I’ve always had issue with low blood sugar. Because of that, my childhood best friend, Ethan, always kept an emergency stash of chocolate in his backpack just for me. Today, right after crushing the 800-meter track event, I was feeling faint. I naturally reached into his bag for a bar. Suddenly, Serena, the delicate new transfer student, burst into tears. She looked at me, trembling, and asked, “Why would you steal the birthday gift Ethan gave me? I know it was just chocolate, but it was my gift…” Ethan panicked immediately. He rushed to her side, cooing that he’d buy her a new one, a better one. I was left standing there, completely stunned, a bitter taste filling my mouth. Later, I was representing the school at a regional meet. The moment I crossed the finish line in first place, Ethan and my new desk-mate, Leo, both stepped forward. They both held out a chocolate bar at the same time. Without a second thought, I silently took the bar from Leo. Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air. He looked at me, lost and hurt. “Harper, why won’t you take my chocolate anymore?” 01 We were the center of attention. I stood there, gripping the hal-eaten chocolate bar, my palm slick with sweat. The heat was melting the chocolate, smearing it all over my hand. Serena was still crying. “Harper, I know you don’t like me being friends with Ethan, but I just got here. He’s my only friend.” She sniffed dramatically. “I just… I just wanted to feel what it was like for someone to have me in their thoughts…” The whispers started immediately, swirling around me from every direction in the homeroom. “No way! Is Harper really that petty? Stealing someone’s birthday gift?” “Tsk, she’s not ‘someone,’ she’s the childhood friend. Looks like she’s jealous that her guy is giving attention to the new girl.” “That’s so desperate. Just because she’s on an athletic scholarship doesn’t mean she owns him.” “Serena is so heartbroken. I want to give her my allowance to buy her a better gift.” … I froze. I wanted to explain. But it felt like something was blocking my throat. I couldn’t get the words out. I wanted to say that I didn’t know it was her birthday. I didn’t mean to steal anything. I wanted to say that Ethan was the one who told me that whenever my sugar crashed, his backpack was a safe haven for chocolate. That’s the only reason I took it. I was dizzy, exhausted from running my best time. I just needed to not faint. I had no idea that specific bar, wrapped up with a tiny bow, was a gift for her. Ethan, having heard the commotion, rushed back from the teacher’s lounge. When I saw him, relief washed over me. My eyes stung. He was finally here. He would explain everything for me. Or so I thought. Ethan didn’t even glance at me. He ran straight to Serena, leaning over, desperately trying to calm her down. “Don’t cry, Serena. I’ll get you another gift. A better one.” Looking at Serena’s pristine, tear-streaked face, Ethan finally remembered I existed. He turned to me, his expression full of accusation. “Harper, apologize to Serena. That was her gift.” The room practically exploded with ‘I told you so’ looks. “Wow, confirmed. Harper really did take the new girl’s gift.” “Taking something without asking is just stealing, period.” Countless subtle, disdainful looks were aimed at me. It was blindingly sunny outside, but I was shivering violently inside. The humiliation and shame almost swallowed me whole. Finally, I took a deep breath. I forced the tears back, Refusing to let them fall. I turned to Serena, stiffened my spine, and gave a forced, robotic apology. “I’m sorry.” 02 Before the bell rang for class to start. Ethan pulled Serena back to our section of the room. That’s when I realized my desk had been moved. Ethan and I used to sit next to each other. Now, Serena was in my spot. I looked around, lost, searching for my desk. “Your seat is over there,” Ethan said flatly. I followed his finger to the very back corner, by the rear door. It was isolated. No desk-mate. My textbooks were in a disorganized mess on the dusty surface. “You’ve been away at the training camp for weeks,” Ethan explained, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “Serena can’t see the board from the back, so she swapped with you. It’s not like you’re in class often anyway.” I listened to his distant voice, numb. I walked to the back row, moving like a ghost. Behind me, I heard Serena whisper, “Won’t she be mad about this? Maybe I should just give it back…” “Forget it. She made you cry. Consider this her way of making it up to you.” “Ethan, you’re too good to me.” Her voice was sweet and delicate. The kind of voice that made people want to protect her. Suddenly, I understood why Ethan looked at her with such tenderness. Who could say anything harsh to a girl like that? I lowered my head, the tears finally breaking free. Everything inside me was aching, twisted and bitter. How did this happen? I was only gone for two weeks. Before I left, Ethan was different. If anyone had even touched my desk while I was away, he would have snapped: “Back off. What if you mess up Harps’ stuff? Don’t worry, Harper, you focus on training. As long as I’m here, no one is moving your desk.” When did that change? Oh, right. It started when Serena Williams (not that one, just a common name) transferred in this semester. She was beautiful, smart, and always smiled softly at us. “I’m so jealous of how close your friendship is,” she would say wistfully. After that, Ethan started inviting her to lunch with us every single day. Back then, I was oblivious. I thought I was just making a new friend. I ignored how the frequency of Ethan’s replies to my texts during camp dwindled to almost nothing. I ignored his “joking” comparisons: “You should learn a thing or two from Serena. Be a little less… aggressive.” The homeroom teacher walked in. Following behind her was a new face. He was undeniably good-looking. But cold. He looked like the world owed him money. The teacher cleared her throat. “Class, this is Leo Carter. He’s in the advanced art program, but he’ll be taking core classes with us from now on.” The teacher scanned the room, landing on the empty spot next to me. “Leo, you can take that empty seat next to Harper. Since you’re both specialty students—art and athletics—you might find you have some common ground.” 03 Hearing my name, I frantically wiped away the tears. But I forgot about the melted chocolate still on my hands. In an instant, I smeared dark brown chocolate across my face. I looked ridiculous. Everyone turned to look, and the room burst into laughter. Ethan wasn’t laughing. Instead, I saw a flicker of something like disgust in his eyes. I lowered my head, my face burning crimson. Suddenly, a backpack slammed onto the desk next to me, followed by a full pack of wet wipes. I looked up to see Leo settling into the seat beside me. He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “If you don’t wipe that off now, it’s going to dry.” I clumsily grabbed a wipe and scrubbed my face. “Thanks,” I whispered, barely audible. The teacher had stepped out for a moment. Immediately, the gossiping cliques started buzzing. “Another specialist student. This is the honor track; I don’t know how they just let anyone in.” “Exactly. When they can’t keep up, they’ll regress. If Ethan hadn’t helped Harper, she would have washed out ages ago.” “Well, Serena is his partner now. Looks like Harper and the new guy can be miserable together in the back.” They weren’t even trying to be quiet. Leo and I could hear every word. I gripped my pen until my knuckles turned white. I fought the tears, but the injustice of it all stung. Leo seemed like he hadn’t heard a thing. He was calmly sketching something in his notebook. Didn’t he feel any insecurity? Any shame? Curiosity got the better of me, and I leaned over to see what he was drawing. I looked, and forgot to cry. It was incredible. 04 Even though I had tutors during training camp, I had missed a lot. The next period was advanced placement math, and I was lost. I stared at the problem set, panicking. I didn’t even notice when the bell rang for the end of class. I had tried three different methods, and none of them worked. I didn’t realize Ethan had walked back to my corner. He rapped his knuckles against my forehead. “Still stuck? It’s a basic Cauchy inequality application, Harper. If you don’t get it, you should ask. Sitting here stewing on it until tomorrow morning isn’t going to make the answer appear.” That was how Ethan always treated me when I couldn’t solve a problem. Rough but present. He said it was to help me remember. But after everything that happened today, that familiar gesture felt different. It was the breaking point. The hot sting of humiliation rushed back. Tears splashed onto my worksheet. Ethan paused, his voice softening slightly. “What are you crying for? I’m not going to leave you hanging.” He started to pull a chair over to show me how to solve it. Suddenly, Serena spun around in her seat up front, smiling brightly. “Ethan! I just found two different ways to solve this problem! Can you look at my logic and see if it holds up?” He seemed mesmerized by her smile. He abandoned the chair instantly. “Calculate it yourself first,” he snapped at me before sprinting back to Serena. I stared at Serena’s smile from a distance. It felt blinding, smug, like a trophy she was flaunting. A wave of stubbornness washed over me. I had to solve this problem. But when I reached the final step, I was stuck again. Leo had stopped sketching. He pointed at my chicken-scratch scratch paper. “Using that inequality on this specific problem makes the calculation too complex. It’s easy to make a mistake. There’s a simpler formula for this type of problem.” He quickly jotted down a string of variables. I stared for a moment, and then it clicked. I grabbed my pen and reworked the problem. Everything flowed smoothly. I got the answer. I was ecstatic. I turned to thank him. But he was already sketching again. Okay. Looks like my new desk-mate is a closet genius. 05 When school ended, I hesitated. Should I walk with Ethan? We live next door to each other. Our parents are best friends. If we don’t go home together, our parents will worry, and I didn’t want to explain why. But by the time I came back from the restroom, Ethan was gone. There was a note on his empty desk. Go home yourself today. I have something to do. I shouldered my backpack. As I walked, I tried to focus on my digital flashcards, memorizing vocab. Passing by the downtown shopping center, I saw Ethan’s reflection in a window. Serena was with him. They were in a high-end candy store. I stopped, watching. Ethan’s voice, usually blunt with me, was incredibly gentle. “Do you like this kind? It’s imported Belgian chocolate. It’s supposed to be the best.” “I love it. If you’re giving it to me, I’ll love anything.” Serena’s face was slightly flushed. Ethan smiled. “This one it is, then.” After a pause, he asked, a bit confused, “Why did you want chocolate for your birthday, anyway?” Serena’s eyes immediately welled up. She bit her lip. “I… It’s because I have low blood sugar. I’ve fainted a few times. I asked my mom to buy me some chocolate to keep in my bag, but she told me not to be so dramatic.” Ethan was stunned. It took him a moment to process. “It’s okay. From now on, I’ll have some for you.” Serena looked at him, then asked tentatively, “I heard… that you used to do that for Harper, too?” Ethan ran a hand through his hair, looking awkward. “That was then. She’s an athlete now, sturdy. She doesn’t need to be babied like that.” I gripped my backpack strap so hard my knuckles turned white. My whole body went cold. So that’s what he really thought of me. I looked at my own reflection in the window. I wasn’t slim. At 135 pounds, next to Serena’s 95, I felt massive. I felt like a linebacker. But I wasn’t always like this. My coach had told me I was too thin, and my low blood sugar was impacting my potential. I had to gain muscle. When I told Ethan back then, he agreed. He piled food on my plate. “I told you you needed to eat more. You passed out on the track last time, remember? From now on, you get my extra dessert.” Why was it ‘babying’ now? Why was I ‘sturdy’ now? I wiped away my tears and lower my head, running home. I never wanted Ethan’s chocolate again. And I didn’t want his help, either. 06 When I got home. My mom had a full dinner waiting. She said I was burning too many calories between training and studying, and I needed to replenish. But looking at the beautiful food, I had no appetite. “Mom,” I mumbled, “don’t make me late-night snacks anymore. I don’t want them.” Before she could respond, I bolted up the stairs to my room. I buried my face in my pillow and cried, silently this time. I must have cried myself to sleep. That night, I dreamed of when we were kids, right after Ethan moved in. Back then, I was half a head taller than him. He was a crybaby. A little push, and he’d fall over. Yet, he always wanted to play with me. I really didn’t like having a shadow who was such a wimp. But one day, some older kids from the neighborhood were bullying him. Hearing him cry, my heart just softened. I rushed in and stood in front of him. “Stop crying! I’ll protect you from now on!” I declared, puffing out my chest. He had tear-filled eyes that made them sparkle like glass. “Harper, I like you. I’ll protect you, too, when I grow up.” I was so embarrassed I felt my face burn. Slowly, the little wimp grew into a tall, lean guy. He was the one I had to look up to. He was the one who stood in front of me. In middle school, my body started to change. In the summer, the white school t-shirts were a bit thin, and some obnoxious boys were staring and making jokes. Ethan found out. His face went dark, and he tracked them down, his fist ensuring they’d never open their mouths again. “Harper, don’t listen to them. From now on, if anyone comments on your body, I’m putting them in the hospital.” I smiled in the dream, reaching out to touch him. But in the next second. The boy in my memory vanished. I woke up, crying. It was just a dream. “Harper, get up! Ethan is here, he’s waiting for you!” my mom yelled from downstairs. I froze, then scrambled to get ready. I saw Ethan leaning lazily against the doorframe, holding a carton of chocolate milk. When he saw me. He shoved the milk into my hand. “What’s wrong with you? You look pathetic. Were you scared to walk home alone last night?” I shoved the milk back into his hand and walked right past him. “No, thanks. I ate breakfast. And you don’t need to bring me anything anymore.” Ethan stared at the milk in his hand, dumbfounded. It took him a second to recover, yelling at my retreating back, “You just woke up, when could you have eaten?” He caught up and grabbed my backpack strap, his face darkening. “What is your problem this morning? Giving me attitude? I told you, I had something I had to do last night, that’s why I couldn’t walk you.” I yanked my strap out of his hand. “Got it. We’re going to be late.” I put in my earbuds and turned on an English podcast. Blocking him out completely. 07 I stood through the entire morning lecture, trying to focus on my notes. But my stomach was cramping, and my head felt light. I leaned over my desk, gripping my forehead. I should have just eaten breakfast. Pride is fine, but starvation is stupid. A brown paper bag and a few white rabbit candies suddenly appeared on my desk. I turned my head, confused. It was Leo. He glanced at my pale face. “You have low blood sugar. You have to eat.” I hesitated, but my stomach made a convincing argument. I took the bag. “Thanks. We just met yesterday, and I keep leaning on you.” Leo looked at me with a lazy, half-smile. “It’s not for free. The time for your payback is coming soon.” “Huh?” I looked up from the sandwich, confused. He leaned his forehead against his fist, twirling a sketch pencil in his other hand. “Payback… as in, you’re going to be my model. Okay?” I almost choked on the sandwich. I swallowed quickly, feeling flustered. “Me? Are you… sure? Don’t you think I’m too sturdy? Like a linebacker? Won’t that look bad in a drawing?” I looked at him, terrified of his reaction. I was dreading seeing the same look of disgust I saw in Ethan’s eyes. Leo put down his pencil and sat up, looking at me. Like he was looking at his muse. “Your physique has power. It’s a healthy kind of beauty. It’s beautiful.” His voice was serious, and his eyes held a sincere appreciation I had never seen before. A strange warmth, both sweet and sharp, spread through me. “Give me ten minutes.” Leo picked up his pencil and began sketching furiously. I sat perfectly still, terrified to move. My mind was filled with the image of Leo’s sincere, appreciating gaze. Ten minutes passed in a blur. Leo held the sketch out to me. I had no idea I could look like that. The corners of my eyes stung. I felt like I might cry. Then I noticed a tiny line of text in the bottom right corner of the paper: [Beauty comes in many forms, and you are unique.]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “407059”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

While tipping on a male idol group’s livestream, I accidentally tapped the wrong button and sent a virtual Yacht to my favorite guy’s teammate. The guy I usually tipped played it cool on stream. But as soon as the camera was off, he—who had been leaving me on read for a month—sent me a DM for the first time. [I’m going to send you 52 Carnivals right now to make up for it, otherwise I might just have to punish you, babe.] I froze. A minute later, I received a DM from the teammate I accidentally tipped. [Thank you so much! That was my first time ever receiving a Yacht. I’ll remember this forever. /Heart] Oh. So this is the kind of emotional return you’re supposed to get when you tip. Guess I’ll just switch to supporting the one who actually appreciates it. Later, when the original guy saw me casually drop 520 Carnivals on his teammate, he had a complete meltdown. He started screaming on stream, demanding I get a refund, insisting I must have clicked the wrong person. 01 When I received the DM from Tyler, I felt a bit uncomfortable. But then I thought about it. It was my fault for sending the gift to the wrong person, which messed up his chance to shine. Plus, I had exclusively tipped Tyler in this stream room. Suddenly sending a top-tier gift like a Sports Car to his rival—it was understandable he’d feel a way about it. After all, even heartthrobs are allowed to have a little temper. Just as I was about to send him ten Yachts to make up for it, another notification popped up. [System Notification: KU-Liam has followed you.] Immediately after, a DM popped up from that account. KU-Liam: [Thank you so much! That was my first time ever receiving a Yacht. I’ll remember this forever. /Heart] I paused for a few seconds, clicking into his profile to enlarge his avatar, barely managing to connect it to the face under the heavy filters on the livestream. Liam. I think he’s the guy I just accidentally sent the gift to. Looking closer, his face actually wasn’t any less handsome than Tyler’s. The styling on the stream clearly wasn’t doing him any favors; he looked much more refined and handsome in his natural state. But it couldn’t be helped. He had only joined a few days ago and was always relegated to the back row. In a ten-person group stream, if you could see two-thirds of his face on screen, it was considered a good day. He clearly didn’t know that the tip earlier was just a blunder. His words were actually quite… sincere. It was just one Yacht. There was no need to explain it so clearly and ruin his happiness. I didn’t plan to reply. Just as I was about to exit, he sent another message. KU-Liam: [I promise I’ll work even harder on my dancing! I won’t let your encouragement go to waste!] Wow, he really was a pitiful little underdog that made you want to root for him. He thanked me multiple times for just one Yacht. I politely replied with a [Keep it up], then prepared to head back to the stream to make it up to Tyler. But right at that moment, my phone started blowing up with notifications. They were all from Tyler. KU-Tyler: [?] [Did you not see my message?] [Why aren’t you tipping me yet?] [What’s the meaning of this?] [So, you’re purposely tipping someone else to make me mad?] [Fine.] [I get it.] I was completely confused and replied with a [?] Only to receive a red exclamation mark indicating the message couldn’t be sent. ? Wait, he actually blocked me?! A surge of anger flared up in my chest. I’ve been supporting him for two months, dropping at least a hundred grand on his streams. Just because I accidentally sent one gift to the wrong person, he’s throwing a tantrum at me? Fine. If he thinks he’s too good for my money, there are plenty of others who will gladly take it. I’m done playing his game. Just as I was angrily about to delete the app, my eyes inadvertently caught the message from that pitiful little underdog again. My thumb stopped hovering over the delete button. I can be ruthless when I want to be. But the one thing I can’t resist is a handsome, struggling underdog who’s trying his best. Even if it was an act, at least he was willing to put in the effort to put on a show for me. So, I marched right back into the livestream. 02 As soon as I re-entered the stream, the host specifically called me out. “Our boy Tyler’s top supporter, Yacht Queen, is back! Oh man, Tyler’s got this in the bag tonight.” This boy band streaming group had only been formed two months ago and was still in its growing phase. They didn’t have that many hardcore fans, so I was definitely one of the top tippers. And I have OCD; whenever I tip, I only send Yachts (worth about $100 each). It’s very memorable. Hearing the host mention my name, Tyler gave a barely perceptible smirk. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual aloof demeanor. Right then, a new viewer with a beautiful girl as her avatar joined and immediately sent him a Sports Car. [This guy is so handsome, completely my type. Love it.] The host thanked her for the tip as usual, and read her comment out loud. Tyler broke into a shy smile. After finishing his dance routine, as if deliberately trying to make me mad, he actually made a heart shape with his hands—a rare occurrence—and personally thanked her. “Thank you for the Sports Car, gorgeous! Please keep supporting me!” The chat went crazy. [Holy shit, I’ve never seen Tyler act so shy but enthusiastic.] [First time seeing Tyler make a heart shape! Rich girls, drop more Sports Cars! We love to see it!] [The girl who sent the gift is so generous, and looking at her profile, she’s actually a real beauty.] [A genuine rich, beautiful heiress. Is our wild boy Tyler actually falling for her?] Perhaps because they had never seen Tyler in such a good mood, many of his older fans also started throwing gifts. Bouquets and hot air balloons, big and small, kept popping up on the screen. It was incredibly lively. Tyler’s smile grew wider and wider, and he was exceptionally cooperative with the interactions. The finger hearts and ‘thank yous’ never stopped. Even the host remarked in surprise: “What good thing happened to Tyler tonight? He’s in such a great mood!” I was getting even more pissed off. Normally, I drop $100 Yachts on him, yet I’ve never seen him give this kind of reaction. No matter how many I sent, he just gave a faint smile. A new viewer casually throws him a small gift, and he’s capable of giving this much emotional feedback. So what were all my Yachts for? In a fit of rage, I opened the gift menu and sent another Yacht straight to Liam, the guy from earlier. “Thank you, Yacht Queen, for sending Tyler…” Before he could finish saying “Yacht,” the host choked on his habitual thank-you speech. After seeing it clearly, he immediately corrected himself: “Oh, my apologies, I misread it. The Yacht is for Liam.” Hearing this, all the members on screen clearly froze for two seconds, all turning their heads to look at Liam in the back row. Liam looked in disbelief, stepping forward with a confused expression. And Tyler, who was originally standing center stage, looked even more shocked than Liam. 03 After staring at the monitor screen for a few seconds to confirm, Tyler reluctantly moved aside. Liam stood in the center, visibly a bit panicked. When he recovered, he bowed deeply toward the camera in gratitude. Just as he opened his mouth to say, “Thank you,” I sent him another Yacht. Liam was just about to start dancing, but seeing the new Yacht, he hurried to bow and thank me again. When he stood up, I sent another one. For a while, the screen was a continuous stream of Yachts, one after another. Liam was dumbfounded. Tyler’s face was indescribably ugly. His whole body radiated anxiety as he looked around, looking like he wanted to jump through the screen, grab me, and demand an explanation. The host excitedly announced the tips, his voice getting higher with each one. The chat was refreshing at lightning speed. [Holy shit! Yacht Queen is flexing her financial muscles again!] [Yacht Queen always delivers.] [Wait a minute, did she send it to the wrong person?] [Did she click the wrong guy?] [Sis, stop tipping! You’ve got the wrong guy!] [Yacht Queen only ever tips Tyler, why is she tipping the new guy? Is it a system glitch?] [No way, they’re forcefully promoting the new guy! Sis, hurry up and report this rigged stream to the platform!] […] Even the host, after excitedly giving thanks more than ten times, couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Did she click the wrong person…” Liam bowed in thanks over and over again, tears welling up in his eyes. Seeing that I had no intention of stopping, he anxiously tried to persuade me: “Please stop, that’s enough. It really is enough.” “Thank you so much! I will definitely keep working hard!” As soon as he finished speaking, I dropped 52 Yachts on him in one breath. I love this feeling of reciprocity. It was a million times more satisfying than tipping that fake, aloof, manipulative Tyler. I’m dropping hard cold cash, I should at least enjoy the feeling of being appreciated. Besides, with Liam standing in the center for so long, I got a really good look at him. Putting aside the sloppy makeup and styling, his facial features were truly excellent. Especially those long legs; when he danced, it was lethal. The other streamers were all wearing platform shoes, but his soles were super thin. Even so, he was still half a head taller than Tyler. No wonder he got banished to the back. Seeing so many Yachts, and not a single one for him, Tyler’s face reached the peak of ugliness. Unable to hold it in any longer, he flipped out on the spot. He shoved Liam, who was standing in the center, and walked out of the frame in visible displeasure. Even through the screen, you could hear him hastily muttering something to the host before disappearing. “There must be a glitch in the system. The Yachts she tipped me are all going to someone else. I’m going to go talk to them.” Ten seconds after Tyler left. I received a new message on my phone. KU-Tyler: [Sis, look closely before you tip. You’re clicking on the wrong person, do you know that? Fuck.] 04 The message stayed there for barely two seconds before being rapidly unsent by the other party. Oh? I thought I was blocked? How did he add himself back? I thought he had so much backbone. Just as I finished marveling, the chat box popped up with a bunch of new messages. KU-Tyler: [Sis, pay attention when you click on gifts, you’re sending them all to someone else.] [Why don’t you contact customer service for a refund?] [Whatever, it’s fine if you can’t get a refund.] [You can just tip me again, but do it slowly and make sure you click the right person!] [?] [Why aren’t you replying? Are you mad at me?] [Sorry about earlier, seeing you tip someone else made me a little jealous. I spoke a bit too hastily, please don’t overthink it.] [Sis, it’s a deal then. Come back to the stream soon, okay?] Tsk tsk. I’ve known Tyler for so long, and this is the first time he’s initiated this much conversation. Too bad it’s too late. I’m completely over him. I didn’t reply, nor did I block him. I just left him hanging, then closed the TikTok app. I had originally tuned into their group stream for market research. My company was planning to acquire their agency, KU Media, but I didn’t expect to get slightly hooked after watching a few of this C-list group’s streams. I was drawn to Tyler’s vibe after seeing him a couple of times. He perfectly fit my aesthetic. High nose bridge, smooth facial structure, and especially those inadvertently exposed, lean muscles. Tyler was a bit different from the other streamers. He was aloof, but he played the sexy card just right. He also had a bit of a proud streak. Unlike those streamers who, with just a little bit of good looks, practically had “I want to empty your wallet” written all over their faces. At first, I was just bored. Whenever I scrolled past him, I’d toss him a Yacht, and he would just give a small smile of thanks. He didn’t act like my assistant said, where in these low-tier streams, even a $10 gift would get you a personal thank you from the streamer. A couple of days later, I dropped 10 Yachts at once, and he DM’d me that night to thank me. A few days after that, I tuned into the stream just as he was about to lose a PK (a competitive streaming battle) and looked like he was going to cry. I instantly dropped 100 Yachts, winning the PK for him. That’s when he finally started interacting with me. Even after we started interacting, he remained aloof. Except for complaining about bad performance, high pressure, and hinting that I should send gifts, he rarely chatted much. I didn’t really care. Life is boring; admiring a handsome guy on the internet was a nice distraction, a mutually beneficial transaction. Anyway, it’s not like I’m short on cash. But I never expected that the easier I was to talk to, the less I asked for, the less he cared about my feelings. Last month, I was just too busy with a business trip and didn’t log on for three days, and he gave me the cold shoulder for a whole month. He acted like he was absolutely certain I would never stop liking him, throwing a tantrum at the drop of a hat. If you love someone, you might be willing to give without expecting anything in return. But I don’t love him, so why should I spend my money just to be treated poorly? If this one doesn’t know how to behave, I’ll just find another one. The next one will definitely be more obedient. 05 After staying off the app for three busy days at work. The acquisition of KU Media was finally finalized. Bored, I opened TikTok again, and my phone immediately flooded with dozens of notification pings. The most recent one was from Liam. I scrolled up through the chat history. The night after that stream ended, he stayed up writing an 800-word essay expressing his overwhelming shock and gratitude. He even proactively gave me his personal WeChat ID. Even though I didn’t reply to anything, he persisted with morning and evening greetings over the past few days. I thought about it, didn’t add his WeChat, and just politely replied with a [Thank you]. Exiting that chat, I glanced at the messages from Tyler right below. [Sis, why haven’t you come back to the stream to send gifts?] [Didn’t we have an agreement?] [Sis, come back to the stream and tip me. If you don’t, I won’t even win the championship tonight… It’s really embarrassing.] [Sis, please don’t leave me hanging at a crucial moment. I’m in the middle of a PK, hurry up!] [Reply to my message.] [?] [You’ll regret this.] That day, Tyler’s attitude seemed to get worse and worse the more he talked. I saw he was up until 4 AM. He probably stayed up all night stewing in anger. Perhaps realizing I wasn’t going to reply, he didn’t send anything for the next few days, and his tone gradually returned to a somewhat flattering one. He sent messages every day trying to test the waters. [Sis, I really was jealous yesterday, and my tone wasn’t great. Can you let it go?] [I lost again last night and had to do a punishment. You should be over your anger by now, right?] [Sis, why aren’t you here today either?] [Sis, I was wrong. Will you come see me again?] [Whether you’re here or not, I’m always here.] [I’ll always be waiting for you in the stream. /Heart] Most of the messages were sent at three or four in the morning. The absolute kicker was: He actually sent me several high-res photos of his abs. Tsk. Looks like without me as his sugar mama, he’s not so nonchalant after all. I zoomed in and took a closer look. They were alright. I didn’t even know if they were photoshopped. Thinking about it, he’s just a newbie with no real-world experience. And moving forward, they will all be artists under my company. Looking at that face that still has to earn me money, I decided not to block him for now. I didn’t reply to anything, exited the messages, and clicked into their livestream. I planned to spread the wealth tonight and give each member a tip, letting them see how generous their future boss is. As soon as I entered the stream, I realized my timing was impeccable. Tyler and Liam were just about to start a dance battle PK. 06 I hadn’t been around for a few days, and as soon as the host saw my ID, he enthusiastically greeted me. “Wow, our Yacht Queen is finally here tonight! Long time no see, sis! Welcome back!” On screen, both Tyler and Liam clearly froze. Surprise quickly washed over both their faces. It had only been three days, and the styling team had clearly put more effort into Liam this time. I guess his popularity had risen over the past couple of days after being seen by more people that night. I obligingly replied with a smiley face in the comment section. The host was getting incredibly hyped up: “Yacht Queen is now the top supporter for both our Tyler and Liam. I wonder who she’s planning to support tonight. “Oh man, this is so tough. It’s like choosing between the palm of your hand and the back of your hand…” While the host was rambling excitedly, the expressions of the two guys on stage shifted. Liam looked a bit anxious and uneasy. Tyler’s face instantly darkened, his eyes shifting erratically. Tyler glanced off-camera, then signaled the host that he needed to adjust his outfit. As soon as he stepped off-screen, two messages popped up at the top of my phone. [Sis, I knew you’d come back to see me.] [How about this: if you drop 100 Carnivals (worth about $400 each) on me tonight, I’ll immediately give you my personal WeChat.] [And I have even more risqué private photos…] … Seriously, who asked for his WeChat? I couldn’t be bothered to respond. Just as I was preparing to send each person ten Yachts as a welcoming gift, a new message popped up at the top of the screen. [That fat old cow is finally back. Make sure to suppress me later to manipulate her into sending me gifts!] 07 I was shocked. My finger immediately clicked on the notification. And I swiftly took a screenshot. Within three seconds, the message was unsent by the other party. This Tyler. He really takes the money and then insults the person giving it. I was so mad I quickly checked my profile. I had been too lazy to create my own account back then, so I was logged into my grandma’s account. The male streamer she used to be a fan of got canceled and banned. In a fit of rage, she abandoned the account and quit TikTok. The avatar was a classic “blooming wealth” flower picture that older people love, and the profile was filled with videos of landscapes, flowers, and plants. Oh, I suddenly realized that among the hundreds of boring short videos, there was actually a video showing her face, dancing to a popular song with her friends. No wonder Tyler scrolled through all those videos. My grandma is indeed a bit plump, but he had no right to use a term like “fat old cow” to insult an older woman. Especially one who had tipped him so much money. Fuming with anger, I returned to the livestream. As soon as I got in, without a second thought, I dropped ten Yachts on Liam. The PK hadn’t even started, but the stream was instantly hyped up by me. Seeing this, Liam was thrilled and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He immediately expressed his gratitude: “Thank you so much! You really don’t have to spend so much. Just being here and watching is enough.” After saying that, he even made a finger heart for me. Tyler froze. After the host did his routine thank yous, I went down the line, sending ten Yachts to the other 8 members each. When I tipped Liam earlier, everyone was relatively calm, just envious and congratulatory. But when I went down the line and tipped everyone else, the members on screen and the comment section were both stunned. They were all beaming with joy, thanking me non-stop. The livestream exploded. The viewer count skyrocketed, with tens of thousands of people flooding in all at once. When it came down to just Tyler left, the host intentionally raised his voice. “Yacht Queen is really bringing the heat tonight! Surprise after surprise! Now, only Tyler is left. “I wonder how much our top supporter, who has always backed Tyler the most, will drop on him tonight? Let’s wait and see.” As soon as he finished speaking, the entire room erupted again. Tyler’s face also showed a faint glimmer of anticipation. The chat was going wild with speculation. [Our boy Tyler is her favorite, it’s gotta be at least ten Carnivals to start.] [To the person above, our top supporter never sends anything else; doesn’t everyone know she only sends Yachts?] [I bet she drops 100 Yachts on Tyler.] [I’ve been watching this stream since it started two months ago. Yacht Queen has dropped at least a few hundred grand on Tyler.] [Wow, this is the power of a rich woman!] [I hope the flop streamer I stan finds a top supporter like this too.] […] The more excited the chat and the host got, the more relaxed Tyler’s expression became. He seemed certain that I would definitely drop a massive gift to support him. Aside from Liam, who was standing to the side with a forced smile, everyone else was incredibly hyped. I suddenly felt a little bad. Not sending a single gift would seem a bit too petty. So, under the watchful eyes of thousands. I sent Tyler ten. Little Hearts. Adding up to a grand total of one dollar. 08 Tyler was dumbfounded. His face instantly flushed bright red. The chat was also dumbfounded. The screen was filled with floating *[?]*s. The host was the first to react, laughing to smooth things over. “Our top supporter must have clicked too fast and hit the wrong button. Let’s give her a little more time.” Tyler’s expression finally looked a bit better. The whole room seemed to have forgotten the upcoming dance battle. Silently waiting for me to drop the next big gift. But I was getting impatient and just typed a comment: “Aren’t they supposed to be having a dance battle? Why haven’t they started yet?” The host had sharp eyes and immediately saw my comment, quickly replying: “Don’t worry, everyone! The sister wants to see the dance first. She’s building suspense and will drop the big surprise later. “Let’s start the dance!” Hearing this, Tyler finally let out a sigh of relief. The chat also seemed to understand. [So the top supporter is building suspense.] [I knew she wouldn’t leave our Tyler hanging. She’s been his biggest supporter for so long.] [She really knows how to hype up the atmosphere.] [Looking forward to the rich lady’s epic move!] […] Tyler held his breath. He gave Liam a disdainful look and aggressively took the prominent position closer to the front of the stage. Due to screen space, Liam was squeezed slightly towards the back. Even from that angle, they still looked about the same height. Tyler unbuttoned two more buttons, perfectly exposing more of his abs. Before starting, he even winked provocatively at the camera before returning to his controlled expression, dancing energetically to the music. Both of them were good-looking, but one was the cold, domineering CEO type, and the other was the restrained, elegant type. It was quite pleasing to the eye. I remembered Liam’s 800-word essay mentioned that he was professionally trained in dance. You couldn’t really tell when they were apart, but now, side-by-side, the comparison was clear. Obviously, Liam’s movements were more fluid and dynamic than Tyler’s. After all, dancing this kind of sexy, alluring routine isn’t like swinging a sledgehammer; just using brute force doesn’t necessarily yield results. On the PK stage, both were giving it their all. Pecs and abs, things that should or shouldn’t be exposed, were “accidentally” flashed a few times. There were significantly more tips than usual, including quite a few expensive ones like Carnivals. Very quickly, Tyler took a significant lead over Liam. After all, he had been promoted as the center since day one, while Liam was new, had fewer opportunities to shine, and fewer fans. Seeing that the progress bar was over halfway done and I still hadn’t made a move, the host got a bit anxious: “Both our Tyler and Liam are going all out tonight. Thanks to our top supporter, we’re all getting a visual feast. “The sister still hasn’t made a move yet. I wonder how much she plans to tip Tyler tonight?” As soon as the host finished speaking. My 520 Yachts made a grand appearance on the screen. All of them sent to Liam. 09 The entire room went silent for a few seconds. Even through the screen, I could feel many people gasping. The host was the first to react, his voice cracking with excitement: “Five hundred and twenty! “Yachts! “Thank you to our top supporter for sending Tyler a fleet of Yachts! “Let’s congratulate Tyler on a completely crushing victory!!” Tyler had been keeping an eye on the tips while dancing. When he first saw the gifts, he went from surprised to ecstatic. Coupled with the host’s words, he was so excited he forgot his dance moves. But when he leaned in to look at the monitor screen next to him, he realized something was wrong. Such a massive display of wealth was not for him. At this moment, everyone else seemed to finally process my baller move. On the PK health bar, Liam had completely obliterated Tyler with an absolute advantage. The host quickly and stutteringly corrected himself: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I misread that earlier. “The five hundred and twenty Yachts were all sent to our Liam! “Congratulations to Liam on the win! “Thank you, top supporter!” Special effects exploded on the screen, one after another. It went on for a long time without ending. I have to say, the visual effect bought with cold, hard cash is just spectacular. The chat was refreshing so fast it was impossible to read the text; everyone was just there for the spectacle. The livestream’s popularity climbed to the top few spots on the entire platform. Amidst the grand special effects, Tyler’s expression slowly shattered. From disbelief, to serious contemplation, and finally to a furious, flushed red. If there was an anger meter above his head, I bet it would be maxed out. As the gift effects grew more intense, Tyler could barely stand still, completely losing control of his facial expressions. Equally as shell-shocked as him was Liam. He seemed completely unable to believe it, still standing frozen in place. Seeing this, the host quickly reminded him: “Liam, hurry up and thank your top supporter! What are you spacing out for?” Liam snapped out of it, tears welling up in his eyes again. “Really, thank you so much. “I never thought anyone would tip me this much.” He bowed deeply toward the screen, moved to tears, and didn’t get up for a long time. The host remarked on Liam’s good luck. Noticing Tyler’s bad mood, he quickly tried to console him: “It’s okay, it’s okay. This is just the first round; there are still two more. “Tyler, don’t just stand there, hurry up and beg your top supporter! She’s always been so good to you; beg her to send you 520 in the next round too!” “Beg my ass, fuck! “I’m done streaming.” Tyler’s face turned even blacker upon hearing this. He threw out a curse word and walked off-screen. 10 Looks like he’s having a meltdown. The chat saw it too, and random viewers started mocking him. [Are you kidding me? If you can’t handle losing, don’t play.] [It’s not like the times when you used your high popularity to suppress and bully other streamers.] [Exactly, what’s with the attitude?] [Wait, wasn’t Yacht Queen always supporting Tyler? Why is she suddenly Liam’s hardcore fan?] [Just saying, this streamer has always had a bad temper. I tipped him a small gift before, and he didn’t even acknowledge it.] [Yeah, I noticed he never gives the top supporter a good attitude. I even thought it was the company using bots to launder money. No matter how much attitude he gives, she kept tipping.] [I have to smile and provide good service when I do my delivery side hustle. If you’re in this line of work, you should have a service mindset.] [If you can do it, do it. If not, get off. We’re not spending money to watch you throw a tantrum!] […] Only a few hardcore fans tried weakly to defend him, but his black face and walking off spoke for themselves. Seeing the chat getting out of control, the host quickly tried to smooth things over. “No, no, Tyler might just not be feeling well. He went to get some water and will be right back. Everyone is misunderstanding. “Mods, kick out those accounts trying to stir up drama. We’re starting round two immediately.” The host’s words weren’t very convincing, and the comments kept flying by. Two direct messages popped up on my screen. KU Tyler: [Dumb old bitch.] KU Tyler: [Just wait. Don’t think you’re all that just because you have some dirty money!] I was incredibly shocked, so much so that I forgot to take a screenshot. Wait, he actually dared to curse at me? I angrily clicked into the chat box. Those two messages, just like the previous times, were swiftly unsent by the other party. I sent a [?] over. A red exclamation mark immediately appeared on the page. Blocked by him again. At the same time, the system popped up a notification: [You have been removed from the KU-Tyler fan group.] Great. Just great. My anger reached its boiling point. He just kicked a steel plate shaped like his future boss. Tonight, I’m going to make sure you truly understand what it means to mess with a sugar mama. I originally planned to call it a night, but since he wants to play, I won’t let this go easily. I made a phone call to my assistant. Ordering the CEO of KU to ensure this Tyler gets back on the livestream immediately. I had reviewed his management contract. To get more resources to make himself famous, he hadn’t hesitated to sign an unequal treaty with the company. A ten-year contract. Astronomical breach of contract fee. So no matter how reluctant he is, as long as I don’t let him go, he has to obediently make money for me from now on. Hanging up the phone, I returned to the livestream. Besides Tyler’s absence, everyone else had returned to the normal state of a group stream. When the host saw me return, he greeted me again. Noticeably more sincere than before. I didn’t say anything, just quietly watched the time. In less than five minutes, Tyler indeed returned with a dark face. But this time, he went back to his position on stage. Another glamorous avatar also entered the livestream. Tyler’s number two supporter.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “407058”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I went back to his place last week. I wanted to talk, to see if we could fix things, maybe get back together. I pushed the door open, ready to apologize. And I walked in on him leaning down, kissing another girl. Not just any girl. It was Chloe, my college roommate of four years. She was wearing my favorite silk nightgown. Just last night, in our shared apartment, she had suddenly announced she was moving out. She told me that the guy she’d been chasing forever had finally accepted her confession. He wanted her to move in immediately. Like an idiot, I congratulated her. I was genuinely happy she finally got what she wanted. How was I supposed to know her “dream guy” was my ex-boyfriend, Caleb Davis? We’d only been broken up for a week. Talk about a seamless transition. 1 I stood in the doorway, paralyzed with awkwardness. Chloe saw me first. She shrieked, breaking the kiss. “Maya?!” Caleb turned slowly. When our eyes met, there was a flash of surprise in his, but it was quickly replaced by an icy, detached calm. He adjusted his shirt, unfazed, and walked toward me. He stopped just inches away, looking down at me. “What do you want?” he asked. I stared at his collarbone. There was a bright red hickey right there. It was so vivid it hurt to look at. It felt like someone had shoved a fistful of cotton into my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. The words I’d practiced—about begging for another chance—died in my throat. I couldn’t have spoken if I tried. Chloe walked over, offering a weak, slightly apologetic smile. “I didn’t bring my overnight bag,” she said, gesturing to the silk clinging to her body. “I just borrowed your nightgown. Hope you don’t mind.” My head was buzzing. It felt like an explosive device had gone off in my ears. Ignoring my silence, she rushed to defend herself. “Maya, don’t get the wrong idea. Caleb and I only started talking after you guys broke up.” Watching her desperation to clear her name, I felt like a clown. It took me forever to find a logical lie to answer Caleb’s question. “I still have stuff here,” I managed to choke out. “I came to get it.” Caleb was silent for a moment, his face a perfect mask of indifference. “Go ahead.” It was only when I went further inside that I realized what that silence meant. The potted succulent I’d placed on the windowsill was gone. In the bathroom, our matching couples’ toothbrushes had been replaced with a completely different set. The curtains, the bedsheets, the duvet cover—they had all been changed to Chloe’s favorite colors. Even the photo on the bedside table—the one of Caleb and me when we were kids—was gone. In its place was a framed photo of just Chloe. There was nothing for me to pack. This little apartment, the one Caleb and I had decorated together— It was completely scrubbed clean of me. One week. It had only been one week. Everything I owned had been thrown into a single duffel bag and dumped unceremoniously in the corner of the small balcony. Along with my dog. 2 It was a sticky-hot midsummer night. The air was thick and humid, making it hard to catch my breath. I squatted on the cluttered balcony, looking at Lucky, my dog, slumped sadly inside his travel crate. Lucky was a stray Caleb and I had rescued on our first anniversary. We named him Lucky because we felt lucky to have found each other that day. Back then, Caleb had wrapped his arms around me tightly, whispering and smirk, “Every time you call his name, I want you to remember how I feel about you.” Everything was different now. “Lucky,” I whispered. His ears twitched, then stood straight up. He saw it was me and started whining excitedly, ready to jump all over me like he always did. Then he realized he was trapped in the crate and settled down, just looking at me and wagging his tail. My eyes burned, uncontrolled. The tidal wave of grief I’d been suppressing finally broke over me. I stormed back into the living room. “I don’t care about the other stuff,” I said, my voice shaking. “But Lucky was abused before we got him. He’s terrified of being crated alone—” “You know the situation,” Caleb interrupted. He didn’t look at me; he just glanced at Chloe. His tone was perfectly flat. “She’s deathly afraid of dogs.” The rest of my words died in my throat. …She’s afraid of dogs. So that was the reason. A dull, throbbing ache began to spread through my entire body. 3 I had first noticed something off between Caleb and Chloe about two months ago. Graduation was approaching. He had just accepted a great job offer and was incredibly busy. If I texted him at night, I wouldn’t get a reply until morning. When I called, he’d hang up after a few sentences. “Oh, stop overthinking it. He’s just stressed with finals and the new job,” Chloe had told me then, comforting me as I sat on my bed feeling miserable. On Valentine’s Day, Chloe came home and handed me two movie tickets. I wanted to fix things with Caleb, so I invited him out. Halfway through the movie, he seemed completely detached, constantly checking his phone. “Maya, I have to take this call outside. It’s about a group project. Be right back.” Before I could even answer, he grabbed his jacket and hurried out. Caleb never came back. Not even after the credits rolled. I walked out with the crowd, and I saw him leaning against the far wall of the lobby, waiting. He was looking down, deep in thought. I noticed something then. His button-down shirt was fastened wrong. The top two buttons were in the wrong holes, creating a bunch in the fabric. When he saw me, he just offered a terse, “Project call went long. I lost track of time.” “What kind of project takes an entire movie to discuss?” I asked. What was his reply? He didn’t even bother to make up a convincing lie. “If you’re going to be paranoid, I can’t help you.” Back in our shared apartment, I was scrolling through social media, my heart sinking. And there it was. Chloe’s latest post. A photo of two cups of milk tea, half-drunk. And two movie stubs. No text, just a heart emoji. The apartment was silent. I could hear Chloe’s shallow breathing from the other room. I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I texted her. Were you at the theater across the street from the one on Main Street tonight? Chloe: Yeah. Why? Maya: Were you with the guy you like? Chloe was silent for a long time. Then: Yeah. Later that week, I went for a walk on the campus quad with Caleb. I was walking ahead of him, wrapped in silence. Caleb, sensing my mood, caught up to grab my hand. “What’s wrong?” I only said one thing. “Chloe was at that same movie theater the other night.” The air between us went still. But only for a second. Caleb tightened his grip on my hand. “Maya, that’s just a coincidence.” I looked into his eyes. They seemed so sincere, so apologetic. I didn’t pull my hand away. We’d been together for so long. We had always assumed we were each other’s futures. I shouldn’t doubt him based on a hunch. Besides, I knew Chloe had had a massive crush on a guy for four years. I’d seen his photo. She hadn’t even dated anyone else, just waiting for him. She wouldn’t be with Caleb. There’s no way. Probably. 4 Maybe it was my imagination, but Caleb was different after that day. Cold. Distant. As finals approached, Caleb got even busier. We hadn’t seen each other in a week. Finally, on Caleb’s birthday, I baked a cake from scratch and walked to the off-campus house he shared with some other guys. I pushed the door open, expecting a small surprise for him. I walked in to find a huge party. Caleb was front and center, about to cut the cake. Chloe was right next to him. She was practically tucked into his armpit. Her hand was resting on top of his, both of them holding the knife handle, ready to slice downward. The room went dead silent. Everyone was staring at me. Caleb looked up. His expression was blank. He didn’t remove his hand from hers. “Go on,” he said to her, totally ignoring me. But Chloe pulled her hand back, giving me a complicated, shadowed look. Someone from Caleb’s group quickly jumped in to diffuse the tension with a weak lie. “Since it’s also Chloe’s birthday today, we thought we’d save money and have them cut one cake together. Don’t worry about it!” I listened to his poor attempt to hide the truth, and I felt my stomach drop, inch by inch. How could I not worry about it? All the exhaustion, the insecurity, the suspicions of the last few weeks—seeing them like that, everything coalesced into solid, painful proof. After the party, Caleb and I got into a screaming match. Or rather, I single-handedly went into hysterics while he stood there like a statue. “I’m your girlfriend! Why did you throw a birthday party and not invite me?” “You’re too busy? You have time to cut a cake with Chloe, but you can’t text me back for hours?” …Finally, my voice was choking up. “Caleb, do you even still want to be with me?” He didn’t answer. The familiar silence settled back in. I grabbed the back of a chair, my strength failing. I sank to the floor, my face buried in my knees, crying silently. This was the Caleb who used to tell me every little thing. The Caleb who promised to marry me right after graduation. The Caleb who said he’d never let me feel insecure. That Caleb finally had nothing to say to me. In a moment of blind pain, I said it. “I’m done. Let’s break up.” He didn’t even flinch. He just nodded coldly. “If that’s what you want.” 5 On the fifth day after we broke up, one of Caleb’s friends tried to act as a mediator. “We just showed up at Caleb’s house to surprise him on his birthday, Maya. He really didn’t know we were all going to be there.” “Okay, maybe he was a little careless, I’ll admit that. But he was drowning in finals and trying to secure that job. Don’t you think you were being a little high-maintenance? Even in a relationship, people need some space, right?” Chloe was equally dismissive. “Maya, I told you I have someone I like! I showed you his picture! Caleb is your boyfriend. How could I ever try to take him from you?” Their logical explanations ate at me. I started to wonder if I was being high-maintenance, if I’d acted impulsively. I made up my mind to talk to Caleb one more time. And I walked in on them kissing. We’d only been broken up for a week, and he had already accepted her confession. Seamless. Zero-day-gap transition. 6 I took Lucky home with me that night. My dorm didn’t allow pets, so I had to temporarily set him up at my parents’ house. That night, curled in my bed, all I could see was them kissing. My brain was betraying me, visualizing even more intimate details. My head pounded, a tight, tense feeling at the base of my skull. I felt sick. I ended up posting a question on an anonymous forum about “zero-day transitions,” venting all the pain and confusion I’d been holding inside. I didn’t expect to wake up to a viral thread. 99+ notifications. Top comment: Why did he agree to the breakup instantly? Reply: I agree. In that short a timeframe, it’s never a ‘seamless transition.’ The third party was just waiting, and the breakup was the perfect excuse to legitimize the affair. The internet investigators quickly got to work. Using my location tags and a few landmarks I had mentioned, they tracked down our university. They actually managed to figure out the people involved were me, Caleb, and Chloe. The thread exploded. Tons of our classmates were weighing in. “Chloe seemed so innocent. I can’t believe she’s a homewrecker. Gross.” “I know the ex. Caleb Davis. He’s the top student in the math department. Definitely a hottie with a great voice. No wonder she stole him…” “Is anyone else noticing that Maya said he had his shirt buttons fastened wrong after the movie? What was he hiding…” I read through the flood of comments, a complex mix of emotions washing over me. My phone was vibrating constantly. Missed calls. Thousands of texts. They were all from Caleb. I decided to just turn my phone off. I went downstairs to grab a coffee. From across the street, I saw Caleb standing at the entrance to my apartment complex. When he saw me come out, he marched over, his face rigid with a cold command. “Take the post down. Now.” 7 Thinking about those anonymous comments, I couldn’t help but ask. “When did it really start between you two?” “The movie night? Or even earlier?” Caleb stared at me, his face devoid of emotion. “Is discussing that even useful now, Maya?” He didn’t answer directly, but he didn’t deny it, either. I had my answer. I actually wanted to laugh. Laugh at myself, laugh at him. “Caleb, if you fell out of love with me, you could have just said so. I wouldn’t have chased you. But why this—” “I’m telling you one last time,” he cut in, his voice dropping an octave, a thin thread of threat in his tone. “Letting this escalate is not going to do you any favors. Take. The. Post. Down.” I looked at him silently, a wave of profound displacement washing over me. Was this the same Caleb I had known my entire life? When we were kids, my family wasn’t doing well. A girl in my class didn’t like me and accused me of stealing from her. She yanked my hair and took a hair clip she’d “searched” from my backpack—a little butterfly clip—and shoved it into my hand. “You’ve probably never even had anything this nice,” she’d sneered. “Stealing a cheap hair clip. Your family must be so poor.” At the time, everyone believed her. Everyone was calling me a thief. Only Caleb stood up. He calmly told the teacher he’d seen the girl put the clip in my bag herself. Because of that day, we started getting closer. But now, this cold, ruthless, and dangerous Caleb was standing in front of me. He didn’t even have the patience to let me finish a single sentence. The person he wanted to protect… it wasn’t me anymore. The wave of desolation and bitterness was almost enough to break me. Finally, I whispered, “No, I won’t take it down,” and ran away. That evening, when I went downstairs to pick up a food delivery, I could feel people staring. “Birds of a feather, right? Neither of them are clean.” “She probably just wants the attention.” I had a bad feeling about this. I went upstairs and turned my phone on. Sure enough, someone had posted an anonymous reply to my original thread—complete with “proof.” Photo Evidence: A year ago, a ‘certain person’ was already hooking up with another guy behind her boyfriend’s back! The post went into vivid detail, describing how I had cheated on Caleb, and that my entire story now was just a play for pity and a way to destroy my ex’s reputation. Her “evidence” was far more convincing than mine. She had photos. In the photos, a tall, striking guy and I were standing in front of a hotel entrance. I was holding his arm, and his hand was around my waist, pulling me in. It was incredibly intimate. The lighting was dim, but you could see the guy looking down at me, his face close to mine. This guy was definitely not Caleb. 8 Probably because my original post had so much traffic, this reply went viral instantly. A portion of the commenters did a complete 1/80, using the same slurs they’d used for Chloe and aiming them at me, only worse. Then, a new comment got upvoted to the top. Wait a minute. Isn’t that Liam Carter, the ‘untouchable’ guy from A&T University? Below it were top-voted replies: “No way! Why would a guy like Liam even look at her?” “I think he has a girlfriend. She’s a humanities major…” “Tsk. So, Maya was a homewrecker herself? The cheater is crying about being cheated on!” … I fought back my rage and dialed Chloe’s number. “You posted that, didn’t you?” Chloe giggled on the other end. “So what if I did?” “Maya, you started this. I’m just hitting back.” I wanted to speak, but a quiet gasp from her interrupted me. “Hold on, I’m on a call,” Chloe giggled, her voice dropping. Caleb’s voice came through, sounding completely distracted. “What’s there to talk about with her?” Then the line went dead. But not before I heard their breathing getting heavy, followed by the soft, distinct sound of a zipper. I hung up violently. My hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t hold the phone. When I finally caught my breath, I sent a text to a number I hadn’t used in months. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I will fix it. I’m incredibly sorry. I waited for several minutes before I got a reply. It’s fine. Just two words. I felt a small release of pressure in my chest. I wasn’t actually close to Liam Carter. For him, this was completely unwarranted drama. Liam was a friend of my younger cousin. Six months ago, my cousin had Liam come to town to hang out, and I had helped them book a hotel room. At the time, I was looking down at my phone, replying to a message, and almost walked right into traffic. Liam had grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back, checking if I was okay. Chloe had been there that day. She must have secretly taken the photos. I felt like the world was a truly bizarre place. Even after my cousin, Liam, and I all posted explanations and even shared the original hotel booking information, the commenters were having none of it. Maybe they didn’t want the truth. They wanted the spectacle. They wanted a definitive “who wins” outcome. My life was undeniably affected. Walking around campus, I could feel the stares. That’s when Chloe sent me a text. She wanted to meet and talk, face-to-face. 9 My cousin knew I had a soft heart and was worried I wouldn’t be able to handle her alone. He offered to come, but I refused. I chose a coffee shop for the meeting. When I arrived, Chloe and Caleb were already sitting in a booth. “Oh, look, Maya’s here.” I ignored Chloe. I walked over and sat down, a wall of silence. I could feel a cold, piercing gaze on me, but I stared straight at Chloe. “What did you want to talk about?” “Talk?” Chloe covered her mouth, her laugh exaggerated. “You aren’t exactly in a position to talk terms with me, honey.” I was so angry I laughed. “Chloe, the ‘guy you liked’ for four years… it was Caleb, wasn’t it? You were with him the entire time. You were lying to me.” “Guilty,” she said, practically beaming. “I fell for Caleb on the first day of freshman year.” I tightened my fists under the table. “That time at the movie theater, when Caleb left, did he go to your screen—” “No.” I was confused. “We went to the bathroom,” Chloe said, drawing out the words with a slow, toxic sweetness. “Enough!” I cut her off. I did not want to hear another word about that from her. Even though I’d suspected it, hearing it confirmed still cut like a knife. “Caleb…” She was saying it to me, but I didn’t hear a shred of remorse in her voice. “I can take down the post I made about you and Liam.” “But you… you must take your post down and publicly apologize to me.” “Never!” I was shaking. Chloe suddenly slid a stack of photos across the table. “You won’t take down the post, you won’t publicly apologize—” But the rest of her sentence was lost to me. The moment I saw the photos, my mind went completely blank. “How do you have these photos…” “How do you know…” I stared at the images, my brain completely offline, memory fragments flashing back to that time. After Caleb had stood up for me and proven the girl had framed me for stealing the hair clip, the girl’s group had started targeting me. She had an older brother who was in a gang at a different high school. Most people were too afraid to cross him. Caleb always used to wear long sleeves and long pants, even in summer, and always wore a face mask. When I found out he had injuries, he never said a word, just let me put ointment on him. I used to cry while applying the medication. He would be the one awkwardly comforting me, holding back his own pain. “I’m fine. Really. Stop crying. It doesn’t even hurt.” Then one day, I was walking down an alleyway and saw him. He was on the ground, and the girl’s brother had his boot on Caleb’s hand, pressing his fingers into the asphalt. I realized then what he had been enduring for weeks. I hadn’t even stopped to think. I just rushed over, trying to push the guy’s leg off, begging them to stop hurting Caleb. I warned them the school security was coming. Then he grabbed my face in his powerful, calloused hand. He clearly didn’t believe me. He stared at me with a playful, dangerous grin. “School security? Sounds impressive. Looks like we can’t wait that long. But if you give me something to remember you by, I might let him go.” I fought him with everything I had, but it was useless. The tears were streaming down my face. Caleb was lying on the ground, unconscious. … Later, Caleb had somehow managed to get the photos back. He’d held me so tightly, his eyes red and raw, and whispered, “I am never going to let anyone hurt you again.” … But how did Chloe have these photos? How could she possibly know about this? “How do you know?” Chloe’s voice was neither high nor low, but it felt like a needle driving straight into my heart. “Haven’t you already guessed?” My head was buzzing violently. I turned to look at Caleb. He averted his gaze. 9 (Continued) I went completely still. I could only manage to whisper, “Why…” You told me you would never let anyone hurt me again. Caleb’s face instantly drained of color. He grabbed Chloe’s wrist. “We said we’d just make her take the post down. Why did you bring these photos out?” “…Well, she said she wouldn’t do it! Weren’t you listening?” Chloe tried to pull her hand back, but he held her tightly. She looked at him with a look of pure, toxic betrayal. “Caleb, you are actually crazy. You are the one who told me this whole story. Are you seriously feeling sorry for her now?” Caleb went still. After a long silence, he slowly, stiffly, turned to look at me. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Maya, believe me, I didn’t think she would—” I grabbed the cup of hot coffee in front of me and threw it directly into his face. There was a muffled thud as the heavy ceramic hit his temple. Bright red blood mixed with the thick coffee, streaming down his forehead, instantly soaking half his face. Caleb didn’t even seem to feel the pain. He just stared at me, dumbfounded. In his eyes, I saw my own reflection. I saw a monster. “Caleb, you are actually sickening.” That memory was something I was too terrified to even dream about. For years, I would start shaking at the mere sight of a hair clip. I was beginning to wonder if Caleb had ever actually liked me. If he had, how could he have used that as a talking point with another girl? … We were making such a scene that the other customers were beginning to whisper. “That girl looks familiar…” “Isn’t that Maya Si? The one who stole another girl’s boyfriend and then got cheated on herself?” “Yes, yes, yes! I saw that photo.” Several people pulled out their phones, pointing them at me, ready to record. Caleb suddenly roared, “What are you recording?!” The customers flinched and quickly put their phones away and hurried out. I stared at Chloe. “I am not taking the post down. And I am not apologizing to you.” Chloe was stunned. “Aren’t you afraid that—” I pulled my phone out from where it had been resting face-down on the table. The screen showed an active recording. I pressed stop and saved the file, clenching the phone in my hand. “You can spread those photos all you want,” I said, my voice dead calm. “But the moment you do, that is a crime. I will call the police, and I will hand them this recording of you two using them to blackmail me.” Chloe’s face went bone-white. It took her several seconds to find her voice. “Are you really not afraid of people seeing those photos?” I was silent for a moment. “At the time, I was too young. When I was bullied, I just silently endured it. I was too terrified to tell anyone.” “I was afraid of worrying my parents, afraid of the gossip, afraid of seeing that pity in people’s eyes.” “But when I really think about it, what do I have to be afraid of?” “It wasn’t my fault that I was framed. It wasn’t my fault that a monster took those photos. Even my past self, the one who was too terrified to call the police, wasn’t at fault.” “The fault lies with the bullies. The fault lies with the heartless bystanders who tell jokes. And the fault lies with you two, for using those photos to threaten me.” Chloe’s face was now a complete mask of hatred. “And,” I continued, “your attempt to blackmail me is also illegal. This recording is all I need. I can go to the police right now.” “Graduation is coming up. I assume you don’t want to be expelled.” Chloe stared at me. “What do you want?” I didn’t hesitate. “First, give me the photos, all of them. Second, take down the post about me and Liam Carter. Third, tell the actual truth, and publicly apologize to Liam and to me.” Before Chloe could speak, Caleb quickly said, “Fine.” His lips were trembling, his eyes filled with a complex storm of emotions. “I’m sorry, Maya.” For the next half hour, I watched Chloe pull out her phone, delete the post, and then type out a public apology. The new post went viral instantly. “I knew there was a plot twist!” “A homewrecker is a homewrecker. She stole the guy, and she was good at making up rumors.” “Tsk. Maya seems kinda pitiful.” … I gathered the stack of photos from the table. “Is this all?” “That’s everything.” Caleb’s voice was barely a whisper. “Maya, you don’t need to be so defensive around me.” I didn’t answer him. I packed the photos into my bag, turned around, and walked out of the coffee shop. Behind me, Caleb was calling my name, but I didn’t look back. I walked out of the coffee shop and called my cousin. I just told him it was all fixed. I didn’t mention the photos. After the call, I stood on the street corner for a moment, just letting the desolation wash over me. When I finally caught my breath and was about to call an Uber, a figure walked out of the coffee shop. It was Liam Carter. We both froze for a second. Liam nodded at me. “Maya.”

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My husband is a world-renowned scientist. When asked about his personal life in an interview, he said: “I don’t consider myself a qualified partner.” “Under no circumstances will I put romance first.” “I only wish to use my limited time pursuing the endless frontiers of science.” After the program aired, the whole country praised his fearless pursuit of knowledge. I, however, quietly put away my medical report. I had cancer. Terminal. The days he spent in London receiving his award. Were my last days in this world. 01 The last thing I saw before my consciousness faded was the blinding glare of the surgical lights. But when my spirit left my body, allowing me to see the entire operating room. And when I saw the heart monitor next to the bed pull into a flat line. I suddenly realized. I seemed to be dead. 02 I don’t know why, but I turned into a spirit, floating around. Just this morning, I was feeling okay. I even spoke a few words to Elias. He had an overseas symposium to present his research at, and his flight was this afternoon. So I woke up at seven to make him breakfast. Elias looked like someone who didn’t care about anything, but he was incredibly picky about his food. The toast had to be toasted just a tiny bit crispy, and the milk had to be exactly 80% warm. In our son’s words: “Mom, you’ve spoiled Dad’s taste buds.” I didn’t disagree. After taking meticulous care of him for twenty or thirty years, even the most troublesome things become habits. 03 “Elias, I heard there’s a sudden temperature drop in the UK due to some air mass.” “I packed an extra down vest for you.” “The gum is in the left pocket of your backpack. You always get earaches on flights; chewing a piece will help.” “Don’t stay up too late at night. Has your heart been bothering you lately? Go to bed early…” “It’s a polar continental air mass.” My words were abruptly cut off. I looked up dully and met his clear eyes. The saying “time is kind to beauties” fit Elias well. His brow bone was still sharp, and even nearing fifty, the years seemed to have left no mark on him. So the coldness he carried since his youth could still pierce straight to the bottom of my heart. He was correcting the inaccuracy of my first sentence. “Some air mass in the UK” is a “polar continental air mass.” But I just wanted to care for him. I lowered my eyes. And straightened his tie for him. “I know.” “Have a safe trip, Elias.” He turned sideways and walked past me. He thought I had nothing going on this afternoon. Actually, I did. He was going across the Atlantic to attend a scientific symposium. I also had a meeting to attend. My pre-op consultation. The doctor said the success rate of this surgery was only twenty percent. 04 When the doctor informed me that the stomach cancer was discovered too late and the cancer cells had already metastasized throughout my body, I sat in the hospital corridor for an entire afternoon. The TV hanging in the corner was playing Today’s Interview. It was the interview Elias was invited to a few days ago. The man with the cold eyes didn’t want to waste much time on anything other than scientific research. Even when asked about his wife, he just brushed over it. “I’m a blockhead.” “I don’t understand romance. A wife… to me, is more of a responsibility.” “Celebrate anniversaries? That’s formalism. Instead of spending time preparing for that, I’d rather do a few more experiments.” It sounded exactly like something Elias would say. Forget anniversaries; he didn’t even celebrate birthdays. When I was younger, I used to pester him to celebrate, hoping that one day he would appear before me holding a bouquet of vibrant roses. But I never received a single bouquet of roses. A brain that could memorize countless data points simply refused to remember the four digits of my birthday. Later, I would just sit alone at the table, make myself a bowl of longevity noodles, and consider the day celebrated. Elias was an iron tree; he couldn’t bloom. It took me over twenty years to finally accept this truth. So in recent years, I slowly started to feel that I wasn’t quite right. Call it exhaustion, or call it giving up. The funny thing was, he was him, and I was me. The path he had laid out plainly before me decades ago, I only understood now. I crumpled the medical notice, stuffed it in my pocket, and only called my son’s number. 05 Liam was close to me. Because Elias didn’t like kids, and his only son was completely inept at scientific research. After listening to my emotionless account, Liam’s voice choked up. “Mom…” “Did you and Dad…” “I didn’t tell him.” I lowered my eyes, staring at the granite floor. “I don’t want to tell him.” He is him, and I am me. Besides, what difference would it make if he knew I was sick? Would he drop the scientific research he was so obsessed with day and night to take care of me? “Liam.” “Mom doesn’t know how much longer she has.” “If Mom dies one day, don’t tell your dad.” I looked down and smoothed out the hem of my shirt. Why bring something Elias didn’t care about to him and cause him trouble? “Okay.” Liam replied on the other end of the phone. “Mom, to be honest, Dad doesn’t deserve it anyway.” “He really doesn’t deserve someone as good as you.” … 06 My spirit drifted through the hospital corridors. I saw the doctor walk out of the operating room, shake his head regretfully, and Liam lay by my bed crying. He picked me up and brought me to the hospital in the afternoon, waited outside the operating room until evening, but his mom disappointed him and didn’t open her eyes. He was crying so heartbrokenly. I hovered anxiously around him, but he couldn’t see me. I wanted to hug him so badly, to coax him to stop crying like I did when he was little. Liam worked very hard. Even though he didn’t become a scientist like his dad expected, his paintings were loved by many people, and he had an exhibition opening in Italy in the second half of the year. I sat next to him, looked up at the stars in the night sky, and sang him a song like I did to coax him when he was little. He couldn’t hear me, but I felt like this way, he would know Mom was right by his side. … I was suddenly transported very, very far away by a gust of wind. The senses of a spirit after death are truly miraculous. I could perceive what happened in the hospital after I died. And at the same time, I arrived at the venue where Elias was having his meeting. His meeting was supposed to last for seven days. The man in the sharp suit easily became the center of attention. Young, handsome, with a resume that was unprecedented and probably unrepeatable. Actually, speaking of Elias, he was probably the center of attention from childhood to adulthood. In college, the girls who liked him were like a school of fish crossing a river. In that era, which still retained some traditional thinking, girls brazenly chased him all the way to the bottom of his dorm building. Every time, he looked at them with a gaze that kept people thousands of miles away. Wearing the most ordinary white shirt, books tucked under his arm, he looked down at people with restrained aloofness: “I’m sorry, I don’t like you.” His words were exceedingly merciless. The “popularity” that many men would be immensely proud of was nothing more than a pure annoyance to him. At that time, he had already won national awards until his hands went soft. His name frequently popped out of the teachers’ mouths. At that time, I was just one of the students looking up at him, the most marginalized kind. I only dared to secretly catch a glimpse of the corner of his shirt when exiting the cafeteria. Elias absolutely didn’t know that before our blind date, I had secretly had a crush on him for three or four years. He also absolutely wouldn’t know that three years after graduation. The blind date my family arranged for me was him. “I won’t have anyone I like.” That was what Elias said to me the first time he met me. “If I have to say I like something, I like doing experiments, doing math—in short, nothing to do with people.” He frowned slightly; even so, he couldn’t hide his dazzling good looks. He concisely and clearly explained himself. “We are not discussing love.” “We are just ensuring we have a descendant. Do you understand?” … Actually, back then, Elias made it very clear. It was me who thought I could accept it; it was me who wanted to be with him. I always thought we had plenty of time. I always thought that one day, his clear, unwavering gaze would settle on me. I always thought he— Would fall in love with me. Should I say I overestimated myself, pinning my day-and-night dedication on the so-called “love grows over time”? My spirit drifted to his side. Watching him converse with the scholar across from him with a serious expression. The man had a tall, slender build, aloof and elegant. “Was I pretty stupid?” I leaned against his pocket, looking at him. “They say people with high IQs look at normal people the way normal people look at fools.” On the other side, my body was sent to the hearse from the funeral home. The academic symposium was buzzing with voices. “Elias, did you think I was pretty stupid?” 07 Elias took a picture of the London night view with his phone and sent it to me. Of course, I could never reply. Liam really didn’t tell his dad about my death. He didn’t even unblock Elias to send the obituary he posted on my WeChat. This was good. I bothered him too much while I was alive; I didn’t want to trouble him and make him change his flight after I died. Besides, I didn’t think he would want to see me one last time anyway. The London night view was pretty, but for some reason, that day, he stared at his phone and looked out from the windy balcony for a long time. I leaned over to look and finally understood. In the past, when he sent me messages, I almost always replied instantly. When he went on business trips abroad before, he would casually snap a few photos and send them to me. I would reply with the emojis I saved from Liam: a thumbs-up, or two thumbs-up, with “Awesome!” written on them. This time, he waited a long time, and I didn’t reply. “Professor Vance, it’s raining outside again.” “Come back inside, don’t catch a cold.” A young female voice sounded behind him. She was his student. In academic circles, some things are tacitly understood. The girl stepped forward somewhat intimately to drape a coat over him, but he pushed her away. 08 “Fish and chips.” “Disgusting.” Elias sent me a picture of a restaurant. My body was pushed into the incinerator. “It’s raining again.” Elias sent me a picture out the window of the hotel he was staying at. Relatives and friends attended my burial ceremony. “Presenting results tonight.” “Flight back tomorrow.” Elias stood at the podium, cameras pointed at him. With my broken English, I understood a little. His results seemed to add another significant stroke to human development. He, standing under the spotlight, in the field he excelled at, unfailingly radiated light and heat. I think this was why I loved him for so many years. But it was me who loved him, not him who loved me. In the drizzling rain of April, as my ashes were buried beside a square tombstone, I finally understood this truth. 09 That night after the meeting ended, when Elias called my phone for the third time and it didn’t go through. He changed his flight to the early hours of the morning. On the plane, he frowned the whole time, his face even colder than usual. It makes sense. After being at his beck and call for so many years, suddenly losing contact must be something he wasn’t used to. Actually, every time he came back from abroad, I would go to the airport to pick him up. And I would definitely arrive at least two hours early, just waiting for him at the airport. These were all habits. People can’t let the ones they hold dear suffer any grievances; I always did everything in my power to make him comfortable. But this time, he had to walk through the empty waiting hall alone and then hail a high-priced taxi at four or five in the morning. When he got home, it was 6 AM. He knocked first, and when no one answered, he unlocked the door with his fingerprint and pushed it open. The house was empty. Everything was the same as when he left: the sink was spotless, the dining table empty. Only the slippers I usually wore were placed at the entryway. He unbuttoned the coat he hadn’t had time to change out of because he left in such a hurry, walking around the unlit house, circle after circle. Bedroom, balcony, bathroom. Finally, he opened the washing machine door. … Finding nothing, he paused and pulled out his phone to call me. He waited for a long time; it went straight to voicemail. He took a deep breath and slid his thumb to the other number on the list. Liam’s. The relationship between the two men had been very tense since before Liam became an adult. Over the years, when Liam came home, it was only to see me; he never thought of interacting with his dad. Elias’s attitude was even worse. He was obsessed with academics, which meant: don’t make him raise kids. He was absent during the most important stages of his son’s growth, so his son naturally never spoke to him kindly. “What?” “Where’s your mom?” Both of their tones were aggressive, but Liam paused. Then came a very strange laugh, a feeling I can’t describe, as he murmured and repeated it. “Where’s my mom?” “My mom is gone.” “Where did she go?” Elias’s frown deepened. The first light of dawn happened to fall on his brow. I heard the son on the other end of the phone, his voice suddenly going blank. “Not gone somewhere.” “Mom passed away, Dad.” 10 A very long silence pierced both ends of the phone. From my angle, Elias’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. “You’re this old and still making cheap jokes with other punks?” A lecturing tone. He didn’t take it seriously. It seemed that the idea of me dying and not even notifying him of the funeral was something that simply wouldn’t compute in Elias’s mind. Liam went silent on the other end of the phone. After a long while, he let out a scoff with a tone of release. “Dad.” “I haven’t joked with you since I was in the sixth grade.” Liam hung up. The phone beeped on Elias’s end. I thought it was strange; Elias seemed frozen in place, standing there maintaining the posture of holding the phone. Slowly, he sat down on the sofa in the house. Elias was rigorous and serious in his academic work, but his personal life was exactly the opposite; he was casual to the extreme. So the house was always cleaned by me. His study was often piled high with manuscripts, and he wouldn’t allow me to touch them. I had been scolded by him more than once for this kind of thing. Thinking about it now, I really wasn’t a good match for him. He probably needed a female scientist who could chat with him about the vast universe of academia. Not a third-rate magazine editor who only knew how to wash sofa covers until they were faded and didn’t even know what a polar continental air mass was. A tiny bit of light leaked into the room. I saw him touching the lace edge of the sofa cover. Rubbing the lace, which had already accumulated a little dust. Over and over again. 11 The front door opened. Elias snapped his head to look. He moved so forcefully I was afraid he’d sprain his neck. As a result, it was Liam standing outside, jingling the keys in his hand. “Dad, you’re here. Good.” “Where did Mom keep her ID and the family register?” “I have to go to the police station…” Elias’s knuckles, which were rubbing the lace edge, stopped moving and stiffened. “To cancel her residency.” “…” In the cabinet below the TV, there were some personal documents belonging to me and Elias. He was the kind of person who threw these things around after taking them, including some of his award medals, so I carefully put them away for him every time. He didn’t care about these things at all, but I would always gently stroke them with joy. “What’s the point.” He didn’t understand why I was happy because he won an award. I would just smile and link arms with him. “Because you’re my husband, and of course I’m happy when my husband wins an award.” When I was young, I still had moments of pestering him and acting cute. Later, washed by the years, I restrained myself a lot. Elias was gripping our marriage certificate and wouldn’t let go. The photo on the marriage certificate didn’t turn out well either. After all, the corners of his mouth weren’t raised even a millimeter, while I smiled as if it were a grand wedding that belonged only to me. Liam found my ID and turned to see Elias holding the two bright red booklets. Staring at who knows what. “Dad, don’t worry.” “Mom is gone, so your marriage to my mom is naturally dissolved.” “You’re not her husband anymore, never will be.” “Happy? You can freely fall in love with those young female students you mentor.” This tone of obvious sarcasm. Normally, Elias would flip out if he heard his son say this. But this time, he didn’t make a sound for a long time. It was more like he had been lost in thought for a long time. He just slowly stood up and then picked up his trench coat hanging on the sofa. “I’ll go with you.”

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On the morning of my wedding, the makeup artist looked around the luxury hotel suite. Suddenly, she completely scrapped the elegant bridal look we had previously agreed upon and painted my face into a disaster. My fiancé laughed and asked her, “What, are you trying to make me marry a clown?” It turned out, the expensive makeup artist was my fiancé’s ex-girlfriend. Seeing their deeply familiar banter, I wiped off the makeup and called off the wedding right then and there. Carter tried to stop me, but Sierra suddenly stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. That was when I noticed that underneath her surgical mask, she had already done her own makeup to absolute perfection. She wasn’t just here to ruin my look. She was here to steal the groom. I raised an eyebrow. Stealing the groom means you have to take over the whole package. The $100,000 final bill for this luxury wedding reception was supposed to be paid in full by the bride’s family. Let’s see if she can take over that, too. 01 Last night, our two families stayed up late finalizing the details of the wedding. I barely got any sleep. Today, I had to wake up at the crack of dawn. So, when the makeup artist arrived to greet me, I was still groggy. The moment she walked in, she began evaluating the hotel suite. When her eyes landed on the diamond bridal set and the expensive heirloom jewelry laid out on the table, her hands paused over her makeup kit. “Wow, Lauren. Your fiancé must treat you so well! Booking such a high-end hotel for the wedding, preparing such a stunning diamond set… You’re the envy of everyone!” “Must have been incredibly expensive, right? You’re so lucky to have found a man who is so generous with his money.” Hearing this, a wave of annoyance washed over me. Every single expense for this wedding was paid for by my family. She didn’t know the first thing about our arrangement, yet she assumed it was the groom’s money. But I didn’t feel the need to explain myself to a stranger. I just nodded and let it go. Suddenly, she unzipped her makeup bag aggressively and looked at me with a half-smile. “Lauren, why do you think women these days love stealing things that belong to other people?” “Are they just born desperate?” Honestly, hearing those unprovoked, bizarre comments, I was getting angry. But it was too late to find a replacement makeup artist. After she applied the foundation, I drifted off to sleep. I kept my eyes closed to rest while she worked. After all, she was a senior stylist from a reputable salon. I wasn’t worried about her stealing my jewelry. I figured if she needed me to open my eyes or adjust anything, she would communicate with me. But when I finally opened my eyes, the stranger in the mirror made me jump. Frowning, I was just about to ask what on earth she was doing. I was already calculating how to demand compensation from her salon for such a massive blunder. But when I looked at her, the makeup artist was looking down, desperately trying to hold back her laughter. Her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably, as if she were looking at the most hilarious joke in the world. A cold realization began to sink in. This was entirely intentional. I hadn’t done anything to offend her. As I frowned, trying to figure out why she would sabotage me, someone walked into the room. The moment my eyes shifted, the girl couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst out laughing. “Hahaha!” Still laughing, she ran and hid behind Carter, who had just walked through the door. Her small hands gripped the back of his suit jacket. “I’m… I’m sorry, Carter! I didn’t mean to laugh!” “I just didn’t expect Lauren’s face to be so… uniquely suited for this kind of makeup!” With that, she covered her face, giggling uncontrollably. Watching my ridiculous reflection, I realized her hiding behind Carter was laced with pure malice. And hearing her call him “Carter” with such intimacy… the bad feeling in my gut skyrocketed. My intuition is rarely wrong. This girl knew Carter. And they were close. I didn’t want to assume the worst, but I turned to Carter, my brow furrowed. “What is the meaning of this?” “You two know each other? What kind of stunt is this? Is today a wedding or a circus act?” Carter looked at my face and froze for a second. He helplessly looked back at the girl hiding behind him, yet he didn’t utter a single word of reprimand. My initial frustration was instantly extinguished by a bucket of ice water. Carter casually leaned against a chair, looking at the girl with total familiarity. “You were doing just fine the last few times. Why are you dropping the ball today?” “What, are you trying to make me marry a clown?” He looked at her, amused. The girl shrank her neck playfully, stuck her tongue out, and made a face. “You asked me to do your bride’s makeup. I can’t be that generous.” After saying that, she shot me a mocking half-smile. She was waiting for me to make a fool of myself. I picked up my phone and scrolled for my backup makeup artist’s number. “Make her apologize to me.” “I’m calling someone else to redo this. Whenever it’s fixed, that’s when I’ll go downstairs.” “We can discuss her compensation to me later.” I didn’t even care how they knew each other right now. Today was my wedding day. My parents had invited important business partners and associates. I wasn’t going to let things fall apart at the last minute. Carter and I had met through a mutual setup. I came from a wealthy, established family. Carter’s background wasn’t great. He grew up in a single-parent household, raised entirely by his mother. He was capable, though, and had good career prospects. But in this expensive metropolitan city, he still had no house and no car. Even with a decent salary, he wasn’t exactly a hot commodity in the local dating market. I chose him because I valued his ambition, his looks, and his potential. But to my surprise, hearing my demands, Carter frowned. He reached out and pushed my phone down. “Is that really necessary?” “You just naturally look like that.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. 02 The girl heard him and let out a sweet, delighted giggle. “Carter, you can’t talk to a girl like that!” “After all this time, you’re still so brutally honest!” Even if I were an idiot, I could tell this girl’s relationship with Carter was far from simple. She was likely an ex. But if I couldn’t recognize his ex, couldn’t he? From choosing the salon to the trial runs to finalizing the look, Carter had been with me every step of the way. Since he never brought it up, was he trying to give his ex some business, or were there still lingering feelings? I didn’t want to dig into it. It was just going to make me sick. I grabbed a bottle of makeup remover, walked straight into the bathroom, and scrubbed my face clean. Then I called my parents and told them I needed to reconsider the wedding. If I went through with this today, I knew I would regret it. We hadn’t signed the marriage license yet anyway. I didn’t avoid the two of them when I made the call. Carter heard every word. His face instantly darkened. The breezy, amused expression he had worn vanished into a storm cloud. He opened his mouth to speak, but a pair of soft, delicate hands grabbed him. The girl wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “Carter! If Lauren doesn’t want to marry you, I will!” “Propose to me right now!” “Didn’t you promise me before that I was the only woman you’d ever marry?” With that, right in front of me, she stood on her toes and kissed his lips. But I didn’t miss it—when her eyes flicked toward the diamond set and the expensive jewelry on the table, they were filled with pure greed. Carter stiffened. He turned his head slightly, his eyes flashing with a mix of struggle and conflict. When he finally spoke, his tone carried a mix of guilt and a strange, subconscious thrill that he didn’t even try to hide. He looked at me. “Let Sierra stand in for you today and clean up this mess.” “You will still be my wife in the end. Don’t worry.” “Go downstairs and tell your parents. Don’t make a scene and embarrass everyone.” “But of course, you can throw a fit if you want.” Carter was absolutely certain that I would swallow my pride for the sake of my parents’ reputation. He knew today’s guest list was filled with my family’s prestigious network. After delivering his ultimatum, he grabbed Sierra’s hand to leave. I finally remembered her name: Sierra Jenkins. Sierra looked at me with triumphant arrogance. She stared me down, her lips curling into a silent, provocative smirk. She looked like she had just won the lottery. That was when I noticed that beneath her mask, she had already applied flawless, stunning makeup. Compared to the clownish mess she put on my face, it was night and day. Even her hair was already styled in the exact elegant updo I had requested for myself. Oh, this was premeditated. “Sorry, Lauren. I just didn’t want to leave any regrets in my life!” “If you want to go to my salon and file a complaint, be my guest!” Seeing her utterly shameless attitude, my anger peaked. 03 There’s no denying that Sierra pissed me off. But I knew getting angry wouldn’t solve the problem. When I went downstairs and told my parents what happened, they were in utter disbelief. They hurriedly excused themselves from the guests and pulled me aside. Seeing that I was dead set against marrying Carter, my parents sighed, looking guilty. “Sweetheart, we had no idea the Hayes boy was this unreliable!” “We thought he was a good kid, worth investing in. Looks like we were wrong!” “Forget it! Lauren Blake doesn’t need to beg a guy like Carter Hayes for anything!” I breathed a sigh of relief. I had been worried my parents wouldn’t agree. The guests were all high-profile figures. I was afraid my sudden cancellation would humiliate them. My parents had originally planned to use this wedding to introduce Carter to their elite network. Looks like that won’t be necessary. This high-end hotel required an upfront deposit, but the massive final balance was to be paid after the reception. When our families initially discussed the finances, it was decided that the Hayes family would pay the deposit. My family would pay the balance—$100,000—as part of my dowry. The deposit was $5,000. The balance was $100,000. To save face, Carter’s mother insisted that Carter sign the contract with the hotel himself. The contract stipulated that the bride’s side would cover the balance, but it never explicitly named me. Now that the “bride” was Sierra, Carter’s mother could ask Sierra for the money. Carter called me, demanding I send someone up with the diamond set and the jewelry for Sierra. After all, her hair was done, and she was just waiting for the accessories. Hearing Sierra’s smug laughter through the phone, I hung up and blocked his number. Was he joking? My family paid for that jewelry. Why would I hand it over to dress up his new bride? When no one came up to deliver the jewels, Carter got angry. He decided to teach me a lesson. He ordered the staff to take down all our custom wedding posters in the lobby. He paid a rush fee to replace them with photos of him and Sierra. The bride’s name on the welcome board was changed to Sierra. He originally hadn’t planned to change any of it; he just wanted Sierra to symbolically take my place at the altar. But now, it was his warning to me. Little did he know, this played right into my hands. Now, the bride was thoroughly and legally Sierra. The debt collectors wouldn’t be coming for me. I’ve always been a rational person, which is why I chose to cut my losses immediately. Even though I did have feelings for Carter, sunk costs shouldn’t dictate major life decisions. 04 Seeing her photos displayed on the giant LED screens, Sierra was absolutely ecstatic. She posted dozens of updates on Instagram and TikTok, showing off her high-end luxury wedding. She was wearing the custom designer wedding gown my parents had bought for me at a premium price. Even though it didn’t fit her right, she couldn’t resist finding me to gloat. Her words were dripping with passive-aggressive venom. “Lauren, I think this dress actually flatters my figure better than yours!” “Carter is so silly… ordering a dress without checking my measurements. I’ll have to scold him later! He really doesn’t know how to take care of a girl. Such a typical clueless guy!” She smirked. When I didn’t react, she pressed harder. “Oh, right. Carter just hired a senior celebrity makeup artist for me. The kind that charges $2,000 an hour.” “He said, what kind of bride does her own makeup on her wedding day?” “That’s just how he is! Exactly like he used to be—never listens to reason.” “He doesn’t know how to save money at all. Please don’t mind him, Lauren! It’s such a shame you had to foot the bill for his extravagance today~” “If he acts like this in the future, just call me, and I’ll talk some sense into him!” “Lauren, thank you so much for your generosity today. You really fulfilled the dream Carter and I always had.” Sierra covered her mouth, giggling, her eyes locking onto mine with pure provocation. She was rubbing it in my face as loudly as possible. I let out a cold laugh. It seems Carter wasn’t entirely clueless. He just didn’t care enough to try when it came to me! When I was stuck with clown makeup, he told me I “just looked like that” and no expensive makeup artist could fix it. But for Sierra, he thought of everything. He even hired a celebrity stylist. But does he actually have the money to pay for it? 05 I went downstairs and found my bridesmaids. They were supposed to be up there with me, but because Carter’s family only had his mother to help, things were chaotic. I had sent them down to assist. Which was exactly how Sierra had slipped in unnoticed. We marched upstairs and cornered Sierra. We stripped the custom wedding gown right off her back. I’d rather throw it in the trash than let her wear it! Sierra was furious. Her triumphant little face twisted into indignation and tears. “Lauren, aren’t you taking this too far? Carter paid for all this! What right do you have to take it from me?” Because she assumed Carter had paid for the dress, she felt entitled to flaunt it in front of me. She assumed Carter had finally hit it big, and that she could use their past history to easily knock me out of the picture. Thinking about this, I suddenly felt a surge of anticipation. What will she do when she realizes she backed the wrong horse? This was getting entertaining. Having been forcefully stripped of the dress, Sierra felt humiliated and called Carter, sobbing. Carter dropped everything—ignoring the guests—and rushed upstairs. Seeing Sierra shivering in her undergarments, crying on the floor, his pupils constricted, and his handsome face contorted with rage. He stepped forward, stripped off his suit jacket, and wrapped it around her. Then he scooped her up bridal-style, kicked open the door, and carried her into a different dressing room. Before he left, he shot me a glare filled with impending fury. “Lauren Blake, you’re really something!” “I’m downstairs trying to entertain your father’s business partners to secure your family’s network, and this is how you treat me?” “Then entertain them yourselves!” His eyes were full of warning. He wanted me to compromise, to beg him to stay and network with my father’s connections. Did he really think he was some irresistible prize? Did he honestly believe those elite businessmen were here for him, and not out of respect for my father? To make Sierra happy and let her continue playing bride, Carter waved his hand and spent his last $15,000 in savings to secure a luxury gown on the spot. He paid a massive premium to have it delivered within twenty minutes. Renting that dress for one day cost him $15,000. Fifteen grand, just to soothe Sierra’s ego. Though it wasn’t as beautiful as mine, it was far better than average. This convinced Sierra even more that Carter was now a wealthy man. But Carter forgot one thing: he had just promised his new makeup artist $2,000. And he had just drained the last of his bank account. He didn’t actually think I was going to bail him out to save face, did he? Hilarious. When the new dress arrived, Sierra finally smiled through her tears. Her voice was nasally but thick with flirtation. “Carter, I’m going to punish you for this!” Carter’s voice softened. “How do you want to punish me?” “I called all my girlfriends to come! I’m so happy they get to witness our special day.” Sierra sat on the vanity stool, swinging her legs, stroking the high-end fabric of the new gown. “I’m just kidding, I could never really punish you!” “I’m punishing your ex by making her fund our dream wedding!” “Hehe, am I being too bad?” To spite me, and to show off in front of her friends, Sierra had asked the hotel kitchen to add several premium, off-menu dishes to every table. Each table’s additions cost about $1,000. For twenty tables, that was an extra $20,000 added to the bill. Carter couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, you’re pretty bad.” “It’s about time she bled a little money. She really isn’t as obedient as you.” 06 Carter was a man of his word. To punish my “disobedience,” he genuinely stayed on the second floor the entire time, keeping Sierra company while she got her makeup done. Even the newly hired makeup artist couldn’t stop praising how deeply in love they were. He thought his actions would make me insecure and force me to back down. Little did he know, my parents and I had already explained the situation to our guests, and everyone was quietly slipping out. Out of the twenty tables, only three or four remained occupied. They were all Carter’s relatives. They had no idea what was going on and were completely bewildered. The banquet food had been pre-ordered. Even if the guests left, the hotel was still serving the full twenty tables. Sierra wouldn’t save a single dime on the final bill. When Carter finally came downstairs and saw the ballroom nearly empty, his face turned black. “Lauren, even if you want to throw a tantrum, shouldn’t you consider the time and place? Do your parents know you’re acting like a child?” “Do you have any idea how much effort I put in today to entertain your side of the family?” Seeing my utter apathy, his anger flared. “Fine, Lauren. Have it your way!” Our argument drew the attention of the remaining guests. People exchanged awkward glances, afraid to speak. My parents looked furious but didn’t say a word to him. We were never going to see these people again; there was no point in arguing. Sierra finished her makeup. The stylist wanted to be paid. Since she was a last-minute emergency hire, she wasn’t going to wait until after the wedding to collect her fee. Carter told the makeup artist to come find me for the payment. Obviously, I told her no. The makeup artist realized what was happening and took a hardline stance, demanding Sierra and Carter pay up immediately. Out of options, Carter came to me, his tone significantly softer. “Lauren, stop this. I know you’re emotional today, but can you just pay her first?” “You’ve vented your anger enough. Just be reasonable, okay?” He was finally starting to panic. Why was he acting like a billionaire when he didn’t have a dime to his name? The more he panicked, the happier I felt. Ultimately, Carter’s mother had to pay the stylist. Handing over $2,000 made her heart bleed. However, upon learning that the bride had been swapped at the last minute, she wasn’t upset at all. In fact, she thought Carter had made a brilliant move. “That’s how you handle it! What kind of wife doesn’t submit to her husband? Back in my day, a woman like that would have been beaten to death! It’s good to teach her a lesson so she knows her place!” To spite me, Mrs. Hayes intentionally packed a $1,000 red envelope and shoved it into Sierra’s hands right in front of me. During the reception, she held Sierra’s hand, parading her around to all their relatives. 07 Carter’s relatives noticed the bride was clearly a different person, but by unspoken agreement, no one said a word. Everyone played dumb, pretending nothing was wrong. The wedding followed the pre-planned itinerary. Though the photos on the screens had changed, the ceremony went smoothly. Sierra happily stood at the altar and exchanged rings with Carter. Even when it came time for the wedding night, everyone conveniently ignored the absurdity of it all. I don’t know if Carter was genuinely drunk or just pretending, but he leaned into the mistake and spent his wedding night with Sierra. My parents were so furious they threw out all the gifts Carter had ever given me. Even though the marriage fell apart, Carter’s behavior was deeply repulsive. But strangely, I wasn’t that angry anymore. Carter had hidden his true colors so well before, which was why I developed feelings for him. Now that his mask had slipped, showing his true face, I just felt disgusted. Any lingering affection was quickly replaced by nausea. My parents, worried about hurting my feelings, spent the whole day walking on eggshells around me. Seeing that I truly didn’t care, they finally relaxed. Carter didn’t call me until after 10:00 AM the next day. His voice was laced with hungover exhaustion. “Did you go back to your parents’ house to sleep?” I couldn’t help but laugh. If I didn’t go home, was I supposed to stay and watch the two shameless cheaters consummate their fake marriage? Hearing my scoff, Carter snapped to his senses. His tone turned defensive and angry. “Lauren, are you still throwing a fit? We have to go explain everything to the relatives today. Pack your things and come to the new house.” “The hotel called me too. They want the final balance. This was originally your family’s responsibility, but since we’re married now, I’ll go with you to sort it out.” Carter clearly hadn’t grasped the reality of the situation. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I cursed him out, called him an idiot, and hung up the phone. You can’t afford the bill? Not my problem. In an excellent mood, I finished my breakfast and drove straight to Sierra’s salon. It was payback time.

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I had lived for 50 years before I finally overheard the ugly truth from my two daughters-in-law. The “one that got away”—the female lead, Stella, who was about to return to the States—was actually the biological daughter of my husband Richard’s first love. My daughters-in-law had decided to make a run for it. They revealed that this returning heroine wasn’t just the obsession of my two sons, but also the precious daughter of my husband’s past lover. The three men in my life were conspiring to trick me into adopting her as my goddaughter. According to the plot, I was supposed to find out the truth at seventy, but I was only fifty. “Screw that. Why should I suffer for another twenty years?” I decided to fake my death right on the route they took to “rescue” their precious female lead. I wanted to make them drown in guilt for the rest of their lives. Later, Richard lost his mind. My two sons were consumed by regret. Meanwhile, my two daughters-in-law took me away to live our most wicked, fabulous lives. Surrounded by ten gorgeous, young male masseurs, we got pampered at the spa while they hand-fed us fresh fruit. 01 It took half a century to hear the truth slipping from my daughters-in-law’s lips. The returning “white moonlight” heroine, Stella, was the daughter of my husband Richard’s first love, Valerie. My daughters-in-law had decided to pull a vanishing act. My eldest daughter-in-law, Olivia, was frantically dumping diamonds, gold, and pearls into a designer suitcase. “I refuse to end up like our mother-in-law. I want a divorce. What about you?” My second daughter-in-law, Maya, tapped away on her phone. “If you’re out, I’m out. “I definitely don’t want to spend the rest of my life watching both my husband and his brother obsess over their dad’s first love’s daughter. “Let me check how much I’ve milked from Cole over our three-year marriage. Hehe, nine and a half million in my private account. Enough for us to live like absolute queens. “But how do we get a divorce? Do you really think Wyatt and Cole will just let us go?” Olivia thought about it carefully. “If we just ask for a divorce, they’ll flat out refuse. “They might even freeze our accounts. You’ll be sitting on nine million bucks and won’t be able to spend a dime. “When Valerie came back to the States years ago, Mom asked for a divorce. Dad adamantly refused and froze her accounts, leaving her without a penny to even rent a motel. “And then Mom found out she was pregnant with twins. For the kids’ sake, she had to stay trapped by Dad’s side. “But what she absolutely never realized is that five years later, Dad frequently took the boys on overseas ‘business trips.’ He claimed he was grooming them for the business, but he was really taking them to play with Valerie’s daughter! “He conditioned the boys to treat Stella like their own precious sister. They practically grew up as childhood sweethearts. “According to the plot, once Stella returns, the three of them will brainwash Mom into adopting her as a goddaughter. She’ll dote on her. Where does that leave us? We’ll lose our luxurious lives! “Why don’t we just fake our deaths and disappear?” Maya agreed immediately. “I’m with you. I’m going back to my room to pack my jewelry right now. “These past three years of maxing out Cole’s black card on designer bags and gems… selling them will give us plenty of cash. We won’t starve.” As she walked out of Olivia’s room, she bumped right into me eavesdropping by the door. Maya’s face went ghost white. She stammered, “M-Mom… how much of that did you hear?” I felt like I had been plunged into an ice bath, yet my chest burned with a raging fire. Clenching my fists, I asked, “Is everything you said true? Is Stella really Valerie’s daughter?” Maya looked conflicted, shooting a desperate glance at Olivia for help. “What do we do now? She’s going to tell Richard and the boys and ruin our escape plan!” I grabbed both of their hands tightly, refusing to let go. “You’re right. I won’t let you go—unless you take me with you.” 02 I thought about what Richard had said to me just last night. “Honey, haven’t you always wanted a daughter? “A friend of mine overseas passed away, leaving his only daughter all alone. She’s moving back to the States. Why don’t we make her our goddaughter? She can live with us and be the sweet daughter you always wanted.” Wyatt and Cole had chimed in enthusiastically. “Yeah, Mom! Her name is Stella. She’s super sweet and knows exactly how to make people smile. You’ll definitely love her.” Haha. Great. Just great. The three most important men in my life were stabbing me in the back! No wonder Wyatt got into a massive fight with Olivia this morning. He was gripping her by the shoulders, his eyes bloodshot as he demanded, “Stella disappeared right after getting off the plane. Did you hire someone to kidnap her?!” I had rushed in, telling my son to let go and asking if there was a misunderstanding. But Richard had pulled me aside, his temper flaring hotter than his son’s. “What misunderstanding?! Olivia, speak up! Where did you take Stella?!” No wonder Richard was more frantic than his own sons. That Stella was the daughter of his “one that got away,” Valerie. Memories flooded back like a tidal wave. I suddenly remembered a conversation when Wyatt and Cole were five. “Dad, can Stella’s mom be our mom? “We really want Stella’s mom to be our mom. Then Stella can be our sister and live with us. “We want to play with her and protect her forever.” I had curiously asked, “Who is Stella?” I remembered Richard sternly scolding the boys, “Don’t talk nonsense!” Then he turned to me. “She’s just the daughter of a friend abroad. A cute little kid. The boys saw her once and are obsessed with wanting to be her big brothers.” I had completely ignored how evasive his eyes were and how guilty he sounded. How pathetic. I sacrificed my career and ambitions. I poured my entire heart and soul into these three men. And this was how they repaid me? I felt drained of all my strength, swaying on my feet. Then I looked at my two clear-headed daughters-in-law. When a man loves you, max out his credit cards. When he doesn’t, pack the gold and run. By comparison, I felt like the biggest idiot in the world. Afraid they would think I was too old and refuse to take me, I laid my cards on the table. “Richard’s private safe has a hundred solid gold bars, 500 grams each. “If you take me with you, I will clean out his safe right now. “From now on, whatever you want to eat, drink, or buy, it’s all on me.” 03 My daughters-in-law’s eyes instantly lit up. They looked ready to hug my legs. Olivia whispered, “Mom, honestly, we’ve wanted to take you and break this plot for ages. “I’ll level with you. We’re living the ‘best friends marrying brothers’ trope, and you’re the ‘tragic, oblivious mother’. “Three years ago, my best friend and I got into a car crash in our original world and transmigrated into this novel, marrying into the Sterling family. “The System wanted me to romance the CEO older brother, and for her to play the devoted wife to the genius surgeon younger brother. “But once the true female lead, Stella, returns, your sons will act like they’re under a spell. They’ll go crazy for her and brainwash you into taking her in. “You always wanted a daughter, so you’ll treat her like absolute royalty, giving her whatever she wants. “You wouldn’t find out her true identity until you’re seventy, and you’d divorce in a fit of rage. “But that’s not a satisfying ending. It’s better to wake up now and make a clean break.” Maya gritted her teeth. “Exactly, Mom. If you want daughters, just treat us like your daughters. “We’ll take you out to live the high life and enjoy being utterly selfish. “As long as we have money, what kind of handsome, obedient pool boys can’t we find? “Last time Olivia and I went to the luxury spa, we ordered ten gorgeous guys to wait on us. It was heavenly. “Next time, we’ll take you with us. “Isn’t that a million times better than serving an aging father-in-law?” They were right. Why should I waste the rest of my life on three ungrateful wolves? I felt cold, but I smiled through my tears. “Deal. I’ll go empty their little treasuries right now. “Then, we disappear.” 04 I went to the master bedroom to raid Richard’s safe. A full one hundred gold bars, shoved unceremoniously into my suitcase. As I reached for the last bar, my hand brushed against a hidden button. A secret compartment popped open. Inside was an old photograph. The background was a stunning, snow-covered ski resort. There were five people in the picture. Two little boys were teaching a little girl how to ski. The other two adults were a younger Richard and Valerie, her hair blowing in the wind. It was a candid shot. It looked exactly like a perfectly happy family of five. I gripped the photo, my pupils dilating, my hands shaking uncontrollably. It was more jarring than anything my daughters-in-law had told me. It pierced straight through my heart. So, everything they said was true. I wanted to march right up to Richard and smash the photo into his face. I wanted to demand why he treated me this way. It wasn’t like I had refused to divorce him back then! Why did he stubbornly refuse to let me go, while secretly taking our sons on ski trips with Valerie? And why did he make my sons treat Valerie’s daughter like their precious first love? It was so disgusting. I wanted to throw up. Suddenly, a deep voice came from behind me. “Why are you opening the safe? “And why did you take all the gold out?” 05 It was Richard. I jumped. Terrified he might realize I was planning to run, I took the offensive. I whipped the photo at his face, my eyes welling with tears. “What is this?! Explain this to me! “Richard Sterling, how could you do this to me?!” Richard’s eyes clearly darted away in guilt, but he quickly regained his infuriatingly calm CEO demeanor. “It’s just an old photo. Don’t make a fuss over nothing. “It’s ancient history. Not even worth bringing up.” Seeing my red eyes, he softened his tone. “If you insist on an explanation, fine. “Valerie’s daughter had a rare form of autism. Her psychologist suggested she interact with kids her own age to help her condition. I felt bad for the kid, so I took the boys on a ski trip with them. That’s all. I have no other relationship with her.” He was still lying to my face! If they had no relationship, why hide this photo in a secret compartment inside his safe? My heart stung, but I fought back the tears and said, “Let’s get a divorce.” Richard’s eyes widened in shock. “What did you say?” I zipped up the suitcase, my heart completely dead. “I said, divorce. I’m keeping these gold bars, and you get the rest. You’re not losing out.” Richard lost his temper, shouting my full name: “Clara, have you lost your mind?! “I’ll give you one last chance. Take back what you just said!” Not a chance. I smiled, feeling a profound bleakness. “I’m not crazy! “That missing girl you’re all desperately looking for right now, Stella, is the girl in this photo, isn’t she? “And you wanted me to adopt her as my goddaughter? “Richard, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you have no conscience? “Since you want her as a daughter so badly, I’ll step aside. I’ll make room. Isn’t that enough?!” Richard panicked. Just like when he was younger, he aggressively pulled me into a tight embrace. He threw the photo on the floor and stepped on it with his dress shoes to prove a point. “Look, I don’t care about this old picture at all. “Stop making a scene. Be a good girl.” I pushed him away with every ounce of strength I had. I slapped him hard across the face. I was done being “good.” “Clara, stop right there!” I grabbed the suitcase packed with gold bars and bolted faster than a rabbit. 06 Richard chased me to the top of the stairs, yelling down at our sons. “Wyatt! Cole! Stop your mother! “She wants a divorce!” Wyatt and Cole were standing in the living room, frantically making calls to locate Stella. Hearing this, Wyatt stepped in my way, immediately shifting the blame. “Mom, we’re dealing with a massive crisis here. What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” I slapped my eldest son’s hand away. “Don’t call me Mom. I don’t have a son like you!” My second son, Cole, stepped up to block me, looking at me like I was insane. “Mom, Stella is missing. Wyatt and I are busy looking for her. Can you please not add to the chaos right now? “Doesn’t Dad spoil you enough? “Why are you suddenly demanding a divorce and disowning Wyatt? “You’re not going to disown me too, are you?” I was furious, suffocating from the injustice. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I screamed, “Yes, I’m disowning you too! “Husband, sons—I don’t want any of you! “Since you care about Stella so much, go call Valerie your mother! “I’m stepping out so your perfect little family of five can live happily ever after. Are you satisfied?!” I had laid all their dirty secrets bare. Yet, the brothers didn’t look an ounce guilty. Cole simply fell silent for a moment before offering a breezy smile. “Mom, is that why you’re mad? “We didn’t tell you who Stella’s mother was because we knew your imagination would run wild. “Dad hasn’t spoken to Aunt Valerie in years. “We hadn’t even kept in touch with Stella. “It wasn’t until half a month ago when Stella called, crying that her mom passed away from a severe illness and left her all alone. She wanted to return to the States. I had almost forgotten what she looked like. “Why are you being so petty? “Aren’t you afraid of becoming a laughingstock to our friends and family?” My son was a real wordsmith. I felt chilled to the bone, yet I wanted to laugh. “So now it’s my fault?” No wonder the three of them wanted me to make her my goddaughter. Her real mom was dead. They needed me to be her new emotional blood bank and shower her with maternal love. The thought of spending the next twenty years treating Valerie’s daughter like a princess made me shake with rage. I had to run! Whoever wanted to be the martyr could do it, but I absolutely refused! 07 Olivia and Maya heard the commotion and rushed into the living room. They pretended to play peacemakers, trying to calm everyone down. But under their breath, they whispered to me: “Mom, weren’t we supposed to fake our deaths together? “Why are you going off-script?” I felt a surge of sorrow and whispered back: “Plans changed. “I got caught raiding the gold. “What else could I do? I have a hundred gold bars in this suitcase. I couldn’t exactly put them back. “Years ago, I failed to get a divorce because I didn’t have any money of my own. “I will absolutely not make the same mistake twice.” Olivia told me not to panic and quickly came up with a plan. “Take the gold and drive toward Mount Rainier first. “We’ll follow right behind you.” I nodded. I dramatically shoved Olivia away, putting on a show of utter despair. “Nobody try to stop me! I’m getting this divorce today!” Olivia cried out, “Ouch!” and dramatically collapsed to the floor. Maya lunged forward and hugged my leg. “Mom, calm down! You need to calm down!” I put on a show of kicking Maya. “Get off me! I’m leaving right now!” Maya’s acting skills were Oscar-worthy. Taking my fake kick, she exaggeratedly rolled across the floor three times. Richard couldn’t stand it anymore and roared, “Let her go! She’s being completely unreasonable! “Throwing away her husband and kids at her age. I want to see how many days she lasts out there on her own!” I wasn’t that old. I was fifty. I had plenty of time left to start over. If I waited until I was seventy to leave, that would be too late. Richard was absolutely certain that after throwing a fit for a few days, I’d come crawling back. But I was going to pull a vanishing act. And even if I “died,” I wasn’t going to let Valerie’s daughter have it easy. I was going to bury a thorn so deep in Richard’s heart that every time he looked at Stella, he would be reminded of my death. Olivia had given me the perfect idea: “I have a plan. You need to ‘die’ right on their path to rescuing Stella. “Make them suffer for the rest of their lives.” 08 That day, Wyatt and Cole finally got a lead on Stella’s whereabouts. All three men, Richard included, rushed off to save her. Olivia called me: “Mom, the window is open. “You can make your exit now. “Turns out, Stella was never kidnapped. “She quietly took a bus to the Mount Rainier tourist resort right after landing, purposely turning off her phone to make Richard and the boys panic. “Since she wants to play games, let’s give her a real show.” I agreed. I intentionally drove my car along the winding coastal highway. Suddenly, CRASH! My car slammed into the guardrail perched on the edge of the cliff, teetering precariously. At any moment, it could plunge into the ocean. Even though Olivia assured me she had hired divers waiting in the water below to extract me, the sensation of staring death in the face was terrifying. I was so scared I desperately wanted those three men to rush to my side. I remembered the pain of childbirth feeling just like this. Back then, Richard had placed our twin boys by my bed and excitedly kissed my forehead. “Honey, look, you gave me two beautiful sons. “You suffered so much for these brats. “I promise I’ll make them treat you like a queen when they grow up. “If they ever disrespect you, I’ll beat them senseless.” But now, as I sat in a car dangling off a cliff, I called Richard. He heartlessly declined the call. I called three times. He rejected every single one. I called my eldest son, Wyatt. He picked up, but before I could even speak, he snapped impatiently, “Mom, I don’t have time for this right now. “Whatever it is, I’ll call you back later.” Then, he hung up. I pinned my last shred of hope on my youngest son, Cole. His tone was even more irritable: “Mom, can you stop spamming our phones? “Wyatt, Dad, and I are dealing with a life-or-death emergency right now. “If you’re regretting the divorce, just go back home and wait.” Before I could even scream the word “Help,” the line went dead. In that moment, my heart turned to ice. I realized that even if I were genuinely dying in a car crash, they wouldn’t come to my side. These were the three men I had served for half my life. When the car finally plummeted off the cliff, my heart was cold. So freezing, bitterly cold.

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“Mrs. Davis, the man who murdered your daughter—can you really not remember his face?” I hovered near the ceiling, listening to the detective’s question as a familiar chill crept into my chest. I was ten years old when I died in that alleyway. Mom walked in just as the killer was leaving. The gruesome, bloody scene broke her completely. The trauma triggered acute stress disorder, locking the killer’s face away in a dark corner of her mind. People told her not to push it. They said the memories would return in time. But five years slipped by in a blink. Now, facing the police again, she gently stroked the hair of my three-year-old sister. Her voice was terrifyingly flat. “I have a new family now. A new daughter. Whatever happened in the past… let it stay in the past.” 1. Hearing those words ache, but I understood. The two officers clearly didn’t. They froze. The older one, Detective Miller, wasn’t ready to let it go. “Mrs. Davis, we know it hasn’t been easy for you. We know you’ve fought hard to build a new life, and the last thing we want to do is intrude.” He leaned forward. “But last week, there was another vicious attack on a little girl on the outskirts of town. The M.O. is practically identical to what happened to your daughter. We have reason to believe it’s the same man.” He paused, letting the weight of it settle. “This case has been cold for five years. He’s still out there. He might hurt more kids. Can you please just try to remember? Even a fragment. The smallest detail could break this wide open for us.” Before Mom could respond, the younger cop—Officer Harris—spoke up. His voice was sharp with frustration. “Mrs. Davis, that was your own flesh and blood. She died a horrific death. Can you really just wash your hands of it? If it were me, I’d tear the world apart looking for the guy.” The words struck like a match to a powder keg. Mom’s unnervingly calm face twisted. The gentle light in her eyes was instantly swallowed by raw, suffocating terror. She shot up from the couch, grabbing her hair with both hands, and let out a guttural, hysterical scream. “Stop asking! I’m begging you, stop! I can’t remember! I swear to God, I can’t remember!” Tears streamed down her face in chaotic rivers. She shook violently, stumbling backward. In an instant, she was entirely broken, dragged right back to that blood-soaked evening. My spirit shuddered. The memories crashed over me, a tidal wave so heavy I couldn’t breathe. I was ten. Fifth grade. I was just turning the corner into our alleyway after school when a rough, calloused hand clamped over my nose and mouth. The acrid, chemical stench burned my nostrils. I didn’t even have the strength to thrash before the world went black. When I woke up, I was already floating. A ghost. I looked down to see the concrete stained crimson. My body lay there, unrecognizable. And Mom was collapsed beside me, screaming until her vocal cords tore. Not far away, a blurry figure hurried into the shadows at the end of the alley. In the months that followed, Mom was a ghost herself. She cried until she couldn’t, clutching my picture, refusing to eat or sleep. I hovered beside her back then. I screamed her name, I tried to stroke her face, I tried so hard to comfort her. But she couldn’t feel me. She bore the agonizing, tearing pain entirely alone. She looked exactly the same right now. Beside her, my little sister burst into terrified wails. My stepdad rushed into the room. He grabbed Mom, wrapping his arms tightly around her trembling frame, rubbing her back. When he looked at the cops, his eyes were blazing. “That’s enough!” he barked, his voice thick with fury. “It’s been five years since it happened. Five years you’ve been looking, and you have nothing. Your incompetence isn’t an excuse to come in here and interrogate my wife. What do you want? Do you want to drive her insane?” He shielded Mom, pulling my crying sister into his chest. He waved his hand at the door. “Get out. You are not welcome here. If you come near her again, I’m filing a formal complaint.” Officer Harris opened his mouth, but Miller held up a hand to stop him. Miller looked at my shattered mother, his face lined with guilt. He offered my stepdad a tight nod of apology. “I’m sorry. We crossed a line. We’ll show ourselves out.” He grabbed his rookie by the arm and marched out the door. I stayed near the ceiling, watching Mom shake against my stepdad’s chest. The tangle of emotions in my chest was impossible to untie. 2. The memory of that evening five years ago pulled me under again. The alley smelled like copper. Mom sat in the dirt, staring at my body, making sounds that weren’t quite human. A uniform stood over her with a notepad. “Ma’am, I need you to focus. The suspect’s height, build, what he was wearing. Anything. A single detail could give us a lead.” I floated right next to her ear, desperate. “Mom, tell him! You saw him! Tell the police!” But she couldn’t hear me. She bit her lip so hard it bled. Her whole body spasmed as tears dropped silently onto my school uniform. “I… I don’t…” Her voice was shredded, her head bowed so low. “I can’t remember anything…” “There are no cameras in this part of the neighborhood. You’re the only witness,” the officer sighed, his voice heavy with defeat. “If we lose the trail here, we’re never going to catch him. For the little girl’s sake, ma’am. Please. Try.” That sentence snapped the last frayed string of her sanity. She snatched my bloody jacket, hugged it to her chest, and wailed. “I can’t remember! I can’t remember!” She pulled at her own hair like a madwoman, gasping for air until her eyes rolled back and she passed out on the concrete. They put her in therapy after that. The doctors called it acute stress disorder. That specific memory was a locked vault; trying to force it open only made the trauma worse. The police tried a few more times, but her condition was so fragile they eventually backed off. Relatives and neighbors paraded through the house, patting her hand. “Don’t rush it, Sarah. It’ll come back to you.” She heard none of it. She locked herself in my room, tracing the covers of my books, holding my stuffed animals, staying awake for days at a time. She would stare at the empty corners of the room and whisper, “I’m so useless. I couldn’t protect you, and I can’t even remember the monster who did it…” She forced herself to relive that evening over and over, trying to unearth the face. Every time, it ended in a complete mental collapse. She wasted away. The light in her eyes died, a little more every day. I watched her torture herself, completely powerless. I sat beside her from dusk until dawn, drowning in my own helplessness. I had wanted her to remember. I wanted the police to drag him out in cuffs. But I didn’t realize that my obsession with justice was going to kill her. It was raining. The apartment was suffocatingly quiet. Mom was sitting in the armchair on the balcony, holding a paring knife. Panic seized me. I threw myself at her, screaming for her to drop it, but she was completely hollowed out. The blade sliced across her wrist. The blood welled up instantly, soaking into her sleeve, turning my vision red. “Mom! No!” I shrieked, but I could only watch. I couldn’t even touch her. Just as the despair swallowed me whole, the front door crashed open. My stepdad—just a coworker back then, a man who had asked her out once and been politely turned down because she was focused on raising me—ran in. He had been quietly checking in on her since I died, dropping off groceries, making sure she survived. He saw the blood and went pale. He didn’t say a word. He grabbed a towel, clamped it down on her arm, scooped her up, and ran. “Sarah! Stay with me! Sarah!” The hospital smelled like bleach. When Mom finally opened her eyes, they were empty. Her wrist was wrapped in thick gauze. She stared at the ceiling in total silence. He sat beside the bed. His voice was incredibly soft. No judgment. “If you can’t remember, stop forcing it. No one blames you. You have to keep living. If Mia is out there somewhere, looking down… seeing you do this to yourself would break her heart.” A single tear slipped down Mom’s cheek. “I failed her. I don’t even know who did it. What’s the point of being here?” “It is not your fault. It is his,” he said, taking her uninjured hand. His grip was steady. “Living your life is the best thing you can do for her. Stop punishing yourself.” Hovering over the hospital bed, looking at her bone-white face, my desperate need for the truth evaporated. If justice meant my mother dying, I didn’t want it. I didn’t want anything anymore. I just wanted her to live. I’ve stayed with her ever since. I watched her slowly climb out of the dark. I watched her marry him. I watched her stomach swell, her face softening with a new, quiet joy. I watched my baby sister come into the world, safely held against her chest. She seemed to have truly forgotten me. Her world was her new husband, her new daughter, her new life. I tried to tell myself that ghosts don’t have hearts. If she forgot, she forgot. As long as she was happy. 3. While I was lost in the past, my stepdad had managed to calm them down. He held my crying sister on his hip, rubbing Mom’s back with his free hand. When her breathing finally slowed, he spoke softly. “It’s okay. They’re gone.” Mom buried her face in his shoulder, nodding through her hiccups, her fingers still twisted in his shirt. The terror hadn’t completely left her eyes. He wiped a tear from her cheek, his expression full of love. “Didn’t you say you were craving that dim sum place downtown? Let’s go. We’ll order everything you like. How does that sound?” She gave a raspy hum of agreement. He took her hand, still holding my sister, and walked them out the door. I drifted behind them, looking around the bright, spacious four-bedroom house, a bitter ache blooming in my chest. Five years ago, Mom and I didn’t have anything like this. We were crammed into a tiny, peeling apartment on the bad side of town. The furniture was old and stained. But that little apartment was packed wall-to-wall with love. Back then, when Mom got off work, she would catch me as I ran at her, lifting me up and kissing my cheeks. “There’s my girl! Were you good at school today?” On freezing winter nights, she would tuck my icy hands into her sweater to warm them up. She would sit on the edge of my bed, reading me stories until I drifted off to the sound of her voice. After she got together with him, he quit his safe job to start his own business. He worked himself to the bone to move her into this house. Things got better and better. The restaurant was warm and noisy. In the booth, my stepdad strapped my sister into a highchair, tied a bib around her neck, and slid the menu over to Mom. “Get whatever you want.” She smiled, waving it away, her eyes entirely on the baby. “Just enough for us. Let’s not waste food. Get the pasta for the baby first.” The food came quickly. Mom held a tiny spoon, blowing on the pasta until it was cool before offering it to my sister. Her movements were so careful, so patient. My sister chewed happily, giggling, her chubby hands grabbing at Mom’s fingers. I floated over the empty chair across from them. My chest felt hollow and tight all at once. Before my real dad died, we used to go out to eat just like this. Mom used to do that for me. She would blow on my food until it was safe to eat. I used to be exactly like that little girl—clinging to Mom, pulling at her sleeves, having her entire, undivided heart. Full and happy, my sister kicked her little legs and whined happily. “Mama~” Looking at her sweet, spoiled face, a childish, petty jealousy flared up inside me. I sat on the hard edge of the chair, muttering to myself. “She used to take care of me like that. She loved me even more than she loves you.” “She used to braid my hair. She bought me strawberry candy. She gave me piggyback rides home. If it wasn’t for that alley, I’d still be sitting right there…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. My nose stung. It felt like the loneliness was physically wrapping around my spirit, suffocating me. The warmth of the restaurant faded away, leaving me in the freezing cold. The meal was perfect. Mom’s face finally relaxed; even the tone of her voice lightened. My stepdad put food on her plate and made my sister laugh. A perfect, happy family. I watched them in silence. The sharp pain dulled, leaving only a deep, settling melancholy. 4. Night fell. After putting my sister to bed, Mom didn’t go to her own room. Instead, she walked to the very end of the hallway, to the door that was always locked. My room. Or, the room where my things were kept. She hadn’t opened the door since they moved into this house. When she pushed it open, dust fell from the doorframe, tickling the nose. There was my desk. My little bed. My stuffed animals. Everything was buried under a thick layer of dust. The room felt dead. Mom stood in the center, staring blankly at the objects as if they weren’t the last physical traces of her first child, but just a pile of useless junk. My stepdad appeared in the doorway a moment later, looking worried. “Sarah? Are you okay? Did something trigger you again?” “No,” she said flatly. “I just realized there’s no point in keeping this stuff. I’m calling a junk removal guy tomorrow. I want it all gone.” He stared at her, stunned. “Gone? But this is Mia’s stuff. Are you sure…” “Yes.” Her eyes were hard, unmoving. “She’s been gone for five years. Keeping this old junk just makes me miserable. I don’t want to think about the past anymore.” She walked out without looking back. I hovered in the dusty air, staring at the things that had been my whole childhood. My chest violently convulsed, but I couldn’t make a sound. The next morning, the junk guys actually showed up. I floated next to them, staring at my things as they carried them out, screaming in my head, praying she would change her mind. She tossed my backpack—the one with the little bunny embroidered on it—into the truck herself. Mom, don’t throw away my backpack. You gave me that for my birthday… Then she threw out my teddy bear. The one with the torn ear that she had sewn back together for me. That’s my favorite bear. Did you forget? You said if I held it, it was like you were hugging me… My notebooks, my fairy tales, my hair ribbons. One by one, piece by piece, she threw them all away without hesitating. The truck drove off down the street, piled high with my life, until it disappeared around the corner. I chased it for a long time, but eventually, I could only watch it vanish. A few days later, my stepdad had the room painted a soft pink. It was filled with my sister’s toys, her picture books, a little rocking horse. It was a playroom now. My sister ran around barefoot, laughing as she hugged a brand new doll. Mom stood in the doorway, her eyes soft and full of light, as if she had never had another daughter at all. It was early evening. The house smelled like dinner. Mom was wearing an apron, simmering a pot of short rib soup for the baby. Her phone suddenly started ringing in her pocket, the shrill noise cutting through the quiet bubbling of the pot. She wiped her hands and pulled it out. Her brow furrowed instantly. It was Detective Miller. She moved to decline the call, but it rang again. And again. Relentlessly. My sister waddled over, tugging at her apron, calling for her. Mom sighed in frustration and finally answered. “What do you want?” she snapped. “I told you, I don’t remember anything. Stop calling me.” Detective Miller’s voice was low and tight. “Mrs. Davis. I’m sorry to bother you again. But I had to call. We ran the files from similar cases over the last five years.” “Combined with the new evidence… we think we have him. We think the man who killed Mia is in custody.”

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My boyfriend, Derek, had been dead for two years. Or so I thought, until he showed up at my front door, holding my sister’s hand. That night, I had been busy. I was finally hitting ‘delete’ on the digital memoir I’d spent two years writing—a soul-crushing tribute to a “fallen hero.” I was staring at the last text he’d ever sent me before the accident, my eyes blurred with the kind of tears that never really dry. Then, I heard it. From the guest room upstairs, the rhythmic, sickening creak of floorboards. It was the sound of a passionate confession, followed by the unmistakable noise of a bed frame hitting the wall. He was upstairs, professing his undying love to my sister, Morgan. I was the one who had organized his funeral. I was the one whose face his parents had screamed into, sobbing, demanding I give them back their son. How the hell was he standing in my foyer now, wearing a designer suit and an engagement ring on his finger—the twin to the one on Morgan’s hand? He acted like he’d never left. “Hey, little sister,” he said, his voice smooth as expensive bourbon. “Morgan and I picked this out for you. We knew you’d love it.” He slipped off his sunglasses, and for a second, time stopped. When he realized it was me—really me—the gift in his hand hit the floor, shattering into a thousand jagged pieces. Morgan tugged at his sleeve, her voice a mix of possessive and patronizing. “Don’t be mad, Piper. He’s always been a bit clumsy. I’ll make it up to you later, okay?” My parents ushered him in like he was royalty. The whole house was suddenly vibrating with a celebration I wasn’t invited to. Morgan started spinning the tale of their “epic romance.” Apparently, the day after I buried his empty casket, he had staged a grand, cinematic confession to her. They’d been living a secret life while I was drowning in grief. Later, Derek caught me in the hallway, pinning me into a corner when no one was looking. “You know,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear, “your sister is sweet, but she’s not nearly as much fun as you were. Her performance in bed? A bit lacking.” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I kicked him squarely in the shin, shoved past him, and sprinted for the tool shed in the backyard. I grabbed the heavy garden spade, my knuckles white. My mother caught me at the back door. “Piper? What on earth are you doing with that?” I looked her dead in the eye, my chin trembling with a fury so cold it felt like ice. “I’m going to the cemetery. I’m digging up the grave.” … My mom, still holding a spatula from the feast she was preparing for her “new” son-in-law, wiped her hands on her apron. She rushed out, screaming for my step-dad, Jim. She grabbed my arm, trying to hold me back, but I was pure adrenaline. Jim appeared, his movements quick and practiced. He snatched the spade from my hands before I could do any real damage. “Piper! Sweetie, stop. Think for a second. You paid a fortune for that plot. Don’t waste the manual labor.” I looked at my parents, then looked past them to the doorway where Derek stood, a smug, punchable smirk playing on his lips. Two years ago, Derek was supposed to come home and meet my parents for the first time. I’d hyped him up to be this legendary figure—the perfect man. My parents had been so excited. “Show us a picture of this mystery guy,” they’d say. I remembered sitting on the sofa that night, scrolling through my phone. From lunch until dinner, I searched every folder, every cloud backup. I couldn’t find a single photo where his face was clear. It was always a profile, a blur, or him standing in shadows. I remember the look on my parents’ faces shifting from anticipation to concern. They eventually stopped asking and started quietly leaving brochures for grief counselors on the kitchen island. After he “died,” my parents barely even remembered his name. Whenever it came up, they’d just sigh. “Piper’s boyfriend… what was it? Something with a D? Poor kid, gone too soon.” I mocked myself silently. Why was I letting this grifter ruin my life again? I was about to drop the spade and walk away, to just let the irony swallow me whole, when Morgan stepped forward. She wasn’t holding a drink anymore. She was holding a heavy-duty pickaxe she’d grabbed from the garage. “I get it, P,” she said, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp clarity. “If we’re digging, we’re digging. Tell me whose head we’re taking off first.” I looked at my sister. “Derek,” I whispered. “I’m digging up Derek.” “What?” Morgan’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Your ‘dead’ boyfriend’s name was Derek? Derek Barret?” I nodded slowly. Morgan turned her gaze toward the man she’d just been in bed with. He remained remarkably calm, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh? Really?” he mused. “Small world.” My fists clenched so hard my nails drew blood. The veil was so thin it was practically transparent, yet he was still playing the role. How had I never noticed what a sociopath he was? I was about to scream the truth—that he’d faked his death, that he’d scammed me—when he casually tapped his phone screen and turned it toward me. It was a private photo. One of those intimate, vulnerable moments I’d shared with him when I thought he was the love of my life. The caption he’d typed but hadn’t sent: If you open your mouth, the whole family sees the collection. And trust me, I have a lot. “What’s going on?” Mom and Morgan asked in unison. I forced a smile, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Nothing. I just… Derek told me in a dream that he wanted his ashes scattered. I thought I needed to go get them.” My parents exchanged a look of pure pity. Morgan, surprisingly, nodded. “Well, if that’s his wish, let’s help the guy out.” Before I knew it, we were all in the SUV. My parents had packed a literal trunk full of gardening tools, and we were speeding toward the cemetery. The plot wasn’t large, but it was in the most expensive section of the valley. When the “accident” happened, the story was that he was rushing to see me for the holidays and crashed. The car fire was supposedly so intense that the body was unrecognizable. His parents had descended on me like vultures. They didn’t pay a cent for the funeral, leaving it all to me. But their demands were endless. First, a state-of-the-art burial. Second, they insisted on buying two adjacent plots for themselves, “so we can be with our boy.” I was at my most broken. I agreed to everything. I didn’t even tell my parents; I didn’t want to burden them with the cost of my “shame” for being the reason he was on the road that night. I spent every penny of my savings. I lived in a state of collapse for months, convinced I had killed the man I loved. Looking back now, it was so transparent. So stupid. I reached up and slapped myself, hard. Mom’s hand caught mine mid-air. She didn’t say a word. She just squeezed my hand, over and over, the way she used to when I was a little girl. I remembered my biological father—the drunk who would come home and turn the house into a war zone. Mom would hold my hand just like this and whisper, “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll protect you.” The memory flickered through my mind like a jagged reel of film. I looked at her, and she was still staring straight ahead at the road, but her grip was like iron. Morgan caught my eye in the rearview mirror. She didn’t say anything, but she gave me a tiny, sharp nod. I felt a strange warmth spread through my chest, like I was being wrapped in a thick, protective blanket. In the front seat, Jim was trying to lighten the mood. “I almost met this guy, you know. Had the grill seasoned and everything.” He glanced at Derek in the passenger seat. “It’s a shame. Just a freak accident, right?” Jim chuckled, though it didn’t sound particularly friendly. “What are the odds? Two daughters, two guys named Derek. Derek, you better be careful on the road. Wouldn’t want you to… snap… just like the other one.” I watched Derek. He was trying to act cool, sipping a latte he’d grabbed at the gas station. When Jim said snap, Derek choked, spraying coffee all over the dashboard. Morgan’s temper flared instantly. She kicked the back of his seat. “That’s a brand-new car, you idiot! You’re paying for the detailing!” Derek apologized profusely, scrubbing at the leather. Jim watched him through the mirror, his expression unreadable. I wondered… did Jim know? Before I could process it, we were at the cemetery gates. It was a quiet Tuesday. The security guard was dozing in his booth. A stray black ribbon from a recent funeral drifted across the grass. We walked toward the back, toward the premium plots that caught the morning sun. Morgan’s pickaxe was drawing stares, but no one stopped us. When we reached the site, I froze. There were fresh yellow chrysanthemums on the headstone. And the two “empty” plots next to it? They had names on them now. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. These people were absolute monsters. “Morgan! The pickaxe!” I had said it in a fit of pique, but seeing those names—his “dead” parents’ names—on plots I had paid for while they were likely sipping margaritas on my dime? The rage was volcanic. I took the tool and slammed it into the concrete seal of the first vault. I wanted to see what was really inside. My parents stood back, silent. Derek stood to the side, looking bored, as if he didn’t care that his entire life of lies was being unearthed. His arrogance fueled me. I broke open all three. Morgan helped me heave the stone slabs aside. The first one? An urn. The second one? An urn. My stomach dropped. A weird, heavy sensation settled over the air, as if a hundred eyes were watching us from the trees. Was I committing an unspeakable sin? Were his parents actually dead? No. Impossible. His mom had literally sent me a “Save 20%” link on a shopping app three days ago. My hands trembling, I pulled out my phone and messaged his mother. Are you dead? She replied almost instantly with a phone call. I put it on speaker and looked at Derek. “Are you insane?” her voice shrieked. “You killed my son with your bad luck, and now you’re cursing us? We’ll outlive you, you little brat!” “Then why,” I said, my voice trembling, “am I standing over your graves right now?” The line went dead. Morgan understood immediately. She slammed her tool into the third vault—Derek’s. When he “died,” they told me the body was cremated because it was too damaged for a viewing. This was supposed to be a cenotaph—a memorial with his belongings. But there was an urn inside. A real one. “What is this?” I whispered. I knew exactly what I’d put in there—his favorite watch, a photo. There shouldn’t be ashes. Derek was leaning against a tree, wearing a cold, eerie smile. For a second, he didn’t look human. He looked like something that had crawled out of the dirt. A sudden, freezing wind whipped through the cemetery. We all shivered. I looked down at the headstone, wiping away the dirt I’d kicked up. The name wasn’t Derek Barret. It was Derrick Barry. My heart stopped. Is it possible? Such a stupid, coincidental mistake? But these were my plots. I bought them. How did Derrick Barry end up in Derek Barret’s spot? Derek stepped forward, his voice a low hiss. “Looks like you’ve got the wrong guy, little sister. Maybe you were too busy crying to read the contract?” I looked up, ready to scream at him, when a cold, clear male voice rang out from behind us. “Why are you desecrating my family’s resting place?”

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After my attempts to negotiate a divorce with my wife over her very public affair went nowhere, I started aggressively swiping her black card, trying to force her hand. I was at the jeweler, signing the receipt for my fifth luxury watch of the day, when my phone buzzed. It was her lover, calling to reprimand me. “Do you have any idea how to be a husband? At a time like this, you’re out buying Patek Philippes?” “The company’s cash flow is incredibly tight right now. Victoria is losing sleep over this every single night.” “You’re her husband, for God’s sake. Don’t you have a single ounce of empathy for her?” In the background, I could hear Victoria’s voice, low and soothing, murmuring something to calm him down. This was the fifty-ninth time he had called to lecture me about my spending. He was her company’s Chief Financial Officer. He was also the affair she refused to end. And for three years, we had been locked in a bitter, suffocating stalemate over a divorce she wouldn’t grant. I didn’t scream. I didn’t justify myself. I simply pressed the red button and cut him off. Then, I walked out of the boutique, drove straight to a high-end interior design showroom, and swiped the card for another $1.5 million on custom furniture and imported appliances. Moments later, Victoria called. I answered, and she let out a heavy, exhausted sigh—the kind reserved for a disobedient child. “From now on, Cameron is managing your accounts,” she announced, her tone clipped and authoritative. “If you need money, you submit a request to him. He’s the CFO. Maybe having to ask him will cure you of this absurd spending addiction.” I listened in silence. The quiet stretched, and my lack of a reaction began to irritate her. “What are you even trying to prove with all that garbage you bought? Can’t we just live our lives in peace?” “I’m just reminding you of our deal,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “Didn’t you say that the second I found someone else who actually wanted me, you’d let me go? You’d sign the papers?” I paused, looking at my reflection in the glass doors of the showroom. “Every dollar I spent today was to buy a dowry for my next wife.” “Honey, I found my true love.” …… There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, followed by a soft, incredulous scoff. “Is this the only trick you have left?” Victoria asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “I really don’t have the energy for your tantrums today, Carter. We’re dealing with a crisis at the firm. I don’t expect you to understand the pressure, let alone help, but the least you can do is stay out of the way. Stop trying to get my attention by maxing out the Amex.” She sighed again, a calculated mix of exasperation and barely suppressed anger. “I’ve told you a thousand times. Your position as my husband is completely secure. Stop acting out. Please.” She was always like this. So suffocatingly certain of her own reality. She had been exactly like this three years ago, and she hadn’t changed a bit. In the background, I heard Cameron’s voice, laced with a mocking smirk. “You don’t think he actually found someone to step out on you with, do you?” “Please,” Victoria laughed, a sound full of supreme, unshakeable confidence. “Who else would have him? With his temper, I’m the only woman on earth who could tolerate him.” She always loved to tell people I had a bad temper. She never stopped to consider that it was her who had taken a mild-mannered, patient man and driven him to the edge of insanity. Years ago, when she spoke to me like this, I would lose my mind. I would scream until my throat bled. I had even stormed into the corporate headquarters, causing a massive scene, intent on humiliating both her and Cameron in front of the board. But now? Now, looking into the void of my own heart, I felt absolutely nothing. From the day I discovered her infidelity, I washed my hands of her company. I stopped caring if it thrived or burned to the ground. I stopped caring about her. For three years, she and Cameron paraded around town. Galas, charity dinners, industry events where I, as her husband, should have been standing by her side—she took him instead. She even brought him to family holidays, introducing him to her relatives while I was left at home. I became the ultimate punchline among the city’s elite. Yet, even when I was fighting tooth and nail, bleeding myself dry to force a divorce, she refused. She clung to the marriage, insisting I was the most important thing in her life. She had been so smug the day she laid down her challenge. “I know I’m the only one in your heart, Carter. You don’t have room for anyone else. If you really want a divorce, go find someone else first. Then we’ll talk.” She vastly overestimated her worth. And she tragically underestimated mine. The woman I had found was lightyears beyond her—in grace, in character, in everything that mattered. The line went dead. Still feeling a lingering itch of irritation, I walked into a luxury jeweler and asked to see a diamond tennis necklace. I handed over the card. The associate swiped it, frowned, and looked up with an apologetic wince. “Sir, I’m so sorry. It appears a limit has been placed on this account. It will only authorize transactions under fifty dollars.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Cameron. I hope you understand. Victoria is under an immense amount of stress right now. Once the company weathers this storm, I’ll see about raising your daily allowance above fifty bucks. Carter, please. Show some compassion for your wife and stop causing trouble for her. I stared at the screen and actually let out a laugh. A kept man, a home-wrecker, lecturing the lawful husband about showing compassion to his wife. He was playing the saint while actively rolling in the mud. And the worst part was, the rest of the world bought it. In high society, I was the useless, emasculated husband, while the entire extended family had tacitly accepted Cameron, even praising his business acumen. To her family, I was nothing but a discarded pawn—the son of a ruined dynasty whose parents were facing federal indictment, stripped of all my social and financial value. When I finally drove back to the sprawling estate I had called home for seven years, it felt like walking into a meat locker. Victoria and Cameron were sitting on the living room sofa, waiting for me. They were pressed together, thigh to thigh. Cameron’s hand rested casually on Victoria’s leg, his thumb lazily stroking her skin. It was a sight I had grown so numb to that it barely registered on my pulse. Seeing me walk in empty-handed, Cameron chuckled, patting Victoria’s leg as if he’d won a bet. “You called it. He was just throwing another tantrum.” Victoria let out a soft sigh, playing the role of the endlessly forgiving, exhausted wife. She stood up, Cameron rising with her, and took two steps toward me. I didn’t want to breathe the same air as them. I bypassed them, heading for the stairs. “Carter,” Victoria called out, her tone sharpening. “We need to talk.” I paused on the first step and looked back, a faint smile touching my lips. “About the divorce? Give me a second, let me conference in my attorney.” I threw it out just to shut her up. It was the only way to ensure our conversations ended before they began. Instantly, the color drained from Victoria’s face, a flicker of genuine, wounded panic flashing in her dark eyes. “Oh, stop with the dramatics,” she snapped, her expression hardening back into contempt. She grabbed a manila folder from the coffee table and shoved it toward me. “We need to cut costs at home. Cameron put together a budget plan for you. From now on, any personal expenses need to be submitted to him. If he approves the expense, he’ll transfer the funds.” I caught the fleeting, bitter shadow that crossed Cameron’s eyes. Every time I brought up divorce and Victoria vehemently shot it down, I could see the jealous rage practically eating him alive. But on the surface, he played the perfect, reasonable gentleman. “Carter,” Cameron said softly, “you don’t run the business, so you don’t understand the realities of keeping this empire afloat. Yes, there’s money, but liquidity is tight right now. Every dollar counts. We just need you to be a team player.” I gave a dry, dismissive scoff, ignoring Cameron entirely. I looked straight at Victoria. “Clear your schedule,” I said. “It’s time you met my fiancée.” Since she refused to believe me, I would just have to put it right in front of her face. Victoria sneered, her expression twisting as if she’d tasted something vile. “Did you skip the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf when you were a kid? Is this fun for you? Do you feel seen?” It was true. In the early days, when I was desperate to hurt her the way she had hurt me, I had faked having an affair to force a reaction. I used that childish tactic three times. By the fourth, she realized it was a bluff. So now, when I was dead serious, she still thought it was a desperate ploy for her attention. Cameron smoothly interjected. “Carter, did you find out Victoria is pregnant with my child? Is that why you’re lashing out? Just to hurt her?” A cold shock rippled through my chest. She was pregnant. Four years ago, Victoria’s desperate promise still echoed in my ears: “Carter, I swear to you, I will never carry another man’s child. You are the only man who will ever be the father of my children. Even if it happened by accident, I’d take care of it immediately. Please, believe me.” And yet, here she stood, looking at me with a weary exasperation. “Carter, reign in your temper,” she ordered. “I am pregnant. I can’t afford the stress, so don’t push me right now.” I forced the muscles in my face to relax into a smooth, unbothered smile. “What a coincidence. My girlfriend is pregnant, too. I really don’t have the free time to worry about your stress levels.” Both of them let out incredulous laughs. Neither of them believed a single word. Victoria’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen and walked out toward the terrace to take the call. The moment the glass door slid shut, the polite smile vanished from Cameron’s face. He stepped into my space, dropping his voice to a venomous whisper. “She refuses to divorce you because she pities you, Carter. You’re an orphan. A washed-up loser. Her family keeping you around is no different than taking in a stray dog.” He leaned closer. “You want to know where a woman’s heart is? Look at where her money is. She has entrusted every dime of her personal fortune to me. The company might be strapped for cash, but she’s quietly funneled enough money into my offshore accounts to last me ten lifetimes.” He smirked, his eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. “I put you on an allowance because I don’t think you deserve to spend her money. So don’t get arrogant thinking she can’t bear to lose you.” “A piece of paper means nothing to me. I have her money. I have her heart. And my child is going to inherit this entire empire.” His arrogance was suffocating, practically radiating off him. “Oh, by the way. I almost forgot. Victoria promised me that after she delivers this baby, she’s getting her tubes tied. So you can give up that pathetic fantasy of her ever giving you a child.” I listened to him, utterly unfazed. My lack of reaction only made him push harder, a sneer twisting his features. “Even if she didn’t get the surgery, it’s not like she’d ever let a monk like you touch her anyway.” His smugness was almost comical. It wasn’t that Victoria wouldn’t touch me. It was that I refused to touch her. It had been a point of massive contention between us. She had thrown violent fits over it, smashing the house to pieces, making her mother believe I was physically abusing her. The police had even been called. Since that day, whenever she tried to initiate anything, she would tentatively ask, “Can we?” One dead, freezing look from me was all it took for her to back off. It had been three years since her affair began. Three years without so much as our fingers brushing. “Sure,” I said, a faint, careless smile playing on my lips. “She only loves you.” Seeing that he couldn’t break me, couldn’t make me scream or throw a punch, Cameron’s face flushed with frustrated rage. As I turned back to the stairs, he stepped into my path, desperate to land a lethal blow. “There’s something else you don’t know,” he hissed. “Your parents’ bail? That eight-million-dollar bond to keep them out of federal lockup? Victoria could have easily paid it.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “She didn’t. Instead, she took that exact amount and bought an entire private art collection for me in Europe. Just because I casually mentioned I liked the artist.” “Your parents’ freedom was worth less to her than a passing comment I made about some paintings.” A sharp, jagged pain sliced through my chest. Even though I had long since emotionally detached from her infidelity, this was different. The reality that she had willingly dropped eight million dollars to buy a smile from her toyboy, while watching me drown three years ago trying to save my parents from prison, felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Four years ago, she had watched me beg the old-money families of this city, humiliating myself, getting doors slammed in my face. She watched me go gray in my twenties from the stress, staying awake for days on end, terrified of what was happening to them behind bars. Back then, she had played the role of the devastated, helpless wife, claiming the company’s assets were tied up and she simply couldn’t liquidate the cash. Even though it was my parents who had funded her first startup. It was my parents who had mentored her, pulling strings to elevate her above her siblings so she could take the throne of her family’s empire. She had sworn to me, on her life, that if my family ever needed anything, she would walk through fire for us. And she had tossed us aside for a few canvases. Thank God I had found my own way out. Three months ago, I had finally secured the leverage and the capital to clear their names and bring them home. I looked at Cameron, my eyes turning to ice. “She gave you the world, and yet she refuses to give you her name. What a fascinating way to love someone.” My sarcasm hit its mark. His face darkened furiously. Just then, the front door swung open, and Victoria’s mother, Beatrice, walked in. Seeing the tension, she immediately assumed the worst. “Carter!” she barked, her voice echoing off the marble floors. “Are you out of your mind again? Cameron has been nothing but respectful to you. If you lay a hand on him, I swear to God I will make you regret it.” My relationship with my mother-in-law used to be warm. But the moment Cameron entered the picture, it turned into a war zone. Cameron immediately shrank back, playing the victimized, gentle soul, validating Beatrice’s assumption that I was bullying him. Victoria slid the glass door open and walked back in. Without asking a single question, she defaulted to her usual routine. “Carter. Apologize to Cameron right now.” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. Beatrice glared at me as if she wanted me dead. “What is an apology going to do? He’s a parasite! Victoria, you’re pregnant with Cameron’s child now. He needs to move into the primary suite.” She paused, looking me up and down like I was trash on her shoe. “For the sake of peace, Carter, you’re relocating to the Oakwood property.” Oakwood. A three-hundred-square-foot, dingy studio apartment in a bad part of town. Beatrice had bought it specifically to humiliate me. She had threatened me with it countless times. “If you can’t tolerate Cameron, I’ll lock you in that dog cage at Oakwood.” To a family of billionaires, a place like that truly was a dog cage. I looked at Victoria. In the past, she would have stepped in, telling her mother she was taking it too far. But today, she looked at me and said, “Listen to my mother. You stay there for now. Once the baby is born, you can come back.” I felt absolutely nothing. “Okay,” I said quietly. Victoria froze. Her eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock. She had expected a war. Cameron looked equally stunned. When I walked out of that house, Victoria truly believed I had gone to the Oakwood apartment. She allowed Cameron to freeze all my accounts, dropping my limit to twenty dollars a day. She really thought she had locked her disobedient dog in his cage to learn a lesson. It wasn’t until a month after she gave birth to a baby boy, when she finally drove out to the studio to retrieve me, that she realized I had never set foot in the place. She called me, her voice tight with an unfamiliar anxiety. “Carter, where are you?” “Just get to the point,” I answered coldly. Suddenly, Cameron’s voice came through the speaker. “Carter. Victoria and I had our son. We’re throwing a massive month-old celebration banquet. We’d love for you to come.” He was practically purring with malice. “We thought some of our good fortune might rub off on you.” I didn’t decline. This was the exact day I had been waiting for. “Absolutely. We’ll be there to offer our congratulations.” I heard Victoria exhale a breath of relief in the background. “See? Sending him away was the right move. He’s finally learning how to behave.” I just smiled to myself. On the day of the baby shower, I walked into the grand ballroom of the Four Seasons, my hand intertwined with my heavily pregnant fiancée. Victoria, radiant and smiling as she held her newborn, looked up. The moment her eyes locked onto us, all the blood drained from her face. She looked like she had been struck by lightning. “Carter,” Cameron stammered, his eyes darting between me and the woman at my side. “What… who is this?” Every guest in the room fell dead silent, all eyes locked on me and Serena. I smiled, smooth and completely at ease, and looked directly at Victoria. “Wife,” I said, my voice carrying clearly across the room. “Allow me to officially introduce you. This is the love of my life, my fiancée, and the mother of my child—Serena Kensington.”

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I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw the digital invitation. Lydia—now Lydia Thorne, apparently—was getting married on March 15th. In the kitchen, Mike was humming to himself, stirring a pot of slow-simmered bone broth he’d insisted on making for my “sensitive stomach.” Our mutual friends were already flooding the comments with heart emojis and rowdy plans for the bachelorette party. I leaned against the kitchen island, tilting my phone toward him with a tight smile. “Lydia’s wedding is this weekend. Are you going?” Mike didn’t even look up from the stove. “Of course not,” he said easily. “We have your twenty-week anatomy scan this weekend. I wouldn’t miss seeing the peanut’s first ‘real’ photos for anything in the world.” I wanted to believe him. Lydia had spent five years pining for Mike, a fixation so intense it had nearly derailed her engagement to Wyatt more times than I could count. But that night, when I got up to use the bathroom, I saw Mike standing on the balcony. The glow of his cigarette was a lonely red spark in the dark. He was staring at nothing, lost in a place I couldn’t reach. I opened my mouth to call his name, but my phone buzzed in my hand. A panicked voice note from our old college group chat screamed through the silence: “Guys! Lydia just jumped! She’s at Memorial Central in the ER right now!” In the next heartbeat, Mike was gone. He didn’t look back. He didn’t grab a jacket. He just shoved past me, his eyes bloodshot and wild, and disappeared into the night. I stood in the hallway, the cold air from the open door settling deep into my bones. … Outside the ICU, Mike didn’t look like the calm, collected therapist I had married. He looked like a man possessed. He swung a fist, catching Wyatt square in the jaw, sending him sprawling against the linoleum. “How could you do this to her?” Mike roared, his voice cracking. “The week of your wedding? What did you do?” Wyatt wiped a smear of blood from his lip, letting out a jagged, hollow laugh. “Oh, now you’re the hero? You’re the reason she called it off, Mike. Don’t act like you don’t know why she did it.” Mike froze. His shadow flickered against the sterile white walls. “We’re just friends, Wyatt. We were classmates. That’s all.” Before he could finish the lie, the “In Progress” light above the surgical suite flickered off. Mike moved faster than I’d ever seen him move. When the surgeon finally emerged and whispered the words “she’s stable,” I watched the tension drain out of Mike’s body so violently he nearly hit the floor. That’s when Wyatt noticed me standing in the corner. He looked at me with a pity that felt like a slap. “Nicole,” Wyatt said, his voice dripping with venom. “Your husband says they’re just friends. Do you believe him?” Mike stiffened. He didn’t turn around. Did I believe him? I asked myself the same question. Mike and I had been “Mike and Nicole” for twenty-three years. Childhood sweethearts, the gold standard for everyone we knew. When Lydia’s obsession became public knowledge back in college, people whispered that a “soulmate” was no match for a “predator.” I’d been terrified then, too. But Mike had shut her out. He’d promised me, over and over, “Nicole, it’s only ever been you. We’re building a life. We’re going to be happy forever.” But watching him now—watching the way his hands shook with relief for a woman who wasn’t his wife—the foundation of that “forever” began to crumble. On the drive home, the silence was a third passenger. Mike tried the usual script. He said Wyatt was just a jealous prick, that he was making something out of nothing. But all I could hear was Wyatt’s voice. Do you believe him? The next morning, Mike was up at 5:00 AM making artisan breakfast dumplings from scratch. “Sweetheart, wake up. You need to eat,” he called out, his voice a perfect imitation of the man I loved. I stared at the steaming bowl. “You didn’t have to do all this. I could have just had cereal.” He took my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles with a tenderness that felt almost like an apology. “Store-bought is full of sodium. You’re eating for two now. I’ve already mapped out your nutrition plan for the trimester. I’m taking care of you, Nicole. Always.” Despite the knot in my stomach, I felt a flicker of the old warmth. Then, his phone buzzed. “Hey, Mike, the group is headed to the hospital to see Lydia. You and Nicole coming?” our friend’s voice echoed through the speaker. Mike looked me in the eye, his expression firm. “No. I’m taking Nicole to her ultrasound. I don’t have time.” I blinked, surprised. “I mean, we could go for a bit after.” “No,” Mike said, his gaze unwavering. “You and the baby are the only things that matter. Today is the first time I get to see our child’s face. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” The doubt from the night before began to evaporate. He was here. He was choosing us. But an hour later, as I was sitting in the OB-GYN waiting room, his phone rang again. It was his clinic partner. A “high-risk patient with severe depressive tendencies” was in crisis and needed him immediately. He stood up, looking tortured. “Nicole, it’s an emergency. I have to go. Do the scan, record it for me? I’m so sorry.” He didn’t wait for my answer. He turned and ran. A cold, sickening intuition took hold of me. I didn’t wait for my name to be called. I followed him. Mike didn’t drive back to his office. He went straight back to the hospital. I stood in the doorway of the recovery wing and watched Lydia throw herself into my husband’s arms, sobbing into his chest. My last shred of hope withered and died. “I couldn’t do it, Mike,” Lydia wailed, her voice thick with calculated misery. “I can’t marry him when I’m in love with you. It hurts so much. I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to die…” Lydia’s mother stood by the bed, her eyes red-rimmed. “Mike, she’s loved you for five years. I don’t care that you’re married. She’s my only daughter. You can’t just leave her like this. You’re a doctor—fix her.” Mike didn’t say a word. He just held her, his face a mask of agonizing pity. I watched them from the hall, feeling like an intruder in my own life. If it weren’t for me—if it weren’t for twenty-three years of history—maybe they would be the ones planning a nursery. The air in the hallway felt thin. I couldn’t breathe. I walked into the room. Mike’s face went white. He shoved Lydia away instantly. Lydia, ever the actress, forced a weak, pathetic smile. “Nicole… don’t be mad. Mike was just… checking on me. I’m okay now. You guys should go.” Her mother snapped. “Okay? How is she okay? My daughter is suicidal because of you people! I don’t care about your marriage. You owe her, Mike. You have to take responsibility!” I found my voice, though it sounded like it belonged to someone else. “And how exactly should he do that?” The mother didn’t blink. “Leave your wife. Be with my daughter. Save her life.” Mike flinched, his jaw working but no words coming out. Lydia grabbed her mother’s hand, looking at me with wide, tearful eyes. “Mom, stop. You’re joking. Nicole, ignore her. Please.” A bitter laugh escaped me. It wasn’t a joke. It was a roadmap. When we got home, Mike buried himself in his home office and didn’t come out. By 7:00 PM, I was lightheaded with hunger. I knocked on his door. “Mike? What are we doing for dinner?” He didn’t look up from his laptop. “Order something on DoorDash, okay? I’m swamped. I’m drafting a specialized recovery protocol for Lydia. I don’t have time to cook.” I walked over and shut his laptop. “You promised me this morning you’d cook every meal. And you shouldn’t even be her therapist, Mike. It’s an ethical nightmare. It’s—” “Nicole, enough!” Mike snapped, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. “Lydia is in a critical state! Her depression is a direct result of her feelings for me. I am the only person who can reach her right now. If she actually kills herself next time, could you live with that? Because I couldn’t.” I felt like he’d doused me in ice water. Mike saw my expression and immediately softened, reaching out to pull me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby. I’m just stressed. I’m trying to save a life here…” I leaned into him, but my eyes drifted to his computer screen. The file labeled Pregnancy Nutrition had been minimized. The active window was a document titled Lydia – Comprehensive Recovery Plan. Just then, his phone lit up on the desk. [Mike, thank you for agreeing to see me professionally. But I feel terrible. You’re going to be a father soon. Go be with Nicole. Don’t waste your time on someone as broken as me.] Mike sighed, closing his eyes. “Forget it. Let’s go get some air. Let’s go to dinner.” “I’m not hungry anymore,” I said, turning for the bedroom. He caught my arm. “Nicole, please. It’s my fault. Hate me, yell at me, but don’t starve the baby. Our little guy needs to eat.” I looked down at my stomach and nodded, the guilt for my unborn child winning out over my pride. At the restaurant, Mike’s phone was a buzzing insect on the table. Lydia. Lydia. Lydia. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t turn it off. He just flipped it face down. “Just take it,” I said, staring at my salad. “In case it’s an emergency.” He shook his head. “No. You’re right. There have to be boundaries. If I’m going to help her, I have to be her doctor, not her crutch. The most important thing right now is you and the baby.” For a moment, the cloud lifted. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe his “savior complex” was just hitting overdrive. We were waiting for the check when my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered it, and a piercing, jagged scream filled my ear. “Where is Mike? Put him on! Put him on right now!” “She cut her wrists! Lydia’s bleeding out! Please, just let her have him! Please save my daughter!” Mike’s face drained of all color. He stood up so fast his chair toppled over. “Nicole, take an Uber home,” he said, his voice trembling. “I have to go. I have to go right now.” I sat there, frozen, and watched him run out of the restaurant. Mike didn’t come home that night. He didn’t answer my texts. He didn’t answer my calls. I spent the night staring at my phone until I saw Lydia’s latest post. It was a photo of Mike’s back as he stood by a hospital window, the sunrise hitting his shoulders. The caption was a single line: [You are the light at the end of my tunnel.] I closed my eyes and prayed. Please, Mike. Don’t destroy us. Please don’t let me down. The following weeks were a blur of loneliness. Mike was a ghost. He left before I woke up and came home long after I was asleep. The promises of homemade meals and “taking care of me” were gone, replaced by lukewarm takeout and distracted apologies. “Lydia’s case is complicated, Nicole. She’s only responding to me. I just need to get her through the woods, then I can step back.” Part of me felt for her. I knew what it was like to love someone so much you felt like you were drowning. But I also knew that if she died, she would become a martyr in Mike’s mind forever. I wanted him to fix her so she could finally go away. The next afternoon, I went to Mike’s clinic to drop off his lunch. The elevator was crowded. A couple of delivery guys were moving office furniture, shielding me from view in the back corner. Then, I heard two voices that made my heart stop. “Sweetie, this office is incredible,” Lydia’s mother said, her voice bright and energized. “Mike is doing so well for himself. Much better than that loser Wyatt.” Lydia let out a soft, melodic laugh. “I told you, Mom. Once Mike heard I was ‘depressed,’ he forgot all about his perfect little domestic life. It’s only a matter of time now.” There wasn’t a hint of sadness in her voice. No heaviness. No trauma. Just cold, sharp ambition. I stood paralyzed as the elevator doors opened. By the time I regained my senses, they were halfway down the hall. I scrambled out, shouting her name. “Lydia! Stop!” She turned, startled. I caught up to them, my chest heaving. “You’re faking it. You’re lying to him. You aren’t depressed at all, are you?” Lydia’s eyes darted around for a split second, then, as if a switch had been flipped, her face crumpled. She burst into violent, racking sobs. Her mother instantly pulled her into her arms, glaring at me with practiced fury. “How dare you?” the mother screamed. “My daughter is fragile, and you’re attacking her? You’re a monster!” Mike stepped out of his office, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” The mother turned the theatrics up to eleven. “Mike! Your wife is accusing Lydia of faking her illness! She’s saying Lydia is trying to ruin your marriage! She told us to get out and never come back!” Mike looked at me, his eyes dark with a disappointment that cut deeper than any blade. “Nicole,” he said quietly. “When did you become so cruel? Lydia is sick because of me. It is my responsibility to help her.” “Mike, listen to me,” I pleaded, my voice shaking. “I heard them in the elevator. They were laughing. They admitted it was a game to get you back—” “Enough!” Mike’s voice boomed in the hallway. I flinched. In twenty-three years, he had never raised his voice to me. Not once. Lydia stepped between us, looking like a broken bird. “It’s my fault! Please, don’t fight. I’ll go. I’ll just go.” “You aren’t going anywhere,” Mike said, grabbing her arm to steady her. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. “Lydia is in this position because of my choices, Nicole. When did you become so petty? You’re so blinded by jealousy that you’d rather see a woman die than lose a little bit of my time? I don’t even know who you are anymore.” His words were poison. I turned and ran, the tears blinding me. I made it as far as the curb outside the clinic. I didn’t see the courier on the electric bike speeding through the red light. The impact sent me sprawling onto the pavement. A sharp, hot pain exploded in my abdomen. I looked down and saw a dark, terrifying stain spreading across my jeans. I fumbled for my phone, my hands slick with blood. I called Mike. “Mike… please… I fell… something’s wrong. The baby… Mike, help me…” There was a long silence on the other end. Then, a weary sigh. “Nicole, stop it. I love you, okay? You know that. But Lydia is my patient, and I am in the middle of a session. Please stop these theatrics. It’s beneath you.” He hung up. I wanted to laugh, but all that came out was a sob. Mike was a brilliant therapist. He could spot a manipulation a mile away. But the guilt had blinded him so completely that he’d broken every ethical rule in the book—and in the process, he’d stopped being able to see the truth. He wasn’t saving Lydia because of guilt. He was saving her because he wanted to be the hero in her story. When I woke up, the world was white and smelled of bleach. The doctor’s face told me everything before he opened his mouth. “You’re young,” he said, his voice heavy with a rehearsed kindness. “You can try again. You should call your husband. You shouldn’t be alone for this.” I touched my stomach. It was flat. Empty. This had been our miracle. We’d spent five years trying. Countless doctors, failed rounds of IVF, the bitter taste of herbal supplements that did nothing. Mike had once held me while I cried and told me, “Nicole, it’s okay. If it’s just us, you’re enough. You’re my only girl.” I had believed him. I had stopped feeling broken because of him. I didn’t call him. And he didn’t call me. I lay there for hours, wondering if Mike had ever actually loved me, or if I was just a habit he hadn’t known how to break. I thought of Wyatt’s words again. I sent Wyatt a message. I need to know the truth. A minute later, he sent a video file. [See for yourself.] I clicked play. The timestamp was from the night before my wedding to Mike. In the video, Lydia is on her knees in front of Mike, sobbing. “Mike, you’re getting married tomorrow. I know I’ve lost. But just give me one night. One night to say goodbye, and I promise I’ll never bother you again. Please.” In the video, Mike tries to push her away. He stands up to leave. Lydia collapses on the floor, a heap of misery. But then, Mike stops. He turns back. He picks her up, and then he kisses her—a desperate, hungry kiss that didn’t look like “just classmates.” My heart didn’t break; it shattered into dust. I remembered our wedding day. Mike had looked exhausted. I’d thought it was just the stress of the planning. I’d spent the whole day trying to take care of him. Wyatt sent another text: [They met up again right before Lydia and I were supposed to get married. I think you can guess the rest.] [The suicide attempt was a play. The depression was a lie. She didn’t want to marry me; she wanted to force Mike’s hand.] The screen blurred. I had been so confident. I thought our history was a fortress. But the night Mike ran out of the house because she “jumped,” I should have known. You don’t run like that for a friend. You run like that for the person who holds your heart. The next morning, I checked myself out of the hospital. Mike arrived home at noon, carrying a bouquet of lilies—my favorite. He probably thought a few flowers would fix the “fight” we’d had. When he saw I wasn’t in bed, he called me, his voice sounding annoyed. “Nicole, enough is enough. Where are you? You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be wandering around—” A nurse from the ward, who had stayed over to help me finish my paperwork, snatched the phone out of my hand. She’d seen me crying all night. “What kind of husband are you?” she snapped into the receiver. “Your wife was brought in yesterday after an accident. She lost the baby. Where the hell were you?” I heard the sound of something shattering on the other end of the line. Mike’s voice came through, a ghost of a whisper. “What? What did you say?”

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