During summer break, I interned at a top law firm, mentored by an industry legend. He had just won a major case. At the celebration party, however, he tore into me for a single punctuation mark in my report, leaving me utterly humiliated. I hid in the restroom, quietly crying, when I overheard him on the phone: “If I don’t treat her harshly, my dad will actually marry her and make her my stepmother.” 01 My hand, holding a tissue, trembled violently. For months, I had been working like a maniac, staying up late, meticulously refining every case. My internship output rivaled that of a permanent employee, all to prove I deserved this job. But now, I was being misunderstood by the very person I idolized. I splashed cold water on my face, forcing myself to calm down. As I stepped out of the restroom, I ran straight into Aditya Pemberton. The moment he saw me, his eyes instantly hardened with disgust and contempt. I took a deep breath, suppressing my emotions. “Mr. Pemberton, regarding the citation format in this morning’s report, I followed the standard template. If you believe I made a mistake, I’d like to inquire about the specific guidelines.” He scoffed. “Mina Miller, Pemberton & Co. is not where we teach you literacy. If you can’t even reflect on these basics, and require me to hold your hand, you should consider dropping out of law school.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough for several passing colleagues to hear. With that, he walked directly to my workstation. Before I could react, he slammed a stack of dusty, decades-old case files, almost waist-high, heavily onto my desk. The force was so great that the top few files scattered across the floor, raising a cloud of dust. “Digitize and index all of these before nine tomorrow morning.” The loud “thud” and scattered documents drew the attention of the entire office. This was manual labor even the lowest-tier administrative assistants disdained. My colleagues looked on with complex emotions; some sympathy, but mostly schadenfreude and indifferent amusement. I knelt, silently picking up the scattered files. Fiona Vance walked over, perfectly timed, carrying a cup of coffee. “Mina, Mr. Pemberton is strict with everyone, don’t take it to heart.” Her voice was delicate, but her words were barbed. “Oh, everyone’s actually wondering, if you… used some special connections to get into Pemberton & Co.? After all, it’s the first time Mr. Pemberton has personally mentored an intern.” Her words were like honeyed poison, implying that I was here not because of ability, but some shady connection. I ignored her, gathered the files, and buried myself in the tedious work. Late at night, the entire floor was empty save for me and the mound of musty case files. My phone screen lit up; it was Henry Pemberton calling. “Mina, are you settling in at Pemberton & Co.? Aditya can be a bit stiff; he hasn’t made things too difficult for you, has he?” Mr. Pemberton’s voice was as warm and concerned as ever. I forced a smile. “Uncle, everything’s fine. Mr. Pemberton is demanding, but I’ve learned a lot of practical things.” “That’s good. Your mother’s gone, and I promised her I’d look after you. If anything bothers you, remember to tell your uncle.” “Of course, Uncle. You should get some rest.” As I hung up, tears finally streamed down uncontrollably. Henry Pemberton was my mother’s college classmate. Over the years, he had looked after our family like a guardian. After my mother’s passing, he even took on the responsibility of my legal guardian. “Truly a devoted father and filial daughter, profoundly touching.” Aditya Pemberton’s voice suddenly came from behind me. I spun around, startled. He had appeared behind me at some point. “Mr. Pemberton.” I hastily wiped away my tears. “Don’t call me Mr. Pemberton. Shouldn’t you be calling me ‘Aditya’?” He stepped closer, his voice laced with sarcasm. “After all, your meticulous schemes are all just to become my stepmother, to legitimately take over the Pemberton family, aren’t they?” I clenched my jaw, my voice hoarse. “You misunderstand, I never…” “Misunderstand?” He suddenly lunged closer, snatching my phone. Seeing the name “Uncle Henry” in my call history, he scoffed. “Dare you say you didn’t join Pemberton & Co. to get closer to my father? Dare you say you’re enduring this quietly now, not to play the role of a diligent, aspiring underdog, supposedly bullied by me, in front of my father?” “Or are you trying to exploit your mother’s past connection with him, to cling to the Pemberton family like a parasite, sucking them dry for life?” My eyes instantly reddened, the immense humiliation almost making me lose my footing. He wasn’t just insulting me; he was trampling on my mother’s memory. “I didn’t! I just want to complete my internship properly, to work diligently!” “Properly intern?” He laughed as if I’d said the most ridiculous thing. “Then explain why my father would make an exception to arrange this position for you? Why he’s warned me time and again to ‘look after’ you? Why the way he looks at you goes far beyond a mere concern for an old friend’s daughter?” I opened my mouth, but found myself speechless, unable to explain Uncle Henry’s motivations. “Can’t explain it?” His voice grew colder. He suddenly reached out, grabbing the legal opinion memo on my desk— the one I had stayed up two nights revising— And tore it into shreds right in front of me. “Mina Miller, let me tell you, no matter what despicable methods you use, I will not let you succeed.” “You want to be my stepmother, Aditya Pemberton’s stepmother? A woman as manipulative and deceitful as you, isn’t fit to be a servant in my household.” The paper fragments scattered like snowflakes on the floor, utterly shattering my last shred of self-respect. “Oh, and about those files, if they’re not done by the time I arrive tomorrow morning, you’re out of Pemberton & Co. immediately.” With that, he turned and left without looking back. 02 It was three in the morning, and the stack of old case files on my desk was like a mountain. These weren’t ordinary files; they were from the Hayes Group case, a case as complex as an inescapable labyrinth. I flipped through the yellowed documents page by page, my eyelids heavy, threatening to close. Suddenly, a file marked “Closed” made me stop. The timeline of the key evidence had a clear loophole, a fatal flaw that could overturn the original verdict. I grew more and more excited as I read, my heart pounding. If my deductions were correct, it could shake the entire legal world, and force the original winning party to pay massive damages. I stayed up all night writing a detailed analysis report, each word filled with passion, clearly articulated. The next morning, with an almost reverent feeling, I knocked on Aditya Pemberton’s office door. He was the firm’s ace; only through him could I have a chance. “Mr. Pemberton, I have an important discovery.” He didn’t look up, reviewing a document. “What is it?” I handed him the report. “ This is a re-analysis of the Hayes Group case. I’ve found a critical loophole in the evidence that could overturn the verdict.” He finally looked up, his eyes cold. He took the report, merely glancing at the cover, a smile I couldn’t decipher playing on his lips. Then, right in front of me, he tore the report page by page, tossing it into the trash can. “Mina Miller,” his voice was devoid of warmth, “Your father’s failure back then was due to his incompetence. And you, as his daughter, seem to have inherited that same overestimation of self.” I froze. How did he know…? “An intern should act like an intern. Your job is to make coffee and photocopy, don’t keep dreaming of shortcuts, especially don’t touch cases you’re not qualified to touch.” His words were like poison-tipped ice shards, chilling me to the bone. Not only was I rejected, but my deepest wound was exposed. I dragged my heavy feet back to my workstation, the flicker of hope in my heart completely extinguished. In the afternoon, the firm held a senior partner meeting. I sat in the corner, responsible for taking minutes. Aditya Pemberton stood in the center of the conference room; under the spotlight, he was in high spirits. “Ladies and gentlemen, regarding the Hayes Group case from three years ago, I recently made a groundbreaking discovery.” My hand trembled violently. “Through extremely complex cross-referencing, I found a loophole in the timeline of the critical evidence at the time. This means the entire basis of the case’s judgment was flawed.” Every word he said, every data point, was exactly the same as in my report. He even claimed my report’s logical deductions were the result of his “sleepless months of work.” Thunderous applause erupted in the conference room. “Mr. Pemberton is truly a beacon in the legal world!” “A formidable talent! To unearth new opportunities in such a long-closed case!” I sat there, my blood running cold. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my flesh, the taste of blood filling my mouth. But I couldn’t stand up, because I knew, Here, Aditya Pemberton’s words were truth, And I, Mina Miller, was merely a backdrop. After the meeting, I fought back my breakdown and returned to my workstation. Fiona Vance walked over with a cup of coffee. “ Mina, Mr. Pemberton’s presentation was truly brilliant. You must have learned so much by his side.” Her tone was full of boastfulness. I ignored her, lowering my head to organize the sole original piece of evidence for tomorrow’s court appearance. “Oops!” The scalding coffee splashed precisely onto the hand holding the evidence. The piercing pain made me drop it instantly, and that crucial original bank statement, was completely soaked in dark brown liquid, the key information blurred. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Fiona shrieked in feigned panic, but her eyes sparkled with triumph. The court appearance was tomorrow; this was the client’s only chance for a turnaround. “Mina, your hand is covered in blisters, hurry to the hospital!” “No need.” I gritted my teeth, looking at the destroyed original, my heart filled with despair. The next day, in court. Because the critical evidence was damaged, combined with the intense burning pain in my hand, my statements were illogical and I frequently stumbled. The opposing lawyer pressed relentlessly, and the judge’s face grew increasingly displeased. In the gallery, Aditya Pemberton, in front of everyone, harshly reprimanded: “Mina Miller! Pemberton & Co. does not harbor incompetence! If you can’t even manage basic evidence safekeeping, how can you expect the client to trust you?” He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, his voice filled with contempt and insinuation: “Don’t you know how you got into Pemberton & Co., yourself? Don’t think you can make it in the legal world just by relying on a bit of charm!” His words were like a public slap in the face, confirming the rumors within the firm about me “using connections to get ahead.” My face burned crimson, the shame and anger made me wish I could die on the spot. 03 The next day was Henry Pemberton’s birthday. He called me personally. “Mina, you must come this time. You are my most important family.” His voice held an undeniable firmness, and a touch of warmth I had longed for. I agreed, filled with anticipation. I dug out an antique fountain pen my father used when he was young. It wasn’t expensive, but it held our shared memories. I thought, this is the kind of gift “family” should exchange. In the banquet hall, I wore a simple white dress, looking out of place amidst the glittering opulence. As soon as I stepped in, I saw Fiona Vance, the center of attention. She wore a custom-made champagne-colored gown, surrounded by a circle of admirers around Henry Pemberton. “Uncle Henry, this is a limited edition Patek Philippe I specially chose for you.” Fiona presented the gift box with both hands, the diamonds almost blinding me. A chorus of compliments rose, everyone praising her filial piety and thoughtfulness. Henry Pemberton beamed, taking the watch and putting it on immediately, rubbing it repeatedly: “Fiona, you’re too extravagant, but Uncle loves it.” I clutched my simple little gift box, my nails digging into my palm. In front of a million-dollar watch, my heartfelt gesture seemed so pathetic. I forced myself to walk over. “Uncle, happy birthday.” He took it, opening it in front of everyone. Seeing the old fountain pen, his brow visibly furrowed. “This is… a pen my father used to use.” I tried to explain. “Pfft.” Fiona couldn’t help but chuckle. She stepped closer, feigning surprise as she picked up the pen, showing it to those around us. “Oh my, Mina, is this pen an archaeological find? It’s so rusty. Uncle Henry’s big birthday, and you give him this?” Undisguised laughter erupted from the crowd. “Giving junk as a gift?” “Is she here to gross out Mr. Pemberton?” Henry Pemberton’s face completely darkened. Just as he was about to say something, Fiona “accidentally” dropped the pen. With a “clink,” the old pen fell onto the polished marble floor. The ink sac seemed to have cracked, a tiny bit of dried ink seeping out. My heart shattered along with it. “Uncle Henry, I’m so sorry, my hand slipped.” Fiona apologized without sincerity. Henry Pemberton didn’t even glance at the pen on the floor, saying coldly to me: “Mina, go sit down over there for now.” I numbly found a corner and sat down. Henry Pemberton, as if his mood had been spoiled by me, went out with a gloomy face. Just then, Aditya Pemberton went on stage to give a speech. “Thank you all for attending my father’s birthday banquet.” His gaze swept coldly across the room, finally fixing on me. “I also hope my father can always stay clear-headed and not be swayed by some people’s ulterior motives and cheap flattery. After all, not everyone is worthy of being part of my Pemberton family.” Cheap flattery? Not worthy of being family? Every word felt like a public execution. Aditya walked off the stage, holding a glass of red wine, and headed straight for me. I had a premonition of something bad, wanting to get up and avoid him. “Mina, coming to a banquet, why are you dressed so plainly?” He blocked my path, a malicious smile playing on his lips. The next second, he flicked his wrist. “Splash—” A full glass of chilled red wine poured precisely over my head.

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1 My husband, Dr. Arthur Rosslyn, a celebrated heart surgeon, had saved countless lives. But when our twins needed surgery, his hands failed. I held their ashes as he packed, claiming an emergency surgery called him away. “Their hearts were fatally flawed, Eleanor. Not even a miracle could have saved them.” That night, his anesthesiology intern, Amy, posted online: a photo of her hand clasped with a man’s at Disneyland, captioned, “My knight saved me after I botched the anesthesia.” Another showed her kissing the man’s jaw. “Ten likes and I’ll confess!” The scar on that jaw matched Arthur’s. My shattered heart froze. I commented: “No need for ten. The knight’s wife approves.” Arthur called instantly, angry. “It was a stupid dare. Delete that comment or we’re divorcing.” I hung up. On the hospital’s transfer list to our African branch, I added his name and Amy’s. Reason: Gross Medical Negligence. If you’re so desperate to protect her, suffer together. How dare you be happy after killing my children? Ten seconds later, Arthur sent a question mark. When I didn’t reply, he followed up. “I’ll have the divorce papers sent over right now. If you insist on making a scene, then we’re through.” I finally responded with a simple: “Fine.” The “typing…” notification appeared and disappeared several times, but he never sent anything else. I screenshotted Amy’s Disneyland carousel and the medical incident, then sent them to him. “Arthur, our children were killed because of her, weren’t they?” All I received was a red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. I went back to social media. Amy’s posts were gone, replaced by a solitary apology. “A grateful patient, whose child we saved, treated us to dinner. We played a game after a few drinks, and I lost a dare. The patient’s family member asked me to post a picture with a male colleague. Dr. Rosslyn only cooperated to spare me embarrassment. I apologize for any negative impact.” The accompanying image was a crying, bowing kitten. Arthur commented below: “Don’t worry, Amy. I’ve got your back. Some people just want to bully you.” Beneath that, a string of replies: “We all knew it was a joke! It was an awful dare from the patient’s family; we couldn’t say no.” “Some people? Is he talking about Dr. Rosslyn’s wife? Poor Dr. Rosslyn, stuck with a crazy wife. Her children’s death was just bad luck, but she keeps making a scene at the hospital, insisting Dr. Rosslyn and Amy killed them.” “Dr. Rosslyn is so impressive, protecting his own.” I smirked, noting every name, adding them all to the transfer list. I founded this private hospital to help Arthur become a top cardiac surgeon. I invested heavily in funding and publicity. Now, he was indeed our chief surgeon, lauded by everyone, and his favored chief intern, Amy, basked in his reflected glory. And I, the hospital’s largest shareholder, was being trampled underfoot. They likely assumed I was madly in love with Arthur, that my hospital’s success was thanks to him. They thought I wouldn’t dare upset him, that both I and the hospital feared losing him. They forgot. My hospital made him. Without him, I could cultivate many more chief specialists. Amy responded to each comment with a smiling cat emoji, and to Arthur, a kissing emoji. The doorbell chimed. It was the courier. Besides the signed divorce papers, he handed me a bag. I asked what it was. He stammered, “A lady asked me to give this to you. She said you’re almost going through menopause, a bad-tempered old woman, and she wouldn’t stoop to your level.” “Inside is some menopause supplement.” “But you look about thirty.” I calmly told him to discard Amy’s attempt to provoke me, then closed the door. I took out the divorce papers and meticulously signed my name. My phone vibrated a few times. It was a message from the hospital’s HR director. “Ms. Hayes, please reconsider? Others are one thing, but how could you send Dr. Rosslyn and Amy to Africa?” “I know you’re grieving and angry with Dr. Rosslyn. But please separate personal and professional matters. Don’t resort to such dirty tactics. You’re not just harming two talented individuals; you’re depriving countless patients of their chance to live.” I calmly replied: “You make a good point. I forgot to deal with you. You’re fired. I’ll have a third party take over your duties.” Immediately, I called the third-party management group, instructing them to fully manage the hospital’s HR and logistics. “Anyone who pleads for Dr. Rosslyn or Amy is to be sent to Africa. Those who refuse must pay back their training costs.” I gently stroked the twins’ urns, speaking each word distinctly. The doctors who supported Amy in the comments were all impoverished students I had funded with my own money. I gave them opportunities, sent them abroad to study. In the end, they only knew how to curry favor with Arthur. They completely forgot who nurtured them into excellent doctors. They truly embodied ingratitude, all following Arthur’s lead like blind sheep. Ungrateful people don’t make good doctors. They needed to experience hardship to understand true compassion. After hanging up, I noticed Arthur had called me over a dozen times. Finally, likely infuriated, he even sent a new friend request with the message: “Answer the phone.” Just then, a new call came in. I answered. The moment I picked up, his furious shouts assaulted me. “Are you insane?! I’m about to get my promotion, Amy’s about to be confirmed for her residency, and you’ve listed us for the African branch!” “Eleanor Hayes, the children are gone, I know you’re upset, but that was fate!” “Our children were born sick; not even a god could save them. It was their destiny to not live long, not me or Amy trying to harm them!” “I’ve told you countless times, yet you keep making things difficult for Amy. I didn’t want you to check the surveillance to stop you from spiraling! I never imagined you’d start spreading such vicious rumors about Amy, let alone abuse your power to send her to Africa!” His usually composed voice was now ragged with fury, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I simply asked: “Were you truly rushing off for a surgical consultation? Was Amy’s social media post really due to a drunken family member forcing you to play a game?” “Or were you rushing off to spend a day at Disneyland with your young apprentice?” On the other end, his ragged breathing suddenly stopped. Two seconds of silence. “What nonsense are you spouting? That’s not true… You’re truly… suffering from delusions…” Then, Amy’s voice. “Dr. Rosslyn, the fireworks are about to start. You rarely get a chance to relax; I don’t want my issues to spoil your mood. When we get back, I’ll apologize to Eleanor myself, even if I have to kneel.” The call was immediately cut off. Presumably, he didn’t want to miss the beautiful fireworks. Clutching my children’s urns, tears streamed down my face. “Mommy will never let them get away with this.” I don’t remember when I fell asleep, only that I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I woke up the next day, eyes swollen shut. I put on sunglasses and headed downstairs, where I saw a busy figure. Arthur emerged with a bowl of porridge, paused at the sight of me, then quickly smiled as if nothing was amiss. “You’re up? I made you breakfast. Have some.” “I know yesterday’s events must have worried you. I couldn’t rest; I flew back all night.” I opened my mouth to say it wasn’t necessary, but then a light-footed figure, wearing my pajamas, rushed out of the bathroom. She threw herself into Arthur’s arms, playfully cooing. “Dr. Rosslyn, you have such strong husband energy! I love men with husband energy.” Arthur quickly pulled her off him, his voice flustered. “You’re a grown woman; stop acting like a child.” He turned to explain. “It was raining when we landed, and we got soaked. I told Amy to go home and change, but she insisted on coming with me to apologize to you. That’s why I gave her your clothes.” Amy stuck out her tongue and said to me, “Eleanor, I’ve come to apologize! Yesterday was just a joke! If you’re still worried, I’ll go on a blind date this weekend and get married quickly. I promise not to interfere with your relationship.” “Amy! Don’t be ridiculous!” Arthur exclaimed. He noticed my sarcastic smile and quickly added, “I mean, Eleanor is always gentle and kind. She’s surely forgiven you; there’s no need for you to rush into things with random men.” “Right, Eleanor? Let’s put yesterday behind us and move on, okay?” My children’s bodies were barely cold, yet he was under the fireworks, flirting with his new favorite. Now he wanted me to let it go? Of course. I offered a mocking smile: “It’s fine. I don’t care.” Anyway, you’ll both be in Africa soon. What your relationship is, where you went last night, what you did—none of it matters to me. Seeing my response, Arthur seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “It’s good that you’re being reasonable. I’ve rescheduled all my surgeries to be with you for a while. Once you’re feeling better and the children’s seventh day rites are over, I’ll go back to work.” I calmly agreed. He was their father; he should have been by their urns, observing their seventh day. A flicker of displeasure crossed Amy’s eyes. Her gaze darted, and she suddenly took the soup bowl from Arthur, walking towards me. “Eleanor, you must try Dr. Rosslyn’s seafood porridge. I had it once when Dr. Rosslyn and I went to the beach, and I said it was delicious, so Dr. Rosslyn said he’d learn to make it. I just tasted it, and it’s exactly the same.” Arthur looked at me, a hint of panic in his eyes. He always claimed his hands were for saving lives, not for cooking or chores. But last month, he started going into the kitchen after work, making a huge mess. At the time, with our children gravely ill, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I thought he was trying to ease my burden. While cleaning up his messes, I had a bitter-sweet hope that he might cook for me and the children again. It turns out it was just to recreate Amy’s seafood porridge. The moment I smelled that fishy odor, which I utterly detested, red welts instantly appeared on my skin. I covered my mouth, recoiled a few steps, and coldly said, “I’m allergic to seafood. Take it away.” Amy suddenly fumbled, and the scalding porridge spilled onto her chest. She shrieked, tumbling down the stairs. “I’m so sorry, Eleanor, I didn’t know… W-w-w… Dr. Rosslyn, it hurts so much…” “Eleanor Hayes! Are you out of your mind?!” Arthur roared. “Amy didn’t know you were allergic. Did you really have to push her down like that?!” “I didn’t!” I retorted, suppressing aretch. “You still won’t admit it?! Could Amy have just spilled the porridge herself?” His gaze was filled with disgust. “You look like a madwoman now.” He swept Amy into his arms and headed out. “I’m warning you, remove my and Amy’s names from that list immediately! Otherwise, you’ll regret it!” I naturally ignored his threats. The third-party management company called, informing me they had taken full control. All personnel matters were handled, and the transfer list for the African branch was finalized. I was pleased with their efficiency, only instructing them to investigate the operating room surveillance footage from the day of the children’s surgery. I couldn’t access it before because Arthur blocked me. His loyal HR team all made excuses when I tried. Now, no one could stop me. The management staff checked the surveillance, then called back a few minutes later, their tone apologetic. “The surveillance video from that day has been deleted.” My hand gripping the phone went white. Who deleted it was obvious. To protect his precious intern, he would do anything. “But don’t worry, our technicians can try to recover it.” I breathed a sigh of relief, immediately promising double bonuses to everyone if they succeeded. The moment the list was announced, my phone exploded. The doctors who once called me “Ms. Hayes, thank you for helping me become a doctor” now sent messages filled with curses. “Eleanor Hayes, you can’t catch your lover’s mistress, so you’re taking it out on us. Don’t think you can make me a scapegoat. I’ll expose your actions to the media. I will not pay you any money, and I will not go to Africa.” “Ms. Hayes, please have mercy on me. I’m getting married soon and have a mortgage. Don’t drag us into your issues with Dr. Rosslyn.” “Old hag, just you wait. When Dr. Rosslyn divorces you and my best friend takes your place, we’ll see how you throw your weight around then.” I looked up each of their profiles and sent them to the management company. “Calculate how much I spent on training each person. If they don’t want to go to Africa, then according to the contract, they owe three times the compensation.” I was being merciful. Training a doctor isn’t easy, and it’s not easy for them to become good doctors. I didn’t want to ruin them; I just wanted what I was owed. Seeing the list was genuinely finalized, and his and Amy’s names were still on it, Arthur finally couldn’t sit still. When I answered the phone, his voice was barely suppressing his rage. “How long are you going to keep this up? Do you have to cause so much resentment that the hospital grinds to a halt before you’re satisfied? Do you know how many surgeries are scheduled today? How do you expect these doctors on the list to work calmly?” “This is a hospital, a place of healing, not where you throw tantrums. Take down the announcement immediately, and come to the hospital to apologize to everyone! And pay each person a year’s performance bonus as compensation!” I calmly replied, “They signed funding contracts, agreeing to obey any hospital transfer orders. If they can’t work normally after a transfer order, it means they are unfit to be doctors.” On the other end, he started to pant, muttering a few curses. “You’re crazy! Fine, since you won’t listen to reason, don’t blame me for getting serious.” “Eleanor Hayes, remember, you started this.” He hung up, but I felt no satisfaction, only bitterness and sorrow. I had tried so hard to convince myself that he wasn’t unloving towards me or the children, but merely cold by nature. But now, I saw his anger, his loss of control. It turns out he truly never loved us. I wasted ten years, alongside a man who didn’t love me, watching him cause the deaths of my two children. … I ignored all the insults. Arthur, as if to provoke me, began his public retaliation. He openly brought Amy to various academic conferences and galas. They wore matching outfits, holding hands while giving interviews. At the launch event for a project I had funded and successfully developed, he even declared: “Amy made significant contributions to this project; without her, its success would have been impossible.” They exchanged a knowing smile, captured by the media. The photos were published with the headline: “Cardiac Specialist Dr. Arthur Rosslyn and Wife Appear at Research Launch Event.” “Exceptional Love, Creating a Legacy.” He retweeted the news, simply stating, “New drug launch, very happy.” But he said nothing about the reporter mistakenly identifying Amy as his wife. The comments section was filled with praise for them as a couple, or congratulations. Some questioned: “Dr. Rosslyn, isn’t this inappropriate?” But a second later, the comment was deleted. I calmly finished reading, took a screenshot, and sent it to my lawyer. Perhaps my lack of reaction made them feel it was pointless. Someone sent me a leaked video. In the changing room, Amy’s scalded chest was exposed, and Arthur was applying medication with a cotton swab. Amy whimpered, “Dr. Rosslyn, it hurts so much. Why don’t you just use your fingers to apply the medicine?” Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed; he dropped the swab. The video ended there. The sender then sent a laughing emoji. “Eleanor, don’t misunderstand, it’s just a dressing change.” I calmly replied, “I won’t.” Anyway, they’re both going to Africa; I don’t care what they do. On the seventh day after the children’s passing, I specifically decorated our home with an Ultraman theme. Their greatest wish had been to have an Ultraman-themed birthday party. They had waited so long, but every year Arthur would reject it: “Why bother with decorations, just making the house a mess. A cake is enough.” But even for their birthdays, he rarely stayed to eat cake with them. He always said he was busy, no time for the children. Yet he had time to spend a whole day with Amy at Disneyland. My children, who struggled so hard to come into this world, deserved at least one birthday celebration they loved. With tear-filled eyes, I sang “Happy Birthday” over and over again in front of their urns. My phone rang. It was someone from the management company, their voice urgent: “Something’s happened. Please check online. Dr. Rosslyn, along with other hospital doctors, is planning a public strike against you.” I opened my phone to a video posted on Arthur’s private account. He was in a suit, Amy by his side, his face stern as he spoke: “Although Eleanor Hayes is my wife, I cannot stand by and watch her continue this madness.” “Ever since our children’s surgery failed, she has been wildly accusing me of killing my own children, even dragging in my student, anesthesiologist Amy Davies, who assisted in the surgery, slandering her with vile rumors. When hospital doctors spoke up to defend us, she retaliated by forcing them to transfer to Africa, demanding exorbitant severance fees from those who refused.” “Because this matter affects the future of us doctors, I am, along with the doctors persecuted in this incident, announcing a strike. All surgeries will be halted! Until Eleanor Hayes comes forward to apologize to us and compensate everyone for their emotional distress during this time. Especially my student Amy Davies; she must personally kneel and apologize to her!” Amy, her eyes red, choked out: “Eleanor, please stop slandering me. Don’t send me to Africa; I’m my parents’ only daughter.” The comments section was filled with cries from patients’ families, begging me to apologize. “My father’s surgery really can’t be delayed any longer; he’ll die if it is.” “Please, Ms. Hayes, just apologize. I’ll kneel for you. My daughter’s condition can only be saved by Dr. Rosslyn.” I clenched my phone tightly, my calm heart finally tearing apart. Arthur’s call came in, laced with threat: “Eleanor, you don’t want to ruin your reputation and destroy the hospital, do you?” I screamed, heartbroken, “You bastard! Arthur Rosslyn, you damn bastard!” “Didn’t I give them a choice?! The contract states either three years of support at the branch hospital or pay the penalty! They agreed to this voluntarily! How dare they strike with you just because they refuse to honor their contracts! Haven’t you killed enough of my children? Are you going to kill more people?! How dare you call yourself a doctor, how dare you call yourself a human being!” It was the first time I had ever cursed him like that, and Arthur was stunned for a few seconds. But then he impatiently said, “You’re truly insane! I told you, the children died because they had bad luck! No one harmed them! You’re just delusional!” “If you don’t want to see those patients die, then kneel and apologize and compensate! As long as you say you were delusional, that you misunderstood me and Amy, that everything about me and Amy was a rumor you spread, and you withdraw the transfer list for Africa, we will start the surgeries.” “And you have to say you’re seriously ill and need to go to a mental institution for treatment, and change the hospital’s responsible person to me…” I snarled, “Dream on! Arthur Rosslyn! Go to hell and have your beautiful dreams there!” “Everything I’ve done is compliant. Why should I apologize? Did I force you and Amy to go to Disneyland? Did I hold you down to make you kiss her, touch her chest?!” “She used the wrong anesthesia dosage, killing my son, and you protected her, deleted the surgical monitoring records! You two despicable lovers, go to hell and atone for my children’s deaths!” Arthur gasped, “You’re truly insane… I can’t talk sense into you.” “Go to hell!” I viciously threw my phone to the ground, stomping on it several times. Outside the door, a series of frantic knocks. The next second, a group of people burst in. “Damn it, it’s this bitch who’s messing with the doctors, dragging so many patients down! Bitch, go to hell!” They tore at my clothes, slapped my face, and kicked my stomach. I clutched the urns in my arms tightly. But someone snatched them away. “No!!” I shrieked, rushing to get them back. But I could only watch helplessly as the urns were smashed to the ground, my children’s ashes scattering instantly. “You bitch! You care so much about your two unlucky kids, I’ll scatter their ashes to make you suffer, to show you what pain is!” I rushed forward, my eyes bloodshot, but they dragged me back. Arthur and Amy walked in. Seeing the chaotic scene, his first reaction was to protect Amy. He looked at me, covered in blood, his expression complex, his voice a little anxious. “Eleanor, stop being so stubborn! Just apologize, and everything will be fine! They are all doctors and patients’ families. If you just do as I say, everything can be settled!” My mouth full of blood, I shrieked, “Dream on! I won’t let you two get away with this! I’ll make you regret it!” Suddenly, police sirens wailed, and a group of officers stormed into the house. “Trespassing, assault, everyone back to the station!” The group of people cried for help: “Dr. Rosslyn, save us!” Arthur immediately stepped forward: “Misunderstanding, misunderstanding, I’m the owner, she’s my wife… This is just a domestic dispute.” I leaned against the wall, stood up, and shrieked to correct him: “He is not my husband! We are already divorced!” “I am formally pressing charges against him! For maliciously instructing others to break into my home and commit violent assault!” “I will make every single one of them pay!”

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1 At ten, my mother was murdered by my father. I fled as he buried her. Dying, she told me to find my uncle in Portwick—a CEO who’d feed me, for family. But when I found him, holding my little cousin, he glared down. “Why isn’t trash like you dead?” I looked at him, and the last hope in my heart died. Mr. Green sneered. “Want money? Tell your wretched mother to come herself!” He took my cousin into a jewelry store. Pressed to the window, I watched him choose a gold bracelet for her. I’d never seen anything so beautiful—gleaming, carved with clouds, dazzling on her wrist. “What are you staring at? You deserve to look? I’ll gouge your eyes out!” He came out, glared, then drove off with her in a sleek car, leaving me in exhaust. I stood, watching the car vanish. Only when my stomach growled did I remember. Mom was wrong. My uncle wouldn’t feed me. He could buy a sparkling bracelet without a thought, drive away in a car whose name I didn’t know. Yet when I begged for a coin for bread, he told me to find my mother. But she was dead—chopped up and buried. Portwick’s streets buzzed with people. The sky gradually darkened, and a fine drizzle began to fall. I huddled under the eaves of an alleyway, rolling up my sleeves. My pale, gaunt arms were covered in hideous scars. Some had scabbed over, others still seeped blood and pus. Whenever Father got angry, he would take a small knife and carve into my skin. He savored the process, always cutting very lightly, very slowly, sometimes even licking the blood from my arm with a look of perverse ecstasy. It felt like a cold, slimy snake slithering on my arm. Disgusting and terrifying. Recalling my cousin’s gold bracelet, I raised my hand and looked at my own bruised wrist. “Such a beautiful bracelet would only get dirty on my hand.” But if only I had a gold bracelet! I could trade it for so much rice, and cook it into sweet, fragrant white rice. My mom always said white rice was delicious. I licked my chapped lips, swaying as I stood up. I hadn’t eaten in two days. If I didn’t get something soon, I would starve to death. I walked to the door of a bakery, wondering if I could offer to help in exchange for food. The moment I stepped inside, the owner waved me out. “Where did this beggar come from? Go, go! Don’t ruin my business.” I trudged through the rain, numbly walking down the street, past fast-food restaurants, clothing stores… I asked one place after another. Even offering to work without pay, just for food, no one would take me. Until a woman calling herself Ms. Ruby stopped me. She pinched my chin, scrutinizing me, then let out a laugh. “Well, well, darling, you’ve got good features. You look haggard now, but with some care, you might turn into a real beauty.” 2 The damp, musty smell of the alley mixed with cheap perfume hit me. She leaned against the mottled brick wall, the tip of her cigarette glowing with her words. “Sweetheart, Auntie can help you make quick money.” She stubbed out her cigarette, motioning for me to follow. She thought I was young and easy to trick, but I knew what she was planning. My mother not only taught me to read but also to read people. She clearly intended to lead me into illegal activities. Yet, at that moment, what choice did I have but to follow her? Seeing my silence, the woman pulled a piece of candy from her pocket and held it to my mouth. “Come with me, and you’ll get candy. And later, there will be many things even tastier than candy.” I instinctively licked the sugary residue from the corner of my mouth. So sweet. I had never tasted anything so sweet. I stared at the candy she took back, swallowed, and prepared to walk into the alley. Just then, a large hand suddenly grabbed my collar. It was my uncle! He gripped my hand, his eyes scanning me with unconcealed disgust. “You’re as despicable as Evelyn Chase, even your manipulative tricks are identical. It’s truly repulsive!” “How could our Green family have descendants like you? So young, yet utterly shameless, even more depraved than your mother!” “Come, take me to your mother…” He tugged my collar, dragging me toward the roadside. I swayed, my vision blurring. My stomach ached from emptiness, and my consciousness was already fading. I knew clearly that if I didn’t eat soon, I would starve to death. In the instant my last shred of rationality shattered, I bit down hard on his arm. I tasted blood, tearing off a small piece of flesh and swallowing it with the blood. With a furious roar, he kicked me hard in the chest. As my back slammed against the cold concrete, I completely blacked out. Well, at least I’d tasted meat in this lifetime. But it was truly disgusting… I was woken by cold water. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a luxurious villa with crystal chandeliers. Before I could make sense of anything, my nape was roughly grabbed. A fierce-looking housekeeper pinched my nose, forcing a bowl of cold, sour porridge down my throat. Afterward, I was led to my uncle’s study. In the study, my uncle stood with his back to the door, discussing me with the family doctor. “So, she bit me like a mad dog just because she was too hungry?” The family doctor nodded, looking at me with sympathy. “Yes, a little longer without food, and she would have starved to death.” My uncle waved his hand, and the doctor left. I was dragged by two servants and thrown before my uncle. I stumbled a few steps, falling to the floor. My uncle looked down at me, his face grim, his gaze like he was looking at a repulsive, ugly cockroach. His eyes moved upward, to where I had bitten him, which had been disinfected and bandaged with white gauze. “About to starve to death and you couldn’t speak? Or were you deliberately trying to get back at me?” I looked at him quietly, my voice as light as a feather floating in the wind. “Sir, the first thing I said when I saw you was that I was hungry and asked if you could spare a coin for a bun.” He paused, clearly remembering. But soon, he frowned again with displeasure. “Why aren’t you calling me ‘Uncle’ anymore?” I lowered my face in silence. When I first saw him, I had indeed happily called him “Uncle.” But now, I didn’t want to. 3 He prodded my chin with the tip of his shoe. “Tongue-tied?” Then, he forced a chilling smile, his eyes cutting like knives. “If you want more food, take me to your mother. I want to see what’s so great out there that she hasn’t set foot home in ten years. Now that she’s down on her luck, she sends you back to beg for food.” I nodded. “Give me food, and I’ll take you to her. Oh, and the food needs to be freshly steamed and hot. Not like just now, giving me cold, sour porridge; it’ll make my stomach upset.” The housekeeper standing by the door immediately bent over. “Mr. Green, I clearly gave the young lady warm seafood porridge just now. She’s lying.” My uncle frowned in displeasure, his gaze at me growing even more disgusted. “Just like your mother, a habitual liar, despicable to the core!” I glanced at the housekeeper, then abruptly bent over, thrusting my fingers deep into my throat. I brought up the sour porridge I had just been forced to swallow. My uncle recoiled several steps, startled by my action. I looked at him calmly, and said, “See? This porridge was only in my stomach for a moment, yet it’s still cold.” The vomit on the floor emitted a strong, sour odor. My uncle covered his nose, his brows deeply furrowed. How could something just eaten give off a sour smell? He glanced at the housekeeper, who was bent over, trembling slightly, not daring to lift her head. What more was there to understand? My uncle snorted coldly, “Who gave you the audacity to feed sour porridge to a Green lady!” The housekeeper’s lips trembled, about to speak. From outside the study, a soft female voice floated in. “I told her to give it to her. Evelyn Chase’s daughter, a bowl of sour porridge is too good for her.” I looked up towards the study door. A elegantly dressed woman, her makeup flawless, slowly walked into the room on slender high heels. Seeing her face, I paused for a moment, almost calling out “Mom.” But I knew she wasn’t. While my mother resembled her greatly, she had a softer gentleness, and her appearance was more aged and haggard. After all, after my mother was sold to my father, she hadn’t known a single good day. She couldn’t compare to my aunt, who had never done a day’s work. My Aunt Charlotte, her face cold, walked up to me. Seeing the vomit on the floor, she covered her nose in disgust with her exquisitely manicured hand. A hint of pleasure flickered in her eyes, as beautiful as my mother’s. “You look so much like that hussy Evelyn Chase, both of you like vixen-demons!” “Speak! Where is that wretch who even seduced her own brother-in-law now?” I lowered my eyes, softly saying, “Give me food, and I’ll take you to her.” My aunt looked at me disdainfully, scoffing. “What are you, to dare bargain with me here?” My uncle, however, frowned and instructed a servant to bring some food. “Eat! Don’t starve to death in my house, it’s bad luck!” My aunt glared at him in displeasure. “Brother, you’re not going soft on this bastard, are you?” My uncle shook his head and said nothing, but his gaze at me was as dark as ink. I was starving, so I picked up the bowl and began to eat. It was sweet and savory; my mother hadn’t lied to me. White rice was so delicious, much better than coarse grain. I took two bites and then stopped, putting the rest of the food into a bag. My uncle looked at me, his frown deepening. “Didn’t your mother feed you?” I gently shook my head. “My mother saved all the good things for me to eat.” 4 My uncle suddenly scoffed, his face filled with disgust. “You’re too engrossed in your act. Do you think I’ll believe you?” I didn’t answer him, just calmly stated, “Let’s go. I’ll take you to Mom.” My aunt Charlotte sneered, telling the chauffeur to get the car, but pointed at my nose and said, “You’re not getting in the car. You’re too disgusting; just looking at you makes me sick!” I gripped my sleeve, watching my little cousin, dressed like a doll, being carried into the sedan. My heart was filled with envy. My mom rarely held me. Most of the time, she wanted to strangle me. Because she said my birth was a mistake. But when she was locked alone in the cellar, I was the only one by her side. My mom had a soft heart… When she was in a good mood, she would teach me to write and draw. She told me many stories about the Green family, and she also taught me to dance. But I was too clumsy and never learned well. My mom said she was once named the youngest dancer, winning countless gold trophies and medals, and was honored as an outstanding young artist. Back then, her future was bright, like the proudest white swan in the middle of Swan Lake. If she hadn’t been framed and had her Achilles tendons severed, she wouldn’t have fallen to this state. Many times she wanted to kill herself, but the hatred burning in her eyes compelled her to live. My uncle stood by the car, seeing me rooted to the spot. He asked suspiciously, “Can’t you open a car door?” I shook my head. “You can’t even do that? Are you useless?” “Yes! I’m useless!” I hung my head, remembering how my mother was chopped into pieces by that scum of a father, and he even wanted me to help him. And I, this useless person, could only watch everything happen, unable to save her. “You…” My uncle laughed in exasperation. “How could our Green family have such an idiotic and pathetic descendant? Don’t you dare tell anyone you’re my niece from now on.” I nodded. “Okay!” My uncle looked at me speechlessly, a helpless expression on his face. Finally, he opened the car door for me, and I got into the chauffeur’s car alone. The chauffeur put on a face mask, to avoid being overwhelmed by my stench. Even with the window open, the chauffeur still couldn’t help but throw up halfway through the journey. My uncle’s face was grim; he furrowed his brow and said, “How can a girl smell so awful?” His face was as dark as thunder. He navigated to the nearest hotel and ordered the maid, Mrs. Reed, who had followed along, to give me a bath. In the bathroom, when Mrs. Reed removed my ragged outer clothes, she cried out in alarm. My uncle, waiting at the door, thought something had happened to me again and rushed in immediately. “Mrs. Reed, what’s wrong with her?” Mrs. Reed covered her mouth, looking at me with a pained expression, her voice trembling slightly. “Sir, please have some pity on the young lady…” “What young lady? She doesn’t deserve it…” He had barely finished speaking when his gaze fell upon my back, and he froze. My small, emaciated back was covered in dense, horrifying knife wounds. The newest one was from my father branding me with a burning poker. That poker, fresh from the stove, glowed red. The moment it touched my back, I immediately smelled burning flesh and an absurd scent of roasted meat. These scars must be so ugly! Mrs. Reed seemed kind. Her warm hand gently touched the wounds on my back, and tears immediately welled in her eyes, marked by wrinkles. “She smells because she’s rotting! And her body is very hot; she seems to have a fever…” 5 My uncle stared, momentarily lost, before realizing I was a girl. He quickly turned his back, took a deep breath, and then, controlling his emotions with great effort, slowly said, “Just give her a quick wash for now. We’ll go to the hospital later; take her to see a doctor.” Mrs. Reed agreed. But I shook my head, refusing. “It’s nothing serious. I’ll just put some mud on it, like before. It always healed that way. I haven’t been able to find mud since I came to the city, that’s why…” Mrs. Reed’s eyes widened in shock. “If you’re hurt, you should go to the hospital. How can you put mud on it?” Even though I said not to bother, Mrs. Reed followed my uncle’s instructions. She gave me a quick wash and then took me to the hospital. The doctor disinfected and dressed my wounds. Because it took some time, my aunt Charlotte’s face was so dark it looked like it could drip water. “Why are we wasting money and time on her? That little bastard, she’s just like her mother, always pretending to be pitiful.” Hearing her words, my uncle’s hand, reaching for my cousin, paused, then withdrew. My cousin pouted, crying in a baby voice, wanting him to hold her. She was only three, a child my aunt Charlotte had painstakingly carried for ten months, sustained by nutrient injections. Seeing her upset, my aunt immediately became displeased. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see Daisy wants a hug?” My uncle sighed tiredly. “I’m exhausted.” Then he walked up to me, squatting down for the first time to meet my gaze. “Did your mother often abuse you?” I shook my head, seriously. “My mother was very good to me. Her injuries were even worse than mine.” My uncle froze, a genuine flicker of panic crossing his face. “How could that be? She clearly…” Then, his face became calm again, though he frowned slightly. “Are you lying again? Did your mother teach you to say that to make me pity her?” I stared at him, remembering my mother lying in the dark, damp cellar, her face numb and desolate. Even so, whenever she mentioned my uncle, her eyes would brighten a little more than usual. My mother said her brother always excelled in school, and as an adult, he successfully started his own company, the smartest child in the family. But my mom was wrong again! Her brother might as well have had “fool” written all over his face! Did he think I would endure beatings and injuries, leaving so many scars, just to deceive him from childhood? Perhaps my idiot-like gaze annoyed him, for my uncle snorted coldly. He always liked to snort, as if he were terribly important. “Get in the car! I want to see what tricks she’s trying to pull!” This time, he got into the same car as me. When my uncle’s iron-like hand gripped my wrist and dragged me into the car, the unhealed scars on my back tore open, making me wince in pain. Only then did he remember the wounds on my back and release his grip. “Are you missing a screw or something? You’re in pain and you don’t even say anything?” I bit my lip hard, too much in pain to speak. The car drove swiftly. The journey that would have taken me half a month to walk, crossing mountains and valleys, was completed in a few days. When we reached the small village nestled in the valley, I finally saw a glimpse of home. After stopping the car, I immediately ran to the backyard. Inside the house, my father, seeing a group of people following me to the backyard, panicked completely. He lunged forward and slapped me across the face! “You little brat! Stop it right now!” Another slap was about to land, but my uncle, his face grim, blocked him. I ignored them all, relentlessly digging at the soil in the yard. Blood beads seeped from my torn fingernails, mixing with the dirt. Before long, a putrid, horrifying, foul-smelling corpse gradually revealed itself!

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Three years into this “transmigration,” I discovered a helicopter in the mansion courtyard. My husband, Mr. Arthur Stone, looking at my crippled leg, finally dropped the act: “Three years ago, you couldn’t accept me marrying Annabelle; you became my mistress.” “So we tricked you into ‘transmigrating,’ keeping you confined here. After three years as a servant and a concubine, you’ve finally learned your lesson.” I was incredulous. Beside me, the butler peeled off his prosthetic face, revealing my own brother, Timmy. “Sis, now that Annabelle has safely given birth, you can go back.” “Julian, your plan was flawless!” I slowly turned my head. The manor’s physician looked at me, smiling. “You weren’t mistaken. I am indeed Julian Evans, your childhood sweetheart.” “We set up this whole charade, fearing you’d bully Annabelle.” Forced “transmigration” for three years. Beatings, being sold, abused by countless strangers, then bought by Arthur Stone as a slave and concubine. I was crippled in both legs, blind in one eye. From crying day and night, desperate to go home, to living a numb and subservient existence. It turned out I had never transmigrated at all. I completely broke down. The moment before I attempted suicide, a bizarre line of text suddenly appeared before my eyes: “Congratulations to the AI ‘Abuse Romance’ heroine on awakening. Countdown to human reincarnation: Two days.” “48:00:00” “47:59:59” 1 I remained silent on the helicopter ride back. According to the strange text’s instructions, I had to continue living numbly and obediently for two more days, then die. It said it would grant me a second life. This wasn’t difficult at all. All I had endured until now was merely a difference of two days before my death. The moment I stepped off the helicopter, a slender figure blocked the cabin door. Annabelle Bright, the impostor, scrutinized me from head to toe. “You’re back?” “Let me tell you, Arthur and the others only agreed to take you back because you’ve been so docile these past three years. If you dare to bully me again like you did three years ago, I’ll have them gouge out your other eye too!” Honestly, I couldn’t recall ever bullying Annabelle. But it didn’t matter anymore. For three years, if I dared to talk back, the next moment, it might be a maid’s slap or a whip lashing my body. I had long learned my lesson. Seeing my prolonged silence, Arthur Stone, who was pushing my wheelchair, tapped it lightly, a threatening gesture. “Willow, Annabelle is talking to you.” “You’re already disobedient the moment you’re back. Do you want us to send you back to ‘transmigration’ to learn your manners again?” I flinched, a shiver running through me, and quickly bowed my head, replying, “Yes, I will serve you and the Young Master well.” Annabelle snorted, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “At least you’re sensible.” “Let’s eat; I’ve had the servants prepare everything.” Arthur smiled contentedly, reaching out to stroke my head. I instinctively closed my eyes, cowering, as if fearing a blow. Seeing how afraid I was of him, Arthur’s gaze darkened. He deliberately softened his tone: “Don’t be afraid. I won’t punish you anymore.” “I love you. I would never hurt you. Willow, from now on, you’ll be my Mrs. Stone again, just like before.” I quickly shook my head, forcing a placating smile. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m just a concubine.” “I’ll be very well-behaved.” Arthur’s smile froze at the corners of his mouth, speechless for a moment. He looked at me with a complex and conflicted expression. “Willow, you don’t have to be afraid of me.” “Never mind… no rush, we have plenty of time.” At the dining table, the clinking of cutlery was sharp. Julian, across from me, noticed I hadn’t touched my food and proactively offered me the steak he had cut. “Why aren’t you eating? Did you forget how to use a knife and fork?” “Have mine; I’ve cut it for you.” I still dared not move. I just buried my head even lower and replied, “The maids taught me that my status is lowly; I don’t deserve proper meals.” “You all eat first; I’ll have the leftovers.” Julian froze. He exchanged a glance with Arthur. Arthur, in turn, gently reassured me. “Willow, listen. You’re back now, so those old rules don’t apply. As long as you’re well-behaved, we’ll treat you well, just like before.” “Eat.” I quickly lifted my head, then lowered it again. Still, I dared not. It was my brother, Timmy, who looked thoughtful, and cautiously said, “Sis, Arthur wants you to eat. That’s the rule now.” Only then did I raise my head again, trembling as I brought food to my mouth. I ate very slowly, and very little. The arm holding the fork swayed emptily within my sleeve. These past few months, I had indeed become excessively thin. The atmosphere at the dining table suddenly grew heavy. Only Annabelle was still enthusiastically chatting about her son, Leo. Arthur and the others listened quietly, clearly distracted. After only two bites, I stopped. Suppressing the rising nausea in my throat, I looked at Arthur: “I… I think I’m pregnant.” The news was met with silence, the three present not yet having time to express surprise. I continued, numbly: “Could you please… grant me a bowl of abortion medicine?” “Or take me for an abortion.” 2 Arthur’s face completely froze, staring at me in disbelief. I didn’t understand his reaction. I could only turn to Julian across from me. He used to be the manor’s physician; he could decide such matters. “I’m very well-behaved. I just ate the steak you cut for me.” “This time, I’d like some… pain medication, if that’s possible?” Julian’s face was as white as paper, but he still didn’t respond to me. Only my brother, Timmy, forced himself to remain calm and asked, “Sis, what are you saying?” “Having a child is a good thing. Just give birth and raise it; it’s not like…” I shook my head, my tone firm. “You’re mistaken.” “If there’s a child, it must be terminated. That’s the rule.” “This would be the fourth one.” Arthur’s expression turned completely grim. He threw down his cutlery, grabbed Julian by the collar, and dragged him away. “Come with me.” He slammed the study door shut, Julian following him inside. The soundproofing in the mansion was excellent; only some muffled voices faintly drifted out, sounding like an argument. I felt very uneasy. I could only look blankly at my brother, pursing my lips, and continued, “I think I did something wrong.” “Will the maid come and beat me?” My brother’s hand, holding the fork, trembled. He felt as if his chest was stuffed with damp cotton. Seeing my current cautious demeanor, he found it hard to breathe. He stood up, pushing my wheelchair, and comforted me, “Sis, no one will ever hit you again.” “You’ve been very good. I still prefer you as you were before. Smiling, getting angry, calling me Timmy by my full name, even pulling my ears. Don’t be like this… please?” But I merely lowered my head again, my voice weak. “That’s presumption. I’ll get beaten.” “It’s my fault. I won’t ask for pain medication anymore.” My brother frowned, saying nothing further. He simply pushed my wheelchair away. Only Annabelle was left at the dining table. After three years apart, she had intended to torture me again. She hadn’t expected me to become like this. Everyone seemed so heartbroken for me. She angrily threw down her cutlery and instructed the maid behind her, “Go fetch the young master immediately.” “If that little wretch’s child is actually born, that would be disastrous!” My brother pushed me to the guest bedroom on the first floor. The room was so large, I felt a little uncomfortable; it was overly luxurious. I touched the soft duvet, then looked up at my brother. “Is the storage room occupied? I can move there.” “This place is too nice; it’s not suitable for me. And there’s no clock here; I need to wake up early to pay my respects and prepare breakfast.” I didn’t know which words I had spoken incorrectly this time. My brother’s eyes suddenly reddened. He crouched before me, speaking softly, “Sis, don’t say anything more. Please don’t say anything…” “You won’t stay in the storage room anymore. We’re family. I’ll treat you well from now on.” I didn’t believe him. During those three years, my brother, then the butler, had said similar things once, but that very night, a maid had burst into my bedroom and whipped me half to death. But I dared not directly contradict him now, so I only nodded blankly. Seeing my acceptance, he finally managed a smile. He left me with two maids to assist with my washing and rest. Fortunately, even without a clock, that eerie string of numbers helped me roughly gauge the time: “35:48:21” “35:48:20” The seconds ticked by, so slowly. I wanted to die quickly. At three in the morning, the study door finally opened slowly. Arthur and Julian both had injuries on their faces, clearly having fought. Arthur glanced sideways at Julian. “I trust you wouldn’t be so cruel.” “To let Willow suffer three miscarriages in a row.” “I’ll investigate the staff in the manor. You investigate how those medications were swapped for abortion pills.” Julian nodded at this. As he passed the kitchen, Arthur noticed the light was on, casting a blurred figure. From a distance, it looked like me. I stood there, eyes calm, raising a knife and stabbing myself. Arthur’s hair instantly stood on end. He shouted, “No!” and rushed towards me, grabbing the hand holding the knife. Julian, not far away, heard the commotion and also hurried over, disarming me. Arthur stared at me, asking in horror, “Willow, are you insane?” “Why are you trying to kill yourself?” 3 I blinked twice, my gaze shifting to the pumpkin smashed on the floor. I smiled ingratiatingly at Arthur. “You misunderstood.” “It’s time. I was just making your breakfast porridge.” “Don’t worry, a knife to the abdomen like this won’t kill me.” Arthur was horrified by my words. Just as he was about to ask something else, he heard Julian call him: “Arthur…” Arthur turned his head to look. When Julian disarmed me, he brushed against my sleeve. My bare inner arm was covered in various hideous scars, one after another. Some even showed signs of being cut deeply with great force. All were self-inflicted wounds. Facing their panicked stares, I apologized with a smile: “Did I disturb you?” “I’m sorry, I’ll be quieter.” Arthur and Julian exchanged a look but didn’t respond. They simply instructed a maid to escort me back to my room and ensure I rested properly. The next morning, Arthur woke me up. He seemed to have been awake all night, with heavy dark circles under his eyes and an unusually somber expression: “Willow, I’m taking you to the private hospital on the fifth floor of the manor.” “Julian has brought a professional team; we’re going to give you a full check-up.” I was obedient, following Julian. I underwent examination after examination. Blood tests, ultrasounds, CT scans. The doctors meticulously examined and photographed the shocking scars on my body. A gentle-faced female doctor sat opposite me, asking me questions in an extremely soft voice about my sleep, appetite, emotions, and those scars. I was very compliant. I answered when I could and apologized when I couldn’t. The maids always said that kneeling to apologize showed more sincerity. It was just a pity my legs were crippled, so I couldn’t kneel. After the examination, the three of them sat around, looking at my reports. I didn’t know what was written inside, only that their faces grew increasingly grim. Until the number before me reached “25:18:03”. Arthur finally put down the report and walked towards me. His voice was very soft, as if afraid of startling me: “Willow, the doctor says you’re very weak and need to recuperate.” “Those wounds… the doctors have seen them too. They’re severe and will require time and patient treatment. Don’t be afraid. Here, no one will ever hurt you again.” “I’ll bring in the best doctors and use the best medicine to help you recover and heal all of this.” I pointed at him. Instinctively, I wanted to say, “Here, you will hurt me.” But Arthur clearly misunderstood my meaning. He took my fingertips and gathered them into his embrace. “Don’t be afraid.” “Willow, we won’t hurt you.” Listening to him, I found it absurd and strange. All those three years, those days and nights worse than death. Weren’t you all hurting me together? When we returned to the living room, Annabelle had, at some point, brought Leo back. She had evidently heard something about me. She embraced Leo and placed him in my arms, reassuring me, “Willow, you seem to be feeling down lately.” “Here, let Leo cheer you up. Children are the most spirited; looking at them always lifts your mood. You’re pregnant now; you’ll have your own child soon.” I looked at Annabelle’s smiling face, a stark contrast to the arrogant woman who had blocked the cabin door earlier. Had she also transmigrated? Quickly, I dismissed the idea. Arthur and the others wouldn’t let that happen. And, Leo was pinching me. Children don’t know their own strength; he probably got the idea from Annabelle. He sweetly called out, “Auntie, hug!” while fiercely pinching me with his hand. His fingernails had been deliberately trimmed, sharp and quick. With even slight pressure, it felt no different than a small knife slicing flesh. Blow after blow, the sharp pain was more than my body could bear. I could feel the wounds already starting to bleed. I could only try to return the child to Annabelle. “I’m not well; I’m afraid I might drop him.” “You should hold him.” Annabelle nodded, her tone still soft. “Right, you’re still weak; you should rest more.” “Come, Mommy will hold you.” Just as she was about to take him, her hand slipped, and Leo fell straight to the ground. Before I could react, the child’s ear-splitting cries erupted. Slap! Annabelle slapped me across the face, screaming, “Willow, why did you drop my child!” 4 I was thrown from my wheelchair onto the floor. I lay there, helplessly watching Annabelle scream at me: “I know you hate me, despise me, for taking your childhood sweetheart, your brother, and even your lover.” “But the child is innocent!” “How old is he? Can he withstand a fall like that? How could you be so cruel, how could you lay a hand on him?!” At that moment, Arthur, Julian, and Timmy, hearing the commotion, rushed in from different directions. Arthur’s face was ashen. He lunged forward, first crouching to quickly check on Leo, then suddenly looked up, his hateful eyes fixed on me. He roared at me, “Willow Hayes, what have you done!” “You just got back and you’re already causing trouble. Do you want me to send you back?” My brother also rushed over, looking at his nephew crying heartbreakingly on the floor and Annabelle’s relentless accusations against me. Then he looked at me, his eyes also filled with anger: “Sis, how could you lay a hand on such a small child!” Julian handed Leo to the medical staff behind him. He said nothing, just kept glaring at me with a fierce, cold gaze. I felt like… I had been wronged again. It felt no different from the countless times I had been wronged over the past three years. The maid accused me of stealing; I denied it, only to receive a harsher lashing. The servant girl framed me for seducing the stable boy; I argued, and the result was being stripped and publicly humiliated. Arthur believed slander that I wanted to escape; what awaited me was being locked in a water dungeon. I wanted to explain. I wanted to say it wasn’t true, I wanted to say I didn’t do it, I wanted to say so many things. But I remained silent because no one would believe me. Like countless times before, defending myself would only invite more viciousness and punishment. I could only huddle on the floor, helplessly apologizing, “I’m sorry…” Annabelle charged forward. “Sorry? Just ‘sorry’ and it’s over?” “I’ll beat you to death, you slut!” Then, she began to punch and kick me repeatedly. The three men watched silently. Someone said, “Don’t touch her stomach; there’s a child there.” And then there was no more sound. No one stopped her; they just stood by, as before. Fists and feet rained down on my body and face, blow after blow. It hurt terribly. A pain so intense my entire body felt like it was exploding. In a daze, I saw the numbers before me plummeting drastically: “24:27:43” “20:13:05” “15:39:17” … Until someone eventually pulled Annabelle away, and she stopped. The time halted at “4:01:25”. Arthur slowly walked up to me, looking down. “Do you understand your mistake?” “Why do you always refuse to learn?” I choked on the blood in my throat, coughing twice. I didn’t answer. I just clutched Arthur’s pant leg, asking him one last question: “Didn’t you say… here, no one would ever hurt me again?” Arthur fell silent. He coldly moved his leg, pulling his pant leg from my grasp, and said, “But you made a mistake, and mistakes deserve punishment. That’s the rule.” “Lock her in the storage room.” “When Leo is checked and confirmed to be fine, I’ll let you out.” But I didn’t want to be locked up again. I had been confined for three years; I didn’t want the last four hours of my life to be spent caged like an animal. I wanted to beg further, but Arthur had already turned his back. I could only look at my brother, Timmy, who averted his gaze, quietly comforting the agitated Annabelle. Julian had already hurried away to check on Leo. As expected, no one was willing to save me. I no longer struggled. I allowed the maids to drag me away, roughly throwing me onto the floor of the storage room. Counting heartbeats, watching the time tick away. I didn’t know what would happen when everything reset to zero. But for me now, the worst thing was death. That would be a release. “00:00:00” The numbers zeroed out. I closed my eyes, my heartbeat gone. A large, dark red stain of blood quietly spread beneath me. The maid came in to deliver food half an hour later. A moment later, a terrified scream echoed throughout the entire manor. The maid practically stumbled and crawled to Arthur, shrieking: “Ah—” “Someone’s dead!” “Miss Willow is dead; there’s blood everywhere!”

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Three years ago, I championed Amelia Thorne’s entry into the company. From intern to HR Director, every promotion she received, I had vouched for her. Now, there were 23 names on the redundancy list. Mine was at the top. She had submitted it. “Helen, I couldn’t help it.” Her eyes red-rimmed, “It was decided by management.” I said nothing. Her phone vibrated. A text message. Top contact, marked with a red heart emoji. The profile picture was a man’s side profile. A dark blue plaid shirt. The same one I had personally ironed for Oliver Goddard last night. Oliver Goddard is my husband. I put the list into my bag and stood up. “Amelia, the shirt the person in your top contact is wearing—” “I ironed it last night.” Her face went white. 1 “Helen! Helen, wait!” Amelia’s voice, tinged with a sob, chased me down the corridor. I didn’t look back. My heels clicked on the tiled floor, a steady rhythm. The elevator doors opened. She caught up to me, grabbing my arm. “You misunderstood, that person isn’t Oliver…” “Dark blue plaid shirt, with a small scorched hole under the left chest pocket.” I looked at her hand. “I accidentally ironed it like that last night.” Her fingers loosened. “Helen…” “Amelia.” I pressed the elevator button. “You’ve been using that trick on me for three years—your left eye reddens first, then your right. It’s not very effective anymore.” The elevator doors closed. I leaned against the elevator wall, watching the numbers drop. Basement one. Parking garage. I got into my car, closed the door. My phone lit up. A message. Amelia sent a voice note; I didn’t open it. Another text came: “Helen, if you don’t believe me, you can ask Oliver directly. He’ll explain.” I stared at the message for ten seconds. I opened Oliver’s social media. Last Wednesday, he posted a picture of coffee with the caption: “Working late, this coffee delivered tastes extra good.” That night he told me he was busy with a project at work; I hadn’t sent him any coffee. The first comment was from Amelia: “You’re working hard [heart emoji].” Oliver replied with a smiling emoji. I scrolled down further. A month ago, during the holiday weekend, he said he was taking clients for golf in the Bahamas. No pictures posted on his feed. But Amelia had posted. A beach, sunset, red bikini, with the caption: “Be good to me, holiday.” In the bottom right corner of the second photo, a man’s hand, wearing a very familiar wedding band on the ring finger. The scratch was on the left side—Oliver always rested his left hand on the steering wheel when driving, wearing it down. I exited the app, started the car. I arrived home at 7:30. Oliver poked his head out of the kitchen, smiling. “You’re back? Why so early today?” “Nothing much, so I came home.” “Wash up, dinner’s ready. The ribs just came out of the oven.” At the dining table, he served me food, recounting his day at the office. “You remember Mark from finance? Today he added an extra zero to a report, and the boss thought our department’s revenue had increased tenfold. He was happy for a whole hour…” He smiled very naturally. I smiled too. “Oh, right,” he said, “you ironed my blue plaid shirt, didn’t you? I have an important meeting tomorrow.” “It’s hanging in the third compartment of the closet.” “Thanks, wife.” He reached over and squeezed my fingers. His fingertips were warm. After dinner, he went to wash the dishes. I went into the bedroom and opened the closet. The blue plaid shirt was hanging there. I picked it up and sniffed it closely. Beneath the scent of laundry detergent, there was a faint fragrance. Bleu de Chanel. I had given it to Amelia for her birthday three years ago. “I love it so much!” she had hugged me then, saying, “Helen, you’re truly the best person in the world to me.” I hung the shirt back up. In the pocket, I felt a crumpled receipt. Two cups of coffee from a local cafe. One Americano, one low-sugar latte. I drink Americano. Oliver also drinks Americano. Whose was the low-sugar latte? The sound of water stopped in the bathroom. He walked out, wrapped in a towel. “Wife, I might be home late tomorrow; a project needs finishing.” “Okay.” “Don’t stay up too late.” He kissed my forehead. “Oliver.” “Hm?” “How long has it been since you celebrated our wedding anniversary with me?” His movement paused. “Last month wasn’t…” “Last month you said you had an unexpected business trip to the Caribbean.” “Right, that client couldn’t be put off…” “Did that client wear a red bikini?” His expression flickered, then returned to normal. “What are you talking about? The client is a bald man in his fifties.” “Oh.” “Why are you suddenly thinking about this?” “Nothing. There’s a small hole under the pocket of your shirt. I accidentally did it while ironing; I hope you don’t mind.” “Not at all.” He smiled. “You ironed it for me; even the hole looks good.” I turned off the light. In the darkness, his breathing gradually became even. My eyes remained open. At 2 AM, his phone lit up. A message popped up, labeled “Project Team – Kevin”: “Hubby, I’ve handled the last issue. She won’t have a chance to turn things around. Don’t worry.” Followed by a kissing emoji. Hubby. She. Turn things around. The screen darkened. Oliver turned over, his arm resting on my waist. “Mmm… wife…” he mumbled indistinctly. I didn’t move. “Goodnight,” I said. No one replied. 2 “Here, I bought you coffee, a sugar-free Americano.” Amelia stood at my cubicle, smiling gently, holding a Starbucks cup. Her other hand briefly rested on my shoulder. “I thought about yesterday all night; it truly was management’s decision. I tried to advocate for you.” I took the coffee. “Thank you.” “What you said yesterday… about the shirt,” she leaned in, lowering her voice, “my boyfriend happens to have an identical one. It’s just a coincidence, don’t overthink it.” “Your boyfriend?” “Mm, we’ve only been dating for two months, haven’t gone public yet.” She winked. “I’ll introduce you sometime.” “Okay.” She smiled and walked away. I took a sip of coffee. Americano, but with sugar. I never take sugar in my Americano. She remembered Oliver’s low-sugar latte, but couldn’t recall my preference. At 10 AM, my colleague Alex passed my cubicle, dropping a stack of documents, and whispered, “Helen, there’s something I’m not sure if I should tell you.” “Tell me.” She looked around, then pulled me into the breakroom. “The redundancy list… I saw three versions on the printer.” “Three versions?” “The first version had 15 people, and you weren’t on it. The second had 20, and you were number eight. The third is this current one, 23 people, and you’re number one.” “Who changed it?” “Amelia. All three revision records are under her account. Each time someone was added—” Alex bit her lip, “—it was always someone you mentored.” I said nothing. “And one more thing.” Alex lowered her voice. “Did you see last week’s department annual performance review?” “I submitted it.” “Not your version.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a screenshot. On the screen, under the department review section: “Helen Fraser: Average organizational skills, aggressive management style, poor team cohesion. Recommended for salary reduction, role reassignment, or optimization.” A red cross was next to my name. “Below that was a section for role recommendations.” Alex scrolled to the next page. “Amelia wrote it, recommending her assistant, Beth, to replace you. Someone who’s been with the company for less than six months.” “When was this report submitted?” “Two weeks ago. Three days before the redundancy list.” “Is the original report still in the system?” “Yes. But the permissions were changed; only Amelia and the administrator can see it. I saw it last week during system maintenance when IT recovered a batch of files.” Alex looked at me. “Helen, she did it on purpose.” I knew. At noon, Amelia came to find me again, sitting opposite me and placing a chicken wing in my bowl. “Helen, eat more, you’ve lost weight recently.” “Mm.” “Dinner tonight? Let’s get a barbecue. It’s been a while.” “He’s working late tonight.” “Then just the two of us.” She took my hand and held it. “Helen, no matter what happens, you’re my best friend.” Her palm was warm. The same temperature as when Oliver squeezed my fingers last night. “Amelia.” “Hm?” “What does your new boyfriend do?” Her eyes flickered. “Finance.” “Which company?” “A small company you wouldn’t know.” “What’s his name?” “Helen, why are you so interested in my boyfriend?” She smiled. “Are you jealous?” “Just asking.” In the afternoon, I went to HR’s shared folder. I didn’t have administrator privileges, but the old system’s backend entry was still open. Three minutes later, I found all the documents Amelia had submitted. Besides the tampered performance review, there was something else. Title: “Core Employee Seating Adjustment Plan.” The content was simple: Move Helen Fraser’s workstation from the eighth-floor department area to the third-floor administrative area. Reason: “Optimize office space.” The third-floor administrative area. Next to the restroom drainage pipe, no windows. She had even planned where I would sit. At the bottom of the document was a footnote. Not Amelia’s handwriting. “Confirmed with HR, to be executed next Monday. —Oliver Goddard.” Oliver. My husband’s name, appearing on a document that moved me next to the restroom. I opened the company directory and searched for “Oliver Goddard.” One result. Finance Department. Senior Finance Manager. Start date—two years ago. Two years ago, he told me he had switched to an investment company. “It’s a small company; you wouldn’t know it even if I told you.” Exactly what Amelia had said earlier. He had been working at my company for two years. In the same building. I was on the eighth floor, he was on the tenth. Separated by the ninth floor—the HR department, Amelia’s floor. My phone rang. Oliver. “Wife, what do you want for dinner tonight?” “…Anything.” “What’s wrong with your voice?” “A bit tired.” “Then leave work early. I’ll wait for you at home.” I hung up. I found the screenshot of that message from earlier that morning. “Project Team – Kevin.” Hubby. She won’t have a chance to turn things around. Kevin. “Amelia, you are truly something else.” 3 “Ms. Fraser, please attend the management meeting this afternoon.” My assistant, Emily, brought in documents, her expression subtle. “What’s the agenda?” “It’s being led by Director Thorne. Department budget reviews and personnel optimization plans.” At 2 PM, over a dozen people sat in the conference room. Amelia stood before the projector, dressed in a white turtleneck, looking intellectual and gentle. “Everyone, the company is facing some pressure this year, and we need to optimize our human efficiency.” She flipped to the next slide. “First, a report on each department’s semi-annual performance.” A table appeared on the screen. Marketing Department, 120% completion. Tech Department, 115%. Sales Department, 98%. Operations Department—my department—47%. 47%. I had led my team to achieve $18 million in revenue in the first half of the year, targeting $20 million. That’s a 90% completion rate. Not 47%. “The Operations Department’s performance is indeed less than ideal.” Amelia’s tone was regretful, glancing at me. “Ms. Fraser has worked hard, but the data doesn’t lie.” “How was this data calculated?” I asked. “Finance calculated it. Do you have any objections?” “The data I submitted was $18 million, a 90% completion rate.” “Finance performed a recalculation, and the revenue attribution for several projects was adjusted.” “What was the basis for the adjustment?” “That’s a professional judgment from Finance; I’m not entirely clear.” She shuffled the documents in her hand. “If you have questions, you can check with Finance after the meeting.” “Furthermore,” she continued, “after a comprehensive evaluation, the Operations Department’s human efficiency ranks last among all departments. Therefore, our optimization list has a higher proportion from Operations.” Out of 23 people, my department accounted for 14. More than half were to be laid off. “Helen,” she used my nickname in front of everyone, “don’t feel pressured. It’s not your personal problem; it’s the general economic climate.” Gentle, thoughtful. As if she was concerned for me. In reality, she had just used fake data to sentence my department to death. After the meeting, I went straight to the tenth-floor finance department. I found the finance manager, Mr. Davies. “Mr. Davies, on what basis was the Operations Department’s revenue recalculated?” Mr. Davies adjusted his glasses. “Last month, Director Thorne submitted an adjustment request, stating that the revenue attribution for three projects needed to be reclassified, moving them from Operations to Marketing.” “Who signed off on it?” “The process requires sign-off from the department liaison.” Mr. Davies handed over the document. On the signature line was a very familiar handwriting. Oliver Goddard. “This Oliver Goddard,” I pointed at the signature, “which department is he from?” “Finance Department. He’s responsible for liaising on all departmental financial matters,” Mr. Davies looked at me. “Doesn’t Ms. Fraser know him? He’s been here for two years.” “I know him.” I walked out of the tenth floor. The window at the end of the corridor was open. The November wind blew in, bitingly cold. Oliver had been working at the company for two years. He helped Amelia adjust my department’s data. Signed off on it. Then he went home, cooked me barbecue ribs, kissed my forehead, and said, “Wife, you’ve worked hard.” I took the elevator down to basement one and found Oliver’s car—the one I brought as part of my dowry. The car was unlocked. A beige silk scarf was draped over the passenger seat. Hermes. The one Amelia always wore. I opened the glove compartment, and inside was a crumpled hotel receipt. The Grand Hotel, Presidential Suite, costing $8,600. Date: October 15th. That day was our third wedding anniversary. Oliver said he was on a business trip to the Caribbean. He even sent a picture of a beautiful island. I replied then, “The island is beautiful, take me next time.” He said, “Definitely.” Hanging on the rearview mirror was a pair of keychains. Two small bears, one red and one blue, with the letters “W” and “H” engraved on the base. Wei and Heng. Not Tang and Heng. I photographed the receipt and put the keychains in my pocket. Back at my desk. Alex came over again. “Helen, Amelia was just in the breakroom telling some department heads—” She hesitated. “Word for word.” “She said, ‘Helen has been very emotional since she found out about the redundancies, and yesterday she said some rather incoherent things in my office. Please be understanding with her; she’s very pitiful.’” Unstable. Incoherent. Pitiful. Three labels affixed. From now on, no matter what I say, it will be dismissed as the rambling of someone having an emotional breakdown. My phone rang. Amelia. “Helen, are we still on for barbecue tonight?” “You decide.” “A steakhouse? You said last time you wanted a good steak.” “Amelia.” “Hm?” “Where were you on October 15th?” There was three seconds of silence on the other end. “Helen, why are you suddenly asking that?” “That was my wedding anniversary. Oliver was away on business, and I ate instant noodles alone at home. I just wanted to know if everyone else had a better day than me.” Another three seconds of silence. “…I worked late that day. Alone at the office until very late.” “Oh, that’s tough too.” “It is. So, barbecue at seven?” “Okay.” I hung up. The Grand Hotel receipt, check-in time 3 PM. “Worked late.” “Amelia, your ‘overtime’ location is quite luxurious.” 4 “Helen, what are you doing here?” Amelia looked up, in the process of changing the water for a bouquet of white roses. The flowers on her desk, at least thirty, were tied with a satin ribbon. “Who sent them?” I walked in and closed the door. “My boyfriend,” she smiled, moving the flowers aside. “Sit, can I get you something to drink?” “No need.” I sat across from her. I took three items from my bag, placing them one by one on her desk. A beige Hermes silk scarf. A Grand Hotel receipt. A pair of bear keychains, W & H. Amelia’s smile slowly faded. “The scarf was found in Oliver’s car, in the passenger seat. Yours, right?” She didn’t speak. “The Grand Hotel, October 15th. My wedding anniversary. Oliver told me he was in the Caribbean.” Her fingers subtly tightened. “The keychains are engraved with two letters. W for Wei, H for Heng.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she looked up at me, her eyes red again. “Helen… I know you’re hurting…” “I’m not hurting. I’m confirming facts with you.” “The fact is—” her voice trembled slightly, “—Oliver and I do know each other.” “Know each other.” “But it’s not what you think.” “Then what is it?” “He pursued me first,” she bit her lip. “Last year, at the annual gala, you left early. He had too much to drink and added me on social media.” “And then?” “I rejected him! Helen, you’re my best friend, how could I possibly—” “Best friend.” “Yes! So I kept avoiding him, but he kept seeking me out, sending messages, gifts…” “And you couldn’t avoid him, so you stayed in the Grand Hotel’s Presidential Suite?” She froze. “Couldn’t avoid him, so you flew to the Bahamas together?” “The Bahamas wasn’t what you think—” “You posted pictures. A red bikini. His hand is in the bottom right corner of the photo, a wedding ring on his ring finger, with scratches on the left side.” Amelia’s tears finally fell. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…” “Then what about the redundancy list?” My voice was calm. “You revised it three times. Each time, you added people from my team. My name wasn’t on the first version; you added it.” She wiped away her tears. “You also changed the performance review. My performance was $18 million, and you wrote it as less than $8 million. The difference was entirely reallocated to the Marketing Department.” “That was a Finance Department decision—” “The person who signed it was Oliver Goddard.” She fell silent. “You also wrote my seating adjustment plan. Moving me from the eighth floor to next to the restroom on the third floor. And Oliver’s handwriting was in the annotation column.” “Helen…” “You two work very well together.” “It’s not what you think!” she suddenly stood up, her voice changed—no longer a soft sob, but sharp, urgent. “Oliver promised me, he said he would handle—” She stopped mid-sentence. Realizing she had let something slip. “Promised you what?” I looked at her. She covered her mouth. “Handle me?” “No… I didn’t mean that…” “Amelia. Three years ago, when you came for your interview, that internship experience on your resume was fake. I helped you cover it up.” Her breathing hitched. “Your first probation review didn’t pass; I found three reviewers to speak up for you. When you were promoted to manager, your competitor was stronger, and I fought for you in the meeting.” “I know…” “From intern to HR Director, three years, I pushed you every step of the way.” “Helen, I’m grateful to you…” “Your way of showing gratitude is to sleep with my husband, falsify my data, and put my name first on the redundancy list.” She opened her mouth, wanting to explain something. The office door was pushed open. Oliver stood at the doorway. A cup of coffee in his left hand, another in his right. “Amelia, I—” He looked up. He saw me. His smile froze on his face. Both coffee cups tilted simultaneously, brown liquid spilling onto his leather shoes. He didn’t move. Amelia didn’t move. I didn’t move either. Three people, two seconds of silence. Quiet enough to hear the coffee dripping onto the tiled floor.

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His first love woke up. Right in the middle of our engagement party. Leaving a hall full of elite guests and me standing there completely humiliated, he sprinted toward the hospital without a single backward glance. He tossed out just one sentence. “Hold the fort.” I held it. I held it so well that exactly one week later, I walked straight into City Hall and married his absolute worst enemy. When he blocked my path at the bottom of the municipal steps, his eyes bloodshot as he demanded to know how I could be so heartless, the man beside me let out a low, dark chuckle. “President Sinclair. You might want to get your facts straight before opening your mouth. I married Linda.” I looped my arm through my new husband’s, smiling like the morning breeze. “Did you honestly think you were the only person in the world waiting for a first love? What a coincidence. The exact day you destroyed our engagement, the man I waited ten years for finally came back to me.” 1 My engagement banquet with Tristan Sinclair was supposed to be the event of the season. Until the woman who had been in a coma for three entire years woke up. “Darling, Lily just woke up. She absolutely cannot be alone right now. I have to go to her immediately.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped his phone. Wild ecstasy flooded his eyes, masking a tiny, insignificant sliver of guilt. “You have always been so understanding. Keep the guests entertained. We will deal with this when I get back.” He did not even wait for my response. Tossing those words like spare change, he shoved through the crowd and sprinted out of the ballroom. He trampled my dignity and the reputations of both our families right into the marble floor. Everyone assumed I would wait for him to return like a pathetic, loyal little dog. A full week later, he finally remembered I existed. But instead of tears, he was greeted by a brand new marriage certificate. Looking at the document in my hand, Tristan completely lost his mind. His custom tailored suit was wrinkled. His hair was an absolute mess, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. He stared at the paper, his gaze burning with enough heat to set it on fire. “Linda! Did you marry my biggest rival just to get back at me?!” The man beside me took a slow, deliberate step forward. His tall, broad frame shielded me completely. His tone dripped with raw mockery. “President Sinclair, get your facts straight before opening your mouth. I married Linda.” I tightened my grip on his arm, meeting Tristan’s furious glare head-on. “Did you honestly think you were the only one desperately waiting for a first love? Too bad. The exact day you blew up our engagement, the man I waited ten years for happened to come back.” People were constantly walking in and out of City Hall. Tristan’s rising voice was drawing a crowd of curious onlookers. “Explain yourself! What do you mean, the man you waited ten years for? What about the five years we spent together!” I was sick to my stomach of being treated like a circus animal on display. Especially since I had just been played for the biggest fool in front of hundreds of socialites a week ago. Before I could even part my lips, Victor Cross blocked their view entirely. He stood half a head taller than Tristan, radiating an icy, suffocating pressure. “This is a private matter between my wife and me. Do not trouble yourself over it.” Victor’s voice was not loud, but every word stabbed into Tristan like an ice pick. “Your wife?” Tristan laughed like he had just heard the most absurd joke on earth. He tried to step around Victor to grab my wrist. “Linda, stop throwing a tantrum and come home with me! I know you are angry. You are mad that I left you at the banquet. I apologize. I will give you whatever compensation you want. Just do not joke around with your entire future!” His fingers never even grazed my skin. Victor snatched his wrist in midair. “Have some respect.” Victor’s voice dropped to a freezing temperature. “Linda is legally my wife. The law protects her now. If you try to touch her again, I do not mind having the police teach you some manners.” Victor’s grip was bone-crushing. Tristan’s face instantly drained of color. “Do not get too arrogant, Victor! You know exactly what kind of dirty tricks you used to trick Linda into this! Do you really think you won?” Tristan struggled, his facial features twisting in blind rage. I peeked out from behind Victor’s broad shoulders, calmly looking at the man I had loved for five years. What did I ever love about him? Was it his money? His handsome face? Or was it the fact that he only ever treated me like a beautiful, low-maintenance decoration? Bile rose in my throat. “No one tricked me. It was entirely my choice.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Five years of feelings were wiped to absolute zero the second you turned your back on me for Lily. I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing. We are walking separate paths now. Do not ever contact me again.” “Wiped to zero? You say that so easily!” Tristan’s eyes were terrifyingly red. “You cannot do this to me! Lily… she is just my responsibility!” “Responsibility?” A genuine, bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was purely ridiculous. “So your so-called responsibility had to be paid for with our families’ reputations, my personal dignity, and five years of my youth? Stop lying to yourself, Tristan. You love her. From the very beginning, it has always been her.” What was I for the last five years? Just a convenient stand-in for Lily. A perfectly obedient tool to cure his boredom and pacify his elders while his true love was asleep. Now that the real owner of his heart was awake, the understudy was naturally expected to get off the stage. I was too exhausted to even voice those thoughts out loud. There was no point. “Linda…” “Please address me as Mrs. Cross.” I cut him off, clinging tighter to Victor’s arm. “My husband is waiting to take me home. Get out of the way.” Victor naturally wrapped a strong arm around my waist, guiding me toward the black sedan parked by the curb. Tristan stood frozen in place, looking like a statue struck by lightning. I did not look back. Once inside the car, Victor handed me a bottle of warm water. “How are you holding up?” he asked softly. “Never better.” I twisted the cap off, took a sip, and let out a long, heavy exhale. It felt like I was expelling five years of built-up toxicity, along with every ounce of humiliation from that banquet. The car merged smoothly into the traffic. The city streets blurred outside my window, but my mind uncontrollably dragged me back to seven days ago. The union of the Davis and Sinclair families. I was wearing a custom gown flown in from Paris. My arm was hooked through his, and I was soaking in the applause, genuinely believing I was the luckiest woman alive. Then his phone vibrated. I watched the color drain from his face, replaced by shock, then unhinged joy, and finally, a fleeting glance of guilt directed at me. My heart plummeted. He hung up and squeezed my hands, his voice trembling. “Linda, Lily… Lily is awake!” Lily. That name had been a poisoned thorn festering in my heart for five years. His childhood sweetheart. The woman sitting firmly at the apex of his heart. Three years ago, she got into a horrific car accident trying to save him and fell into a vegetative state. Tristan’s world collapsed that day. I was the one who pulled him out of the dark. I foolishly believed time could dilute his pain. I thought my devotion would make him let go of the past. I thought his proposal meant he had finally fallen in love with me. It turned out I was just delusional. “Darling, Lily just woke up. She absolutely cannot be alone right now. I have to go to her immediately.” He looked at me, begging with his eyes. I stared at him, then at the hundreds of guests behind us, then at the bright, expectant smiles on our parents’ faces. My blood ran completely cold. “You have always been so understanding. Keep the guests entertained. We will deal with this when I get back.” He did not even wait for my permission. Tossing my hand aside, he pushed through the sea of people and ran. The massive ballroom fell deathly silent. Hundreds of eyes locked onto me like spotlights. Pity. Sympathy. Malicious glee. I was standing in the center of the most glamorous stage in the world, wearing the most expensive dress, feeling utterly naked and foolish. My parents rushed the stage, their faces livid. Tristan’s parents looked mortified and furious. I barely remember what happened next. I only remember taking off my torturous heels and walking down the stairs barefoot. I did not cry. I did not scream. I walked up to my parents and whispered, “Dad, Mom, let’s go home.” That night, I locked myself in my bedroom. Still no tears. Just a numb, hollow emptiness. My phone screen kept lighting up. Dozens of missed calls from my best friend, Zoe. A flood of text messages. “Linda, are you okay? That absolute trash! I am so furious!” “Babe, please do not do anything stupid. He is not worth it!” I ignored them all. Around midnight, an unknown number called. Acting on pure instinct, I answered. “Is this Linda? It is Victor Cross.” The deep, resonant voice on the other end of the line carried a strange, haunting familiarity. Victor Cross. Tech billionaire. Tristan’s ultimate nemesis in the business world. And my deepest, ten-year-old secret. “What do you want?” My voice was terribly hoarse. “I am back,” he said smoothly. “Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock at City Hall. Bring your ID. I will be waiting.” I stopped breathing for a second. “What exactly are you saying?” A short pause followed. Then, his voice dropped, laced with a faint, warm amusement. “I am saying that if Tristan Sinclair does not know how to treasure you, I do.” He hung up. I sat in the pitch-black room clutching my phone for a very long time. Eventually, I smiled. The next morning, ignoring my parents’ shocked protests, I grabbed my documents and walked out the door. Which led to the scene on the municipal steps. “What are you thinking about?” Victor’s voice pulled me back to the present. I turned to look at him. He was focused on the road, his jawline sharp and immaculate. “I was just wondering if rushing into a marriage with you was a bit too reckless,” I joked lightly. He shot me a side-glance, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “It is too late to regret it now. Mrs. Cross, once you board my ship, you are never getting off.” The car eventually glided into the underground garage of an ultra-luxury high-rise. I expected a man like Victor to live in a cold, sterile, monochromatic penthouse, much like Tristan’s soulless mansions. But the moment the private elevator doors opened, I froze. There was no gaudy crystal chandelier. Just a soft, warm amber entry light. A pair of comfortable men’s slippers sat neatly on the floor. Right next to them was a brand new pair of plush, pink bunny slippers. Exactly my size. My heart skipped a tiny beat. “Make yourself at home.” Victor shrugged off his suit jacket, hung it up, and bent down to place the bunny slippers right at my feet. “Thank you.” I slid my feet into them. The material was heavenly. I followed him into the living room. The space was enormous, but the interior design was surprisingly inviting. A light gray fabric sofa, warm oak floors, and large floor-to-ceiling windows lined with vibrant, thriving potted plants. The air smelled of sunlight and fresh coffee. It actually felt like a home. “What would you like to drink? Water, juice, or maybe… wine?” He opened the refrigerator and glanced back. “Just water, please.” I sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa. We were legally married, but practically speaking, we were strangers. I knew he was a ruthless tycoon and Tristan’s worst nightmare. Beyond that, nothing. He handed me a glass of warm water and took a seat in the armchair opposite mine. A thick, awkward silence settled over the room. A bride dumped at her engagement party, and a corporate rival swooping in to claim her. No matter how you looked at it, we seemed like a temporary alliance forged out of spite, not newlyweds. “Um…” I cleared my throat, taking the initiative. “Thank you for getting me out of that situation earlier today.” “I was not just getting you out of a situation.” His dark eyes locked onto mine, intense and serious. “I was protecting my wife’s dignity.” My wife. The words rolled off his tongue so naturally, as if he had been calling me that for decades. My cheeks flared with heat. “But we…” “Linda,” he interrupted gently. “Do you think my proposal today was just some sudden whim? Or that I only did it to humiliate Tristan?” I pressed my lips together, essentially agreeing. It sounded exactly like a cheap soap opera plot. Stealing the rival’s humiliated ex-fiancée was the ultimate power move. Suddenly, he smiled. His smile was breathtaking. The usual cold, unapproachable aura melted away like snow under a spring sun. “What if I told you I have been waiting for this exact day for ten years? Would you believe me?” My breath caught in my throat. Ten years? The timeline was too specific. Too impossible. “I do not understand…” My voice was dry. “Ten years ago, in the back alley behind Oakridge High School, there was a girl. To protect the miserable kid who shared her desk from getting mugged, she grabbed a broken brick and scared off three older delinquents like a feral street cat.” He spoke softly, as if narrating a distant fairytale. But an explosion went off inside my brain. The blurry memory instantly snapped into sharp focus. A sweltering summer afternoon. The deafening sound of cicadas. I was taking a shortcut through an alley on my way home from school. I saw the quiet, gloomy transfer student from my class backed into a corner by three vocational school dropouts. Rumor had it he was rich but neglected, making him an easy target. I had no idea where I got the liquid courage. Blood rushing to my head, I scooped up a jagged piece of brick and charged. “What are you doing! I already called the cops! They are five minutes away!” My voice must have been high-pitched and shaking. But the thugs were cowards. Startled by my kamikaze energy, they cursed and ran away. I helped the tall boy up. He kept his head down, his long bangs hiding his eyes. I asked if he was okay. He nodded. I asked his name. He stayed silent. Annoyed by his lack of gratitude, I shoved the heavy brick right into his chest. “Keep this! If anyone tries to bully you again, smash their heads in! Do not be a coward!” Then I marched away like a victorious general. The transfer student vanished from school shortly after, and I eventually forgot the whole ordeal. I looked up, staring in utter disbelief at the man sitting across from me. Mature. Imposing. Powerful. I could not reconcile him with that skinny, silent teenage boy. “You… you are…” “Victor.” His eyes crinkled, looking at me like I hung the moon. “I am that unlucky desk-mate you saved.” My brain short-circuited. No screenwriter would dare write a script this absurd. “How… how did…” I babbled. “My father forced me to transfer out immediately. I never got the chance to say thank you, or even tell you my name,” he explained quietly. “I was sent abroad right after. But I never forgot you.” “You remembered the girl wielding a broken brick like a little gangster?” I blurted out. He laughed again, a rich, chest-deep sound. “Yes. I remembered. You were incredibly cute.” Cute? What part of a screaming girl with a weapon was cute? “So you came back… just to…” “To marry you,” he stated with absolute certainty. “But you do not even know me anymore! It has been a decade! What if I grew up to be a horrible person?” I still felt like I was walking on clouds. “I trust my judgment.” His gaze turned heavy and piercing. “Besides, I have been keeping a very close eye on you. I know your likes and dislikes. I know you were with Tristan for five years, and the idiot never even realized you are deathly allergic to mangoes.” My chest absorbed another heavy blow. Tristan really did not know. On one of our dates, he ordered a mango crepe cake and pushed it toward me. I simply smiled, said I was not craving sweets, and watched him eat the whole thing. I never corrected him because I did not want to be an inconvenience. I always thought loving someone meant being agreeable and accommodating. And yet, this “stranger” sitting in front of me knew. He knew me better than the man I had shared a bed with for five years. Was it ironic, or was it just incredibly lucky? “You investigated me?” I frowned slightly. “Not an investigation,” he admitted freely. “As a business rival, looking into President Sinclair’s personal life is standard procedure. I just accidentally ended up paying way too much attention to you.” He made it sound effortless, but I knew “accidentally” did not cover the sheer amount of resources he must have spent keeping tabs on me from the shadows. “So the night of the banquet, you called me…” “I never intended to rush things like this.” He sighed. “I wanted to court you properly. Formally. But Tristan forced my hand.” His eyes darkened with dangerous intent. “When I saw the news breaking that he abandoned you at your own engagement party, I knew I could not wait another second.” “Linda, I refuse to watch you suffer another grievance. Never again.” Looking into those dark, resolute eyes, I suddenly realized that signing those marriage papers was not an act of impulsive revenge. It was fate. That night, I tossed and turned in the guest bedroom. Victor had insisted on giving me time to adjust, so he took the master suite. We were separated by a single wall. The proximity made my skin tingle. I pulled out my phone and opened Zoe’s chat. Her messages were still sitting there, unread. Taking a deep breath, I typed: “Zoe, I got married.” Less than three seconds later, my phone vibrated violently with her incoming call. “Holy shit! Linda! Are you out of your mind?! With who? Do not tell me it is actually Victor Cross!” I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Yeah. It is him.” “Oh my god! You are insane! Do you even know him? Do you know what kind of ruthless predator he is? He is Tristan’s arch-nemesis! He is definitely using you to humiliate the Sinclair family!” Zoe’s panic was deafening. I understood her reaction. Any normal person would lose their mind hearing their best friend married her toxic ex’s biggest enemy a week after getting dumped. “Zoe, calm down,” I said patiently. “It is not what you think.” I gave her the abridged version of the brick-wielding incident from ten years ago, and how Victor had been watching over me ever since. Dead silence fell over the line. A full minute later, Zoe finally spoke, her voice sounding completely detached from reality. “So… this is not a ‘marrying the enemy for revenge’ trashy drama. This is a ‘ten years of secret pining finally comes true’ epic romance?” “… You could interpret it that way.” “Damn it!” Zoe cursed loudly. “This is better than a movie! So, how is he? Is he treating you right? Is he hot? How is the body?” The conversation was taking a very dangerous turn. “He is great. And he is… extremely handsome.” Victor’s face flashed in my mind, making my pulse race. “As for his body… I have not really looked.” “Idiot! That is the most important part!” Zoe practically screamed. “Hurry up and find an excuse to inspect the goods! If the merchandise is faulty, demand an immediate refund!” My face flushed crimson. “Zoe!” “What are you blushing for? You are legally married!” I quickly hung up and buried my burning face into the pillows. Unfortunately, my traitorous brain instantly began imagining what Victor looked like underneath those tailored suits. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long legs… Stop it, Linda! Have some shame! Right at that moment, two soft knocks landed on the door. “Linda, are you asleep?” It was Victor. My heart vaulted into my throat. Did he hear me talking to Zoe? Were the walls that thin? “No… not yet.” I scrambled to sit up, smoothing down my silk pajamas and clearing my throat. The door opened a crack, and Victor stepped in. He was out of his suit, dressed in dark gray loungewear. His hair was damp from the shower. The sharp, aggressive edge he carried during the day was gone, replaced by a devastating, domestic warmth. “I saw your light was still on. I figured you might have trouble sleeping in a new bed.” He held a mug of warm milk. “Drink this. It helps.” So that was it. I let out a breath I did not know I was holding, though a weird, tiny part of me felt disappointed. “Thank you.” Our fingers brushed as I took the mug. His skin was incredibly warm. He did not leave immediately. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, studying me. “What is on your mind?” “Nothing, just… it all feels a bit surreal,” I mumbled, cradling the warm mug. “You will get used to it.” His voice was like velvet. “From now on, this is your home.” My home. Since childhood, my home was the massive Davis estate. Later, I thought my home would be the cold, modern penthouse I was supposed to share with Tristan. Now, this man was telling me that this apartment—a place I had just stepped foot in today—was my true home. My nose stung. “Victor,” I looked up at him. “Do you… do you think I am too easy? We just…” “No.” He cut me off, his gaze burning bright. “Linda, in my eyes, you deserve the absolute best this world has to offer. Tristan being blind is his own tragic loss. Getting to marry you is the greatest privilege of my life.” How could he say things like that with a straight face? My cheeks were definitely hotter than the milk. “It is late. Get some rest.” Noticing my embarrassment, he offered a gentle smile and quietly pulled the door shut behind him. The room returned to silence. I took tiny sips of the sweet milk, feeling a profound warmth spread from my stomach straight to my heart. He definitely did not hear Zoe’s scandalous comments, right? Yeah. Definitely not. The next morning, I woke up to the mouthwatering smell of breakfast. Walking out of the bedroom in a daze, I found Victor in the open kitchen, wearing a… pink apron. He was expertly frying eggs. The morning light spilled through the windows, casting a golden halo around his broad shoulders. Hearing my footsteps, he turned around and gave me a crisp, bright smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Cross. Go wash up. Breakfast is almost ready.” Sitting on the dining table were perfectly cooked sunny-side-up eggs, golden toast, warm milk, and a small bowl of fruit salad. My exact favorite breakfast combination. “How do you know my exact order?” I had to ask. “I told you. I have been paying attention.” He slid a glass of milk toward me, sounding as casual as if he were discussing the weather. I felt a rush of complex emotions. Having a man quietly observe you for years, memorizing even your breakfast preferences—if I hated him, I would be terrified. But because it was Victor… I found it incredibly sweet. After eating, he began getting ready for work. “What are your plans for today?” he asked while tying his shoes. “I…” Reality came crashing down. I had a massive mess to clean up. I needed to face my parents regarding the canceled wedding, and more importantly, drop the bomb that I was already married. Just thinking about my parents’ incoming wrath gave me a headache. “Do you want me to come with you?” He noticed my hesitation. “No, it is fine.” I shook my head. “It is my mess. I need to handle it myself.” I refused to act like a fragile flower that needed to hide behind him at the first sign of trouble. “Alright.” He did not push it. Instead, he pulled out a sleek, obsidian black card and handed it to me. “The pin is your birthday. Buy whatever you want. Do not hold back.” Here we go again with the overbearing billionaire tropes! And yet, my heart was racing. “I… I have my own money,” I whispered, trying to refuse. “This is what a husband is supposed to provide.” He pressed the heavy metal card into my palm, leaving no room for argument. “Be good. Take it.” Before I could process it, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. Then he turned and walked out the door. I stood frozen in the entryway for a solid ten minutes, clutching the card that still carried his body heat, my face burning up. Oh my god! He kissed me! Even if it was just the forehead! I took several deep breaths, forcing my racing heart to calm down. Get it together, Linda! You are a married woman now! It was just a forehead kiss! Mentally preparing myself for battle, I dialed my mother’s number. “Linda! Where are you? Are you okay? You terrified us!” Eleanor’s frantic voice burst through the speaker. After the disaster at the banquet, I had locked myself away and then vanished the next morning. Of course they were terrified. “Mom, I am fine. I am perfectly fine.” I tried to sound as normal as possible. “I am out right now… I have something important to tell you and Dad.” “What is it? Where are you? We will come get you!” “No, it is okay. I will come home this afternoon to talk.” I hung up and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were a little red, but my gaze was remarkably steady. It was time to face the music. That afternoon, I took a cab back to the Davis estate. Walking into the grand living room, I found both my parents sitting on the sofas, their expressions grim. Spread across the coffee table were today’s newspapers. The headlines were universally vicious. Tristan Sinclair Abandons Bride at the Altar for Comatose Ex-Lover! Five-Year Romance Turns to Dust: Linda Davis Humiliated in High Society! “Linda, you are back!” My mother jumped up and rushed over, grabbing my arms to inspect me from head to toe. “Where have you been? You did not answer any calls! We were going out of our minds!” “I am fine, Mom.” I patted her hands reassuringly. My father, Arthur, sat rigidly on the couch, his face dark with fury. I knew he was furious at me for disappearing, but mostly furious at the Sinclair family. “I will make the Sinclairs bleed for this,” my father finally growled, his voice thick with wrath. “Do not worry, Linda. I will not let you suffer this indignity for nothing.” Seeing them so fiercely protective of me warmed my heart and solidified my resolve. I reached into my designer bag, pulled out the crisp marriage certificate, and gently placed it on the coffee table. A suffocating silence descended upon the room. My mother’s eyes widened. She looked at the document, then at me, her lips trembling, unable to form a single word. My father’s face shifted from red to purple, then to a ghastly pale. He picked up the document with shaking hands and flipped it open. When his eyes landed on the name “Victor Cross”, his hand spasmed, dropping the booklet onto the rug. “This is madness!” He slammed his hand against the glass table and shot to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Linda! What on earth are you doing! Did you use your own marriage as a tool just to spite Tristan? Do you know who Victor Cross is? He is Tristan’s sworn enemy! You marrying him turns the Davis family into a circus act! How are people going to look at you?!” “Dad!” I met his furious gaze without taking a single step back. “I am not doing this out of spite, and this is not a joke. I am entirely sober and I know exactly what I am doing.” “Sober? You call marrying a man you have met barely a handful of times in one week being sober?!” he roared, losing his usual aristocratic composure. “He is not just a man I met a few times.” I took a deep breath and proceeded to lay out the entire truth. I told them about the incident from high school ten years ago, and how he had been waiting in the shadows ever since. I naturally omitted the part where Victor had “investigated” me, framing it instead as him quietly watching over me. When I finished, the living room plunged back into a prolonged silence. My mother’s expression morphed from shock, to disbelief, to a faint glimmer of being deeply moved. My father slowly sank back onto the sofa, massaging his temples, lost in thought. After a very long time, he spoke, his voice laced with exhaustion. “Even so, this is entirely too reckless. Marriage is not a game.” “Dad, I am an adult.” I looked at him with absolute sincerity. “I know what I want. For the past five years with Tristan, I lived like a puppet on a string. I always had to be the bigger person. Always understanding. Always stepping aside. But now, I want to live for myself.” I paused, dropping the final, most crucial weight onto the scale. “Besides… he treats me incredibly well.” My father stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I braced myself for another explosion of anger. Instead, he let out a heavy, defeated sigh.

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001 Stella insisted I wear the silver locket she gave me after her tragic miscarriage. I hated wearing jewelry, but her eyes had been so hollow, so desperate, that I eventually caved and fastened it around my neck. This morning, the ultrasound screen was a black, silent void. My perfectly healthy baby had lost its heartbeat. Meanwhile, sitting in the very same waiting room, Stella texted me a picture of her positive pregnancy test. I walked out of the hospital clinic like a wandering ghost. The sunlight felt cold. Suddenly, a scruffy old man stepped directly into my path, his piercing eyes locked onto my chest. “Girl,” his voice rasped, sharp as an ice pick. “You are carrying a child, yet you wear the ashes of the dead. You are trading your own flesh and blood to buy life for someone else’s womb.” A chill violently violently down my spine. Stella’s sudden pregnancy. My baby’s vanishing heartbeat. I shoved past the old man and ran. I didn’t stop until my lungs burned and I was safely behind my own front door. My hands shook wildly as I tore the silver locket from my neck. Without thinking, I roughly looped it around the neck of my pregnant black Lab, who was resting on her bed. … I stood in the entryway, panting, staring at the little silver pendant. It was filled with a fine, grayish-black powder. Bone ashes? My mind went entirely blank. “Those are the ashes of a stillborn!” The old man’s grave expression flashed in my mind. “It’s a dark exchange. Life for life. The baby inside you will rot, and the one who gave you that locket will give birth to a perfectly healthy child.” My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. Stella and I had grown up together. We were closer than blood. When she lost her baby, I waddled over to her apartment with my own heavy pregnant belly just to cook for her and hold her hand. I couldn’t believe she would do something so evil to me. But what if? My baby’s heartbeat was really gone. Outside the hospital, when I tried to throw the locket into the street, the old man, who introduced himself as Danny, had grabbed my wrist. “The ritual started the second it touched your skin,” he warned. “If you want out, you must pass the burden to another pregnant vessel to complete the cycle. Toss it away blindly, and both you and your child will die.” I had begged him for another way. I wasn’t going to curse an innocent woman just to save myself. “You have until midnight to pass it on. Once it’s done, call me. And remember, do not alert the ones who cursed you.” He handed me a crumpled piece of paper with his number and vanished into the crowd. It was five in the afternoon. Seven hours left. My thoughts were a chaotic mess as I stumbled deeper into my house. The moment I approached the study, a sound froze the blood in my veins. Heavy, satisfied panting. The distinct, wet sounds of the aftermath of sex. Then, Stella’s breathless giggle drifted through the cracked door. “You should have seen your wife walking out of the clinic, Nolan. She looked like a walking corpse. I almost laughed out loud.” My husband’s voice, low and coaxing, replied. “Just wait until the ash ritual is complete. When she finally passes that dead lump of flesh, she’ll cry her eyes out. It’ll be hideous, but you’ll love the show.” Lightning struck my brain. Danny was telling the truth. I wanted to kick the door open, scream at them, tear them apart with my bare hands. But Danny’s warning echoed in my ears. Do not alert them. Biting down on my lip so hard I tasted copper, I silently backed away. I slipped out of the house I shared with Nolan and drove straight to the small apartment I owned before we got married. The second I locked the door behind me, my knees gave out. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor and sobbed until I choked. When I finally wiped my face and looked up, my pregnant black dog was cowering near her crate, keeping a wide distance from me. I had raised her for seven years, yet she never warmed up to me or Nolan. Strangely, she absolutely adored Stella. Looking at her swollen belly, a dark, desperate thought clicked into place. Danny never explicitly said the locket had to go to a human. A cold hardness settled in my eyes. They wanted to play God with my child. Let them burn. 002 I poured half a bowl of premium dog food. While she was distracted, I cautiously wrapped the silver locket around her thick belly, hiding the chain beneath her fur. Then I nudged her into her large crate and draped a blanket over it. Maybe I was losing my mind, but the moment the locket rested against her skin, the dog looked up at me. Her eyes held a human-like, venomous disgust. My fingers trembled as I latched the crate. Just then, the front door clicked open. Nolan walked into the entryway, juggling several grocery bags. “Hey, honey,” his voice dripped with his usual buttery warmth. “The gate guard mentioned you came into the complex. When you weren’t at our house, I figured you were hurting and came here to hide.” He set the bags down. “I bought fresh chicken. I’m going to make you a rich broth tonight to build your strength back up.” His words sounded so caring, but a layer of icy sweat broke out across my back. He tracked me down. Bang. The black dog suddenly rammed her head against the crate door, bursting it open before I could even flinch. I watched in absolute horror as she trotted straight to Nolan, rubbing her head affectionately against his legs, whining for his attention. My nerves snapped tight. She always hated Nolan. Why was she acting like this? Nolan looked surprised, but as he bent down to pet her, his eyes caught the gleam of silver buried in her fur. His expression instantly darkened. “Harper,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Why is the locket Stella gave you on the dog?” “Oh, that…” I forced a light laugh, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I thought it looked cute. I was going to record a little video for social media. Might go viral.” Moving on pure adrenaline, I whipped out my phone, filmed the dog for ten seconds, and posted it online right in front of him. Nolan’s face remained stormy. “You put expensive jewelry on an animal? What if she breaks it? Stella poured her heart into this gift!” He snatched the locket off the dog. As he stepped toward me, his voice morphed back into that sickeningly sweet tone. “Come here. Let me put it back where it belongs.” The moment the silver left her body, the dog reverted to normal. She bared her teeth and snarled viciously at Nolan. He shot her a single, murderous glare. The dog shivered, tucked her tail between her legs, and bolted back into her crate. My stomach churned. Before I could back away, Nolan’s hands were around my neck, fastening the clasp. The locket felt like a line of frost burning into my skin. My windpipe constricted. A sharp, violent cramp ripped through my abdomen. 003 I let out a painful gasp, doubling over. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Nolan asked, feigning panic. “My stomach… it’s cramping really badly. I need to lie down.” Clutching my waist, I limped into the bedroom, pretending to be in agony. My plan was simple. Wait until he was distracted in the kitchen, rip the necklace off, and tie it back onto the dog. But the second my fingers brushed the silver chain, a shadow fell over me. “What are you doing, Harper?” My heart jumped into my throat. Nolan was leaning against the doorframe, watching me with dead, unblinking eyes. It was the exact same venomous look the dog had given me. “I’m changing my clothes,” I retorted, forcing myself to frown. “Why are you hovering over me?” His gaze stayed glued to my chest. “With the baby’s complications today, I’m just worried about you. Just rest. I’ll go start dinner.” He wasn’t going to let me take it off. I swallowed my terror and fury, waiting for another opening. But Nolan was like a shadow. Even when I went to the bathroom, he knocked on the door after three minutes. Time bled away. The clock hit nine-thirty. Less than three hours until midnight. Under the crushing anxiety, my head began to spin heavily. Nolan practically carried me back to bed. A while later, I forced my heavy eyelids open. Peeking through the cracked door, I saw Nolan sitting on the living room sofa, his back to me, phone pressed to his ear. “Relax. I’ve been watching her like a hawk. She hasn’t touched the necklace.” He paused, a cruel smirk evident in his tone. “I slipped a little something into her soup. She’ll be out cold until tomorrow morning. By then, the ritual will be locked in.” “Feel bad for her? Are you joking? She lies there like a dead fish. If it weren’t for her bank accounts, I wouldn’t have looked at her twice.” “Once she goes under the knife to remove the dead tissue, I’ll keep spiking her food. When she finally drops dead, everything she owns is ours.” Silent tears spilled hot tracks down my cheeks. With my parents gone, Stella and Nolan had been my entire world. I never imagined the depths of their depravity. They didn’t just want to sacrifice my baby. They wanted to slowly murder me. Hearing Nolan end the call, I snapped my eyes shut and leveled my breathing. His footsteps approached, stopping right beside the bed. Every muscle in my body screamed to run, but I stayed perfectly limp. Thankfully, he only observed me for a moment before retreating to the spare room. I waited another agonizing ten minutes before opening my eyes. I checked my phone. Eleven o’clock! I pulled up the apartment’s security feed on my phone. Nolan was stretched out on the sofa bed in the spare room. Moving with agonizing slowness, I slipped out of bed. I took the leftover soup he had spiked and poured it into the dog’s bowl. She lapped it up and was unconscious within minutes. Thank God I had only swallowed a few spoonfuls at dinner. I could still push through the dizziness. Fighting the fog in my brain, I tied a towel securely around the dog’s snout, scooped her heavy body into my arms, and sneaked out the back door. I hailed a cab and rode to a sprawling, dimly lit park miles away. In a secluded grove of trees, I secured the silver locket tightly around the dog’s waist. It was five minutes to midnight. There was no time to exhale. I pulled a brand-new smartphone out of my coat pocket, swapped my SIM card, and hurled my old phone into a nearby pond. I didn’t know if Nolan had installed tracking software on it, but I wasn’t taking any chances. The new phone was supposed to be his birthday present. The irony tasted like ash in my mouth. With three minutes to spare, I called my lawyer. I was not going to let them get away with this. The second the clock struck midnight, I dialed Danny’s number. Just as the line connected, the unconscious black dog suddenly convulsed, letting out a muffled, agonizing shriek. 004 Dark, foul-smelling blood began to seep onto the grass beneath the dog. Her swollen belly visibly, horrifyingly deflated. If I hadn’t passed the locket on, that would be my baby. My voice trembled uncontrollably as the old man answered. “Danny. I passed the locket on. What do I do now?” “Get to my place, now,” he ordered. “The ash locket is a parasite of the dark arts. Your child’s life force has already been drained. We need to restore it tonight, or you will still miscarry.” “I’m on my way.” I pressed a hand to my belly. A tiny, incredibly weak flutter pushed against my palm. My baby was fighting. A fierce wave of adrenaline washed over me. I sprinted toward the main road to flag down a cab. Just as I reached the curb, headlights blinded me. A car violently jumped the curb, speeding directly at me. Through the windshield, I saw Stella. Her face was ashen, her eyes manic. She leaned halfway out the window, screaming like a banshee. “Harper! Who did you give the locket to?!” I dove onto the pavement, narrowly avoiding the bumper. A yellow cab screeched to a halt nearby, and I scrambled into the backseat. Crash. Stella’s car slammed into a concrete planter. She stumbled out of the driver’s seat. Her summer dress was soaked in a massive, terrifying patch of blood. She pointed a trembling, bloodstained finger at me. “You can’t run from this, Harper!” “Drive!” I screamed at the cabbie. “She’s out of her mind, get me out of here!” The driver slammed the gas, leaving Stella raving in the rearview mirror. When I finally reached the address Danny had given me, my legs turned to jelly. I slid down the wooden doorframe, gasping for air. My new phone buzzed. A picture message from Stella. It was a photo of the park. The black dog lay lifeless in a dark pool of blood on the grass. A sharp hiss escaped my lips as a fresh, agonizing cramp seized my stomach. I felt a warm dampness between my legs. I didn’t know if my water had broken, or if I was bleeding out. Then, Nolan’s number flashed on the screen. I declined it. He called again. Ten times. Fifteen times. I looked up in sheer panic as Danny opened the door. He ushered me inside, moving quickly to arrange thick white candles and pour coarse salt into a large runic circle on his living room floor. “Hold on, girl. Almost ready.” I tried to slow my hyperventilating. Since I wouldn’t pick up, Nolan’s text messages started rolling in. “Honey, where are you? Let me come pick you up.” “You really think ditching your phone means you can hide from me, you stupid bitch?” My heart skipped a beat. The next image he sent made my blood turn to ice. It was a photo of the rusted iron gates at the entrance of Danny’s apartment complex. The texts kept coming, rapid-fire. “See? Found you.” “I’m in the courtyard. Pretty rundown place.” “I’m in the stairwell. God, no elevator?” “I’m at the door.” My breath caught in my throat. A split second later, a heavy fist pounded on the wood right beside my head. “Honey! Be a good girl and open up!”

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Opening my eyes, I was a child of three again, in my tiny childhood bedroom. Watching my little sister sleep beside me, I swore a vow: this time, I would make sure she and my mother remained bound to each other forever. In my past life, my mother had asked an online forum which child to take in the divorce—the baby or the toddler. Strangers told her to take me, and she never let me forget it. Nightly, she poisoned me with guilt, claiming my sister suffered at the hands of a cruel stepmother because of me. I believed her. To atone, I woke at dawn to cook and clean, wearing faded rags and eating scraps, while every treat and toy was saved for my sister. That life ended in college, when a doctor told me I had advanced stomach cancer. I begged my mother for help, but my sister, the one I’d sacrificed everything for, spat that I deserved to die. My mother agreed, called me a burden, and threw me out. I froze to death under a bridge, alone. 1 “Why is everyone telling me to take Luna? Jennifer is just a baby. She needs her mother the most. Asking these people online is completely useless.” I blinked against the morning light, taking in the familiar faded wallpaper. My mother, Diane, was sitting at the edge of the bed. She cradled my baby sister, Jennifer, in one arm while angrily scrolling through her phone. Looking down at my own tiny, chubby hands, the reality set in. I had been reborn. This was the exact day my parents were finalizing their divorce. In my previous life, my mother took me away, marking the beginning of my living nightmare. The bedroom door creaked open. My father, Rob, walked in with heavy bags under his eyes. He saw that I was awake and offered a sad, exhausted smile. “Luna, sweetie,” he began softly. “Mommy and Daddy are going to live in different houses now. Do you want to go with Mommy or stay with Daddy?” This exact moment had played out before. Back then, I hesitated but eventually reached out for my mother. This time, I did not hesitate for a single second. “Daddy. I want Daddy.” Diane snapped her head toward me and rolled her eyes in pure disgust. “Ungrateful little brat. You share my blood, but you choose him. Fine. Since you made your choice, don’t ever blame me for playing favorites.” She stood up abruptly. “I am packing my things and taking Jennifer today.” Diane had already packed her suitcases. Standing in the entryway, she held Jennifer against her hip and gripped the handle of her luggage. “I am leaving this house to you,” Diane sneered at my father. “But I am taking every single cent from the joint accounts. You will pay me three thousand dollars a month in child support. As for Luna, she is entirely your problem now.” This house was paid for entirely by my paternal grandparents before they passed away. Diane legally could not touch it. But taking all the liquid assets was a deliberate, vicious move. She wanted to ensure my father and I starved. “Diane, if you empty the accounts, how am I supposed to feed Luna?” Rob pleaded, his face pale with stress. “How is that my problem? Did you think about how to feed us when you were out cheating on me?” Diane’s voice pierced the air like a siren. “I told you I never cheated! What you saw was a complete misunderstanding!” “Save your breath. I am too good for a dirty liar like you. I take the money, or we go to court. Non-negotiable.” Hearing this, I immediately threw myself onto the floor and let out a deafening, theatrical wail. “Mommy! Please don’t let me starve! Please leave Daddy and me some money to buy food!” In my past life, she only demanded two-thirds of the savings. She even secretly funneled money to Jennifer over the years to ensure her comfort. A toddler’s scream is piercing. I wailed with every ounce of air in my little lungs. Within seconds, neighbors began poking their heads out of their doors, drawn by the commotion in the apartment hallway. “What are you screaming about, you stupid girl?” Diane hissed, her face turning red. “Your father is a cheater! And you take his side? You really treat your own mother like an outsider!” Whispers broke out among the neighbors. “He looks like such an honest guy. I can’t believe he had an affair.” “She gave him two beautiful daughters. Men are truly pigs.” Rob’s defensive arguments were drowned out by the judgmental murmurs of the crowd. He looked completely defeated. I rubbed my tear-soaked eyes and looked up innocently. “Mommy, what does cheating mean?” “Does cheating mean talking to strangers on the phone?” Diane’s eyes lit up. She thought I was handing her the ultimate weapon. “Did you see your Daddy talking to a strange lady on the phone, Luna? Tell Mommy the truth. Mommy will buy you candy and pretty dresses.” Under her eager gaze, I nodded slowly. The neighbors gasped. Rob stared at me in absolute shock. “I saw Mommy talking to a strange uncle on the phone all the time in the bathroom. He called you baby. Is that what cheating is?” The hallway went dead silent. The expressions on the neighbors’ faces flipped instantly. The woman who had just called my father a pig now looked like she had swallowed a lemon. “Wait. She’s the one sneaking around?” “Accusing him of cheating when she’s the one doing it. That takes some nerve.” “What are you talking about? Did your father tell you to frame me?!” Diane shrieked. Her face twisted in utter rage. Before anyone could react, she swung her hand down and slapped me across the face with all her strength. The impact threw my tiny body against the hardwood floor. A sharp, ringing pain exploded in my ear. “Are you insane?! You don’t hit a child!” Rob yelled, shoving past her to scoop me into his arms. “Luna! Are you okay?” He glared at Diane with pure hatred. “Are you happy now, Diane? We split the assets fifty-fifty. If you disagree, I will drag you to court. Let a judge decide how much a cheating, abusive mother deserves.” Diane glared at me with venomous eyes. “Have the money ready by Friday.” With that, she hoisted Jennifer up, dragged her suitcase out the door, and pushed her way past the whispering neighbors. I knew Diane had accepted the fifty-fifty split. 2 The moment she was gone, Rob rushed me to the emergency room. The doctor was furious. “You do not strike a child in the head! You could cause permanent brain damage!” If I hadn’t been free of other bruises, the doctor would have called child protective services immediately. The right side of my face was swollen like a bruised peach. “I know, I know. I am so sorry. It was a domestic dispute, and her mother lost control,” Rob apologized repeatedly, his voice shaking with guilt. The examination results came back within the hour. A minor perforated eardrum. It required medicated drops and careful observation to heal naturally. “Daddy, can I play with your phone?” I asked, putting on my best puppy-dog eyes. Riddled with guilt and pity, he immediately unlocked it and handed it to me. I knew exactly what forum Diane used. She had gloated about it in my previous life. My small fingers clumsily typed the keywords into the search bar. Within seconds, I found the trending post. Title: Divorcing. Two kids. One is a year old, the other is three. Which one should I take? The top comment read: Take the older one. A three-year-old is easier to manage and will be in school soon. She can help with chores. Plus, she already has memories and will bond with you better. The baby knows nothing and might be turned against you by the father. Just buy the younger one gifts later to make up for it. Diane had replied with just one sentence: But my baby girl needs her mother’s presence so much right now. That single reply triggered a wave of sympathy from other users. “My heart breaks for the original poster.” “She clearly favors the baby. Why ask for advice?” “Did you notice she mentioned the baby first in the title? Psychology says you list what you care about most first.” “The three-year-old is going to suffer. I feel so bad for her.” I scrolled down to the very bottom. There was a new comment posted by Diane just an hour ago. “You can stop defending the three-year-old. She just told everyone she wants to stay with her father. She is an ungrateful little snake. I nearly died giving birth to her, and she betrays me the moment things get hard.” She conveniently omitted the part where I exposed her infidelity. In my memories, I hadn’t caught her on the phone that often. But living with her in my past life, I remembered the strange men who would constantly visit her apartment after the divorce. I had taken a gamble today by accusing her of having an affair. Based on her violent reaction, I hit the bullseye. Diane thought the men she invited over were good people. But I knew the horrifying reality of living with men who shared no blood with you. In my past life, I had to lock the bathroom door twice when showering. I slept with a chair wedged against my bedroom door. I never dared to wear shorts in summer. I was actually grateful Diane bought me oversized, ugly clothes. It kept me hidden. Within a week, Rob finalized the paperwork and transferred half the assets to Diane. Watching the ink dry on the divorce papers, I let out a massive breath of relief. I was free. The timeline remained the same. Six months later, my father remarried. I finally met my stepmother, Sarah. She was the woman Jennifer would later claim was an abusive monster. Sarah was a sharp, professional woman dressed in a crisp blazer. She didn’t look mean; she just looked efficient. “I am going to be your mother from now on,” she said, kneeling to my eye level. “But if you aren’t comfortable calling me Mom, you can just call me Aunt Sarah.” “Aunt Sarah,” I chirped immediately. Only an idiot would reject an olive branch. “Rob, you know Luna is still so little. She needs a maternal figure,” Sarah told my father later that evening, not bothering to hide the conversation from me. “I cannot have biological children. I promise you, I will raise Luna as my own flesh and blood. You have nothing to worry about.” Hearing this, the final puzzle piece clicked into place. In my past life, Rob only remarried to give Jennifer a complete family. And Sarah was completely infertile. She poured all her resources into Jennifer, yet Jennifer repaid her with nothing but hatred. 3 Living with Sarah and Rob, I experienced true warmth for the first time in two lifetimes. In my previous life, despite being starved and overworked, I managed to claw my way into a decent state university. This time, with a healthy environment, I was unstoppable. As I entered elementary school, I realized what Jennifer meant when she complained about “suffering” under Sarah. Sarah was incredibly strict about my education. My daily schedule was packed with tutoring, piano lessons, and reading assignments. But it wasn’t a prison. She strictly enforced rest periods, made sure I ate nutritious meals, and took me on educational trips across the country during summer vacations. These were experiences I could only dream of in my past life. By the time I reached middle school, Sarah’s rigorous foundation paid off. I was consistently at the top of my class. I was healthy, tall, and confident. During my eighth-grade year, a familiar face appeared at the gates of my private academy. It was Jennifer. She looked exactly like she did in my past life. Soft, pale, and slightly chubby. Even though she wore a public school uniform, her sneakers and hair clips were expensive designer brands. “Sister,” she called out, running up to me with a sickly sweet smile. “Mom misses you so much. She told me to bring you home for dinner.” A child’s acting is terribly clumsy. I saw the malicious glint in her eyes instantly. “Sure,” I smiled back. “Let me just make a quick phone call, and I’ll walk with you.” Ignoring the hateful glare burning into my back, I typed out an emergency text to the police, attached my live location, and set it on a fifteen-minute delayed send. This time, I was going to send that monster straight to hell. I followed Jennifer to a dingy apartment complex. The moment she unlocked the door, I could sense her physical hesitation. She was terrified to go inside. I lingered in the hallway for a moment before stepping in. Sitting on the stained living room sofa was a man. Greg. Just the sight of him made my stomach churn. The smell of stale beer and cheap tobacco hit my face. “So this is Luna,” Greg slurred, his eyes dragging up and down my body like he was appraising a piece of meat. “Your mother talks about you a lot. You don’t look anything like Jennifer.” I suppressed my nausea and gave a tight nod. “Sister, come look at my new toys in my room,” Jennifer urged, her voice trembling slightly. “Okay.” I followed her into the cramped bedroom. The moment the door clicked shut, I secretly pressed the record button on my phone and slipped it into my pocket. Jennifer dropped her sweet act immediately. She lowered her voice, her face twisting in pure hatred. “Luna, if it wasn’t for you, I would have stayed with Dad! I would be the one going to that fancy private school! I would be the one getting perfect grades! Why do you get to have the perfect life?!” I looked at her with pity. Even if she had the opportunity, she never had the discipline to succeed. “Did you really think Mom wanted to see you?” Jennifer sneered. “She wishes you were dead.” A heavy fist pounded on the bedroom door. “Are you done in there?” Greg’s muffled, greasy voice demanded. Jennifer flinched violently. “It’s time you experience what it’s really like to live here,” she whispered maliciously. She yanked the door open, slipped past Greg, and bolted out of the apartment, leaving me trapped inside. Greg stepped into the room, blocking the exit. “Jennifer is a little busy right now,” he smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “Why don’t you play with me instead?” “We are going to play a game you have never played before.” “No. I need to go home. My dad and Aunt Sarah are waiting for me,” I said, backing against the wall. He lunged forward. The suffocating stench of his unwashed body brought back terrifying flashes of my past life. The moment his rough hands grazed my shoulder, I let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” I unzipped my backpack, pulled out a sharp utility knife I used for art projects, and slashed wildly. The blade dug deep into his forearm, slicing right down to the bone. Blood sprayed across the cheap carpet. “You little bitch!” Greg roared in agony, clutching his bleeding arm. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you will never forget!” He threw his massive weight toward me, his eyes wide with violent rage.

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The moment I opened my eyes, I was back. Back to the day Sophie promised to buy the entire class a set of Labubus. I’d never forget this scene. Not in a million lifetimes. In my past life, this was the exact moment my world shattered and plunged into darkness. Sophie, my roommate, had secretly stolen my black card. She was parading it around, boasting that she was taking everyone on a shopping spree for the new limited-edition Labubus. Pick whatever you want, she’d said. She had no idea that Labubu was my family’s brand. That my mother was the CEO of the world’s largest designer toy conglomerate. In my past life, she used that card to rack up an insane bill, saddling me with a mountain of debt I couldn’t explain and turning me into a pariah. When I confronted her, she collapsed into my boyfriend’s arms, sobbing, “Aria, how could you blame me just because you can’t handle your own spending problem?” Later, on my way to the bank to get the transaction records, Sophie ran me down with her car. The most chilling part? My entire class testified against me, claiming I’d faked the accident out of jealousy. This time, as Sophie’s boastful promise echoed in the room, I knew what was coming. I knew the panic that would seize her when the class chose the ultra-rare diamond editions, each worth a staggering fifty million dollars, bringing the total to over a billion. … 1 “Listen up, everyone! The new Labubu line drops tomorrow. We’re all going to the flagship store, and it’s my treat. Pick whatever you like.” Sophie’s chin was held high, her voice bouncing off the dorm room walls. A tremor shot through me. I was really back. Back to the day my personal hell began. Sophie swayed over, linking her arm with mine in a show of friendship. “Aria, honey, I heard that flagship store is VIP-only. Doesn’t your bank card have some kind of priority access? Let me borrow it so I can get everyone in without waiting in line.” The exact same excuse she used before. My mother, wanting me to experience a normal college life, had given me a special supplementary card. It had a modest daily limit on the surface, but it was secretly linked to her corporate account’s highest level of clearance. Last time, Sophie had used the excuse of “borrowing” it, only to steal it and go on a wild shopping spree, maxing out what she thought was the limit. The debt made me the laughingstock of the campus, cementing my reputation as a “gold digger.” When I confronted her, she’d cried and thrown herself into the arms of Mark, my boyfriend of three years. “Aria, I know your family doesn’t have much, but you can’t just accuse me of theft because you can’t pay your bills.” And Mark… he’d slapped me, calling me a vain, materialistic bitch. On my way to the bank for proof, Sophie’s car had slammed into me. She hadn’t stopped. She’d reversed and run me over again, and again, until I stopped breathing. As a ghost, I’d watched Mark and my classmates lie for her, telling the police I was a desperate scam artist who’d thrown myself in front of her car. My mother, who was overseas on business, was devastated. By the time she uncovered the truth, Sophie’s family had already smuggled her out of the country. The grief and rage made my mother sick. The memory made my blood boil. I wanted to tear the woman in front of me to pieces. I swallowed my rage and looked at Sophie’s perfectly fake smile. “My card? I don’t have it with me.” Mark was sprawled in my desk chair, glued to his game. Without looking up, he scoffed, “Don’t be a spoilsport, Aria. Sophie’s being generous. The least your useless card can do is be helpful for once.” He stood up, snatched the bag hanging from my bedpost, and dumped everything onto my mattress. His eyes landed on the black card. He tossed it to Sophie. “Here, Sophie. Go ahead. Don’t mind this cheapskate.” Sophie beamed, pressing herself against Mark. “You’re the best, Mark. I hope Aria isn’t mad.” Mark’s face was soft with affection for her, but when he turned to me, his eyes were full of disgust. “What is your problem, Aria? It’s just a card. Get over yourself.” I walked toward him. CRACK! The sound of my hand connecting with his cheek echoed in the sudden silence of the room. I’d put every ounce of my strength into it. In the stunned silence, I smoothly plucked the card from Sophie’s grasp. “What gives you the right to touch my things, Mark?” He cupped his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Aria! Are you insane? You’re a scholarship kid living on financial aid. You dare hit me?” CRACK! Another slap, this time on his other cheek. “Do I need to make an appointment?” 2 “Aria, how could you hit Mark!” Sophie immediately threw herself in front of him, her eyes welling with tears. “It’s all my fault, I’m the one who wanted the card. Please don’t be mad at him. If you have to hit someone, hit me.” She was a picture of tragic beauty. I let out a cold laugh and, without hesitation, slapped her across the face. “As you wish.” “And save the act. You’re not fooling anyone.” Sophie clutched her face, her eyes wide with shock. Mark’s eyes went bloodshot. He lunged forward and shoved me, hard. I stumbled back, the corner of the metal bed frame digging into my lower back, a searing pain that made me break out in a cold sweat. “Aria! Don’t push your luck! What right do you have to hit Sophie? She’s the kindest person I know!” I clutched my back, staring him down. “She was asking for it!” Our other roommates gathered around, their voices a chorus of condemnation. “Aria, that’s so out of line. Sophie was trying to do something nice, and you attack her just because you won’t lend her a card?” Sophie was sobbing hysterically, clinging to Mark’s arm. “Mark, don’t blame her. It must be because she’s poor… it makes her insecure. But I swear, there’s nothing going on between us.” Mark was completely taken in, pulling her into a protective embrace. “Sophie, you’re just too pure. That’s why vultures like her take advantage of you.” He glared at me, his gaze dripping with contempt. “Aria, drop the ghetto attitude. Give Sophie the card and apologize. Now. Or we’re done.” I almost laughed. How had I been so blind? “Done? I’d love nothing more!” I announced. “Mark, consider yourself dumped!” Sophie feigned shock. “Aria, don’t be rash! You two have been together for three years, you can’t just throw that away!” Then her expression shifted to one of magnanimous charity. “How about this, Aria. You lend me the card, and all the loyalty points from tomorrow’s shopping spree can go to you. I heard VIP cards like this can rack up enough points to redeem for rare collectibles. You could sell one for tens of thousands. See? It’s a win-win for you.” Mark chimed in, “She’s giving you a way out, Aria. Don’t be an idiot. Hand over the card.” I smirked. “My card. My rules. And I’m not lending it.” A flash of venom crossed Sophie’s eyes. “Aria, I just really want everyone in our class to have a Labubu they love. If you just lend me the card, I’ll even throw in one of the newest blind boxes for you, personally. How about that?” The other girls in the room started to pressure me. “Come on, Aria, that’s a great deal. You get points and a freebie.” Mark added snidely, “You just wanted a bigger piece of the pie, didn’t you? Take the deal and stop being pathetic.” I scanned their greedy, foolish faces. In my past life, every one of them had lied to seal my fate. “Are you all deaf? I said no.” A murderous glint flickered in Sophie’s eyes before vanishing. The next second, she was wiping away tears and turning to a group of students from another class who had just walked in. Her voice was the epitome of heartbroken innocence. “I’m so sorry, everyone. I promised I’d treat you all to Labubus tomorrow, but… Aria won’t lend me her VIP card, so we can’t use the priority access. I’ve broken my promise.” With that, she covered her face and wilted into Mark’s arms. Mark, burning with righteous fury, looked at me as if he wanted to kill me. He stormed over and slapped me viciously across the face. “You bitch, Aria!” He followed it with a sharp kick to my stomach. I crumpled to the floor, pain exploding in my abdomen. Mark stood over me, snarling, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You can’t stand that Sophie is popular! You’ve always been jealous that she has more money and more friends than you!” 3 His words riled up the crowd. Their promised free-for-all was gone. A girl grabbed a glass bottle from a desk and hurled it at my head. “You’re disgusting, Aria! We finally had a chance to get a limited edition, and you ruined it!” Then, someone splashed the dregs of last night’s coffee on my face. Others followed, throwing whatever trash they could find at me. I was a mess, covered in sticky, foul-smelling garbage. But the hatred inside me erupted. I surged to my feet, grabbed a nearby chair, and hurled it into the crowd. “GET OUT! ALL OF YOU!” The chair crashed to the floor with a deafening bang, startling everyone into silence. “Aria, you’re crazy!” Ignoring the throbbing pain, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Yes, I’m being attacked by a group of people. The address is…” The mention of police sent Mark into a panic. He lunged, snatched my phone, and slammed it onto the ground. The screen shattered. “What the hell is wrong with you, Aria! It was just a joke between classmates! Are you trying to ruin everyone’s lives?” I stared at him, my voice ice. “You had the guts to attack me. I have the guts to call the cops.” Ten minutes later, the police and our student advisor arrived. But it was my word against everyone else’s. They all stuck to the same story: I’d had some kind of breakdown and was making false accusations. The advisor, eager to sweep it under the rug, vaguely supported their claims. Despite my protests, with no clear evidence, the police simply gave a lecture on getting along and left. They weren’t punished, but at least the immediate danger was over. As I was leaving, I noticed the zipper on my backpack had been tampered with. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I said nothing. I just went back to my apartment. After a long shower, I took out the black card and examined it closely. It was a fake. Sophie had swapped them. It must have happened during the chaos, when they were all surrounding me. She’d planned it all along, provoking me to create a diversion so she could make the switch. I thought I had taken my card back, but the real one was already in her hands. If she succeeded tomorrow, I’d be right back where I started in my last life, buried under a mountain of debt. Not this time. This time, there would be no escape. I picked up my spare phone and dialed a number. “Ms. Ross, is everything alright?” It was Andrew, my mother’s chief of staff. “Andrew, my card’s been stolen by a classmate.” “What?” His voice instantly sharpened. “Are you safe?” “I’m fine. But the thief is planning to use it at the downtown flagship store tomorrow. She thinks it has an unlimited line of credit.” Andrew understood immediately. “I’ll contact the bank and have the card frozen at once.” “No,” I cut in. “Andrew, don’t freeze it.” “Why not?” I took a deep breath and laid out my plan. “They want to play? Let’s play. Andrew, I need you to contact the manager of the flagship store. Tomorrow, I want the Eternal Diamond Collection placed in the most prominent display in the entire store.” Andrew audibly gasped. “The Eternal Diamond Collection… that’s the ten-year anniversary series. Only one hundred were ever made, each one covered in VVS-grade natural diamonds. They’re fifty million dollars a piece.” “Ms. Ross, are you sure?” “I’m absolutely sure. They want to buy Labubus? Fine. Let them buy the best.” After hanging up, I allowed myself a small smile. My card had a security protocol. Any single-day transaction total exceeding one hundred million dollars required biometric verification from the cardholder—my iris and my fingerprint. Sophie thought she was holding a key to an endless vault. She had no idea that the vault had a final lock only I could open. Last time, her spending spree hadn’t hit that threshold, so the transaction went through. Sophie. Mark. Tomorrow, you’re going to learn what the word “priceless” really means. 4 The next day, I went to the Labubu flagship store downtown. I took a seat in the second-floor café, at a table overlooking the entire showroom floor. Before long, Sophie, Mark, and the rest of the class—a loud, boisterous group of over thirty people—poured into the store. Sophie, dressed in a designer knockoff, clung to Mark’s arm, beaming with self-importance. She brandished my black card at a sales associate. “My aunt works for your corporate office,” she lied smoothly. “She said this card gets us VIP access.” The associate glanced at the card, and her eyes widened slightly. She immediately radioed the manager. The manager himself came out to greet them, leading them with practiced deference to the central VIP display. “Distinguished guests, you’ve arrived at the perfect time. We’ve just received a shipment from our archival collection.” The class erupted in oohs and aahs. “Wow, Sophie, you’re so well-connected!” Sophie soaked in the praise. “It’s nothing. Please, everyone, pick whatever you like. Don’t be shy.” The manager smiled and hit a switch. Lights illuminated a row of figures, each shimmering under a bulletproof glass dome. They were Labubus, but unlike any they had ever seen. Crafted from the finest flocked vinyl, their eyes were rare black diamonds, and their bodies were encrusted with a glittering array of pink and white diamonds. The entire class was stunned into silence. “Is… is that a Labubu? Are those real diamonds?” Even Sophie was taken aback. She was vain, but not stupid enough to mistake these for ordinary toys. But with the black card in her hand, she felt invincible. To save face, she forced a laugh. “Of course they are. This is the special collection I arranged for you all. Why settle for the regular stuff when you can have the best?” Mark wrapped his arms around her. “Sophie, you’re incredible!” “It’s just money,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Come on, everyone, pick one out.” With a collective cheer, the students swarmed the displays. The manager, ever so helpful, began carefully placing each selected diamond Labubu into a specially designed, heavily padded case. From my perch upstairs, I watched the feeding frenzy. Thirty-two classmates, plus Sophie and Mark. Thirty-four in total. I walked down the stairs, timing my path to intersect with theirs. Mark spotted me, a sneer instantly forming on his face. “Well, well, look who it is. Aria. You here to buy a Labubu? Or just to window shop?” I glanced at the diamond-encrusted figure in his hands. “Be careful with that,” I said calmly. “It’s… delicate.” Nothing set Mark off more than my condescension. “What do you know about luxury, Aria? Don’t act all high and mighty.” To show off, he tossed the Labubu a few inches into the air and caught it. “See? Sophie can afford it. We can play with it.” Sophie giggled. “Don’t mind her, Mark. She’s probably never seen anything this expensive before. It’s just a toy. If it breaks, it breaks.” I just shook my head. “If you say so. You must be very rich.” My apparent submission only fueled Mark’s arrogance. He glanced at Sophie, wanting to impress her. “Watch this, Aria!” he shouted. “This is what real money looks like!” And with a grand, theatrical motion, he hurled the diamond Labubu down onto the marble floor.

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1 The press conference to introduce the new CEO’s wife is tomorrow, and I’m the main event. No one at the office knows yet. I can hear the snickers of my female colleagues from the breakroom. They’re gossiping about the new secretary who was just fired for trying to seduce Mr. Knight. “She should have taken a good look in the mirror. Does she really think a man like Mr. Knight would ever fall for her?” “Seriously. Talk about punching above your weight.” I hear every word as I stand just outside the door. I turn with my coffee and walk back to my tiny, windowless cubicle. Sitting down, I open my messaging app and send a text to the contact pinned at the top, “Mr. Knight.” You’re sleeping on the couch tonight. After all, no one knows that the untouchable Vincent Knight they’re all talking about was washing my feet just last night. … “Did you hear? The new secretary tried to make a move on Mr. Knight and got kicked out.” In the breakroom, a few of my colleagues were cackling. I stood in the doorway, mug in hand, hearing everything with perfect clarity. “As if he’d ever look at someone like her.” “I know, right? Some people are just delusional.” I turned and walked back to my little cubicle, the one without even a window. I sat, opened my phone, and tapped out a message to the contact at the top of my list, “Mr. Knight.” You’re sleeping on the couch tonight. No one knew that the man they considered a god, the great Vincent Knight, had been washing my feet the night before. And no one knew that the press conference tomorrow, the one to introduce the mysterious Mrs. Knight, was all about me. My name is Ava, the hidden majority shareholder of this company and Vincent Knight’s legal wife. I took this secretarial job because Vincent said the office culture had gotten toxic lately, and he wanted me to go “undercover” to see what was really going on. I thought I’d be catching a few employees slacking off. I didn’t expect to find a nest of vipers all trying to claw their way to the top. Jessica, the prettiest girl in the administration department, was now swaying into my cubicle. She slammed a thick stack of documents onto my desk. “Ava, get these printed and distributed to every department before you leave.” I looked up at her. “That’s an administrative task.” Jessica sneered. “Right now, I’m your superior. You do what I say. Got it?” I glanced at the stack. The top sheet was the itinerary for tomorrow’s “Mrs. Knight Introduction Gala.” “I heard you got thrown out after trying to deliver coffee to the top floor today,” Jessica leaned in, her voice a low hiss. “Ava, a person needs to know their place. A man like Mr. Knight is not someone a piece of trash like you can even dream about.” I just smiled, saying nothing. I was, in fact, “thrown out,” but only because Vincent had tried to kiss me in his office, and I’d pushed him away. He’d walked me to the door with a pout on his face, and Jessica, who was passing by, must have caught a glimpse and assumed the worst. “Still smiling? Get to work!” Jessica rolled her eyes and stomped away on her stilettos. I picked up the documents and ambled over to the printer. Passing the breakroom, I saw the same group of women was still there. “Hey, what do you think the boss’s wife will be like?” “Definitely some supermodel, or an heiress from a powerful family.” “One thing’s for sure, it won’t be a plain Jane like Ava.” I listened to their chatter, feeling nothing at all. I was just wondering what their faces would look like if they knew the “plain Jane” they were mocking held 40% of the company’s stock. My phone vibrated. Mr. Knight: Honey, I was wrong. I’ll never try anything in the office again. Mr. Knight: The water for your foot bath is ready. Can I please not sleep on the couch? I replied with a single word: No. Putting my phone away, I saw Jessica furtively stepping into Vincent’s private elevator. It required a fingerprint and a passcode. How did she have the passcode? I narrowed my eyes. This “undercover mission” was getting more interesting by the minute. 2 Jessica entered the elevator with a look of feverish determination. I stood around the corner, watching the numbers climb and stop at the top floor. Besides Vincent, I was the only person who knew the passcode to his office. Unless someone had leaked it. I went back to my desk, in no hurry to catch her in the act. Instead, I opened my laptop and logged into the company’s backend security system. As the majority shareholder, my clearance was even higher than Vincent’s. On the monitor, I watched Jessica stand before the CEO’s office and enter the passcode with practiced ease. The door opened. Vincent was at his desk, frowning at a financial report. Jessica glided in, her voice dripping with honey. “Mr. Knight, here’s the coffee you asked for.” Vincent didn’t even look up. “Put it down and get out.” Jessica didn’t move. Instead, she circled the desk and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Knight, you’ve been working so hard. Let me give you a massage?” I could feel Vincent’s body tense up even through the screen. He shot to his feet with such force that Jessica stumbled back. “Who gave you the passcode?” His voice was pure ice. Jessica froze, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “It… it was Mr. Richard, the Vice President. He said you’ve been under a lot of stress…” Richard. My fingers tapped a light rhythm on my desk. That would be Richard Knight, Vincent’s cousin, the one who had always coveted the CEO position. “Get out,” Vincent pointed to the door. “And don’t ever set foot on this floor again.” Jessica ran out, sobbing. I closed the monitor, one piece of the puzzle falling into place. Richard was trying to set a honey trap for Vincent, hoping to catch him in a compromising position. If Vincent had touched Jessica today, Richard would be using the footage to blackmail him tomorrow. Too bad he’d underestimated Vincent. And he’d underestimated me. When Jessica returned to the admin department, her eyes were swollen. She shot me a venomous glare as she passed my desk. “What are you looking at? I’ll gouge your eyes out!” I took a calm sip of my coffee. “Ms. Miller, is your work done?” She trembled with rage, pointing a finger at my nose. “Ava, don’t you get cocky. If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me! You’re uninvited from the gala tomorrow. Go to logistics and help move boxes!” I raised an eyebrow. “Whose decision is that?” “My decision!” Jessica shouted. “I’m in charge of this department!” Our colleagues glanced over, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and scorn. “Poor Ava, she picked the wrong person to mess with.” “Well, Jessica has VP Richard backing her up.” I nodded. “Fine. I’ll go move boxes.” I was actually curious to see how they’d handle tomorrow’s meticulously planned gala without the main character. After work, a Rolls-Royce pulled up right as I stepped out of the building. The window rolled down to reveal Vincent’s handsome face, now etched with a pleading expression. “Honey, get in.” I ignored him and kept walking. He scrambled out of the car and ran after me, grabbing my hand. “I was wrong, I was really wrong. Richard planted her here, I swear I didn’t even get a good look at her face.” I stopped and looked at him. “She had the passcode to your office.” Vincent’s expression hardened. “Richard must have spied on me to get it. I’ve already had the locks changed.” I pulled my hand away. “Tonight, you’re sleeping on the balcony.” “Honey…” He trailed after me like a giant, dejected puppy. The setting sun stretched our shadows long on the pavement. Who would have thought that the ice-cold CEO of Knight Industries was such a clinger in private? 3 The next morning, the atmosphere in the company was a strange mix of tense and electric. The lobby was lined with a red carpet, and the air was thick with the scent of Bulgarian roses flown in overnight. Everyone was whispering about the mysterious “Mrs. Knight.” And me? I was in the logistics warehouse, dressed in a gray janitor’s uniform, counting bottles of mineral water. Jessica appeared at the warehouse door, dressed in an expensive custom gown and towering heels, preening like a peacock. She pinched her nose in disgust. “Ava, all this water needs to be moved to the banquet hall by 10 AM. If even one bottle is missing, you can pack your things and leave.” I looked at the mountain of boxes. “This is a mover’s job,” I said calmly. “In here, you are whatever I tell you to be,” Jessica smirked. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you, VP Richard said he’s recommending me to give the employee representative speech at the gala today. I’m going to have Mr. Knight fire you in front of the entire company.” I smiled and loaded a case of water onto a dolly. “Well, Ms. Miller, I wish you the best of luck.” At ten o’clock sharp, the gala began. The banquet hall was a sea of glittering lights and flashing cameras. Vincent stood on the stage, his expression thunderous. He kept checking his phone, his eyes frantically scanning the crowd. I knew he was looking for me. I’d told him I had a surprise for him. Richard sat in the front row, a calculating smile on his face. He leaned over and whispered something to Vincent, which only made his face darken further. Jessica stood nervously in the wings, clutching her speech and fluffing her hair. I pushed a cart of water through a service entrance at the back of the hall and found a spot in a dark corner to watch the show. “Thank you all for coming,” Richard stood up, taking the microphone as if he were the host. “Today, in addition to revealing the identity of Mrs. Knight, we have another important matter to address.” He shot Vincent a venomous look. “We need to rectify some… unwholesome elements within our company culture. For instance, certain secretaries who try to sleep their way to the top.” A wave of murmurs swept through the audience. The reporters aimed their cameras squarely at Vincent. Vincent’s voice was cold steel. “Richard, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” “Of course, I do.” Richard clapped his hands. A video flickered to life on the large screen behind the stage. It was the security footage of Jessica entering Vincent’s office yesterday. From the camera’s angle, it looked as though Jessica was throwing herself at him, and Vincent wasn’t pushing her away. Jessica let out a small shriek from the side of the stage, lowering her head in a brilliant performance of shame. “Mr. Knight, Ms. Miller here has told me everything,” Richard said, his voice full of feigned disappointment. “As the CEO, how could you engage in such an affair with a subordinate? What will your future wife think?” Vincent actually laughed, a humorless, angry sound. Just as he was about to erupt, I stepped out from the shadows. I shed the gray janitor’s coat, revealing the priceless red silk gown I wore underneath. As I walked, I reached up and pulled the tie from my hair, letting it fall in waves over my shoulders. “What will his wife think?” My voice wasn’t loud, but the wireless microphone clipped to my collar, a special one Vincent had prepared for me, carried it to every corner of the hall. In that one, stunning moment, every single head in the room turned to look at me.

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