When Detective Morgan Gallagher knocked on my door for the second time, his face wore an expression I could not quite read. He asked me if my cat had said anything else. Three days ago, his squad had hauled a body out of the apartment right across the hall. And the catalyst for this entire nightmare began when the stray cat I took in suddenly started talking. At first, I thought I was losing my mind. That was until he told me the man across the hall smelled like blood. I called 911 immediately, and Morgan was the one who showed up. The way he looked at me back then was the exact same way you would look at a psychiatric patient. “You’re telling me your cat gave you a tip?” he asked, his brow furrowed so deep it cast a shadow over his eyes. I nodded vigorously. He did not say another word. He just turned on his heel and walked away. 1 I found the cat three months ago. He was a scruffy orange tabby, crouching by the dumpsters behind my apartment building. He was so starved you could count every single rib pressing against his matted fur. I crouched down, and he instantly shoved his little head into the palm of my hand. It was pouring rain that afternoon. I zipped him inside my winter coat and brought him home. I named him Biscuit. Once I scrubbed the street grime off him, his fur fluffed up into this warm, golden toasted color. Biscuit was a good roommate. He did not scratch the furniture, he rarely meowed, and once his belly was full, he would just sprawl out on the windowsill and soak up the sun. He only had one weird quirk. He was obsessed with staring at the apartment across the hall. Room 6B. A guy in his early thirties lived there. His last name was Finch. He had moved in less than two months ago and practically never left his place. I brushed it off. Cats stare at walls half the time anyway, so watching the hallway did not seem like a red flag. Until that night. At two in the morning, Biscuit launched himself onto my bed and started howling. It was not a normal meow. It was this low, guttural wail scraping out of his throat, like a siren warning of imminent danger. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and reached out to pet him. The absolute second my fingertips brushed the fur on his head, a voice exploded directly inside my brain. “The man across the hall. He reeks of blood.” I shot up in bed. The room was empty. Just me and Biscuit. That voice did not come through my ears. It bypassed my eardrums entirely and planted itself right into my consciousness. Like someone had downloaded a sentence straight into my skull. Biscuit sat squarely on my pillow, his round amber eyes locked onto mine. I stared back at him. He opened his mouth and let out another meow. The voice echoed in my head again. “He dragged something heavy inside. I can smell it. It is blood.” A cold sweat broke out across my spine, pasting my pajama shirt to my skin. I was definitely dreaming. I had to be asleep. I rolled over and yanked the comforter over my head. Biscuit dug his claws into the blanket, pulling at it while continuing to yowl. “Do you not believe me? The copper smell is real. It is thick.” The voice was stubborn. Unyielding. I threw the blanket off, took three deep breaths, and grabbed my phone. I stared at the screen for ten agonizing minutes. Then I dialed 911. The dispatcher asked the nature of my emergency. “I think there is something wrong at my neighbor’s apartment,” I whispered. “There might be… there might be blood.” “How did you come by this information, ma’am?” I opened my mouth, struggling to form the words. “My cat told me.” Dead silence on the line for three solid seconds. “Ma’am, tying up emergency lines with prank calls is a federal offense.” “I am not pranking you! I swear it is the truth.” The dispatcher’s tone flattened into pure bureaucratic apathy. “Understood. We will make a note of it and send a patrol car to check the vicinity.” The moment she hung up, I knew nobody was coming. Biscuit curled up on my lap, his tail flicking back and forth in agitated thumps. “You called them? Are they not coming?” I looked down at the orange furball, absolutely convinced my grip on reality was gone. I was having a conversation with a feline. The next morning, I left for work. I stepped into the elevator and froze. Finch was already inside. He wore a dark gray hoodie pulled up over a baseball cap, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face, and he was gripping two heavy-duty black trash bags. I instinctively took a half-step back. He hit the button for the basement parking garage. Right as the metal doors slid shut, a sharp, chemical scent hit the back of my throat. Industrial bleach. I sat at my desk all morning, my stomach tied in a knot. During my lunch break, I scoured the local news portals. No missing persons. No grisly discoveries. Maybe I really was just losing my mind. When I got home, Biscuit was perched on his usual spot on the windowsill. I dropped my tote bag and walked over. He turned his head to look at me. “He took out the trash twice today. Both times in the dead of night.” My heart skipped a beat. At eleven o’clock that night, some morbid curiosity pulled me out onto my balcony. The windows of 6B were covered by heavy blackout curtains, but a tiny sliver of sickly yellow light bled through the edge. Then I heard Finch’s front door click open. He stepped out, dragging a massive black contractor bag, his head swiveling left and right before he ducked into the stairwell. He avoided the elevator. He took the stairs. Biscuit hopped onto the balcony railing, his ears pinned straight up. “Do you see it? It is that bag again. The stench is awful.” I pulled out my phone and dialed the police again. This time, they actually showed up. Two uniformed patrolmen arrived, flanked by a plainclothes detective. The detective looked about twenty-eight. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp, rigid features and a permanent scowl, like the world was a massive inconvenience to him. He swept his gaze over my living room before locking eyes with Biscuit on the windowsill. “You the one who called it in?” “Yes.” “Walk me through it.” I scrambled to find words that would not get me committed to a ward. “I noticed my neighbor acting highly suspicious. He takes out massive bags of trash at odd hours, and the hallway constantly smells like chemical cleaners.” He nodded slowly, jotting something down in a battered leather notebook. “What else?” “And…” I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper. “My cat is having a severe reaction to that apartment. He will not stop yowling at the door.” The detective stopped writing. He looked up, his expression a masterpiece of judgment. “So the foundation of your police report is a meowing cat?” One of the patrol officers behind him coughed, desperately trying to hide a smirk. My face burned hot enough to fry an egg. “No, I just mean if you look at the whole picture…” “Alright, that is enough.” He snapped the notebook shut. “We will go knock on the door.” Twenty minutes later, he was back in my doorway. “We knocked. No answer. The super says the guy is a recluse, rarely leaves the building. Nothing inherently illegal about being anti-social.” He stared down at me, his voice strictly business. “Unless you have concrete evidence, I highly suggest you stop dialing emergency services.” He turned to leave. “Wait,” I called out. “What is your name?” “Major Crimes Unit. Morgan Gallagher.” He did not even look back as he walked toward the elevator. Biscuit jumped down from the sill and wove around my ankles. “He thinks you are lying.” “I know.” “But I am not lying to you. The smell on that man is getting worse.” 2 I did not call the cops for the next two days. But Biscuit’s behavior spiraled. He abandoned the windowsill completely. Instead, he spent his days flattened underneath the living room sofa, only occasionally poking his head out to stare unblinking at the front door. On the third night, I was in the kitchen heating up a mug of milk. Biscuit suddenly shot out from under the couch and slammed headfirst into my shin. “He is moving something! A huge case! Taking it to his car!” I slammed the mug onto the counter and sprinted to the balcony. Down in the dimly lit parking lot, Finch was shoving a massive, hard-shell suitcase into the back of a dark-colored cargo van. The suitcase looked incredibly heavy. He had to brace his boots against the bumper to muscle it inside. I yanked out my phone and snapped a rapid-fire burst of photos. The zoom was terrible. It was six floors down in the dark, and the pixels were a blurry mess. Finch slammed the doors shut, started the engine, and peeled out of the complex. It was 1:40 AM. I saved the photos to a secure folder and looked down at Biscuit. He was sitting on the balcony threshold, every single hair on his body puffed up like a bottle brush. “There is something inside that case. Something bad.” “What is it?” Biscuit went dead silent for a long moment. “Something that smells exactly like the blood.” I did not call the precinct this time. The next morning was Saturday. I called out sick from work. By ten o’clock, I was sitting in the waiting room of the local veterinary clinic with Biscuit in a carrier. I was not there for a checkup. I needed to test a theory. A hyperactive Poodle was barking its head off in the seat next to me. I casually reached over and rested my hand on the dog’s curly head. Nothing. No voice. No downloaded thoughts. Just a dog barking. It was only Biscuit. He was the only one I could hear. The vet called our name, and I carried Biscuit into the exam room. The doctor did a routine check and declared him perfectly healthy. I hesitated before asking, “Can cats really smell things from incredibly far away?” The vet pushed his glasses up his nose. “A feline’s olfactory senses are roughly fourteen times stronger than a human’s. They pick up on microscopic scent variations. Theoretically, anything a K-9 unit can track, a cat could too. They just absolutely refuse to take orders.” I thanked him, paid the bill, and carried Biscuit home. Right at the entrance of my building, I bumped into Brenda, the property manager. “Hey, Sophie!” Brenda jogged over, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You notice anything weird going on with that Finch guy across from you?” My stomach dropped. “Like what?” “Some guy came looking for him yesterday. Did not look like a friend, if you catch my drift. Real shady. Kept asking me if the hallway security cameras were broken.” “Are they?” Brenda sighed, waving a dismissive hand. “The camera on the sixth floor fried two months ago. Put in a work order, but corporate is dragging their feet.” Two months ago. Exactly when Finch moved in. I rushed upstairs, booted up my laptop, and compiled everything. The late-night trash runs, the blurry photos of the van, the “broken” cameras. I typed it all into an anonymous tip and fired it off to the city police department’s cyber portal. I did not mention the cat. I stuck to the hard facts. When I hit send, I leaned back in my chair, staring blankly at the screen. Biscuit hopped onto the desk and tilted his head. “You did the right thing.” “But what if they just ignore it again?” Biscuit started grooming his paw. “Then we figure out another way.” Sometimes I forgot this street cat had a better head on his shoulders than most people I knew. At three in the afternoon, heavy knocks rattled my front door. I checked the peephole and opened it. Morgan was standing there. He was not in his suit today. He wore a lightweight black tactical jacket over a dark henley. He looked less like a cop on duty and more like a guy who had just rolled out of bed to deal with a problem. “You again?” I leaned against the doorframe. His expression was a complicated mix of irritation and awkwardness. “You sent an anonymous tip to the city portal?” “I did.” “It got routed straight back to my desk.” I let out a dry laugh. “Full circle, huh?” He ignored the jab and pulled out his phone. “You mentioned photos.” I unlocked my phone and handed it to him. The blurry parking lot. The dark van. The heavy suitcase. He zoomed in, his eyes narrowing, tracing the pixels for a long time. The irritation bled out of his face, replaced by a razor-sharp focus. “These plates…” he muttered under his breath, then snapped his gaze to me. “When exactly did you take this?” “Yesterday. Around 1:40 AM.” He whipped out his own phone, stepped back into the hallway, and dialed a number. He spoke in rapid, hushed tones, barking out codes I could not understand. When he hung up and stepped back inside, the air around him had shifted. It was heavy. “Do not engage with the man across the hall. No eye contact, no casual chatting. Nothing.” “Why?” “Because that van’s license plate just flagged a match in an active missing persons case.” My lungs forgot how to pull in air. Biscuit poked his head around my ankles and let out a soft meow at Morgan. Morgan looked down at the orange tabby. Biscuit’s voice echoed in my head. “The look in his eyes changed. He believes you now.” 3 The day after Morgan’s visit, Room 6B was raided. Bright and early, three unmarked cruisers boxed in the front entrance. Through the peephole, I watched a team of uniformed officers swarm the stairwell, heavy boots echoing off the concrete. Biscuit sat on the shoe rack by the door, his ears swiveling like radar dishes. “They are breaking the lock. The man is not inside.” Thirty minutes later, someone knocked on my door. It was a female detective in plainclothes. She introduced herself as Sarah. She asked if I had heard any muffled noises, any fighting, or seen anyone else entering the apartment. I gave her everything I had. She took down my statement, and right before leaving, she offered a tight smile. “That anonymous email you sent gave us a massive head start. Good work.” “Did you find something?” She gave the standard cop answer. “Just keep your doors locked,” and walked away. By the afternoon, the complex was buzzing. The HOA group chat was absolute chaos. Brenda was dropping voice notes every five minutes. “Oh my god, you guys, the cops pulled evidence bags out of 6B! That Finch guy is in deep trouble.” I put my phone on silent. At eight o’clock that night, Morgan returned. This time he brought a partner. A younger guy with a friendly, round face who introduced himself as Toby. Toby seemed infinitely more approachable than his boss. The second Toby stepped into the apartment, he zeroed in on Biscuit. “Woah, look at this absolute unit of an orange boy!” Biscuit whipped his tail in blatant disgust. His voice popped into my head. “His hands reek of sour cream and onion chips. Do not let him touch my fur.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Morgan took a seat on the sofa, flipping open a manila folder. “Sophie, we need a formalized, on-the-record statement.” “What actually happened over there?” He hesitated, his jaw tight. “We recovered material evidence. Finch is now the prime suspect in an open disappearance.” A disappearance. The tips of my fingers went ice cold. Biscuit jumped onto the coffee table, got right up in Morgan’s personal space, and stared unblinking into his eyes. “His heart is beating very fast,” Biscuit noted in my mind. “He is anxious.” I studied Morgan. His face was a mask of professional stone, but the knuckles gripping his pen were bone-white. The interview took nearly an hour. I walked them through the timeline: the bleach smell, the trash bags, the suitcase, the photos. The only thing I buried was the telepathic cat. Toby finished typing up the notes, then pulled Morgan toward the entryway, whispering furiously. I caught fragments. “Timeline matches… highway cameras… still missing the smoking gun.” Morgan walked toward the front door, grabbed the handle, and then stopped. He turned back to face me. “You live alone?” “Yes.” “The suspect is still at large. We are hunting him down as we speak.” His voice was flat, but there was a crack in his armor—a flash of genuine concern in his dark eyes. “Double-check your deadbolt tonight. Anything feels off, you call my cell directly.” He pulled a matte black business card from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. Toby shot Morgan a highly suggestive side-eye, which Morgan immediately shut down with a lethal glare. Once the door clicked shut, Biscuit sat on the mat, his tail swishing in slow, lazy arcs. “He is worried about you.” “He is worried about his case going sideways.” “Not the same thing.” Biscuit tilted his head. “Cops who only care about the case do not give out their personal cell numbers.” I shoved the card into the junk drawer and refused to entertain the cat’s romantic delusions. After a hot shower, I lay in bed scrolling through social media. The news had not broken it yet. But on a hyper-local neighborhood forum, someone had posted a thread: Police Raid at Pinecrest Apartments Linked to Six-Month-Old Cold Case? The comment section was already a dumpster fire of theories. Murder. Cartels. Cults. Someone even tagged Brenda asking for details. I closed the app and tossed the phone onto the nightstand. Biscuit crawled up the mattress and squeezed under my duvet, leaving only his little orange face exposed. “Are you scared?” he asked. “A little.” “I am here.” I reached out and rubbed the soft spot between his ears. Having a fourteen-pound rescue cat promise to protect you from a suspected killer was not exactly a tactical advantage. But hearing him say it made the knot in my chest loosen just a fraction. At 3:00 AM, Biscuit bolted upright. His ears swiveled, locking directly onto the bedroom door that led out to the living room, toward the front entrance. “Someone is outside.” My blood froze. I stopped breathing, straining my ears into the dead silence of the apartment. A faint, muffled scuffing sound echoed from the hallway. Footsteps. And they had stopped right outside my front door. Biscuit’s fur stood on end, his body arching into a rigid curve of pure hostility. “It is him.” “Who?” “The man. Finch. He came back.” Pure ice injected straight into my veins. Finch was on the run. And he was standing inches away from where I slept. I fumbled blindly for my phone in the dark, my hands shaking so violently I dropped it twice before bypassing the lock screen. I pulled up the contacts, found the number from the black card, and hit call. It rang twice. “Sophie?” Morgan’s voice was gravelly, thick with sleep, but it shifted instantly into high-alert clarity. “There is someone outside my door.” I breathed the words out, my voice barely a wisp of sound. “I hear footsteps. Right outside.” A fraction of a second of silence on the line. “Do not turn on the lights. Do not make a sound. I am on my way.” The line went dead. The scuffing outside continued. It was not the sound of someone walking away. It was the subtle shifting of weight, the squeak of rubber soles grinding against the hallway tile as someone leaned against the doorframe. Biscuit hopped silently off the bed and crept into the living room, pressing his wet nose directly against the crack under the front door. “He is smelling the air,” Biscuit reported. “He is looking under the doorframe to see if your lights are on.” The apartment was pitch black. The only light was the faint glow of my phone screen, which I immediately smothered under my pillow. Then, a metallic scratch. It was agonizingly quiet. The sound of hardened steel sliding into the brass cylinder of my lock. He was testing it. Slow. Methodical. Trying not to wake the neighbors. My heart battered against my ribs so hard I thought it would crack them. Biscuit shot a glance back at the bedroom. “He is feeling out the pins. Your deadbolt is cheap. It will not hold.” I knew that. It was a standard contractor-grade lock. Anyone with a YouTube tutorial and a tension wrench could bypass it in minutes. I gripped the bedsheets, my mind totally blanking out in raw panic. Time warped. Every agonizing second stretched into an eternity. The metallic scraping continued for another two, maybe three minutes. And then, it stopped. The heavy shift of boots moved away from the door, heading toward the stairwell. Biscuit’s ears tracked the sound through the walls. “He is leaving. Going downstairs.” Before I could even let out the breath I was holding, my phone vibrated against the mattress. A text from Morgan. En route. 8 mins out. Are you safe? I typed back with shaking thumbs: He left. The reply was instantaneous: Do not open that door. Wait for me. Eight minutes. I sat on the floor in the corner of my bedroom, clutching Biscuit to my chest, and flicked on a small bedside lamp. We just waited. Biscuit was eerily calm, resting his chin on my forearm, purring softly to keep my heart rate down. “It is over. He is far away now. The smell is gone.” Six minutes later, a heavy, chaotic pounding echoed from the stairwell. Unapologetic, rapid-fire boots slamming against concrete. Then, a fist hammering on my door. “Sophie, it’s Morgan.” I scrambled up, ran to the door, and threw the deadbolt open. Morgan stood there, chest heaving. He had thrown a black t-shirt on over sweatpants, his hair an absolute mess. He must have literally sprinted from his bed to his car. Two uniformed cops were right behind him with their hands resting on their holsters. Morgan’s eyes raked over me from head to toe. Once he saw there was no blood and I was standing upright, the terrifying tension in his jaw cracked just a fraction. “Which way did he go?” “The stairs. Heading down.” He snapped his fingers at the uniforms. They instantly unholstered their flashlights and cleared the stairwell. Morgan stepped inside and immediately knelt by the door. He ran his thumb over the brass cylinder. Fresh, silver scratches scored the metal. His face darkened into a stormy, terrifying mask. He stared at the lock for a long time before standing up and turning to me. “He tried to pick it.” “I know.” “Why didn’t you call 911 first?” “I called you. Isn’t that the same thing?” He blinked, caught completely off guard. He looked at me like he just realized I had bypassed emergency dispatch entirely just to wake him up. The air in the hallway suddenly felt very thick. He looked away, clearing his throat. “Next time, dial 911. Standard protocol.” “911 wouldn’t have gotten here in six minutes.” He didn’t have a comeback for that. Biscuit poked his head out from behind my calves and let out a trilling meow. “His ears are burning,” Biscuit said inside my mind. I shot the cat a warning look to shut up. Morgan walked into the living room and pulled out his notepad. I told him everything I heard, minus the telepathic feline commentary. I told him my gut instinct said it was Finch. He finished writing and looked up at me. “You are a massive liability sitting in this apartment. Finch has been dodging our dragnet for three days. He is desperate. And the moment he saw the crime scene tape on his door, he knew exactly who tipped us off. You are the only neighbor on this floor.” I swallowed hard. “Do you have family in the city? Friends you can crash with?” “No,” I shook my head. “My parents live out of state. My friends all have roommates. There is no space.” “Then…” Before he could finish, the radio clipped to his belt hissed to life. “Detective Gallagher. Traffic cams caught the suspect entering through the north gate. We have visual on a burner vehicle fleeing the perimeter. Setting up blockades now.” “Copy that.” Morgan clicked the radio off. “I am posting a plainclothes unit in your lobby tonight. First thing tomorrow, I am sending a guy to replace this garbage lock.” He walked to the door, stopped, and looked back over his shoulder. “Do you want me to… have Officer Sarah come sit with you?” “I’ll be fine.” I leaned against the wall. “I have Biscuit.” Morgan looked down at the fat orange tabby judging him from the rug. The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. He walked out into the night. Biscuit watched the door close. “He desperately wanted to stay.” “Stop analyzing human psychology.” “I am a cat. My instincts are flawless.” I locked the door, slid the chain into place, and wedged a heavy dining chair under the doorknob. Then I dragged the hallway console table in front of it for good measure. Only when the barricade was built did the adrenaline crash, leaving me shaking violently on the floor. Biscuit padded over and draped his warm, fourteen-pound body directly across my lap. He didn’t say another word. He just laid there, vibrating with a deep, rhythmic purr. Rain started lashing against the windows. I sat on the floor, my arms wrapped tightly around the cat, and waited for the sun to come up.

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When the CEO laid eyes on my resignation letter, he summoned me into his office. His face was etched with confusion as he asked me why I was still dissatisfied, pointing out that I had just received a year-end bonus of six hundred thousand dollars. I stared back at him expressionlessly, telling him there was actually only six hundred dollars left in my account. A scowl creased the CEO’s brow as he immediately called the Director of Finance on speakerphone right in front of me. A sycophantic voice came through the line, explaining that five hundred ninety-nine thousand, four hundred dollars had been transferred to the CEO’s wife’s account, and that he had covered his tracks perfectly. The CEO’s face turned a sickly shade of green in an instant. 1 When Dominic called me into his office, my resignation letter was already sitting on his massive mahogany desk. He tapped his index finger against the heavy paper. His eyes shifted from the document to my face, clouded with genuine confusion. “Scarlett, didn’t the year-end bonuses just go out? Six hundred thousand dollars. You got the highest payout in the entire company.” “What exactly are you dissatisfied with?” I stood perfectly straight, keeping my eyes locked on his. “Six hundred thousand?” “There are exactly six hundred dollars in my account.” The confusion on Dominic’s face instantly warped into a deep, aggressive scowl. He snatched his phone off the desk and dialed the Director of Finance. The moment the call connected, Dominic hit the speaker button. Richard’s signature sycophantic voice immediately echoed through the quiet office. “Mr. Reed, rest assured. It is all handled.” “That five hundred ninety-nine thousand, four hundred dollars has been transferred directly into your wife’s private account, down to the exact cent.” “I made sure the books are squeaky clean. Completely untraceable.” The air in the office turned to solid concrete. I watched Dominic’s face transition from bewildered, to horrified, and finally to a sickly, ashen green. On the other end of the line, Richard kept talking, completely oblivious. “Honestly, sir, your wife had a great point.” “She said a young girl like Scarlett might get reckless with that kind of cash. Having the company ‘safeguard’ the bulk of it is really for her own good.” “It was a brilliant move, don’t you think?” “Shut up.” Dominic forced the two words through his teeth. His voice dripped with absolute zero temperatures. He slammed his finger onto the end-call button. The office plunged back into a suffocating silence. I remained standing there, my expression completely blank, as if I were watching a movie that had nothing to do with me. The truth was, I was waiting. Waiting for Dominic to give me an explanation. Or rather, waiting for him to justify this absolute trainwreck to himself. His chest heaved. He was practically vibrating with rage. It took him a full thirty seconds to look up at me. The usually sharp, composed eyes of the CEO were currently caught in a violent storm. He wasn’t just looking at me. He was looking right through me, realizing something incredibly ugly about his own life. “When did you find out?” he asked. His voice sounded like cracked glass. “When the bank notification popped up on my lock screen,” I replied. My tone was flat. “Six hundred bucks.” “At first, I thought payroll had a glitch in the software.” “So, I pulled up my official pay stub.” “It clearly stated my year-end bonus was six hundred thousand dollars.” Dominic squeezed his eyes shut, fighting a losing battle to keep his composure. “And your first instinct was to just quit?” “Yes.” “Without even asking me about it?” A hint of accusation bled into his tone. “Mr. Reed.” I finally used his formal title. “I have bled for Apex Tech for five years.” “I climbed from an intern to the Director of Operations. I know for a fact that I have earned every single penny this company has ever paid me.” “I trusted the corporate structure here. I trusted you.” “But I do not trust a financial department that can magically turn a six-hundred-grand bonus into six hundred dollars.” “That is not a glitch.” “That is an insult.” I spoke calmly. No tears. No screaming. Just cold, hard facts. Dominic fell silent. He knew damn well it wasn’t a glitch. Richard had spelled it out perfectly on the speakerphone. Transferred to your wife’s account. He just didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t fathom that the elegant, highly educated, picture-perfect woman he married would go behind his back to pull off something so incredibly cheap. Stealing an employee’s bonus? A massive six-figure sum? That wasn’t just simple greed. That was actively taking a sledgehammer to the foundation of his company. He took a deep breath and picked up his phone again. This time, his thumb hovered over the screen. He hesitated. I knew exactly who he was about to call. Victoria. His wife. I watched him quietly. I didn’t rush him. I didn’t interrupt. He had to rip this band-aid off himself. Finally, his jaw tightened, and he pressed the call button. Speakerphone again. The phone rang twice before connecting. A voice sweet enough to cause cavities drifted out of the speaker. “Hey honey. You’re calling early today. Miss me already?” It was Victoria. I lowered my gaze, hiding the ice in my eyes. This was the exact same voice that had called me just a few days ago, hissing: “Scarlett, don’t push your luck. Dominic pays you to be a worker bee, not to bleed him dry. That six hundred dollars is your phone stipend for the month. Learn your place.” Dominic swallowed hard. “Vic,” he started, his vocal cords tight. “I need to ask you something.” “Ask away, babe. What’s going on?” She sounded genuinely cheerful. “What happened to Scarlett’s year-end bonus?” He articulated every single syllable. There was a microsecond of dead silence on the other end of the line. It was incredibly brief. Almost imperceptible. But both Dominic and I caught it. 2 “Scarlett?” Victoria’s voice chimed back in. She had dialed up the innocent confusion to an award-winning level. “Her bonus? How would I know anything about that? Honey, you know I never interfere with your corporate stuff.” Her voice was soft, but it wrapped around Dominic’s nerves like a venomous snake. I noticed Dominic’s knuckles turning bone-white as he gripped his phone. “Richard just told me he wired a massive sum of money into your private account.” Dominic’s voice was dropping an octave, desperately trying to hold onto his dignity. “Money? Oh…” Victoria dragged out the vowel, pretending to search her memory. “Right, I remember now! Richard did wire me some funds. He mentioned the company had some tricky off-the-books accounting to deal with, and he just needed to park the cash in my account temporarily for liquidity.” “Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got it tucked away safe and sound.” “Does the company need it back right now? I can wire it over immediately.” It was a flawless performance. Bulletproof. She painted herself as the ultimate supportive wife, quietly handling her husband’s dirty corporate laundry behind the scenes. If Dominic hadn’t just heard Richard groveling on speakerphone five minutes ago, he probably would have bought the lie. But right now, her sweet words sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “Tricky off-the-books accounting?” Dominic repeated her words, the sarcasm practically dripping onto the desk. “Victoria, do you honestly think I am an idiot?” The venom in his tone clearly shocked her. “Honey? What is wrong with you? Why are you talking to me like this?” She expertly pivoted to playing the victim. “Is… is Scarlett in the room with you?” She suddenly switched targets, aiming straight for my throat. “Babe, do not listen to a word that manipulative bitch says! You know exactly what she’s trying to do!” “She is just a pretty young subordinate who constantly flaunts herself in your office. She’s desperate to sleep her way to the top!” “Did she come crying to you? Saying I bullied her?” “I swear to God, Dominic! I know how hard it is for a young girl to make it in the city. I’ve always gone out of my way to look out for her. How could she invent such disgusting lies about me?” Victoria’s voice escalated into a hysterical, tearful pitch. Her ability to completely rewrite reality made the air in the office feel toxic. Dominic looked physically ill. He stared at me, his eyes swirling with a chaotic mess of emotions. Anger. Doubt. The sheer agony of being betrayed by his own family. I knew exactly what was happening in his head. He was caught in a psychological meat grinder. On one side: his top executive, the woman who had single-handedly secured millions in revenue for his firm. On the other side: the woman who shared his bed. Human nature dictates that people want to believe the ones they sleep next to. Subconsciously, he was trying to find a way to make Victoria the victim and me the homewrecker. It was the oldest, cheapest trick in the corporate playbook. The “jealous wife claiming the female employee is a homewrecker” card. It was practically unblockable. “Put Scarlett on the phone. Now.” Victoria snapped an order through the speaker. The sweet wife routine was gone; she was now demanding obedience like royalty. Dominic shot me a look, silently asking what I wanted to do. I didn’t move a muscle. I just looked back at him. Then, I slowly shook my head. Argue with her? Not a chance. It would just devolve into a screaming match, and I refused to drag myself down to her level of the gutter. “Mr. Reed,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise perfectly. “It seems this is a domestic dispute.” “Since that is the case, please process my resignation.” “As for my stolen compensation, my lawyers will be in touch with your legal department by tomorrow morning.” I turned on my heel and headed for the door. My goal was already accomplished. The grenade had been dropped right in Dominic’s lap. How he dealt with his wife was his problem. All I cared about was getting my cash and getting out. “Stop right there!” Dominic barked from behind his desk. I stopped walking but didn’t bother turning around. “Nobody leaves this room until we get to the bottom of this!” His voice was a desperate, commanding bark. I slowly turned around, meeting his gaze with absolute ice. “What else is there to discuss, Mr. Reed?” “Do you seriously think she is lying about you?” He pointed at the phone, his chest heaving. “You already know what the truth is,” I replied. “I need proof!” Dominic’s eyes were bloodshot. “Scarlett, I know how you operate. You are surgical. You wouldn’t walk in here and drop a resignation letter on my desk with nothing but a bank screenshot!” “Give me the smoking gun. Give me something that forces me to believe you!” He was practically begging. He was cornering me, but more importantly, he was cornering himself. He needed me to hand him the sledgehammer that would finally shatter his delusions about his marriage. Watching a powerful man break down like this didn’t make me feel an ounce of pity. I reached into my designer tote bag and pulled out a secondary device. It was a cheap, prepaid burner phone I strictly used for two-factor authentication codes. I hit a single button on the keypad. A crystal-clear audio recording blasted through the phone’s tiny speaker. It was Victoria. But the sweet, innocent tone was completely absent. She sounded vicious, arrogant, and cruel. “Let’s get one thing straight, Scarlett.” “My husband’s company is my company. I decide who gets paid and who gets starved.” “Six hundred thousand dollars? For you? Don’t make me laugh.” “You are nothing but a dog on Dominic’s leash. I am tossing you a six-hundred-dollar bone. You should be wagging your tail and thanking me.” The recording bounced off the glass walls of the office. The desperate hope on Dominic’s face died instantly. He looked like a corpse. On the speakerphone, Victoria’s fake crying abruptly stopped. She had heard it too. 3 “Scarlett! You little bitch! You recorded me?!” Victoria’s shrill, panicked scream exploded from the desk phone. Her mask had completely melted off, exposing the ugly, raving lunatic underneath. Dominic looked like someone had just severed his spine. He swayed on his feet and braced both hands against the edge of his desk just to stay upright. He stared blankly at the burner phone in my hand. His lips trembled, but no sound came out. The audio file kept playing. My own voice, calm and detached, echoed in the room. “Victoria, that bonus is legally contracted compensation for my labor. You have zero legal authority to withhold it.” Then came Victoria’s mocking laughter. “Legal? In this building, I am the law! One word from me, and not only do you lose your money, but you get blacklisted from the entire tech sector!” “Don’t flatter yourself just because you closed a few deals for my husband. To him, you are just a replaceable cog in a machine.” “Take your six hundred bucks and get out. If you try to make a scene, I will personally ruin you.” “I will make sure the entire industry thinks you are a gold-digging slut who tried to sleep her way into the C-suite and got fired for it.” The recording clicked off. The office fell into a graveyard silence. The only sound was the heavy, frantic static of Victoria’s breathing coming through the speakerphone. I slipped the burner phone back into my bag without breaking eye contact with Dominic. All the color had drained from his face. Pain, humiliation, rage, and the devastating realization of ultimate betrayal violently clashed in his eyes. In the end, it all settled into a bottomless, hollow exhaustion. He aged a decade in sixty seconds. His own wife had used the most vile, venomous language imaginable to degrade his most valuable executive. She hadn’t just stolen the money. She had weaponized his name, acting like a tyrant, treating the very foundation of his company like dirt beneath her designer heels. Replaceable cogs. A dog on a leash. Hearing those words spoken in his wife’s voice was the ultimate slap in the face. “Dominic… babe… please let me explain… it’s not what you think…” Victoria finally found her voice again. She was stammering, desperate. “She… she provoked me! She insulted me first! That audio is edited! It’s a deepfake!” Her lies were so pathetic they were almost insulting. Dominic slowly reached out. He picked up the desk phone and pressed it to his ear. His movements were sluggish, like he was moving underwater. “Victoria.” His voice was wrecked. It sounded like he had swallowed broken glass. “When we got married, I handed you an unlimited black card. I told you to buy whatever you wanted. No limits.” “I told you the wife of the CEO of Apex Tech should never have to look at a price tag.” “I give you an eight-figure allowance every single year.” “So tell me. Why the hell did you need to steal six hundred grand from Scarlett?” Every word struck like a hammer blow. It hit Victoria. And it hit me. She wasn’t hurting for cash. She didn’t need the money. She did this for the power. She did it for the twisted, sociopathic thrill of holding someone’s livelihood hostage. She wanted to prove that my entire career, my entire existence, meant absolutely nothing compared to her status. Victoria was completely speechless. “I… I just wanted to put her in her place…” she whispered, resorting to her final, desperate defense. “People were talking, Dominic. They said she was getting too much credit. That she didn’t respect you anymore. I just wanted to break her ego a little bit, so she wouldn’t become a threat to you…” “Heh.” A short, brutal laugh escaped Dominic’s throat. “Break her ego?” “You target my core Director of Operations, you cut off the right arm of my company, and you expect me to believe you did it for my benefit?” “Victoria. You absolutely disgust me.” He didn’t give her another second to speak. He slammed the phone down onto the receiver. He slowly lifted his head. His eyes were completely bloodshot. “I am sorry.” He forced the words out. “This is my failure.” “I failed to manage my own house, and you suffered for it.” I didn’t respond. I just looked at him. An apology? What was the point? The damage was done. The second trust shatters in the corporate world, you can never glue it back together. “I will wire you the missing funds immediately.” Dominic swallowed hard. “I am also adding another six hundred thousand as an inconvenience bonus.” “Richard is fired. I am turning him over to the feds by the end of the day.” “As for Victoria…” He paused. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I will make sure you get justice there, too.” “Scarlett. Please. For the sake of the last five years…” “Don’t leave.” He finally laid his cards on the table. The apologies, the double bonus, the firing of the CFO. It was all a desperate bid to keep me in the building. The massive enterprise software contract I had just secured was entering its critical execution phase next month. I built that deal from the ground up. I knew where all the bodies were buried. If I walked out that door, a multi-billion-dollar project would crash and burn. That was what he actually cared about. I looked at the desperate plea in his eyes and slowly shook my head. “It’s too late, Dominic.” My heart was ice cold. Staying in this building for even one more second made my skin crawl. “The resignation stands.” “I won’t be logging on tomorrow.” My tone was absolute. Zero room for negotiation. The last remaining drops of color vanished from Dominic’s face. He knew he had lost me. His wife had personally taken his sharpest weapon and snapped it over her knee. I turned around, opened the heavy glass door, and walked out. Behind me, Dominic slumped heavily into his leather chair, surrounded by the wreckage of his pride. I didn’t look back. The moment I stepped out of the Apex Tech high-rise, the California sun hit my face. I took a deep breath. I felt incredibly light. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A banking notification. Incoming wire transfer to account ending in 3945: $1,200,000.00. Available Balance: $1,200,600.00. The money was there. My original bonus, plus the penalty fee. Dominic moved fast. But I knew exactly what this was. It wasn’t just compensation. It was hush money. He was terrified I would leak the audio to the press, tank the company’s stock, and turn his marriage into a tabloid circus. I smirked and swiped the notification away. He thought cash could fix everything. But he was about to learn that there are some things a wire transfer cannot buy. Like loyalty. Or what I was about to do next. 4 I didn’t go home. I hailed a black car and gave the driver an address in the financial district. We pulled up to a massive, imposing limestone building. It didn’t have the sleek, modern glass aesthetic of Apex Tech. It screamed old money and ruthless power. A heavy brass plaque by the entrance read: Reed Holdings. Reed Holdings was the parent conglomerate of Apex Tech. It was the absolute core of the Reed family empire. Dominic’s father, Tony Reed, the legendary tycoon who built the empire from scratch, had technically retired. But his private office was still on the top floor. I walked into the grand lobby. The concierge immediately stood up. “Ms. Scarlett. Mr. Reed is expecting you.” I nodded and bypassed security, heading straight for the private executive elevator. Half an hour ago, while riding away from Apex Tech, I had called Tony’s chief of staff. I told him I had a catastrophic operational risk to report regarding Apex Tech, and I needed five minutes with the Chairman. I got my confirmation in less than three minutes. The elevator doors slid open to a dark wood-paneled executive suite. Tony Reed sat behind a massive desk, nursing a glass of neat bourbon. He was in his late sixties, with silver hair and eyes like a hawk evaluating its prey. “Have a seat, Scarlett.” He gestured to the leather chair across from him. His tone was perfectly level. I sat down and rested my bag on my lap. “Tony,” I started. “You mentioned a catastrophic risk,” he said, taking a slow sip. “Let me guess. My son screwed up again?” He used the word again. Clearly, Dominic’s management style was not a secret to his father. I didn’t answer with words. I opened my bag and placed three items on the pristine desk. First, my bank statement, with the $600 deposit circled in red ink. Second, the cheap burner phone. Third, a freshly printed screenshot of the $1.2 million wire transfer I had received twenty minutes ago. I slid them across the polished wood. “Tony. This is a fatal flaw in Apex Tech’s financial security.” “This is a total breakdown of executive management.” “And this,” I tapped the printout of the $1.2 million transfer, “is your son attempting to use corporate funds as a golden parachute to bury his wife’s crimes.” I didn’t sugarcoat a single syllable. I didn’t mention Victoria by name. I didn’t frame it as a domestic issue. I stripped all emotion out of it. I framed it purely as a corporate liability. A financial disaster. Because when you are talking to a titan like Tony Reed, the only language that matters is leverage and risk. Tony’s hawk-like eyes scanned the three items. He picked up the bank statement first, his brow furrowing slightly. Then, he picked up the burner phone. I leaned forward and pressed play. Victoria’s vicious rant echoed in the quiet, opulent office. “…You are nothing but a dog on Dominic’s leash…” When the recording hit that specific line, the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Tony wasn’t angry that Victoria was a bitch. He was furious that someone had the audacity to refer to the core intellectual capital of his empire as a dog. That kind of arrogance destroys empires. When the audio finished, he remained silent. Finally, he picked up the screenshot of the wire transfer. “One point two million,” Tony murmured. “He paid what he owed, and he doubled it as an apology. Dominic isn’t entirely cheap.” “Tony, this isn’t about him being generous.” I corrected him without hesitation. “It is about him being compromised.” “He thinks throwing cash at a problem makes it disappear. But the money isn’t the root issue.” “The issue is that your Chief Financial Officer is willing to launder a million dollars to appease the CEO’s wife.” “The issue is that an executive’s spouse holds enough unchecked power to fire, starve, and blacklist your most vital personnel.” “Today, this happened to me. Tomorrow, it happens to the lead developers. Next week, it happens to the VP of Sales.” “When a corporate hierarchy can be hijacked by a spouse’s temper tantrum, that company is dead in the water.” My words were heavy artillery. Tony went dead silent. He looked at me, really looked at me. The predatory gleam in his eyes softened into something resembling genuine respect. He set his bourbon glass down. “You are a very smart girl.” His voice was a low rumble. “Much sharper than my son, who currently has his head shoved entirely up his own ass.” “I understand the situation.” He gave me his word. “I built Apex with my own bare hands. I will not watch it be cannibalized from the inside.” “I don’t care whose name is on the marriage certificate.” His words were spoken softly, but they carried the weight of an executioner’s axe. I knew I had won. I stood up, smoothing out my skirt. “Tony, my resignation is already filed. As of noon today, I no longer work for Apex Tech.” “Thank you for your time.” I gave him a crisp nod and turned toward the elevator. “Hold on a second.” Tony’s voice stopped me. “What’s your next move?” he asked. “Take some time off. See what the market looks like,” I replied honestly. “Right,” he nodded slowly. “You’ve earned a break. It’s been a hell of a run these last five years.” “Save my direct line in your contacts. When you get bored of sitting on a beach, call me.” “There will always be a seat for you at Reed Holdings.” That was a massive, unexpected victory. But I kept my face totally neutral. “Thank you, Tony.” I walked onto the elevator. The moment the doors slid shut and I was back on the street, I finally let out a long, heavy exhale. The fuse was lit. The explosion was now strictly Reed family business. And I was safely outside the blast radius. 5 When Dominic walked through the front door of his sprawling estate, the house was dead quiet. Victoria was sitting on the velvet sofa in the main living room, wearing a silk robe. A half-empty glass of red wine sat on the coffee table. She was clearly waiting for him. The second he walked in, she sprang up. Her face was a mask of panic and victimhood. “Dom, baby, you’re home… Please, you have to let me explain. It’s really not what it sounded like…” Dominic completely ignored her. He walked over to the adjacent armchair, slowly slipped off his tailored suit jacket, and tossed it aside. He undid his tie with slow, mechanical precision. Every movement was heavy, deliberate, and suffocating. Victoria felt the panic rising in her throat. “Say something, please… you’re scaring me…” She reached out to grab his forearm. Dominic took a sharp step back, dodging her touch like she was contagious. His eyes were completely hollow as he stared at her. “What is left to explain?” His voice was terrifyingly calm. “Explain how you conspired with Richard to siphon company payroll into your private accounts?” “Or maybe explain how you weaponized my name to threaten and humiliate my best executive?” “Victoria, I had no idea you were such a brilliant criminal.” The words sliced into her like a scalpel. All the color drained from Victoria’s face. “I… I wasn’t trying to steal! I just made a stupid mistake!” She burst into tears, large drops rolling perfectly down her cheeks. “I was jealous! Okay? I was so incredibly jealous! She gets to spend all day with you. She solves your problems. Everyone in your inner circle talks about how you can’t run the business without her!” “I was terrified! I thought she was going to steal my husband!” “I just wanted to teach her a lesson. I wanted to remind her who the wife is! I swear to God, I wasn’t thinking!” She sobbed, playing the tragic role of a woman driven mad by love. A few years ago, that performance would have earned her a tight hug and a diamond necklace. Tonight, Dominic just watched her perform with absolute disgust. “Jealous?” He scoffed. “So your jealousy is worth exactly five hundred ninety-nine thousand, four hundred dollars?” “You wanted to prove you were the lady of the house, so you treated her like a stray dog?” “Drop the act, Victoria. It’s pathetic.” “I didn’t come home to listen to your excuses.” Dominic reached into his briefcase. He pulled out a thick stack of legal documents and dropped them onto the glass coffee table with a heavy thud. The bold, black letters across the top page were impossible to miss. PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE. Victoria’s fake sobbing stopped instantly. She stared at the divorce papers, then looked up at Dominic in sheer horror. “A divorce? You want a divorce?” Her voice pitched up into a hysterical screech. “Over that bitch? Are you out of your mind?!” “We have been married for seven years! Seven years, Dominic! And you’re throwing me out over an employee?” “I am not crazy,” Dominic said, his expression completely dead. “You are.” “You can play your pathetic high-society games with anyone you want. But you touched the core of my business.” “You alienated every single person who bleeds for my company.” “You turned me into a joke who can’t even protect his own staff!” “This isn’t about another woman.” “This is about Apex. And it is about me.” Victoria’s facade totally crumbled. She stared at the cold, ruthless man in front of her and finally realized that tears weren’t going to save her. Her face twisted into something feral. “Fine! You want to play hardball, Dominic? Let’s play!” “You think dumping me is going to be cheap? Half of Apex Tech belongs to me! It is marital property!” “You want to kick me to the curb? I will drag you through court for years! I will take half your empire! I’ll leak this to the press and tank your stock overnight! I will leave you bankrupt!” She was screaming now, completely unhinged, revealing the sheer greed that had always lived beneath her skin. Dominic just watched her throw her tantrum. “Half the stock?” He let out a dark, mocking laugh, like he had just heard a joke. “Victoria, did you suffer a head injury? Have you forgotten the prenuptial agreement we signed?” “Every single share of Apex Tech is classified as a pre-marital asset. You don’t get a single penny of equity.” “As for the mansions, the sports cars, the jewelry… I’ve bought you tens of millions of dollars’ worth of toys over the last seven years.” “The contract states you get to keep all of that.” “I will also cut you a final severance check. You’ll never have to work a day in your life.” “Sign the papers. It is the last shred of dignity you’re going to get.” Victoria froze. The prenup. Of course she remembered it. When they signed it, Dominic had kissed her forehead and told her it was just standard legal red tape to keep his father’s lawyers happy. He told her not to worry about it. She had been so blinded by the glamorous wedding that she signed it without letting her own lawyer read it. She thought it was just a meaningless stack of paper. Tonight, that paper was a death warrant. He had been protecting his assets from her since day one. The unconditional love was a myth. “Dominic!” Victoria’s eyes were practically glowing with venom. “You set me up!” “I will never sign this! I would rather die! I will go to the tabloids! I will tell them everything! I will ruin your reputation!” Dominic looked at her with ultimate exhaustion. “Do whatever you want.” He turned around and headed for the front door, not looking back once. “But let me give you one final piece of advice.” He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Richard is already in federal custody.” “He rolled over immediately. He handed the feds a mountain of evidence proving you manipulated him into cooking the books and committing wire fraud.” “He also mentioned he kept meticulous ledgers on all the other little ‘investments’ you’ve been making behind my back using company leverage.” “Victoria. Unless you want to spend the next fifteen years wearing an orange jumpsuit in a federal penitentiary…” “You will sign those papers by tomorrow morning.” He opened the door and walked out into the night. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him. Victoria collapsed onto the marble floor. She stared at the divorce papers, the absolute silence of the massive house crushing the last remaining breath out of her lungs.

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I’d promised my childhood friend, the one always getting picked on, that I’d transfer schools with him for a fresh start. But the day before the transfer agreement was finalized, he suddenly backed out. I’d inadvertently walked past his classroom door and overheard him talking to his buddies. “You sly dog! Playing the victim all this time, just to ditch Avery McEwan.” His friend’s voice was dripping with teasing. “But she’s been with you since you were kids. Can you really stand to let her go to a strange new school alone?” another voice pressed. Bobby Leslie’s reply was icy cold: “It’s just moving to another district for school. How far could it be?” “She’s always been clinging to me, it’s annoying. This way, I’ll finally get some peace.” I stood outside the door for a long time, until my legs went numb before I slowly turned and walked away. Back home, I crossed out “Oceanview High” on my transfer application and replaced it with the overseas boarding school my parents had already arranged. Turns out, everyone had forgotten that there had always been a chasm between him and me, as wide as the sky and the mud beneath our feet. 1 The truth hit me like a physical blow, my heart seizing in my chest. For the past month, Bobby had been the target of endless bullying and false accusations. I’d done my best to shield him, but there were always times I couldn’t. Finally, I’d suggested he transfer. He’d just had a bucket of ice water dumped on him, his handsome face pale and pitiful. He gripped my hand, looking utterly helpless. “Avery, I’m scared to go to an unfamiliar place alone.” Bobby and I were childhood sweethearts, practically, walking to and from kindergarten together, a routine that hadn’t changed in over a decade. Plus, I harbored a secret crush on him. So, swept up in the moment, I’d promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll go wherever you go.” But only now did I realize it was all an elaborate charade to get rid of me. I couldn’t help but wonder, did Bobby really hate me that much? The voices from inside the room continued. “Avery McEwan is totally devoted to you.” “If you send her to another school now, aren’t you worried she’ll fall for someone else?” “Her?” Bobby scoffed, as if he’d heard the funniest joke imaginable. “She’d block a group beating for me, even got her face bruised and swollen, but never backed down. You think she’d change her mind about me?” Someone murmured, “What if? Avery McEwan doesn’t look like someone to be messed with.” Bobby’s tone was lazy. “No ‘what if.’ There are plenty of rich kids at Northwood High. Have you ever seen her give anyone else a second glance?” His voice inevitably carried a hint of disdain. “Always following me around. Even a lapdog isn’t as clingy as she is.” A harsh laugh erupted from the room, like a slap across my face. I wanted to leave, but my feet felt rooted to the spot, forcing me to listen, to ache. Someone whistled. “First time I’ve seen a guy actively push away a girl who likes him. Gotta admire your game, man.” “But if you didn’t like Avery McEwan being so clingy, couldn’t you have just told her? She doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge.” Bobby clicked his tongue, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. “Avery McEwan is too… intense. It wouldn’t have been easy to shake her off if I’d just told her straight.” He then changed tack. “Besides, Chloe always feels inferior and upset when she sees Avery. She only feels better when I’m with her.” “For Chloe’s sake, this was the only way. Avery will just have to be inconvenienced for a bit.” At his words, everyone immediately understood. Timing it out, Bobby’s decision to fake the bullying started about a week after Chloe transferred to Northwood High. Someone laughed, cursing Bobby good-naturedly. “You dog, you’ve been eyeing the new innocent girl since she got here?” “But Chloe is genuinely delicate and charming. Any guy would be drawn to her, it’s only natural.” “Unlike Avery McEwan. She’s got this intense personality and a perpetually cold face that keeps everyone at arm’s length. Doesn’t matter how pretty she is, that just won’t do.” The casual remarks about me in the room surged like a tide, wave after wave. And Bobby, the boy I’d secretly loved for years, offered no objection, no rebuttal, occasionally even nodding in agreement. I stood outside the door, my heart plummeting into a dark abyss, empty and aching. For a moment, I wanted to burst in and confront Bobby. Ask him why he lied to me. Ask him if he felt even a flicker of guilt or softness when he saw me getting beaten for protecting him. Ask him if he’d considered our decade-long friendship when he did all this. But ultimately, my mother’s words echoed in my ears: Don’t do anything unnecessary. People don’t just rot overnight. I turned and walked away from that room. 2 The pain, a sharp, lingering ache, hit me belatedly. Initially, I wouldn’t have been this upset. It was just a friend’s betrayal, nothing major. But that boundary, the line of ‘just friends,’ Bobby had been the first to cross it. The day we decided to transfer together, he’d dragged me to a bar to celebrate our ‘freedom’ with drinks. In the dim, ambient light, I looked at the man I’d secretly loved for years, feeling a little lost. So, when he leaned in and kissed me, I didn’t resist. Years of suppressed emotions erupted. Unable to hold back, I asked for confirmation, “Bobby, what are we now?” Bobby affectionately kissed my forehead again. “Silly, what else would we be?” Cheers erupted in the private room, the atmosphere as heated as my own burgeoning passion. It took only two days for Bobby to shatter my one-sided affection with his own words. I smiled, but tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. So, that mumbled, vague rhetorical question—was that also Bobby’s way of tricking me, trying to hurry me along for Chloe’s sake? The wind chime in my bedroom tinkled, slowly drying my tears. My broken heart began to piece itself back together. Bobby was wrong. He was merely the illegitimate son of the Leslie family, and I was the only daughter of the McEwan family. We truly shouldn’t cling to each other. Because, we weren’t a match. The transfer application in my hand was smudged by my tears, the ink bleeding, making it illegible. But it didn’t matter. If this one was ruined, I’d just get a clean one. The McEwan family never lacked alternatives. I printed a new form, and when I got to the ‘transferring institution’ section, I called my mother. “Mom, which overseas high school were you talking about wanting me to attend last time?” “Yes, I’ll go alone.” The wind chime in my room made a clear, melodious sound, as if celebrating with me. I closed my eyes briefly. This time, it wasn’t Bobby’s face that appeared before me. Instead, it was a man, three parts similar to Bobby in looks but even more striking and handsome, who smiled at me, just as he had two years ago, with the same certainty and seriousness: “Avery McEwan, you’ll give up on Bobby Leslie and choose me, eventually.” Back then, I’d thought he was joking. Now, I murmured inwardly. Bobby Leslie, I truly don’t want you anymore. After filling out the new application, I let out a long breath, my heart already quietly at peace. But then, a knock sounded at my bedroom door. I froze. I lived alone in this house; the only person who knew the code would be… I opened the door and, sure enough, saw Bobby’s face. His voice was as gentle as always. “Avery, you haven’t come to say goodbye to your friends in a while. I was worried about you.” I tried to keep my voice calm. “My stomach’s not feeling great, so I’m not going.” Just as I was about to politely dismiss him, my peripheral vision caught an unexpected figure. Chloe, petite, huddled beside Bobby. The moment her eyes met mine, she flinched. Bobby, ever attentive to her every move, immediately draped an arm protectively around her. “Avery, you’re scaring Chloe.” It was always like this. Chloe always acted fragile, as if I were some heinous villain out to harm her, even though I’d done nothing. My face grew cold. “I told you, I don’t like people coming to my house.” Bobby frowned slightly, displeased. “Chloe isn’t an outsider. Besides, she only came because she was worried about you.” Before I could argue, Chloe’s eyes suddenly welled up. “Avery, I’m so sorry. I know you’ve always looked down on me, but I shower every day.” She added, tearfully, “I won’t make your house dirty…” At her words, Bobby immediately furrowed his brow, looking at me with displeasure. “Avery, Chloe just comes from a less privileged background, she’s not as bad as you imagine. You treating her like this really disappoints me.” Chloe tugged carefully at Bobby’s sleeve, forgiving and understanding. “Bobby, it’s okay, please don’t argue with Avery…” She sniffled, offering a wronged yet stubborn smile. “After all, Avery said you two were childhood sweethearts. How could I ever compare to a relationship like that…” “What are you talking about? You’re unique.” Bobby tenderly cupped Chloe’s face, coaxing her with soft words. He then turned to me, his face as cold as ice. He spoke gravely. “Chloe isn’t feeling well. I’m taking her home first.” “You should seriously reflect on yourself. Don’t forget to get that transfer application stamped.” I did reflect on myself—on my terrible judgment of character. Then I went and changed the code to my front door. The knot of frustration in my heart finally loosened, if only for a moment. 3 The next day, I took my new application form to school for a stamp. Watching the bright red mark, signifying my departure, settle firmly on the paper, my heart felt strangely hollow for a moment. Lost in thought, someone blocked my path. Bobby frowned slightly. “Avery, did you change your door code?” “I dropped Chloe home yesterday and went straight to your place, but the door wouldn’t open…” I cut him off, succinctly. “Yep, changed it.” He seemed a little annoyed, as if nothing had happened, asking intimately, “What’s the new code? So I can come over and look after you.” I said calmly, “No need. I won’t be living around here after I transfer.” Bobby looked at the folded application in my hand, as if suddenly remembering something. “I completely forgot about this. Don’t worry, Avery, I’ll get mine stamped tomorrow.” These kinds of walk-and-talk moments with Bobby had become increasingly rare since Chloe transferred to Northwood High. I closed my eyes, indulging the lingering reluctance in my heart, and probed, “Between us, what’s there to worry about?” Bobby was silent for a long time, then abruptly spoke. “Avery, actually I…” Chloe suddenly appeared behind Bobby, carrying a stack of notebooks, complaining intimately to him. “Bobby, didn’t you say you’d help me with tutoring? How did you just disappear?” She handed him the notes. “I saw your study plan goes out two months, so I prepared the corresponding materials.” She winked playfully. “You won’t mind me peeking, will you, Bobby?” “How could I…” Bobby’s smile was strained. He glanced at me guiltily. Seeing no reaction from me, a flicker of disappointment actually crossed his face. So, while pushing me away, you had already planned a future with someone else. Just that your future, it never included me. I tried my best to maintain a dignified composure. Deep down, however, a bitter taste, like a rich, aged wine, spread boundlessly. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to stay clear-headed. “You two chat. I’m leaving.” Chloe acted as if she’d just noticed me, startled. “A-Avery…” “Is it because Bobby and I are studying together that you’re unhappy?” “But I come from a humble background, unlike you with all your resources…” As she spoke, she actually started to sniffle again. I wasn’t in the mood to play along. I said coolly, “Move aside.” The thin sliver of guilt in Bobby’s eyes vanished. He grabbed my wrist, his voice laced with anger. “Avery McEwan, what kind of tone is that?” He dragged me unceremoniously in front of Chloe and roared, “Apologize to Chloe!” The last piece of sacred ground in my heart silently crumbled into rubble. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I raised my hand and slapped Bobby hard across the face. “Bobby Leslie, the one who should be apologizing is you.” “But not to Chloe. To me.”

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1 It was my fifth year as a private investigator, and I’d just taken on a completely routine infidelity case. My phone vibrated in my pocket—a message from my wife, Iris Jiang. She said she’d be home late tonight to celebrate my birthday, adding mysteriously that she had a surprise for me. I was still looking at the message when the scene through my camera lens froze me. Iris, her clothes disheveled, was locked in a tight embrace with a strange man outside a hotel, kissing as if no one else existed. That profound tenderness was something she’d never shown me in our nearly ten years of marriage. It wasn’t until the click of the camera shutter that I snapped back to reality. I looked down at the familiar face in the photo, then up at the two still locked in an embrace not far away. A sense of absurdity washed over me. I gave a bitter laugh, thinking: What surprise could possibly compare to catching her cheating with my own eyes? … My finger hovered over the screen for a long time. I never sent the last message. Instead, I sent the photo I’d taken to Iris. When I returned home, Iris came back shortly after. Her face was calm, not a hint of panic at being caught. She was holding a birthday cake box. The atmosphere was silent. She didn’t say a word. It wasn’t until the cake box was placed on the dining table that I looked up at her. “You cheated.” My voice was hoarse when I said it, aching painfully. She frowned, no longer trying to hide it. “You already knew, didn’t you? You know I could never let go of Brett.” “Always have, always will.” Receiving the answer I’d expected, I thought I could truly remain calm. “He’s not doing well now, he’s in a lot of debt, and that’s the only work he can do.” “I’m just helping out his business. Don’t make it sound so awful.” Brett. It was Brett again. Ten years of marriage, and that name was a thorn in my heart. I thought with time, she’d eventually forget. I never expected that even now, she truly hadn’t let go. I found it somewhat ridiculous, and a film of mist welled up in my eyes. “Helping out his business all the way to bed?” “Did you forget we’re married? For ten years!” Iris tutted, rubbing her temples, her face full of helplessness and impatience. “Brett has a strong personality. He wouldn’t take money if I just gave it to him, so if I gave him money, he’d insist on providing a… service.” “So you just slept together?” I pulled out my phone, pointing at the photo on the screen, my entire body trembling. “He knows you’re married. What ‘strong personality’? I think he just wants to be a homewrecker!” The moment the words left my mouth, a sharp pain flared across my cheek. The taste of rust instantly spread in my mouth. Iris’s hand froze mid-air, stunned after the slap. Her lips trembled as she tried to apologize to me. “Mason, I…” The slightly ajar door creaked, and Brett poked his head in from outside. His expression was awkward when he saw the scene inside. “I… I came to bring Iris her lipstick. She left it at my place.” As soon as he spoke, as if making a decision, he immediately pulled the door open and drew Iris behind him. “Mason, I’m sorry. I was the one clinging to her, it’s my fault.” “Whatever anger you have, direct it at me. Iris is innocent.” His reaction immediately made Iris feel protective. The last trace of guilt she felt towards me completely vanished. “It’s none of your business. We didn’t kill anyone or set anything on fire. What’s all this talk of innocent or not innocent?” My tongue touched the inside of my cheek. The slap stung badly; I could see the imprint of five fingers on my cheek even through the mirror. “Since you already know, choose for yourself: divorce or stay together.” Her nonchalant words sent a sharp pang through my heart. It almost hurt too much to stand upright. She knew I couldn’t leave her, otherwise she wouldn’t have made such a ridiculous demand. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, a jarring phone rang repeatedly. Brett, who had been protecting Iris, instantly paled. He fumbled to hang up the call. “Iris, the loan sharks are calling me again. I’m really scared.” “I, I need to go to work.” How could Iris let him leave now? Right in front of me, she tightly grasped Brett’s hand, her tone stiff. “Are you going to sleep with other people again? How much more do you owe? I’ll give it to you.” After she said this, she instinctively looked at me. “My secondary card still has fifty thousand. I can lend it to you.” My head buzzed, and I instinctively spoke out. “Are you crazy?! Do you know that money…” “Sorry, really, no need. It’s all my fault, I’m just so worthless.” Brett’s eyes were bloodshot. He pulled his hand away from Iris and left. Iris, her face full of worry, followed him. The front door slammed shut with force. The gust of wind it created chilled my heart to the bone. Ten years of marriage, and it amounted to nothing. Half my face was swollen high. I held ice to my cheek, staring blankly at our wedding photo on the wall. From the beginning of our relationship, I knew there would always be someone between Iris and me. When we were getting engaged, I took her to customize rings. That day, she stared at the display of ring samples for a long time. When I asked her about it, she subconsciously replied. “My first love never brought me here.” My hand, engraving a letter, paused. When I looked up at her, I saw tears streaming down her face. My lips trembled, and those around me looked at me strangely. “You still like him?” “Not like. Love.” After getting the matching rings, I was silent for a long time. I considered breaking up, but then she said. “That’s all in the past. What matters is that I chose you.” “If you really mind, we don’t have to get married.” Her words stirred my compassion. It was all in the past, and the future was with her. Time, perhaps, would change everything. Driven by this thought and a quiet stubbornness, I still chose to marry Iris. I thought she was willing to spend her life with me. It wasn’t until the first year of our marriage, after a work dinner, that I was rushed to the hospital with a severe stomach infection. The doctor examined me and said I needed surgery. But when I went to withdraw money from my bank account, I found that the money was gone. Tens of thousands, not a single penny left. I immediately contacted Iris. Only she knew the password to that card. We had agreed when we got married that the money in it was not to be touched unless absolutely necessary. Iris was silent for a long time on the other end of the phone before she spoke. “I lent that money to someone. I didn’t know you were sick.” She tried to explain but refused to tell me who she had lent it to. No matter how much I pushed or questioned, she wouldn’t say a word. When she learned I needed surgery, she rushed back from out of town. She borrowed money, nursed me back to health, and apologized profusely. “Mason, please forgive me. You can hit me, curse me, whatever, just no next time.” After enough money was raised, my illness still left me with chronic issues because the surgery wasn’t performed in time. When I was discharged, I brought up divorce to Iris. She even got down on her knees and begged me. “I just lent the money to someone who needed it. I truly didn’t expect you to get sick. You can’t divorce me over this.” “Money can be earned again.” She pleaded incessantly, but when I again asked her who she lent the money to, she still said. “I can’t tell you, but don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” Because of those desperate pleas, I eventually softened. The stinging pain on my face persisted; the ice had melted. Only now did I understand that the money all those years ago had been given to Brett. And all these years later, he still hadn’t paid it back. I wiped away my tears and took down the wedding photo from the wall. Since Iris couldn’t forget her ‘white moonlight,’ there was no need for me to hold on any longer. I cut off contact with Iris. For about a week, she didn’t come home. Until today, my phone rang incessantly. It was Iris calling. When I answered, a sharp, angry voice came from the other end. “Mason Lu, are you disgusting? What are you trying to do?” “Those photos sent to the company email, you sent them, didn’t you? Now everyone in the company knows about Brett and me. Are you satisfied?!” I gripped my phone, a little confused. I knew nothing of what Iris was talking about. Seeing my silence, she became even more frantic. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about this? You took those photos, didn’t you?!” I took a deep breath, my voice calm. “I don’t know what photos you’re talking about. If you mean the one of you cheating, I only sent it to you.” My words completely pushed Iris over the edge. The next second, our chat window was flooded with naked photos. My face turned ashen. Every single one was of her and Brett. Explicit photos. And a copy of her termination report. “If not you, then who? I really didn’t think you’d stoop to secretly taking photos?” “Satisfied? Because of this, I’m a laughingstock! Brett is hiding at home and dares not come out.” I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth. “Iris Jiang, your cheating is your fault. If you don’t mind being dirty, I do! Do you really think Brett is a good guy?” “Do you know that he!” Iris let out an angry laugh, directly interrupting me. “Since you won’t admit it, then you just wait and regret!” She slammed the phone down. I rubbed my temples, forcing myself to calm down and deal with other matters at the agency. However, not long after, several police cars pulled up outside my office. The police officers, their faces cold, looked around the agency. “Mr. Lu, correct?” “Someone has reported you for disseminating obscene material and violating privacy.” I froze, instantly recalling what Iris had said on the phone. She actually reported me to the police! “My agency is legal and compliant, and I absolutely did not disseminate anything!” “Mr. Lu, all the evidence currently suggests you are responsible. Your computer also contained secretly taken photos.” But that photo was merely a kissing photo. “Those were photos I took for work. They even have timestamps…” But no matter how I explained, it was useless. They sealed my agency. And I was detained for fifteen days. Fifteen days later, I was released from the police station. Before I could even fully process things, my former clients one by one came knocking. They crowded outside my office, all berating me fiercely. “Detective Lu, we hired you because we trusted you.” “Who would have thought something like this would happen!” “Leaking personal privacy, what was the point of signing a non-disclosure agreement? This is a crime!” Once something like this happened, no matter how innocent I truly was, in the eyes of others, I was tainted. Even if I repeatedly assured them I had never leaked their privacy, repeatedly stressed that I was framed, no one believed me. “Your agency has been shut down. Your words are garbage. We won’t believe a single word.” “Pay up! Pay up!” Some even sided with Iris, making a scene outside the office. They held banners and banged drums. Everyone on the street knew me. They accused me of being unfit for such work, of making dirty money. They all demanded compensation. Someone recorded the scene and posted it online. It spread widely. I was doxxed. My name and address were found. Every time I left home, I’d see various threatening letters, dead cats, and blood-stained razor blades outside. This made me afraid to leave the house for a long time. Iris returned about half a month later. She looked at the mess in the house, her eyes cold. “Mason Lu, had enough suffering lately?” “Go apologize to Brett, and I’ll forgive you and help clear your name.” Iris’s words made me snap my head up. My eyes were bloodshot, and I almost gritted my teeth. “Isn’t all of this because of you?” “What unforgivable thing did I do to make you hate me this much?” “Iris Jiang, we’ve been married for ten years! Damn it, even a dog gets attached after that long!” Iris froze. She couldn’t meet my gaze and quickly looked away. “Fine, even if it wasn’t you who spread the photos, the photo you sent me was indeed taken by you without permission.” “That’s a fact, and Brett and I were both implicated because of it.” “Brett has been kicked out of the club now, and no one is willing to let him work there anymore.” “His job loss is because of you.” Iris grew more and more self-righteous as she spoke. I scoffed. “His job is gone, so is mine still here?” Iris’s face grew increasingly impatient. She lowered her voice. “If you apologize, your agency still has a chance.” My agency was my life’s work for five years. I couldn’t bear to see it disappear just like that. I neither agreed nor refused. Iris arranged a dinner, just the three of us. In the private room, Brett looked timid and hesitant when he saw me. “Mason, I know you have issues with me, but I’m really struggling.” “Because of this, I lost my job, and I still have a large sum of money to repay.” Iris picked up a glass, already filled to the brim with white liquor. “Drink it, and this whole thing is over.” “I won’t contact Brett again, and you’re not allowed to do anything to him either.” “Your agency can also be reopened.” My face paled, and I looked up at Iris. She knew that my stomach had already developed chronic issues back then. She knew. All these years, I’ve had to take medication constantly to stabilize it, and my stomach problems would flare up from time to time, risking a perforated ulcer. “Drink it, is it so hard to drink a glass of liquor?” Iris impatiently pushed a full bottle of white liquor towards me. I forced a bitter smile. She had forgotten. I tilted my head back and drank the entire bottle of white liquor. I only stopped when a sharp, searing pain erupted in my stomach. Iris’s eyes held a complex expression. She reached out to grab me, but I fiercely pushed her hand away. “Satisfied? I’ve granted your wish, Iris Jiang. I won’t bother with you anymore.” I stumbled out of the private room. Picking up my phone, I opened the chat window of my earlier client. I sent the photo of Iris and Brett to the client, who was overseas. “I have captured the evidence of your fiancé’s infidelity.”

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1 While helping Leo search for his laptop, I accidentally stumbled upon his wedding proposal plans. To surprise him, I quietly hid inside the wedding venue, preparing for a reverse proposal. Under the crystal chandeliers, Leo knelt on one knee. But standing before him was my own sister! “Ruby, from the first moment I saw you, I knew you were the only one for me in this life.” My sister lowered her head, covering her mouth, shaking her head vigorously. “No, we can’t do this. Vivian has been with you for five years. What about her?” My mother walked over, laughing. “Don’t worry, does she dare to disagree?” “Mom already knew who Leo truly cared for. What brother-in-law would buy you a mansion worth hundreds of millions and jewelry worth tens of millions? She never got that kind of treatment.” My father directly handed over the household registry. “Let’s just get the marriage certificate today. A double celebration!” “At worst, you can have your children raised by her in the future. That would repay her for saving you two years ago by having her uterus removed.” A metallic taste of blood surged in my throat. I watched, my eyes wide, as they kissed. The ring slipped silently from my fingers. This family, I didn’t want it anymore. … I dialed Leo’s number, my hands trembling. “Where… are you?” He was too happy to notice the catch in my voice. “Vivian, I’m on a business trip. Get some rest. I have to go, talk later.” Ruby bit her lip, frowning. “Did Vivian find out something?” Leo smoothed her brow, scoffing softly. “She’s not that smart. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have given up her advanced study spot for me back then.” Three years ago, he’d approached me, his face full of guilt. “Vivian, can you put off your studies for now? I’ve just started my business, and I’m afraid I can’t manage without you.” I believed him, gave up my dream, and immersed myself in domestic life. But Ruby returned from studying abroad the following year and became his personal secretary. At the time, my parents didn’t approve of Leo and me dating. It was only after Ruby joined Leo’s company that they relented. “It’s all my fault.” Ruby’s eyes were slightly red. “If it weren’t for me, Vivian wouldn’t have been kidnapped, lost her virginity, and lost the ability to be a mother…” Her words dragged me back to the most painful day of my life. That day, I received a call saying Leo had been in an accident in the suburbs. I rushed there, frantic. He was suspended above a cement mixer, covered in blood. “He owes us millions. You’re his girlfriend, you pay it back.” I was penniless then. The thugs laughed. “No money? Then whenever you make us comfortable, we’ll let him go.” I struggled, begged, fought back repeatedly. “I’ll pay! Any amount, just give me some time.” “Money? We want fun.” Five hours? Or ten hours? Or longer? I couldn’t remember. I only remembered waking up to the doctor’s cold notification. “Uterine rupture, requiring removal.” Leo held me, sobbing uncontrollably, promising he’d never betray me. I gripped my palms tightly. My mother’s next sentence sent shivers through my body. “A sister’s debt is a sister’s responsibility. This is what she should do. Don’t blame yourself.” She gently hugged Ruby, comforting her. My father also sighed deeply. “You borrowed money from online lenders for Leo’s business; what’s wrong with that?” “If anyone’s to blame, it’s her for being so stupid, not even noticing such an obvious loophole.” Leo pulled her into his arms. “You are a goddess, and it’s only right for her to sacrifice for you.” “In the future, we’ll let her raise our children. That will be enough to repay her.” My mind buzzed as if struck by lightning. It turned out, this was all planned by them. I stayed in the country, becoming Ruby’s “scapegoat.” Five years of devotion, from head to toe, completely squeezed dry! “Who are you?!” The security guard shouted, drawing Leo’s attention. The moment our eyes met, his pupils contracted sharply. 2 “Vivian?” Leo’s face flashed with panic for a moment, then he quickly regained composure. “Since you’re here, I won’t bother explaining.” He grabbed Ruby’s hand as if asserting ownership. “Ruby and I are getting married next week. Don’t blame me; you can only blame yourself.” “Myself?” I looked up, incredulous. Leo gave a mocking laugh. “My family is a prominent one; do you think I’d marry a woman who can’t have children?” “Besides, if you don’t find yourself dirty, I do.” Fury surged through me, blood gushing from my nose, smearing my face. “You clearly ruined me…” Leo stared at me, momentarily lost. “Vivian, I know you’re hurting, but you can’t force feelings.” Ruby nestled into his embrace, a defiant look in her eyes. “You’ve been used by so many people, your insides must be rotten and foul. Even if I were Leo, I couldn’t stomach it.” “Bang—” My high heel flew, splashing near Ruby’s feet. She shrieked in fright. “Ruby!” Leo’s face darkened, and he glared at me fiercely. “Vivian Ruffalo, don’t push your luck! Ruby is right; your furious face is disgusting!” Ruby sobbed. “Vivian, you won’t even let me tell the truth?” The disgust in Leo’s eyes was overflowing. “Apologize immediately! Otherwise, don’t blame me for ruining your reputation!” I stared fixedly at the video on his phone, no longer able to hold back my furious roar. “You said you destroyed it!” “Leo, you lied to me! Why are you doing this to me?! Am I not your girlfriend? Didn’t you say you’d protect me forever?!” I cried hysterically, unable to vent all the hatred in my heart. A flicker of something that looked like regret crossed his eyes. “Enough!” My mother stormed over, slapping my face. “Aren’t you ashamed?! You’re not welcome here, get out! Don’t ruin your sister’s good day!” My father’s face darkened. “You’d best face reality. Ruby and Leo are a match made in heaven!” My cheek burned. I looked up, meeting Leo’s pitying gaze. “Be good, just apologize properly, and Auntie and Uncle will try to accept you, try to love you.” “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” I looked up, meeting their disgusted eyes. Yes, I was their daughter too, but from childhood, they only loved Ruby. In high school, Ruby led the bullying against me. Dragged me into the bathroom, forced me to drink toilet water. Spread rumors that I was dating some scummy guy, got me drunk, and put me in his bed. It was Leo, passing by, who intervened, swinging an ashtray at the guy, dragging me out of that hell. “Your sister is a piece of trash! Don’t worry, she won’t get away with it. I’ll beat her every time I see her!” Under the moonlight, Leo, panting, stood up for me. After we started dating, he’d often say. “Your sister shamelessly keeps asking you for money!” “When we get married, your husband will get even for you!” Thinking of this, my heart felt like a piece had been brutally ripped out. I wiped away the tears from my face, a calm almost akin to destruction settling over me. “I won’t let any of you get away with this.” I turned and walked away, dialing a number that had been dormant for a long time. “Professor… I need to take back everything that belongs to me.” 3 I obtained Leo’s business trip records from over the years. In a self-destructive manner, I cross-referenced them with Ruby’s social media posts, one by one. The day they watched the sunset on Bali beach, I was suffering from severe period pain and the flu, with a fever of 102 degrees. I asked Leo if he could stay with me. He said he had to attend an industry summit in Europe. I chuckled apologetically, only to be met with his comment about my immaturity. Something suddenly clicked in my mind. I opened the home surveillance. Three days ago, I attended a class reunion. In the video, just as I left, Ruby arrived. In the entryway, the two kissed passionately, and under her trench coat, she was wearing nothing. They were in my marital bedroom, on my bed, using my pillows. Finally, Leo opened my closet, took out my underwear, and bent down to help her put them on. I slammed the laptop shut. Kneeling on the carpet, I vomited until only bile came out. My phone suddenly rang. It was an unknown number. “You dirty bitch, come out and play with me? I promise I’ll serve you better than those other guys.” I abruptly hung up. The next second, malicious texts instantly flooded my inbox. “Who are you trying to fool?! You’ve been used by so many people, your insides are rotten and stinking!” “President Leo is so unlucky, stuck with a slut like you, truly disgusting! You’re an embarrassment to women!” My face was ashen. The trending topic title was blindingly bright. [President Leo’s Girlfriend: A Promiscuous Woman Whose Uterus Was Removed Due to Abuse.] I rushed into Leo’s company. A group of people surrounded me. “Slut! You still have the nerve to show your face! You deserve to die, you whore!” “Let’s get revenge for President Leo!” “You tramp, if you’re lacking men, I’ll take good care of you!” I was pinned to the ground, countless hands roaming over my body. “Let me go! Where’s Leo?!” My shirt was ripped, and the moment my pale chest was exposed, I burst into uncontrollable sobs. “Stop!” A powerful force pulled me up from behind, holding me tightly. Leo’s face was dark as he swept his gaze over the attackers, then ordered his assistant. “Call the police! Arrest every single one of them!” Ruby’s face was very grim. In the office, Leo looked at me reassuringly. “The video was accidentally exposed. I’ll take care of it.” Ruby suddenly spoke. “Vivian, you wouldn’t have staged all this yourself, would you?” “Are you trying to gain our sympathy, mine and Leo’s, by deliberately releasing the video and forcing Leo to marry you?” I looked up in disbelief, meeting Leo’s suspicious gaze. My whole body was numb with pain, my heart seizing. “It was you!” Meeting Ruby’s challenging eyes, I lunged at her. Ruby screamed, dodging behind Leo. “Leo, protect me! Vivian is desperate now that I’ve exposed her!” Leo shielded her, then fiercely shoved me away. I hit a nearby teapot, and scalding hot water poured onto my face. “Ah—!” The intense burning pain made every inch of my skin scream. But Leo didn’t even turn his head; he was only anxiously checking if Ruby was hurt. “Vivian Ruffalo, stop your pathetic act! Ruby is carrying my child, and I won’t allow anyone to hurt her! Especially you!” I clutched my scalded face, trembling with pain. A guttural sound escaped my throat, but I couldn’t utter a single word, and I simply collapsed. 4 I woke up in the hospital. The face in the mirror had a huge blister, clinging to my face like a grotesque worm. “Awake?” Ruby looked at my disfigured face, her smile growing even brighter. “Do you know why I stole so many things from you, but never Leo?” She leaned closer to me, smiling gleefully. “Because Leo has been mine from the very beginning, you know?” She looked at me, grinning. “What made you think he would save you? Or fall in love with you? It was all my doing, you see.” “I just wanted to watch you fall in love, then cut you off at the root, completely shattering your heart.” She deliberately winked. “How is it, my dear sister? Do you like the gift big sister sent you?” Countless sweet memories of Leo flashed through my mind. My head buzzed and then exploded. I resisted, my eyes wide with fury. “How could you do this to me?!” The bodyguards by my side held me firmly to the hospital bed, making it impossible to struggle. Ruby’s long, sharp fingernail traced my chin. Then she violently pressed it into the blister on my face. “Ah—!” Yellow pus splattered everywhere, choking my throat, sending a searing pain through me. I screamed, heartbroken, blood and tears mingling on my face. Ruby reveled in my agony, her smile growing even more defiant. I stared at her, then suddenly broke free and lunged. “Bang—” Leo, his face filled with savagery, kicked me away. My grotesque scars crawled all over my face; he paused for a moment, then spat viciously. “You reap what you sow!” Ruby clutched her lower abdomen, gasping. “Leo, my stomach hurts so much!” Leo strode forward, abruptly grabbing my throat. “Vivian Ruffalo, I’m warning you one last time. My wife will only be Ruby. If you dare to bully her again, I promise I’ll make your life a living hell.” He lit a cigar, and the thick, burning tip, as if to vent his anger, seared my tender facial flesh. It sizzled. I choked, clutching his hand, slowly sliding down as I covered my face. Leo paused, then tossed a tube of ointment at me. “Don’t play dead. This is excellent healing salve; it’ll prevent scarring.” “In three days, Ruby and I are getting married. You must be there.” “I want everyone to know that you are the one who wronged me!” Watching his retreating back as he carried Ruby away. I clenched my fists tightly, murmuring, “You two will regret this.” Three days later. At the wedding, everything proceeded in an orderly fashion. Leo scanned the room but didn’t find me. Ruby, in a pearl-white satin wedding gown, was incredibly beautiful, like a ripe, alluring pearl, exuding a tempting luster. Yet, Leo was unexpectedly distracted. He remembered the day they designed the wedding dress, and his mind was filled with images of me wearing it. “Leo?” Ruby called him several times before he snapped back to attention. For some reason, a vague unease settled in his heart; he simply attributed it to pre-wedding jitters. The ceremony continued. “Now, now the groom may kiss the bride.” The emcee’s words brought the atmosphere to a crescendo. The moment Leo leaned in, the entire venue plunged into sudden darkness. The next second, the big screen lit up. The scene showed two people entangled, naked. “Leo, when do you think that idiot Vivian will find out that we’ve been hooking up for ages?”

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1 To outsiders, I, Daniel Franco, seemed to have everything. In truth, kinship carried a cold price. My father calculated I owed the family $200,000 from birth. Now he holds my debit card, giving just $300 a month as “interest” payment. To pay off the debt sooner, before Christmas, I put on a simple knit sweater and set up a stall by the street, selling hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls. After all, warm drinks and sweets are most popular in winter, and I could earn a bit more. Unexpectedly, a passerby took a photo of me, and it went viral online. The hashtag #HottestCocoaGuy was surprisingly popular. In the photo, I was bending over to pack a cinnamon roll, my profile clean and sharp. The thermal pot beside me steamed, creating a striking contrast with the bustling street stall. My father called, furious: “You’re an embarrassment! Must you sell hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls on the street?” He added, “Look at your brother Brian—studying in Europe soon. Why are you so worthless?” That’s when I understood: this priced “kinship” was only for me, their biological son. I hung up and asked Woody, who was livestreaming nearby, “Big audience? I can help you trend again.” Then I said clearly, “My name is Franco. As in, Franco Industries.” The moment those words dropped, Woody almost dropped his phone. The chat feed froze for a second. Then, it absolutely exploded. “Holy crap? Franco Industries? The real estate and finance giant?” “Seriously? Doesn’t old man Franco only have one son? Is the eldest son slumming it for kicks?” “Scripted! Definitely scripted! He’s desperate for fame!” I ignored the comments, just calmly continued making hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls for the camera. I ignored the comments on the live stream and just calmly made hot cocoa and packed cinnamon rolls in front of the camera. Cocoa powder smeared on my face, steam rose from the thermal pot of hot cocoa, and the freshly baked cinnamon rolls gave off a sweet, warm aroma. #FrancoIndustriesHeirSellsCocoaToPayDebt My phone shrilly rang. The caller ID read “Mr. Vance Miller.” I answered, putting it directly on speaker. Woody, sharp as a tack, brought his phone closer. Vance’s voice sounded like it would rip through the speaker. “Daniel, have you lost your mind? Stop making a spectacle of yourself, delete that video immediately! Get your ass back here!” My hands didn’t stop. I packed two servings of hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls and handed them to a guy waiting in line. “Twenty bucks, thanks for your business.” Only then did I pick up the phone, addressing the mouthpiece and the millions of viewers in the live stream, and smiled. “Did everyone hear that? That’s my dearest father, Mr. Vance Miller.” “Dad, you say I’m an embarrassment because I’m selling hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls and shaming the Franco name.” “Or is it because letting people know you forced me to sign a two-hundred-thousand-dollar IOU is shaming you?” There was a two-second dead silence on the other end. Followed by an even wilder roar. “You ungrateful brat, what the hell are you babbling about! When did I ever make you sign an IOU?” I pulled a grease-stained ledger from my apron pocket. “Didn’t you personally hand me this ledger?” “Daniel, four years of college tuition, sixty thousand. Dorm fees, eight thousand. Living expenses, at two thousand a month.” “Plus all the money for your meals since you were a kid, thirty dollars a meal, a hundred a day.” “And rent for that tiny room you live in, let’s say three thousand a month.” “All in all, two hundred and three thousand, three hundred and sixty-five dollars. Dad will round it down for you, let’s call it two hundred thousand.” My voice was clear, every word distinct. “Dad, you said all this to me yourself, calculator in hand. I haven’t forgotten a single word.” “Now, I make ten bucks selling a serving of hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls. A hundred servings a day is a thousand. That’s thirty thousand a month.” “I wanted to ask the internet to help me figure out how many years it’ll take me to pay it all back if I don’t eat or drink.” “And how is me working hard to sell hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls and pay off a debt shaming the Franco name?” The live chat went absolutely bonkers, the viewership skyrocketing. Gift animations almost covered my face. On the other end of the line, Vance was too choked with rage to speak, only sharp, ragged breaths. At that moment, a cold, steady female voice took over the phone. It was my mother, Sally Franco. Her voice was devoid of any warmth. “Daniel, have you made enough of a scene?” “Stop this charade at once and come home.” I scoffed in return. “Is ‘home’ priced by the day or by the hour? Has the entrance fee gone up again?” Sally’s voice was barely controlled fury. “That was all to toughen you up! I’m giving you one last chance.” “Otherwise, I’ll freeze all your bank accounts and have the police take you in for disturbing public order.” I laughed out loud. “Chairwoman Franco, feel free to freeze them.” “It’ll be good for the whole country to see exactly how much money the eldest son of Franco Industries has in his accounts.” “Three hundred dollars.” “That’s the living allowance Mr. Vance Miller transferred to me last month.” “The kicker is, he gives me three hundred, but then expects me to pay him back another twenty-three hundred for ‘living expenses.’” Sally was completely enraged and angrily hung up. A moment later, the live stream feed on my screen suddenly went dark. Woody’s phone showed a violation pop-up. My phone rang at that exact moment. It was Sally again. I answered. Her voice was like it came from hell, chilling to the bone. “Daniel, the internet can’t save you.” “Now, it’s time for you to come home.” Two black luxury SUVs, like ghosts, pulled up in front of me. Several bodyguards in dark suits stepped out, their faces devoid of emotion, and walked towards me. No restraints, no gags. They simply made a “please” gesture, but I knew I had no choice but to comply. I was “escorted” back to that opulent mansion. What awaited me was neither a beating nor a verbal assault. Vance sat on the sofa, his eyes red-rimmed, looking like a victim of some terrible injustice. Sally stood beside him, her face grim. In the living room, an unfamiliar middle-aged woman sat, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, with a demure demeanor. I was locked in a small room, worse than the staff quarters. The next day, Franco Industries held an emergency press conference. Sally, before countless flashing cameras, spoke with feigned heartbreak. “My son, Daniel, has been suffering from extreme mental stress, leading to a bout of delusional disorder.” “All his statements online were ramblings from his illness. I deeply apologize for any distress this has caused.” “Going forward, we will have him suspend his studies and receive the best treatment at home.” That woman with the gold-rimmed glasses was the “best treatment.” She was Dr. Reeves, the family’s trusted psychologist. Every day, she would come to my room and “chat” with me. “Daniel, tell me, why do you think your mother demanded two hundred thousand from you?” “Do you feel she doesn’t love you?” I just hugged my knees, staring blankly out the window. Any rebuttal would be recorded, becoming evidence of my “worsening condition.” My adopted brother, Brian, perfectly played the role of the “kind angel.” He would bring in soup and pastries every day, asking after me with concern. “Brother, please don’t make trouble anymore, just cooperate with Dr. Reeves.” “Mom and Dad love you; they just want to help ‘cure’ you.” He placed a bowl of warm broth on my bedside table, his voice so soft it could melt butter. I looked up, my eyes vacant, at him. I took the bowl of broth. But as he turned to leave, I whispered, in a voice only we two could hear: “Cure? Yes, I’m sick.” “So sick I can’t even recognize my own biological parents.” “Brian, you’re so well-behaved and sensible, do you also ‘get sick’ often?” “Are you so beloved because your ‘illness’ was cured?” Brian’s body visibly stiffened. He whirled around to face me, and for the first time, there was terror in his eyes. I gave him a chilling smile. From that day on, I started “acting out.” I would scream in the middle of the night, claiming there were ghosts in the room. During meals, I’d put a plate on my head, declaring it was a crown. When Dr. Reeves was “treating” me, I’d suddenly hug her leg and call her “Mommy.” Their guard, under my apparent madness, slowly lowered. Vance’s gaze towards me shifted from anger to disgust and impatience. Sally simply stopped seeing me altogether. They thought they had won. They thought I had been completely broken. One night, I started “sleepwalking” again. Barefoot, in my white pajamas, I drifted out of my room like a ghost. The bodyguards and staff saw me, but simply turned their heads, accustomed to the sight. No one paid attention to a “madman’s” sleepwalking. I deftly avoided the surveillance cameras and made my way to Sally’s study on the second floor. I approached the massive mahogany bookshelf and, following a memory, twisted one of the decorative vases. The bookshelf silently slid open to the side, revealing a hidden safe compartment. The password was Brian’s birthday. I entered the code, and the compartment clicked open. Inside, there were no jewels or gold, only a brown paper envelope. I opened it. A DNA test report lay quietly within. Subjects: Sally Franco, Brian Franco. Conclusion: Biological mother-son relationship. Beneath the report, a stack of yellowed letters was tucked. They were letters from a man named Ethan Reeves to Sally. Every line overflowed with love, reluctance, and hopes for the future. I took both items. These were my chips to escape this prison. And the damning evidence to condemn them. I planned an escape. The time, route, and method were meticulously thought out. I knocked out the attendant who brought me meals, changed into his clothes, and walked boldly out of the mansion’s main gate. I even successfully made it to a main road and hailed a taxi. But just as I thought I had succeeded, those familiar black SUVs once again blocked my path. I was dragged back. My “failed” escape was the final straw, breaking Sally and Vance’s patience. They looked at me, their eyes devoid of any lingering pretense of warmth, only cold annoyance. Sally looked down at me. “It seems Dr. Reeves can’t cure your illness anymore.” “Daniel, you’re far too disobedient.” She made a call. Half an hour later, I was taken to a private sanatorium on the outskirts of the city. This place was less a sanatorium and more a prison. High walls, electric fences, and emotionless attendants. The director of the sanatorium, a portly woman, respectfully told Sally. “Ms. Franco, rest assured, we specialize in ‘curing’ rebellion here.” “We guarantee we’ll return a docile, obedient son to you in two weeks.” I was told my “condition” had worsened and required a more “efficient” treatment. They called this treatment “electrotherapy.” Two burly attendants dragged me into a stark white room. In the center of the room was only a cold metal chair, covered in leather restraints. They roughly shoved me into the chair, binding my hands, feet, and body with the straps. Vance watched me, restrained through the viewing glass, a look of vengeful satisfaction on his face. “Daniel, this is your last chance.” “Sign this ‘Voluntary Treatment Consent Form,’ and once you’re ‘cured,’ we can still acknowledge you as our son.” A paper and a pen were offered to me. I looked at him, my gaze sharp as a blade. I screamed: “Every word I said before was true.” “And you are the ones who are truly sick.” “Your illness is called ‘Moral Bankruptcy.’ And this disease, electroshock can’t cure.” Vance was utterly infuriated by me. He yelled at the doctor inside. “Look at him, does he look like a son? His condition has clearly worsened.” “Don’t let him babble, start the treatment!” A doctor in a white coat entered, holding two metal electrodes. He expressionlessly applied a cold conductive gel to my temples. Looking at him, I finally understood. They were no longer content with just silencing me. They wanted to use electricity to burn my memories, my will, my personality, into ashes. They wanted to destroy me with their own hands. The doctor picked up the electrodes and slowly brought them towards my temples. The cold metallic touch was clearly imprinted on my skin. I closed my eyes. That failed escape was real. But its purpose wasn’t to get out. In those few minutes when I knocked out the attendant and changed into his clothes, I went to the old oak tree in the mansion’s backyard. I dug open a tree hollow, wrapped the brown paper envelope in a waterproof bag, and hid it inside. The DNA report, Ethan Reeves’s letters, and a small voice recorder. The recorder held the entire conversation between Sally and Vance discussing how to send me to this electrotherapy center. They hadn’t decided to send me to the sanatorium because I tried to escape. This was a pre-planned treatment. During my escape. I used a pre-arranged phone to send a timed text message to a journalist known for fighting for justice, who had been following my case. The message was simple: “If I disappear for more than 24 hours, please call the police and tell them to look for the truth under the old oak tree in the backyard of the Franco mansion.” Now, twenty-three hours had passed since that message was sent. … “Zzzzzzzzzz—” An indescribable pain. It was as if countless burning hot steel needles were piercing through my brain. My body convulsed violently in the chair, arching backward uncontrollably. My teeth bit down hard on the mouth guard, making a “clack-clack” sound. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I could feel my consciousness being torn to shreds by this brutal force. The first electroshock ended. I was utterly limp, like a rag doll, my clothes soaked with sweat. My vision blurred. I saw Vance’s face through the viewing window, a satisfied smile plastered on it. Sally just watched impassively, as if observing a play that had nothing to do with her. The doctor checked the equipment, preparing for the second electroshock. I knew I was running out of time. I used every last ounce of my strength, lifted my head, and stared intensely at the surveillance camera in the corner. I knew they were watching. My voice was hoarse and broken, almost inaudible. “Tell… Sally…” “I found… what he hid in the study’s secret compartment…” “Uncle Ethan’s… Ethan Reeves’s letters…” “I’ve already… called the police…” These words, like an detonated bomb.

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When my first love, Costa, showed up at my door soaking wet and blind in one eye, I suddenly understood why Louis had brought his childhood friend Amanda—who had heart problems—into our home to take care of her. The destructive power of a first love really isn’t something to underestimate. I immediately felt sorry for him and let Costa stay in the villa. After all these years, he’d become frail and melancholic. I had no choice but to comfort him, care for him, devote all my attention to him—I even forgot to compete with Amanda for Louis’s affection, forgot to fight with him. But Louis lost it. Eyes red, he demanded, “Miranda, I’m your husband. Why are you always taking Costa’s side?” The next time I saw Costa, it was pouring rain outside. I leaned against the eaves by the villa entrance, staring at the pitch-black sky, my heart full of despair. Amanda said she’d never seen the ocean, so Louis forgot our anniversary, dropped all his work, and took her to the Maldives. This wasn’t the first time. Ever since Amanda came back from abroad, everything about her came before me. When we ate, we had to order her favorite dishes. When we went out, we had to go where she wanted to go. I kept telling myself that Amanda had heart problems, that she was pitiful, that I should be accommodating. Until Louis’s birthday, when I put on the sexy red dress he loved most and straddled his lap. Louis’s breathing instantly became ragged as he pinned me down roughly. Just then, a special ringtone sounded. I knew it—that was the ringtone Louis had set specifically for Amanda. How I wished he would ignore it, be consumed by desire for me. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as I hoped. The ringtone only rang for three seconds before the lust in his eyes completely vanished. After answering the call and saying just a couple sentences, he grabbed his jacket and rushed out the door. Leaving me alone, disheveled on the couch. Even then I was still consoling myself—what if something really had happened to Amanda? After all, her health really was poor. It took me a long time to calm myself down. But as soon as I opened my phone, I saw the Twitter post Amanda had just made. In the photo was a shabby-looking cake with crooked English letters and a crudely drawn design. My gaze was instantly drawn to a finger accidentally visible in the corner of the photo. On that finger was the same wedding ring as mine. It was Louis. I instinctively wanted to make excuses for them, but Amanda’s caption left my mind blank. She wrote: [The knight didn’t break his oath and will always protect the princess, but this time the princess wasn’t hurt—instead, she prepared a little surprise for the knight. The princess made this cake with her own hands! Happy birthday, my most loyal knight~] So nothing had happened to her at all. My heart felt like it had been split open, bloody and raw. The pain made my eyes well up with tears. I curled into a ball, trembling uncontrollably. The next day at noon, I had a huge fight with Louis when he got back from Amanda’s place. This fight didn’t end well—Louis brought Amanda directly into our home. Of course I didn’t agree. I hysterically told her to get out of our house. Amanda had a heart attack on the spot and was rushed to the hospital. After that, my life seemed to fall into a loop. Starting with fighting with Louis, ending with Amanda in the hospital, over and over again. Now, all I had left was exhaustion. Even with all the lights in the house turned on, I couldn’t feel any warmth—only loneliness. Just then, I looked up as if sensing something, and met a pair of eyes both familiar and strange.

It was Costa. He stood under a streetlight not far away, looking very different. He’d gotten thinner, no longer had that reckless arrogance, and his slightly long hair covered one eye. He wasn’t holding an umbrella. Rain had soaked through his white shirt, making him look miserable and pitiful. Suddenly, he trembled, as if realizing I was watching him, and immediately turned to leave. But something seemed wrong with his body. After just two steps, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. I instantly forgot my sadness and rushed into the rain to help him up. “Costa, are you okay?” By the dim light of the streetlamp, I finally got a clear look at Costa’s face and asked in surprise, “What happened to your eye?” One of Costa’s eyes had turned completely gray, cloudy and dull, with no light in it at all. He turned his head away, hiding his entire face in shadow, and said in a trembling voice, “This eye… can’t see…” My heart ached terribly. He was my first love from my youth—I never imagined he’d end up like this. I helped him into the house and handed him a clean towel. “Go take a hot shower quick, don’t catch a cold!” Costa nodded silently, head down, unbuttoning his shirt. I quickly turned around. “You wash up first, I’ll get you some clean clothes.” I hurried to the walk-in closet and grabbed one of Louis’s pajama sets, only to find Costa still standing at the bathroom door, his fingers clumsily struggling with the buttons. Seeing my confused look, Costa lowered his head awkwardly. “After I went blind in this eye, my coordination got messed up. The doctor said I have sensory integration disorder…” As he spoke, he shivered, his lips losing their color and turning pale. I immediately lost all rational thought, put down the clothes and rushed over. “It’s okay, I’ll help you!” Costa stood still obediently, watching me undo his buttons one by one. My fingers accidentally brushed against his ice-cold skin. He trembled slightly, then his ears turned bright red. He suddenly grabbed my hand and said quietly, “I… I can do it myself…” I also belatedly felt embarrassed and was about to let go when I heard an angry shout from the doorway. “Miranda, what are you doing?!” I turned around to find Louis standing in the doorway, his shoulders more than half soaked. I couldn’t help frowning. “Why did you come back?” “If I didn’t come back, should I wait for you to sleep with another man?” Louis’s face was full of anger, but I just found it absurd. “Louis, watch your mouth. Costa is an old friend of mine. There’s nothing going on between us!” “Nothing? I saw you undressing him with my own eyes. Where’s the nothing?” “Are you done? I already told you…” Just as I was about to start arguing with Louis, Costa grabbed my hand. “Miranda, it’s all my fault. Please don’t fight with Louis because of me.” After saying this, he bowed to Louis. “Louis, don’t misunderstand Miranda. I’m not well, she was just helping me. Today I only wanted to see Miranda one time. Now that I have, I’ll leave. I won’t disturb you two.” His voice was trembling as he spoke. I immediately softened, grabbing his hand. “Costa, ignore him. You stay here for the next few days. I’ll take good care of you.” “Miranda, are you crazy? Who brings a member of the opposite sex into their home to take care of?” Just as Louis finished speaking, a soft voice came from behind him. “Louis, are you fighting with Miranda because of me again?”

Louis’s expression froze. He couldn’t speak for a long time. Seeing that he didn’t respond, Amanda stepped forward. When she saw Costa, she also froze for a moment. But the next second, her eyes turned red, and she said to me almost pleadingly, “It’s all my fault, Miranda. I shouldn’t have said I’d never seen the ocean. Then Louis wouldn’t have abandoned you to take me to the Maldives.” “Luckily it rained heavily today and the plane couldn’t take off. Tonight, let Louis stay with you. I’ll leave right now.” Louis immediately looked distressed. “Amanda, you don’t need to leave. This is your home. You can stay as long as you want!” Normally, I would start fighting with Louis again, demanding to know why he could make decisions about a house that was half mine. But now, I immediately nodded in agreement. “That’s right, Costa, same for you. This is your home. Stay as long as you want. Don’t worry about what anyone else says.” Louis looked at me in disbelief. “Miranda, are you calling me ‘anyone else’? Have you forgotten I’m your husband?” Hearing this, before I could react, Amanda clutched her chest and said softly, “Louis, it hurts.” Louis immediately forgot everything and carried Amanda back to her room. I also breathed a sigh of relief and quickly ushered Costa off to shower. Then I found Louis’s most expensive silk four-piece bedding set and made up the guest room. After getting everything ready, I ran back to wait outside the bathroom door. Costa had sensory integration disorder—I was worried he might have difficulty with something. While waiting, I happened to run into Louis coming downstairs to get medicine for Amanda. He looked at me with a cold laugh. “Miranda, you don’t need to play nanny to another man just to spite me.” I was about to curse him for his audacity when I heard the bathroom door open. Louis’s eyes widened instantly, his voice rising in disbelief. “Miranda, you actually gave this man my pajamas to wear!” Costa, fresh from his shower, immediately looked flustered, pressing his lips together. “Miranda, I didn’t know these were Louis’s clothes. I’ll go change back right now.” I quickly grabbed him. “Change what? Your clothes are soaking wet. Just wear these.” Then I turned to scold Louis. “Can you not be so petty? You can’t spare a single outfit?” Louis’s chest heaved up and down with anger. “Is this about the clothes? Miranda, do you remember who the man of this house is?” Just then, Amanda suddenly emerged from her room. “Louis, what’s going on? Why is it taking you so long to get the medicine?” She was wearing my matching couple’s pajamas with Louis, on her hand was the bracelet Louis gave me for my birthday, and in her hair was the Miu Miu clip I’d bought last week. Louis fell uncharacteristically silent. He put the medicine in Amanda’s hand, and when she tried to make him stay, he said, “You rest first. I still have something to do.” Then he grabbed my arm and dragged me into the bedroom. He clearly had something to say, but I didn’t want to hear it. I kicked him away and walked out. Only after I’d completely settled Costa in did I return to the bedroom. Louis had been waiting for me for a long time. He sat by the window, surrounded by smoke, the ashtray in front of him full of cigarette butts. I frowned as I walked over and pushed the window open. “All you do is smoke. Can’t you learn from Costa? He never smokes!” Louis nearly choked, coughing for a long time before recovering, saying through gritted teeth, “Miranda, is there nothing else you can talk about besides Costa?” “No. Just like there’s nothing you can talk to me about besides Amanda.” Hearing me mention Amanda’s name, Louis’s expression became impatient again. He was about to say I was being petty when he turned and saw the anniversary cake sitting on the table. Lonely and forgotten. Only then did he suddenly remember that today was our five-year wedding anniversary. Louis’s tone softened abruptly. “Miranda, I’m sorry. I forgot today was our anniversary. I’ll make it up to you.” “I’ve already scheduled Amanda’s heart surgery. After she recovers, I’ll send her away, okay?” When Louis turned gentle, his eyes were like a deep pool that could drown a person. I almost agreed. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and Costa’s voice came through.

“Miranda, are you asleep?” I completely ignored Louis’s face turning black and rushed to open the door. “Not yet. What’s wrong?” Costa’s eyelashes lowered, his fingers clutching the hem of his clothes tightly, looking very anxious. “Miranda, I… after I lost my sight, I developed anxiety disorder. I’m a little scared. I can’t sleep…” How could there be such a pitiful person in this world! My heart ached unbearably. I grabbed Costa’s hand and coaxed him softly. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll stay with you. I’ll leave after you fall asleep.” I helped him back to his room, but Louis panicked and blocked our way, demanding, “Miranda, how can you go sleep with another man? I’m your husband!” Costa didn’t say anything, just turned red-eyed, and the scales in my heart completely tipped in his favor. I shielded him behind me and glared at Louis. “Louis, can you have some perspective? Can’t you see Costa’s not well? What’s wrong with accommodating him?” Our argument was probably too loud and disturbed Amanda. She stood in the doorway holding a stuffed rabbit, looking somewhat panicked at Louis. “Louis, I just had a terrible nightmare and I’m having trouble breathing. Can you stay with me? Just for a little while.” Louis fell silent again. Ever since Amanda moved into the house, Louis had been keeping her company almost every night. After a long while, Louis finally spoke. “Amanda, we’re not kids anymore. It’s not appropriate for me to stay with you. If you’re scared, just sleep with the lights on.” Amanda’s face went deathly pale, tears instantly filling her eyes, but she nodded obediently. But I knew she wouldn’t give up that easily. Sure enough, she’d barely been in her room before there was a loud crash. Louis immediately kicked the door open and found Amanda collapsed weakly on the floor. He couldn’t care about me and Costa anymore and rushed Amanda to the hospital. I didn’t bother with him and took Costa back to the room. As he’d said, his anxiety disorder was really severe. He kept waking up with a start, only settling back to sleep after confirming I was still beside him. I stayed with Costa all night, while Louis stayed with Amanda all night. When he dragged his exhausted body home, he discovered that Costa and I were already gone. Costa said he wanted to see the stars, so I took time off to bring him to Hawaii. When we came back, Louis and I both had work, plus he had to take care of Amanda and I had to take care of Costa. We incredibly didn’t see each other even once. After coming home for the thirty-seventh time without finding me there, Louis finally couldn’t take it anymore. He had someone investigate all of Costa’s background. The moment he looked at the file, he couldn’t help cursing. “Fuck, he’s three years older than me. How dare he call me ‘brother’?” After cursing for a good while, Louis continued reading. The further he read, the more serious his expression became. Halfway through, he canceled all his work and drove home. I was at work, Amanda was at the hospital—only Costa was home alone. Louis didn’t alert anyone. He quietly pushed open the door. His eyes widened in shock. Costa was actually…

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Professor Robert complained that I never spoke up in class, unlike Bella from the other group who was so charming and well-liked. To force me, he set a rule: every group meeting presentation had to exceed eighty decibels, or he wouldn’t sign off on my thesis. At the first group meeting, I read my report loudly. He complained my voice was shaking and gave my data to Bella. At the second group meeting, I ate throat lozenges beforehand. I raised my voice to debate with Bella and even slammed the table. After finally outshining Bella, Robert threw my paper in the trash. “No manners at all, like a shrew,” he said coldly, looking at me. “Delayed graduation by one year. Go reflect on yourself.” I survived by applying phone screen protectors under the overpass to make a living. At the third group meeting, I said nothing. I just played a silent surveillance video on the projector. The room fell completely silent, because the footage showed Robert and Bella having sex. “Turn it off.” Robert’s voice was quieter than the hum of the air conditioner. Nobody moved. On the projection screen, he had Bella pressed against the office desk edge, his right hand reaching under her lab coat. Bella’s neck was tilted back, her mouth half open as if panting, but the footage had no sound. Twelve people sat in the meeting room, twelve pairs of eyes fixed on the screen. “I said, turn it off.” His leather shoes hit the floor, one step at a time, slow and steady. I didn’t move. He walked to the projector and unplugged the data cable. My senior Wood kept his head down. My senior Sophie was looking at her phone. Bella sat in the first row, her fingers twisting her skirt hem. Robert turned around. “AI-generated,” he said. “You all should be able to tell.” Nobody responded. He looked at me. “Fiona, where did you get this?” “Library Building B corridor surveillance, October 17th, 9:13 PM.” “Who authorized you to access surveillance footage?” I didn’t answer. He smiled. “Unauthorized access, fabricating videos, publicly showing them in an academic setting,” he said. “Fiona, that’s called defamation.” He took out his phone and dialed in front of everyone. “Yusuf? A student played an AI-generated pornographic video at a group meeting, defaming a faculty member.” Bella started crying then. “Robert,” she said, “if this video gets out, how can I show my face again?” “Don’t worry.” Robert patted her shoulder. “Fake things can’t stand up to investigation.” Two security guards arrived. Robert pointed at the items on my desk: “Take the USB drive and laptop. They’re evidence.” “Those are mine.” “These are your tools of crime.” He pocketed the USB drive. The guard came over and reached for my laptop. I took one last look at those students with their heads down. “Wood.” His shoulders twitched, but he didn’t look up. “Sophie.” She pretended to organize her notes. The guard tugged my arm: “Student, let’s go.” I stood up. As I reached the door, Bella’s voice drifted over. “Fiona, I don’t know why you hate me so much. But doing this only hurts yourself.” I looked back at her, then left. First floor of the administration building, an office without windows. The guard told me to sit and wait. I waited four hours. I went to the bathroom once—the female guard followed me in. At eleven PM, the door opened. A man sat down, his badge reading “Student Affairs Yusuf.” He opened a folder. “Fiona, do you understand what your actions today mean?” “What do they mean?” “Illegally obtaining surveillance footage, publicly showing a suspected fabricated indecent video, defaming your advisor. Any one of these is enough for disciplinary action.” “That video is real.” “The technical department has completed a preliminary assessment.” He flipped through the file. “Conclusion: shows signs of AI synthesis, deep fake cannot be ruled out.” “They finished the assessment in ten hours?” “Professional team. High efficiency.” I stared at him: “Have you personally watched that video?” He didn’t engage. “Sign a statement.” He pushed a paper toward me. “Admit to an operational error, that you played the wrong file. The school will handle it leniently—a reprimand on record, but not in your permanent file.” I looked down at the paper. The main text was already typed out for me—admitting that due to emotional distress, I mistakenly played an AI-generated video at the group meeting, causing damage to Professor Robert’s and Bella’s reputations, and expressing deep apology. A blank space at the bottom awaited my signature. “What if I don’t sign?” “We’ll go through formal procedures. The Academic Committee will get involved. As for the outcome—I can’t control that.” I stood up and walked to the door. “Fiona.” He called out to me, seeming to hesitate. “Do you have any other backups?”

“After investigation, graduate student Fiona, during the group meeting on October 23, 2024, obtained campus surveillance footage without authorization and publicly displayed a suspected AI-fabricated indecent video in an academic setting, severely damaging the reputations of Professor Robert and Bella—effective immediately, her enrollment is suspended pending further action.” The hearing lasted less than forty minutes. I sat at one end of the long table, facing five people—two department administrators, two Academic Committee professors, plus Yusuf. Robert didn’t come. Bella did. “Starting in September, Fiona kept sending me Twitter messages.” Her voice was small. “At first it was just about the research project, but later it got more and more…” She handed her phone to Yusuf. On the screen, a string of chat messages: “Why did you take my data?” “Do you think Robert really values you?” “I have dirt on you. You’d better know your place.” “I never sent those.” “The records are all here.” Yusuf passed the phone to the committee for review. “Chat records can be faked.” “You also said the surveillance was real.” Bella lowered her head to wipe tears. “But the technical assessment says it’s fake.” Dean Fisher, sitting in the middle, took off his glasses. “Fiona, I understand you have grievances with Robert, but no matter how big the grievances, you shouldn’t use this method. Professor Robert is a specially-appointed backbone of the department. His academic reputation relates to the development of the entire discipline.” “So whatever he did doesn’t matter?” “If you have concerns, you can report them through proper channels.” He put his glasses back on. “Rather than using this… extreme method.” After the hearing ended, Yusuf handed over a stack of documents. Enrollment suspended. Lab access revoked. Email frozen. Move out of dorms within three days. “What about my experimental data? The stuff on the server.” “Research outputs produced using lab resources belong to the project team. Your access has been terminated.” “I did that work.” “We go by the rules.” I went back to the dorm to pack. When I was moving the last load, Sophie was leaning against the hallway wall. “Robert held a group meeting after you left.” She said quietly. “He made us sign a joint statement—everyone present confirmed unanimously that when the video played, the image was blurry and the content was unidentifiable.” “Did you sign?” She wouldn’t look at me. “Everyone signed.” I carried my suitcase out. “Fiona.” She called from behind. “Yeah.” “Why didn’t you sign that statement? If you’d signed, at least you could have stayed.” “Because it was real.” She was silent for a few seconds. “But nobody cares whether it’s real or not.” That night I dragged my luggage to the underpass. The screen protector stall was still there, the folding table and plastic stools stacked in the corner. I set them up and arranged my tools. My phone lit up. Mom’s number. “Fiona, the school called home. Are you causing trouble at school?” “It’s not causing trouble—” “They said you defamed a teacher! Are you crazy? That’s your advisor!” “Mom, just listen to me first—” “You talk! Your father and I supported you through graduate school, and this is how you repay us?” “That Robert, he—” “What Robert! If your teacher has issues with you, just improve! You pick fights with people! What if you get expelled? How will we show our faces?” “I haven’t been expelled.” “The way you’re going, it’s only a matter of time! Apologize to your teacher right now, you hear? Apologize, write a self-criticism, whatever—just settle this!” “Mom, in that video—” “I don’t care about any video! Apologize!” The call ended. I crouched under the overpass, watching the car lights stretch into long streaks of light on the road surface. My first customer was a middle-aged man wearing a safety helmet. His phone screen had a crack. “How much for a screen protector?” “Ten bucks.” “Cheap. I’ll take one.”

“That semantic segmentation paper of yours—Robert published it.” Wood sent a Twitter message with a link attached. I clicked it. “Research on Semantic Segmentation Algorithms Based on Multimodal Feature Fusion.” First author: Bella. Second author: Robert. Corresponding author: Robert. My name wasn’t on it. My phone vibrated again. Wood’s message: “What are you going to do?” I didn’t reply. After applying the protector, I collected ten dollars. That evening I opened the school’s Academic Integrity Committee reporting portal, attached all my original code records and local version logs, and spent two hours writing a complete report. Three days later, an auto-reply: Your report has been received and will be forwarded to the relevant department for processing. Five more days passed. No news. I called the Academic Integrity Committee. “Case number JB20241028-007.” “Please hold—this case has been transferred to the department for handling.” “Which department?” “Your department. School of Information Engineering. The department Academic Committee is responsible.” Academic Committee Chair: Fisher. I closed the webpage. After nine PM, business slowed down. Bella appeared in front of me: “Long time no see. You here to get a screen protector?” She smiled slightly, took an envelope from her bag and placed it on the folding table. “Robert asked me to deliver this.” A settlement agreement. Party A: Robert. Party B: Fiona. Content: Party B admits to playing an AI-generated fake video due to emotional distress, causing serious reputational damage to Party A and Bella. Party B voluntarily withdraws all complaints and will apologize publicly. Compensation: Party A will pay Party B $50,000 in emotional distress compensation and assist in connecting with advisors at other schools. “Fifty thousand?” “Not bad.” She tilted her head. “How much do you make applying screen protectors in a day? A hundred? Two hundred? Fifty thousand is enough for half a year’s work.” “You’re listed as first author.” She blinked. “Project team results—Robert has the right to assign authorship.” “I wrote the code. I ran the data.” “You used the project team’s resources. The output belongs to the project team.” She stood up and brushed dust off her knees. “You don’t have enrollment status anymore. Even if your name were on the paper, what use would it be to you?” She pulled out her phone from her bag, found a photo and held it in front of me. A lawyer’s letter. “Pursue criminal liability” was written clearly. “Fiona, what have you gained from all this fighting?” She bent down, her voice as soft as if comforting someone. “Disciplinary action, suspension, sleeping under an overpass. What’s the point?” I looked at her face. “What’s the point for you?” Her smile froze for a moment. “You and him—what did you get? Authorship? Publication opportunities? Something else?” “You—” “You know you’re not the first, right.” This was a bluff. But her pupils contracted slightly, clearly visible under the streetlight. Her lips moved, but she finally retracted all expression. “Sign within three days, or the lawyer’s letter goes to your family.” Her high heels clicked away. I folded the agreement and stuffed it in the bottom of my toolbox. My phone lit up. An unsaved number. “Are you the one who played surveillance footage at a group meeting?” “Who are you?” The other side typed for a long time. “My name is Chloe. Five years ago, Robert was my advisor too.”

“I shouldn’t have come to find you.” Chloe sat on the plastic stool, holding a cup of Coke without drinking. Short hair, a gray hoodie washed until faded, six or seven years older than me. “How did you find me?” “It spread on the school forum. The posts got deleted several times, but screenshots are still circulating. Someone posted your screen protector location in the comments.” “Why did you come?” “Because when I saw your name—I just knew.” She finally took a sip of Coke. “Exactly like what happened to me.” “Exactly like what?” “That video is real, isn’t it?” I didn’t say anything. “You don’t need to answer.” She smiled bitterly. “Five years ago he did the same thing to me. I was in my third year of grad school, halfway through my thesis, when he brought in a female student. Very obedient, very compliant. Later my data was given to her. I went to confront him, and he said I wasn’t capable enough.” “Then what?” “Delayed graduation for two years. The second year he made me switch to an unpopular research direction nobody wanted, starting from scratch. I couldn’t hold out anymore. I dropped out.” “Did you report him?” “Went through all the school channels—nothing. Wrote to the Department of Education—not even a response.” “Why?” “No evidence.” She put down the cup. “No surveillance, no recordings, just empty words.” I pulled out my phone and checked the cloud drive. The folder was empty. The operation log showed—last Friday at 3:17 AM, someone logged into my account remotely and deleted all backups. The login device was a desktop computer. The lab computer. “They’ve blocked all your escape routes.” Chloe’s voice was soft. “Why did you come find me?” “Because I’ve regretted it for five years.” She said. “If someone had stood with me back then, maybe the outcome would have been different.” She stood up and placed the unfinished Coke on the table. “If you still want to fight this battle, contact me anytime.” She left. Traffic on the overpass gradually thinned. I sat on the stool and started packing up my tools. I found an old phone at the very bottom of the toolbox. A beam of headlights swept over. A black Ford stopped across the street, engine still running. The driver’s window rolled down. He got out, crossed the street, and asked me: “How’s business?” “How did you know I was here?” “One of your customers is my student.” He sat with his legs crossed. “That thing Bella gave you—did you sign it?” “No.” “Fiona, I’ve taught for twenty years. Smart students take the money and leave. The not-so-smart ones—” His gaze swept over the old phone by my hand. “You be careful.” He stood up and brushed off his pants. “The lawyer’s letter goes out the day after tomorrow. Defamation charge plus civil compensation—guess the amount?” He bent down, his face coming close, the streetlight casting his shadow over me from behind. Then he drove away. I looked down at the old phone. Found Chloe’s number and sent a message. “You said you regretted it for five years. If you could do it over, would you dare?” Two minutes later she replied. “You have a plan?” “I do.”

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“Sasha, just sign it.” A termination notice was pushed in front of me by a greasy hand. I didn’t move. My gaze traveled past my boss, Richard Wade, and landed on the sofa across from me. The new intern, Lily Clarke, was burying her face deep into Ethan Miller’s chest, her shoulders shaking violently as she sobbed like she was about to pass out. “Ethan, this is all my fault… I shouldn’t have touched that contract. Now I’ve ruined Sasha. How can I ever make it up to her…” Ethan Miller, my boyfriend of five years. At this moment, he was patting Lily’s back with a tenderness I’d never seen before. Then he raised his head. The look he gave me instantly turned to ice, filled with condescending reproach. “Sasha, stop making a scene. Lily didn’t mean it. She’s only twenty-two, fresh out of college and doesn’t know anything yet. You’ve been in this position for five years. What’s wrong with taking some responsibility for her?” Richard was tapping the table impatiently. “The company has invested so much in you over the years. Now that there’s been a ten-million-dollar mistake, having you resign voluntarily is already saving you face. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Her father is Mr. Clarke from Skyhigh Group. Our company’s second-round funding depends on him.” Ethan lowered his voice to a volume only the three of us could hear. “You’re just taking the fall. It’s not like you’re losing anything. Don’t ruin Lily’s bright future.” I looked at this absurd scene unfolding before me and suddenly laughed. Laughed until tears nearly came. The images from my past life cut through my mind like rusted blades.

The same words, the same scene. Back then, I had cried and screamed like a madwoman, swearing the contract wasn’t lost by me, that it was Lily who had taken it upon herself to make copies and then it disappeared. I begged Richard to check the security footage. The cameras were “conveniently” broken. I grabbed Ethan’s hand and begged him to believe me. He yanked his hand away and publicly accused me of shirking responsibility and having poor character in front of the entire company. Together they forced me to take the fall for that ten-million-dollar disaster. Then Richard used his connections to blacklist me across the entire industry. Buried under massive debt with nowhere to turn, I jumped from the rooftop of a twenty-eight-story building on a rainy night. The dull thud of my body hitting the concrete, the excruciating pain of shattered bones—I still remember it all clearly. And them? They rode the “angel round” investment that Lily secured by selling out our company’s bottom-line pricing to competitors, stepped over my corpse to a glorious IPO, and became an industry legend. Ethan even became the golden son-in-law of Skyhigh Group. Now, heaven had brought me back to this very moment of signing. “Sasha…” Lily peeked out from Ethan’s embrace, looking at me with tearful eyes. But deep in those eyes flashed an extremely subtle provocation. “Will you forgive me?” I withdrew my smile. My gaze turned cold, as if I were looking at three corpses. “Sure.” I picked up the Montblanc pen from the table and removed the cap. Ethan froze for a moment, apparently not expecting me to be so agreeable today. A hint of relief flashed in his eyes. “Sasha, I knew you were reasonable. Don’t worry, once this blows over, I’ll…” Two swift strokes. I signed “Sasha Clarke” on the termination notice with sharp, forceful strokes that nearly tore through the paper. Lily’s crying stopped abruptly. Her eyes widened in shock. I threw the signed notice in Richard’s face. The sharp edge of the paper left a red mark on his fat cheek. “What are you doing!” Richard clutched his face and roared. Ignoring him, I unzipped my Hermès bag, pulled out another document I’d prepared, and slammed it on the table. “Read it carefully. This is my resignation letter.” I braced my hands on the table, looking down at these three scheming people, enunciating each word. “You don’t need to fire me. I quit. And I’ll take this fall.” With that, I turned toward the conference room door. “Sasha! What kind of attitude is this!” Richard bellowed furiously behind me. “Do you still want your separation certificate and industry references? Believe me, I can make sure you never work in this field again!” I gripped the door handle, not looking back, coldly tossing out. “Save it for your own epitaph.”

Pushing open the conference room door, I collided face-first with a solid chest. A faint scent of oud mixed with tobacco instantly invaded my nostrils. I stepped back half a step and looked up. The man wore an impeccably tailored black custom suit, tall and straight with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. One hand was tucked in his pocket, the other playing with a pure black Zippo lighter. His features were sharp and striking, his jawline cutting like a blade, and a pair of dark eyes were watching me with an ambiguous smile. Jackson Cross. The youngest capital shark in the elite circles, head of Daybreak Capital. Also the top-tier investor Richard had been groveling to like a dog lately, trying to court. And the client on the other side of that “lost” ten-million-dollar contract. “Miss Clarke, quite the temper.” Jackson’s thin lips parted slightly. He’d obviously been standing outside the door listening to everything. I looked directly into his eyes without any trace of retreat. “Mr. Cross, have you enjoyed the show? If not, there are still three clowns performing inside.” Jackson raised an eyebrow. The lighter spun once around his fingertips and snapped shut. “Do you know that the mess you just took the fall for involves my project?” He stepped closer, his imposing height forcing me to tilt my head back slightly. “I know.” I met his gaze without flinching, my eyes sharp and aggressive. “So let me warn you now, Mr. Cross—this company is rotten to the core. Your money won’t even make a splash here.” Jackson laughed softly, his chest vibrating. He leaned down close to my ear, warm breath brushing my earlobe. “Oh? What about investing in you?” “Guaranteed profit.” I answered without hesitation. He straightened up, gave me a long look, then drew a gold-embossed black business card from his inner suit pocket, holding it between his slender fingers and extending it toward me. “I’ll be watching.” I took the card, my fingertips deliberately brushing across the back of his hand. His eyes darkened, but I had already turned away, walking toward the office area in my four-inch heels without looking back. Behind me, the conference room door opened. Richard’s obsequious voice came through. “Oh, Mr. Cross! You came personally! Please, come in, come in…” I sneered and returned to my private office. According to labor law, I had three days for the transition. In my past life, I spent those three days with swollen eyes from crying, begging everyone I could find to prove my innocence, pathetic as a homeless dog. This life, these three days would be enough for me to strip this company to the bone.

I locked my office door and opened my computer, logging into a private cloud drive with triple encryption. Inside was everything I’d fought for with my life over five years—all core client information, contact details, personal preferences, and the underlying logic and profit margins of every project. I picked up my phone and dialed the first number. “Mr. Lewis, it’s me, Sasha.” A hearty laugh came from the other end. “Sasha! What’s up? Did that Phase Two project pan out?” “Mr. Lewis, I’ve left my old company.” My tone was calm. “What?!” Mr. Lewis was shocked. “Has Richard lost his mind? You’re his cash cow!” “Difference of vision, that’s all. I’m going out on my own. The company’s already registered—it’s called Stellar Tech.” I got to the point. “That project you’re working on, the previous proposal actually had a critical flaw. I’ve redone the entire framework. It’ll boost your product performance by twenty percent, and I’ll give you two more profit points. What do you say…” “Sasha, listen to me.” Mr. Lewis interrupted, his tone serious. “In business, I’ve never cared about company names. I care about people—and I trust you, Sasha Clarke! If you’re going independent, I’m absolutely on board! I’ll have my people stop the contract immediately and transfer it directly to your new company!” “Thank you, Mr. Lewis.” Hanging up, I didn’t pause before dialing the next number. “Mr. Johnson, your wife’s birthday is coming up, right? I remember she loves that brand’s limited edition haute couture. I had a friend in Paris secure one. I’ll have it sent to your home tomorrow. And while I’m there, shall we discuss working with my new company?” “Mr. Collins, I have a new solution for that technical problem you’ve been stuck on…” All morning, I didn’t even drink water. My phone grew hot from continuous use. The client trust I’d built over five years through countless all-nighters, countless drinking sessions that left me with stomach bleeding—it couldn’t be easily destroyed by some intern who got in through connections, a scumbag boyfriend who only knew how to make empty promises, and a bloated, stupid boss. By noon, eighty percent of the company’s core clients—the ones generating the revenue—had all verbally agreed to transfer their contracts to my new company. First step of pulling the rug out from under them: complete. At two PM, I pushed open the door to the tech department.

The tech department was chaotic, keyboard clicks thundering. Tech Director Sam Johnson was sporting massive dark circles, cursing at his screen. “What kind of garbage code is this?! Does that new girl Lily have rocks in her head? Creating a deadlock in a simple loop! I stayed up all night rescuing the servers!” Seeing me enter, Sam quickly stubbed out his cigarette. “Sasha, what brings you here? I heard Richard gave you trouble this morning?” I walked to the meeting room and knocked on the glass door. “Everyone, stop what you’re doing. Meeting room, now.” A dozen core team members exchanged glances, then set down their keyboards and filed in. I closed the door and pulled down the blinds, blocking outside view. “I’m leaving.” Straight to the point, no preamble. The meeting room exploded. “Sasha, what happened?!” Sam jumped up in agitation. “Is this about that ten-million-dollar contract? I heard it was that little snake Lily who lost it. Why should you take the fall!” “Exactly! Is Richard blind? We only recognize you as our project director!” “Sasha, what are we supposed to do without you? Who’s going to shield us from those idiotic client demands?” Watching these pure tech geeks, warmth flooded my heart. In my past life, Sam was the only one who brought flowers to my grave and got fired for publicly cursing out Richard at the company. I raised my hand, signaling them to quiet down. “I’m not here to listen to complaints or to whine.” I pulled out a stack of printed documents from my bag and pushed them to the center of the table. “This is the equity distribution plan for my new company. It’s called Stellar Tech. I hold fifty-one percent. Of the remaining forty-nine percent, I’m allocating thirty percent as an option pool for the founding technical team.” I looked Sam in the eye. “Sam, you’ll be Technical Director with ten percent equity. Everyone else gets shares based on level and contribution.” The air seemed to freeze. Everyone’s eyes widened. Even their breathing grew quiet. For employees, empty promises were commonplace, but real equity incentives—especially such a large percentage of actual shares—was an absolutely irresistible temptation. Sam swallowed hard, his voice trembling slightly. “Sasha… are you serious?” “When have I ever joked about money?” I braced my hands on the table, my gaze sweeping across each young face, my voice steady and seductive. “Follow me. I can’t promise you’ll be driving Ferraris tomorrow. But I promise that every line of code you write won’t be wasted. Your talent will receive maximum respect and direct monetization.” “No more suffering under incompetent management, no more all-nighters cleaning up stupid decisions, no more watching the face of an intern who can’t even write ‘Hello World.’” “We work for ourselves.” Silence. Ten full seconds of silence. Suddenly, Sam slammed his hand on the table so hard the water in the cups splashed out. “Damn it! I’ve been sick of serving that idiot Richard anyway! Sasha, I’m with you!” “Count me in! I’m writing my resignation right now!” “Me too! Whoever wants to stay at this dump can have it!” The entire tech team—fifteen core members—every single one chose to follow me. Looking at their excited faces, a cold smile curved my lips. Richard, Ethan, did you think getting rid of me would let you rest easy with your little white lotus? You have no idea that a storm capable of crushing you to dust has already formed.

The three-day transition period flew by. I didn’t hand over any substantive client information, leaving only superficial documents of no consequence. On the afternoon of the third day, I walked out of the building where I’d worked for five years, carrying a cardboard box. The sunlight was a bit blinding. I took a deep breath of freedom. “Sasha!” Urgent footsteps sounded behind me. Ethan rushed out and grabbed my arm. I shook off his hand in disgust, looking at him coldly. Today he wore a well-tailored suit, his hair meticulously styled, but his face showed a kind of condescending, pained expression. “Do you have to make this so ugly?” Ethan frowned, his tone full of reproach. “You haven’t shown your face these three days, and the transition documents are a mess. Mr. Wade is very angry.” “Whether he’s angry or not is none of my business.” I jostled the box in my hands. Ethan took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, and put on an affectionate face. “Sasha, I know you feel wronged. But you have to understand my position. Lily has a powerful background. We can’t afford to offend her. What can you do out there alone? This industry is only so big. Without Mr. Wade’s reference letter, you can’t even find a decent job.” He paused, stepped forward, and tried to take my hand again. “Stop being stubborn. Go back and apologize to Mr. Wade. Humble yourself. I’ll give you the director position and work as your deputy. We’ll start fresh, okay?” Looking at this face that once captivated me, I only felt my stomach churning with nausea. “Ethan Miller, do you know what you look like right now?” I stepped back, creating distance. “What?” “A dog that wants to eat shit but also finds it disgusting.” Ethan’s face instantly turned ashen. “Sasha! Watch your language! I’m trying to help you!” “Help me?” I laughed coldly, my eyes like knives. “Helping me by throwing me under the bus without hesitation to protect your little mistress when things went wrong? Helping me by watching me get buried under ten million in debt and blacklisted across the industry?” “What are you talking about! What industry blacklist!” Ethan’s eyes shifted, clearly guilty. “Drop that disgusting act of deep affection.” I moved closer to him, lowering my voice. “From the moment I signed that paper, we were completely done. You’d better pray you never fall into my hands, because if you do, I’ll make you wish you were dead.” With that, I stopped looking at his face that changed colors like a palette and turned toward the curb. A black Maybach glided silently to a stop in front of me. The rear window slowly descended, revealing Jackson Cross’s chiseled profile. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, adding a touch of refined menace to his appearance. He glanced at Ethan frozen in place, then his gaze landed on me, a playful smile curling his lips. “Miss Clarke, get in. Let’s discuss your ‘guaranteed profit.’” I opened the door and got in without hesitation. The car pulled away smoothly. In the rearview mirror, Ethan’s face was twisted beyond recognition.

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I went to the school to conduct an investigation and stopped by the cafeteria for lunch. I saw a male student who had only gotten free soup, so I casually got him a lunch. Someone nearby whispered, “Isn’t that our school’s top student? How dare that girl talk to him?” Before I could think much of it, a female teacher had already rushed over and slapped me across the face. “What class are you in? You little slut! How dare you seduce my son!” The male student panicked, grabbing her arm and shouting, “Mom! It’s not what you think!” The female teacher shook him off and grabbed my wrist. “Come on! We’re going to see the principal!” I had no choice but to explain. “You’ve misunderstood. I’m a staff member from the State Department of Education.” She scoffed. “State Department of Education? At your age, you dare to lie? Let’s go!” But I just have a baby face! When I was dragged into principal Zachary Thorne’s office, she was still yelling. “Mr. Thorne! My son is our top student! How dare she seduce him! a student like this must be expelled!” He turned to me, his tone stern. “What class are you in? Give me your parent’s phone number. You’re expelled!” I smiled. “I dare to give it to you, but I’m afraid you won’t dare to call!”

Zachary Thorne was caught off guard by my response and froze for a moment. That teacher named Rebecca Foster jumped up beside him. “Mr. Thorne, look at her attitude! This shameless thing should be severely punished!” I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my reddened wrist where she’d grabbed me. “Stop talking and make the call.” Zachary Thorne rose to the challenge and picked up the desk phone. “What’s the number?” I rattled off a string of digits. He dialed, pressed the speakerphone, and said arrogantly. “Hello, I’m Mr. Zachary Thorne from Ivy Ridge High School. Are you this student’s parent? Your child has been seducing male students at school. Please come immediately!” There was a two-second silence on the other end. Then a voice came through, clearly confused. “What? What are you saying? Who?” Zachary Thorne repeated. “Your daughter has been seducing male students at school! Please come to the school immediately to handle this!” Silence again on the other end. I almost couldn’t hold back my laughter. If Mr. Thorne knew who was on the other end, he’d probably wet his pants already. Too bad he didn’t know. He was still standing there arrogantly, waiting for my “parent” to come and apologize to him. “Mr. Thorne,” the voice on the other end became strange, “are you certain you’re talking about my daughter?” “Of course I’m certain!” Zachary Thorne was getting impatient. “Are you coming or not?” The other side said, “I’ll be right there. Mr. Thorne, until I arrive, no one is to lay a finger on her.” The phone hung up. Mr. Thorne held the receiver and snorted. “Pretty arrogant.” Rebecca Foster came over. “What happened? What was their attitude?” “Said they’ll be right here,” Zachary Thorne put down the receiver. “Told me not to touch her.”

Rebecca Foster’s eyes rolled, and she suddenly became excited. “Mr. Thorne, I have an idea! Let’s call a school-wide assembly and make this little vixen apologize in front of everyone! Make an example of her so all those girls with improper thoughts can see!” Zachary Thorne hesitated. “Is that really necessary?” “Why wouldn’t it be?” Rebecca Foster’s voice was shrill. “My son ranked first in the entire city exam. He’s our school’s star student! If we don’t deal with this kind of vixen, anyone will be able to seduce him in the future!” Zachary Thorne nodded and was about to speak when Rebecca Foster reached out to grab my hair. I seized her wrist in one motion and twisted hard. She cried out in pain, her face going pale. “I can walk on my own.” I released her hand and looked at her calmly. Rebecca Foster clutched her wrist. I stared her down until she retreated half a step, swallowing back the curses that had been on her lips. She hadn’t expected me to fight back, much less expected my strength. In the hallway, she walked ahead of me, constantly turning back to glare, her mouth far from clean. “Shameless thing, little vixen, born cheap!” I stopped walking. She stopped too, watching me warily. “Watch your mouth.” My voice wasn’t loud, but she was scared enough to retreat half a step, her lips trembling twice, ultimately not daring to curse again. Zachary Thorne urged from behind. “Hurry up, hurry up, everyone’s waiting at the field.” On the field, over two thousand students were already lined up by class. A sea of people, all whispering among themselves. Rebecca Foster pushed me onto the stage, using vicious force, trying to make me stumble, but I stood firmly without even swaying. Disappointment flashed across her face. Zachary Thorne walked to the microphone and cleared his throat. “Today, we’re holding an emergency school-wide assembly!” The field fell quiet. “This girl!” He pointed at my nose. “Seduced our school’s top student, Ethan Carter, in the cafeteria!” The crowd below instantly erupted, students whispering to each other. Rebecca Foster snatched the microphone. “Ethan Carter is my son, ranked first in the entire city! He’s our school’s pride! He’s Ivy League material!” She turned to me, her finger nearly poking my face. “There have been several little vixens like this before. They just want to ruin my son! Ruin the school’s hope! What are they? Do they even deserve to talk to my son?” Zachary Thorne took the microphone, his tone softening, putting on a magnanimous appearance. “If you apologize publicly and write a guarantee letter, and if your attitude is good, I can consider not expelling you.” Looking at his hypocritical face, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You haven’t even figured out who I am, and you dare demand an apology?” Rebecca Foster exploded. “Who are you? Who could you be? You’re just a shameless little slut!” She got angrier and rushed forward to slap me. I dodged sideways. Her slap missed, her center of gravity unstable, she staggered two steps and nearly tumbled headfirst off the stage. Laughter erupted from below. Rebecca Foster’s face turned crimson.

“What are you laughing at!” She yelled at the crowd below, then suddenly turned to me, her eyes full of madness. She pulled out a red marker from her pocket and unscrewed the cap. “You think you’re so tough? You think you can dodge?” She advanced toward me with the marker raised. “I’m going to write ‘vixen’ on your face! I’ll make it so you can never wash it off! Let the whole school see what kind of person you are!” The laughter below stopped abruptly. People gasped, some shouted that this was too much. Just as Rebecca Foster’s marker was about to touch my cheek, I kicked her to the ground. Rebecca Foster screamed in pain, her face going pale. With my other hand, I pulled out my work ID from my pocket and held it in front of her eyes. “See it clearly now?” She squinted and leaned closer to look, her eyes suddenly widening. The work ID clearly read: State Department of Education Deputy Director Lydia Monroe. Her lips trembled, her face instantly turning deathly pale. I let go. Her legs gave out and she collapsed on the ground. I turned to face the over two thousand students below, holding my work ID high, my voice clear. “I am the Deputy Director of the State Department of Education, Lydia Monroe.” Complete silence fell over the field. Zachary Thorne was stunned for three seconds, then he laughed out loud. “You think we’re three-year-olds?” Rebecca Foster instantly got her energy back. “Right! Right! That work ID must be fake!” Zachary Thorne sneered, looking me up and down. “State Department of Education Deputy Director? How old are you? You look like a teenager. What kind of leader are you pretending to be?” Rebecca Foster leaned close to my work ID, shaking her head. “The counterfeiting technology these days is really amazing. It looks quite authentic! If I hadn’t seen the real thing, I might have been fooled by you!” Zachary Thorne shouted to the crowd below. “Check which class this Lydia Monroe is in!” The dean of students pulled out a roster and flipped through it, then looked up. “Mr. Thorne, I’ve checked. There’s no such person.” Rebecca Foster pointed at my nose, her voice shrill. “I know now! You’re a little slut who snuck in from outside the school!” She got more and more worked up, her voice getting louder. “You must be from that poor high school nearby! You snuck into our school to seduce boys! I’ve seen plenty of social scum like you!” The students below began to stir. Some whispered to each other, some craned their necks to look at me, and some frowned. But Rebecca Foster didn’t care about any of that. She got more and more excited. “Look at her, dressed all proper, but she’s actually just a delinquent! Forging work credentials, sneaking into a top high school, specifically targeting good students!” She turned and shouted at the crowd. “Security! Where did all the security go? Restrain this little slut!” The security chief ran onto the stage with two guards. The three stood beside me but didn’t make a move. Probably because they’d seen me kick Rebecca Foster earlier and weren’t confident. Rebecca Foster leaned close to Zachary Thorne’s ear, deliberately raising her voice several levels. “Mr. Thorne, this kind of social scum, forging credentials, sneaking into school, seducing our top student! Call the police! We must call the police! Send her to juvie!” Zachary Thorne nodded, pointing at me with an air of righteousness. “Who are you really? If you don’t tell the truth, I’m calling the police right now!”

I looked at him calmly, enunciating each word. “I told you, I’m the Deputy Director of the State Department of Education.” Rebecca Foster scoffed. “Still lying? You’re a teenage girl—how could you possibly be a deputy director? Look at yourself. Do you look like an adult?” Zachary Thorne joined in with a cold laugh, looking me up and down. “Right! Which deputy director comes to a school alone? Without even a driver? Without any staff? Who are you trying to fool?” Rebecca Foster continued. “Call the police! We must call the police! This kind of little slut is a cancer on society. She should go to juvie for proper education!” Zachary Thorne pulled out his phone and dialed 911 in front of over two thousand people. “Hello, 911? I’m Mr. Zachary Thorne from Ivy Ridge High School. We’ve caught someone forging State Department of Education credentials, sneaking into school to seduce boys, seriously disrupting the educational order. Yes, please dispatch officers immediately!” He hung up, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at me triumphantly. Rebecca Foster put her hands on her hips, arrogant. “Just wait. When the police arrive, you’ll be crying! Forging state official credentials—that’s enough to keep you busy!” She turned to the crowd below, shouting at the over two thousand students. “Everyone look! This is what happens when you seduce top students! If anyone else has such improper thoughts in the future, this is your example!” I stood on stage, a smile playing at my lips, saying nothing. Rebecca Foster saw me smiling and got even angrier, rushing up to me. “You’re still smiling? Let’s see if you can still smile when you’re at the police station!” Zachary Thorne also came over, his voice threatening. “Forging state official credentials—that’s at least two or three years in prison. Little girl, your life is over.” I looked at him sarcastically. “Oh, I’m so scared!” But Rebecca Foster thought I was actually scared, her voice even shriller. “What? Scared now? Too late! You were so arrogant earlier, weren’t you? Now you know to be afraid?” I nodded. “Fine, then let’s wait.” Sirens sounded in the distance. Rebecca Foster jumped with excitement, pointing at the school gate and shouting at me. “Hear that! The police are here! You’re done!” Zachary Thorne straightened his tie, stood up straight, ready to greet the police. A black sedan and three police patrol cars drove through the school gate. Rebecca Foster pointed at the gate, shouting at me. “See that! They’re all here to arrest you!” I crossed my arms over my chest, the smile never leaving my face. The person who stepped out of the black sedan was State Department of Education Director Nathan Brooks. His face was dark as iron, radiating a low pressure, followed by city police station officers and a team of police. Rebecca Foster pointed at me, shouting at the officers. “Officers! It’s her! It’s this little slut from outside the school! She forged State Department of Education credentials and snuck into our school to seduce my son! Arrest her quickly!” Director Brooks didn’t look at her. He walked straight onto the stage. He walked up to me and looked me over to confirm I was unharmed before speaking. “Ms. Monroe is our State Department of Education’s Deputy Director! Who’s been giving her trouble?!” Complete silence fell over the field. Rebecca Foster’s finger, pointing at me, froze in mid-air. “You said she’s what?!”

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