I’m the heroine of a dark, twisted romance. In the dim light of a narrow alleyway, a group of homeless men fastened their belts and walked away, satisfied. I lay there, like a discarded, soulless doll, the scene making it painfully clear what had just happened. Next, according to the script, the male lead should appear and take me away. I was supposed to be ashamed, weak, and view him as my saviour. He said we were brought together by those homeless men, that they’d been instrumental in our “fate.” He even rewarded them, giving them jobs that made them rich. But after I was reborn, I stared at those repulsive faces and pulled a leather belt from my pocket. The belt wasn’t just thick layers of leather—it had a steel plate hidden inside, making it brutally powerful. How could these animals deserve a happy life? The air was thick and sticky with dampness. It was one in the morning—no one would walk through this dark, unlit alleyway. I lay on the ground, my clothes in tatters, and I could still hear the men’s angry shouts fading away. Tears of despair slipped down my cheeks. I’d been too late. Just a little more, and I might have escaped all of this. It wasn’t until the moment of my death in my past life that I truly woke up. I was the heroine of a twisted, dark romance. When I was 18, walking home from school, I was assaulted by a group of homeless men. I felt humiliated, furious, but the sounds coming from my mouth were disgusting—like I wasn’t even resisting. Later, a man appeared at the mouth of the alley. He draped a coat over me, covering my shame. His name was Gareth Thompson, and he became my husband. He didn’t care about my “broken” body. In fact, he was obsessed with it. I was insecure and weak. Over time, I found myself in the beds of many other men, though I didn’t understand why. I felt guilty. I worshipped Gareth, agreeing to everything he said—even when he gave the men who had attacked me great jobs, helping them get rich. He told me if it weren’t for those men, we wouldn’t have been brought together. But just before I died, I finally understood the truth. Gareth had been watching me from the start. Those men were his doing. He had arranged the attack so he could rescue me, pull me from hell, and make me worship him. That way, I’d be completely devoted to him. As for why I ended up in the beds of strangers? Gareth had arranged that, too. He gave me away to his business partners and rivals in exchange for deals. He didn’t care about my affairs with other men. In fact, he enjoyed it. Watching me with them made him feel… excited. I’d been deceived my entire life, unable to muster even a shred of will for myself. I was nothing more than an object, a toy, a pet, something to be used, but never a person. I was just a tool for men to take out their lust on. And my death? It came from a heart attack, induced by an overdose of drugs. I didn’t live to see thirty. By the time I died, I was skin and bones, unrecognizable. This wasn’t just a twisted romance—it was pure cruelty. Thank God I got another chance at life. But I was still too late.

When I realised I’d been reborn, the same group of men had just pinned me to the ground. I struggled desperately, my mind screaming at me to run. If only I could escape this alley, none of it would happen. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t control my body. It felt like an invisible hand was crushing my heart. Those disgusting sounds, the stench, it all made me sick as I went through the assault again, fully conscious this time. But my mind was firm. If fate had given me a second chance, it wasn’t so I could die again. I just needed to survive this moment. Everything could change after that. I don’t know how long it took before they were done. Just like before, they buckled their belts and walked away. Finally, I could move again, the force controlling me was gone. I regained control of my body. This time, I didn’t lie there in despair, helplessly crying like before. Using all my strength, I picked myself up, dressed in my torn clothes, and ran towards the alley’s entrance. Gareth was waiting there, just like in my past life. He reached out a hand, looking at me with that same concerned expression as before. He looked like a saint, full of pity, as though he were looking down on a worshipper. He was waiting for me to beg him for help. I lowered my head and murmured, “Excuse me, sir. Did you see the men who just assaulted me?” Gareth’s flawless expression cracked. “What? What do you mean?” he stammered. I smiled, coldly. “Surely you saw them? You were standing right here the whole time.” Without waiting for his reply, I walked past him. I clutched my chest, whispering to myself, “Not yet.” Right now, I was nothing more than a helpless schoolgirl. Even though my heart burned with hatred, I couldn’t touch Gareth. Not yet. He was probably watching me walk away, wondering how to bring me more pain before swooping in again as my saviour. When I got home, the house was empty. Mum and Dad must have gone out looking for me. Just as I picked up the landline to call Mum, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

When I got home, the house was empty. Mum and Dad must have gone out looking for me. Just as I reached for the phone to call Mum, a familiar voice called from behind me. “Becky, where have you been?” It was my mum. My eyes filled with tears, and I ran into her arms. Mum looked down at my clothes and realised something was wrong. She didn’t ask questions, just held me tight, stroking my back. I cried until I could barely breathe, until I had no tears left. I cried for all the pain, in this life and the last. In my past life, I didn’t try to reach out to my parents after I left with Gareth. He had told me that after what had happened, my parents would be ashamed of me. I wanted to deny it, but I ended up nodding anyway. A week later, I got the news that a fire had destroyed my family home. My parents died in that fire. I didn’t even attend their funeral. Dad arrived home, and I continued to cry—my eyes were swollen, my throat hoarse. This time, after I finished crying, I swore to myself I would never cry so easily again. In my past life, I had cried too many times, in the arms of different men, in Gareth’s arms. Now, every tear I had shed because of desire disgusted me. I told my parents everything that had happened. Dad’s face turned red with rage. He looked like he could kill those men with his bare hands. Mum aged visibly in that moment. She held me again, gently asking if I wanted to clean myself up. I shook my head. “Mum, Dad, we need to call the police. I can’t wash. The evidence is still on me. I need to make sure those monsters pay.” 4 Sergeant Clarke and his team, wanting to protect my privacy, took me to St. Thomas’ Hospital with my parents for an examination. They collected evidence, and I was given post-exposure medication. Constable Sarah Harris stayed with me, trying to counsel me, but I wasn’t broken. I stayed calm. I’d lived through this moment over and over in my head. I knew what had to be done. I gave the police a detailed account of everything—how I was assaulted, how they hit me, and how they held me down. The marks on my body, the bruises, and the torn hair were proof of it all. Mum was on the verge of fainting from crying. “My Becky, my poor Becky…” With the DNA evidence collected, it wasn’t long before the identities of those men were confirmed. The police arrested them quickly, but the men denied everything, claiming it was consensual. Because I was eighteen, they said if they could prove I consented, they wouldn’t be charged. One of the officers lost it. “You’re saying an eighteen-year-old schoolgirl voluntarily had sex with a group of middle-aged homeless men and let them beat her senseless? Have you no shame?” One of them smirked, showing no care. “Don’t believe us? We’ve got a witness.” Their witness was Gareth. “Yes, I was there,” Gareth said calmly. “The girl seemed willing. I didn’t see any struggle. She was making all the right noises.” Gareth looked at me, his eyes full of something different from before. His smile was smug, knowing. At the police station, he leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Becky, you’ve come back too, haven’t you?” “There’s no point fighting. You enjoyed it, didn’t you? I know you better than anyone. I know exactly how much your body loves being treated like that.” “Becky, I’m waiting for you to return to me.” 5 slapped him. When I saw the mark on his right cheek, I frowned. It wasn’t even. So I slapped the left side too. Even with all my strength, the slaps left only faint pink marks. Like me—barely there, with no real weight. Gareth just grinned, licking his lips like I’d done something entertaining. It was ridiculous. A slap from a woman is often seen as flirting, not a serious blow. “Becky, you’ve learned to hit,” he said, amused. “But I prefer it when you bite me in bed.” I stared coldly at him and kicked him in the crotch. Gareth’s expression finally changed as he grabbed my shoulders in a vice-like grip. “Becky, I’ll tolerate your little outbursts, but don’t push me.” I couldn’t break free, so I kicked him again. Then, I pulled out the leather belt I hadn’t had a chance to use earlier and struck the cheek I’d just slapped. Finally, Gareth’s face started to swell, blood seeping from his mouth. He looked hideous. “You disgust me, Gareth.” He finally let go, feeling the pain, glaring at me with hate. “Rebecca Swift, you’ll regret this!” 6 The court’s verdict was announced. The homeless men were found guilty of assault, having committed the crime not only in a public place but as a group. They were sentenced to life imprisonment, with two of them receiving the death penalty. On the day of the trial, I went there myself, carrying my new identification. After talking it over with my parents, I had chosen a new name for myself. From that day onwards, I was no longer Rebecca Swift. I became Rebecca Steel, with a name as tough as iron. My parents didn’t fully understand why I had given myself such a “masculine” name, but they supported me regardless. “Maybe when you first named me Becky, you hoped I’d spend my whole life sheltered under your wings, happy and safe without needing to show any strength.” But that name, which now felt like a typical romantic heroine’s name, only made me feel sick. For the first time, I saw fear on the faces of those men. Gareth wasn’t there. I knew by now that they had been abandoned. But even so, they refused to name Gareth as their accomplice. As they walked past me, those once lust-filled eyes were now filled with hatred and regret. If you do something wrong, you deserve to face the consequences. I pulled out my leather belt and carefully traced its length, putting all my strength into it. Half an hour later, five swollen, pig-like faces had emerged. No one stopped me. Everyone understood the rage burning inside me. I took a six-month break from everything and returned to school, enrolling in a retake class to finish the final year I hadn’t completed in my past life. I arranged to live on campus and avoided that alley at all costs. Life at school was peaceful. In the final year, everyone was too busy to notice a classmate who had been missing for a while. But news of my assault spread like wildfire, and soon the school bulletin board was plastered with photos from that night. It turned out that Gareth hadn’t just been standing there at the alley’s entrance—he’d had the audacity to take pictures. When the photos appeared on the notice board, Gareth was on a visit to the school as an honoured alumnus, giving a speech. The headteacher was showing him around when they came across the photos on display. The students gathered around the board, too shocked to move, whispering quietly to one another. My face and body weren’t blurred out, and everyone immediately recognised their classmate. Their stares were like fire on my skin, burning through me. I even heard a boy mutter under his breath. “Who would’ve thought Rebecca Steel had such a hot body?” “Yeah, mate. I’ve only seen that kind of thing in porn…” How disgusting. I turned and looked at Gareth, standing far away with a smug expression on his face. I was trembling, but tears of laughter streamed down my face. Gareth, oh Gareth, so this is the best you can do?

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After six years of chasing him, James “Jamie” Dawson finally agreed to be with me. I was over the moon. That is, until the day I overheard him talking to his mates. “You mean Mari Bennett? She’s just been my little lapdog for six years.” “She’s not bad looking, though. That’s why I didn’t ditch her. Kept her around to make Nate feel a bit jealous, remind her not to pick fights with me all the time.” The “Mari Bennett” he mentioned was me. And Nate—Natalie “Nate” Carter—was his ex-girlfriend of three years. Jamie had clearly had a few too many drinks; his words were slurred. “If you fancy Mari, mate, you should’ve said earlier. I’d have let you have a go.” Jamie transferred to our class in our final year of A-levels, causing a massive stir in school. With his high cheekbones, sharp brows, 6’1” height, and short, slightly tousled hair, he stood out from the rest of the stressed, pale-faced students. There was something about him—cool, detached—that made him hard to ignore. My best mate, Chloe Mitchell, said at least six out of every ten girls fancied him. I was no exception. I’d liked Jamie since I was 18. Six years had passed since then. I had always thought he liked me too. Back then, I was going through an awkward phase—teenage weight gain, spots, the works. Not exactly ugly, but definitely not the prettiest. Still, whenever some of the boys teased me about being too fat to ever get married, Jamie would step in. “If losing weight means marrying someone like you, better to stay as I am,” he’d quip. When they complained that I was blocking their phone signals with my size, Jamie would just laugh, “Maybe it’s time for you to upgrade your phone.” Rumours about me and Jamie started to spread in the class. Of course, they were all about how I was a toad lusting after a swan, thinking too highly of myself, or how I was desperate. So I started keeping my distance from Jamie on purpose. Then, during our New Year’s party, there was a game that required boys and girls to team up. I was sure no one would pick me, and the others were probably waiting to laugh at me when Jamie, to everyone’s surprise, took my hand. He leaned in and whispered softly, “Mari, why have you been avoiding me lately? Did I do something wrong?” “When you ignore me like that, it feels like there’s something missing.” I kept telling myself that his words didn’t mean anything. Jamie couldn’t possibly like me. Yet, I still couldn’t stop my face from turning bright red. In our final term, when we were all cramming for exams, I did two things: studied and tutored Jamie. Jamie was smart, but it’s harder to improve your score the higher you already are. It’s like how a student scoring 200 marks can easily improve to 300, but getting from 600 to 700 is nearly impossible. But in our three mock exams, I watched as Jamie went from 550 to 590, then to 620. Our teachers and classmates couldn’t believe it. And as Jamie’s compliments and encouragement came pouring in, I started to feel more confident too. The snide comments from our classmates faded, replaced by talk of how we made a good match, a “power couple,” as they called it. “Do you think Jamie’s working so hard because he wants to go to the University of London with Mari?” someone joked. “Definitely. With his family’s money, why bother studying this hard unless he’s got a reason?” “He’s improved by 70 points in one term! Mari, help me too! I’m shipping you two!” After six months of studying together and pushing each other to succeed, I was sure there was something between us. So, the night after our A-level exams, I gathered the courage to confess. I filled the hotel entrance with roses and launched dozens of drones over the Thames, spelling out Jamie’s initials in the sky. I was young then, too young to realise that a confession should be a declaration of victory, not the start of an attack. Jamie’s friends seemed more excited than he was when they saw the scene, shoving him towards me. But instead of the classic “yes” you’d expect in a romantic movie, I heard, “Whoa, mate, this is that girl you mentioned, isn’t it?” “Go on, Jamie. She’s pulled out all the stops for you.” Their faces were lit up with a strange excitement I didn’t quite understand. Later, one of Jamie’s mates accidentally forwarded their group chat messages to our class group. That’s when I found out they had been calling me names like “tank” and “sumo wrestler,” teasing Jamie for being so desperate that he’d go for anything. They’d even shared photos of random women in high heels and stockings, telling Jamie to go after something “better.” Jamie, to his credit, had calmly explained that there was nothing romantic between us. His polite, dignified tone stood out in that cesspit of filthy jokes. That’s when I convinced myself: Jamie wasn’t a bad guy; he just didn’t like me.

Knowing romance wasn’t my strong suit, I barely kept in touch with Jamie during university. Even though we were studying in the same city. From mutual friends, I heard he had dated four different girls in his first two years. I could only shake my head at that. Jamie was a bit of a heartthrob, although not a cheater. He just never posted about his relationships on social media, and he always had someone lined up when a breakup happened. With his good looks, Russell Group degree, and upper-middle-class background, no one ever questioned his behaviour. The lads around him would just say, “If I had his looks and money, I’d play the field even more.” Then, in our third year, Jamie met Natalie “Nate” Carter. He started posting notes about her all the time: “Birthday: 19th February. Loves beef, cherries, and ice cream. Hates coriander!” “Make sure to prepare 45°C ginger tea during her time of the month.” They’d complete all the couples’ bucket-list challenges and post about it on TikTok, racking up thousands of likes. Every milestone in their relationship was full of rituals. The comments joked that his “six-month breakup curse” had finally been broken. I thought to myself, Jamie must’ve found “the one” this time. Meanwhile, during my four years of university, with no distractions from men, I focused entirely on my studies. I won two National Scholarships, got three certifications, and was accepted for a master’s programme at the same university. By the summer of my first year as a postgrad, I had co-authored papers published in top scientific journals and helped launch a company with my senior that made over £3 million in its first year. On one lazy afternoon, feeling proud of my accomplishments yet realising I was still missing someone special, I decided it was time to start dating.

Jamie and I must be fated, somehow. I had just told Chloe to keep an eye out for any potential matches when Jamie called me out of the blue. I hadn’t heard his voice in ages. When I answered, it felt awkward and unfamiliar, maybe because I hadn’t completely moved on. There was still a flicker of something there. Jamie, however, didn’t beat around the bush. “Mari, I heard you’re looking to start dating?” I didn’t deny it. “Then date me,” he said, laughing on the other end of the line. “I think I’m a decent enough match for you.” My mind went blank. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” “Broke up,” he replied nonchalantly. “So, what do you think? Care to consider?” There’s an old saying: if you wouldn’t tell your best friend about a decision, you probably shouldn’t do it. Looking back, I think there’s some truth to that. If Chloe had known I got together with the guy who had rejected me and gone on to date four other girls, she’d have killed me. But for some reason, I didn’t say no. Being with Jamie, my old teenage crush, wasn’t as romantic as I had imagined. There were no roses, no dates, no gifts. It felt like we were just online chat buddies rather than a real couple. Compared to how he treated his last girlfriend, I couldn’t help but feel the gap. For example, one day after I finished a conference in the city, it started pouring outside, and I wanted Jamie to come pick me up. I called him, and he said, “I just got out of the shower, don’t want to get wet.” I had him on speakerphone, and when the others heard his refusal, they all gave me sympathetic looks. In the end, my flatmate, Sophie, came to pick me up instead. On the way back, Sophie tried to reassure me. “Maybe your boyfriend’s just the cool and distant type. Don’t take it to heart.” But I knew better. Back when Nate was at her dance studio every evening, Jamie would drive her to and from practice without fail, even when it was raining. He didn’t just drive her—he joined the gym next door to keep an eye on her, worried some handsome dancer might catch her attention. Maybe it was because this relationship didn’t feel worth showing off, but I still hadn’t told Chloe that the “hot boyfriend” I’d been vaguely mentioning was actually Jamie.

Jamie and I rarely had dinner together, especially when his friends were around. I could tell he didn’t want me too involved with his circle, and he didn’t try to integrate into mine either. But one day, out of the blue, he asked me to join him. “Mari, my uni mates are back in town. We’re getting together. Want to come along?” “Oh, and by the way, you won’t be able to get back to your dorm tonight. So think about it before you say yes.” I was taken aback. Jamie had never taken me out before, and the first time he did, he was hinting at staying overnight. Maybe this was normal for someone as experienced as him, but it left me feeling cold. I was about to make up an excuse to avoid going when I overheard voices in the background. “Mate, you’ve still got it. Top-tier postgrad and you’ve got her wrapped around your finger. Teach me your ways!” “Forget smart girls. My girlfriend would never agree to this. She’d go on about ‘respect’ and ‘women’s rights.’ Blah, blah, blah.” I could hear Jamie try to muffle the phone, clearly not wanting me to hear the conversation. “Mari? You still there?” At that moment, I realised the version of Jamie I had admired—the one with his halo of charm—was about to shatter. “Of course, I’m coming. You guys start without me,” I said sweetly. I wouldn’t feel satisfied unless I turned up and saw this through. Jamie sighed in relief. “Great. See you soon.”

When I arrived outside the private dining room, the conversation inside was in full swing. The guys were discussing Jamie’s ex-girlfriends, ranking them by looks, personality, and how “fun” they were. I stood outside for a while, listening. They seemed to make a point of not mentioning Nate. Finally, it was my turn. “To be fair, the one he’s with now is actually solid. Smart, reliable, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders. Jamie, if you’re thinking of settling down, she’s a good option.” Another chimed in, “And she can cook, yeah? That’s a bonus.” “Some girls are just for fun, but not for marriage.” I couldn’t help but smirk at the irony. My 620 A-level score and top academic performance across the university apparently only earned me the title of “decent” and a potential candidate for Jamie’s wife. As the conversation continued, Jamie seemed to grow uncomfortable. He sneered, “Mari Bennett? She’s just been chasing after me for six years, like a lovesick puppy.” “She’s not bad looking, and she’s got decent qualifications, so I’ve kept her around. She’s useful, you know? Keeps Nate on her toes, stops her from picking fights with me.” Jamie had definitely been drinking, his words a little slurred, but clear enough for everyone to understand. The room fell silent for a second, his mates drawing in sharp breaths. “Come on, Jamie. You’re still hung up on Nate? She’s moved on, mate. You need to let it go,” one of the guys said, frustrated. Jamie slammed his fist on the table. “She didn’t cheat on me! Nate just got confused after our breakup. She thought someone else was better suited for her, but she’s realised her mistake.” “You’re the one who’s confused, mate,” another said, shaking his head. Then, I heard a voice I recognised, hesitant but familiar. “Jamie, if you’re really that set on getting Nate back, why not let me have Mari once you’re done with her?” The room went quiet again. It took me a moment to place the voice. It was one of Jamie’s old flatmates, a guy I’d met when I’d once brought Jamie an umbrella on a rainy day. He came from money too and loved flaunting it. “Mate, I’ll make it worth your while. I just got the new Croxx C. You can have it if you want.” “That mountain bike? The one that cost 80 grand? And it’s a limited edition? You’d seriously give that up?” someone asked, astonished. Jamie paused, then chuckled. “You’ve got a thing for Mari? Should’ve told me earlier. I’d have let you have a go.” “But just to be clear, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Mari might seem quiet, but she’s got her tricks. Back in school, loads of girls fancied me, but she was the only one bold enough to confess. You know why?” The others egged him on, eager for more gossip. “Because she saw my family’s wealth. She caught a glimpse of my mum’s car once. It’s the only reason she tutored me through A-levels. You think she’d have done it otherwise?” The guys nodded, clearly impressed by Jamie’s “insight.” “And look at her now. Every day she’s carrying designer bags, wearing high-end shoes. She’s just a student—there’s no way she’s paying for all of that herself. Must have maxed out her credit cards.” I stood outside, fuming. What did they think—that a girl like me couldn’t possibly afford those things without a man’s help? And for the record, I didn’t need to touch my family’s money. My scholarships covered everything. One of his mates chimed in, “Jamie, you’re right. Besides Nate, there’s no other girl who could ever fool you.” Jamie spat out, “You lot are full of it.” I was caught between storming in to confront them or quietly walking away when a passing waiter accidentally spilled soup all over my bag. I let out a small yelp. Jamie rushed out from the dining room, clearly panicking when he saw me.

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My husband was driving to pick up his mother to bring her to the city when the accident happened. To protect him, I lost my legs and could never have children again. Instead of gratitude, they grew disgusted with me and had me committed to a mental institution. I wasted away and eventually died. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the morning of the accident. This time, I was not getting into that car. “Hurry up, stop dragging your feet! Mum’s waiting for us!” My husband’s face was full of impatience, and I felt a little dazed. I still had my legs. This wasn’t the cold hospital bed of a mental ward. The spring breeze felt warm on my cheeks. It dawned on me—I had been given another chance. I was alive again. I looked down at the bags I was holding and then at my husband, James, smoking in the driver’s seat of his black Ford Focus. I realized this was the morning he was supposed to pick up his mother, Margaret Scott, to move into the city with us. The morning the crash would happen. I placed the gift boxes in the boot of the car. Soon enough, they’d be smashed to bits along with the car. I slowly walked over to the passenger window. “I’m not going. I don’t feel well.” James frowned. “What’s this now? Another one of your moods? Get in the car, stop being difficult!” I stood there, expressionless, staring at him. “What’s the big deal if you don’t go? It’s not like I care. Mum’s the one always talking about you, thinking of you.” A wave of disgust washed over me. I knew she only wanted me around to wait on her and her precious son. When I didn’t respond, James slammed the window shut, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust fumes. I turned and headed back upstairs. Inside, I found the pink teddy bear tin. Sure enough, the bankbook was still there. £16,000, untouched. £8,000 was my wedding savings, and the rest was our joint fund. In the last life, after the crash, James claimed the money had been lost in bad stock investments. He said there was nothing left to pay for my recovery and refused further treatment. He brought me home, neglected me, and let me waste away in bed. But now I knew the truth. He had hidden the money. How cruel. This time, I wouldn’t let them walk all over me. I took the bankbook, went to a few nearby banks, and withdrew all the money. Then I went straight to the jewellers opposite the bank and bought a 200g gold bar and two 100g gold bracelets. I remembered that in six months, gold prices would skyrocket to an all-time high. By then, I would be rotting away in a mental institution, catching bits of news from the radio. As I left the jewellers, my phone rang—a number I didn’t recognise. “Hello, who’s speaking?” “Hello, is this Catherine Thompson? This is Officer Weston from the Sheffield traffic unit. Your husband, James Scott, has been involved in a car accident. He’s unconscious. Are you his next of kin?” “He’s my husband! Is he alright? What happened?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound panicked. “He’s been taken by ambulance to St George’s Hospital. We’ve towed the vehicle to clear the road.” After hanging up, I dropped the fake concern from my face, holding back the excitement bubbling inside me. Just as I expected. When I arrived at the hospital and stood outside the emergency room, I overheard the doctors. “Has anyone reached the next of kin yet? James Scott’s family?” I rushed forward and shouted, “I’m here! I’m his wife!”

I stumbled forward, my face a picture of concern. “How’s James? Doctor, please, you’ve got to save him!” “Mrs Scott, your husband’s been severely injured below the waist, especially his legs.” “There are two options. We can transfer him to the Royal London Hospital, where they can use cutting-edge technology to save his legs. Or we can perform an emergency amputation here to prevent infection and save his life.” So there was another option back then! Why did James choose to have my legs amputated? “What are the risks with the first option?” “The technique is well-established at the Royal London, but it’s expensive. The medical costs could reach several hundred thousand pounds.” Of course, it was about money. My legs weren’t worth more than the cash in James’s eyes. “If we transfer him, our ambulance and best medical staff are ready.” I didn’t need to think about it. Of course, we’d go with amputation. This was the path James chose for me. “Doctor, don’t worry about the money. I’ll do whatever it takes to save my husband.” The doctor nodded. “However, I need to discuss this with my mother-in-law. She controls all the family’s finances.” I gestured to the phone in my hand, which had been ringing non-stop. “Mrs Scott, you must make a decision quickly. Every minute of delay increases the risk to your husband.” I nodded and answered the call. The empty hallway echoed with Margaret Scott’s sharp voice. “Catherine! You’ve got some nerve! I’ve been calling you for ages. What on earth are you up to?!” Her tone was the same as ever—rude and domineering. “It’s nearly noon. Are you two coming back or not? The family’s waiting to help, and James hasn’t checked in!” “Mum, I…” Ever since I married James, calling her “Mum” always gave her a smug satisfaction, as though it cemented her authority as the head of the family. I barely got a word in before she interrupted again. I hurried into the stairwell for some peace. “You’re always on about being busy, but you never earn half of what James does! You should quit that silly florist job and focus on taking care of him properly.” Her usual insults. Soon enough, she’d be the one taking care of her precious son. “Mum!” I yelled into the phone, hitting the record button. “James got into a car accident on the way to pick you up! He’s in hospital!” I made sure to sound convincingly devastated. “What? How could this happen?” I imagined the shock on her face, and it almost made me laugh. “Mum, you need to sell the house in Barnsley. Take the money James has given you over the years.” “Ask the relatives for a loan too. We need at least £100,000 if he’s going to have any chance of treatment in London. Otherwise, he’ll lose his legs.” I let out a few more sobs for effect. “£100,000?! You’re trying to kill me! I don’t have that kind of money. James never gave me anything!” “That’s my life savings! You witch, this is all your fault!” Margaret’s cries filled the phone. “Mum, I’ll mortgage the house for £10,000. You’ll have to find the rest.” Margaret continued wailing about her lack of money. Like her son, she loved herself and her savings more than anything. After all, she’d climbed her way out of poverty thanks to James, her golden goose. No way was she letting go of his hard-earned cash. “Mum, the doctors are waiting. You need to decide now, or it’ll be too late for the amputation.” “Fine, fine! Amputate his legs! Oh, my boy! What will I do now?!” Of course. Better to let her son lose his legs than to part with a penny. I slumped against the wall outside the operating theatre, muttering to myself. “How could they have no money? He’s given them so much every year. Why wouldn’t they use it to save him? Why did he have to lose his legs…” A nurse helped me to my feet, squeezing my hand. “Mrs Scott, you need to stay strong. What’s your decision?” “His mother won’t give us the money. He’ll have to have the amputation. How heartless she is… I can’t lose my husband. Please, do whatever you can to keep him alive.” I sobbed quietly as I signed the consent form. It was exhausting to keep up the act. Afterward, I sat on the hospital floor, resting my head on my knees, waiting. I needed to call Margaret again. It was time for her to come and take care of her precious boy. Just then, my phone rang again.

It was Mum. In the last life, after my legs were amputated, Mum cared for me day and night. She fed me, washed me, looked after me until she wore herself out. She never had time to look after her own health. By the time we realised something was wrong, it was too late—advanced cancer. No matter how much I cried, I couldn’t do anything but watch as Mum wasted away. I had been a disobedient daughter, marrying and moving far away, leaving her to live alone. She gave everything for me, always gentle, always kind. I hesitated to answer the phone, afraid that this might all be just a dream. When I picked up, Mum’s soft voice came through the line. “Kate, are you at the in-laws’ now? Did everything go smoothly? Margaret didn’t give you a hard time, did she?” Tears welled up immediately. Mum was still worried about me, always thinking of me first. In truth, it was Mum who should have been looked after, not me. But I had been too weak to stand up for myself. “No, Mum, everything’s fine,” I said, my voice trembling. “Are you sure? You sound upset.” “Mum, I had a nightmare last night. A horrible dream where you got sick and left me. I was so sad, Mum…” I bit my arm to stop the sobs, trying to keep my voice quiet. “Silly girl, you’re my treasure. I’d never leave you. Not for anything.” She was right. In my last life, when no one was willing to pay for my treatment, Mum sold the house and worked herself to the bone, borrowing money to keep me alive. “I know you love me, Mum. I’ve booked you a health check-up. I’ll come home in a couple of days and take you.” “A health check? There’s no need for that. I’m perfectly fine. Don’t waste your money.” “I’ve already paid. You’ll have to go, or the money will be wasted.” Mum was always so frugal, always putting herself last. “Well, alright then. Are you and James coming back together? I’ll make your favourite egg and onion rolls.” “James is busy with work. Mum, I’ve got another call coming through. I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” The doors of the operating theatre opened again, and two doctors approached. I couldn’t let Mum know about the accident. Otherwise, she’d rush to the hospital to take care of James. “Mrs Scott, your husband’s surgery was a success. He can be transferred to a regular ward now.” “Thank you so much, Doctor.” After settling James in his room, I called Margaret again. “Mum, you need to bring £10,000 from the house and come over right away.” “We still need £10,000 for the amputation.” Margaret’s voice was low and grumbling. “James has given you far more than £10,000 over the years. Hurry up and get here, Mum. We still need to pay for his surgery.” I raised my voice. Looking at James, pale and helpless in the hospital bed, I felt a flicker of pity. But in the last life, he never felt pity for me. This time, the wheel of fate had turned. It was his burden to bear now.

The sun was beginning to set by the time James finally woke up. I rushed to his bedside, tears in my eyes. “Darling, your legs! They’re gone! What will we do now?” James blinked, looking confused. I stayed by his side, playing the dutiful wife, just like he had done in my past life. “Do you need some water, love? Here, let me help you,” I said, dabbing his lips with a damp cotton bud. “James, your surgery and rehabilitation will be expensive. I’ve decided we’ll sell the house to cover the costs.” At the mention of selling the house, James seemed to wake up fully. He turned to me, his face twisted in anger. “Amputation?! Who gave you the right to sign off on that? Are you just waiting for me to die so you can run off with that dog Edward?” After we got married, James slowly revealed his true nature, replacing the charm and gentleness with insults, belittlement, and even violence. Even now, with his legs gone, he couldn’t stop himself. “What does Edward have to do with this? It was your mother who made the decision. She said we couldn’t afford to save your legs.” I showed him the recording of Margaret refusing to pay. As I watched his face contort with rage, I couldn’t help but feel amused. “That’s not possible. I give her money every year! How could she not have enough? It must be at least £50,000 by now.” James muttered to himself. Ever since he left school, he had stopped relying on his family’s money. After graduating from university, he began sending monthly allowances to Margaret. In nearly a decade, it must have added up to £70,000 or more. And in the past couple of years, after becoming a senior engineer, he was poised to earn six figures as a manager. It seemed Margaret had her priorities all wrong. Who would promote a crippled man with no prospects? “Stop thinking about it. The decision’s been made. Let’s focus on your recovery now.” “Ahhhhhh!” James let out a silent scream of frustration. I pressed the nurse call button. The door opened, and it was Margaret, storming in. She grabbed me by the shoulders and started shaking me. “This is all your fault! Why didn’t you protect him? He’s the breadwinner! You’re a worthless cow! Why aren’t you the one who lost their legs?!” Margaret was strong, her hands yanking at my hair and clothes. I punched her twice—once in the chin, then in the nose—sending her crashing to the ground. The shock on her face was priceless. She hadn’t expected her meek daughter-in-law to fight back. “Mum, everything that’s happened to James is because of you!” “He crashed because he was driving to pick you up. And you’re the one who decided to have his legs amputated. Did you forget what happened earlier today?”

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I worked my butt off for this project proposal, and my boyfriend just handed it over to the new girl. Oppressed, suppressed—and I’ve become nothing but the stepping stone for their romance. If a tiger doesn’t roar, you really think I’m some cuddly little kitten? Anger level: 1000%. Fury level: 10,000%. Crazy level: Off the charts. Time to bring the pain. If we’re playing this game, I’m blowing everyone up. After a full month of overtime, my dark circles were worse than a raccoon’s, but I finally finished the project. I was ready to get promoted and maybe even a nice bonus. Ryan Mitchell, my boss-slash-boyfriend, called me into his office. “Claire, you’ve been doing great. Keep up the good work.” I nodded eagerly, waiting for the good part. …Nothing. I waited a little longer. Still nothing. “Is that it?” He blinked, as if remembering something. “Oh, right! I almost forgot the main thing.” I knew it. Verbal praise alone wasn’t enough. “These are the new project files. I want you to take charge and try to wrap it up in a month.” I looked at the stack of papers—at least six inches high—and felt sick to my stomach. “Weren’t you going to promote me after this project?” Ryan walked over, patted my shoulder, and gave me that condescending smile. “Claire, you’re still young, there will be lots of opportunities. This is just a small supervisor role. Knock out a few more projects, and I’ll personally push for your promotion to manager.” I wasn’t buying it. “So… who’s getting the promotion this time?” “Emma Johnson.” Emma? The new girl who’d only been here for six months? “Ryan, are you serious? You’re promoting her over me? Have you lost your mind?” He knew better than anyone how hard I’d worked for this promotion. Forget weekends—I practically split my day into eight parts to get everything done. “Ryan, you’d better give me an explanation, or this won’t end well for anyone.” Ryan’s face darkened. “Claire, this is work. I’m your boss. Just do as I say.” Then he softened his tone, trying to pacify me. “Claire, I’m your boyfriend. Would I ever harm you? I fought hard to get this project for you, and there’s plenty of credit to go around. Trust me, it’ll pay off. Be good.” I’d heard this spiel too many times. “Stop feeding me lies. I’m cutting carbs.” When I returned to my desk with the files, Emma was already soaking up the congratulations from the team. The moment she saw me, she rushed over to give me a hug. “Oh, Claire, I’m so sorry! I don’t know why the boss chose me. We all thought it would be you. You’re not mad, right?” “I’ll ask Ryan. Maybe there’s been a mistake.” I pushed her off with a fake smile. “Oh, please, don’t wait. Go ask him now.” Emma’s face changed, and she lowered her head, saying nothing. Not long after, she posted in our Slack channel, inviting everyone to dinner. And, just like that, the group chat lit up with congratulations. It was sickening. “Claire, you’re coming, right? Your support would mean the world to me. After all, if it weren’t for your help, I wouldn’t have gotten this opportunity.” “They say you’re clueless, can’t get anything right. But clearly, you’ve gotten pretty smart. At least you know you don’t deserve it.” “Emma, weren’t you going to ask the boss? What’s the hold-up? Turns out thanking me was just lip service.” I added a fake pout to my voice for good measure. Emma stood there, speechless, her face stiff with embarrassment. She’s been playing the sweet girl act for so long, she probably thought it worked on everyone. Predictable.

That night, Emma took the whole department out to dinner at The Capital Grille, where it’s $500 per head. She really went all out. Everyone was happy with the free food—except me, of course. “Claire, it’s over. Stop acting like the world owes you something.” I shot Ryan a glare. “There’s something wrong with my paycheck. I didn’t get my project bonus.” Ryan avoided eye contact, which sent a wave of unease through me. I grabbed his arm. “Where’s my $30k project bonus?” Ryan finally muttered, “The project’s Emma’s now, so the bonus goes to her.” No wonder she was feeling generous tonight. Fine, I could live without the promotion. No bonus? Okay, I’d even swallow that. But no promotion and no bonus? Hell no! Ryan, sensing my growing fury, leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Keep your cool. We’ll talk about this later.” I picked up my glass of red wine and tossed it in his face. “Keep your cool? Screw that. And screw you.” The room fell dead silent. All eyes were on us. Ryan gritted his teeth but forced a laugh. “Haha, no big deal, everyone. Claire just slipped. Enjoy your dinner.” Emma was quick to grab some napkins, rushing to dab the wine off Ryan’s face. “Claire, come on! You’re a grown woman. How are you still this clumsy?” I used to feel sorry for her—fresh out of school, baby-faced, always speaking so softly. I’d go out of my way to look after her. Turns out, I looked after her too well. She even took my boyfriend. With how cozy they were, no one would believe there wasn’t something going on between them. After Emma finished cleaning up Ryan, she turned to say something to me, but I beat her to it. “Don’t yell at me. I’ve been scared of dogs since I was little.” Ryan slammed his hand on the table and stood up, pointing at me. “Claire, enough! We’re here to celebrate Emma’s promotion. Don’t ruin this for everyone because of your attitude.” Amazing. Helping the other woman yell at his girlfriend. What a guy. They took my promotion, my bonus, and I was expected to sit there, swallowing my pride and toasting the people who robbed me. I’ve got feelings, too. And tonight, no one’s getting off easy. Especially Ryan and Emma. I swatted Ryan’s hand away. “Your happiness is none of my business.” Then I turned to Emma. “Don’t act like you earned this with skill. Whatever shady tricks you used to get it, just stay quiet and keep your head down. It’s disgusting.” Emma’s face turned red as she stammered. “Claire, I understand you’re upset about not getting the promotion, but you’ve misunderstood. I don’t blame you.” Then, as expected, the tears started falling. The classic “poor me” look. The men at the table immediately started defending her. “Claire, you’re out of line. Emma’s been nothing but great. The company must have had a good reason for promoting her.” Emma knew exactly how to play them. The guys ate up her “sweet girl” act, calling her “little sis” and everything. “Oh yeah, you’re so generous. Maybe next time you’ll give her credit for the projects you complete. Last month, you got a $20k bonus, right? Transfer it. Let me learn a thing or two about generosity.” I stood up on my chair, towering over him, holding his phone out. He stood there, frozen, not saying a word. “What did you drink tonight? Windshield fluid? Stop with the cold takes. Use your brain before opening your mouth.” I turned to another male coworker who had been running his mouth. “I get that you’re straightforward, but that doesn’t mean you should talk out of your ass.” Ryan tried to step in, using his “boss” voice. “Claire, I’m ordering you to apologize to Emma. Now.” I’d been too busy with deadlines to put Ryan in his place lately. “I’m not a customer service rep, Ryan. I don’t apologize for things that aren’t my fault.” At that, Emma’s tears came down harder. She sobbed out, “I’m sorry, Claire… I didn’t mean to upset anyone… It’s all my fault.” I couldn’t help but poke at her more. “Exactly. It’s all your fault.” “If you don’t want to eat, Claire, you can leave,” Ryan said. Who said I wasn’t eating? The food’s free, so why not? I called over the waiter and ordered more dishes. The way he glanced at us told me he knew something was up. After all, at this table, we had people with clenched jaws, others hiding tears, and me with a grin I couldn’t suppress. I’d pissed off so many people at this dinner. Sorry, not sorry. I’ll do it again next time. You know, I might not make everyone happy, but I can definitely make sure everyone is equally pissed off.

After blowing up at the dinner, I felt amazing. That night, I slept like a baby. The next morning, I even took the time to put on some makeup before heading into work. I’d barely sat down when Ryan called me into his office. “Why didn’t you pick up my calls last night?” I flopped onto his couch lazily. “I don’t like hearing dogs bark.” “Claire, you’re really going to make such a big deal out of this?” A big deal?! This man was still calling it a “small thing”? And to think, this guy was my boyfriend. My mistake, clearly. I stood up, walked right up to Ryan, and slapped him across the face. His shock barely registered before I yanked his hair down, forcing him to bend over in pain. I took the opportunity to kick him in the stomach. “A small thing? I’ve been busting my ass working overtime every day, not for money, but what, to earn some good karma? You handed my bonus to some other woman, and you have the nerve to call it a small thing?” I let go of him, but not before giving him one last kick to the gut. Ryan winced, fury in his eyes. “Claire, we’re done.” “Oh, don’t get it twisted,” I sneered. “I’m dumping you. You and Emma have been screwing each other behind my back, haven’t you? You two deserve each other—garbage belongs with garbage. Moonlighting as a cupid now, huh?” Ryan straightened himself, dusting off his shirt, trying to keep his cool. “I’ve been done with you for a long time. You’re all work, no femininity. All you care about is the job.” “Please, Ryan. You’re a bottom-feeder who thinks he’s a king just because he’s splashing around in some shallow water. Do you think you’re worthy of calling me out?” I rolled up my sleeves. Today, I wasn’t just talking. “Ryan, you’ve always been a punching bag. I’m just here to finish the job.” We started brawling right there in the office. Sure, he had the upper hand physically, but I had claws—long nails and a sharp bite—and I wasn’t afraid to use them. I clawed at his face, pulled his hair, even bit him when I had the chance. It was a full-on spectacle, and soon enough, the noise had attracted our coworkers. Emma was the first to burst in. She gasped when she saw the scratches and blood on Ryan’s face and neck. She rushed to stand between us, arms spread wide like a human shield. “Claire, if you’re angry, take it out on me. Don’t hurt Ryan, he’s just following the rules!” She was so noble, wasn’t she? Well, if she wanted the heat, fine. I was ready to take it out on her. But before I could lay into Emma, a close coworker of mine pulled me aside. “Claire, you’ve already hit him and said what you needed to say. If you keep going, you’re the one who’s going to get hurt in the end. You can see Ryan’s just setting everything up for his new girl.” I glared at her, confused. I had thought Ryan and I had kept our relationship on the down-low. How could she know about this? “Oh, everyone knows,” she said with a knowing sigh. “But the way he’s setting things up for Emma? It’s so obvious he’s paving the way for her.” “When did you find out about the two of them?” I asked, my confusion turning to curiosity. She looked at me like I was an idiot. “They’ve been flaunting it all over Instagram Stories for the past month! Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” Well. That was nice to hear. I, the official girlfriend, had found out just yesterday. Right now, I felt like I could morph into King Kong and slap the hell out of both of them.

A coworker and I opened Instagram on our phones, pulling up Emma’s profile. On my screen, I only saw two posts. One from last month with a caption about working late, and one from yesterday—an announcement of her promotion, with a thank you to the company and her colleagues. But on my coworker’s screen, there were at least a dozen posts. Caption: Someone told me we should eat somewhere romantic. Photo: A dimly lit French restaurant, looking all too fancy. The date? I had been stuck in the office finishing a proposal that night. I’d even suggested that place to Ryan once, but he said it was overpriced and not worth it. Instead, we’d ended up eating cheap hotpot from a place down the street. Caption: Collecting every little spark of happiness. Photo: Emma and Ryan at an art gallery, doing a heart gesture with their hands. It was just his hand in the photo, but that watch on his wrist? I’d bought it for him. And the date? I’d been at the office revising that very same proposal, the one Ryan said wasn’t good enough yet. Caption: I saw it and he bought it for me immediately. Photo: The newest iPhone, iPhone 14 Pro Max, 1TB, in Sierra Blue. And the date? The day after I’d given that exact phone to Ryan. He had hinted that his old phone was broken but said he couldn’t afford a new one. Being the good girlfriend I was, I used my hard-earned paycheck to buy him the best. I’d noticed later that he wasn’t using it. When I asked, he said it had been stolen, and he felt terrible about it. I’d even planned to buy him a replacement with my next bonus. Twenty-five years of life, and only now am I realizing how low my IQ must be. Ladies, listen up: spending money on a man is a surefire way to curse yourself for eight generations. As I scrolled through the posts, my fists clenched so hard I thought they might break. At that moment, I wished I could sprout eight arms like an octopus and slap both Ryan and Emma in one go. Just as I was imagining it, Emma returned to her desk. Our eyes met, and she gave me a look as if she were the one wronged. I used to think she was cute, but now, she looked like a rotten grape—full of toxic juice. And that shiny iPhone sitting on her desk? The one I bought with my own money? My. Damn. Money. That’s it. I’m done.

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My wife and her young lover had too much fun at the hotel and accidentally lost our child. Afterward, she claimed to have been bewitched and begged for my forgiveness. I suppressed my hatred, pretended to agree, and secretly devised a plan for revenge. Not long after, my wife smiled at me and said, “Honey, I’m pregnant again! Aren’t you happy?” I nodded, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace, my body trembling uncontrollably. Because, unbeknownst to her, I had quietly undergone a vasectomy right after she had the miscarriage. “David, say something!” My wife, Samantha Williams, sat beside me, shaking my shoulder vigorously. I stared blankly at the report on the table. It showed that she was indeed pregnant. “Honey, I couldn’t keep our last child, and I feel so guilty. But look, the heavens have blessed us with another chance…” She sweetly wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. “Let’s cherish this life together from now on.” When I didn’t respond, she placed my hand on her slightly rounded belly. “Feel it? It’s our baby.” Samantha’s words echoed in my ears, but all I could hear was a deafening roar. My temples throbbed, anger surging through me—I wanted nothing more than to throw her out of the house right then and there. Because, even before she lost the baby, I had already taken the step to prevent her from bearing another man’s child and forcing me into the role of a father. I knew that cheating happens either once or infinitely. Sure enough, my intuition was spot on. I didn’t plan to confront Samantha; instead, I aimed to find that young lover and make them both pay. I drifted back to that fateful day. I had just finished work when I received a call from the hospital. Rushing to the hospital, I found Samantha crying out in pain. She lay on the bed, looking utterly drained. The nurse stifled a laugh, while my friends nearby teased me. “David, have you been that wild? That young lover must have really done a number on her!” My temper flared, and I felt my face flush with humiliation. Just as I was about to leave, Samantha grabbed my hand, weakly apologizing and confessing. “Honey, it was the other person who seduced me. I was just momentarily lost and made a terrible mistake.” “Please, forgive me. I promise we can have more children.” Hearing her words felt like a deep insult. No man wants to wear a metaphorical green hat and continue living in such a farce. I had always treated her well, coming from a poor background; I did everything I could to help her. During holidays, I showered her with precious gifts just to see her smile. Even in arguments, I was the one who would back down and apologize. Everyone said I was her lapdog, humbled to the core. But I didn’t care; I just wanted to build a life together with her. I never expected her to betray me like this. After much thought, I made my decision. I wanted a divorce and for her to leave with nothing, facing the consequences of her actions. At the same time, I wanted to find that young lover and ruin him. To avoid exposing my plan, I pretended to forgive Samantha. From that day forward, she changed her attitude and was exceptionally nice to me. She even insisted on doing my laundry.

After Samantha got pregnant, her requests for money increased. She claimed she wanted to eat better for the baby. Was she expecting me to support her little bastard? Her words enraged me to the point of shaking. But I swallowed my anger for the sake of my ultimate plan. I loosened my fists and said to Samantha as she prepared to leave, “Be back early, okay? Don’t tire yourself out shopping with your girlfriends, and take care of our baby.” A flicker of guilt crossed her face as she nodded and smiled. But the way she was dressed up didn’t seem like she was going to meet friends. Suspicion gnawed at me, so I followed her down the stairs. To my shock, she got into a car with a young guy who looked no older than twenty. As the guy rolled down the window, I caught them kissing passionately. They looked so intimate… My teeth ground together; I wanted to send them both to hell. From his attire and demeanor, I was certain he was a college student. And judging by his car, he wasn’t some rich kid. I suddenly recalled how frequently Samantha had been asking me for money lately. After thinking it through, it became clear—she was using my money to support a young gigolo. How ridiculous! I had to take action. When I got home, I sent the photo of the guy to my friends. After some investigation, I learned he was not just a player; he was a scam artist and a notorious womanizer. He had deceived many girls into bed, recording videos and threatening them—if they didn’t pay up, he would release those videos online. What a despicable person! Why hadn’t he gone to hell yet? I typed furiously to my friends. “Let’s make sure he gets caught up in gambling!” They responded, “Consider it done!” After sending the message, I fell into a deep sleep. In my dreams, I saw Samantha in a white dress, smiling at me, but soon enough, multiple men appeared around her, reaching out their hands to touch her. I wanted to intervene, but she screamed at me. “David, you’re such a clown.” “How does it feel to wear the green hat?” I woke up in a rage, ready to get a drink when Samantha returned. She reeked of perfume mixed with cigarette smoke, holding a bouquet of flowers. She carefully placed the flowers in a vase, completely oblivious to my glaring eyes. “I’m going to shower, honey.” “Be careful, don’t slip,” I replied nonchalantly. After she tossed her bag on the sofa and headed into the bathroom, I rummaged through her bag. Every item inside shocked me. First, there was a set of torn lingerie. Then I saw some… toys. Wow, she was quite the player! In front of everyone, the pure and lovely Samantha had this whole other side. I remembered how she had never been very proactive in bed—unless I begged her, she wouldn’t let me touch her. I thought she was just a modest, reserved person. Yet now, she transformed into a maid to please other men. My anger boiled over when I noticed her phone screen light up. Someone had sent her a message. Unlocking it, I clicked into her WeChat. At the top was a guy’s profile labeled “Baby.” Preparing myself for what I might see, I opened the conversation. “How was it this time? Did I do well enough? Should I ask for more compensation? I worked hard…” “Am I better than that useless husband of yours?” “Honestly, your husband is such an idiot.” I was taken aback, my brow furrowing. Could it be that things were more complicated than I had thought? I scrolled further. “I hope you don’t blame me for the last time causing your miscarriage…” Damn, I had been kept in the dark. This was the guy who had caused her miscarriage. Reading those messages made me question whether the child she lost before had ever been mine. When I flipped to the next page of chat history, I couldn’t sit still. “Now that we’re having this child, you need to take care of it.” “Don’t let it turn out like last time…” Sure enough, neither of those kids were mine! Next, I read Samantha’s reply. “Oh, you’re so annoying. My husband is actually a decent guy, just a bit slow…” “Stupid sister, if you weren’t slow, how could we be together?” The chat abruptly ended there. My eyes burned with rage as I trembled, clicking on the guy’s social media profile. He posted pictures flaunting expensive clothes, shoes, and watches. The caption read, “Thanks, sis! You’re so generous!” In that moment, I wanted to smash my phone. All those years of hard work went to supporting her young lover! My parents even bought her jewelry and skincare products every month, spending so much on her…

After transferring thousands of messages to my phone, I stuffed Samantha’s things into a bag. She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, nervously touching her neck. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” I asked, my patience wearing thin. She glanced away, mumbling, “Oh, it’s nothing, just some mosquito bites…” Seeing the red marks on her neck made my teeth grind. Samantha noticed my growing anger and rushed to embrace me. “Honey, I’m so tired from shopping today.” “You don’t care about my feelings at all!” Care? I suppressed my rage, forcing a smile. “Of course, I care! Your husband loves you!” That night, I received a message from a friend. He told me the young lover was a student my sister had once supported. Ryan came from a poor family; his father worked tirelessly just to send him to college. Little did his father know, Ryan had squandered his hard-earned money on women and drinking. What a scoundrel! Before I could respond, my friend added, “Ryan had a fling with your sister…” What? So my sister nearly killed herself over this guy? Before I could ponder further, my friend revealed, “That scumbag filmed your sister in private…” At that moment, I was livid. Clutching my chest, I struggled to breathe. I clenched my fists, determined to destroy Ryan. My precious sister, whom I had adored for eighteen years, had been ruined by this worthless bastard. How dare he! I immediately told my friend, “No matter the cost, I’ll make Ryan pay and ruin him.” The next day, at the crack of dawn, I drove to my sister’s house. She seemed despondent, uninterested in anything, keeping her feelings bottled up. I bought her beautiful clothes and treated her to a nice dinner. Finally, she opened up in my arms. Ever since Ryan filmed her, she had been giving him a thousand dollars a month as hush money. As she spoke, her pain deepened, tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes red like a rabbit’s. As her brother, I felt an immense guilt. That night, I arranged for Ryan to be ambushed in an alley. They threw a black bag over his head and silenced him with a sock. I was the first to strike, and my friends joined in. Until someone pulled me back, urging me not to escalate things, I finally eased my grip. Next, I opened his phone, and the first thing I saw was a video of Samantha. Her face flashed in the footage, and I immediately recognized the large gold bracelet I had bought her just days ago. Samantha was incredibly eager in the video, her expression one of pure enjoyment. Two words came to mind. Filthy! Sordid! I had never realized she could be so open-minded. The demure lady in public was nothing but a wanton in private. I secretly transferred the video to my phone as a backup. Now, I had more than enough evidence. Next, I spent a few minutes deleting all videos of other girls. One friend couldn’t stand this scum and spat on Ryan, yelling, “Didn’t your mom teach you to respect women?” “What a disgrace! And you call yourself a college student? You’re more like a beast.”

When I got home, I found Samantha looking anxious, grabbing her bag and ready to leave. I grabbed her hand and forced a smile. “Honey, it’s late. Where are you going?” She swallowed hard and quickly said, “A friend is sick; I need to go see him.” “Oh? Let me take you.” She shook her head, looking nervous. “It’s fine, honey. You worked all day and need to rest. I’ll take a cab.” Samantha hurriedly released my hand and dashed out the door. I chuckled. Looks like Ryan had gotten himself into deep trouble. I smirked. The real show was just beginning! With my friends’ help, Ryan had ended up deep in gambling debt. When faced with the massive bill, he immediately thought of Samantha. I occasionally caught glimpses of his messages to her. “Help me save my life, sis.” “Isn’t your rich husband there to help pay off my debts?” “Or better yet, why not just kill him and inherit everything?” “After all, you hate him touching you and said he looks like a gorilla. You wouldn’t mind if he just disappeared, would you?” The rest was Samantha’s reply. “No way! I’d go to jail. Let me ask him for some money first…” Well, I didn’t expect Samantha to refuse Ryan’s request out of fear of prison. It seemed she didn’t care about the bond we shared over the years. Fine, since you both lack empathy, I won’t show mercy. Sure enough, when I got home from work, Samantha had prepared a feast. As soon as I walked in, she rushed to take my bag, bending down to help me with my shoes. Feigning concern, I helped her up. “Be careful; don’t hurt our baby.” “Okay, honey! I made your favorite dish, come and see!” At the dinner table, she subtly mentioned her financial struggles, but I ignored her, focused on my meal. After a while, she finally lost her temper and slammed her chopsticks down in front of me. Startled, I nearly stood up to slap her. But reason won over impulse, and I bit my lip, asking, “Have you lost your mind, Samantha?” She became even angrier, clearly not expecting me to raise my voice. After all this time, I had rarely shown anger toward her. “David, you actually yelled at me?” Her eyes were red with fury as she stood to confront me. “What have you given me all these years? Other husbands are handsome and wealthy, and what about you?” “I should have listened to my parents and not married you!” Ha! You didn’t want to marry me, and I regret marrying you. If it weren’t for my parents introducing us as a good match, I wouldn’t have looked at you twice. It’s not that I don’t have money; it’s that you’re just too greedy. But I kept those thoughts to myself; this wasn’t the time to burn bridges. Yet the more Samantha spoke, the more she trampled my dignity. “David, do you even realize how disgusting you are? Every time you touch me, I want to vomit.” “And you? You’re useless in bed!” That was it; she had completely enraged me. I believe no man would allow such insults, especially from his wife. “Samantha, have you forgotten the disgusting things you’ve done?” “What right do you have to shout here, you homewrecker?”

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My wife and her “male best friend” were fooling around in a car out in the suburbs when a truck came out of nowhere, sending them crashing down a hill. The doctor said, “If you want to save her leg, you need to come up with $30,000 for the surgery.” Hearing that, I, a grown man, broke down in tears. “My wife is the best dancer in this city! She makes a living and her reputation with those legs!” “If she loses them, she won’t want to live!” “So please, when you amputate, just be gentle, okay?” When I arrived at the hospital, I quickly tried to wipe the grin off my face that I’d had since the drive over. I rushed to the bedside, dropped to my knees, and started crying my heart out. “Emily, what were you thinking?” “If you’re going to have an affair, at least pick a safer spot! I wouldn’t have cared as long as you’re safe!” “Please, don’t think you owe me anything just because you did something so… disgraceful. Don’t go and do anything drastic, alright?” Even the nurse nearby was moved, probably not used to seeing such a “devoted” man. But the doctor pulled me aside and said firmly, “Quit stalling. You need to raise the money. Her leg can still be saved.” I stood up right away. “Right, I’ll get on it. I’ll call my mother-in-law.” I dialed Linda’s number. “Mom! Send me $30,000! Annie needs it for surgery!” “What kind of surgery needs 30 grand? Do I look stupid? I’m not giving you a penny! You’re useless! Get lost!” “But Mom, it’s serious…” “Serious my ass! I’ll deal with the next hand! You’re busted!” Click — she hung up. Everyone in the room heard her loud and clear, thanks to my phone’s speaker mode. The last beep beep sound of the disconnected call echoed through the room. I struggled to keep the smirk off my face and looked at the doctor helplessly. “I’m sorry, Doc. I’ve got no money.” “My wife cherishes those legs more than anything.” “So when you amputate, just… be careful, okay?” The doctor nodded toward my wife’s lover and asked, “What about him? Are we saving him?” “Of course! My wife really likes him. She can live with prosthetic legs, but if he dies, well, there’s no replacement for that. You have to save him!” I wiped my tears and added, “But, you know, I don’t think I’m really in a position to sign his consent form.” The doctor rolled his eyes and pushed my wife into the operating room. The nurse shot me a sympathetic glance before following. As soon as they disappeared, I sent a message to Jim, my father-in-law: “Annie’s leg is gone. Mom refused to help. This is unbearable.”

By the time Linda arrived at the hospital, Annie had already been wheeled out of surgery. “Annie! My baby, what happened to you?” “Mom, Annie just got out of surgery,” I whispered, “you should keep your voice down. It’s not good for her.” Linda shot me a look filled with venom. “Why wasn’t it you in the crash? How can you stand there, you worthless man? Annie’s in this mess because she married a loser like you!” “If you’re so capable, why don’t you get the money for her treatment?” I raised my hands. “Mom, I asked you for money, remember? You wouldn’t give it to me. Something about ‘beating the hand?’” Linda suddenly remembered and sprang up, her face flushed with rage, spraying spit everywhere. “You liar! You’ve never told the truth in your life!” Before she could finish, I played the recording from my phone. “Mom, Annie needs money for her leg…” “Money, my ass! Busted!” There was an awkward silence in the ER. “Mom, after my business went under, you took all the money we had left. Without your help, how could I save her?” “I told you about the situation first thing. You’re really going to act like it’s not your fault?” “You… you did this on purpose, didn’t you?!” Linda’s face turned bright red as she lunged at me, but two quick-thinking nurses stepped in to hold her back. One of them scowled, “Can you keep it down? The patient needs rest! What kind of mother are you, anyway?” After my earlier emotional performance, the nurses had clearly become my biggest fans. They glared at Linda like they couldn’t believe such a good man had to deal with someone like her. Linda sneered, “What, are you two his girlfriends? Standing up for him like that? Where’s your shame?” “Who are you calling shameless?” “You! You’re the shameless one!” “Say that again, I dare you!” Just as things were about to get physical, a weak voice came from the hospital bed. “Mom…” My wife was awake.

Linda rushed to the bed and took Annie’s hand. “Annie, are you okay? Are you still in pain? Mom’s here now.” Wiping her tears, she turned to me and spat, “You just had to marry a deadbeat like him! If he hadn’t crashed the car, would you have had to Uber to your student’s house for lessons?” “My student… wait, what about Brandon? Is he okay?” “Brandon? Who’s that?” Linda asked, confused. I stepped in helpfully. “He’s the one who was driving Annie to her lesson. I heard they were pulled out of the wreck pretty easily since neither of them were wearing clothes.” “You!” Linda’s hand trembled as she pointed at me. “How dare you humiliate my daughter like that! I swear, I’ll make sure you regret ever opening that mouth of yours!” “Enough! I want to see Brandon!” Annie tried to throw the blanket off, but underneath, her legs were gone. “My legs! Where are my legs?” Annie screamed, her voice filled with despair. I quickly covered my face, pretending to weep. I didn’t want them to see how happy I was. “Annie’s legs, where are they?” Linda shrieked, frantically searching the bed. Annie, meanwhile, started smashing everything in sight. “I knew it! You did this to her, didn’t you?” Annie’s bloodshot eyes locked onto me, filled with accusation. I waved my hands. “Annie, when you were unconscious, I already explained the situation to Mom. The doctors heard it all, too.” “You know the state of our finances. After the business failed, you told Mom I wasn’t cut out for it, and she took control of everything. All the money is with her!” “When they said they needed $30,000 for the surgery, I had to ask her for it. She refused. She’s the one who didn’t save you. Not me! I couldn’t get the money!” I played the recording again, and that damning busted echoed through the room. Annie’s face turned dark, and she glared at Linda. Anyone could tell Linda had spent more time playing cards than taking care of the family. She’d taken all the money under the guise of ‘saving it for Annie,’ and now, Annie’s chance for recovery was gone. Linda dropped to her knees, wailing. “Annie, you’re my flesh and blood! How could I not care? It’s your husband, this good-for-nothing, lying to both of us!” “Enough!” Annie was shaking with rage. She pointed at her mother. “Get out!” “How can you talk to me like that, sweetie?” Just then, Jim barged into the room, out of breath. “Annie!” “Dad…” Jim’s eyes fell on the empty space where Annie’s legs used to be, and his face froze. He’d spent years bragging about his daughter’s talent, how many awards she’d won. His comfortable life was all thanks to the income she brought in with those legs of hers. All the city officials who’d sent their kids to Annie for dance lessons, those gifts and favors they’d received—everything was over now. Her legs were gone, and so was everything else. “Jim, thank God you’re here! You’ve got to stop Adam! He’s ruining our family!” Linda cried. Slap! Jim smacked Linda across the face, hard.

My name is Adam Cooper. I used to be a successful business owner, a rising star in the tech world. Five years ago, I met Annie at a dinner party. She was still in college. I had dropped out of high school to start my business. I was totally mesmerized by her—smart, cultured, and beautiful. She seemed so innocent, like a delicate flower. I fell head over heels for her. I thought she was the most talented, gentle, and pure woman I’d ever met. I pursued her relentlessly. Her family didn’t want her to go to art school. They wanted to use the money to put her brother, Tyler, through college. The night she found out, she came to me crying. We had a few drinks and ended up sleeping together. From that moment on, I paid for her to stay in school. Basically, I became her sugar daddy. She went on to win awards, became a state-level dance teacher, and eventually married me. At first, I thought her parents were just petty and tightfisted, but out of respect for Annie, I tolerated them. But then I realized—Annie wasn’t any better than they were. She was just better at hiding it. When my company was struggling, I found out I’d been blackballed. One of my competitors got drunk and spilled the beans. “You know why everyone’s out to get you, right?” “Because you stole the big boss’s side chick!” That night, I checked her phone and found out she was still seeing other men—one of them was even her student! She had sent him photos and videos, driving him crazy. Every time she went to his house for “lessons,” it wasn’t about books. It was about something else entirely. She never acted that way around me. Furious, I was about to confront her when the hospital called… “That bitch! It’s all because of you!” Jim growled at Linda. Linda was still seeing stars from the slap, but she managed to sit on the floor, wailing. “Oh God, I can’t take this anymore!” She wasn’t exactly a refined woman—more of a backwoods type who always resorted to drama and screaming when things went south. “How the hell did this car accident happen?” Jim was livid, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. “Who was driving the car? Who caused this mess? Annie’s lost her legs, and now I’m going to find the bastard responsible and tear his arms off!” “Yeah, Annie! You need to tell us who was driving that car! We’ll sue them for all they’ve got!” Linda added, still hoping to get some kind of payout. I watched Annie’s face flush red, her lips pressed tight. She couldn’t even bring herself to speak. I clapped my hands together, unable to hide my amusement. “If Annie doesn’t want to tell you, I will.”

“Jim, Linda, you both know Annie is a truly dedicated teacher, always looking after her students, right? She goes above and beyond, making sure they have everything they need. Well, this time, she decided to help one of them… a little too much.” Jim was starting to lose his patience. “Just get to the point!” I paused for effect, raising my eyebrows. “That is the point, Jim. Annie took her student, Brandon, into the car for a little, shall we say, extra tutoring session. They were getting real close when that truck came out of nowhere.” “You’re saying what, exactly?” Jim barked. “That our sweet, innocent Annie was… well, let’s just say, ‘educating’ her student in the back seat when they got hit.” “You’re lying! You filthy liar!” Jim roared, swinging his arm, trying to punch me. I dodged him easily, and he nearly stumbled into the bed. “He’s been spewing lies from the moment he got here! He’s just jealous that Annie’s more successful than he ever was. Marrying our daughter was the best thing that ever happened to this scumbag!” Linda joined in, her voice shrill and furious. “Yeah! Annie’s pure and kind! If she ever did something like that, I’ll jump out of this window right now!” Jim added, pounding his chest like a righteous man. Jim and Linda were so worked up, they could hardly see straight. They couldn’t believe their precious daughter could be anything but perfect. I watched them closely. They had always been a family that valued their son over their daughter. Annie’s brother, Tyler, had been kicked out of college for fighting, and now both parents relied on Annie’s dance career to fund their cushy lifestyle. No matter how much money I made, I was never good enough for them. They pretended I didn’t exist when things were good, but when things went bad, they all turned to Annie to bail them out. When my business was doing well, I didn’t let it get to me. I figured, hey, it’s family. But after my company crashed, they treated me like a stray dog. Tyler used to offer to park my car; now, when I go to dinner, I can feel the disdain rolling off of him in waves. That’s what this family is: opportunistic parasites. “Who here is Annie Cooper?” a stern voice called from the doorway. Jim and Linda’s ranting came to a halt as two police officers stepped into the room. “Officers! Finally! Arrest this lying scumbag! He’s been slandering our daughter this whole time, and he’s the one responsible for her accident! He’s the reason she lost her legs!” Linda screamed, jumping up and pointing at me like I was public enemy number one. The officers didn’t bother acknowledging her theatrics. They walked straight up to Annie’s bed and pulled out a stack of photos. “Mrs. Cooper, we’ve got surveillance footage from the crash site. Is this you?” One of the officers held up a photograph.

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The daughter I cherished like a treasure turned out to be a fraud. My real daughter, however, was thrown into a homeless camp by my husband. While that little snake, Chloe, paraded around in designer clothes, dripping in jewels, my daughter was dressed in rags, barely scraping by. Chloe was sent abroad for an Ivy League education, while my daughter remained illiterate. When my daughter finally escaped the wolves and returned home to seek her family, Lucas sent her away without telling me, shoving her out of our lives. Heartbroken, my daughter walked through the storm, only to be struck by a drunk truck driver. When I discovered the truth, I wanted to seek justice for her. But before I could, Chloe pushed me into the freezing waters of the Hudson River. In my last moments, I saw Lucas holding hands with Megan Stone, with Chloe clinging tightly to them. “Thank you for raising my daughter so well,” Lucas said with a smirk. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment Grace was born. This time, I would protect my precious daughter at all costs!

I struggled desperately in the ice-cold water of the Hudson. Until the moment I drowned, no one came to save me. I felt my soul leave my body. I was so unwilling to die, so full of hatred! Lucas, the man I loved deeply, had been cheating on me for years. The daughter I cherished like my own was actually Lucas and Megan Stone’s illegitimate child. Megan’s wild laughter echoed in my ears even in death. Before my eyes, I saw nothing but blood—just like the scene when my real daughter, Grace, died, her blood pooling around her lifeless body. If I could do it all over again, I would take revenge—for myself, and for Grace! Suddenly, I heard the cry of a newborn baby… I forced my heavy eyelids open. The blinding white ceiling, the smell of disinfectant. Was I in the hospital? I wasn’t supposed to be alive; I had drowned in the river, hadn’t I? I glanced around. The old-fashioned decor—it looked familiar. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen and couldn’t help but cry out. “Sweetheart, you’re awake! You scared me to death!” Mom? I focused my vision. It was my mother, but much younger than I remembered her. Wait… had I been reborn? Ignoring the pain, I bolted upright in bed. “Mom, where is my daughter?” In my past life, Lucas swapped my baby while I was weak and unconscious from childbirth. Not this time. Not again. My mother gently wiped the sweat from my forehead as I grabbed her arm, pleading. “Mom, where is my baby?” Unaware of my panic, she tried to soothe me. “Sweetie, don’t worry. The nurse took her for a checkup. She’ll be back soon.” “You should lie down and rest. You just had a baby; don’t overexert yourself.” I stared straight into my mother’s eyes. “Where’s Lucas?” She smiled. “Oh, you know him, he’s obsessed with Grace. The nurse only took her for a routine check, but he insisted on going with them.” What? My heart felt like it was in a vice, and I couldn’t breathe. No! I won’t let him get away with it this time. Ignoring the pain, I jumped out of bed, barefoot, and ran toward the door. My mother tried to stop me, but I sidestepped her and rushed to the door, only to collide with someone coming in. It was Lucas! He cradled the baby protectively, glaring at me with irritation. Seeing how he held Chloe so tenderly, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Even after being given a second chance, he had still won. Rage shot through me like wildfire. If my anger could take physical form, Lucas would have been reduced to ashes on the spot. “Melissa, the floor’s cold. Get back in bed,” Lucas said, faking concern. He thought he had fooled me, but I could still see the malice and impatience in his eyes. My mother caught up, pulling me back into bed. Once I was settled, Lucas laid Chloe beside me. “She’s hungry,” he said. On cue, Chloe started crying. I stared coldly at her. This was the child who had stolen Grace’s life, stolen all my love and resources, only to repay me by pushing me into the river. There wasn’t a creature in the world more vile than Chloe, this snake in the grass. Slowly, I reached out, my hand hovering over her neck. I wanted to strangle her right then and there. Lucas was lost in his own thoughts, smiling, unaware of what I was about to do. But my mother, who had been watching me closely, gasped. “Melissa, that’s not how you hold a baby. You need to support her neck.” “She’s crying because she’s hungry,” Lucas chimed in, smiling as he picked Chloe up, trying to place her in my arms. I turned away, lying down on the bed. “She can have formula. I’m tired. I need to rest.”

I closed my eyes, and all I could see was the blood covering the ground from the moment my daughter died. I won’t let any of these monsters get away with this. I’m playing the long game now. Lucas Anderson, the man my father handpicked, was nothing more than a glorified errand boy at my dad’s company. Maybe it was my family’s wealth that gave him the perfect cover—everyone thought he was the ideal husband. Everyone, including me, believed I had found the best man on earth. It wasn’t until the end that I learned the truth. Lucas called it “suffering in silence for a better future.” But that future was never with me—it was always with Megan Stone. Megan had even timed her pregnancy to align with mine, delivering early by C-section to swap our babies. Chloe, the little snake, was born small and frail, premature. I had spent my last life nursing her back to health, pouring every bit of my energy into her. She grew strong enough to push me into the freezing Hudson River. Lucas had been my father’s top choice, a man he believed could help carry the burden of the family business. He had chosen Lucas from among the scholarship recipients he had sponsored, thinking Lucas had the potential to succeed. Dad said Lucas was handsome, disciplined, and hardworking—a man with promise. Mom, however, insisted I should marry someone from an equally wealthy family. But I was blinded by Lucas’s charm, convinced he was the one for me. I even talked my mom into supporting our marriage. Looking back now, I was completely blind and foolish. I never saw the rotten core underneath Lucas’s polished exterior. As for when Lucas and Megan started their affair, I have no idea. But Megan’s due date was after mine, so he had to have been cheating on me while I was pregnant. Once I got pregnant, my focus shifted entirely to Grace. I slowly handed over control of the family business to Lucas, thinking he could handle it. This time around, Lucas won’t get a single cent from the Evans fortune. Once I recovered physically, I moved into the luxury Park Avenue Postpartum Retreat I had reserved. Back when we got married, we didn’t dig deep enough into Lucas’s past. We didn’t realize he had been pining after Megan all along. I contacted Uncle George, the head of security at Evans Family Enterprises, to dig into Lucas’s life thoroughly. The fact that he had managed to evade a professional background check told me he had planned this for years. Lucas claimed to have no family—his parents were dead, and he didn’t keep in touch with relatives. My parents and I had pitied him, bending over backward to make him feel like part of our family. I had even suppressed my privileged upbringing, afraid of hurting his fragile ego. Looking back now, I realize I was nothing but a fool. A man who could abandon his own daughter to a homeless camp deserves nothing less than to lose everything and end up alone. Business was busy, and most of the time it was just me and that little snake, Chloe. Watching her, this ungrateful, feral child, made me clench my fists just to stop myself from choking her. Meanwhile, my true daughter, Grace, was out there suffering, while this monster lay in the most luxurious postpartum retreat money could buy. Maybe it was the icy glare in my eyes, but Chloe started to cry. And then—two loud sounds. She had soiled herself. In my past life, I had pushed through my disgust, changing her diapers and cleaning her up time and time again. But not this time. This time, I didn’t care if she got a rash that covered her entire face. I had already refused to breastfeed her, and even though Lucas tried to hide it, I could see the resentment in his eyes. He was already planning his revenge, no doubt. Too bad for him—this time, I’m the one keeping score. Without a penny to his name, Lucas, the dependent son-in-law, couldn’t survive without me. No matter how angry he was, he had no choice but to swallow it. My parents, always so thoughtful, had sent high-end, imported baby formula. But I rejected it outright. I insisted on the cheaper kind. Even the staff at the retreat gave me strange looks. They wondered how someone as wealthy as me could be so stingy with a newborn. Some of them whispered that I must really favor boys over girls to act this way.

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The old lady next door lives alone, and she’s been mooching off my meals every day. One night, she suddenly fell ill. Out of kindness, I took her to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with late-stage colon cancer. Before I could even comfort her, her overly protective son accused me of poisoning her with my cooking. He went so far as to push me down a flight of stairs. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment when Mrs. Ruth Johnson had tagged me in the Nextdoor Community Group, asking me to bring her food. 0 “Sarah, are you there?” Early in the morning, Mrs. Ruth Johnson, my elderly neighbor, tagged me in the Nextdoor Community Group right on time. I stared at her message on my phone, a little dazed. Didn’t her son push me down the stairs? How can I still be seeing messages in the group? I quickly pinched my arm. Nope, I was still alive—and back to when Mrs. Johnson had just started living alone. “Sarah, I know you can see this. Can you open the door? I need to talk to you.” “You can just tell me in the group chat. I’m not really available right now.” I tried to make my reply sound as casual as possible. Mrs. Johnson posted again in the Nextdoor Community Group. “Sarah, you’re such a kind soul. My gas is out, and I don’t know how to refill the tank. Could you bring me a meal?” Her tone was so pitiful. In my past life, I was fooled by that frail and helpless act, which led me to take care of her—ultimately costing me my life! This time around, there’s no way I’m signing my own death sentence. “Gas? I don’t know how to refill it either. Why don’t you give your son a call to help you out?” I replied on purpose, but Mrs. Johnson responded like it was the most natural thing. “My son’s not around. Sarah, could you help me? You’ve always been there for me in the past.” “I’m just an old lady living on my own. If I starve to death, you being my neighbor—won’t your conscience hurt?” “Yeah, Sarah, we’re all neighbors here. What’s the harm in lending a hand?” Suddenly, someone else chimed in—it was Michael Adams, another neighbor on my floor. I smirked. “Lend a hand”? It’s never been easy for me. I’m swamped with work, so I make a simple packed lunch to bring to the office. Since Mrs. Johnson started mooching, she’s been picky about what she eats, demanding I get up at dawn to shop for her favorites at the farmer’s market. The time I wasted each day could have been enough to sit down for eight meals after work. My expenses went up fast, too. Last time around, I cooked for her for a whole month. In the end, she got cancer and blamed my cooking. I still don’t know what got into me last time. All it took was for her to ask, and I’d give in. Taking a deep breath, I replied to the nosy neighbor. “My gas is out too. Hey, Michael, you live closer to SoCalGas, don’t you? How about you help both Mrs. Johnson and me with the gas?” As soon as I sent the message, Michael backed out, “I’ve been working long hours at the construction site. No time to make it to the gas company.” “Sorry, gotta run—boss is calling.” Michael stopped responding after that. He’s always been the type to preach about kindness but never lifts a finger when it’s his turn to help. Mrs. Johnson, still with no dinner after all that back-and-forth, wasn’t ready to give up. She tagged me again. “Sarah, what are you busy with? Maybe I can wait until you’re done?” “I twisted my ankle. The doctor says I won’t be walking for at least a month or two.” “That long?” Mrs. Johnson sounded shocked. “Well then, I won’t trouble you. I can’t wait that long.” Mrs. Johnson stopped messaging in the Nextdoor Community Group. Finally, the tension left my body, and I started packing. It was time to cancel my lease and move out of this place. In my previous life, Mrs. Johnson’s son pushed me off a building at the hospital. I’ll never forget the terror of that fall, and I sure don’t want to experience it again. The best choice is to stay as far away from Mrs. Johnson as possible. 0

At 3 a.m., I was jolted awake by a notification from the group chat. It was a voice call initiated by none other than Steven Johnson, Mrs. Johnson’s son. When I didn’t answer, he started ranting in the group. “Sarah, are you even human? My mom’s out of gas and asked you for a meal, and you couldn’t be bothered?” “She’s an elderly woman! If she starves to death at home, can you live with that?” What a lunatic. How is it my responsibility if his mom eats or not? “She’s your mom, not mine. Besides, I’m not a restaurant. If I make her something and she gets sick, I’m not taking the blame!” “You’ve already made her food two or three times! You’re clearly trying to starve her to death on purpose!” Steven was completely unreasonable, and I lost it. “I sprained my ankle! I can barely make food for myself, let alone for your mom.” “If you care so much, why don’t you come over and cook for her yourself?” I muted the group chat immediately. This guy’s insane. Just because I didn’t cook for his mom, he comes ranting at me in the middle of the night? I’m not Mrs. Johnson’s daughter or her caretaker. Why should I be responsible for her? If I had known how this would play out, I would have refused her the first time she asked to mooch off my meals. Out of pity, I gave her a little extra when I cooked. She was a lonely, frail old lady who couldn’t even get a hot meal. I didn’t expect her to latch onto me like a leech. But my kindness wasn’t met with gratitude from either her or her son. Instead, they took it for granted, assuming it was my duty to help. The next morning, Mrs. Johnson started tagging me relentlessly in the Nextdoor Community Group again. I had the group muted and didn’t even see the messages. Besides, I’d already called the moving company and was ready to get out of there as soon as I sold my apartment. It was the smell of smoke that woke me up later. There was a crowd gathered at Mrs. Johnson’s door, and the firefighters looked annoyed. “Ma’am, even if you’re living alone, you’ve got to keep an eye on the stove.” “If the property manager hadn’t noticed the smoke, this whole building could’ve gone up.” “Seriously! We just had these walls repainted, and now they’ll need to be redone because of this mess. What a waste of money!” The property management staff complained. Mrs. Johnson didn’t dare make a peep, standing by the door, all meek and quiet. Michael had just come back from his night shift. After hearing what happened, he immediately spoke up for Mrs. Johnson. “Come on, folks. It wasn’t intentional. She’s an old lady living by herself. A little mistake is understandable. The important thing is no one got hurt.” Mrs. Johnson instantly put on a tearful face. “It’s okay, Michael. I don’t blame anyone. This is definitely my fault, but I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.” “I was starving all day yesterday and messaged Sarah this morning to help me make some porridge, but she didn’t respond. I was starting to worry something had happened to her. Now that I see her walking around, I feel so much better…” Her passive-aggressive tone made my blood boil. What annoyed me even more was that Michael, always the good guy, believed her without question and turned to scold me. “Sarah, what’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you reply to Mrs. Johnson’s messages? You’re perfectly fine, and she nearly burned the building down because of you.” I watched them play off each other, smiling coldly on the inside. But on the surface, I put on a guilty expression, ready to play along. “I’m really sorry. My ankle’s been hurting so much, and some jerk was yelling at me last night. I barely slept until this morning.” “If it weren’t for the smoke, I’d probably still be passed out right now.” Michael, always eager for gossip, leaned in, curious. “Who was yelling at you in the middle of the night? Is this person unhinged or something? Did you do something to set them off?” “Ugh!” I sighed heavily. “It was Mrs. Johnson’s son.” “He started yelling at me around 3 a.m. because I didn’t cook for his mom. He tagged me in the group chat just to curse me out.” As I said this, I glanced around at the other neighbors who had gathered to watch the drama unfold. I raised my voice a little to make sure they could hear. “Hey, neighbors, we’re all part of this community. Mrs. Johnson is an elderly woman living alone, so let’s help where we can.” “I’ve got a hurt ankle and can’t cook for her. Maybe someone else could make a meal and share it with Mrs. Johnson?” As soon as I finished speaking, the place fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. Everyone had seen Steven’s outburst in the group chat the day before. Nobody wanted to deal with that kind of trouble. After what seemed like an eternity, someone muttered under their breath. “When my mom lived alone, she still cooked for herself. It’s not really fair to expect the neighbors to do it.” “Yeah, sure, elderly people need help sometimes, but she’s got a son. It’s not our job to take care of her.” With that, the crowd dispersed. 0

Michael noticed Mrs. Johnson’s face turning sour, so he tried to console her, playing the good guy again. “Mrs. Johnson, don’t let those selfish people bother you.” I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, no compassion at all.” “Michael, I know you cook at home often, and you’re right across the hall from Mrs. Johnson. How about you make her some meals over the next few days?” Michael’s expression instantly changed to one of pure panic. “My cooking’s terrible. I doubt Mrs. Johnson would even like it.” “But your dad’s a retired chef from a fancy hotel. Surely cooking for an elderly neighbor wouldn’t be too difficult?” Michael’s dad lived with him, and the two were known for their nightly meals and occasional drinks, the aromas wafting through the halls for everyone to enjoy. Michael’s face turned pale. “That’s not gonna work! We only cook stuff that goes well with a drink. Mrs. Johnson’s tastes are different. And anyway, what if something goes wrong and she gets sick? Who’s gonna be responsible?” See? He knew all along how risky it was, but it only mattered when it wasn’t his responsibility. Smiling, I played along. “Exactly, Michael. You know how dangerous it is to feed someone else. So why didn’t you warn me when I was cooking for Mrs. Johnson a few days ago?” “Luckily, nothing happened. Michael, you wouldn’t have let me take the blame on purpose, would you?” Sweat began dripping down Michael’s back as he stammered out a response. “I—I just didn’t think of it until now. Anyway, I’ve been working nights, so I should probably get some sleep.” Michael made a hasty exit. Mrs. Johnson shot me a glance from the doorway, her face a twisted mix of frustration and defeat. “Never mind. It was just a moment of carelessness on my part. I’ll make sure to be more careful in the kitchen from now on.” “As for what happened yesterday, my son definitely overreacted. Please don’t take it to heart, Sarah.” I thought for a moment that Mrs. Johnson had finally changed her ways. But it turns out, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Later that afternoon, community volunteers came by to drop off supplies—bags of flour, rice, and oil—to help Mrs. Johnson out. But she looked at the items with pure disdain. “I don’t eat this kind of oil. It’s all GMO. Not healthy at all.” “And what am I supposed to do with flour? I’m an old woman! Do you expect me to knead dough on my own?” The community workers exchanged awkward glances. Then Mrs. Johnson’s gaze shifted to the takeout bag in my hand. “Sarah, that takeout smells delicious. Why don’t you give me a bite?” “Mrs. Johnson, this takeout is all processed junk food. It’s not good for you at your age. You should really stick to cooking at home.” I quickly grabbed my takeout and closed the door, devouring it in record time. In my past life, I’d ordered takeout for Mrs. Johnson plenty of times. She was picky, only wanting the priciest meals. One time, when a heavy rainstorm delayed the delivery, she refused to eat the food and called to complain. “Sarah, what is this garbage you ordered? It’s cold and inedible!” “Take it back home with you when you get off work. I’m not touching it!” Of course, she never paid me for any of the takeout. Looking back, I can’t believe how I was such a pushover—working like a dog, too broke to order food for myself, yet still paying out of pocket to get her the best meals. After finishing my takeout, I reclined on the balcony, enjoying the breeze in my lounge chair. This relaxed life was heaven. Suddenly, the video doorbell buzzed, alerting me to someone at the door. It was Mrs. Johnson again, I assumed, back to cause more trouble. But when I checked the live feed, I saw a man standing there instead. Judging by his posture, he looked a lot like Michael’s dad. And right now, the two of them were holding hands, exchanging glances so intense you could almost see sparks flying between them. Well, well, well. Looks like there’s more to this story than I thought. 0

Mrs. Johnson was practically draped over John Adams, working her charm like she had perfected the art. “John, if it weren’t for you, I don’t know what would’ve happened. I really thought I was at the end of my rope,” she said, her voice trembling for effect. “I was so hungry that I collapsed just outside my door.” John, ever the gentleman, responded quickly. “Why didn’t you say anything? I’m a retired chef! Making a meal for you would’ve been no trouble at all.” Mrs. Johnson kept her tone soft, still pulling at his emotions. “How could I impose? Besides, your son mentioned that the meals you make at home are all too heavy, more suited for a glass of whiskey. I’m not sure I’d be able to handle it…” John bristled at the mention of his son. “Michael’s talking nonsense! We eat hearty, delicious food every day. Tell you what, why don’t I whip up a nice chicken pot pie for you?” Mrs. Johnson hesitated for effect. “Won’t Michael mind?” That set John off. “Mind? What business is it of his? I make the rules in my house!” Mrs. Johnson smiled sweetly. “You’re too kind, John. Anyone lucky enough to be a part of your family is truly blessed.” With that, she had him wrapped around her finger. John was practically glowing from her praise, and off he went to cook her a meal. I couldn’t help but laugh. Mrs. Johnson hadn’t lost her touch. In no time at all, she had found her next target—a free personal chef. I could only imagine Michael’s face when he came home to find that the pot pie meant for his dinner had been devoured by Mrs. Johnson. Satisfied with the little drama, I ordered another round of takeout and spent the rest of the afternoon lounging comfortably. As I settled down to watch a movie, my phone buzzed—there was a flurry of activity in the Nextdoor Community Group. “Mrs. Johnson, couldn’t you have discussed whatever it was in person? Did my dad really need to go over to your place in the middle of the night?” “What’s going on that you have to drag him into this mess?” Michael’s post read. Mrs. Johnson wasted no time replying. “I just wanted to thank your father for making me dinner. Michael, I think you’re overreacting.” “Overreacting? My dad has never once cooked for me in years. Then suddenly he’s making you pot pie? I’ve never even had his pot pie!” Michael fumed in the chat. Frustrated, John finally chimed in. “That’s enough! Mrs. Johnson needs help, and I’m more than happy to provide it. You’re a grown man—do you still expect me to cook your meals? Seriously, Michael, stop being selfish!” The chat had clearly caught everyone’s attention. Michael, in a fit of rage, continued. “Stop being selfish? I bust my butt working all day and come home to relax with a drink and a decent meal, but now my food is going to someone else? And let’s not forget—this woman had the nerve to cozy up to you, and now you’re at her place all the time!” He wasn’t holding back. I hadn’t expected him to air their dirty laundry so openly. The other neighbors jumped in, unable to resist. “This does seem a bit much.” “Yeah, getting free meals is one thing, but turning the chef into your personal servant is another.” “Careful, Mrs. Johnson, if you steal our building’s prized cook, Michael’s going to starve.” The comments kept rolling in, getting more and more out of hand. Mrs. Johnson remained silent, no doubt furious but unable to retaliate. I let the chaos play out in the group while I turned back to my movie. But the next morning, I woke to a different kind of chaos. Standing at my front door was Steven Johnson. And in his hand was a knife.

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Chris Harper and I had been married for five years, and in that time, he had dated at least ten girlfriends. So when Lily Parker showed up at his side, my friends all told me: “Chris is just having fun. Don’t take it seriously.” But I knew better. Chris was serious this time. More serious than anyone realized. “Hey, I heard it’s your wedding anniversary with Chris today.” “How about we make a bet? Let’s see who can keep Chris. Whoever loses will gracefully step aside.” That popped up in my text messages. It was a challenge from Lily Parker, Chris’s new girlfriend. I thought it was childish, so I didn’t respond. Instead, I smiled and returned to the Grand Ballroom at The Waldorf Astoria, where all eyes were on the star of the night. Chris noticed me immediately and smiled as he walked over, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You don’t look well.” Our friends nearby cheered us on, saying how Chris and I were still as in love as ever, how our marriage had withstood the test of time. Some joked, urging Chris to treat me well and not regret anything later. Chris navigated the crowd effortlessly, like a fish in water. I stayed by his side, the perfect accessory, putting on the appropriate smile. Halfway through the night, the host grabbed the microphone and invited Chris to come up and say a few words. Chris nodded and turned to me. “I have a gift for you,” he said. I smiled back. “Great.” The next second, his phone rang. The ringtone was jarring. Chris paused, hesitant, but after a moment, he continued toward the stage, picked up the microphone, and finished his greetings to the crowd. His eyes then locked onto mine. “Today is our fifth wedding anniversary.” “You once mentioned liking an island.” “I bought it for you as an anniversary gift.” His assistant handed him a contract, but as soon as it was in his hands, the phone rang again. The ringtone cut through the atmosphere like a knife, and I saw a flash of panic in Chris’s eyes. I turned to look behind me, and my heart skipped a beat. Standing on the outskirts of the crowd was the girl from the profile picture—the one I’d seen in the text message. She stood there, holding her phone, silently mouthing, “Answer it.” Her eyes were bright, but there was a faint mist over them. She mouthed the words again, “Answer the call.” Against my better judgment, I turned back toward Chris. The contract slipped from Chris’s hands as he answered the call. The girl’s voice, strained with emotion, echoed through the ballroom. “Chris.” “I’m breaking up with you.” There was a pause, then she dropped the bomb. “And I’m getting rid of this baby.” “Chris,” she continued in a soft, broken voice. “I don’t want you anymore.” And then, she hung up. The whole room went silent. No one noticed the girl in the simple white dress turning to leave after delivering her message. But Chris did. Not only did he notice, but without hesitation, he threw down the microphone and rushed out of the ballroom. The girl’s earlier challenge echoed in my mind: How about we make a bet? Let’s see who can keep Chris. Suddenly panicked, I lost all sense of decorum. Lifting the hem of my dress, I ran after him. I grabbed his hand, pleading, “Don’t go.” “Chris.” “Please, don’t leave.” I had always been composed, always the graceful Mrs. Harper. I was the girl Chris picked out of all the others in the foster care home, the one he chose to be the wife of the Harper family. I was the one who stayed by his side, even though I knew that our relationship was based more on years of growing up together than on passion. Yet, despite it all, I had fallen hopelessly in love with him. “Chris.” Tears streamed down my face. My voice broke. “Please, don’t leave.”

I held onto Chris’s hand so tightly that I was shaking. Then, I saw the disappointment in his eyes as he turned to face me. “Sarah,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “She’s different from you. She has nothing without me.” “You have everything,” Chris said, gently prying my fingers off. “But she only has me.” He let go of my hand. I fell to the floor, my newly done nails scraping against the carpet, splitting open as blood welled up from the cuts. The pain left me speechless. Chris hesitated for a moment when he saw me on the ground, but then, he turned and walked away. I couldn’t stop him, and I became the joke of the evening. Everyone tried to comfort me. “Chris is just used to running wild. He’s always had his flings.” “If he was going to settle down, he would have done it already.” “Sarah, don’t be upset. You and Chris grew up together. You’ve got years of history. No one can replace that.” “That girl’s just trying to use the baby to climb her way up. You’ve seen girls like her before. Don’t let it bother you.” Everyone kept telling me not to take it seriously. That Chris was just playing around. They told me not to invest my emotions. Some even suggested that I should play the same game, act weak, and beat the other woman at her own game. Everyone had an excuse for Chris. No one wanted to admit that Chris had actually fallen for her. But I knew. Chris was more invested than he’d ever been. The party ended early, and when I got home, Chris still wasn’t back. The maid had already made ginger tea and left it on the dining table. Beside it was a bouquet of roses Chris had bought earlier. The vibrant red of the roses only made me feel more pathetic in the quiet night. I went to the bedroom and saw our wedding photo. For a moment, I felt dazed. I walked over to the nightstand, took down the photo, and began cutting it into pieces with a pair of scissors. Then I smashed everything in the carefully decorated room in a fit of rage. Finally, I collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. I cried until midnight, when the room was pitch dark. The only light came from my phone, the screen piercing my eyes. I opened the message. It was from Lily. A picture of her and Chris holding hands. Then, a voice message. And some text. The voice message was their conversation. She asked him, “When you left your wife behind, do you think she’ll blame you? Am I being too selfish, forgetting my place?” Without hesitation, Chris responded, “No one is more important than you.” “As long as you’re okay.” “That’s all that matters.” Chris’s voice felt like a thousand needles piercing my body. My chest tightened in pain as I read Lily’s text. You lost. Chris doesn’t love you. Give up your place as Mrs. Harper. Don’t make this messier than it has to be. Chris didn’t come home that night. I didn’t care anymore. I’d cried myself dry. The years we spent growing up together were over, and I was the only one left clinging to the past. It was laughable. As I packed my bags to leave, my phone rang. Chris’s voice came through, hoarse. “Sarah, Lily’s young and immature. You’ve always been the understanding one, but last night, you really crossed the line.” “How could you embarrass me like that?” “I don’t want this to happen again.”

I used to love hearing Chris’s voice. My father was a gambler, and after he lost everything, he tried to force my mother to sell herself to pay off his debts. She refused, and one stormy night, she fled with me. My father chased us through the streets with a knife. In the end, she hid me in a trash bin at the alleyway’s edge, and I watched as my father hacked her to death that night. The downpour. The endless lightning. And my father’s eerie whistling, coaxing me out. Those moments haunted my nightmares for years. Every time there was a thunderstorm, Chris would hold me tight, gently patting my back, whispering, “Sarah, don’t be scared.” “I’m here.” For those years, Chris became my only emotional anchor. Naturally, he became the only light in my life. But last night, even with the storm raging outside and lightning flashing, Chris wasn’t the one comforting me anymore. He’d forgotten that I get scared, forgotten that I need someone too. He could wake up the next morning without any remorse, blaming me for making him look bad. If love is something that builds over time, then not loving is like flipping an hourglass. My hand trembled as I held my phone, staring at the now-clear sky, tears still spilling, my chest aching. But I had to maintain my dignity. I had to hold onto what little composure I had left. So I said to Chris: “The divorce papers are on the table.” “I’ll only take what’s rightfully mine. Nothing more.” Before he could respond, I hung up. I blocked his number and deleted his contact, breathing heavily as I realized that cutting ties with someone you’ve loved for so long was like weaning a child off milk. But that’s okay. I was willing to let time heal me. I was ready to move forward. I’d booked the next available flight. To Portland, Maine. The place I’d once dreamed of moving to with Chris, where I’d imagined us living a simple life. I had asked him once, naively, if we could ever just be a regular couple, living in a small town together until we grew old. Chris had laughed at my innocence but then turned serious. “I don’t want to be ordinary.” “Small-town life comes with no room for error, no risks to take.” “I want to be somebody.” “I want to make you somebody, someone everyone looks up to.” Back then, Chris seemed to glow like a hero—a real-life hero, at least to me. He achieved everything he set out to do. Even though he drifted through countless flings during our five years of marriage, no one dared to speak ill of me. He always protected me, never letting me get hurt by the women who came and went. We had an unspoken agreement. I would fulfill my role as Mrs. Harper, and he would always keep me in the most important spot in his life. That was enough. But I had forgotten something. Human nature is easily tempted. And when a new woman lights a fire in Chris, the flames will spread uncontrollably. My once-brave knight no longer fought for me but instead turned his sword toward me. I chose not to fight back. I chose to walk away, giving them what they wanted. And giving myself the freedom I needed.

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My older sister Crystal has a savior complex. She thought our housekeeper was pitiful and wanted me to become her daughter instead. I enthusiastically agreed and went with her that very day to handle the paperwork. Whoever she felt sorry for, she could go be their daughter herself. In this life, she took my place being sold to the countryside and becoming a plaything. “Our housekeeper Mrs. Johnson is so pitiful. Her daughter isn’t even by her side. Why don’t you change your surname and become her daughter?” my older sister Crystal said. I wasn’t surprised at all to hear this from her. Instead, I clapped my hands in agreement. “Sister, you’re such a good person!” That same day, I went with her to handle the relevant paperwork. However, the one who ended up changing surnames wasn’t me, but my sister Crystal. I had secretly swapped the documents, and she didn’t notice at all. After all, she was used to me obeying her every word. When we got home, she started ordering the servants around. “Oh, and starting today, set one less place at the table.” “You’re right, sister. Since you’re no longer part of our family, you really shouldn’t be eating at the same table as me,” I said nonchalantly as I sat down in the main seat and started eating. “Ruby, what nonsense are you talking about? You’re the one who’s supposed to become the housekeeper’s daughter,” Crystal said, glaring at me with a sour expression. “Oh? Sister, did you misunderstand something?” I asked calmly, not even bothering to look at her as I took out the agreement from my bag and tossed it to her. Crystal picked up the agreement and only had to glance at it for a few seconds before her eyes widened in shock. “Ruby, you little bitch! How dare you trick me!” “From now on, we’re changing the rules in this house. I eat at the table, while the housekeeper doesn’t. You can only eat my leftovers. Got it?” I said, looking down at her from my seat. “Ruby, have you gone mad? How dare you talk to me like this? Do you have a death wish? I’m your sister!” Crystal shouted angrily. I took out two identification booklets. “Look carefully. Your registration is no longer in the same booklet as mine. You’re just our housekeeper’s daughter now. If you keep talking back, I might just throw you out.” Crystal has always had a savior complex, feeling pity for everyone she saw. But every time she made a sacrifice, it was always at my expense. When we were little, she saw a beggar on the street and thought he looked lonely and pitiful. So she left me there to be the beggar’s daughter. If our parents hadn’t found me in time, I would have been sold off to some far-off place. In school, she felt sorry for the school bullies because they didn’t have parents around. She hung out with them every day and even brought them home. I was just a child then, and they used me as their punching bag. I nearly lost my life. As she grew older, it only got worse. She sympathized with our housekeeper who had only been with us for two months. “Mrs. Johnson is so pitiful. Her daughter isn’t even by her side. You should go be her daughter.” In my previous life, after I refused, she secretly changed my surname behind my back and forcibly sent me to be the housekeeper’s daughter. She told our parents I was just away on a study trip. In the end, she conspired with outsiders to steal all the money from our family. She even poisoned our parents, causing them both to die from the toxins. She even had me kidnapped and taken to the countryside, where she gave me to the housekeeper’s brother as a wife. I was locked in a cellar for three years, enduring inhuman torture every day. After multiple failed escape attempts, I chose to bite off my own tongue and end my life. When I woke up again, it was to Crystal saying: “Sister, why don’t you go be the housekeeper’s daughter?” This time, I clapped my hands in agreement and took the initiative. I absolutely wouldn’t let her have any opportunity to act against me. I pushed her towards the door. “Mom and Dad will be so proud of you. Don’t worry.” “Crystal, oh, I should call you Jenna Johnson now. If you’re not happy with this, why don’t you go find your housekeeper mom and have her take you back to the countryside?” I said with a cold smile. Crystal stomped her foot and walked away. “Ruby, just you wait. I’ll make you pay for this.” So Crystal went to our parents’ company to plead her case. My heart tightened. In my previous life, Crystal had caused our parents to fall gravely ill. Even with their dying breaths, they were still trying to persuade her to face reality. In this life, I was sure our parents would continue to indulge her. But the result was beyond my expectations. Crystal hadn’t even seen our parents before she was kicked out by the security at the front desk. “The CEO said he only has one daughter named Ruby. We’re not to let anyone else see them,” the guard said. I was overjoyed and rushed to find my parents. The moment I saw them, I couldn’t hold back my tears. “Mom, Dad, I’ve missed you so much.” The three of us embraced, and they said, “Ruby, don’t worry. In this life, we’ll definitely protect you properly.” I looked up at them. As I had guessed, my parents had also been reborn. It was a relief. I had been worrying about how to persuade my parents to see through Crystal’s true nature. Now it was settled – the three of us would get our revenge on Crystal together. She thought she had the biggest heart for others? Well, I’d let her be a good person all the way. She could go take care of Mrs. Johnson’s family in the countryside.

Over the next few days, I found fault with everything Mrs. Johnson did at home. I climbed up a ladder to the top of a cabinet, wiped it with my hand, and showed her the dust. “How do you do your job? You can’t even clean a cabinet properly. Maybe you should just pack your bags and get out.” Mrs. Johnson’s legs trembled in fear. Crystal came to support her. “Ruby, what’s wrong with you? Can’t you see how hard Mrs. Johnson’s life is? She’s already so unfortunate, why are you making things difficult for her?” “Oh, is that so? Then why don’t you clean it instead? It’s not strange for a daughter to help her mother, right?” I said indifferently. If I hadn’t lived through another life, I wouldn’t be so harsh on Mrs. Johnson. But now I knew she wasn’t a good person either. She took a high salary from our family, but not only did she slack off and not do her work properly, she also ordered others around. After she left her job in my previous life, she even slandered our family online. She even encouraged Crystal to sell me to their hometown to be her brother’s daughter-in-law. For someone like her, I wanted to tear her to pieces. “It’s okay, I don’t mind working harder. I have a big family to support at home,” Mrs. Johnson said, wiping away her tears. Crystal became even angrier. “Ruby, you’re going too far. We won’t put up with your attitude anymore.” She stepped forward, about to slap me, but I pushed her away first. Crystal was furious. She helped Mrs. Johnson up and said, “Mrs. Johnson, let’s go. We won’t stay here any longer!” “We just renewed Mrs. Johnson’s contract recently. If you leave now, you’ll have to pay a penalty fee,” I said gleefully. “You… Fine, I’ll pay the penalty fee if that’s what it takes,” Crystal said. With those words, I immediately had people pack up Mrs. Johnson’s belongings and throw them out. Why weren’t there any of Crystal’s belongings? Because everything she owned belonged to our family. She couldn’t take a single thing with her. She still clung to her designer bags, refusing to let go. “These are all mine. Why can’t I take them with me?” I went over with a dark expression. “Miss Johnson, have you forgotten? When you bought these things, your surname was Huang. But now, your surname is Johnson.” Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, Crystal tried to appeal to my emotions. “Sister, don’t you remember? I’m your older sister. I watched you grow up. How can you be so heartless to me? Even if my surname is Johnson now, I’m still your sister.” I shook off her hand. “Sister? You mean the sister who gave away my things for free to a bunch of good-for-nothings from childhood to adulthood?” “Or the sister who falsely accused me of stealing?” Once, there was a thief at school who stole many things. To protect her friend, Crystal publicly accused me of being the thief in front of everyone. She even hid her belongings in my schoolbag. I was isolated and insulted by everyone. It wasn’t until later that I found out the real thief was Crystal’s classmate. To protect her, Crystal had lied and said I was the thief. “How can you be so petty? That was so long ago. I just felt sorry for them. You should have some compassion too,” Crystal said, rolling her eyes disdainfully. “Yes, you have the biggest heart. No one’s heart is bigger than yours. So now, please leave,” I said, pointing to the open door. “You… Mom and Dad would never allow you to kick me out. Stop putting on an act,” Crystal said, crossing her arms confidently. The next moment, our parents walked in. “Your mother is that housekeeper outside. Don’t call the wrong person.” Crystal’s eyes widened. “Mom, Dad, how can you be like this too? Didn’t you always teach me to be kind to others?” “We taught you to be kind, but we never taught you to help bad people. Don’t try to pin this on us,” our father said sternly. “What good people or bad people? You’re just prejudiced against them. They’re more pitiful than anyone else. If you won’t help them, I will!” Crystal said angrily as she pushed past our mother and walked out. Crystal took Mrs. Johnson’s hand affectionately and said, “Mom, let’s go. From now on, I’ll be your real daughter.” Mrs. Johnson smiled at her, but for some reason, it sent chills down my spine. I sent a lawyer to claim compensation from Mrs. Johnson for breaching the contract. Crystal probably emptied out all her savings. She sent me a message: [Ruby, just you wait.]

Sure enough, a few days later, Mrs. Johnson posted a video online claiming that we had abused her, treated her as less than human, and humiliated her. When she worked as our housekeeper, she had earned quite a bit of money and gained many followers by bragging about working in a mansion. Now, all her followers began to speak up for her. “Just because you’re rich, you think you’re better than everyone else?” “What’s wrong with a housekeeper working honestly? Why look down on her?” In this life, Mrs. Johnson directly exposed photos of our family and our home address. Many angry people came to throw rotten eggs at our front door. “My dear sister, are you scared now? This is just the first step,” Crystal called me as soon as she saw the online comments. It was clear that she had been the one to suggest this idea to Mrs. Johnson. “Heh, sister, don’t end up outsmarting yourself,” I replied. After waiting for the comments to reach a certain number that evening, I began my counterattack. I registered a new account called “Exposing Housekeeper Johnson’s True Face”. It contained footage from security cameras, recording various scenes of Mrs. Johnson working at our house. She used instant meal kits instead of cooking properly, picked up food that had been licked by dogs and continued to use it, and touched food with her hands right after scratching her bottom. Every detail was enough to make one lose their appetite. The videos she posted online were nothing more than staged performances. And this was just the first step. The tone of the netizens’ comments clearly changed. “Oh my god, I wouldn’t even dare to buy such dirty food from a street vendor.” I then released another video showing how Mrs. Johnson, relying on Crystal’s favoritism, deliberately oppressed the other housekeepers. When we weren’t home, she acted like the mistress of the house, verbally abusing the other housekeepers, bossing them around, and taking credit for their work. “Pah, a lousy housekeeper dares to eat the same food as me? Know your place,” Mrs. Johnson said in the video. This thoroughly angered the netizens.

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