Five months pregnant, I was pushed from the third floor. Dr. Schrute saved me, but the baby, like the previous seven, was gone. Desperate for a last glimpse, I overheard my husband Vincent and Dr. Schrute in a corner. “Why harm your own child?” the doctor asked. Vincent replied coldly, “Elara has her needs. This was foolproof.” The truth about my lost children shattered me. My loving husband was the culprit. Behind closed doors, Vincent demanded, “Perform a hysterectomy before Jane wakes up.” Shocked, Dr. Schrute warned, “You’ll have no heir!” “Elara just had my child,” Vincent said. “I’m leaving everything to them. Jane’s uterus is a threat.” “But your child will bear another man’s name,” the doctor pleaded. “Is it worth it? Jane’s chance of conceiving is already low.” Vincent’s voice turned tender yet bitter. “I love Elara. I’ll give her everything I have.” “But…” Vincent frowned. “No ‘buts’! Do as I say!” Vincent was about to stand up when his phone rang. He accidentally pressed speakerphone. “Vincent, I got the money, hehe. Next time, find me for such a good job. I’ve done it seven times now, I know the ropes. And next time, I’ve already thought about it: I’m going to pretend to be a kidnapper and target Mrs. Halpert’s belly…” “There won’t be a next time. Take your money and get out of the city.” Footsteps sounded from within. I stumbled back to my room. Before I could lie down, Vincent walked in. “Jane, when did you wake up?” I was drenched in sweat, my body trembling as I forced myself to appear calm. “Just woke up. I didn’t see you, so I was about to go look for you.” Vincent’s gaze was fixed on me, with a hint of scrutiny. My heart was pounding with anxiety. Just as I thought he had found me out, he gently lifted me onto the bed. “Why are you so careless with yourself? We’ve already lost our baby; you can’t afford to have anything else happen.” He still had the nerve to mention it. Thinking of the child he had deliberately killed, I desperately clutched my chest, tears welling up uncontrollably. It turned out that all those car accidents, robberies, and falls I had experienced were never accidents. They were my husband, putting me in mortal danger again and again for his lover. “The doctor just said your uterus hasn’t been fully cleaned out and requires another surgery.” “Jane, don’t be scared… we’ll definitely have a beautiful baby. He’ll have your eyes, my nose and mouth. Then we’ll treat him even better and make up for all our regrets.” Vincent offered me a glass of milk. As he turned away, I saw him add something to it. He held me in his arms, coaxing me gently, his eyes full of tenderness. But I knew this was just a facade to lull me into a false sense of security. “Do I have to drink it…? Can I not?” Vincent, you’ve already killed seven of my children. Are you going to strip me of my right to be a mother as well? He didn’t hesitate, stroking my head, smiling dotingly. “Such a grown woman, yet still acting like a baby. What if you don’t have the surgery and your body can’t recover? Do you want your husband to die of heartache? Come, I’ll feed you.” He brought the milk to my lips, giving me no chance to refuse. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if what I was swallowing wasn’t milk, but barbed razor blades. My consciousness slowly faded. In a daze, I saw the doctor, complicit with Vincent, walk in. “Proceed with the surgery now. Also…” Vincent’s voice hesitated for a few seconds. “Find a way to paralyze her lower limbs with anesthesia.” “Mr. Halpert, is that really necessary? Isn’t that too cruel?” “Do as I say!” I knew Vincent was always cautious and suspicious, but I never expected him to be so ruthless just because he saw I woke up early. My children, my chance to be a mother, and now he was even going to take away my ability to stand. Vincent, are you trying to carve out my heart? I screamed in despair, struggling to sit up, but plunged into a deeper coma. As the anesthesia began to wear off, I vaguely heard the doctor say, “Mr. Halpert, Mrs. Halpert’s uterus has been removed. Also… she will never be able to stand again.” Vincent was immensely relieved, repeating twice, “Good! Good!” When I fully awoke, his tears fell onto my hand, a genuine expression of pain. “Jane, the doctor says your uterus has become too damaged to ever bear children.” I ignored him, frantically trying to move my legs. But, no feeling… I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, trembling as I questioned, “Vincent, what have you done to my legs?” His tears fell in large drops, choking him several times until he couldn’t speak. “There was an accident during the anesthesia, and your lower body is paralyzed.” “Jane, don’t be afraid… no matter what you become, I will never leave you… I will always love you.” I had never imagined Vincent’s acting was so superb. He dismissed the nurse and personally fed me porridge, wiped my body, and even took care of my postpartum bleeding. He was busy until evening, then he kissed my forehead tenderly. “Jane, you’ve suffered so much hardship with these pregnancies for me. I’ll make it up to you doubly in the future.” I looked at his tired face, coldly averting my gaze. “If you’re tired, rest for a while.” “Alright, your husband will watch over you here. Just call me if you need anything.” After he fell asleep, I picked up his other phone. I had always known Vincent had another phone, but it was his work phone, so I had never checked it. I tried only once, and it unlocked successfully. The password was Elara’s birthday. The moment the lock screen opened, a wedding photo of him and Elara immediately caught my eye. A wedding photo… He actually took wedding photos with Elara. The white dress stung my eyes. Trembling, I opened his messaging app. Vincent intimately called her “Baby.” The endless chat history was increasingly disturbing. It turned out every one of his business trips was just an excuse to be with Elara. I had been silently upset countless times, resenting that he never accompanied me to the hospital. How many times did the doctor ask about the baby’s father, and I could only give an embarrassed smile and say he was very busy. He would always reply after a long delay: “I’m trying to earn money for our baby’s formula. Besides, a check-up isn’t a big deal. My being there wouldn’t help much and would waste time. You can do things on your own.” But he had accompanied Elara through her pregnancies, attending every prenatal check-up, never missing one, no matter how busy he was. He said he was incredibly excited for their baby’s birth, saying their mother and child were the most precious things in his life. Reading further, my heart was viciously wrenched, in agonizing pain. Every time I was pregnant, they were discussing how to kill my child. Even the car accident I had a year ago, when I was pregnant, was orchestrated by Elara herself. She said she wanted to experience the thrill of hitting someone, and Vincent readily agreed. He simply cautioned her, “Go easy.” They casually discussed how to harm me and how to kill my child, as if discussing the weather. My fingertips dug deep into my palm, blood dripping onto my hand. I opened his photo album. Tens of thousands of photos, every single one featuring Elara—joint photos, candid shots, waking up together, walking together, going home together. Vincent thoughtfully prepared nutritious meals for her during pregnancy… And there were over 99 videos. I switched to them, and in an instant, it was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over me, chilling me to the core. There were countless videos of them intertwined, naked, seemingly deliberately documenting every moment of their intimacy. There was even roleplay, Vincent dressed as a maid, kneeling on the floor… I desperately pressed on my stomach, too nauseated to speak. Besides those videos, there were six more, labeled from the first to the sixth. Realizing what they were, my blood surged, and a metallic taste rose in my throat. I fiercely bit my lip and clicked on—the sixth time. Vincent and Elara were laughing and talking. In front of them was… The knife felt like it was cutting into me, my heart felt like it was being torn into a thousand pieces. The pain caused my stomach to cramp. I couldn’t hold it in anymore and retched violently at the bedside. Sleepless through the night, my clothes were soaked with tears. The next morning, Vincent, as usual, specially bought me an elaborate breakfast. A rich variety, both Eastern and Western: soy milk, fried dough sticks, bread, egg tarts… I used to think this was his doting affection for me, but now I knew it was just indifferent perfunctory behavior. Recalling the video from last night, I retched again. Seeing I was uncomfortable, Vincent was deeply concerned: “Why are you still feeling unwell? It’s all my fault for making you suffer, my dear.” “It’s nothing. I want to go home.” Vincent’s expression froze for a moment. “You’ve miscarried again. Mom isn’t very happy. Going back now would be walking into her anger. It’s better to wait a while before returning, so you don’t have to endure her wrath.” I didn’t speak. From his expression, I roughly guessed what had happened. In the afternoon, he was out. I packed my things and, in my wheelchair, made my way home. As soon as I entered the house, I saw Elara sitting in Vincent’s lap, both of them playing with a child. My mother-in-law came out of the kitchen, carrying a bowl of bird’s nest soup, and personally fed Elara spoonful by spoonful. The three of them were laughing and chatting, looking very much like a family. Seeing me enter, my mother-in-law’s eyes sharpened. “Bad omen! You actually have the nerve to come back? My son serves you delicious food and drinks all day, how do you repay us? A jinx like you should just die outside!” “You clearly knew you were pregnant, yet you were jumping around all day. How many lives in our Halpert family have you killed? Why didn’t you just fall to your death, you wretched thing!” “I’m telling you, from today on, Elara is the only daughter-in-law I recognize. Get out of my house right now. You’re staining our floors.” Elara looked over, following my mother-in-law’s gaze, her eyes full of triumph. “Auntie, don’t talk like that. What if Jane gets jealous and spreads rumors that I’m seducing Vincent?” “I dare her to!” I knew my mother-in-law never liked me. She thought I was too capable and difficult to control, and that I would lord over Vincent after marriage. Elara, on the other hand, was beautiful and sweet-talked everyone, always putting Vincent and herself at the center of everything. So, my mother-in-law was determined to have Elara as her daughter-in-law. It was only later that Elara married a wealthy man, and I willingly gave up my career to focus on family. Only then did she reluctantly accept me. Over the years, I had never given birth to a child for the Halpert family, and her dissatisfaction with me had reached its peak. Now that Elara was back and had given Vincent a son, she naturally had no inhibitions and vented all her displeasure on me. But she didn’t know that my seven miscarriages were all orchestrated by her son. Every one of her grandchildren had been… by Elara, her cherished daughter-in-law. Before, Vincent would mediate, but now, holding the child Elara had given him, he acted as if he heard nothing. Elara nestled into his arms, her voice feigning grievance. “Vincent, you’re only paying attention to our son. I feel overshadowed by him. If you keep this up, I’ll be upset.” Vincent dotingly pinched her cheek, his eyes full of tenderness. “Always so jealous, aren’t you? Look what that is.” I followed Elara’s gaze, and the bold words “STOCK TRANSFER AGREEMENT” pierced my eyes. “Wow! Vincent, you’re so good to me.” She happily kissed Vincent on the corner of his lips, her eyes proudly looking at me. I gave her a cold smile. Enjoy your triumph. Soon enough, you and your Vincent will be crying and begging me to come back. “But if you do this, won’t Jane be angry? After all, this is your entire fortune.” Vincent paused, as if just realizing I was present, and quickly said, “Jane, don’t misunderstand. Mom and I discussed adopting Elara’s child as our godson, which is why I’m transferring shares to her.” “This is a last resort. Since your uterus is damaged and you can’t have children, the Halpert family can’t be without an heir. I can only place all my hopes on Little Vincent.” “You understand, don’t you?” My ears buzzed. I looked at Vincent in disbelief. “What’s his name?”

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The day after accepting my crush’s confession, I woke up ten years in the future. A pair of grape-like eyes stared at me timidly, and the little boy called me “Mom.” Later, in a dusty storage room, I found a wedding photo. To my surprise, the groom in the picture wasn’t my crush—it was him. 1. I woke up ten years in the future, sprawled on a bed I didn’t recognize. As I lay there, utterly bewildered, a tiny figure burst into the room. I immediately played dead, pretending to still be asleep. Soft footsteps approached, then a delicate hand touched my forehead. A child’s voice, sweet and innocent, prattled on about what they’d eaten and played with lately. I was still trying to figure out my connection to this child when their next words jolted me awake. “Mommy, you’ve been sick for days now. Why aren’t you waking up? You don’t like Tommy, but Tommy misses you so much. Mommy, please wake up!” Mommy?! This kid called me Mommy! My eyes flew open. A cute little munchkin, with big eyes and a small mouth, was staring at me in wide-eyed terror. Before I could even utter a word, the child dashed out of the room. Oh, my God! Just last night, I’d accepted a confession from the guy of my dreams, and now, I had a child this big! 2. After the child bolted, I immediately grabbed my phone and called my best friend, Quinn. I had no idea what I’d been through in the last ten years; my phone was strangely barren of messages. Old contacts had vanished without a trace. The phone rang for several moments before Quinn finally picked up. “What do you want?” Her voice was colder than I’d ever heard it. I scratched my cheek, her sudden aloofness leaving me speechless. When I didn’t respond, Quinn grew impatient. “Anna Yao, say something! Didn’t you say you’d never contact me again?” Wow, what in the world did I do in those ten years? I thought for a moment. “Quinn, I know you’re playing hard to get, but cut it out for a sec. I just want to ask you something important: who’s my husband?” That was my most pressing concern. Quinn paused. “Anna Yao, did you forget to take your meds today?” Huh? Ten years later, Quinn was calling me crazy in a roundabout way? “I’m serious, Anna! Did you seriously forget your meds? Fine, just wait at home. I’m in line for a COVID test; I’ll be right over!” Quinn’s tone was surprisingly grave. Was I not time-traveling, but actually, well, unwell? And what was a COVID test, and why did she have to wait in line for it? 3. Just as I hung up, a housekeeper-like woman knocked, cautiously asking if I felt better and if I wanted something to eat. It seemed my unseen husband was quite wealthy. I nodded, and soon, an array of exquisite dishes appeared before me. It turned out that in ten years, I’d achieved the life I’d always dreamed of. I cautiously tried to pry for information about my “husband.” The housekeeper looked a little surprised, only saying he was away on a business trip and wouldn’t be back until next month. That was good news; by the time he returned, I’d probably have adjusted to my new reality. I picked up my chopsticks and started devouring the food. I had to admit, it was all my favorite. Suddenly, I caught sight of the child peeking around the doorframe. Realizing this might be my son, my eyes lit up. I waved him over. “Hey, kid, come here.” He startled, then timidly walked to the bedside. Why did this child seem afraid of me? Had I married a rich man and become a stepmother? I scratched my head, trying my best to sound friendly. “What’s your name, little one? How old are you?” The child’s chubby face crumpled with a hurt expression, as if he couldn’t fathom a mother forgetting her child’s name. “Mommy, I’m Tommy Fischer, and I’m four.” Fischer? So, I definitely didn’t end up with my dream guy. I continued, “Tommy, I’m going to test you. What’s your daddy’s name?” “My daddy’s name is…” “Tommy! There you are. Time to go downstairs for your lessons. Don’t bother the madam while she rests.” The housekeeper, who had suddenly appeared at the doorway, cut Tommy off. “Madam, I’m so sorry. I didn’t keep an eye on Tommy. I’ll take him downstairs now.” The housekeeper nervously pulled Tommy away. I was completely confused and could only nod. Since I woke up, the housekeeper’s attitude had been strange, as if I were some kind of monster. Since I couldn’t get his name, I decided to look for clues myself. The bedroom was luxuriously decorated, but there were no wedding photos, no signs of another person living there. Was this one of those situations where the husband just sent money every month but never came home? 4. When I stepped out of the room, I realized it was a two-story villa. Downstairs, Tommy was quietly playing with a puzzle by the floor-to-ceiling window. Sunlight streamed in, highlighting his long, downcast lashes. He looked like such a well-behaved child, completely melting my heart. I practically pounced, startling him. “Hey, buddy, what are you playing? Mom will join you!” Tommy’s eyes widened, and he immediately stood at attention, mumbling, “Mommy.” I pulled him closer and planted a big kiss on his fair little cheek. He touched his face, looking a bit surprised. Seeing his reactions, I could pretty much guess that the me of ten years in the future probably wasn’t too fond of this child. Thankfully, Tommy was young and didn’t hold grudges. I played with him for a bit, and soon he was happily sharing his puzzle with me. “Buddy! Is this all you have to play with?” Kids his age should have tons of toys. Tommy carefully glanced at me and said, “Mommy used to get mad if other toys were too noisy.” What?! Okay, the ten-years-later me really had issues. Just then, the doorbell rang. It was Quinn. 5. When Quinn walked in, I almost didn’t recognize her. Was this really my tomboy best friend? She had grown out her hair, styled it in soft waves, and her eyes were meticulously made up. I exaggeratedly widened my eyes. “Who are you, gorgeous?” Quinn rolled her eyes at me. Tommy, however, seemed very familiar with her, rushing over to hug her and calling her “Auntie Quinn.” Quinn gently patted Tommy’s head and said to me, “Let’s go talk upstairs.” I quickly led her back to the bedroom. Before she could speak, I blurted out everything that had happened. Quinn listened, a frown on her face, then looked me over and posed the million-dollar question: “How do you know you time-traveled, and not just lost your memory?” Uh… “I remember the last meal before I time-traveled was beef stew with tomatoes in the school cafeteria—delicious!” “…” “I remember taking an exam two days before I time-traveled, and I still recall the questions. If I really had amnesia, I wouldn’t remember such specific details for ten years, right?” Quinn raised an eyebrow but remained silent. She knew me like she knew herself. I awkwardly pressed my lips together. “Okay, fine. The day before, I had just accepted Tristan’s confession.” Quinn’s lips immediately drooped, and she let out a cold laugh. Then she launched into a detailed account of the last ten years. 6. Turns out the ten-years-later me really did have a problem: bipolar disorder. The reason for my illness was Tristan, my ex-boyfriend, cheating on me. Quinn said that after Tristan and I got together, he acted sweet on the surface but was secretly gaslighting me. By the time Quinn noticed something was wrong, I was already too far gone. Later, Tristan falsely accused Quinn of trying to seduce him, and in my confused state, I cut off all ties with her. Then, at 27, I was dumped by Tristan. His new girlfriend was my college roommate, and I couldn’t handle it, which is when I developed bipolar disorder. “Holy crap, that’s just awful,” I said, rubbing my forehead. This was basically Anna Yao’s tragic early life story. “So, who’s my husband now?” That was still my most urgent question. Quinn looked at me, paused, then said, “It’s Julian.” “What?!” I never in my wildest dreams imagined that ten years later, I would be married to Julian. 7. Julian, Quinn, and I had practically grown up together. We lived in the same apartment building as kids and went to the same school. Julian was always that “perfect kid” everyone talked about—good-looking, smart, and genuinely kind. He’d help old ladies cross the street and give up his seat to elderly gentlemen. Back then, when I was small, the more my parents praised him, the more he annoyed me. But being a sucker for good looks, I couldn’t help staring at him, often making him blush. After we grew out of our kid phase and started having crushes, I even fantasized about him a little. But there were just too many people who liked him, so I kept my distance. Even if he showed me some special attention, I just thought it was childhood friendship, especially since he went abroad later. Now Quinn was telling me that Julian had married me. The shock was akin to the national soccer team winning the World Cup. In a flash, another question popped into my head. “Quinn, Tommy is four and a half. Tristan and I broke up when I was 27. So, Tommy is…?” Quinn gave me a troubled look. “We had cut ties by then, so I only heard snippets about you from others. I heard… you and Julian were caught in bed by Tristan. As for Tommy, honestly, I don’t know.” The information overload was crushing my CPU. So, it meant I might have gotten pregnant with someone else’s child and then married Julian. The thought made my vision swim. No wonder there were only traces of my life in the room; Julian must really resent me. If that’s the case, why would he marry me? “Wait, Quinn, Tristan cheated on me, so how could he catch Julian and me in bed?” Even if I was capable of such a thing, Julian wasn’t that kind of person. Quinn said, “I’m not clear on the specifics. It seemed Tristan first tried to break up with you, but you refused to let go. Then he somehow caught you and Julian together, and used it to turn the tables on you.” 8. The plot was too wild. I touched my face. “I feel like I’m experiencing a beautiful case of ‘brain stem missing’ right now.” Quinn patted my shoulder. “Accept it, sis. After being gaslighted, you turned into a total mess. But Anna, honestly, whether you have amnesia or time-traveled, I only have one thing to say: be good to Tommy. I can’t interfere with your and Julian’s business, but that child is truly pitiful. Julian is busy with work and is away from home half the year. And you, the ‘old you,’ never liked Tommy and barely paid him any mind.” I wanted to cry. His dad might be a fake dad, but his mom was definitely a real mom. My little angel, Tommy, get ready to feel your mommy’s fiery love! 9. I had just finished my motherly love to-do list. In just a couple of days, little Tommy went off to kindergarten. Turns out he’d been on summer break. Normally, private kindergartens like Tommy’s didn’t have breaks, but most of the kids came from well-off families, and many parents wanted time to take their children on trips. Thinking of Tommy playing puzzles alone downstairs that day, my heart felt like it had swallowed a lemon. I promised myself I’d take Tommy out to play in a couple of days. That evening at dinner, Tommy sat on his chair, swinging his little legs, telling me about his day at kindergarten. After a few days together, he wasn’t so scared of me anymore. At bedtime, Tommy uncharacteristically asked to sleep with me. He lay beside me in his dinosaur pajamas, a perfectly well-behaved child. “Mommy, tell me a story.” I picked up a book and improvised, “Once upon a time, there was a Snow White Prince…” After the story, Tommy giggled, “Tommy is Snow White Prince! Mommy is the princess! Someday, Tommy will marry Mommy.” I teased him, “But Mommy has a Daddy, you know. Tommy can’t marry Mommy.”

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It was late, and the power had gone out. I was just about to step out and check the breaker. Suddenly, a few lines of comments appeared before my eyes. [Don’t go out, lady! You’ll be dead if you do.] [Isn’t this the last victim of the S City serial murders 15 years ago?] [Yep! Experts said the killer was seven foot ten; so terrifying…] 1. My hand snapped back from the doorknob. Words in front of my eyes? Was I working so much overtime I was hallucinating? What was this about the last victim of a serial murder case? Were they talking about me? It was true that over the past three years, our city had seen six murders. All the victims were killed by the same perpetrator, and the case remained unsolved. More comments floated into view. [Whoa, this lady’s got a brain.] [Exactly! The power suddenly goes out at home; you can’t just rush out to check the breaker! My mom always told me that’s a trick bad guys use, and I’m just a middle schooler.] [Right, right, this lady’s not even as smart as the kid upstairs.] Their words made me uneasy. This was a new apartment complex; there was no way the circuits were old. Why would the power trip suddenly? I peeked through the peephole, but the hallway was pitch black. [What’s she doing? What can she see through a peephole?] [The killer’s staking out the electrical room right now!] Seeing them say the killer wasn’t outside my door, I felt a slight sense of relief. I double-locked the door, then quietly retreated to my bedroom and checked my phone for my electricity balance. Initially, I was skeptical of these strange comments. Until I saw my phone screen—it showed I still had over fifty dollars worth of electricity. That left only one possibility: the killer had tripped my breaker, luring me out to murder me. 2. I now fully believed what the comments were saying. [Don’t stall, lady! Get the hero to save you.] [Hope she succeeds in calling for help and changes her fate.] Reading the descriptions, it seemed I had died before because I went to check the electrical room myself? I quickly grabbed my phone and messaged my boyfriend, Kevin: [Power’s out at home, and I’m scared to go out alone.] Kevin quickly replied: [Baby, wait for me at home, don’t go out. I’m on my way.] [Woohoo, she finally messaged the hero! As expected, it has to be the handsome hero.] [I’m shipping them, shipping them! When she died, the hero cried hysterically and kept helping the police find clues.] [This killer is utterly cruel, always luring and killing women living alone on rainy nights. Just watching the AI documentary makes me shiver.] [Too bad this serial murder case still hasn’t been solved to this day.] Through their conversation, I quickly realized two things. My boyfriend, Kevin, was the so-called hero in the AI reconstruction documentary. And I was the last victim in the city’s recent serial murder case. Furthermore, this case remained unsolved even fifteen years later. The killer was also seven foot ten? Shouldn’t a person that tall be easy to identify? 3. Rain pattered outside the window. I curled up in bed, waiting for my boyfriend. About ten minutes later, I heard a sound in the hallway. My phone screen lit up with a message from my boyfriend. [I’m here, baby, open the door.] Only after seeing Kevin through the peephole did I dare open the door. “Baby, are you okay?” The house was dark. By the faint moonlight, I saw Kevin’s anxious expression. [The hero is so handsome!!!] [Right, the hero in the documentary is handsome and smart, and most importantly, deeply devoted.] [I really want to see them happy together. Hope she doesn’t bite the dust, thank you.] Looking at Kevin’s face, I couldn’t deny his good looks. I’d agreed to date him precisely because of his appearance. “Baby, you wait for me here. I’ll go check the electrical room.” I nodded, and Kevin stepped out. The comments in front of me hadn’t updated for a while. Just as I wondered why, they reappeared. [Oh no, the hero went out. The lady’s in danger.] [Lady, run! The killer is on their way.] Seeing the comments, I quickly ran back to the bedroom and locked the door. [Huh? How did she know the killer was coming?] [She can’t hear us talking, can she?] [What are you thinking, upstairs?] I heard a “shuffling” sound outside the door, like something rubbing. Heavy footsteps drew closer. The doorknob rattled, then began to be violently smashed. Before long, the door was broken open. Through the crack in the closet, I saw a towering, seven-foot-plus black figure standing there, clad in a long raincoat. He seemed to have no face; where his head should be, there were only two deep, dark holes… In his hand, he held a curved blade, its silver edge glinting in the moonlight. [This killer is so terrifying! So tense! She must be scared to death!] [So scary. I’d just pass out on the spot.] After a quick scan of the room, he turned towards the closet, a deep voice saying, “Found you!” [It’s over, it’s over. She’s done for.] Then, like a demon, he lunged at me. I had no time to dodge. The closet door flew open, and the curved blade slashed at my throat. I was dead. I still couldn’t escape the fate of being the last victim of the serial murder case. 4. A flash of white light. The next second, my hand was back on the doorknob. I was back? It was like a game, dying and then restarting? I pulled my hand away and again turned into the bedroom. [She didn’t go out, great! She’s got a brain; she’s savable.] [But her health bar is so low! Ridiculous, I suspect her lifeline is only a centimeter long.] [Useless. Her boyfriend came, but she stayed in the room alone and was killed by the killer again.] [Right, the killer is so brutal. He cut off her head, and her body was chopped into pieces.] These comments updated, but unlike last time, it felt like progressing through the main storyline. I realized that the changes I made would affect the development of the plot. Just like last time, after Kevin arrived, the story took a turn, and the comments started updating. I took out my phone and messaged Kevin: [Power’s out at home, and I’m scared to go out alone.] Kevin, just like last time, replied instantly: [Baby, wait for me at home, don’t go out. I’m on my way.] I hid under the covers, trying to piece together the whole situation. From what I remembered, I hadn’t provoked anyone. I hadn’t even met anyone over seven feet tall. When did the killer start targeting me? Remembering the killer’s seven-foot-plus figure, grinning menacingly in the moonlight, a chill ran down my spine, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Nervously, I touched my neck. Good, it was still there. 5. Last time, Kevin went out to fix the breaker. That left me alone, giving the killer an opportunity, and that’s why I was murdered. I’d read news reports that the killer only targeted women. So, Kevin, as a man, wasn’t within the killer’s scope. Kevin knew martial arts; he could protect me, and the killer likely wouldn’t succeed. Together, we might have a fighting chance. I heard a sound at the door, and my phone lit up. I knew it was Kevin. I walked over and opened the door. Kevin came in and hugged me tightly, clearly anxious. “Baby, are you okay?” I shook my head. Kevin’s dialogue was exactly the same as before. After confirming I was okay, he prepared to leave. “Baby, you wait for me here. I’ll go check the electrical room.” This time, I held onto him. “Don’t go, I’m scared to be alone.” Kevin ruffled my hair. “Then what are we going to do about the darkness? It’s so late, the building management won’t send anyone to check.” “It’s fine. If you stay with me, I won’t be scared.” I locked the door, turned on my phone’s flashlight, and led Kevin into the bedroom. [Hahaha! What to do about the darkness? Go to sleep, obviously!] [This lady’s getting smarter. If she doesn’t leave the hero, maybe she can live.] If Julian and I went to the electrical room together, the lurking killer might kill both of us. I didn’t know if Julian could respawn here, and I couldn’t easily alter the path of others in the storyline. The best way to avoid danger was for neither of us to leave the apartment and simply wait for the night to pass. 6. [Oh my god! The killer’s at the kitchen window.] [No way, are they both going to die?] [Nooo! My ship just sailed!] When the comments appeared, I also heard movement outside. Damn it, my kitchen window connected to the fire escape corridor. The killer had already scouted the location; of course, he knew about it. “Someone’s outside.” I turned to warn Kevin. He shushed me, signaling me to be quiet. Kevin pushed me, slowly inching under the bed. He then tiptoed out to investigate. [No, I’m crying, is the hero really that brave?!] [So rational, so brave, and most importantly, so handsome. I want to date him!!!] I lay under the bed, watching Kevin leave the bedroom. A crash of breaking glass came from the kitchen, followed by sounds of a struggle. I couldn’t help but worry about Kevin. [I don’t understand, why isn’t this lady calling the police?] [Yeah! Why isn’t she calling the police? Maybe she’s too scared to think straight.] The comments jolted me awake. I truly had been too scared to think. I only remembered Kevin could protect me, forgetting to call the police. I pulled out my phone from my pocket and immediately sent a distress text. Taking a long shot, I also sent a help message to the residents’ group chat, hoping some neighbors were still awake at this hour. [Why does whatever she says come true? Can she hear us talking?!] [Impossible, she’s been dead for 15 years. How could she see us?] About ten minutes later, accompanied by a muffled groan, someone fell heavily to the ground. My heart seized with fear that something had happened to Kevin, and a vague unease settled over me. Then, I heard something moving into the bedroom. I held my breath, staring intently at the bedroom door. A pair of shoes slowly stepped in. 7. I was trembling all over. These shoes weren’t Kevin’s at all. So the person who fell outside must have been Kevin; he might have been killed. Tears instantly streamed from my eyes. The killer, as if having top-tier foresight, stood directly by the bed. He let out a low chuckle, like a soul-reaping demon. “I’ve got you!” I shrank further back under the bed. The killer was seven foot ten; he definitely couldn’t fit under the bed. Hiding here, I was relatively safe. I didn’t know how long it would take for the police to arrive, so I had to find a way to stall him, to buy myself a sliver of a chance to survive. The killer circled the bed for a while, then walked out of the bedroom. From the sound of his footsteps, he seemed to be heading towards the kitchen. [What’s this killer doing in the kitchen? Why is he even picking up a pot?] [Maybe he’s halfway through killing and got hungry, so he’s cooking something?] [Upstairs, don’t be funny. Didn’t you see him putting oil in the pan? He’s going to…] And then? Why did the comments go silent? At crucial moments, the comments always failed, blocking important information. As I was still pondering, a sudden blast of heat hit me. My skin hissed, emitting a burnt smell. Then came piercing pain; my eyes, mouth, and throat crumpled from the scalding. [Oh my god! This killer is too twisted! I’m in so much pain watching this, I can’t even breathe through the screen.] [So terrifying, to scald someone to death with hot oil!] Spoonful after spoonful of hot oil was thrown at me. I curled up, unable to move, scalded beyond belief. I endured it for who knows how long, on the brink of fainting multiple times from the pain, until finally, my last breath escaped me. 8. I was back again, at the moment I opened the door. The torture before death left me numb, standing dazed in front of the door. I had died twice already; was I destined to never escape the devil’s clutches? [This is the cruelest murder case I’ve ever seen. It’s hard to imagine how much pain she must have been in.] [Being scalded to death with hot oil. If I get a little splatter of oil on my hand while cooking, I’ll howl for ages.] [But it’s so strange! Why didn’t the killer kill the hero? The hero just fainted from a fall.] [This twisted killer, he only kills women. Besides, if the hero dies, who will help the police find clues later?] Seeing that Kevin was unharmed last time, I felt relieved. At the same time, I found it somewhat unbelievable. First time I’d ever seen a killer with such principles. Since going out would kill me, and staying home would also kill me, I might as well fight for more chances to escape. I turned and walked towards the kitchen. Last time, the killer came in through the kitchen balcony. This time, while the killer was still lurking in the electrical room, I would preemptively escape through the fire escape corridor, creating a time difference. [This lady’s getting smart again. How does she know the killer will come in from here later?] [I’m starting to admire this lady’s intelligence. She even knows to create the illusion that she’s in the bedroom.] [That’ll keep the killer busy for a while.] After climbing through the window, I crouched low and slowly moved towards the fire exit of the adjacent unit. I took off my shoes and walked up the stairs. After reaching the top floor, I entered the fire escape again and hid in the corridor. I pulled out my phone, dimmed the screen, and sent an emergency distress text. This time, I should be able to buy more time for rescue. I messaged Kevin: [Come save me, there’s a killer at home, I’m hiding.] Kevin quickly replied: [Where are you hiding? I’m coming to find you now.] 9. I told Kevin I was hiding on the 30th floor fire escape corridor. About 15 minutes later, I heard footsteps in the hallway. Kevin was coming to save me! But why was he making so much noise? What if the killer heard him and my position was revealed? I was about to message Kevin to warn him when the fire exit door swung open. I froze in terror. How could this be? It was impossible! The towering black figure stood before me, emanating a chilling aura. How did the killer pinpoint my location so accurately? [Huh? Did I miss something?] [How did this creep find her so fast?] [I’m wondering too! When did she expose herself?] I died again, thrown from the 30th floor by the killer. This time, I didn’t resist or struggle; I needed to respawn. I found myself in a white light again, a space like a projection room, mapping out all my previous memories. There was definitely something wrong here. Several times, I’d missed something. What was it? 10. My three previous death experiences flooded my mind. No, too many anomalies. In the repeated terror, I had completely overlooked many details. Each time I faced death, Kevin was either not by my side, or, all of this was a smokescreen. What role did Kevin play in this? Was he a key figure, or an accomplice? Why wasn’t he killed the second time? Was the killer really so principled? Why did he directly ask for my hiding place last time? And how was my location exposed? A string of questions made my scalp tingle. My boyfriend of three years might be trying to kill me. All of this seemed to be a trap; Kevin’s appearance only hastened my death. Time, it was time. I finally remembered—the timing was off! It should take at least half an hour to get from Kevin’s place to mine. But the first two times, he arrived in less than twenty minutes. It was raining outside, yet Kevin’s hair was dry both times, indicating he hadn’t just come from outside. The second time, in such a dark environment, how would the killer know where my oil container was? And the third time, I didn’t even tell the police my specific location, only Kevin, yet the killer found me so quickly. All signs pointed to Kevin being the twisted killer. No, still not right. Kevin is five feet eleven, but the killer is seven foot ten. Even on stilts, he couldn’t move that nimbly. Besides, I saw the killer’s shoes under the bed—a pair of black rubber rain boots. Shoes! I know! It’s the shoes! The killer’s shoes looked like a men’s size 8.5 (US), which, if calculated by shoe size to height, would be around five feet eleven. The comments said the killer was seven foot ten, which would mean a shoe size of at least a men’s 16 (US). That’s a difference of 7.5 sizes. How could that be? Height proportion wouldn’t lie, unless the killer had a physical deformity. If it was a men’s 8.5 shoe, then the killer could be Kevin. But then, who was the killer outside the window? Could it be that there wasn’t just one killer?

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My best friend loved playing matchmaker. To proclaim her love for the city’s richest man to the world, she matched toothbrushes and slippers in her home. Even I became one of her paired items. “It’s called matching social status,” she’d declared. “My assistant and my husband’s special assistant—a match made in heaven!” In my previous life, because of this absurd pairing, Lucas was forced to marry me. For three years after our marriage, he treated me wonderfully, doting on me, making me believe I had truly married for love. Until I suffered severe hemorrhage during childbirth after ten months, desperately begging him to come to the hospital to sign for surgery. His contemptuous laughter echoed through the phone: “A beggar’s bastard, does it even deserve my signature?” I was chilled to the bone, listening as he meticulously negated three years of our relationship: “Weren’t you willing to play along with your best friend’s matchmaking games? Dwight and my sweetheart, Clara, are the perfect match! As for someone like you, you only deserve to sleep with a lowlife vagrant from the streets!” The man who shared my bed on our wedding night was a homeless man. He spent three years weaving a web of deceit, setting a trap, all to destroy us and appease Clara. On the operating table, I closed my eyes in despair and hatred. When I opened them again, I was back to this very day, the day my best friend insisted on setting us up. … Liana chattered on beside me. “Chloe, what do you think of Dwight Thorne’s assistant, Lucas Vance?” “He’s Dwight’s trusted confidant, and so handsome. He’d be a perfect match for a beauty like you!” I stared at the scene before me, my nails digging into my palms. The sharp pain reminded me that I was truly alive again. In my last life, Liana, wanting to show off her relationship with Dwight, had insisted on setting us up, talking about “matching social status.” Out of consideration for our long-standing friendship, I half-heartedly agreed to meet Lucas. Lucas was an expert at pretense. He feigned an air of gentle refinement, caring for me with meticulous attention to every detail of my life. For three years of marriage, he was utterly devoted, leading me to believe I was a happy woman. It wasn’t until that horrific surgery that I heard his insulting words about my child. Only then did I realize that the man who had shared my bed on my wedding night was a homeless man. A wave of nausea swept over me. I shoved away the photo Liana offered. “No interest.” Liana froze. “Chloe, you usually go along with me. Lucas is really a great guy.” I looked her directly in the eye. “If you like matchmaking so much, go buy two dogs from a pet shop and match them.” “I refuse to be a tool for you to announce your love to the world.” Liana’s face flushed crimson. Dwight Thorne, sitting beside her, frowned. “Chloe, Liana means well.” I grabbed my bag and strode out. “I can’t quite stomach that kind of ‘well-meaning.’” Pushing open the private room door, I bumped straight into a man. This was Lucas’s scent. In my previous life, these very eyes had deceived me for three whole years. “Ms. Nash, in such a hurry to leave?” He lowered his voice, but I couldn’t help but step back, putting distance between us. “Move.” Lucas raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting my rude attitude. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Ms. Nash seems to have a strong aversion to me.” “Have we met before?” I looked up, meeting his gaze. “No, but I don’t like the look of you.” Lucas let out a soft chuckle. “Ms. Nash certainly has a fiery spirit.” “However, for Mr. Thorne and Ms. Miller’s good intentions, refusing them outright might be a bit impolite, don’t you think?” I curled my lips. “Why should I let them trample on my good name?” With that, I walked directly around him and left. Lucas continued to stare at me from behind. Back at my place, I immediately started packing, ready to move out and get as far away from Lucas as possible. Just then, the doorbell rang. Lucas stood at the door, holding a file. “Ms. Nash, I think we need to talk.” I was about to close the door when he reached out and firmly blocked it. “Regarding the company your father left behind, Ms. Nash, aren’t you interested in its current predicament?” I paused. My father’s company was the only legacy I truly cared about. In my previous life, after we married, he took over full control of it, and it eventually became part of Clara Sterling’s dowry. I glared at him and let him in. Lucas tossed the file onto the coffee table. “The company’s funds are depleted. Without an injection of capital within three days, it will be liquidated.” “And currently, only I can provide that money.” I turned to look at him. “What’s the catch?” Lucas leaned in, closing the distance between us. “Marry me.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Lucas, what do you want?” “You. All of you.” He was too good at pretending. Having died once, I would never believe such lies again. I picked up the file and tore it in half. “Let it go bankrupt.” “I’d rather beg on the streets than marry you.” 2. After Lucas left, I quickly contacted the company’s finance department to verify. The situation was worse than he described. Not only was the cash flow broken, but several massive debts were also about to mature. Clearly, someone was sabotaging things behind the scenes. Who else could it be but Lucas? He was truly ruthless in trying to force me into submission, his methods exactly the same as in my previous life. First, he’d strike in the shadows to create a crisis, then emerge as a savior to resolve it, hoping I’d be eternally grateful. This time, I wouldn’t play his game. I put my properties and jewelry up for sale, even tried to approach former rivals to transfer shares at a low price. But everyone avoided me. Dwight had spread the word: anyone who dared help me would be openly opposing the Thorne Corporation. Liana called, trying to persuade me. “Chloe, what’s wrong with just giving in a little? Lucas likes you so much, he even went to Dwight to beg for you.” “If you marry him, the company is saved, and you’ll have a good life. Wouldn’t everyone be happy?” I hit the disconnect button and immediately blocked her. Three days later, a court summons arrived. I sat in my empty rental apartment. The door was pushed open, and Lucas stood at the entrance, holding an umbrella. “Chloe, stop struggling.” He walked over, looking down at me from above. “Just say yes, and all these difficulties will disappear.” I looked up at him. “Lucas, do you really think that if you push someone to the brink and then offer a little kindness, they’ll be grateful to you?” He frowned. “I just want to help you.” “Helping me means cutting off all my escape routes?” I stood up and walked towards him. “And ordering Dwight to blacklist me?” Lucas reached out and fiercely gripped my chin. “Chloe, my patience is limited.” “You will marry me.” I curled my lips. “Fine, I’ll marry you.” Lucas paused, probably not expecting me to agree so readily. He released my chin, his eyes once again feigning gentleness. “That’s better.” “I’ll give you a wedding.” I didn’t respond. The wedding in my previous life and the homeless man on my wedding night flashed vividly in my mind. I wouldn’t repeat those mistakes. My agreement was only to get the capital injection. Once the money was in my account, I’d take it and disappear abroad. On the day we registered our marriage, Lucas was impeccably dressed. He held my hand as we walked out of the civil affairs office. “Chloe, from now on, we’re husband and wife.” His voice was so affectionate. I pulled my hand away and vaguely acknowledged him. A sports car pulled up in front of us, the window rolling down to reveal a face. It was Clara Sterling, the woman Lucas always pined for. In my previous life, he would even sacrifice my life to please this woman. “Lucas, congratulations!” Clara got out of the car, looking at me provocatively. “This must be Ms. Nash? So pretty, no wonder Lucas skipped my birthday party for you.” Lucas’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. He turned to Clara, his voice laced with anxiety. “Clara, what are you doing here?” Clara pouted, walked over, and intimately linked her arm through his. “I came to see Lucas’s new bride, of course.” “Lucas, my stomach hurts. Will you take me to the hospital?” In front of me, his new wife, she didn’t even bother to be discreet. Lucas looked back at me. “Chloe, Clara isn’t feeling well. I’ll take her to the hospital first. The driver will take you home.” The first day after we registered our marriage in my previous life was just like this; he was called away by Clara’s phone call. He left me alone in the wedding apartment all night. Back then, I actually believed he was just going to take care of his sister. I nodded at them. “Alright, take care. Don’t rush back.” Lucas probably wasn’t pleased with my calm reaction. He frowned, looking like he wanted to say more. Clara, however, directly pulled him into the car. After the sports car drove away, I pulled out my phone and called finance. “Has the money arrived?” “Yes, Ms. Nash.” I curved my lips. “Immediately transfer the money to an overseas account. Then, call the police and report the company for suspected illegal fundraising, applying for bankruptcy protection.” 3. Back in that marital apartment, I threw all the couple’s items Lucas had prepared into the trash, then booked the earliest flight out of the country. Just as I was about to leave, the door was violently shoved open. Lucas rushed in, grabbed my throat, and slammed me hard against the wall. “Chloe, you tricked me!” Veins bulged on his forehead, his eyes wide and furious. “You transferred the money? And voluntarily applied for bankruptcy?” I was forced to tilt my head back, staring intently at him through the sensation of suffocating. “Yes.” “Mr. Vance’s money, I find it dirty.” The grip on my throat tightened. “You’re asking for death!” I managed a strained smile. “Go ahead and strangle me.” “If you kill me, you won’t get that money back either.” Lucas suddenly released his grip. I slid down the wall to the floor, coughing repeatedly, clutching my throat. He squatted down and pinched my cheek. “Chloe, do you think you can escape?” “Your father’s ashes are still in the cemetery. Do you believe I’ll have someone scatter them tomorrow?” I couldn’t stop trembling. In my previous life, he’d used my father’s ashes as blackmail to force me to donate bone marrow to Clara. I lunged at him, slapping him hard. “Lucas, you beast!” He turned his head, running his tongue over the cheek I’d struck. When he turned back to face me, his face was filled with rage. “Good hit.” “Since you’re so disobedient, don’t blame me.” He stood up and made a call. “Cancel Chloe Nash’s flight, freeze all her bank accounts.” “Also, send people to guard the cemetery.” After hanging up, he looked down at me. “From today, without my permission, you can’t go anywhere.” I was completely under house arrest; he confiscated my phone and identification. I was confined to this villa every day. He went to work during the day and returned at night, finding various ways to torment me. At mealtimes, he deliberately had the housekeeper cook dishes I found revolting. At night, he set the air conditioning to its lowest setting, making me shiver. Later, he simply brought Clara home. They would embrace and show affection in front of me. “Lucas, Ms. Nash is watching.” Clara murmured, nestled in his arms. Lucas merely glanced at me. “Just a disobedient plaything; ignore her.” I sat on the sofa, watching their performance, feeling no stirrings within me. I even found it laughable. In my previous life, I was kept in the dark and suffered immensely; now, only disgust remained. I stood up, preparing to return to my room. Clara suddenly called out to me. “Ms. Nash, could you get me a glass of water?” I ignored her, continuing to walk. Lucas’s voice cut through the air, sharp. “Stop.” “Clara asked you for water; didn’t you hear?” I stopped and turned back. “Did you marry me to be your servant?” Lucas strode forward, grabbed my hair, forcing my head back. “Wife?” “Do you deserve that title?” “Chloe, I married you purely to torment you.” “Your father destroyed Clara’s family back then, and you’ll have to pay that debt.” I froze. My father hurt Clara? That was utter nonsense. My father conducted his business cleanly and would never harm anyone. “You’re lying!” I struggled fiercely. Lucas flung me away forcefully. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t admit it.” “Anyway, you’ll spend this entire life living in atonement.” He turned to Clara, his voice immediately softening. “Clara, how do you want to punish her?” Clara stared at me. “Lucas, I’ve been feeling dizzy lately. The doctor said I’m anemic.” “Perhaps, Ms. Nash could donate some blood to me?” Lucas agreed instantly. “Alright.” He called in a private doctor. Several people forcefully pinned me to the table, directly drawing a full eight hundred milliliters of blood. My vision blurred, my body felt cold, and I collapsed to the ground, lacking even the strength to move. Lucas’s eyes held not a trace of pity for me. “This is just the beginning.” “Chloe, what you owe Clara, I will collect from you, bit by bit.” 4. For days after the blood donation, I suffered from an unyielding high fever. Lucas forbade calling a doctor, only allowing the housekeeper to force bitter herbal medicine down my throat daily. I was too weak to leave my bed. Clara, however, frequently came to my room, gloating. “Chloe, you look truly pathetic now.” She ran her nail along my cheek. “Lucas doesn’t love you at all. Every time he touches you, he feels disgusted.” “On your wedding night, he actually…” She deliberately paused, covering her mouth and giggling. “He actually found a homeless man off the street to keep you company.” “Too bad you ran off. You didn’t get to taste that kind of pleasure.” I opened my eyes and stared intensely at her. Even though I already knew the truth, hearing it firsthand was still nauseating. I propped myself up and slapped her across the face. “Get out!” Clara shrieked and fell to the floor. Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Lucas rushed in. Seeing Clara on the ground, his face changed completely. He hurried to help her up. “Clara, are you alright?” Clara clutched her face, tears streaming down. “Lucas, I just felt sorry for Ms. Nash and wanted to check on her.” “But she hit me…” Lucas turned his head, glaring at me. “Chloe, you’re asking for death!” He walked over and returned the slap with brutal force. Already weak, I was knocked back onto the bed, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. My ears only rang. “If you dare touch Clara again, I’ll take your life!” I wiped the blood from my mouth, tilted my face up, and laughed. “Just kill me now.” Lucas gripped my chin. “Kill you? That’s too easy.” “Clara’s kidneys aren’t doing well, and your match was successful.” “Next month, prepare for surgery.” My mind went blank. He was going to brutally remove one of my kidneys. “I won’t go!” “That’s illegal!” Lucas scoffed. “Here, I am the law.” In the following days, I was severely restricted. Every day, I was forced to receive various nutrient injections, all to keep my organs in optimal condition. I tried to escape, but the villa was surrounded by bodyguards; I couldn’t even get out the front door. Despair engulfed me. Until one day, the housekeeper forgot to lock my door. I seized the opportunity to sneak out, ran to the landline on the first floor, and dialed the emergency number. “Hello, I need to report a crime. I’m being illegally detained, and they’re going to forcibly remove my organs…” Before I could finish, the phone line was abruptly yanked out. Lucas stood behind me, his face grim. “Chloe, you truly never learn.” He grabbed my hair and dragged me back to my room, roughly throwing me onto the bed. “Since you’re so eager to run, we’ll do the surgery today.” He called in bodyguards who strapped me to a gurney. The surgical lights were blinding. I struggled desperately, my wrists chafed raw with bloody marks. “Lucas, you’ll rot in hell!” “Let me go!” Lucas stood by the operating table, his face devoid of emotion. “Chloe, this is what you owe Clara.” Just as he turned to leave, a violent pain shot through my abdomen. “It hurts…” “So much pain…” The doctor stepped forward to examine me, his face turning ashen. “Mr. Vance, she… she’s pregnant!” “And there are signs of an impending miscarriage. If we proceed with the kidney removal surgery now, both mother and child will be in danger!” Lucas abruptly stopped. He turned around, staring at my flat stomach. “What did you say?” The doctor stammered in reply, “She’s almost two months pregnant.” Two months. That was from the one time he forcibly took me the day we registered our marriage. I was in so much pain I was nearly unconscious, but I still clutched the bedsheet tightly. “Lucas…” “Please… save the baby…” This was my flesh and blood. Even though I hated Lucas intensely, I couldn’t stand by and watch my child die. Lucas’s face was stormy. Just then, Clara was wheeled in by a nurse. Her face was pale as she cried out in pain. “Lucas, I feel so awful…” “The doctor said my kidneys are already starting to fail. If I don’t have surgery soon, I won’t live past tonight…” In my previous life, he’d ignored me when I was hemorrhaging during childbirth. Now, facing two lives at risk, he still walked towards Clara. Lucas coldly gave his command. “Just a bastard, if it’s gone, it’s gone.” “Prepare for kidney transplant surgery immediately. Save Clara first.” I trembled all over. He wouldn’t even spare his own flesh and blood. “Lucas! You’ll get your comeuppance!” I shrieked, tears mixing with cold sweat. Bang!

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1 My daughter was bullied at school so mercilessly that her eye was bruised purple and swelling so badly it looked ready to burst. By the time I rushed into the principal’s office, the other girl still had her hands twisted violently in my daughter’s hair. “You filthy piece of trash. You think you deserve to wear the same necklace as me?” The girl spat, yanking hard. “Tell me where you stole it from!” Lily’s mouth was so full of blood she couldn’t even form the words to defend herself. A blind rage took over me. I shoved the girl away with enough force to send her stumbling back, fully intending to make her feel exactly what she had done to my little girl. But Lily grabbed my wrist. She shook her head, her breath hitching weakly. “Dad, don’t. She promised me… ten thousand dollars for every slap.” Lily choked back a sob. “We need that money to pay for Mom’s treatments.” Tears instantly flooded my vision. The crushing weight of her words hit me right in the chest. My ten-year-old daughter was trying to trade her own life, her own dignity, to save Melora. That was why she had been coming home covered in fresh bruises for weeks. The girl I had shoved was trembling with fury, pointing a manicured finger right at my face. “You cheap peasants actually dared to touch me!” she screamed. “My mother is the wealthiest woman in New York! Just wait until she gets here. She is going to kill you both!” The heavy oak doors of the office swung open. The girl immediately rushed forward, burying her face into the woman’s expensive coat, sobbing and playing the victim. But I stood completely frozen. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The woman standing in the doorway was not a stranger. It was my wife. The woman who supposedly suffered from a severe stroke, the woman who had been bedridden and paralyzed in our tiny apartment for months. “Mom?” Lily’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief, her legs giving out beneath her. For a split second, she didn’t know whether to cry tears of joy that her mother could finally walk, or scream in agony at the utter betrayal staring us in the face. I walked up to Melora. My hand shook violently as I pointed at the spoiled girl clinging to her. “Who is she? Why the hell is she calling you Mom?” Melora didn’t even look at me. She shoved past my shoulder, marching straight up to the principal’s desk. Her voice was pure ice. “I poured millions of dollars into this school so you would protect my daughter!” she snapped. “Not so that any random gutter rat could step on her head!” Her anger boiled over. She grabbed a porcelain teacup off the desk and hurled it at the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces. One flying shard slashed right across Lily’s cheek, drawing a line of warm, red blood. It was a fresh wound layered over a face already battered and bruised. Yet Lily didn’t even flinch. It was as if she couldn’t feel the physical pain anymore. She scrambled forward and grabbed the sleeve of Melora’s designer silk blouse. “How could you do this to us? To Dad?” Lily cried out, her voice breaking. “Do you have any idea how hard we fought to keep you alive?” To afford the expensive treatments for Melora’s fake illness, Lily and I had starved ourselves. We shared single portions of stale bread. We wore clothes until the fabric grew thin and frayed, terrified to spend a single dime on ourselves. Every day after my grueling shifts, Lily would walk with me through the freezing streets to collect scrap metal and empty bottles. We did it just to scrape together enough cash to buy Melora warm, nutritious meals so she could fight her disease. Melora looked down at Lily in absolute silence. She looked at her own flesh and blood as if she were a panhandling stranger. Then, she let out a scoff. A sound dripping with pure contempt. “Who do you think you are, touching me?” Melora sneered. “The last person who harassed me like this had their hands chopped off.” With Melora backing her up, the arrogant girl grew even bolder. She strutted right up to me and delivered a stinging slap across my face. “Like father, like daughter,” the girl mocked. “You disgusting animals really thought you could claim my mother as your own?” She sneered and unclipped a thick, diamond-encrusted chain from her designer phone case. “Let me show you the difference between us elites and you filthy commoners,” the girl said, dangling the chain. “This little accessory alone costs eight million dollars.” Lily and I survived on eight hundred dollars a month. We didn’t even have a fraction of a fraction of what that trinket was worth. “You need money, right?” the girl laughed. “Get on your knees and bark like a dog. If you do it well enough, I’ll toss you this chain out of pity for your worthless lives.” She whipped the chain right into Lily’s face, laughing as she waited for my daughter to drop to her knees. Throughout all of this, Melora did absolutely nothing. She just watched with cold, dead eyes, as if she were watching a boring television show. Just yesterday, this same woman had held our hands in that cramped, moldy bedroom, crying hot tears of guilt. “I am so sorry I’m a burden to you both,” she had sobbed. “Just take the money and leave me. Go start a new life.” Lily and I had refused, crying and swearing we would never abandon her. We swore we would cure her. Now, the irony was thick enough to choke on. Melora wasn’t sick. She was the richest woman in the city. She had the power to give us the world, yet she chose to watch us drown in misery. All the pure, unconditional love Lily and I poured into her had just been a game. A sick tool for her to manipulate us. Lily bit her lip so hard it bled. Tears spilled hot and fast down her cheeks. She took a step forward, desperate to demand the justice we deserved. But I grabbed her small, trembling hand. I looked down at her and shook my head. “Let’s go, Lily.” If Melora didn’t want to admit who we were, then fine. From this moment on, we were truly nothing to each other. 2 Lily looked up at me, thoroughly confused. But despite the mountain of anger building in her tiny chest, she nodded. She could feel my hands shaking. She knew that my calm demeanor was nothing but a fragile mask. Deep down, my heart had just been pulverized into a million jagged pieces. “Hold on!” The girl’s shrill voice rang out. She wasn’t satisfied. She lunged forward and grabbed Lily by the collar of her worn-out jacket. With a violent yank, she snapped the thin necklace around Lily’s neck and threw it onto the marble floor. She ground the heel of her leather boot into the pendant until it cracked into pieces. “Dare to wear the same jewelry as me again,” the girl whispered venomously, “and next time, I’ll carve the skin right off your neck.” At the sight of the broken necklace, Melora finally reacted. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows twitched. She recognized it. It was the birthday gift she had given Lily years ago. Back then, she hadn’t started faking her illness. We were just an ordinary family, but we were the happiest people in the world. Melora used to spend every spare dollar she earned just to see us smile. If I stared at a tie in a shop window for a few seconds too long, Melora would magically present it to me the very next day, her eyes sparkling like stars. “Do you like it, honey?” she would ask. If Lily mentioned that the other kids at school had pretty necklaces, Melora would walk through three different neighborhoods in the freezing rain to find the perfect one. When I scolded her for spending her hard-earned money on us, she would just smile and kiss my cheek. “I don’t need fancy hair salons or manicures,” she used to say. “Buying happiness for you and Lily is the only thing worth my money.” But standing in that office, the horrific truth dawned on me. From the moment Lily put that necklace on, she was destined to suffer for it. Melora’s love had been split in two. Melora opened her mouth, looking as if she wanted to say something. But by the time she found her words, I had already pulled Lily out the door and down the hallway. I took Lily straight to the hospital to clean and stitch her wounds. She kept her eyes squeezed shut the entire time, biting her lip so hard I had to place my thumb over her mouth to stop the bleeding. “Dad, it hurts so much,” Lily whimpered. “Why didn’t it hurt like this before?” She clung to my shirt, her tiny body trembling with every sob. I patted her back, a bitter, suffocating lump lodged in my throat. She was only ten years old. Yet her body was already covered in scars that would never fade, tied to memories that would haunt her forever. Before today, she could run home, throw her arms around Melora, and beg for praise. Melora would call her a good girl, a brave girl. And every time Lily looked at the growing pile of crumpled bills in her piggy bank, the physical pain of the bullying would vanish. She only felt the overwhelming joy of knowing she was saving her mother’s life. But now, Melora’s cold, venomous words acted like a thousand icy needles piercing straight through our hearts, making it physically painful just to breathe. By the time we returned to our tiny apartment, Melora was sitting on the old, sagging couch in the living room. “Where did you go?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “You weren’t picking up the phone.” She instinctively took a step toward us, but the sudden movement made Lily shriek and scramble backward, hiding behind my legs. Melora froze. Her harsh tone immediately softened. “Lily, sweetie, did Mom scare you today?” She forced a gentle smile. “That was all fake. Mom was just acting for those people.” Once upon a time, Lily believed every single word that came out of Melora’s mouth. If Melora promised to bring home her favorite dessert, Lily would sit by the door for hours waiting for her. If Melora promised a trip to the zoo, Lily would lay out her favorite dress the night before, vibrating with excitement. She knew her mother loved her, and her mother always kept her promises. But now, the past warmth had been entirely replaced by raw terror. Lily kept her face buried in the back of my coat, refusing to speak a single word. Melora’s patience snapped. She stepped forward and reached out to grab Lily’s arm. “Don’t you dare touch her!” I shoved Melora back with everything I had. My eyes burned with pure, unadulterated hatred. I hated her for faking a terminal illness. I hated her for making me stay awake for countless nights, weeping in the dark, paralyzed by the fear of losing her. I had swallowed every ounce of my pride, getting on my hands and knees to beg relatives and strangers for loans to pay her medical bills. And in the end, my agony was nothing more than a casual lie she constructed on a whim. “Arthur, this is your fault! You spoiled her!” Melora screamed, her face twisting in anger. “If I didn’t hide my wealth from her, she’d grow up to be an entitled monster!” I stared at her in utter disbelief. The woman I had loved for a decade morphed into a complete stranger right before my eyes. How could she stand there and blame us? How could she wash her hands of the cruelty and shift the sin onto our shoulders? I clenched my fists, abandoning whatever shred of sanity I had left. I roared at the top of my lungs. “Then you should ask that little bastard you call a daughter!” I screamed. “Ask her how many people she’s beaten! How many faces she’s slapped! And she gets away with all of it because her billionaire mother sweeps it under the rug!” “Just like she did to my daughter!” The moment the words left my mouth, a sharp, ringing slap echoed through the room. My cheek burned instantly. 3 Melora’s chest heaved violently, her eyes bloodshot. “You are a madman!” she shrieked. “Arthur, you are the one ruining her!” With that, she turned on her heel, marched out the front door, and slammed it behind her. The gust of wind from the door felt like a second slap across my face. “Dad, does it hurt?” Lily cried, her small hands frantically trying to wipe the tears from her own face. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. This is all my fault.” “I’m fine, sweetie.” I crouched down and pulled her into a tight embrace. “None of this is your fault. Do you understand me?” Lily scrambled to the bathroom and brought back the first aid kit. She carefully dabbed ointment onto my swollen cheek, blowing cool air on the stinging skin. Looking at her face, so strikingly similar to Melora’s, I was violently pulled back to the past. Melora and I had been together since high school. We had held hands through over a decade of life. She had seen me at my absolute worst, at my most pathetic. Back in high school, I was severely overweight. I was the punchline of every joke in the hallways. Driven by absolute self-hatred, I forced myself to run laps on the track to lose the weight. But my heavy body gave out, and I tripped, slamming face-first into the gravel. The laughter from the bleachers was deafening. It stripped away whatever dignity I had left. But in that suffocating darkness, Melora walked up to me. She extended her hand, helped me off the ground, and wiped the dirt and blood from my face. She was gentle. She was radiant. From that day forward, she was the light that illuminated my bleak, miserable life. For the next ten years, I genuinely believed I possessed the greatest, purest love in the entire world. A thunderous pounding on the front door shattered my memories. The knocks grew louder and more violent, as if someone were trying to break the door off its hinges. “Dad…” Lily whispered, her eyes wide with fresh panic. I forced myself to be brave. I walked toward the entrance, but before I could reach the handle, the door was kicked open with a deafening crash. “So you’re the animal, aren’t you!” A strange man stormed into our living room. He was dressed in a tailored, expensive suit, radiating an aura of absolute arrogance. Right behind him was the girl from the principal’s office. Stella. “Dad! That’s him! That’s the guy and his brat!” she yelled, pointing at us. The man flicked his wrist. A dozen men in black suits swarmed into the cramped apartment from the hallway. They brutally shoved me away from Lily, pinning us down. They bound our wrists and ankles with zip ties and tossed us onto the cold floor like garbage. The man walked over and nudged my face with the tip of his polished Italian leather shoe. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, his voice dripping with superiority. “My name is Marcus. I am Melora’s legal, rightful husband.” He sneered, looking around our tiny, run-down apartment. “And where exactly did a shameless male whore like you crawl out from?” His eyes drifted over to Lily, and a dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I have to admit, she really does look a bit like Melora. You hide your little affair in the slums, and you actually have the nerve to let your bastard child run wild in my daughter’s school?” He picked up a heavy wooden plank leaning against the wall. “Since you’ve been careless enough to let me find you, I am going to make sure neither of you ever sees the light of day again.” He raised the plank, aiming straight for Lily’s battered face. “No!” I screamed, thrashing against the zip ties. “Melora and I are legally married! We have a certificate! You are the homewrecker!” Marcus froze. The plank stopped mid-air. He turned his head slowly to look at me. “A marriage certificate? Where is it? Get it for me. Now.” 4 He signaled the men in black to cut the zip ties around my wrists and ankles. I didn’t dare hesitate for a fraction of a second. I scrambled on my hands and knees into the bedroom, pulling out the bottom drawer of the nightstand. I dug out the red marriage booklets I had cherished for years. They had our photos. They had the official red stamps. But the moment Marcus took one look at them, he burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. “I was wondering where those fake certificates I bought for twenty bucks went. So she gave them to you!” Marcus laughed until he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “Arthur, are you completely blind? Didn’t you notice the registration numbers are literally handwritten?” “She only bought these because I was throwing a tantrum and threatened to tear up our real marriage license. She needed a prop to pacify me, and she actually used it to trick you!” My hands shook violently as I stared at the red booklet on the floor. Only now, in the harsh light, did I see how cheap and poorly forged the stamps and writing were. But back then, I had believed her completely. I believed her when she said it would take three days to process the paperwork. When she finally handed me the booklet, I didn’t harbor a single doubt. I was so overwhelmed with joy that my eyes turned red. I had picked Melora up and spun her around the living room. “Thank God,” I had cried. “I finally get to marry you!” The truth was so exceptionally cruel it felt as if a thousand blades were plunging into my chest at once. The pain was so intense my vision went black at the edges. “Dad! Dad!” Lily’s frantic screaming pulled me back to reality. Marcus looked down at her, his eyes darkening with malice. “You’ve got quite the lungs on you, little rat,” he muttered. He looked at his men. “Give the little bastard a lesson.” The men in black immediately surrounded my ten-year-old daughter.

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On a stormy apocalyptic night, my own mother kicked me and my Husky out into the cold. I was burning with a deadly fever. She did it just so my brother could have my share of the food. She spat through the crack in the door, “Take this useless mutt and go die. Stop wasting Tyler’s rations.” I huddled in a dumpster with my dog, certain that my life was over. Who knew my Husky would suddenly speak with a mechanical voice. “Critical host vitality detected. Infinite Supply Search System bound.” “One hundred yards ahead, supermarket warehouse. Three thousand crates of self-heating beef stew detected.” “Five hundred yards left, pharmacy. Five hundred boxes of antibiotics detected.” Three days later, I established a fortress with my dog pack and mountains of supplies. I sat inside eating a hot steak while watching the show outside. My mother and brother knelt beyond my chain link fence, tearing at each other like rabid animals over half a piece of moldy bread. I just smiled. “Careful, Mom. Not even a stray dog would eat that. Swallow slowly.” 1 My head throbbed. My forehead was hot enough to fry an egg. I curled up in the corner of the living room sofa, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Mom, just give me one fever pill. I am not going to make it.” My voice was terrifyingly hoarse. The back of my throat tasted like copper. Martha sat by the coffee table, her fingers wrapped tight around a white plastic bottle. It was the last bottle of Advil in the house. She did not even glance my way. Her eyes were glued to Tyler, who was busy mashing buttons on his video game controller. Tyler sniffled and let out the quietest, faintest sneeze. Martha leaped up instantly. She poured a glass of warm water and pressed two pills into Tyler’s palm. “Sweetheart, take these quick. That sneeze did not sound right. You cannot afford to catch a cold.” I stared at the scene in utter disbelief. I was running a fever of a hundred and three degrees. I was borderline hallucinating. Tyler just had an itchy nose. I struggled to pull myself up from the sofa and reached a shaking hand toward the medicine bottle. “Mom, I am still burning up. Just save one for me.” Smack. Martha slapped the back of my hand hard. My skin welled up red almost instantly. “Eat, eat, eat. That is all you know how to do. This medicine is for the man of the house. Why should a useless burden like you get any?” Tyler swallowed the pills and slammed his glass down on the table. He shot a look of pure disgust at my Husky, Duke, who was lying by my feet. “Mom, this dog is shedding everywhere. It pisses me off just looking at it. Plus, it eats way too much. We barely have enough rice left. Just throw it out.” Duke seemed to understand. He let out a soft whimper and buried his nose into the crook of my knees. My father left Duke to me before he passed away. This dog had been by my side for five long years. I threw my arms around Duke’s neck, shielding him. “No. Dad left him to me. Nobody touches him.” Tyler let out a cold laugh. He stood up and kicked Duke right in the stomach. Duke yelped in pain but kept his teeth shut. He did not bite back, purely because he did not want to make things worse for me. I lost my mind. I lunged forward and shoved Tyler away. “Stop it.” Tyler used the momentum to throw himself onto the floor, wailing at the top of his lungs. “Mom. Riley hit me. She hit me over a stupid dog.” Martha’s face darkened into a storm. She stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a heavy wooden rolling pin, and started bringing it down on me. “You little rebel. How dare you hit your brother.” One strike. Two strikes. The heavy wood crashed against my back and arms. I curled into a tight ball, wrapping my body around my dog to protect his head. Outside, thunder shook the apartment walls. The rain was torrential. Down in the streets, the guttural shrieks of the infected echoed through the concrete canyons. Martha finally grew tired. Panting heavily, she pointed the rolling pin straight at the front door. “Get out. Take your filthy animal and get the hell out of my house.” “I am not feeding a parasite, and I am sure as hell not feeding a useless mutt.” I looked up at her, my vision blurring. “Mom, the streets are crawling with zombies. It is pouring rain. You want me to leave now? You are sending me to my death.” Martha grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. She possessed a terrifying, frantic strength. She dragged me and Duke across the living room floor, right to the entryway. “Then go die outside. Stop wasting your brother’s rations.” She yanked the deadbolts back, threw open the heavy metal door, and planted a foot in my side. I lost my balance and tumbled out into the freezing stairwell, taking Duke down with me. Slam. The heavy door shut tight. Then came the metallic grinding. Click. Click. Both deadbolts sliding into place. I lay on the freezing concrete floor. Every bone in my body felt like it had been shattered. From the other side of the door, I could hear Tyler’s muffled voice. “Mom, her winter puffer coat is pretty thick. We should have stripped it off her before tossing her out.” Martha spat on the floor. “Bad luck. It is tainted with that dead girl’s sickness. We do not want it.” Listening to that heartwarming family exchange, my tears completely dried up. The stairwell was pitch black. The motion sensor lights had burned out weeks ago. A foul, icy draft blew up the shaft, bringing with it the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps from the floors below. It was the sound of rubber soles scraping against concrete. The rancid stench of rotting meat floated up through the gaps in the stairs. The infected were in the building. 2 My blood ran cold. The blistering heat of my fever instantly morphed into a layer of freezing sweat. I forced my shaking legs to stand and stumbled to the apartment door across from ours. I pounded my fists against the wood. “Mrs. Higgins. Mrs. Higgins, open up, it is Riley. Please, just let me hide inside. I will stay right by the door.” Nobody answered. But I could hear the panicked, rapid breathing on the other side. I heard the scraping of heavy furniture being dragged to barricade the door. They heard me. They just did not want to save me. The dragging footsteps below were getting louder. Closer. A low, vibrating snarl echoed up the stairwell. It was the sound of a wild beast catching the scent of fresh prey. Lightning flashed outside the corridor window. In that split second of blinding white light, I saw it. Down on the landing, a humanoid figure with only half a face was twisting its neck to look up at me. Its eyes were a milky, dead white. Its jaw was moving, still chewing on something unrecognizable. It saw me. My knees buckled. I almost dropped to the floor. It was over. I was a dead woman walking. Suddenly, Duke bit down on the hem of my jeans and yanked me violently toward the upward stairs. “Woof.” He barked. It was short, sharp, and commanded action. He did not charge down to fight. He was dragging me up toward the roof. My survival instinct kicked back in. Yes. Go up. The infected had stiff, rigor-mortis joints. They were terrible at climbing stairs. Ignoring the dizzying spin of my fever, I scrambled up the concrete steps on my hands and knees. The snarling below erupted into a frenzy. The zombie began slamming its body against the handrails, accelerating its climb. I did not dare look back. My lungs felt like they were packed with burning coals. Sixth floor. Seventh floor. We hit the top landing. But the heavy metal door leading to the roof was sealed shut with a massive, rusted padlock. Despair washed over me like a tidal wave. Locked. The frantic footsteps behind me had already reached the sixth floor. Duke let go of my jeans and threw his body against the padlock. It did nothing. He whipped his head around and started barking frantically at a pile of discarded renovation debris in the corner. I looked over. Sticking out of the rubble was a rusted iron crowbar. I threw myself at the pile, grabbed the cold iron, and jammed the wedged end right into the padlock’s shackle. I put the entire weight of my body, all my rage, and every ounce of my will to live into that piece of metal. Snap. The rusty metal gave way. The lock burst open. The heavy door groaned on its hinges. I shoved it open, tumbling out onto the tar roof with Duke right beside me. I kicked the door shut behind us and jammed the crowbar through the door handles, wedging it against the frame. Bang. A massive force slammed against the metal from the inside. It was the sound of a skull repeatedly bashing against steel. The door rattled violently. Dust and rust rained down. I collapsed into a puddle on the roof, gasping for air. The freezing rain poured over me, soaking through my clothes and shocking my fever-hot skin, sending violent shivers down my spine. I had survived. For now. But I was trapped on a rooftop. No food. No water. Just an endless storm above and a swarm of monsters below. I pulled Duke close, huddling under the concrete overhang of the building’s water tank to escape the worst of the rain. Right then, a window opened on the floor below. Martha poked her head out. From her angle, she could see a corner of the roof. When she saw I was still breathing, a flash of genuine disappointment crossed her face. Then, she started screaming. “You little witch. You are still not dead? Are you hiding food up there? I knew it. I knew you were a greedy little rat hiding food while your brother starves.” “Throw it down here right now. Give it to Tyler, or I swear I will curse you to rot in hell.” Her shrill, piercing voice cut through the howling storm. The zombies inside the building heard her. They abandoned the roof door and began throwing themselves against the metal security gate of her apartment. Terrified, Martha yanked her head back inside and slammed the window shut. I stared at that closed window with dead eyes. The very last thread of affection I held for my family snapped. It was completely gone. I stroked Duke’s soaking wet fur. “It is just you and me now, buddy.” Duke licked the palm of my hand. Suddenly, a mechanical voice echoed in my head. No, not my head. The voice was coming straight from Duke’s mouth. “System alert. Critical host vitality detected. Infinite Supply Search System has been bound.” I froze. Was the fever cooking my brain? Duke looked up at me. His bright blue eyes were flashing with an unnatural, neon light. He stood up, trotted over to an abandoned planter box in the corner, and started digging at the dirt. “System alert. Hidden supplies located. One sealed package of beef jerky. One bottle of mineral water.” I walked over, my legs trembling. I brushed away the wet mud and dead weeds. A red plastic bag was buried there. Inside, exactly as the voice said, was a thick, vacuum-sealed stick of beef jerky and a fresh bottle of water. Someone must have stashed it up here before the world ended and forgot about it. My hands shook as I ripped open the plastic. The smell of spiced meat hit my nose. I shoved it into my mouth, swallowing it down in massive chunks barely chewing. A slow warmth began to spread through my freezing stomach. I was going to live. I had Duke. 3 The rain poured through the night. By dawn, the downpour had faded into a miserable drizzle. Thanks to Duke pressing his warm body against mine all night, my fever had actually broken. Duke was standing near the edge of the roof, his ears pinned straight up, listening to the vibrations of the concrete. “System alert. Three infected gathered on the third floor. Fifth floor secure. Human survivors moving on the fourth floor.” I understood immediately. Someone was coming up the stairs. Before I could even stand, a violent crash echoed from the roof door. My makeshift crowbar lock was not secure enough. After a few heavy kicks, the metal door flew open. Tyler stepped out, gripping a bloody machete. Behind him were two sketchy guys from the fifth floor. Local thugs who had a reputation for stealing even before the world went to hell. Martha trailed behind them, her face twisted in a bitter scowl. Tyler’s eyes locked onto the empty jerky wrapper by my feet. His eyes instantly turned bloodshot. “Mom. I told you she was hiding food. Look.” Martha let out a screech. She lunged toward me, raising her hand to slap my face. “You heartless bitch. Your brother has been starving all day, and you are up here having a picnic. Do you have more? Hand it over.” The two thugs moved in, circling me with dirty smiles. Their eyes roamed up and down my shivering body. “Well, well. The girl is looking a little pale, but she is still pretty enough.” I gripped my rusted crowbar tight and backed up against the roof’s edge. “There is nothing left. It was just one piece, and I found it up here.” Tyler did not believe a word of it. He stepped forward, reaching out to grab me. “Bullshit. Take off your clothes. I am searching you myself.” Duke lunged. He moved like a blur, sinking his teeth right into Tyler’s wrist. “Ahhhh.” Tyler screamed in agony, dropping the machete. “Get this dead mutt off me.” He stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding arm. The two thugs exchanged a look, raised the heavy steel pipes they were carrying, and swung them down hard at Duke. Duke was fast, but he was just a dog, and he was trying to stand between them and me. Smack. A steel pipe connected with Duke’s back leg. The sickening crack of bone was loud enough to echo over the wind. Duke let out a heartbreaking yelp and collapsed to the tar roof, his back leg twisted at a horrifying angle. “Duke.” My vision went red. I raised the crowbar and charged forward, ready to kill them all. One of the thugs simply raised his boot and kicked me square in the stomach. The force sent me flying backward. I crashed hard into the rusted metal railing, curling into a ball as the air left my lungs. Tyler snatched his machete off the ground. He marched over with a vicious look in his eyes. He did not kill Duke. Instead, he took the flat side of the heavy blade and started bashing it against Duke’s skull. “Bite me again. Go on, bite me again.” Duke whimpered, blood dripping from his snout, but his bright blue eyes stayed locked onto Tyler in pure defiance. Tyler turned his head toward me, his face glowing with a sick sense of revenge. “Hey sis. That puffer jacket looks really warm. I think I will take it.” “You are going to die anyway. Be a shame to waste it.” He stepped up and violently yanked the zipper down. Martha stood on the sidelines, not only doing nothing to stop it, but cheering him on. “Hurry up. Stop wasting time. It is freezing up here.” I fought back with everything I had, scratching my nails across Tyler’s face, leaving a deep, bleeding trail. “Get off me. You are a monster.” Tyler wiped the blood off his cheek and backhanded me hard across the jaw. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine. With the help of the two thugs, they pinned me down and physically ripped the winter coat off my body. I was left in a thin, worn-out sweater. The biting winter wind instantly pierced right to my bones. Tyler gleefully slipped my coat on. It still held my body heat. He patted the sleeves down with a look of disgust. “Smells a little like wet dog, but it will do.” He stood over me, looking down at my bruised body and my crippled dog. “Look at you. You are worse off than a stray animal. Just hug your stupid dog and wait to die.” Martha spat directly onto my face. “Let’s go. Leave this jinx to rot.” They turned to head back to the stairwell. But right at that moment, an explosive sound echoed from the floor below. Then another. And another. It was the sound of dozens of decaying hands slamming against metal. The zombie horde had made it up the stairs.

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On Valentine’s Day, I took the afternoon off and spent hours in the kitchen. I prepared a lavish spread of Scarlett’s favorite dishes. While I was waiting for her to get off work, a thick envelope arrived in the mail. Tearing it open, I found a stack of letters my deeply beloved wife had mailed abroad over the past few years. They had been returned to sender due to an invalid address. Every single one was a love letter addressed to her high school sweetheart. The words were drenched in devotion, overflowing with endless, suffocating longing. My heart, which had been warm and full of anticipation just moments before, plummeted into a bath of ice. I was still trembling with suppressed anger when Scarlett walked through the door. Her face was flushed with frantic excitement. “Guess what, honey?” she beamed. “Tristan is coming back. His flight lands at one thirty in the morning. Let’s go pick him up together, okay?” Looking at my wife’s face, a face so familiar yet suddenly acting like a total stranger, the violent storm in my chest inexplicably died down. A strange, hollow calm took its place. “Let’s eat first,” I said quietly. “You go ahead. I need to run to the salon for a blowout and get my nails done. I haven’t seen Tristan in years. I absolutely refuse to give him a bad impression.” She had been home for less than a minute, yet she was already slipping her heels back on. “His flight isn’t until past midnight. What is the rush?” I tried to reason with her. “Dinner is getting cold. Look at all the food I made. Just have a few bites.” “Fine.” Scarlett finally sat down. But as she faced the extravagant meal, her mind was clearly miles away. She chewed her food like it was cardboard. Uncontrollable joy kept flashing in her eyes. I had never seen her look this radiant, not even during the peak of our honeymoon phase. Feigning casual curiosity, I asked, “How long is Tristan staying?” “I have no idea. You know how secretive he is. He loves keeping me in the dark to surprise me.” She paused, her eyes shifting nervously. “Honey, his flight gets in so late. Finding a decent hotel at that hour will be a nightmare. Why don’t we just let him stay in our guest room?” “Whatever makes you happy,” I replied. Hearing my approval, Scarlett instantly lost her nonexistent appetite. She pushed her plate away and hurried down the hall to prepare the guest room. I sat alone at the dining table, silently shoveling rice into my mouth. It was the most tasteless Valentine’s Day of my life. Just like the elaborate dinner I had spent hours preparing. To my wife, it meant absolutely nothing. By the time Scarlett finished making the bed, I had already washed the dishes. “My boss just texted,” I lied smoothly. “There is an emergency at the firm. I have to go in and work late.” Scarlett frowned in annoyance. “What kind of garbage company makes you work late on Valentine’s Day?” I let out a cold, silent laugh in my head. So, she did remember it was Valentine’s Day. “Well, make it quick. I will be waiting for you,” she said dismissively. I walked out the door, bought a pack of cigarettes at the corner store, and found a dark, empty spot near the dumpsters. I crouched there in the cold, lighting up. Back in high school, Scarlett, Tristan, and I were all in the same graduating class. Scarlett was the prom queen, the girl everyone stared at in the hallways. She was also my lab partner. But throughout those four years, she spoke fewer than ten sentences to me. Whenever I was sweating it out on the basketball court, I would look over and see Scarlett and Tristan walking hand in hand under the oak trees. I was consumed by sheer, unadulterated envy. I thought Tristan was the luckiest guy on the planet. The only time I ever got close to her was during class or when the academic rankings were posted on the bulletin board. Her flawless profile haunted my dreams for years. When the final exam scores came out, Scarlett and I ranked at the top of our class. We ended up getting accepted into the same prestigious university. Tristan, however, barely scraped by with his grades. Thanks to his family’s deep pockets, he was shipped off to study in Europe. That was how the two of them lost contact. During our college freshman talent show, Scarlett walked out on stage in a flowing white dress and sat down at the grand piano. She looked like an angel stepping straight out of a painting. She stole the hearts of half the freshman class that night, but she also gave me the liquid courage to finally confess my feelings. To my absolute shock, she said yes. After graduation, we stayed in the city. We built careers. We got married. It had been exactly five years. I changed everything about myself for her. I used to be a guy who couldn’t even boil water. Now, I was a master at grocery shopping, laundry, scrubbing floors, and cooking gourmet meals. I used to be a chain smoker, easily killing two packs a day. The moment she said she hated the smell, I quit cold turkey. I used to game online every weekend with my buddies. When she complained it was taking up too much of my time, I cut ties with all of them. In this marriage, I was not just a husband. I was a butler and a live-in maid. I handed over almost my entire paycheck to her every single month. I loved her. I cherished her. I poured my entire soul into treating her right. I was her shoulder to cry on, her partner in laughter, her anchor when she threw tantrums. I coaxed her to take her medicine when she was sick. I wiped her tears. I sang her to sleep on restless nights. Yet all that devotion had bought me nothing but a beautiful, fragile illusion. From the very beginning, Scarlett’s heart had always belonged to another man. The airport terminal was freezing and dead silent in the middle of the night. The air conditioning was blasting, but the chill in my chest was far colder. It froze me right down to the marrow. Scarlett stood beside me, dressed to the nines. She looked breathtakingly gorgeous, turning the heads of the few exhausted travelers walking by. When Tristan walked through the arrivals gate and spotted her, his eyes lit up like fireworks. He strode over, bypassing me entirely, and pulled her into a crushing embrace before either of them said a word. I stood right next to them, her actual husband, completely invisible. Scarlett seemed to remember I was there. She raised her hands to push him away, but her push was pathetic. It held zero resistance. The two of them held that embrace for ten full seconds right in front of my face. It was as if they were physically draining years of painful longing from each other’s bodies. Tristan pulled back just enough to look at her, his face glowing with pure ecstasy. “I finally get to see you again. Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Before she could answer, he dipped his head to kiss her. At the very last millisecond, right before their lips brushed, Scarlett panicked and pushed him back. “Tristan, don’t.” Her eyes were wide, practically begging him to stop. Only then did Tristan seem to notice I existed. A deeply arrogant, knowing smirk crept onto his face. “My bad, Oliver. I haven’t seen her in so long, I just couldn’t help myself.” “We go way back. You don’t mind, do you?” Every word dripping from his mouth was laced with blatant disrespect. It was a clear declaration of ownership. Scarlett looked at me, her eyes swirling with complex emotions. I kept my expression entirely blank. “I don’t mind at all. A long-awaited reunion. It is a perfectly natural reaction.” Scarlett froze. Her gaze grew even more conflicted. She had clearly expected me to lose my temper, to throw a jealous fit, to scream and shout. She never expected this dead calm. I reacted as if the woman in his arms was a total stranger, not my wife. Despite her confusion, she let out a quiet breath of relief. They had just reunited, and she clearly didn’t want Tristan and me getting into a public fistfight. On the drive back, Scarlett did not sit in the passenger seat next to me. She climbed into the back with Tristan. I became their personal chauffeur. I watched them in the rearview mirror in absolute silence. Neither of them wore seatbelts. They leaned in close, their shoulders touching, completely absorbed in each other. Just like they used to sit on the concrete bleachers by the high school football field. Inseparable. Tristan told stories about his wild adventures in Europe, and Scarlett hung onto his every word. She kept bursting into bright, musical laughter. Her beautiful eyes were overflowing with pure, unadulterated joy. It felt like someone was dragging a serrated blade across my heart. I drove like a programmed machine, my hands numb on the steering wheel. The two a.m. sky was an endless, suffocating black void. As we pulled into our neighborhood, Scarlett finally asked the question. “How long are you staying this time, Tristan?” “Depends.” Tristan glanced up at the rearview mirror, making direct eye contact with me before turning his gaze intimately back to Scarlett. “Maybe three days. Maybe two weeks.” “Or maybe the rest of my life.” I watched Scarlett’s shoulders physically tremble. She lowered her eyes, blushing, entirely unable to hold his gaze. Before the tension could settle, I slammed on the brakes and announced we were home. That night, Scarlett lay next to me in bed, tossing and turning for hours. I knew exactly why. Her body was here, but her heart had already moved into the guest room. Scarlett took the rest of the week off to play tour guide for Tristan. I casually asked if she wanted me to tag along. She rejected the idea without a second thought. She said Tristan only needed her. Every single day, Tristan updated his social media with a barrage of photos. The comments section was flooded by our old high school classmates. “The Prom King and Queen. You guys still look like movie stars.” “I always thought you two were the perfect couple. So jealous.” “True love always finds a way. Congrats on getting back together.” The kicker? Most of these people had attended my wedding and drank my champagne. Back in high school, I was a nobody. Tristan was the Student Body President and a star varsity athlete. He was rich, generous, and naturally charismatic. When he dated Scarlett, everyone accepted it as the natural order of the universe. Even the teachers thought they belonged together. None of them ever expected a guy like me to put a ring on her finger. To them, I was just a toad who somehow managed to trick a swan into marrying him. Reading those lively comments, I felt an unprecedented wave of peace. I systematically liked every single one of them, put my phone face down, and got back to work. Right before clocking out, a text from Scarlett popped up. “Honey, today is Tristan’s birthday.” “I booked a private room at the Grand Hotel. Just come straight here after work.” “Oh, and swing by the bakery to pick up his cake for me.” I texted back a simple okay. As I was packing up my briefcase, my phone rang. It was Professor Bennett, my old college mentor. “Oliver, have you thought about my offer?” he asked, his voice crackling with excitement. “You were always the brightest student I ever had. This new research project just got federal funding. It is massive, and I need your brain on my team. Talk to your wife, make the jump, and come work with me.” “Give me a year… no, eight months. We will change the industry.” The Professor had pitched this project to me a year ago. I kept turning him down because I couldn’t bear to neglect Scarlett. When I graduated, he practically begged me to stay in academia, promising me a clear path to a tenured professorship at an Ivy League university within ten years. But my entire universe revolved around my wife, so I respectfully declined his brilliant future. Now, the fire was completely dead. Scarlett was no longer my sky, my everything. “I am in,” I told him. Professor Bennett was ecstatic. He asked how soon I could start. “I need to put in my notice and hand over my current files. Give me a week.” “Done. I will be waiting.” After work, I stopped at the bakery. I gave the cashier Scarlett’s phone number, and she carefully pulled a box out of the display fridge. It was a heart-shaped cake, incredibly elegant and refined. I asked the girl if the design had a specific name. She smiled politely. “Yes, sir. It is our newest signature collection. It is called ‘The One That Got Away’.” I gave her a tight, polite smile. The message Scarlett was trying to send was loud and clear. When I walked into the hotel’s private dining room, the place was packed. Since everyone had scattered across the country after graduation, reunions were rare. But Tristan’s birthday was apparently a royal summons. “Look at you, Mr. President. Aging like fine wine.” “Scarlett looks incredible too. Not a day older than eighteen.” “God, looking at you two makes me feel like an old hag.” “Such a tragedy he had to go abroad. What a waste of a perfect match.” The room was buzzing with laughter. But the second I pushed the door open, the volume instantly dropped by half. Tristan was the first to break the awkward silence, flashing his signature winning smile. “Oliver. Glad you could make it, buddy.” Taking his lead, the others offered stiff, polite greetings. “Hey, Oliver. Long time no see.” “We were wondering when you would show up.” “Still working at that same boring corporate gig?” I nodded and gave generic answers, sliding into an empty chair in the far corner. There was no seat saved for me next to Scarlett anyway. The lively atmosphere quickly picked back up. But I was entirely excluded from it. Just like in high school, I was the quiet outcast sitting in the shadows. Tristan held court, laughing and dominating the conversation, effortlessly flaunting his wealth and worldly experiences. Everyone looked at him with admiration, envy, and pure worship. Looking back, I probably used to look at him the exact same way. Scarlett’s eyes were glued to Tristan. The only time she looked at me was a brief, passing glance when I first sat down. The noise and the suffocating fake cheer made my skin crawl. I pulled out my phone and started texting Professor Bennett about the new research parameters. The old man was so thrilled I was engaging that he immediately assigned his lead assistant to get me up to speed. Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder. “Put the phone away, Oliver. It is time to sing.” I looked up. The heart-shaped cake I had carried across town was sitting in the center of the table, candles already lit. The lights flicked off. The singing started. Every face in the room glowed with warm, genuine smiles. But my throat felt like it was stuffed with dry cotton. I couldn’t make a sound. Because through the entire song, Tristan’s left hand was resting intimately on the small of my wife’s back. When the song ended, Tristan closed his eyes and made a wish. Scarlett watched his face, her eyes practically sparkling with anticipation. After he opened his eyes, the crowd started cheering, demanding they blow out the candles together. Tristan chuckled and agreed. Scarlett instinctively shot a nervous glance my way. I sat perfectly still, my face devoid of all emotion. Seeing my silence, she leaned in until her cheek was practically pressed against Tristan’s, and they blew out the flames together. Then, they grabbed the knife and cut the cake, hands overlapping. I had hit my absolute limit. I stood up, muttered a flat apology, and said I had an urgent errand to run. The table reacted exactly as I expected. “Come on, Oliver. You just got here. At least have a slice.” “Yeah, walking out before cake is just disrespectful to the birthday boy.” “Don’t run off. We booked a VIP room at a club for the afterparty. Nobody goes home sober tonight.” “We are all old friends. Don’t be a buzzkill.” I apologized again, citing work, and walked out of the room.

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1 When I was five months pregnant, Cole’s childhood sweetheart came to my house, provoked a fight, and set the place on fire. I did not call Cole. Instead, I covered my nose and mouth with a wet towel and waited silently for rescue. In my past life, the moment the fire started, I panicked and called him. I begged him to rush me to the hospital. He did. The baby survived, but Vanessa perished in the flames that very day. He told me he did not blame me. He told me to rest easy in the maternity ward, even taking a leave of absence to care for me. But on the day I gave birth, he showed his true face. He dragged me and my newborn to Vanessa’s grave. Right in front of my eyes, he ruthlessly took my baby’s life. Then, he pushed me into a blazing inferno. In my final moments, through the roaring flames, I saw his face twisted in demonic fury. “If you hadn’t started that fire, Vanessa would never have died! Did you really think playing the victim would fool me? Dream on! I am making you pay with your life!” “You like starting fires so much? Then feel it for yourself. Feel the exact pain Vanessa felt before she died!” My eyes snapped open. I was back in the burning house. Thick, acrid smoke poured into my nostrils, sending me into a violent coughing fit. The searing pain yanked me completely out of my past life’s memories. I immediately pulled out my phone. But I did not call my husband, the heroic fire captain. I dialed 911. By the time the sirens wailed and the rescue team stormed in, I spotted Cole’s familiar silhouette through the haze. Only after I watched him scoop Vanessa into his arms and carry her out of the living room did I finally let out a cry for help to the other firefighters. His crew thought I was throwing a tantrum. They glared at me through their visors, barking harsh reprimands. Suddenly, a heavy wooden wall ornament broke loose. It crashed down, slamming brutally into my pregnant belly. I coughed up a mouthful of blood right there on the floor. They did not even blink. Biting down on my lip to endure the excruciating pain, I used every ounce of strength I had to crawl out of the burning house. Outside, every single cooling blanket and oxygen tank was being used on Vanessa. Cole could not even be bothered to look my way. He just cursed at me, saying I brought this entirely on myself. Cold sweat drenched my trembling body. Blood spilled from the corners of my mouth. Deep inside, I could feel my baby’s life rapidly slipping away. In my past life, when the fire broke out, Vanessa and I had called him at the exact same time. For the sake of his unborn child, he chose to save me first. By the time he tried to go back inside, the flames had swallowed the structure. Vanessa was reduced to ashes. He had told me it was okay. He had comforted me, telling me not to blame myself. Yet, the moment I gave birth, he slaughtered my child. “Rachel, do you know what it feels like to burn alive?” his voice had echoed. “I am going to make you suffer ten times the agony Vanessa went through!” Given a second chance at life, I only wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. I never expected him to be this ruthless. He would not even spare me a single piece of first-aid equipment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark pool of blood spreading beneath my legs. “Save my baby… please…” I begged, my vocal cords raw and torn. The closest firefighter finally turned around. But his eyes were filled with nothing but mockery and disgust. He nudged my leg with his heavy boot. “Give it a rest, Cap’s wife. We all know you hate Vanessa. We just didn’t think you were crazy enough to commit arson while pregnant. Cap is already saving her. You can stop the act. Nobody is watching.” “Honestly, I kinda respect how far you will go for a man’s attention. Too bad Cap only has eyes for Vanessa. You better pray she makes it out of this okay, or Cap is going to hand you divorce papers tomorrow!” I always knew Cole did not love me. But I had no idea even his crew viewed me this way. A violent, agonizing contraction ripped through my abdomen, stealing the last of my voice. The blistering heat had practically melted the skin off my arms. The crew was busy putting out the flames. Not a single soul came to check on me. As my consciousness began to fade, I heard a sudden gasp nearby. “Whoa! Why is there so much blood over here? Crap, is Cap’s wife actually hurt?” “What could possibly be wrong with her? She is just trying to get Cap to look at her. She has been pulling these stunts all afternoon. Whatever, go get Cap just in case.” But I never received a shred of Cole’s concern. All I got was his merciless interrogation. A gloved hand slapped my cheek twice, hard. “Rachel, wake up. Stop faking it. I am here.” “Are you completely out of your mind? You start a fire and end up burning yourself. Shooting yourself in the foot. Was it worth it?” Even now, he genuinely believed I started the fire. He thought I was throwing a jealous, hysterical fit. I wanted to explain. I wanted to scream. But my throat was bone dry. My stomach felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside. All I could do was reach out a trembling, bloodstained hand and grip his heavy turnout coat, praying he would finally realize I was dying. He hesitated for a split second. Then, he pressed his hand down heavily onto my cramping abdomen. “You put on a good show. If Vanessa hadn’t already told me you set the fire and hid yourself on purpose, I almost would have believed you.” Dropping those words like ice, he turned his back and walked away without a second glance. A heartbeat later, a terrified shout erupted from one of the rookies. “Captain! Blood! She is bleeding out!” “Is she having a miscarriage?!” Cole’s voice drifted back, cold and hollow. “Ignore her. Vanessa already told me. It is fake blood. She is five months along, she is not going to miscarry that easily. Let her act.” A final, blinding wave of agony washed over me. Everything went pitch black. 2 In my feverish dreams, I was pulled back to the days when Cole and I first met. It was a college seminar. He sat there with an ice-cold expression, but his flawless technical skills and sharp mind captured the hearts of half the girls in the room. I was no exception. It was love at first sight. I started asking around, desperate for any information about him. Back then, I was just a junior lecturer. He barely noticed me. To catch his eye, I worked harder than anyone else. After I finally secured my full-time position, I used the excuse of a celebration to invite him to dinner. I noticed a subtle shift in the way he looked at me that night. I seized the opportunity and chased him relentlessly. Flowers, basketball tickets, baked goods, artisan coffee. I gave him everything I had. Finally, I got what I wanted. He accepted my confession. I thought it was the beginning of my happily ever after. I had no idea it was the prologue to a nightmare. After we got together, he grew colder and more distant. Every time we had a date, he was either swamped with work or called away on a sudden emergency dispatch. I never doubted him. Not once. Until the day of our wedding. An email from overseas completely shattered my fragile dream. Vanessa had documented their ten-year entanglement in agonizing detail. Every timestamp, every photo, every shared memory felt like a blade twisting in my heart. It turned out that every single time he broke a promise to me, he was spending his hours with another woman. The most pathetic part? I didn’t even have the courage to confront him. I was terrified he would leave me. In my past life, when Vanessa died in the fire, he was so remarkably calm that I genuinely believed I had won. I thought I was the victor in this twisted love triangle. He practically bought out every maternity store in the city for our baby. That sudden, overwhelming tsunami of love fried my brain. I completely lost my ability to think critically. It was only when my child was slaughtered by his hands that the truth finally dawned on me. He was not loving me with his life. He was meticulously planning my destruction. The only woman he ever loved was Vanessa. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The face hovering over me did not belong to Cole. It was a complete stranger. “You are awake? I am your downstairs neighbor. I was coming up to see how bad the fire was, and I found you lying on the grass all by yourself. I brought you here. How are you feeling?” I tried to move my stiff, aching limbs. The moment my hands brushed my stomach, I froze. The neighbor looked at me with deep pity. “I am so sorry. When we got here, the doctors said… they said they could not save the baby.” I forced a weak, bitter smile onto my cracked lips. “It is not your fault. I know.” “Thank you for bringing me here.” Even a total stranger could tell at a glance that I was dying. Yet the man I had been married to for five years could not be bothered to look at me. Seeing my numb despair, the neighbor grew more furious than I was. “What the hell is wrong with that rescue squad? A pregnant woman is bleeding out on the ground, and they just ignore her?” “If I hadn’t come up to check, you would be dead right now! Where is your family? Where is the father?” “Give me his number. I will call him right now. You need someone by your side.” “I already reported that firehouse to the city! People like that are a menace to society!” I nodded slowly, my voice barely a raspy whisper. “The baby’s father is dead.” His face softened with profound sympathy. He offered to stay and take care of me until I was discharged. I politely declined. I transferred the money for the hospital bills to his phone and urged him to go home. The neighbor left, but the storm on the internet was just beginning to brew. The hashtag “Fire Captain’s Backyard on Fire” was inherently sensational. It was already trending at the top of every major social media platform. My neighbor had posted photos of me collapsed in a pool of blood in the comment sections. It sparked a massive public outcry. People were furious, questioning if the fire department only cared about putting out flames while turning a blind eye to a dying pregnant woman. “If that is the case, they should just be called property savers, not a rescue squad,” one top comment read. I scrolled through the endless wave of outrage. Honestly, this kind of punishment felt far too light for Cole. I opened my messaging app, planning to send him a text asking for a divorce. Before I could type a word, a photo from Vanessa popped up on my screen. She was admitted to the exact same hospital, just one floor below me. In the photo, Cole was personally feeding her a bowl of soup, carefully blowing on the spoon so she wouldn’t burn her tongue. I had seen countless photos of their intimacy. Pictures like this no longer had the power to hurt me. I calmly closed the chat and dialed Cole’s number. He finally picked up on the fifth try. His voice was laced with absolute irritation. “You actually have the nerve to call me? What do you want? Checking to see if Vanessa is dead? Well, sorry to disappoint you! I pulled her out! She is alive and recovering right here in the hospital!” “Rachel, I have known you for years, but I never thought you were capable of this. Do you realize what you did? That is attempted murder! Are you completely insane?” “I am giving you exactly one hour. Crawl down to this room and apologize to her! Otherwise, we are getting a divorce!” Before I could speak, Vanessa’s soft, weeping voice echoed through the speaker. “Cole, don’t be mad at her. It is my fault. If she wants to say I started the fire, just let her. Don’t argue with her. Pregnant women shouldn’t get too stressed.” Cole let out a heavy sigh, his tone dripping with disappointment. “You are just too kind. That is why she constantly walks all over you. We met first. Who the hell does Rachel think she is? What gives her the right to touch you?” “Don’t worry about it. I am making sure she learns her lesson this time!” While they were busy playing star-crossed lovers, I spoke, my voice devoid of any emotion. “Okay. Let’s get a divorce. I agree. I will send the papers over shortly. Make sure you sign them.” Cole was clearly caught off guard. He never expected me to initiate the divorce. A moment of stunned silence was followed by a sudden burst of rage. Before he could start screaming, I hung up. Before I could block his number, a barrage of text messages flooded my screen. “Where are you? Have you lost your damn mind today? I let your behavior slide because you are pregnant, and now you are pushing your luck?” “You think having a baby means I won’t drop you? I swear, when you go into labor and need a signature for the epidural, you will be crawling off that bed to beg me!” “And take down those news posts online right now! Do not force me to expose your true colors to the public!” I didn’t bother reading the rest. I deleted the thread and blocked his number. Even though I had paid for this lesson with blood in my past life, being betrayed by him again still caused a brief, involuntary twinge of pain in my chest. A pair of nurses walked in to change my bandages. Oblivious to my expression, they gossiped freely. “That guy downstairs is incredibly handsome. I have never seen a couple look so perfect together! I heard they were high school sweethearts. I am so jealous.” “You are behind on the news. I just heard that Mr. Sullivan actually paid the hospital cafeteria to reserve a private kitchen window. Just so he can personally cook for his precious wife every day!” “I went down to change her dressings earlier, and he wouldn’t even let me touch her. He insisted on doing it himself. True love is just beautiful!” I stared blankly at the IV needle in the back of my hand. The skin on my arm had peeled off, stinging and itching fiercely. When the nurses finally left, I gasped for air like a drowning woman. But no matter how hard I breathed, the oxygen refused to fill my lungs. That evening, the doctor came in. He told me the blunt trauma to my abdomen had caused severe internal damage. It would be nearly impossible for me to ever conceive again. Hearing those words, my very first thought was sheer relief. Thank God. Without a child, he or she would never have to suffer alongside me. An innocent life deserved a better world than this. When the room was empty again, I checked the latest updates online. The cyberbullying against the fire department had escalated to the point where the city officials had to step in and make a public statement. However, the official explanation claimed the entire incident was staged by me. They claimed I was driven by insane jealousy and intentionally caused harm. Not only did I waste precious city rescue resources, but I also dragged their decorated captain through the mud. In the press conference video, the official urged the public to drop the matter, but every single word deliberately painted me as the villain. To lend credibility to the video, Cole registered a verified account and posted a photo of our marriage certificate. His actions hammered the final nail into my coffin. The tidal wave of hatred instantly pivoted from the fire department and crashed down on me. My personal social media accounts were breached, flooded with death threats, and eventually banned by the platforms. Any attempts I made to post the truth were instantly buried under an avalanche of vicious comments. Over the next few days, I could feel the hostile glares of the hospital staff. If it weren’t for their basic professional ethics, I am certain they would have thrown me out onto the street. I received anonymous packages every day. Without fail, they were all death threats. Through it all, I didn’t say a single word in my defense. On the day the doctor cleared me for discharge, I sent Cole one final text. “Meet me at City Hall tomorrow. We are signing the papers.” He jumped on the opportunity to call me from a different number. “What, finally coming out of hiding? You actually have the nerve to show your face? I warned you. I gave you a chance. You refused to take down the posts. Don’t blame me for being ruthless now!” “If Vanessa hadn’t begged me to go easy on you, I would have had the cops arrest you by now! Fine, let’s divorce. When that kid grows up without a father, don’t come crying to me! It is your own fault you are turning him into a fatherless bastard!” Before I could reply, he hung up on me. I calmly opened the smart home app on my phone and downloaded the hidden camera footage from the living room on the day of the fire.

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1 My mother passed away in a sudden, tragic accident. Yet, just a day before her funeral, my wife was busy traveling back to her young assistant’s rural hometown to marry him. When I confronted her, she looked at me as if I were the one being unreasonable. “His mother is terminally ill, Arthur. Her dying wish is to see him get married. I am just helping him out. It is not like we are actually going to sleep together. Why are you acting so hysterical?” But when I called her that night, her young assistant, Noah, was the one who answered the phone. “She is already exhausted from the trip, Arthur. She is fast asleep right now. If you need something, just tell me.” I sat in the suffocating silence of my living room for a long moment before quietly ending the call. Early the next morning, my wife called. “I am going to go through with the wedding ceremony with Noah today. Just postpone your mother’s funeral for a few days.” I did not say a word. I simply hung up, buried my mother in silence, and then picked up the phone to call my lawyer. “Please draft the divorce papers.” Stella never showed up on the day of the funeral. Swallowing my grief, I handled everything alone. From carrying the casket to lowering it into the cold earth. My mother had worked tirelessly her entire life, and in death, I refused to let her suffer any more indignity. I handled every detail personally, my hands trembling but resolute. The guests offered their condolences, but my uncles were visibly furious. “Missing an event this massive? Not even showing her face? How cold-blooded can she be?” “Let us go down to her parents’ house! I want to ask them exactly how they raised such a daughter!” Their anger boiled over, and they were ready to storm her family estate. I stepped in front of them, gently shaking my head. “Do not bother. It is not worth it.” That morning, I had already seen Stella’s social media updates. She was drowning in the rustic romance of a country wedding. Why would she spare a single thought for a funeral? Her heart had checked out of our marriage a long time ago. Having her here would only poison the air. My mother’s farewell did not need the presence of someone utterly devoid of a soul. The heavy mahogany casket gradually disappeared beneath the dirt. I took the shovel from one of the gravediggers, scooped up a pile of damp earth, and let it fall gently over the wood. The only person in this world who loved me unconditionally was gone forever. When the service ended, I sent Stella a text. [The funeral is over.] The message sank like a stone in an endless ocean. No reply. Maybe she was too busy to see it. Maybe she saw it and just could not be bothered to type a response. It did not matter anymore. Because I no longer cared. After seeing off the last of the guests, I contacted a top-tier family law firm, explained my situation, and officially retained a lawyer to dissolve my marriage. The moment I stepped through my front door, my phone buzzed with a video message from Noah. The screen filled with the sights and sounds of a boisterous barn wedding. It was incredibly loud, draped in floral arrangements and rustic lights, every face in the background flushed with celebration. Noah’s voice bled through the speaker, dripping with a sickening blend of triumph and fake pity. “Oh man, it is such a shame you are not here, Arthur. Look at this. I told Stella we did not need to go all out, but she insisted. Cost an absolute fortune.” I let out a flat, hollow noise of acknowledgment and moved to hang up. But then the camera panned. There, standing in the center of the frame, was Stella. She was wearing a stunning white bridal gown, her face glowing with a sweet, radiant happiness I had not seen directed at me in years. “Look over here, babe,” Noah coaxed. Stella turned her head. When she realized he was recording a video to send to me, she did not flinch. She did not try to hide. Instead, she waved enthusiastically. “Hey honey! The country aesthetic is actually gorgeous! It is such a pity your mom passed away right now. Otherwise, you could have come down and joined the fun.” Joined the fun? The phone rattled against my shaking palm. So, in her eyes, the tragic death of the woman who gave me life was nothing more than an inconvenient schedule conflict that kept me from attending my own wife’s fake wedding. 2 Looking back, Stella and I had walked side by side for eight long years. Just last year, I had secretly counted my blessings, relieved that we had smoothly sailed past the dreaded seven-year itch. Now, reality had delivered a brutal, waking slap to the face. I could not pinpoint exactly when it started, but Stella’s patience for me had simply evaporated. The gentle, understanding woman I married was replaced by someone volatile, prone to explosive tempers and erratic moods. Sometimes, a slightly overcooked dinner was enough to make her storm out of the house. Every time we fought, I was the one who yielded. I swallowed my pride. It did not matter who was at fault or how far she crossed the line. I loved her, so I compromised. Then Noah entered the picture. Their relationship escalated with terrifying speed. Every day was a blur of lingering touches, inside jokes, and deeply inappropriate eye contact. While my mother was still alive, the neighborhood gossips made sure the whispers reached her ears. Worried, she had gently asked Stella about it. Stella had erupted into a screaming fit, shattering plates against the kitchen wall and screaming that my mother was a paranoid, toxic woman who wanted to ruin her life. My mother had only asked out of genuine concern. When I came home from work that night, I found my mother sitting alone on the sofa, her eyes red and swollen. Stella, meanwhile, did not come home at all. She ignored my calls and left my texts on read, only strutting back into the house the next morning. That was the first time I ever truly lost my temper with her. Stella looked at me like I was insane, completely bewildered as to why I was making such a big deal out of nothing. She had conveniently forgotten how my mother had treated her like her own flesh and blood from the day we exchanged our vows. Later, when my mother’s health failed and she was hospitalized, Stella never visited. Not once. At first, a blinding anger consumed me. But eventually, a numbing exhaustion took its place. We had been married for so long. I foolishly convinced myself that if we just weathered this storm, if we just survived this rough patch, the warmth would eventually return to our home. I trapped myself in a beautifully constructed delusion. I hypnotized myself with false hope. Until the flatline sounded in that sterile hospital room. Staring at my mother’s rapidly cooling body, the veil finally dropped. I realized how pathetically comical my hopes had been. Stella and I were already a rotting corpse of a marriage. There was no future. She had packed her bags the day before the funeral. I had naively assumed she was just stressed and would turn around. Instead, she called to demand I put my mother’s burial on hold. Her reason? Noah’s mother was unwell and wanted to see him bring home a bride. And that bride had to be my wife. It was sickeningly laughable. Her own mother-in-law was dead. But instead of wearing black, she was busy playing dress-up for another man. Even if she hated my mother, basic human decency dictated respect for the dead. She knew that. She just did not care. When my heart finally shattered, there was no loud explosion. Just a quiet, absolute death of everything I ever felt for her. 3 With the funeral behind me, I began packing up my mother’s belongings. There was not much. A few simple dresses, some worn knitting needles, and a handful of tarnished jewelry. When my fingers brushed against a heavy, beautifully ornate vintage gold locket, my breath caught in my throat. My mother had told me time and time again that this was my grandmother’s heirloom. It was meant to be locked around the neck of the woman who would carry our family’s love into the next generation. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the gold. Right then, my phone lit up with a text from Stella. [Hubby, I am going to be swamped the next few days taking wedding photos and family portraits. I will not be coming home.] I did not reply. A cynical, dry laugh scraped its way up my throat. I carefully wrapped the gold locket in velvet and placed it securely in my safe. It was my mother’s dying wish to pass this on, but I would rather melt it down than let it touch Stella’s skin. She was completely unworthy. Late that night, I saw her newest social media post. It was a professional family portrait of her, Noah, and Noah’s parents. The caption read: [A Happy Family.] In the photo, Noah’s hand was wrapped tightly around her waist. They were looking deeply into each other’s eyes, absolute adoration radiating from their smiles. I had almost forgotten that Stella could look so soft, so tender. Or perhaps, she had always been tender. She just reserved it exclusively for the people she actually loved. Two days later, she finally called. She ordered me to pick her up from the central train station. I was mildly confused at first. She had driven her own luxury SUV down to the country. Why was she taking the train back? The moment I pulled up to the arrivals curb, everything made sense. Standing there with Stella and Noah was a massive flock of elderly, loud, and visibly demanding country relatives. They were blocking the sidewalk, pointing at the city skyline and shouting over each other. Stella caught my eye and sighed, gesturing to the crowd. “Noah’s mom and his extended family wanted to see the city. You need to help entertain them.” She did not need to spell it out. The raw, unfiltered greed sparkling in their eyes was a mirror image of the look Noah wore every day. I kept my mouth shut, my face a mask of absolute indifference. Noah swaggered over, the smugness practically leaking from his pores. “Sorry for the trouble, Arthur. Really appreciate you making the trip out here.” He flashed a bright, perfectly practiced smile. “I kept telling my beautiful bride that we could just hail a few cabs, but she insisted you had to come. Makes me feel kind of bad, honestly.” He held out a hand. I stared at it, then up at his face, without moving a single muscle. Noah let his hand fall, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. Stella immediately stepped forward, her voice sharp and dripping with venom. “Are you blind? Or did you just leave whatever manners you had in the gutter today?” Before I could even form a response, Noah’s mother pushed her way to the front. She was a hawkish older woman with calculating eyes, gripping Stella’s arm tightly. “Oh dear, why is there only one car, Stella? We have half the village here. How are we all supposed to squeeze into that?” “Let me call a luxury transport service,” Stella said, reaching for her phone. Noah’s mom snatched her wrist. “Nonsense! Why should you spend your money? Just have your driver here take the bus home. He can leave the car, and the three of us will take it back to your place.” Stella hesitated, looking at me. There was a flicker of something in her eyes. A request for permission. I felt absolutely nothing. I pulled the car keys from my pocket and tossed them directly into Noah’s chest. “Sure. Fine by me.” Stella let out a heavy breath of relief, lifting her chin at me dismissively. “Then hurry up and figure out their hotel arrangements. Do not keep my relatives waiting in the wind.” With that, the three of them piled into my car and sped off into the city traffic. Before the windows rolled up, I caught the undisguised gloating in the eyes of Noah and his mother. They thought they had put me in my place. They thought they had won. They had no idea that the game was already over, and I had already left the table. 4 By the time I managed to wrangle the herd of loud, demanding relatives into the hotel lobby, Stella was waiting by the elevators. The moment she saw me, she hurried over. “Listen, Noah and his mom said they want to attend your mother’s funeral to pay their respects. They are upstairs changing right now. Wait in the lobby. Once they are dressed, drive us over.” “Absolutely not.” The refusal left my lips before she even finished her sentence. “My mother valued her peace. Besides, these people are strangers. They have no business being there.” Stella’s face instantly twisted in annoyance. “But I already promised them! They were just praising how kind-hearted I am.” “And anyway, they traveled all this way. It is the thought that counts. What is the harm in letting them take one look?” The thought? A cold smirk played on my lips. Crocodile tears from a pack of vultures. I would rather the graveyard be completely empty than tainted by their presence. I was about to shut her down completely when the elevator doors chimed open. Noah and his mother stepped into the lobby. Noah was dressed decently enough, wearing a tailored black suit with a white rose pinned to his lapel. But when my eyes landed on his mother, the blood in my veins turned to ice. She was wearing a blindingly bright, sequined neon pink dress. She looked like a walking disco ball meant for a bachelorette party. Was she going to a funeral, or was she deliberately trying to spit on my mother’s grave? “You are wearing that to a funeral?” My voice was lethal, dropping the temperature in the room. Noah’s mother did not look embarrassed in the slightest. She rolled her eyes at me, muttered the word “hillbilly” under her breath, and waved Stella over. “Stella, honey, look at this. Does this outfit work for today?” Stella rushed to her side, grabbing her hands and nodding enthusiastically. “It is perfect. Simply gorgeous. If you ask me, this is exactly what you should wear. It makes you look so youthful and full of life.” My eyes widened. I stared at the woman I had been married to for nearly a decade. She said it was perfect. Stella did not even glance my way. She smiled warmly, gently guiding the older woman toward the revolving doors. When she noticed I had not moved an inch, she frowned in irritation. “What is your problem now? I literally just married her son. The poor woman just wants to wear something bright and happy to celebrate. Is that a crime?” “You are going to throw a tantrum over some fabric?” I looked at her. I felt a terrifying, absolute calm wash over my entire soul. My lips pulled back into a chilling smile. “You are right. I am being entirely too petty.” Ignoring Stella’s confused, slightly unnerved stare, I walked past them and got straight into the driver’s seat of the rental car. It was crystal clear. Every shred of hope I had ever harbored for this woman was toxic waste. My mother did not exist in her world. She never had. The drive was agonizingly tense. Stella’s face was a storm of conflicting emotions. Several times she opened her mouth to speak, and every single time, I cut her off instantly. “It is rush hour. Keep quiet. If I get distracted, we crash.” My voice was dead. Flat. It made Stella flinch, a flash of unease crossing her features before she finally clamped her mouth shut. But Noah’s mother was not used to silence. “Stella, what is wrong with this driver you hired? He has absolutely zero manners. If I were you, I would have fired him months ago.” I almost laughed out loud. What kind of delusional parasite was she, trying to dictate my life in my own car? Stella looked mortified. “Please do not be angry, Mom. He just… he speaks without thinking. Please do not take offense.” Noah’s mother sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “You have suffered so much these past years, my sweet girl. The very first time I laid eyes on you, I knew the universe made you specifically to be our family’s daughter-in-law.” “I love you right down to my bones.” She actually brought a hand up to wipe away a completely imaginary tear. Noah immediately leaned over to comfort her. “Do not cry, Mom. Everything is perfect now. Stella already promised we are going to start trying for a baby soon. I will give you a big, healthy grandson.” Stella’s face drained of color. She frantically slapped Noah’s knee. “Stop talking nonsense! I have no intention of having a child anytime soon!” Noah lowered his head submissively, but through the rearview mirror, I caught the vicious, toxic glare he shot her. Stella rushed to explain, though her words felt directed entirely at the back of my head. “My career is taking off right now. A baby is out of the question. We will talk about it years down the line.” I nodded slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on the road. She did not need to panic. She did not need to explain. A year ago, a conversation like this would have broken me. I would have screamed. I would have demanded answers. But today? I did not care if she had his baby tomorrow. Our timeline had reached a dead end. 5 When the car finally rolled to a stop at the sprawling gates of the memorial park, Stella looked out the window in confusion. “Why are we here?” She honestly could not comprehend why anyone would host a funeral at a cemetery instead of a lavish memorial hall. “Did you type in the wrong address, Arthur?” I killed the engine. Through the rearview mirror, my dead eyes met her questioning gaze. “No. This is the place.” Something clicked in her mind. The color vanished from her cheeks, leaving her looking like a ghost. “Are you saying…” “Yes.” I nodded, shifting my gaze to the rolling green hills lined with gray stones. My voice held absolutely zero emotion. “She is already in the ground. I buried her while you were busy planning a baby with him.” Stella froze. When reality finally crashed into her, she lunged forward, her fingers digging painfully into my shoulder, her face twisted in a manic rage. “You did this on purpose, did you not? I explicitly told you to postpone it!” I violently shoved her hands off me. My voice was laced with pure, unfiltered disgust. “Do you truly believe you are the center of the universe? That gravity itself shifts just to accommodate you?” “The date was set. The arrangements were made. Did you expect my mother’s body to rot in a morgue just because you were busy playing house?” Stella was stunned into silence. But Noah’s mother screeched from the backseat. “What is the big deal about waiting a few days? A brilliant, rich girl like Stella was willing to stoop down and attend your mother’s little burial. You should be kissing her feet in gratitude! Instead, you have the audacity to complain?” “You ungrateful little rat!” Noah nodded vigorously. “Exactly. You just take and take. Stella takes such good care of you, and you do not even consider her feelings for one second?” My jaw locked. I stared straight ahead, a statue carved from ice. I considered Stella’s feelings. But who considered mine? Who considered the woman who brought me into this world, lowering into the dark alone? Stella remained silent for a long, suffocating minute. She took a ragged breath. “Where is the grave? Take me to it.” I shook my head slowly. “You can walk up. They stay in the car.” I pointed a stiff finger at Noah and the neon-pink nightmare sitting next to him. “Those people will do nothing but defile the dead. They are not stepping foot on that grass.” The old woman’s face twisted into an ugly sneer, her mouth opening to spew more venom, but Stella cut her off sharply. “Fine. Just you and me.” I walked ahead, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes. Stella trailed closely behind me. The entire walk up the hill, she did not stop talking. A relentless stream of justifications and accusations. “Why did you bury her without my final approval? You could have at least sent me a text!” “How do you think this makes me look? A wife who skips her own mother-in-law’s burial? Do you want society to crucify me?” When I refused to offer even a single syllable in response, Stella snapped. She sprinted ahead, planting herself directly in my path, forcing me to stop. “You do not care about me at all anymore, do you?” I looked into her furious, blazing eyes. My heart was a flatline. “The date of the funeral was set days ago. You knew that. Why did I need to send a special invitation to my own wife?” “And I did text you after it was done. You chose to ignore it. What right do you have to stand on my mother’s grave and demand answers from me?” Stella’s expression cracked. She yanked her phone from her designer purse, her thumbs flying across the screen. I watched in total apathy as the anger drained from her face, replaced first by shock, then a sickening, pale dread. When she finally looked up at me, there was genuine panic trembling in her eyes. “I… I am so sorry. I…” “I swear I did not see the message. I was not trying to ignore you. I…” I let out a harsh, bitter laugh, slicing right through her pathetic excuses. “Does it matter now?” “She is in the dirt, Stella. What do you want me to do? Dig her up so you can pretend to care for the cameras?” “How can you say something so sick!” Stella flared up again, her guilt instantly weaponized into defensiveness. “I was just…” “Enough.” I stepped around her, my eyes fixed on the horizon. “You wanted to pay your respects. Here we are. Do it quickly. This is the last time you will ever come here.” Stella froze in her tracks. She spun around, grabbing my sleeve, her voice suddenly small and shaky. “What… what is that supposed to mean?” I stared down at her hands, then up to her face. My voice was a death sentence. “The divorce papers are printed. I am just waiting for your signature.”

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The day before our wedding, my fiancé entirely skipped the rehearsal. Later that night, my phone buzzed with a text from him. [Sophie is pregnant. The baby is not mine.] [But I need to get a marriage certificate with her first. Her hyper-conservative family will disown her if she has a child out of wedlock. I have to give the baby my name on paper.] [We need to postpone our wedding for three years. Do not contact me during this time.] [Figure out a way to explain this to our parents. Whatever you do, do not ruin Sophie’s reputation. Just tell them you got cold feet.] I stared at the glowing screen. My fingers moved mechanically, typing a single word. [Okay.] It was the truth, anyway. I really did not want to marry him anymore. 1 Almost immediately after his text, his childhood best friend posted an update on Instagram. It was a picture of two hands intertwined, wearing matching platinum bands, forming the shape of a heart. Inside the heart rested an ultrasound scan. Seven weeks pregnant. The caption read: [He said he would give us a home.] The comments section was flooded with mutual friends congratulating them, saying they finally made it official, promising huge wedding gifts tomorrow. Not a single person mentioned me. It was as if tomorrow’s wedding had always belonged to the two of them, and I was just a ghost who had never existed. A bitter smile touched my lips. I double-tapped the picture to like it. Then, I left a comment. [Wishing you a lifetime of happiness together.] My comment blended perfectly into the sea of blessings. It did not stand out at all. But less than a minute later, my comment was deleted. My phone rang immediately. Lucas’s voice came through the speaker, dripping with impatience and irritation. “Valerie, what is your problem? Are you trying to cause a scene?” Words completely failed me. “I am not causing a scene. I was genuinely wishing you both happiness.” But Lucas was completely deaf to my sincerity. He was entirely convinced I was out for blood. “Give me a break. Do you think I do not know your true intentions?” “Everyone knows tomorrow was supposed to be our wedding! You jumping in with that passive-aggressive comment was just a calculated move to make Sophie look like a joke!” “Apologize to her right now! She has been crying non-stop because of what you wrote!” Through the receiver, I could hear the faint, pathetic sound of a woman sobbing. “Forget it, Lucas! It is my fault for asking you to help me. I will just book an appointment tomorrow and terminate the pregnancy! So what if I can never be a mother? It is better than being branded a homewrecker!” Lucas’s tone instantly melted into something sickeningly sweet. He began coaxing her like a fragile child. “Sophie, stop it. You are not a homewrecker. Once we sign those papers tomorrow, we will be legally married. A real, recognized couple!” “Do not listen to her thoughtless garbage. If anyone dares to mock you, I will ruin them!” Sophie only wailed louder. “But what about Valerie? Her heart must be breaking! I should really just get rid of the baby so your wedding can go on…” Lucas’s voice grew even softer, laced with frantic worry. “Sophie, please. I already worked everything out with her. She just has to wait three years and she will get exactly what she wants. It is not like I am disappearing forever.” “Please stop crying. You are going to upset the baby.” “And if you ruin your beautiful eyes, how are you going to be the most gorgeous bride tomorrow?” A watery giggle finally broke through Sophie’s tears. Lucas let out a heavy sigh of relief. When he addressed me again, his tone was slightly less hostile. “Valerie, why are you staying quiet? Apologize to Sophie right now.” My nails dug into my palms. I hated myself for having the momentary weakness to comment on her post. But I had done nothing wrong. Why should I be the one to grovel? “And if I say no, Lucas?” He froze for a second before his voice spiked in disbelief. “Valerie, if you keep throwing this tantrum, things are going to get very ugly! Sophie is pregnant. Her hormones are all over the place, and you are deliberately making her cry. You are being completely unreasonable!” “Fine, if you will not apologize, you can make up for it with your actions. Call all our friends and relatives immediately and tell them you are the one who backed out!” As if terrified I would refuse, he abruptly ended the call. Seconds later, a text popped up. [Valerie, I am begging you. Stop making a scene. I am just signing a piece of paper with Sophie. It means absolutely nothing. Delaying our wedding is just my way of making sure you get the perfect, dream wedding you deserve at a more suitable time.] A suitable time. Those familiar words stung my eyes until they watered. What exactly was a suitable time? I had listened to that exact excuse for eight years. I had waited nearly three thousand days and nights for him to marry me. And my reward was watching him become another woman’s legal husband. Lucas, I am done waiting. Because we are completely unsuitable for each other. Suddenly, the message disappeared. He unsent it. A new one arrived. [I had to unsend that. It is not good for Sophie to see it. She is pregnant and overthinks things easily. Just do what I asked. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you after these three years!] A dry laugh scraped its way up my throat. I stared at the screen for two minutes. Right on cue, he unsent that message as well. So, was he lying to me or lying to himself? If he was purely helping Sophie out of the goodness of his heart, why was he so terrified of her seeing his promises to me? If the child in her belly truly was not his, he was certainly going to extreme lengths to protect her. But what if the baby was his? 2 I shook my head, forcing the sickening thoughts away. I casually typed the word ‘Okay’ and hit send. A red exclamation mark bounced back at me. He had already blocked me to appease his new bride. Good. It did not bother me. I opened Instagram, crafted a brief post announcing the cancellation of my wedding, and hit publish. My phone immediately blew up. My notifications were a flood of shocked questions. Not wanting to drag out the drama, I stuck to Lucas’s script. I replied to a few close friends saying I simply felt it was too early to settle down. My friends flooded my inbox, calling me an absolute fool. “Valerie, Lucas is not that broke college kid who lived in a basement anymore. He is a successful tech founder now. Women are throwing themselves at him! If you cancel the wedding, you are basically wrapping your man up in a bow and handing him to someone else!” I did not reply to any of them. Because Lucas was already someone else’s man. Shortly after I posted my announcement, Sophie sent me a picture of their freshly signed marriage license via a direct message. Her tone was dripping with smug victory, disguised as gratitude. [Thank you so much for the assist, Valerie! Lucas and I were originally going to the courthouse tomorrow, but he wanted to cheer me up, so he pulled some strings and got it done tonight!] I did not dignify her with a response. I deleted the message and blocked her instantly. My phone vibrated violently. It was my mother. “Are you out of your mind?!” she screamed into the receiver. “You helped plant the tree, and now you are letting someone else eat the fruit? What are you trying to prove? When you finally decide you want to marry him, he might not even want you!” I let out a soft, hollow laugh. “What if he is the one who does not want to get married, Mom?” She paused for a second before her voice grew even more furious. “Then it means you are not doing your job right! Swallow your pride, go to him, and talk sweetly. Do not throw away eight years of your youth just to walk away with absolutely nothing!” Eight years. I had loved Lucas for eight years. He always told me a man needed to establish his empire before starting a family. But when he finally built his empire, bought the penthouse, and got the luxury cars, giving me a home was no longer his priority. It was not that I had not fought for us. Fighting was just useless. For eight years, I built his tech startup with him from the ground up. I lived in a damp basement, ate instant noodles, and swallowed my pride to tell him a million times that my only dream was to be his wife, whether we were rich or poor. I had even terminated three pregnancies for him. All because he claimed the timing was wrong and he could not bear the thought of his children living in poverty. I loved him, so no matter how much it shattered my soul, I obeyed his wishes. Just like tonight. When he said he wanted to marry his childhood friend. In that moment, alongside the agonizing heartbreak, I actually felt a profound sense of relief. Not getting married meant I no longer had to wait in the dirt for him to throw me a crumb of commitment. My mother was still rambling on about how women who knew how to act fragile got the best lives. The suffocating weight in my chest suddenly vanished. I no longer felt the need to explain my pain. “Mom, the wedding is off. I am never marrying him.” I ended the call and dialed the wedding planner to cancel everything for tomorrow. The planner went dead silent before speaking hesitantly. “Mr. Mercer already called to discuss this. But he told us to carefully store all the custom backdrops, the floral arrangements, and the personalized posters for three years. That is going to be incredibly difficult. Those materials are meant for one-time use.” Clarity hit me like a physical blow. It was not that Lucas lacked the time to notify our guests. He just did not want to deal with their questions. And he truly believed that I, much like those cheap, artificial decorations, would just sit in a dark room and wait for him for three years. “Throw it all in the dumpster,” I said coldly. “Even if it could be saved, it will all be rotten in three years.” Just like his love for me. It would rot away with time. I hung up and stared at Lucas’s mother’s contact name. My head throbbed. She absolutely despised Sophie. If she found out her son had legally married that girl, she would likely have a stroke. Taking a deep breath, I opened my banking app and wired the entire one hundred and fifty thousand dollar wedding fund she had gifted me straight back into her account. I counted to three in my head. My phone rang. “Valerie, why did the money bounce back to my account?” “Mrs. Mercer, Lucas and I are calling off the wedding for now. I am moving abroad for three years.” Even though I was technically following Lucas’s script, his highly perceptive mother instantly smelled blood. “Did Lucas do something to betray you? I am going to his apartment right now! The wedding is happening tomorrow, no matter what!” “Mrs. Mercer, the wedding really cannot happen.” But she had already hung up. Well, Lucas would just have to figure out how to handle his own mother. It was time for me to pack my bags and leave. 3 The lavishly decorated bridal suite was suffocating. Every tiny detail represented my foolish hopes for our future. Now, they were just jagged blades slicing into my chest. I did not have much to take. My clothes barely filled a single suitcase. But I had a lot to throw away. By the time I finished hauling trash bags to the chute, I realized I had missed several calls from Lucas. I did not need to be a genius to guess he was furious I had failed to pacify his mother. I dropped my keys on the entryway console. I grabbed the final item, a massive, heavy glass-framed wedding portrait, intending to haul it out the door. But the moment I swung the front door open, I collided directly into Lucas. The heavy frame slipped from my fingers and crashed onto the hardwood floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. A sharp shard of glass sliced deeply into my ankle, sending a rush of dark blood down my skin. Lucas immediately pulled the woman standing behind him into his chest, shielding her perfectly. He glared at me, his voice sharp with reprimand. “Valerie, what is wrong with you? Did you not see Sophie standing right there? What if you had hurt her?” He completely missed the blood pooling around my foot. Instead, he crouched down to meticulously brush away a microscopic speck of glass that had landed on Sophie’s designer shoe. I had no energy to watch him play the devoted husband to another woman. I gripped my suitcase handle and stepped forward. He caught sight of the luggage out of the corner of his eye. He shot up in a panic and grabbed my arm. “Valerie, where do you think you are going?” Before I could speak, his phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen. It was his mother. He answered it with an exasperated sigh. “Yes! I know! It is not canceled! I will calm her down! Just stop worrying!” He hung up and turned his demanding gaze on me. “Valerie, my mom says the wedding tomorrow has to proceed as planned.” “I refuse to upset her, so everything is back on. But I need you to be a runaway bride.” “My mother adores you. If you are the one who leaves me at the altar, she will not blame me. Then I can just tell her I married Sophie in a moment of heartbreak and spite.” My eyes widened. I stared at the man I had loved for almost a decade, completely unable to process how someone could be this utterly devoid of a soul. But then I remembered he was already Sophie’s husband. Nothing he said or did should surprise me anymore. Since I was leaving anyway, I figured I would grant him one final, pathetic favor. “Okay.” Perhaps my absolute compliance finally cleared his vision. He finally registered the shattered wedding portrait on the floor. And then he saw my blood-soaked foot. His eyes turned violently red. Panic washed over his face as he sprinted into the apartment to grab the first-aid kit. The second he was out of earshot, Sophie lifted her chin, staring at me with a triumphant, mocking smirk. “Valerie, you are truly pathetic. You know I am legally his wife, yet you still want to put on a white dress and play pretend tomorrow?” “So what if his mother hates me? No matter how much she tries to stop it, she is going to have to watch her precious son marry me!” “Tomorrow’s wedding belongs to me! Lucas is my man!” “And you? You will just be the joke of the century. The pathetic ex who got dumped at the finish line!” “Do not bother dreaming about him divorcing me in three years either. Because.” She gently rested a hand on her flat stomach, her smile turning venomous. “The baby in my belly is his flesh and blood.” I lowered my eyes to hide the sudden, violent surge of tears. So, my instincts were right. Lucas had betrayed me. And he treated me like an absolute idiot, expecting me to sit on a shelf for three years while he played house with his new family. Doing the math, Sophie’s baby was conceived on the night Lucas did not come home. It was the first time in eight years he had ever forgotten my birthday. He claimed he had a critical networking dinner. He came home the next morning, drowning in apologies. That was the morning he proposed to me. He promised me a fairy-tale wedding. I had waited eight years for that ring. Pure joy had instantly smothered all my doubts and suspicions. But that night, he forgot to lock the bathroom door while taking a shower. When I walked in to grab a towel, I saw the raw, fresh scratch marks dragging down his back. When I confronted him, he did not even blink. He calmly explained a stray cat had attacked him in an alley. He even pulled up a digital receipt showing he had gone to a clinic for a rabies shot. I forced myself to swallow the lie. But a woman’s intuition is a terrifying thing. Even as I planned our dream wedding, a cold dread sat heavily in my chest. Nothing felt real. A quiet voice in the back of my mind kept whispering that his sudden proposal was nothing more than a guilt offering. I played the ostrich. I buried my head in the sand, too terrified to seek the truth. But the lingering paranoia drove me to quietly track his movements. When I caught him claiming to meet clients while his GPS sat securely at Sophie’s apartment, I knew the end was coming. I was just waiting for him to finally put the knife in my chest. So, when he skipped the rehearsal, I did not call. When he texted me about marrying Sophie, I did not complain. “Excuse me.” I had zero desire to waste my breath on his mistress. I just wanted to leave. But just as Lucas stepped out of the bathroom with the medical kit, Sophie suddenly lunged forward, grabbed my wrist, and forcefully threw herself backward into the pile of shattered glass. 4 “Valerie, I know you hate me, but why would you push me?!” “Ah! My stomach. my baby. it hurts so much.” Sophie held up her hand, her palm sliced open and bleeding. Lucas dropped the medical box and sprinted across the room, his face a mask of absolute terror and heartbreak. “Sophie, it is okay, do not panic! I am taking you to the ER right now!” He scooped her into his arms, practically flying toward the door. Before crossing the threshold, he stopped, turning his head to shoot me a look of pure, frozen hatred. “Valerie, I never knew you could be this evil. Actually laying your hands on a pregnant woman!” “If anything happens to her baby, we are completely finished.” I watched his retreating back, my voice barely a whisper in the empty room. “We were finished a long time ago.” By the time I finished sweeping up the bloody glass, the cut on my ankle had stopped bleeding on its own. But the gaping wound in my chest was still raw and mutilated. A suffocating knot of anger burned in my throat. I pulled out my phone and dialed the other majority shareholders in our tech company. When I announced I was liquidating my entire 30 percent equity stake immediately, they were practically foaming at the mouth. I told them it was a blind auction. Highest bidder takes it all tonight. Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in a local diner, signing a legally binding transfer agreement with Marcus, our CTO. Marcus was brilliant and highly ambitious, but Lucas had always kept him on a short leash, paranoid about losing control. With my shares, Marcus would instantly become the majority shareholder of the company. I truly hoped Lucas enjoyed the little wedding gift I left for him. My phone vibrated again. It was the wedding planner. He sounded furious. “Ms. Wan, what kind of game are you two playing? First you cancel, then he calls saying the wedding is back on! But everything is already in the dumpster because you told me to throw it out! What am I supposed to do at two in the morning?!” I felt a pang of guilt for making the man’s life miserable, but this was not my circus anymore. I apologized sincerely and offered a solution. “Lucas and I are absolutely not getting married. I will not ask for a refund for the decorations. If Lucas insists on having a wedding tomorrow, tell him he has to pay a rush fee and order an entirely new setup.” “He is going to murder me!” “Do not worry. He will pay the invoice.” Because he was genuinely desperate to give Sophie a perfect day. By the time I hung up, it was 2:00 AM. I abandoned the idea of going to my mother’s house to say goodbye. I hailed a cab and checked into a hotel near the airport. The planner texted me a quick thank you, confirming that while Lucas was enraged, he had indeed wired a massive rush fee. I smiled, set an alarm, and instantly fell into a dead sleep. I had no idea my phone was being relentlessly bombarded by Lucas. I ended up blocking his number and powering down my phone to sleep in peace. Until the sound of fists hammering violently against my hotel room door woke me. “Valerie! Open the door!” Hearing Lucas’s muffled rage, I suddenly realized I had forgotten to turn off my location sharing. His voice was shaking with fury. My mind instantly flashed to Sophie’s theatrical fall into the glass. Did she actually lose the baby? Or was he here to tear me apart for selling my shares to Marcus? A second later, the heavy wooden door was practically kicked off its hinges. Lucas stormed in, his eyes bloodshot and unhinged. He grabbed my arm and violently dragged me toward the hallway. “Sophie lost the baby because of you! They had to remove her uterus to save her life! How the hell are you sleeping right now?!” I struggled against his iron grip, fighting back. “I did not push her! She threw herself backward on purpose!” Lucas shoved me brutally into the passenger seat of his car. “That was her only chance to ever be a mother! Do you really think she would murder her own child just to frame you?!” He locked the doors and drove like a maniac through the empty city streets, dragging me straight into the sterile halls of the hospital. He dragged me into Sophie’s private recovery room and forcefully shoved me to the floor beside her bed. “Apologize to Sophie! And you are going to promise to carry a child for her as compensation!” My knees slammed into the freezing hospital tiles. Pain shot up my legs. I tried to scramble to my feet, but Lucas clamped a heavy hand down on my shoulder, pinning me in place. “Are you mute? Apologize to her! Now!” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced out every word clearly. “I did not touch her. If you do not believe me, go ask our neighbor for their doorbell camera footage!” The neighbor’s camera pointed directly at our open doorway. It would have captured her entire pathetic performance. But he refused to believe me. “Valerie, you disgust me! Do you realize what you took from her? The baby is gone, and her uterus is gone!” “She is being merciful enough not to press criminal charges! She only wants an apology, and you are still being a stubborn bitch?” “You destroyed her ability to be a mother. Giving her a child is the absolute bare minimum you owe her! Consider it payback for secretly selling my company out from under me tonight!” Ah. The absolute bare minimum. And here I thought the love of his life losing an organ would be his only concern. Yet, he still managed to rank his precious 30 percent equity right alongside her tragedy. It proved exactly how deeply he truly loved her. Tears of hysterical laughter pricked my eyes. I looked at the floor and whispered three words. “I am sorry.” Lucas finally released his crushing grip on my shoulder. He tossed a legal document in front of me and ordered me to sign it. He was utterly delusional. Did he seriously think my signature on a piece of paper meant I would actually become a surrogate for his mistress? But I wanted to leave this nightmare immediately. I scribbled my name without reading a single line. Lucas pulled me up by my arm, his eyes a swirling mess of conflicting emotions. “I cannot risk you ruining anything else today. You are going to have to stay put for a little while.” “And keep your mouth shut about Sophie losing the baby.” It was not until the heavy click of a deadbolt echoed through the door that I realized he had locked me inside an abandoned hospital storage closet. He had locked me in a cage so he could go marry his mistress in peace. I hammered my fists against the heavy door and screamed until my throat bled. Finally, a passing janitor heard the noise and unlocked the door. I glanced at the clock. My flight was boarding soon. I sprinted out of the hospital, jumped into a taxi, and sped toward the airport. Just as I was scanning my boarding pass, Lucas’s mother called. “Valerie, where are you? Why did Lucas just announce that you ran away from the wedding? Why is he standing at the altar with Sophie?!” Before I could even answer, the loud airport intercom echoed through my phone speaker, announcing the final boarding call for my flight. “Valerie, are you at the airport? Today is your wedding day! Where do you think you are going?” “Mrs. Mercer, today is Lucas and Sophie’s wedding. It has absolutely nothing to do with me.” Without even hanging up the phone, she turned and started screaming at Lucas, demanding to know if he had abused me. Through the line, I heard Lucas shouting back over the crowd. “Mom, Sophie is pregnant! You are finally going to have a grandson!” I expected his mother, who had been begging for a grandchild for years, to burst into joyful tears. Instead, her voice ripped through the speakers in an earth-shattering roar. “Bullshit! That girl had her uterus surgically removed when she was eight years old! What the hell is she pregnant with?!”

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