersonating his brother to give me a “surprise” last night. So why did Victor not only reply, but completely lose his mind spamming me with calls? And this business trip was supposed to last at least two weeks. How could he possibly fly back right now just to talk? I frowned and typed back quickly. [Victor, we are breaking up, not getting a divorce.] [I don’t need your approval.] [And stop calling me baby. You’ve never treated me like one.] I hit send, then immediately blocked his number. That afternoon, I booked a spa day with my best friends, went shopping, and treated myself to an amazing dinner. My mood finally lifted. But the moment I walked up to my apartment, I found a very sulky, mixed-race puppy glaring at my door. Felix hadn’t dyed his hair back to golden-brown yet, but he had taken out the dark contacts, revealing his piercing, ocean-blue eyes. He had ditched the tailored dress shirt for a black oversized hoodie and dark cargo pants. The difference in their auras was instantly obvious. I felt a sudden rush of amusement and let a small smile touch my lips. “Felix? What are you doing here? Didn’t you know your brother is on a business trip?” 5 Felix’s blue eyes looked ready to shoot fire. The second I opened the door, he pushed inside, backing me against the entryway console. “Cut the act, Sienna. You knew it wasn’t my brother last night, didn’t you?” I let out a soft snort of laughter. “So what if I did? Weren’t you the one who showed up at my door to seduce me?” Felix’s face flushed a deep crimson. “I didn’t plan for that to happen! And you tricked me into wearing that sick outfit! I betrayed my brother, but do you honestly think you’re innocent in this?” Seeing him look like he was going to die of guilt was satisfying enough. I decided I had tortured him enough and hummed lightly. “Your brother and I already broke up. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have even let you inside.” Felix froze. A spark lit up in his eyes, quickly followed by a storm of conflicting emotions. “Broke up? When did…” Right on cue, my phone started buzzing in my purse. I glanced at the screen, immediately pushed him aside, and answered. It was the HR department at Apex Ventures. The recruiter was calling to ask if I could onboard early, mentioning that the senior partners were highly impressed with me and wanted me on a massive new project immediately. I cheerfully agreed and hung up, only to find Felix staring at me with an even more complex expression. “You… got an offer from Apex? That’s one of the most brutal VC firms on Wall Street.” “I heard the workload there destroys people.” I raised an eyebrow, putting the pieces together. The last time I visited my old Stanford professor, Felix must have overheard our conversation. He always assumed my networking was just a desperate attempt to get a glowing recommendation so I could secure my spot in the wealthy Kensington family. He thought I was a gold digger. That’s why he despised me and constantly told his brother to dump me. “Listen, pretty boy. I didn’t bust my ass to get into an Ivy League school and graduate top of my class just to marry into old money.” “I have my own career ambitions. I’m not a billionaire heir like you, so when I need to bow my head to get ahead, I do it.” My sharp sarcasm made Felix look thoroughly ashamed, yet the blue of his eyes somehow burned even brighter. He cleared his throat softly. “My brother’s… Sienna, I’m sorry. I completely misunderstood you before.” “So, if you and my brother are really over… would you consider me?” 6 I looked up in genuine surprise. Felix was gazing down at me, his blue eyes incredibly intense and burning with raw heat. With a face that looked like it belonged on a Renaissance statue and a lean, athletic 6-foot-2 frame, claiming I wasn’t tempted would be a total lie. Besides, didn’t everyone say the best way to get over a man was to get under a new one? Forgetting Victor wasn’t going to be easy, and high-quality rebounds like this didn’t exactly fall from the sky. “You took my first time. You have to take responsibility for me.” When I didn’t answer immediately, Felix let out a pathetic little sigh, blinking his thick lashes as he leaned in to whisper seductively. “I’ll wear whatever you want me to wear. I’ll even wear the… the collar, if you want.” “I bet my brother never wanted to wear that for you, right?” “Besides, you really loved it last night, didn’t you?” …He wasn’t wrong. The puppy was inexperienced, but he was undeniably passionate. “I’ll consider it. But given your horrible prejudice against me in the past…” I paused deliberately. “You’re on a one-month probation.” That night, Felix shamelessly begged his way into my bed to undergo a very thorough “probationary review.” A nineteen-year-old college athlete possessed an absolutely terrifying amount of stamina. He was like an overpowered machine that simply refused to shut down. By the time he finally carried me to the bathroom to wash up, it was the middle of the night. I forced my heavy eyes open to check my phone and saw dozens of missed calls from Victor’s alternate numbers. But my body was too exhausted and entirely hollowed out. Before I could even form a coherent thought, I passed out. The next morning, Felix reluctantly dragged himself out of bed to go to his classes. That evening, he showed up at my door carrying an armful of beautifully wrapped gift boxes. “Sienna, this is my peace offering. An apology for all the times I was rude to you.” I thought back to the last two years, remembering how he used to scowl every time Victor forced him to acknowledge my presence at family dinners. I accepted the gifts without an ounce of guilt. “No more giving me attitude.” On the third day, Felix took me out for a romantic dinner and a late-night drive. I had no idea this boy could be so intensely clingy in a relationship. He was sickeningly sweet the entire time. That sugary high lasted right up until we walked back to my apartment and unlocked the door. Felix froze dead in his tracks. “Brother?”

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1 Ten years after my death, I saw Knox again. He still had that same reckless, untamed aura. With full tattoo sleeves and a lazy, arrogant slouch, he walked like a guy showing up to collect a gambling debt. I deliberately floated right into his personal space, blowing air into his face and waving my hands in front of his eyes. I even phased straight through his chest and out his back. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t see me anyway. Suddenly, his footsteps faltered. I thought he had actually felt something, but he just stopped, pulled out a cigarette, and squinted into the distance as he lit it. Then, looking absolutely nowhere, he casually remarked, “Hazel, your dress is dirty.” I froze, instinctively looking down. I was wearing the white dress I was buried in, and it was perfectly clean. Before I could even process what was happening, he added, “Idiot. You don’t even know how to clean yourself up before coming out to see me.” Wait! Could he see me? Hearing his words, I frantically inspected myself again. There was nothing there. I was spotless. I was convinced he could see me until he suddenly squatted down and began wiping the grime off my tombstone with his sleeve. “Stupid girl. You don’t even know your clothes are dirty after you’re dead.” Hey, make up your mind. What do you mean, I don’t know my clothes are dirty? I am a very hygienic ghost, thank you very much. I stood beside him, taking advantage of his blindness to throw phantom punches and kicks at his shoulders. Take that, you bastard. You didn’t expect this, did you? I could never beat you in a fight when I was alive, but now that I’m dead, I’m throwing heavy hands. We used to wrestle and play-fight all the time back in the day. Every single match ended with him effortlessly pinning me to the mattress. My consecutive losses only fueled my rebellious spirit. Where there is oppression, there is resistance. Even if I died before I ever actually won a round against him. Knox couldn’t feel my ghostly assault. Still squatting on the grass, he reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a carton of strawberry milk, my absolute favorite. He was wearing a faded hair tie on his wrist. It was mine from years ago. There were dark, heavy bags under his eyes, yet he still managed that signature wicked smirk. “Hazel, little kids need to drink more milk. I’m not pouring you liquor today. I brought you the strawberry stuff.” Hey, what is that supposed to mean? Are you insulting my alcohol tolerance? Furious, I draped myself over his back and let my long ghost hair fall directly over his eyes. Consider yourself lucky, Knox. I am giving you the premium paranormal blackout experience, free of charge. You’re welcome. Knox suddenly raised a hand and brushed his own dark bangs out of his eyes, nearly giving me a heart attack. For a second, I thought he had actually felt my hair. I don’t know what memory suddenly crossed his mind, but the warmth in his eyes vanished instantly. A suffocating wave of pure depression radiated from his body. Beneath that heavy sorrow, there was a bitter trace of guilt. He lowered his head and whispered, “Hazel, I’m sorry.” Huh? Sorry? Sorry for what? “I shouldn’t have picked a fight with you that day.” Oh, please. Couples fight all the time. I waved my hand dismissively, even though he couldn’t see it. “If I hadn’t fought with you, would you still be alive?” As he spoke, the rims of his eyes turned a violent shade of red. His entire posture collapsed into misery. I patted his broad shoulder, trying to soothe him. “Come on, Knox. You’re thirty-two years old, why are we bringing up ancient history? Let the past stay in the past.” But he couldn’t hear me. He remained trapped in his own suffocating guilt. Honestly, I had never seen him look this broken before. From the day I met him, he had always been wildly arrogant, untethered, and constantly wearing a lazy smirk. All his friends used to say he was the anchor of the group, completely unshakeable. Yet here he was, looking exactly like a puppy that had been abandoned in the rain. Seeing him like this, the sympathy I thought had died along with my physical body started to overflow. “Good boy. Mommy is still here. I might be dead, but my soul is hanging around.” I reached out to stroke his thick dark hair, softening my voice. He suddenly looked up, his gaze piercing directly into the spot where I was floating. “Hazel, you’re definitely laughing at me right now.” My eyes went wide. “Bullshit, I am mothering you.” 2 Knox and I were high school classmates, but back then, we were absolute mortal enemies. He was ranked first in our grade. I was ranked second. Every single exam, I would lose to him by a agonizing margin of just a few points. I was highly competitive since childhood, always praised as the golden child by everyone’s parents. But the moment I entered high school and collided with Knox, I became the eternal runner-up. It was the greatest humiliation of my life. So, I made it my mission to battle him in absolutely everything. That dynamic carried over into college until one day, out of nowhere, he cornered me and asked, “Hazel, do you want a taste of being number one?” I narrowed my eyes. “How?” I genuinely thought he was going to share some secret study technique with me. Who knew he meant the literal taste of it. But if I’m being completely honest, the taste wasn’t bad at all. From that day on, the world gained another fiercely competitive, enemies-to-lovers couple. As my mind swam in memories, Knox suddenly stood up, inadvertently raising my field of vision since I was still piggybacking on him. I have to say, the air up here was pretty nice. He touched my tombstone. The gesture was as gentle as if he were stroking my hair. His tone was terribly lonely. “Hazel, are you mad that it took me this long to finally come see you?” “Hell yeah I am. If you hadn’t mentioned it, I would’ve forgotten you even existed. Where the hell have you been for ten years?” I floated just above his head, resting my hands on my hips. He let out a self-deprecating laugh and muttered something under his breath. I didn’t catch the whole sentence, just the faint outline of a few words. “…coming… to join you soon…” My non-existent heart dropped. I immediately floated down from his head and grabbed his shoulders. “Knox, absolutely not. I might be dead, but you need to live a good, long life for the both of us.” His deep, dark eyes stared straight ahead, looking right through me. In that split second, I felt my dead heart kickstart back to life. How else could I explain the sudden nervous flutter in my stomach just from his gaze? I drifted to the side and followed his line of sight. He was just looking at a purple butterfly. Snapping out of his daze, he started pulling more snacks out of the bag, arranging them in a perfectly neat line in front of my headstone. “Hazel, even if you’re dead, you need to eat well. Don’t let yourself go hungry.” He patted the cold stone. I nodded, looking at him with deep approval. “Good boy. You learned well. These are all my favorites.” “I’m leaving now. I’ll come see you again soon.” He smiled, brushing his thumb lovingly over the engraved photo on my stone, and turned to walk away. I frantically rushed in front of him. “Hold on, don’t leave yet. Explain what you meant about coming to join me!” But he couldn’t see me, and he walked right through my translucent body. I spun around in absolute panic, wanting to chase him but terrifyingly aware of the rules. Ever since I died, I had been bound to my grave. The maximum distance I could travel was fifty meters. Whenever new ghosts arrived at the cemetery, I couldn’t even go over to gossip with them. I had to wait for them to wander into my zone. But watching his broad back get further and further away, I stopped caring about the rules. Whatever. If I get violently yanked back by the invisible tether, so be it. I braced myself and chased after him. Fifty meters. Sixty meters. Wait. I was fine! I floated right next to Knox, suddenly realizing the air around me smelled amazing. Even though I didn’t actually need to breathe. I matched his pace, grinning from ear to ear. “Knox, you really are my lucky charm. You show up one time, and my invisible leash snaps. You’re basically a miracle worker.” His walking pace suddenly quickened, and he muttered under his breath, “Why does it feel like there’s a freezing draft right next to me?” I burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. I couldn’t believe it. After all these years, this heavily tattooed badass was still terrified of ghosts. Whenever we watched horror movies in the past, he would shrink down and hide his face against my chest like a terrified little bird. It always made my protective instincts go into overdrive. 3 At one o’clock in the afternoon, I followed Knox into his apartment. I had fully expected to walk into a chaotic, disgusting bachelor pad. Instead, I was staring at an incredibly clean, minimalist space. Was this really the apartment of the same Knox who used to leave his socks everywhere? Knox immediately pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it aside as he opened the fridge to grab a cold Coke. While I shamelessly drooled over his perfectly sculpted abs, I muttered my complaints. “Knox, I know your body is a literal feast for the eyes, but how many times do I have to tell you? Don’t strip the second you walk indoors. You’ll catch a cold.” A bead of sweat slid slowly down the deep V of his abs. I wiped a non-existent line of drool from my mouth and sneakily reached out to trace the sweat drop. Right as my spectral fingers brushed against him, he reached up and aggressively wiped the sweat away himself. I yanked my hand back instantly, staring at him with a wildly guilty conscience. I knew perfectly well he couldn’t see me, but even ghosts have a sense of shame. If other spirits caught me doing this, I’d be the laughingstock of the underworld. After finishing his Coke, he headed straight for the bathroom. Now that I could walk through walls, the temptation was real. But spying on him in the shower was crossing a line. I was a ghost with morals. Forty minutes later, I stared at the locked bathroom door, my anxiety spiking. What the hell was taking so long? In the past, his showers never lasted more than twenty minutes. Why was he taking forever today? Could he be… Committing suicide in the tub? The moment that dark thought entered my head, it took root. The panic spiraled out of control. I couldn’t wait any longer. I phased right through the heavy wooden door. The first thing I saw was a horrifying swirl of crimson water pooling on the tiles. Oh god. He really did it. I rushed toward him, terrified he was bleeding out on the cold floor. But when I reached him, I found him fully dressed in a soft pair of sweatpants, his hair dripping wet. Blood was pouring rapidly out of his nose. The reason the floor looked like a murder scene was because the blood had dripped into the wet puddles from his shower, diluting and spreading everywhere. Seeing that, my heart finally dropped back into my chest. Without thinking, I grabbed a wad of toilet paper from the roll and held it right up to his face. Knox froze. He turned completely rigid. I frowned. Why was he acting paralyzed? Confused, I waved the toilet paper directly in front of his eyes. His pupils dilated in absolute, unadulterated horror as he stared at the floating wad of paper. A few seconds later, he scrambled backward, trying to bolt for the door. I panicked and chased after him. “Why are you running? Take the paper! Your nose is bleeding a river!” The sheer terror in his eyes intensified. He slipped on the wet tiles and crashed hard onto the floor. I rushed forward with the paper to help him up, but he scrambled out of the bathroom on his hands and knees, bolting toward the living room. I followed him out, still holding the paper out like a peace offering. This idiot was leaving a trail of blood drops all over his pristine hardwood floors. Didn’t he realize he needed to plug it? He suddenly threw a hand up in front of his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and yelled, “I… I’m warning you!” Huh? Warning me? “If you come… come any closer, I’ll scream!” He shrank back into the corner of the sofa, his entire large frame trembling violently. It finally clicked in my head. Right. To him, this must look like a wad of toilet paper miraculously detached itself from the roll, floated up to his face, and was now aggressively chasing him around his apartment. Realizing this, the chaotic, evil side of my personality completely took over. A wicked smirk spread across my face. I pinched the toilet paper and floated even closer to his face. He kept his eyes squeezed tight, aggressively muttering under his breath. I leaned in to hear him properly. “Our Father who art in heaven, save me from the evil spirits, Hail Mary, Buddha, whoever is listening…” Good lord. He was just speed-running through every religion hoping one of them had jurisdiction over his living room. Too bad none of them worked on me. Smiling brightly, I rolled the paper into a tight little cylinder and forcefully jammed it right up his bleeding nostril. Perfect. I hadn’t lost my sniper-level accuracy. Feeling the physical impact, Knox stopped his frantic praying. He cracked one eye open and peeked nervously in my general direction. Since he already knew a supernatural entity was in the room, there was no point in hiding. While ghosts generally can’t touch living humans, we can interact with small, light objects. I grabbed his smartphone off the coffee table, punched in his passcode from memory, opened the Notes app, and started typing furiously. Knox stared in absolute shock at the empty space where I was sitting. His lips parted, then closed again. Finally, in a very small, very polite voice, he asked, “Could you please give my phone back?” I ignored him and kept typing. Seeing me ignore him, he didn’t dare say another word. This six-foot-two, heavily tattooed man sat perfectly upright on the edge of the sofa, his posture as stiff as a board. When I finished, I held the glowing screen right up to his face.

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To catch the last design project before Christmas, I’d been on business trips for three straight days. On the high-speed train back, I absentmindedly scrolled into a livestream titled “Daily Life of a Kept College Girl.” “My sugar daddy’s wife is on a business trip, so to save money on hotels, he let me stay at his place. Today’s the last day!” On screen, the girl wore a silk nightgown, pouting as she complained. A comment asked: “If he’s this cheap, why are you even with him?” She smiled smugly. “My sugar daddy’s a freeloader himself, but his wife is a famous designer!” “He supports me entirely with his wife’s money.” The camera panned, revealing a familiar curved balcony, custom bookshelves, a planet lamp… Frame by frame, it was all the home I’d designed myself. She winked playfully at the camera: “My sugar daddy says after New Year’s, he’ll use his wife’s year-end bonus to pay for my down payment.” “And he’ll even have his wife personally design my wedding suite. Just thinking about it is so thrilling.” The moment the livestream ended, a message from my husband Lucas popped up: “Honey, I transferred twenty thousand from your card. Needed it urgently.” 0

The scenery outside the train window blurred into a gray-white haze. I stared at my phone screen, my fingertips ice-cold. Lucas’s message still glowed there. Seeing I hadn’t responded for ages, he sent another. “Honey, are you still busy? Why aren’t you replying?” I took a deep breath and tapped on the screen: “Bad signal on the train. I’ll be home in two hours.” Lucas replied almost instantly. “Why are you coming back early? I’ll wait for you at home. Take your time on the way back.” I stared at those words, suddenly feeling disoriented. I ignored him and switched back to the short video app, finding the profile of that livestreamer. On her profile page, she’d posted a new video just one minute ago. I clicked on it. On screen was the same girl in the silk robe. She blinked at the camera, her voice syrupy sweet. “Oh no! My sugar daddy’s wife is coming home from her trip early. I’ve got to go!” She waved a sparkly earring at the camera, her lips curled in a smug smile. “This? I’m going to hide it under the pillow as a little gift for his wife. Do you think she’ll find it?” At the end of the video, she leaned close to the camera and lowered her voice: “Want to keep watching me and my sugar daddy’s daily life? Join the fan group and I’ll share more~” My finger moved faster than my brain—I clicked to request entry to the group. The system approved me instantly. The group announcement hung there, glaring: “Welcome to Jane’s Sweet Little Nest~ My sugar daddy totally spoils me!” I exited the app and closed my eyes. Lucas and I had been married for five years. We’d been together since college. When he was pursuing me, he ate instant noodles for a month just to save up money to buy me a necklace. After we married, he started a business and lost everything, even racking up a mountain of debt. My career had just started then, but I took on the burden of our household without a second thought. He cried and said, “Honey, when I turn things around, I’ll make sure you have a good life.” I held him tight. “Okay. I’ll wait for that day.” I drew designs until dawn every day, thinking that if I took on more projects, we could pay off his debts sooner. When I opened my eyes again, the view outside the window showed the familiar lights of my city. We’d arrived. I dragged my suitcase, practically rushing home. I pushed open the door. Lucas emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron, his face full of smiles. “You’re back? Are you tired? I made you noodles.” I said nothing. I changed my shoes and headed straight to the bedroom. Walking to the bed, I reached under the pillow. Nothing. “What’s wrong? Looking for something?” Lucas’s voice came from the doorway. I turned around, unable to force any expression onto my face. “Nothing. Just a bit tired.” He walked closer, trying to take my suitcase. Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression clearly stiffening for a moment. Then he turned and headed to the bathroom. “Let me take this call.” The door was ajar. I stood where I was, hearing a girl’s soft voice drift through the gap into my ears. “When are you coming over… I miss you…” It sounded like the voice from the livestream. My nails dug into my palms. A few minutes later, he rushed out to grab his coat. “My friend… suddenly got sick. I’m going to check on him.” “Also, I’m a bit short on cash. Honey, can you transfer me some more?” I grabbed his hand. “Which friend? Is it serious? Let me come with you.” 0

“Really, you don’t need to. You just got back from a trip—rest up.” Lucas pressed down on my hand reaching for my coat, his tone urgent. I looked up and saw several red marks on his neck. “What happened to your neck?” I stared at him. He frantically covered them with his hand, his eyes darting away. “Ah… probably mosquito bites. They’re really itchy.” With that, he rushed out the door, even forgetting to take his scarf. Maybe I was too exhausted. I’d been working nonstop on projects lately, and then this happened. I lay on the bed, my head buzzing. Before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep. When I opened my eyes again, the room was pitch black. I fumbled for my phone—it was midnight. The screen was still on the fan group interface for that girl named Jane. The latest messages were all from her, just posted: [Tonight my sugar daddy is still with me~ I just acted cute and he came running] Below was a photo. The lighting was ambiguous. A girl leaned against a man’s shoulder. The man’s face was covered with a sticker, but that familiar black mole on the side of his neck—I recognized it instantly. It was Lucas. The gray hoodie he wore was the birthday gift I’d given him last year. And Jane was wearing his shirt, loose and oversized. [My sugar daddy says I can’t leave hickeys anymore! Because his wife asked him about them!] [As compensation… he gave me his wife’s Bulgari necklace~] She posted another picture. My breath caught. That was part of my dowry from my mother, a limited edition piece she’d brought back from Italy. It went missing last year. Lucas had even helped me search for it for ages, saying we must have accidentally thrown it out while cleaning. So it wasn’t thrown out. It was stolen to give away. I tossed my phone aside, wanting to close my eyes and keep sleeping. But every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was that photo. Jane leaning against his shoulder, smiling. Him looking down at her, his gaze painfully tender. That was an expression I hadn’t seen in a long time. Half-asleep, I struggled through until dawn, hearing the sound of keys at the door. Lucas tiptoed in, carrying the cold from outside. He walked to the bedside and tucked the blanket around me. I opened my eyes. He jumped. “Did I wake you?” “Lucas,” I called out to him, my voice hoarse. “This New Year, come back with me to see my parents.” He froze, obvious hesitation flashing across his face. He mumbled an “mm” and looked away. I continued, “Which friend was sick yesterday? I’m free today. Let’s go visit.” His shoulders visibly stiffened, and his speech quickened. “You don’t know them, and… and they were already discharged today. No need to go.” More lies. I watched him nervously swallow, and suddenly felt a wave of nausea. “Honey…” He suddenly moved closer, lifting the blanket and lying down. His arm came around to hold me, his face buried in my neck. “Don’t ask anymore. Just let me hold you for a while.” He carried a faint scent of perfume—sweet, fruity floral notes. I lay stiffly in his embrace, motionless. His hand patted my back gently, just like he used to do when coaxing me to sleep. 0

There was one day left before we’d go back to my parents’ place. At breakfast, I asked Lucas, “Can you come to the mall with me today? Let’s buy some New Year goods for Mom and Dad.” His hand pausing while peeling an egg, he didn’t look at me. “Vivian, I… I found a day-labor job. Today’s my first day. I want to earn money myself to buy gifts for your parents. That shows more sincerity.” As he said this, his gaze drifted toward the window, his ears slightly red. But I still nodded, even managing a smile. “That’s great. It’s the thought that counts.” He looked relieved, hurriedly finished eating, grabbed his coat, and headed out. The moment the door closed, the smile collapsed from my face. My phone vibrated. It was Jane’s fan group. She’d posted a voice message: [Sisters, my sugar daddy has to go back to his hometown with his wife for Christmas~ Today he’s treating me to an early “New Year’s dinner” to console my wounded little heart~] Below was a restaurant location. I stared at that address, then suddenly grabbed my car keys and followed. The restaurant’s lighting was dim and intimate, the air filled with expensive perfume and the scent of fresh bread. I sat in the most secluded booth with an untouched glass of water in front of me. Then I saw them walk in. Lucas wore the cashmere coat I’d bought him just last month, with Jane on his arm. The server led them to the best window seat. “Lucas, isn’t this place really expensive?” Jane rested her chin on her hand, her eyes bright as she looked at him. “For you, it’s worth it.” Lucas pushed the menu toward her. “See what you want to eat. Today, you’re the priority.” Jane’s slender fingers pointed at items on the menu as she leaned softly toward Lucas. Lucas naturally put his arm around her shoulder, his chin nearly touching the top of her head. “I can’t spend New Year with you, so today I’ll make it all up to you.” “Hmph, you just know how to sweet-talk me. When are you going to leave her?” Jane pouted, her tone coquettish. Lucas lowered his head, leaning close to her ear. “Just wait a bit longer. That old hag—if it weren’t for her money… I’d have stopped bothering with her ages ago.” Jane immediately beamed, quickly kissing his cheek. “What about my New Year gift you promised me?” “Don’t worry. I already paid the twenty thousand down payment on the house.” Lucas tapped her nose, his eyes full of affection. They said much more after that. Every sentence was like a poisoned needle piercing my ears. I gripped my water glass tightly, nails digging into my palm, yet I felt no pain. My stomach churned violently. The few bites of bread I’d forced down earlier felt like stones lodged inside. They ate for a long time, their behavior growing increasingly intimate. When they finally got up to leave, Lucas actually bent down and kissed Jane’s forehead—so tenderly. After they left, I immediately drove home. I burst through the door, not even bothering to change my shoes, and rushed straight to the bathroom. Kneeling by the toilet, I vomited up all the nausea I’d held back at the restaurant. Why? When your business failed and you were drowning in debt, I stayed up late with you figuring out solutions, desperately taking on projects to pay back the money. Have you forgotten those days? Now that life has finally stabilized and the debt is almost paid off… The sound of keys turning. Lucas was home. Hearing the commotion, he ran to the bathroom door and saw my state. He froze for a moment. Then his face filled with familiar concern. “Vivian? Why are you throwing up? Did you eat something bad?” He crouched down, his warm palm patting my back with gentle motions, his tone anxious. Completely different from the man who’d just been in that restaurant with his arm around another woman, speaking such heartless words. I lifted my head and looked at this face I’d loved for nearly ten years. “Lucas, that twenty thousand—where did you spend it?”

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Grandma was on her deathbed, barely able to speak, but she managed to whisper that her only wish was to see me get married. I sobbed uncontrollably, and my entire family’s eyes turned to Fudge standing behind me. Fudge sighed, gently wiped away my tears, and led me out to the hallway. But the moment the door closed behind us, his expression turned cold. “Yolanda, we’ve been together seven years. You know I hate being forced into things more than anything.” “Relationships should develop naturally. They shouldn’t be swayed by anyone else’s opinions.” His hand brushed through my hair, still somewhat soothing. “There’s no rush to get married. Let’s wait until my company goes public and things stabilize, okay?” “I have a meeting tonight. Just handle your family for now. I’ll bring you a gift when I get back.” Before I could respond, he turned and left, walking side by side with his female secretary. The moment their figures disappeared behind the elevator doors, I saw the secretary rise on her tiptoes and naturally adjust his tie. And he didn’t push her away. I dried my tears and returned to the hospital room, smiling as I took Grandma’s hand. “Grandma, don’t worry. I’m getting married in three days.” “Before I walk down the aisle, I’ll be waiting for you to brush my hair yourself.”

Hearing me say this, everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. Grandma’s eyes even reddened as she said “good” several times. After driving my parents home, Mom called me into the study alone. “Yolanda, there’s something I’ve been holding back for a long time, but I need to tell you.” She hesitated, looking at me with eyes full of reluctance. “Last month on your birthday, Fudge came to give you a gift but said he was busy and left after barely five minutes.” “But half an hour later, my friend saw him at a pet hospital in the south part of town, accompanying a woman in loungewear while her dog was being treated. It seemed to be that Secretary Shen of his…” Mom pushed a photo toward me. In the photo, Sharon was holding a bandaged puppy in her arms, looking up with a smile and saying something. Beside her, Fudge had his head lowered, listening intently. The indulgence and affection in his eyes were almost overflowing. Even without any intimate gestures, the two of them seemed connected by invisible threads, forming a clear boundary between themselves and everyone around them. Looking at Fudge like this, I felt disoriented for a moment. Once upon a time, he used to look at me with that same focused, passionate gaze every day, his emotions constantly swayed by my joys and sorrows. Not like today, when my tears hadn’t even dried before he demanded in a stern voice that I be considerate and mature, not to cause him more trouble. “Yolanda, you and Fudge have been together all these years. If he wanted to propose, he’s had plenty of opportunities.” “The way he’s being forced into this today—Mom’s just afraid you’ll suffer later. Maybe you should…” Before Mom could finish, I cut her off with a calm voice. “Mom, I am getting married. But who says I’m marrying Fudge?” By the time I got back from my parents’ house, it was late at night. I pushed open the door to find Fudge surprisingly still awake, sitting on the sofa in loungewear, watching the US stock market. Seeing me return, he closed his laptop, removed his glasses, and gave me a searching look. “Why so late today?” I forced a smile. I originally wanted to say that he had plenty of nights when he came home even later than this, but when the words reached my lips, I felt it was pointless. I gave a perfunctory response. “Nothing much. Just spent some extra time talking with Mom.” Fudge nodded, picked up a dazzling necklace from the jewelry box on the table, stood up, and walked toward me. “Yolanda, thank you for helping me deal with the marriage pressure.” “You know, marrying you has always been my plan for the future. It’s just that the timing isn’t right yet. I only want to give you the most grand wedding…” As he spoke, he tried to pull me into his embrace as usual and put the necklace on me. Ever since we started dating, whenever Fudge did something that hurt me, he would give me gifts to compensate. But in the past, no matter how expensive the gift was for him at the time, he would always feel guilty, carefully holding his sincere heart while apologizing, hoping to make me happy again. Not like now, with his face completely calm, his eyes containing nothing but the composure of someone in complete control, devoid of any tenderness. This version of him already felt sufficiently unfamiliar to me. I tilted my head away, dodging his hand and avoiding his embrace. “Fudge, there’s no need for this anymore.” “Let’s end this here.”

Fudge’s expression darkened abruptly. “Yolanda, you were never someone who acted on impulse like this.” “Just because I didn’t agree to get married right now? Did you coordinate this with your family on purpose, using this to force my hand?” I looked up, meeting the anger in his eyes with complete calm. “I’m not forcing you, Fudge. I’m the one who doesn’t want to be with you anymore.” His expression grew even darker. “We’ve been together seven years. No one knows your feelings for me better than I do.” “Don’t play hard-to-get with me. I’m not falling for that trick.” He was convinced I was throwing a tantrum, convinced I was using Grandma’s situation to pressure him into compromising, to force him to propose immediately. Looking at him, I suddenly found it all laughable. Laughable that I’d persisted all these years. Laughable that it took me until now to see clearly what a cold, selfish person he was. “I’m not playing hard-to-get, Fudge. You’re too self-centered.” “You only ever think about yourself, about your company, about your reputation.” “But you’ve never considered me or my family’s wishes.” As if I’d struck a nerve, his expression grew even uglier, and his voice rose considerably. “I work myself to the bone trying to get my company to go public—isn’t that all for giving you a better life in the future?” “I’m postponing the wedding to give you a grand ceremony, aren’t I?” “Yolanda, why can’t you just be more understanding and stop trying to force me to do things I don’t want to do?” Understanding? My nose stung with tears. Haven’t I been understanding enough? Shortly after we got together, because he repeatedly told me I was too sharp-edged, I learned to restrain myself, to retreat further and further. All these years, even though I desperately wanted to get married, I kept considering his various excuses and repeatedly convinced myself and my family to postpone. Even now, because I loved him, I tolerated his intimacy with Sharon over and over, hypnotizing myself into believing he still loved me. This version of myself disgusted even me, let alone anyone else. “Fudge, whether you believe it or not, I’ve had enough.” “I don’t want to wait for you anymore. I don’t want to revolve around your schedule anymore. And I definitely don’t want to watch you and Sharon carry on ambiguously.” At the mention of Sharon, something flickered in his eyes before being covered by anger again. “I’ve told you countless times, she and I are just colleagues. Stop being unreasonable.” “The wedding is non-negotiable. We have to wait until my company goes public and stabilizes.” “No matter how much you make a scene, it won’t change anything!” With that, he threw the necklace onto the sofa, turned around, and left. The door slammed shut with a bang. The framed photo hanging in the entryway fell and shattered on impact. This apartment was one we bought together in our third year. I handled all the decorating myself. Every corner held my expectations from back then. But now, all that remained was overwhelming disappointment. The warmth from those early days was completely gone. I opened the closet, took out my clothes, folded them one by one, and placed them in the suitcase I’d prepared in advance. From the study, I only took necessary documents. I left everything else untouched. After packing everything, I contacted a courier service and had my suitcase sent to the apartment I’d rented in advance. Once I’d finished all this, I sat on the sofa in a daze. My phone suddenly vibrated twice. A notification that Sharon, whom I’d marked as a special contact, had posted a new update. “Period cramps are killing me, but someone made me brown sugar water. I’m so blessed.” The accompanying photo was taken in a kitchen. A broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted man in a crisp suit was wearing a teddy bear apron, standing with his back to the camera in front of the stove. Even without seeing his face, you could tell from his body language how relaxed and at ease Fudge was in this moment—completely different from the coldness he showed me. In the past, facing Sharon’s overt and covert provocations, I would always lose control and demand an explanation from Fudge. Now, I simply raised my hand, calmly liked the post, then blocked both Fudge and Sharon.

Soon after, there was a knock at the door, and I received an email. Opening it, I found a wedding invitation with a deep red background and gold embossed patterns. At the same time, my phone showed a message from Lucas Ashford. He was an investor I’d met through an elder’s introduction. He was steady and reliable in his dealings. Three days ago, when I set the wedding date, I reached an agreement with him to get married that same evening. “Yolanda, did you receive the invitation? This is the design you selected. Does the sample meet your expectations?” I was slightly taken aback, not expecting him to be so efficient and thorough. This sense of reliability was something I had never received from Fudge. I came back to my senses and sent Lucas a positive confirmation. Looking down again at the date on the invitation, there were still three days. That was enough time. The next morning, I went to the company. I wanted to wrap up my project. As soon as I walked into the office area, scattered discussions drifted from nearby. “Did you see Secretary Shen’s post yesterday? Mr. Harrington personally made her brown sugar water.” “The whole company’s been talking about it, and Mr. Harrington hasn’t clarified anything. Obviously, he’s acknowledging it.” “I think Secretary Shen and Mr. Harrington make a great couple. They look perfect together.” I paused slightly. Back when Fudge said office romances weren’t appropriate, we concealed our relationship. Now he didn’t care anymore? Several colleagues saw me, and the discussions stopped abruptly. Their expressions turned panicked and awkward. Before Sharon appeared, when they knew the company was co-founded by Fudge and me after college graduation, they used to ship us together. I understood and said reassuringly: “Don’t be nervous. They really are well-matched.” Just as I finished speaking, a furious voice came from behind me. “Yolanda!” Fudge approached with an icy aura, striding up to me with a dark expression, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding colleagues. Everyone immediately lowered their heads, not daring to make another sound. “Come with me.” He turned and walked into the office first. I followed him in. After closing the door, Fudge turned around and looked at me silently for a moment. “What did you mean by liking Sharon’s post yesterday? And what did you mean by blocking me?” I leaned against the door, my expression indifferent. “The like was genuine well-wishes. I blocked you because we’ve already broken up. There’s no need to keep private contact information.” Fudge’s anger intensified. “Well-wishes? Do you know your like made Sharon feel guilty all night? She kept apologizing to me, saying she caused you to misunderstand.” I found it absurd and couldn’t help laughing. “Fudge, if she really felt guilty, she should apologize to me.” “But you and I are already over. Whatever happens between you and Sharon has nothing to do with me.” “Whether she feels guilty or not isn’t something I need to consider.” Fudge stared at me, practically grinding his teeth. “Fine. Yolanda, you’ve got guts. I’d like to see how long you can keep this up.” With that, he raised his hand and told me to get out. Less than ten minutes after returning to my workstation, the company’s internal group chat posted the latest personnel change announcement. My position as project director had been revoked. Sharon was directly taking over the core project I’d worked on for half a year that was about to launch. And I had been transferred to the logistics department, responsible for trivial administrative tasks. Looking at the words on screen, my heart still uncontrollably ached for a moment. Actually, I’d already planned to resign. I just wanted to see my final project through before leaving, since it carried all the heart and soul of my career so far. I thought that even if our relationship had fallen apart, the bond from building the company together would remain. But now it seemed that was just my wishful thinking. Still, this was fine. At least it would allow me to cut ties sooner. I opened my computer and had just finished writing my resignation letter when I received a message from Lucas’s assistant. “Miss Yolanda, Mr. Ashford says the wedding dress has been custom-made to your measurements. You can go to the shop after work to try it on. Contact me anytime if there are any issues.” After work, I left the company and found the wedding dress shop according to the address. A clerk greeted me warmly: “Are you Miss Yolanda? Mr. Ashford has already informed us. Your wedding dress is in the fitting room.” The satin material was simple and clean, making my figure look elegant and poised. Standing before the full-length mirror, looking at myself in the wedding dress, my thoughts churned uncontrollably. Fudge once said that when the company stabilized, he would order the most premium wedding dress in the city and give me a wedding everyone would envy. I believed him. So I waited year after year, from hopeful anticipation to complete disillusionment. My nose suddenly stung, and tears still fell. I wasn’t sad for Fudge. I was sad for the version of myself who foolishly gave seven years of genuine devotion. Just then, the respectful voice of a clerk came from outside the shop door. “Mr. Harrington, you’re here.”

My entire body stiffened. I slowly turned around. Fudge stood at the shop entrance, his gaze falling on me, his face full of shock. He quickly noticed my reddened eyes. Something shifted in his expression, producing a hint of softness as he walked up to me. “The wedding dress suits you very well. If you like it, I’ll buy it for you.” He paused, then continued, “I have been neglecting you lately, but it’s also because you’ve been too disobedient, always forcing me to do things I don’t want to do. Be good and listen to me. Once the company goes public and stabilizes, I’ll definitely marry you.” He seemed to think I came here alone to try on wedding dresses because I wanted to marry him. I was about to explain when Sharon’s soft, delicate voice came from behind me. “Fudge, I’ve chosen my wedding dress. Have you picked out your suit?” Sharon, wearing a white dress, walked over to Fudge and intimately hooked her arm through his. Fudge’s body instantly tensed. He hastily tried to push her away, but afraid of being too obvious, he could only offer a flustered explanation. “Yolanda, don’t misunderstand. Sharon just wanted to experience what it’s like to wear a wedding dress, but she doesn’t have any other male friends.” “You know how girls are—they see videos and want to try the trend.” In the past, I begged and pleaded for him to accompany me to try on a wedding dress just once, but he said I was brainwashed by the internet, that a wedding dress was just a piece of clothing and there was no need to make a big deal of it. But now, he was willing to take time out to help Sharon choose a wedding dress. I didn’t want to say anything more to him. I turned to leave. But Sharon quickly stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. “Miss, Mr. Harrington is telling the truth. If you’re still angry, just hit me!” Before I could react, her body swayed and she fell toward the ground, letting out a soft cry. “Ah!” She weakly pressed her ankle, her face pale, looking extremely pained. “Fudge, I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much.” Seeing this, Fudge immediately pushed me aside and rushed to support Sharon, his eyes full of fury as he looked at me. “Yolanda, you’ve gone too far!” Without any hesitation, he scooped Sharon up and headed outside. Watching his hurried departing figure, I only felt it was laughable. This wasn’t the first time Sharon had used such tactics to frame me. In the past, I thought Fudge was being deceived. Now I finally understood—he wasn’t blind in the eyes, he was blind in the heart. His heart never had room for me, which is why he sided with Sharon time and time again without asking for the truth. I returned to my temporary apartment. My phone kept buzzing with messages, all from Fudge’s work number. “Yolanda, come to the hospital immediately and apologize to Sharon, or I’ll postpone our wedding indefinitely.” “Even if your grandma really is dying this time, I won’t soften!” Message after message, every word dripping with selfishness and tyranny. He even cursed my grandmother. I was so angry I felt nauseous. I directly deleted and blocked his work number too. After doing all this, I opened the company’s HR system and formally submitted my resignation letter. The moment the email sent successfully, all the darkness in my heart completely dissipated. Meanwhile, Fudge had just finished sending his text messages with a dark expression. Sharon spoke softly. “Fudge, is Yolanda really angry at me? It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, none of this would have happened.” “It’s not your fault. Yolanda is being unreasonable. Don’t worry, I’ll definitely give you an explanation!” Fudge consoled her, his tone full of conviction. In the past, whenever he threatened to postpone the wedding, Yolanda would take the initiative to back down. He was confident this time would be the same. But early the next morning, he received a call from HR. “Mr. Harrington, Miss Yolanda has submitted a formal resignation letter. She’s very determined. We can’t talk her out of it.” Hearing this, Fudge immediately flew into a rage and drove to our apartment. But when he opened the door, everything belonging to me had already disappeared. He took out his phone to message me through his work number, only to find he’d been blocked there too. An inexplicable panic rose in Fudge’s heart. And all his unease reached its peak when he saw the bright red invitation on the table. In the bride’s position was my name. But in the groom’s position was not his name. In an instant, Fudge’s face turned as white as paper. The invitation slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.

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I took three days of sick leave for a minor surgery. When I returned, the whole school was spreading rumors—that I’d gone to get an abortion. Ava posted my photo from behind on the forum with a caption: “If you know, you know.” I tried to explain. No one listened. I pulled out my medical records. They said it could be forged. My homeroom teacher only said four words: “The innocent need no defense.” Later, thugs blocked me at the school gate, calling me “cheap.” After that, I swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills. My mom held my ice-cold body and wailed all night. The next day, she hanged herself from the old oak tree. Then I opened my eyes again. My phone screen was lit. Ava’s post had been up for just nine minutes. This time, I didn’t type out an explanation. I pulled up a photo I’d casually taken at the hospital three days ago— Ava herself, standing in front of the OB-GYN registration window. I clicked reply, attached the photo, and typed a line: “What a coincidence. Are you here for an abortion too?” **Chapter One** A dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen. I lay on my side in my rented room, staring at the peeling white paint on the wall, waiting for the pain to pass. Third day after my ovarian cyst removal surgery. The stitched incision pulled and twinged with every movement. My phone vibrated under my pillow. Once. Twice. Then it wouldn’t stop. I fished it out. The screen glared painfully bright. Notifications from the school forum flooded in. The message count stuck at “99+”. I clicked in. Pinned post. Bold red title— “Sophomore Class 6 girl takes sick leave? I ran into her at the OB-GYN, if you know what I mean.” The attached image showed someone from behind. Hospital gown, clutching a blue medical file folder, hair down, walking out of the OB-GYN corridor. It was me. Posted by—Ava. The comments had exploded. “Holy shit, that bookworm from Class 6? Her image just collapsed?” “Three days sick leave, OB-GYN, hahaha I get it.” “Getting an abortion and openly taking leave? That’s bold.” “Ava never misses when she calls someone out. Waiting for the original poster to explain.” “Poor thing, even teacher’s pets have their day.” I gripped my phone. My knuckles turned white. The swelling pain spread from my abdomen to my stomach, acid rising to my throat. Then the memories came crashing down. I remembered the stares in the hallway when I returned to school. I remembered the two red words spray-painted on my desk. I remembered showing them my medical records to explain, and someone rolling their eyes and saying “probably forged.” I remembered my homeroom teacher leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping the desk: “The innocent need no defense. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” I remembered the thugs blocking me at the school gate calling me “cheap.” I remembered the note slipped under my dorm door that said “go die.” I remembered my mom standing at the office door with a bag of farm eggs, smiling apologetically and saying “Teacher, please help,” then getting pushed out and her knee hitting the threshold. I remembered counting sleeping pills that night. When I got to the thirty-seventh pill, my hand shook. I remembered that my final conscious moment was filled only with blurred wailing. My mom collapsed over my already-cold body, crying until she couldn’t breathe. The next day. She joined me at the old oak tree by our house. I gasped sharply, my spine jerking away from the mattress. The surgical incision in my lower abdomen tore with a line of searing pain. Real pain. I looked down and saw the gauze bulging under my hospital gown. The stitches had been removed today. I’d returned to my rental this morning. The post on my phone— I glanced at the posting time. Nine minutes ago. I was alive again. My heartbeat hammered against my ribs. Heavy and dull. At this moment in my past life, I’d been crying under my covers. I’d cried all night, drafted over a dozen explanatory messages, deleting and retyping, typing and deleting. The next day I’d returned to school with swollen red eyes and medical records, beginning the final month countdown of my life. This time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t type. I opened my photo album and scrolled back. Three days ago in the hospital waiting area, I’d casually snapped a photo of the lobby to send my mom and let her know I was okay. In the bottom right corner of the photo, in front of the OB-GYN registration window, stood a person. High ponytail, white T-shirt, school jacket draped over her forearm. Her ID card sat on the counter. Ava. In my past life, I’d never opened that photo a second time. Back then I’d been too busy explaining, begging, being afraid. I couldn’t even hold onto my own life. Who had time to wonder why Ava was at the OB-GYN too? But this life was different. This life, I knew. I opened the forum and found Ava’s post. 1,200 comments already. I pressed “reply.” Uploaded the photo. Typed word by word— “What a coincidence. Are you here for an abortion too?” Send. I set down my phone and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. The incision still hurt. But something in my chest had ignited, rising from my stomach, burning until my eyes stung. It wasn’t grief. It was hate. In my past life, I’d begged everyone on my knees. This life, no more kneeling. Half an hour later, I picked up my phone. Comment count: 1,487. The top comments had completely changed. “Wait wait wait, Ava was at the OB-GYN too??” “I zoomed in—that really is Ava!” “The timestamps match! Same day!” “So when Ava was photographing someone else, she was registering herself??” “The bookworm just counterattacked hahaha!” “Ava babe, who really got the abortion?” “Waiting for the school belle to respond.” My inbox had exploded too. First message from a classmate: “Sophia, are you crazy?! Do you know what Ava’s like when you provoke her?” Second, third messages from strangers, all “666” and spectator emojis. And one more. From Ava. Two words— “Delete it.” I stared at those two words. **Didn’t you say in my past life that the innocent need no defense? Panicking now?** I didn’t reply. I shoved my phone under my pillow. Closed my eyes. Tomorrow I’d return to school. The real show was just beginning. **Chapter Two** Ava’s messages kept coming. “Sophia, are you insane?” “Where did you get that photo?” “I’m warning you, delete it right now, or don’t blame me for what happens.” I didn’t reply. The forum had already gone wild. Ava’s fans and bystanders were fighting like mad. “Ava was at the OB-GYN? What’s going on?” “Reminder: OB-GYN doesn’t just treat pregnancy, they treat other gynecological issues too. Ava might have just been getting a regular checkup.” “Then Sophia might have been getting a regular checkup too! Why didn’t Ava say that about her?” “Shot herself in the foot lol.” “Don’t pick sides yet, wait for the school belle’s response.” Ava’s fourth message came through. Her tone had changed. “Sophie, is there some misunderstanding between us? That post was really just a joke. I’ll delete it tomorrow. Can you delete the photo too? Let’s both stop this, okay?” Sophie. She called me Sophie. She’d called me that in my past life too. On the third day after the whole school mocked me, she “ran into” me in the cafeteria, smiled and put her arm around my shoulder: “Sophie, don’t take it to heart. Everyone’s just joking.” Then she turned around and sent a voice message in her group chat: “This is too funny, she actually believed it.” I typed. “Ava, I’m not going to argue with you on the forum. Just answer me one thing.” “That day at the OB-GYN, were you seeing the doctor for your aunt or your uncle?” Send. The “typing” indicator in the chat box flashed once, then disappeared. One minute. Three minutes. Five minutes. I stared at that silent conversation. In my past life, after Ava’s situation was completely exposed—which happened after I died—many things came to light. I didn’t know what happened to her after. But I knew why she went to the OB-GYN. I knew who that “uncle” was who picked her up every Saturday. I knew what she feared most. At the six-minute mark, Ava’s messages exploded. “What do you mean?!” “Are you stalking me??” “Sophia, are you sick? Do you even know what you’re saying!” “My aunt is in that hospital! What’s wrong with visiting her??” “If you dare spread lies I’ll make sure you can’t stay at this school!!!” Five messages in less than a minute. Every word dripped with cracks. I replied with one word. “Oh.” Then closed the chat. Twenty minutes later, Ava’s original post on the forum was edited. A new paragraph appeared— “Let me clarify for everyone! That day I was visiting my aunt who was hospitalized~ I happened to pass by the OB-GYN corridor and saw a certain classmate. I just thought it was a coincidence so I mentioned it casually, no malicious intent! As for the photo that certain classmate posted—I was at the registration window helping my aunt register~ Hope everyone views this rationally and doesn’t over-interpret♡” Seconds later, supporting comments popped up in perfect formation. Uniform rhythm, similar wording, obviously pre-arranged. “Sis said she was visiting her aunt, stop stirring things up!” “Sophia’s photo only shows Ava standing at the window, doesn’t show what she was registering for. Taking things out of context.” “The bookworm got called out so she’s viciously biting back, classic.” Public opinion began to sway. Some people swung back to Ava’s side. Others were still watching. But it was so much better than my past life. In my past life at this point, the comments were completely one-sided. Because I’d done nothing. I’d only hidden under my covers refreshing the page over and over, watching those comments drown me alive. This life, at least half the people were asking—”So why exactly was Ava at the registration window?” That was enough. The first cut didn’t need to go too deep. Making her panic was enough. I rolled over and put my phone on silent. **You think you can get away with making up “visiting my aunt”? Ava, your aunt wasn’t at that hospital that day. I checked in my past life. This life, I’ll make sure everyone can check too.** Tomorrow back to school. The real show hadn’t even started yet. **Chapter Three** When I walked into the school building, people in the hallway parted to make way. Not out of respect. Out of spectacle. Whispered buzzing, elbows nudging elbows, some people holding up phones to film me. A laugh came from behind: “That’s her.” I pushed open the back door to Class 6. The buzzing chatter in the classroom cut off. Forty pairs of eyes turned toward me in unison. Too uniform to be natural. A few boys whistled. “Yo, the bookworm’s back—” “All recovered now?” I didn’t look at them. Because I saw my desk. Two words spray-painted on the surface. Red paint. Large. “SLUT.” The paint hadn’t fully dried. The edges bled into rough tendrils. The pungent chemical smell rushed in, stinging my eyes until they watered. My chair lay overturned on the floor. Books from my desk drawer scattered everywhere, textbook pages torn to shreds. The classroom went silent for a second, then erupted in laughter. Someone applauded. Someone filmed with their phone. I stood there, hands at my sides. The incision in my lower abdomen started aching from walking too much. I scanned the classroom. In the back row by the window, Rachel sat with her head down playing on her phone, fingers tucked in her sleeves. But I saw a bit of red at the edge of her sleeve. Third row, class president Ethan sat ramrod straight. His gaze met mine for a moment. Then he looked away. Lowered his head, staring at the open textbook in front of him. In my past life, I’d gone crying to him. He’d said: “Sophia, stop making trouble. The more you make a fuss, the worse it gets for you.” Then closed his pen cap and turned his head toward the window. I remembered that sentence for a whole lifetime. That lifetime was very short. **You saw. You always saw.** **But you chose to pretend you didn’t.** The laughter continued. Someone shouted: “Sophia, that paint cost a lot of money. Consider it a welcome gift.” I didn’t wipe the desk. Didn’t cry. Didn’t explain. I pulled out my phone from my pocket. Opened the camera, aimed it at my desk, pressed the shutter three times. Different angles, capturing the red words, the overturned chair, the shredded textbooks. Then switched to my contacts. The classroom laughter gradually faded. Because they saw the three digits on my phone screen. 9-1-

I pressed the call button and raised the phone to my ear. The entire classroom went dead silent. “Hello, High-Tech District Experimental High School, Grade 11 Class 6. My name is Sophia. My desk has been spray-painted with offensive language and my personal property has been deliberately destroyed. I have photos of the scene. Please dispatch officers.” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word drove into the silence. Rachel’s phone dropped to the floor in the back row. No one picked it up. Thirty seconds later, the classroom door flew open. Homeroom teacher Mr. Walker rushed in, his expression caught between panic and anger. “Sophia! What are you doing?” He grabbed my wrist holding the phone: “Hang up! Do you know what you’re doing!” I looked up at him. “Mr. Walker, please let go. I’m filing a police report. Interfering with a police call is illegal.” His fingers froze. The entire classroom—forty students plus students from the next class peeking in the doorway—everyone watched as— The homeroom teacher gripped the wrist of the most invisible scholarship student in class, while the scholarship student calmly continued her police report. He let go. Stepped back. The voice on the phone said something. I said: “Okay. I’ll wait in the classroom.” Hung up. Put the phone back in my pocket. Bent down to pick up my chair and sat down beside the spray-painted desk. Took out my notebook, turned to the first page, and started copying the formula on the blackboard. No one around me spoke. No one laughed anymore. Mr. Walker stood by the podium, his lips moving several times, but in the end said nothing and left. His phone call echoed from the hallway, voice kept low, but I caught one word—”dispatch.” I continued copying formulas. The scratching of pen on paper was the only sound in the entire classroom. **Ava, in my past life you killed with words. This life I’ll use the law. Let’s see who falls first.** **Chapter Four** The police arrived quickly. When two uniformed officers walked into the classroom, the substitute math teacher stopped mid-chalk stroke. The whole class’s attention shifted from the blackboard to the door, then to me. I stood up, took my phone and backpack, and followed them out. Many people in the hallway craned their necks to look. Passing the neighboring class’s door, a girl held up her phone filming me. Taking the statement took forty minutes. In the small room in the dean’s office, I showed the police the photos on my phone and explained everything step by step. The post. The photo from behind. The forum attacks. The spray-painted desk. The older officer finished recording and looked up: “Do you have any suspects?” “Rachel, my classmate. She has red paint residue under her fingernails.” After finishing the statement, I came out to an empty hallway. Lunch break. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes for a moment. The incision in my lower abdomen throbbed dully. After being stuck to my clothes all day it was getting itchy. Time to change the gauze. No time for that. I rummaged through my backpack for painkillers and dry-swallowed one. The pill stuck in my throat, bitter and astringent. No classes in the afternoon. I sat in the library until five. Quiet. No one came looking for me. Not even Mr. Walker showed up. But the calm shattered at nine that evening. I’d just finished changing my gauze in my rental when my phone vibrated. Not the class group chat—I’d been kicked out long ago. The grade-level group, the kind where people rarely spoke. Today it exploded. Someone threw a video into it. The thumbnail was blurry, but you could make out a dim room, a girl and a man. The title: four words: “Sophia’s hookup.” My hand stopped. Then I clicked in. The face in the video was mine. Features, contours, hair length—all matched. But it wasn’t me. AI face-swap. In my past life, this video spread throughout the entire school two weeks before I died. After watching it, I locked myself in my rental for three days without eating or drinking. Three days later, I opened that bottle of sleeping pills. Now, it was back. Stomach acid surged up violently, my throat turning sour. My fingers gripped the phone’s edge, nails digging into the plastic case. Tinnitus buzzed, my heartbeat pounding against my temples. I closed my eyes. Counted to five. Opened them. The grade group had exploded. “Holy shit is this real??” “That face is so clear…” “Photoshopped right? Something feels off.” “What’s off? The face is right there!” “Isn’t she supposed to be a bookworm? Why’s she always doing this stuff…” Messages scrolled too fast. Before I could screenshot, the group admin deleted the video. But it was too late. It had already been saved, forwarded, sent to countless other groups. **In my past life, this video was the final straw that broke me.** **This life—it’s the first steel beam that will break Ava.** I swallowed my emotions. Didn’t cry. Didn’t type a defense. Opened the screen recording tool, scrolled up through the grade group chat history, and screenshot every forwarding, comment, and distribution path one by one. Captured thirty-seven images. Then opened the dialer. 911. Second time. “Hello, my name is Sophia, Grade 11 Class 6 student at High-Tech District Experimental High School. Someone has created an AI deepfake pornographic video using my facial features and is distributing it widely in the grade group and multiple social groups. I am a minor. I’m requesting to file a case.” The other end went silent for two seconds. “You’re certain it’s AI-generated?” “Certain. The body in the video is not me. I’m requesting a technical forensic analysis.” “Alright, we’ll forward this to the cybersecurity department. Preserve all relevant screenshots and links.” Hung up. My phone lit up again. Message from Ava. “Sophia, things have escalated to this point. You delete the photo from the forum, and I’ll have people take down the video. We both save face.” Save face. You destroyed my reputation with lies, nailed me to a pillar of shame with an AI face-swap. Now you want to talk about saving face. I replied with one line. “The police will find out who made the video. Ava, pray they don’t trace it back to you.” No reply from her. I closed my phone and pulled up the covers. The incision jumped beneath my waistband. I put a pillow under my lower abdomen and curled up. The bitter taste of that half-bottle of sleeping pills rose again. It still clung to the back of my throat, impossible to swallow no matter how I tried. Some things you can’t forget even after dying once. But that’s okay. This life, I won’t take them. **Chapter Five** The next day at 6:40 AM. My mom called. I looked at the word “Mom” on my screen. My heart clenched. The ringtone went four times before I answered. “Sophie honey, does your surgical incision still hurt?” Her voice was a bit hoarse, but she was trying to sound cheerful. “Not anymore, it’s almost healed.” “Is the school food good? Does the cafeteria have pork ribs?” “Yes.” “Sophie…” She stopped. A long breath on the other end. Inhale, hold it, then slowly exhale. “Sophie, is someone at school bullying you?” My fingers tightened. “Mom, no.” “Some people in town… showed me some things on their phones.” She paused, her voice starting to shake. “Sophie, none of that’s true, right? Mom knows it’s not true. Mom believes you.” I bit my lower lip. There was still a cut inside my lip from dry-swallowing painkillers yesterday. When I bit down, the metallic taste of blood spread along my tongue. Past life. In my past life she’d made this same call. I’d cried and said “Mom, I didn’t do those things.” She’d said “Mom knows. Mom will come to school tomorrow.” The next day she came. Wearing her most presentable piece—an old gray jacket, carrying a bag of farm eggs, standing at the homeroom teacher’s office door, bent over with a forced smile: “Teacher, please help. My Sophie isn’t that kind of child.” Mr. Walker didn’t even look up. “Parent, your daughter has caused quite a stir at school. I suggest she do some self-reflection. The innocent need no defense—if she hasn’t done anything, what’s there to fear?” My mom stood in the doorway holding the eggs, not knowing what to do with her hands. When she left, her knee hit the threshold. No one helped her up. Seven months later, she joined me at the old oak tree. “Mom, listen to me.” I kept my voice very steady, saying each word carefully. “Those things are all fake. Someone is trying to hurt me. But I’m handling it. I filed a police report. You don’t need to come to school.” “But—” “Mom, don’t come.” Silence on the other end. Then I heard an extremely soft sob. She was desperately holding it in. “Okay.” “Sophie, you… you have to be okay.” “Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’ll come home to see you this weekend.” Hung up. I crouched in the corner of the hallway, back against the cold wall. Hands covering my face. Didn’t cry. My eyes were dry and stinging. The incision twinged once. I stood up. **This life you don’t have to come. Don’t have to beg anyone with a bag of eggs. Don’t have to kneel. Don’t have to die.** At noon, the forum exploded again. Ava posted an audio recording. Post title: “Sophia admitted it herself—everyone listen for yourselves.” Thirty-six second audio clip. A female voice inside—my voice—crying and saying: “I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have falsely accused Ava. I made it all up, the medical records are fake. I was just jealous of her…” I listened to it. Replayed it twice. The tone was very close. The intonation mimicked my speech patterns. But there was one problem—the breath intervals in the four words “I made it all up” were too uniform. Normal people don’t speak like that. AI-synthesized audio has mechanical breathing rhythms. In my past life, I didn’t know these things. This life, on the first day after my rebirth, I’d researched everything online about AI voice detection. The comments went crazy. “Confirmed! She admitted it herself!” “LMAO where’s her face? Fake-righteous bookworm.” “Ava is finally cleared!” “So what was that police report earlier about? What performance was that?” I took screenshots and saved the original audio file link. Then made my third police call. “Hello, this is Sophia from the previous report. Someone has published an AI-forged audio recording using my voice pattern and is spreading it on the forum. I’ve saved the original link and screenshots. Please submit it for technical forensic analysis as well.” Three police calls. Within three days. Hung up. Walked into the dean’s office. Mr. Walker was inside. When he saw me, irritation flashed across his face. “Sophia, what now.” “Mr. Walker, Ava has published a forged AI voice recording impersonating me. I’ve filed a police report. This will have legal consequences.” “Legal consequences?” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sophia, can you just settle down? The way you’re making a fuss affects your own future. Do you still want that recommendation spot?” I looked at him. Behind his lenses, his eyes shifted away. “Mr. Walker. I’m sitting in front of you right now with three police report receipts in hand.” My voice wasn’t loud. “I’m the victim. You’re asking the victim to shut up.” His fingers froze on the temple of his glasses. “I’ll remember your exact words. If the follow-up investigation involves the school’s handling responsibility, the Board of Education will see them.” I stood up and walked out. Didn’t look back. The hallway was empty. Lunch break sunlight poured through the windows, bleaching the floor tiles white. I leaned against the railing and took three deep breaths. My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From anger. In my past life, I knelt and begged him for help. He gave me four words. This life I spoke to him standing up, and his first reaction was still to tell me to shut up. That’s fine. If you won’t help, I don’t need your help. But don’t block my way.

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My daughter was born prematurely and immediately sent to the incubator. Finally, the day came to bring her home from the hospital. I practically threw myself forward, clutching my daughter tightly in my arms. But the next second, I froze completely. The Blood Guanyin pendant around my neck—it hadn’t turned red? This was a gift from the Miao teacher at the orphanage, given to each of us orphans. She said the jade was sealed with our blood and a type of Miao blood parasite. Once blood relatives came near, the parasite would come alive and the pendant would turn blood red. But now, with my daughter in my arms, it didn’t move at all. My head spun and I nearly dropped the baby. If this child in my arms wasn’t my daughter, then where was the baby I’d carried for ten months and labored for fourteen hours to deliver? My face went deathly pale, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. My husband Ethan thought I was just overcome with emotion and came over with a smile: “Our daughter is finally discharged. You don’t have to worry anymore.” I grabbed his arm desperately, my voice shaking: “Ethan, this isn’t our daughter. Look at her face—she doesn’t look like either of us at all!” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders with a laugh: “Rain, you’re just too anxious! All newborns look pretty much the same. How can you tell who they look like?” “I took this baby directly from the nurse’s hands. There’s no way it’s wrong.” “But…” Cold sweat trickled down my forehead. I suddenly pulled open the baby’s swaddling, turned her body over, and with trembling fingers examined every inch of her skin. No birthmark. Her bottom was completely clean. Nothing there. My mind exploded with a buzz. “Our daughter has a red plum blossom birthmark on her bottom. After delivery, the nurse specifically showed it to me!” I was practically screaming: “This baby doesn’t have it. She’s not our daughter!” Ethan’s smile instantly froze. He looked at the baby again, his face turning white as paper. Two people with double eyelids—how could we possibly have a baby with single eyelids? Without another question, he immediately grabbed the baby and rushed out, driving straight to the hospital. I wanted to chase after them, but the C-section incision on my belly suddenly tore open. The pain made it impossible to move. I collapsed on the floor, imagining what might have happened to my daughter. Switched at birth, kidnapped by traffickers, sold to a place I’d never find… The tears wouldn’t stop. I desperately called my husband, but couldn’t get through. Time crawled by, second by second. Just as I finally managed to drag myself to the door, it suddenly opened. My husband was holding another baby, his face full of smiles: “Honey, I brought our daughter back!” “The hospital made a mistake. There were two babies in the NICU, and another baby’s father has the same name as me. The nurse grabbed the wrong one. Thank God you noticed!” I broke into tears of relief and immediately took the baby. The tiny face was about fifty percent similar to mine. Half of my anxiety finally settled. The birthmark was there too. Tears fell again. What a blessing! My daughter was finally back. But then, my hand suddenly froze. The pendant on my chest still hadn’t turned red. This baby wasn’t my daughter either?! My heart churned uneasily. I forced myself to calm down, my gaze slowly moving to Ethan’s face. “Are you sure,” I asked, word by word, “this is our daughter?” He gently took my hand and pulled a document from his bag, his tone certain: “Of course. This time I did a paternity test with our daughter. Look—confirmed father-daughter relationship.” Those words were printed clearly on the white paper. But my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a hand, tightening more and more. If the baby was my husband’s, why hadn’t the pendant turned red? Unless this DNA paternity test was fake. Or this baby wasn’t the one I gave birth to.

At the thought of these two possibilities, my back felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over it, chilling me from head to toe. I slowly raised my head to look at Ethan. His face still wore a smile. I tentatively asked: “Ethan, could this report be fake?” “What if someone deliberately stole our daughter and made a fake report to deceive you…” He interrupted me with a laugh, “Honey, you must be scared from that mix-up earlier. I promise, this time it’s definitely real.” He took our daughter and sat on the sofa, gently playing with her little face. “I already reported it to the police at the hospital. The DNA testing agency has a long-term partnership with the police. The results can’t be wrong.” “Plus, look how this baby resembles both you and me, and the birthmark is there too. It can’t be wrong.” He looked up and smiled at me: “Stop scaring yourself.” I stared intently into his eyes and said, word by word: “But my Blood Guanyin pendant hasn’t turned red!” “Don’t you remember? I told you before that if I encounter a blood relative, this pendant will turn red.” Ethan was clearly stunned for just a moment. Then he laughed, louder than before: “Honey, and you’re a college professor—you actually believe in this stuff! How could such mystical things exist in this world!” “Besides, I already did a paternity test with this baby. She’s definitely ours!” He stood up and pushed me toward the bedroom, “Stop overthinking. The doctor told me to hurry and get the baby vaccinated. Go get ready, we’re leaving soon.” I don’t know if it was just my imagination, but for a split second, I saw Ethan habitually pinch his fingers. And when he did that gesture, it meant he was nervous or lying. I said nothing more. With the mix-up that just happened, maybe he was nervous too. Perhaps he was right. I’d worn this pendant from age six until now—twenty years—and it had never turned red. Maybe it was just a hopeful story the orphanage teacher left us, a beautiful lie. I slowly pushed down the unease in my heart, held my daughter, and left with my husband. The community health center wasn’t crowded. I was filling out forms with my head down when a familiar voice suddenly came from behind me. “Rain!” I whipped my head around. It was someone I grew up with at the orphanage. Her name was Vivi, and she was smiling at me. “Rain! I can’t believe we live in the same community! Did you have a boy or a girl?” “A girl.” Her eyes lit up: “I’m so happy. We finally both have our own blood relatives.” My eyes welled up as I nodded emphatically. Just then, her husband walked over holding their baby and came up beside her. My gaze inadvertently fell on her neck. I suddenly noticed the Blood Guanyin pendant was turning red, bit by bit. I stood frozen like I’d been struck by lightning. So this pendant really does turn red when near blood relatives. So the Miao teacher from the orphanage hadn’t lied to us. My breathing became rapid. My chest felt like something was blocking it, getting tighter and tighter. Could it be that the baby my husband brought back really wasn’t my daughter? But if that wasn’t my daughter, then where was my daughter? Just as I stood there in a daze, my husband walked over holding our daughter and took my hand to leave. Looking at the pendant around my neck that still hadn’t changed color, I pushed his hand away and stared hard at my husband, demanding: “Whose bastard child is this?” “Where exactly is my daughter?”

Ethan froze on the spot. His face was full of hurt: “Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you saying this? The baby is obviously ours—mine and yours! This is our daughter!” I looked at him coldly and demanded loudly: “Stop pretending. This isn’t my daughter at all! Where did you hide my daughter?!” The crowd that heard the commotion all started pointing and whispering about us. My husband immediately panicked and lowered his voice to explain: “Rain, what’s gotten into you? The hospital did make a mistake before, but I already switched the baby back. You don’t need to be scared anymore.” He held our daughter up in front of me, showing the baby’s face. “Let everyone see how much this baby looks like you. How can you suddenly say she’s not yours? What happened?” His face was full of confusion. The onlookers’ eyes moved between me and my daughter, discussing among themselves: “Miss, this baby really does look a lot like you!” “Exactly, like she was carved from the same mold. Why are you saying she’s not your daughter?” I laughed coldly and pointed to the pendant on my chest: “Because this thing hasn’t turned red. The first time you brought a baby back, it didn’t turn red, and that really wasn’t my baby.” “This time it still hasn’t turned red, so this definitely isn’t my daughter!” Just now, Vivi told me that many of the orphanage kids had found their biological parents thanks to this red-turning pendant. This further confirmed my suspicion. Ethan looked utterly helpless, rubbing his forehead as he explained again: “Rain, I’ve told you so many times to believe in science and not those superstitions! Why won’t you listen?” “Besides, I already did a DNA paternity test with our daughter, confirming we’re father and daughter. What exactly are you doubting?” I said coldly: “Our daughter did a DNA test with you, but not with me.” Ethan looked shocked, his eyes full of hurt: “You’re… suspecting me of having an affair?” Ignoring Ethan’s wounded expression, I grabbed my friend from the orphanage: “Vivi, didn’t you just say you work at a paternity testing center?” “I’m asking you to do a DNA paternity test between me and this baby right now!” I grew up with Vivi at the orphanage. Her test report couldn’t possibly be wrong. “As long as I do a DNA paternity test with her, it will prove this isn’t my daughter! As for whether she’s your bastard child, that depends on whether you dare to test again!” Faced with my accusation, Ethan just smiled bitterly, his expression unchanged: “If this is what it takes to dispel your doubts and acknowledge our daughter, I’m willing to cooperate.” He turned to Vivi, his tone sincere: “Please arrange sample collection for all three of us immediately, and rush the results.” Seeing Ethan so open about it, doubt crept into my heart instead. Had I really made a mistake? After the blood was drawn, the wait was agonizing. A few hours later, Vivi walked in carrying a rush document envelope. With trembling hands, I tore open the envelope and pulled out the report. Black words on white paper, clear as day. “Based on available data and DNA analysis results, supports that Ethan is the biological father of the child, and supports that Rain Song is the biological mother of the child.” My mind went blank. The person doing the DNA paternity test was reliable, and DNA couldn’t be faked. Had I really made a mistake? Was this really my daughter?

My eyes turned red as I looked apologetically at my husband, my voice choked: “I’m sorry, Ethan. I misunderstood you.” Ethan pulled me into his arms, gently patting my back: “It’s okay, honey. I must not have done enough to make you this anxious.” “The doctor said you just gave birth and your hormones are unstable, making you prone to postpartum depression. I didn’t care for you enough. It’s my fault!” “I’ll hire a nanny right away to take care of you and the baby!” He looked at me tenderly, then turned to smile at Vivi: “You and Vivi haven’t seen each other in so long. Why don’t you chat and relax a bit before going home?” People crowded around, saying: “Yeah, I think this girl must have postpartum depression to be so paranoid.” “Where can you find such a good husband? You must cherish him!” “Trust is the most important thing between spouses!” I remembered the first time Ethan and I met, the dazed expression he wore looking at me. My heart warmed. Under his passionate pursuit, we got married. He’d always been incredibly attentive to me. I touched my nose sheepishly, “Okay, thank you everyone for your concern. I won’t be paranoid anymore.” After getting our daughter vaccinated, Vivi and I went shopping and had dinner. We chatted from afternoon until evening before I went home. As soon as I walked through the door, I discovered there was already someone new in the house. The nanny was happily playing with our daughter in the nursery. She wore a mask on her face, so I couldn’t see her features. My husband explained that the nanny, Grace, was a patient from his plastic surgery department. She had scars on her face and was afraid of scaring me and the baby, so she’d keep wearing a mask. I didn’t mind. My husband Ethan was a plastic surgeon. Knowing people like this wasn’t unusual. After changing clothes and washing my hands, I headed straight to the nursery to hold my daughter. The moment my daughter opened her eyes and smiled at me, I discovered that the Blood Guanyin pendant on my chest was turning red, bit by bit. Tears filled my eyes as I screamed for Ethan to come look: “Ethan! The pendant turned red! Natalie really is my daughter!” However, when Ethan saw the reddening pendant around my neck, he was clearly stunned. I jokingly teased him: “Shocked, aren’t you? Can’t believe your own eyes? I was wrong to doubt you earlier. Let me apologize again, okay?” Ethan opened his eyes wide, stroking the pendant and murmuring: “I never thought… this thing actually works.” I hugged him playfully: “I know, right? But why did it only change now? It made me worry for so long.” Ethan seemed to remember something and said with a smile: “I remember when our daughter was in the hospital, you left this pendant in the refrigerator. Could it be that the blood parasite was frozen and only slowly revived, which is why the pendant turned red?” I remembered now. When our daughter was in the incubator, I couldn’t eat or sleep all day, constantly forgetting things. Once I even stuffed the pendant and a towel into the refrigerator together, where it stayed frozen for several days. Maybe that really was the reason? That last bit of anxiety finally settled back into my stomach, safe and sound. I was overjoyed and specifically took a photo to send to Vivi, telling her the good news. The next morning when I woke up, the sun was shining brightly. The nanny made me sweet wine egg drop soup. I took a sip. It was sweet. “Where’s Natalie?” I asked casually. “Daddy took her downstairs for a walk.” At those words, my whole body shuddered violently. I stared hard into Grace’s eyes: “What did you say? Natalie went downstairs?” Behind the mask that only revealed Grace’s eyes, her face showed complete confusion: “Yes, the doctor said the baby should get more sun. What’s wrong?” I shot to my feet. The chair tipped backward with a loud crash. So that’s it! I finally knew where my daughter actually was.

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