1 At our College of Agriculture’s final project presentation, my girlfriend’s childhood friend beat me to the punch, announcing all of my experimental results as his own. This was a guy who was dead last in every single one of our major courses, yet he could flawlessly recite the most esoteric data from my soil analysis. The precise fertilizer concentration that took me hundreds of trials and sleepless nights to determine? He claimed he could figure it out to the last decimal just by sniffing a blade of grass. I was trembling with rage, but then a strange overlay of text, like comments on a livestream, flickered across my vision. [What’s the point of the side character trying so hard? This is a power-couple romance. The main character has a cheat system; he can win just by showing up.] [Poor guy. He’s just a stepping stone for the protagonist. No matter what he achieves, it’ll all be credited to the main character in the end.] [It’s fate. The main character just has to exist, and all the glory will be his.] Reading those comments, I suddenly let out a sharp laugh. Oh, you want to steal my work? I’ll make you choke on the fruits of your own theft. … Out on the university’s experimental farm, Dylan stood with an air of unshakeable confidence, rattling off a string of complex data. “After my repeated measurements, the improved chlorophyll content has increased by 35%, and the expression of antifreeze proteins has doubled…” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. That was the final data set I had pulled just last night after an all-nighter in the lab! To get those numbers, I had spent half a month in a walk-in freezer kept at ten degrees below zero. The frostbite on my hands still hadn’t healed. Besides me, not even my advisor had seen this final version! How could he possibly know? Professor Albright pushed his glasses up his nose, checking the figures against his own records. A look of undisguised admiration spread across his face. “Perfectly accurate! Dylan, you may not be the best in the classroom, but you have a god-given talent for this.” “This kind of intuitive feel for the data… most of my Ph.D. students don’t have it.” The room erupted in applause. Dylan stood casually next to Sarah, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “It’s all thanks to Sarah’s guidance. I didn’t really do much of the lab work. I was just walking past the fields earlier, smelled the soil, and it just… came to me.” Smelled the soil? I almost laughed out loud. This was a thesis defense, not K-9 unit tryouts! It took a high-precision machine three days and nights to calculate that molecular formula, and he figured it out with his nose? But of course, Sarah was beaming with admiration. She clapped him on the shoulder in front of everyone. “See? I told you Dylan was a genius. You’re always so modest.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I stormed onto the stage, my voice shaking with fury. “Dylan, that’s my data!” “You don’t even know how to turn on a centrifuge! You don’t know that chlorophyll extraction has to be done in the dark! How could you possibly have come to this conclusion?” The room fell into a dead silence. Sarah’s face instantly darkened. She stepped in front of Dylan, shielding him protectively. “Alex, when are you going to stop making a scene? This is a project defense, not a place for you to throw a tantrum!” “Dylan was in the lab for a whole week working on this project. I saw it with my own eyes! How can you stand there and slander him out of pure jealousy?” I stared at Sarah, completely dumbfounded. She was my girlfriend. My lab partner. That week Dylan had supposedly “worked in the lab,” he had been binge-watching shows in the break room, ordering takeout, and flirting with her. Meanwhile, I was in the lab next door, watching that centrifuge spin over ten thousand times. “Sarah, how can you say that with a straight face?” I held up my hands, raw with frostbite and caked with dirt. “This is proof of spending three months buried in the soil! Dylan’s hands still smell like the lotion he uses. You’re telling me he’s the one who did the work?” Murmurs rippled through the audience of professors and students, but the glances they shot my way were filled with contempt. “What’s wrong with Alex? Is it that hard to admit someone else has talent?” “Yeah, he’s just a book-smart nerd. So much jealousy.” Dylan frowned, casting a hurt look at Sarah. He lowered his voice. “It’s okay, Sarah. Alex is probably just stressed out and overworked. I don’t blame him.” “As long as it brings honor to the department, I don’t care whose name is on the paper.” This only made Sarah more defensive. “It’s your work, so it should have your name! Don’t worry, as long as I’m here, no one is going to steal your credit!” she soothed him. Then, she turned to me, her eyes flashing with a warning. “Alex, don’t be so petty.” “Dylan’s talent is a good thing. You should learn from him instead of just burying your nose in books and running yourself into the ground.” I was trembling, not from cold, but from sheer, unadulterated fury. Just then, more of those floating comments scrolled past my eyes: [Here we go! Let’s all enjoy this epic power-couple romance!] [The side character might be smart, but who cares when he’s just cannon fodder? The protagonist just has to stand there, and he wins everything.] [I feel bad for the guy for a second, but this is a romance novel! Sarah will only ever believe the protagonist. The more the side character struggles, the more pathetic he looks.] I froze. Side character? Protagonist? A cheat system? Was I living in a novel? And was Dylan’s apparent clairvoyance just a built-in cheat? Forcing down the shock and rage, I looked at Dylan, my voice cold and steady. “Fine. If you’re so talented, then please, for the benefit of Professor Albright, explain the derivation process for this data.” 2 Dylan’s expression faltered. He looked down, a wounded look on his face. “Sarah, why does Alex keep pressing me about the process? Is he… doubting me?” Sarah exploded. “Alex! Haven’t you had enough? Is it so difficult to admit someone is better than you? Stop with this academic bullying!” “Who cares about the process as long as the results are correct? You bookworms will never understand what real talent is!” Even Professor Albright seemed annoyed with me now. He tapped his pen on the table. “Alex, in research, we need to be gracious.” “Data is rigid, but people aren’t. Dylan’s intuition is a rare gift. That’s enough. This matter is closed. Dylan’s defense is passed, and the outstanding graduate award goes to him.” My heart went cold as I watched the scene unfold. This wasn’t the first time. Ever since our senior year internship started, no matter what project I worked on, Dylan always managed to swoop in at the critical moment and claim the victory. I pulled all-nighters researching papers; he went to the gym and the mall. I toiled in the fields; he sipped coffee in an air-conditioned office. But in the end, all my hard work was attributed to his “natural brilliance.” And I was cast as the jealous, bitter underling who only knew how to study. The comments kept scrolling furiously. [The side character is so miserable, but I love it! It’s so satisfying to see the protagonist effortlessly crush the book-smart nerd!] [Can we get past this plot point already? I’m tired of the cannon fodder. I want to see the main couple finally get together!] [Patience, friend upstairs. Without Alex paving the way for their love story, it wouldn’t be as dramatic.] Paving the way? If you say I’m just cannon fodder meant to pave their road, then I’ll just have to blow that road to smithereens and see where they go. To prevent my work from being stolen again, I applied to move into the university’s most remote, abandoned laboratory building right after the defense. I cut off all internet access, unplugged the ethernet cables, and locked all my hard-copy data in a safe. I didn’t even bring my phone into the lab. This time, I was developing a “Super Soil Conditioner” for highly alkaline land. It was a major national project. If successful, it wouldn’t just help solve food shortages but also bring in massive economic benefits. For an entire month, I lived and breathed soil science, practically bathing in dirt. Sarah sent me a few texts. [Alex, how long are you going to keep up this silent treatment? Dylan wants to take you out for dinner to apologize. Don’t be an ass about it.] [What are you even doing hiding out in that dump? You’re unrepentant, cold, and pathetic!] I found them laughable and simply blocked her number. Finally, late one night, I perfected the formula for the conditioner. My hands trembled with excitement as I stared at the perfect, pale blue liquid in the test tube. But before I could even celebrate, the lab door was kicked open with a loud bang. Sarah marched in, followed by Dylan and several deans from our department. Dylan pointed at the test tube on my desk, his face a mask of feigned surprise. “Sarah, I told you I had a feeling!” “I had a dream last night that there was something wrong with the soil samples here. I can’t believe Alex was secretly working on my project!” I was shaking with rage. I stood in front of my lab bench, shielding my work. “Dylan, have you no shame? I completed this independently. There isn’t even an internet connection here. How could you possibly know it’s your project?” Dylan sighed, looking exasperated. “But, Alex… I already finished this project.” He glanced past me at the whiteboard behind my back and said casually, “It’s sulfur powder mixed with gypsum, right? Then add a 3% concentration of organic acid, and… a trace amount of rare earth elements?” BOOM. A real clap of thunder rattled the old building’s windows. I froze, completely rigid. The formula he recited, so casually, was identical to the one I had just finalized moments ago. 3 I had no internet. I hadn’t told a soul. I hadn’t even had time to write down the final record. How did he know? Seeing my silence, Sarah assumed I was guilty. She shoved me aside with a cold look. I stumbled back, my waist hitting the corner of the lab bench with a sharp, searing pain. She carefully picked up the test tube and handed it to Dylan, then spun back to glare at me. “Alex! You are a disgrace to the academic world!” “Stealing Dylan’s results to conduct your own research? I never thought you could sink this low.” I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “I stole from him? Sarah, is your head filled with mud?” “I’m living in this abandoned building, and you two are in a downtown apartment. How exactly would I steal anything from him?” Sarah hesitated for a second, then doubled down. “Then you must have planted a listening device on him! Everyone knows Dylan is a genius. A desperate person like you is capable of anything!” One of the deans frowned, his expression stern. “Alex, your grades have always been excellent, but character is far more important.” “Since Dylan can accurately state the formula, it proves the work is his. Hand over your experimental data. Don’t force the university to put a mark on your permanent record.” The comments flooded my vision again. [Awesome! The protagonist’s cheat system is unbeatable. The side character worked his ass off for nothing, hahaha!] [He was so paranoid, trying to hide everything, and it was all for nothing. This is hilarious.] [That’s the protagonist’s halo for you. No matter how hard the side character works, he’s just making the protagonist’s wedding dress!] I stared at the stolen test tube, my nails digging so deep into my palms that I drew blood. Sarah looked at Dylan. “Dylan, keep this safe. With this, next year’s national scholarship is definitely yours.” Dylan gave a slight nod. “Thanks, Sarah. And thanks to Alex, for being so willing to step aside.” They took all my data and walked out, leaving me in the dust. Just because he’s the protagonist with a cheat system, he can just take whatever he wants? I couldn’t swallow this. You all believe in “talent,” do you? Well, let’s see just how long this fake talent of his can last. Half a month later, during the most critical phase of our graduation projects, a rare and aggressive “Red Spot Blight” broke out in the experimental rice paddies. This crop was a major joint project between our college and the National Agricultural Institute. It was tied to the degrees of every graduating senior in the department, not to mention millions in research funding. In just three days, vast swaths of the paddies turned a sickly yellow, the leaves covered in terrifying red blotches, as if stricken with a terminal illness. The Dean was so stressed his hair seemed to turn whiter overnight. He called an emergency meeting with all professors and students. “Whoever can solve this problem will get a direct admission into the Ph.D. program and a fifty-thousand-dollar grant!” he roared, slamming his hand on the table. Instinctively, every eye in the room turned to the “boy genius,” Dylan. After all, he was the prodigy who could supposedly pluck formulas out of his dreams. Basking in the attention, Dylan confidently adjusted his collar. “Don’t worry, Dean. A small problem like this… I should be able to get a feel for the solution just by taking a look at the fields.” Sarah, standing beside him, chimed in. “Exactly. Dylan is our lucky star. He’ll figure it out.” I sat silently, expressionless, spinning a pen in my hand. Dylan stood up and walked over to me. “Alex, I hear you’ve also been studying plant pathology. Why don’t we make it a little competition? See who can develop a cure faster.” “If you lose,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance, “you’ll have to admit in front of the whole department that you stole my previous work, and you’ll apologize to me.”

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1 After my grandmother passed away, I returned to the city of Aethelburg from our family’s country estate, ready to finalize my wedding plans. But when I arrived at the luxury event planning company, poised to book the most lavish wedding package they offered, the consultant informed me that the groom was already married. Dominic Blackwood, the eldest son of the Blackwood Corporation and heir to a fortune, had married three months ago. The bride was his childhood sweetheart, Ava Vaughn, the daughter of the Director of the Capital Commission. I stood in front of the Blackwood family’s sprawling villa, my brow furrowed in confusion. The thing is, I am Ava Vaughn. … The Blackwood family’s butler wouldn’t even let me through the door. “Mr. Blackwood’s orders,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “He said, and I quote, ‘How dare someone impersonate my wife? My wife and I grew up together. As if I wouldn’t recognize her.’” My younger cousin, Bea, had tears welling in her eyes. “Ava, what is going on? Why are they saying you’re an imposter?” “Weren’t you and Dominic betrothed since you were kids? Weren’t we supposed to be planning your wedding?” I put a finger to my lips, silencing her. I had come back to Aethelburg ahead of my parents to get a head start on the wedding preparations, knowing how overwhelming the logistics could be. They were tied up with work and would join me later. But at the wedding planner’s office, just after I’d finished outlining my vision to the head designer, she had paled at the sight of my fiancé’s photo on my phone. “Miss Vaughn… isn’t this… isn’t this Mr. Blackwood?” “Yes,” I’d said. “He’s my fiancé.” The designer’s face had crumpled as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “But, Miss Vaughn, Mr. Blackwood got married three months ago. Our company planned the entire event…” For the past five years, ever since my grandmother’s health began to decline, I had put my life in the city on hold. I’d moved back to the countryside to care for her, a full-time granddaughter, and hadn’t set foot in Aethelburg that entire time. 2 It was only after Grandma’s passing that my mother called me back, urging me to prepare for the marriage to the Blackwood family. The betrothal had been set in our childhood, and if we delayed any longer, we’d both be pushing thirty. Upon learning the truth, my first instinct was to demand an explanation from the Blackwoods, only to be met with this. The arrogance of his family, Dominic’s dismissive scorn… I had to laugh. He wouldn’t recognize me? He’d better hope he wasn’t mistaken. I took Bea on a shopping spree that covered every high-end boutique in Aethelburg, and I had every single bill sent directly to the Blackwood residence. After all, the name signed on every receipt was Ava Vaughn, daughter of the Director of the Capital Commission. By noon, a crowd had gathered in front of Dominic Blackwood’s corporate headquarters. Representatives from Aethelburg’s most exclusive luxury brands were all there, either to deliver merchandise or to collect payment. “Mr. Blackwood, the signature is clearly Mrs. Blackwood’s. You can’t possibly refuse to pay.” “Everyone knows Mrs. Blackwood’s name! Who would dare impersonate her?” “Mr. Blackwood, your wife’s purchases at our boutique total one hundred thousand dollars. We’ll need you to settle the account.” “Mr. Blackwood, if you’re a bit short on cash, perhaps you could ask Mrs. Blackwood to hold off on her shopping for a month? Or at least return the black pearl necklace. Another client is waiting for it, and it’s sixty thousand dollars.” “Exactly. If you can’t afford it, don’t let your wife run around town charging things to your name. What kind of behavior is that?” “We allowed her to take the items based on your reputation, Mr. Blackwood. Surely a man of your standing wouldn’t default on his wife’s bills.” I watched the chaos unfold from a nearby café, sipping my coffee with a faint smile. A thin sheen of sweat had appeared on Dominic’s forehead as he stared at the throng of people at his doorstep. Let him deal with it. He married Ava Vaughn? Then he could bear all the consequences that came with her name. Just then, a woman emerged from the building. She was dressed head-to-toe in designer labels, but she looked so frail a gust of wind could knock her over. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she looked at Dominic. “Honey, what’s going on?” 3 It was the current Mrs. Blackwood, the woman his staff now called Ava Vaughn. She looked at the receipts in the hands of the sales representatives, at the signatures, and shook her head. “I didn’t sign these,” she said to the crowd. “Someone is impersonating me.” One of the sales associates scoffed. “And we’re just supposed to take your word for it?” The woman replied confidently, “I grew up abroad. I can speak the language, but I never learned to write it properly. That is not my handwriting.” It was too late for Dominic to stop her. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. “The daughter of the Director of the Capital Commission can’t write her own language?” “Didn’t she just auction off a piece of her calligraphy at a charity gala a few months ago? How is that possible?” “Mrs. Blackwood will say anything to get out of paying a bill, won’t she?” Dominic quickly interjected, “My wife misspoke in her haste. She simply injured her hand recently and is unable to write. She grew up in the Vaughn household, surrounded by art and literature. Of course she can write. She’s known for her beautiful, delicate script.” “Then let Mrs. Blackwood write her name for us,” I said, stepping forward from the back of the crowd. I smiled at him. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Blackwood? That would clear everything up, wouldn’t it? And everyone would be satisfied.” “The Director’s wife is a renowned calligrapher, and the Vaughns are a family of scholars. Their daughter could write by age three, and her calligraphy was winning national awards by five. Everyone knows this.” The crowd nodded in agreement. “Yes, just have her write her name. We’ll see for ourselves.” Dominic glared at me. “Who are you? This has nothing to do with you. This is a private family matter.” I took a step back. “I’m just speaking up for what’s fair. Is that not allowed?” The new Mrs. Blackwood hid behind Dominic. “Honey, I can’t write.” Then, remembering his excuse, she added, “I… my right hand is injured. I can’t hold a pen.” 4 I laughed. “Miss Vaughn was famously taught to be ambidextrous. If your right hand is injured, your left hand can write just as beautifully. Please, Mrs. Blackwood, don’t be shy. We would all recognize your script, even written with your left hand.” “That’s right!” someone in the crowd shouted. “You can’t have injured both hands! I saw you carrying something when you came out.” Tears welled in the woman’s eyes. I took another step forward. “Bea, bring me a pen and paper. Mrs. Blackwood, if you please.” “I once acquired a small piece of Ava Vaughn’s work at an auction,” I announced, pulling a folded piece of paper from my purse. It was a piece I had written myself at the café just moments before, and it was perfect for the occasion. “This is her handwriting. Let’s hope there are no discrepancies.” The paper was passed around, and the crowd saw that the elegant script matched the signatures on the receipts perfectly. All eyes turned to the woman hiding behind Dominic. “Mrs. Blackwood,” a voice called out. “It’s your turn.” Dominic’s face was dark with anger. He turned his fury on me. “Who the hell are you? Do you know where you are? Stop causing trouble and get out of here. This doesn’t concern you.” Bea stepped in front of me, her voice ringing out. “What are you doing, Dominic Blackwood? My cousin is just speaking up for these people. Are you trying to intimidate her because you don’t want to pay your bills?” “Is there no justice in this city? Is there no law?” The crowd surged forward, creating a protective barrier around me. “That’s right! Pay up! Or do you want to settle this in court?” The woman finally broke. “Stop shouting! Fine, I’ll write it!” A pen and paper were produced. She shakily scrawled two words: Ava Vaughn. The handwriting was atrocious. The crowd looked from her clumsy attempt to the elegant script on the paper I had provided. “Is that… from the same person?” someone asked, bewildered. I let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Mrs. Blackwood, you’ll do anything to avoid paying a bill, won’t you? Who are you trying to fool with that scrawl? Unless… Mrs. Blackwood isn’t Ava Vaughn at all. Then who are you?” 5 The woman’s face contorted in alarm. She stumbled backward, her voice rising to a shriek. “Nonsense! If I’m not Ava Vaughn, then who is? I am the daughter of the Director of the Capital Commission and the wife of Dominic Blackwood! Who are you to come to my husband’s company and spread such lies? Security! Get her out of here! Don’t let her filth up our property!” Security guards rushed out like wolves, ready to throw me out. Bea threw herself in front of me and was shoved violently to the ground. Dominic stood by, his voice laced with menace. “Causing a scene at my company for no reason. I’m very interested to find out what your real motive is.” The false Mrs. Blackwood advanced with the guards and ripped the mask from my face. When she saw me, a flicker of jealousy flashed in her eyes. Bea was restrained by several guards, shouting, “Let my cousin go! Do you have any idea who she is? When my uncle gets to Aethelburg, he won’t let you get away with this!” The woman slapped Bea hard across the face. “You little bitch. You have no right to speak in my presence.” I tried to get to Bea but was blocked. Rage surged through me. “Mrs. Blackwood, isn’t the Vaughn family known for its discretion and humility? Isn’t Ava Vaughn known for being cultured and reasonable? So this is what that means? Baseless accusations and physical assault?” A smug smile played on her lips. “I am Mrs. Dominic Blackwood. And who are you? I’ll be sure to have a talk with your parents about how they raised you. Have they taught you no manners at all?” “Since they haven’t, I’ll have to teach you a lesson on their behalf.” She took a step forward. I tried to move, but a guard pinned me from behind. The next second, a stinging slap landed squarely on my face. My cheek immediately began to swell. My entire life, my parents had never so much as laid a finger on me. And now I had been struck by this imposter? Bea’s eyes were red with fury. “Mrs. Blackwood, do you know who you just hit? You will pay for this!” The woman leaned in close, her voice a low hiss. “Pay? You’ve got a big mouth. What could you possibly do to me if I decided to carve it up right now?” I recoiled, shouting for all to hear, “You’re a fake! I am the real Ava Vaughn, and I’m calling the police!” The crowd erupted. Dominic, who had been watching from the sidelines, finally reacted. His expression changed as he grabbed the woman’s arm. I took the opportunity to break free from the guards, stumbling back a few steps. “Mr. Blackwood, you have a marriage contract with Ava Vaughn, yet three months ago, you married this woman and passed her off as me.” “I have one question for you. When you got your marriage license, was the name on the certificate Ava Vaughn?” Dominic’s face went white, and he took another step back. The woman stepped in front of him protectively. “My husband and I grew up together. What does any of this have to do with you?” I laughed coldly and pulled out my ID card. It had my photo, but more importantly, it had two words clearly printed on it: Ava Vaughn. “I’m calling my lawyer,” I announced. “I’m suing you for identity theft, for using my name to fraudulently marry into a wealthy family.” 6 The onlookers exploded. “No wonder her handwriting was so ugly! I was thinking, how could anyone not know how to write their own name?” “And now that I think about it, the Vaughn family wasn’t at their wedding. I thought that was strange at the time.” “The wedding was so small and cheap, too. I heard they only invited a few friends. I remember wondering why the heir to the Blackwood fortune would have such a low-key wedding!” The false Mrs. Blackwood dabbed her eyes with a silk scarf, tears streaming down her face. “Our families were joining in marriage. I didn’t want to be too ostentatious and attract negative attention to my father’s reputation. I never imagined that would become a weapon for you all to use against me…” “It doesn’t matter what I say now. You’ll only believe this… this random woman.” “Or maybe,” she said, her voice turning accusatory, “you’re secretly in love with my husband and you’re trying to ruin my reputation so I’ll be forced out with nothing! Miss, do you have any idea how important a woman’s reputation is?” “No one will believe me now. It seems the only way to prove my innocence is to die.” With that, she threw herself toward the glass doors of the building. The crowd gasped. “Darling, what are you doing? Why would you do something so foolish over some stranger who just appeared out of nowhere?” Dominic cried, catching her in his arms. She collapsed against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Dominic’s eyes blazed with fury. He roared, “Security! Seize this woman who is spreading rumors and ruining my wife’s good name! I want to see just how bold she really is!” Bea broke free from the guards and threw herself in front of me again, only to be struck down by two burly men. One of them pinned her to the ground, slapping her face over and over. “You crazy bitch! How dare you cause trouble at the Blackwood estate!” 7 Two other guards moved to grab me. I pulled out a fountain pen and pressed the sharp nib against my neck. “Anyone who touches me is making a mistake. I am the real Ava Vaughn. If anything happens to me today, my father will be here in three days, and he will not let any of you off the hook.” The guards hesitated, afraid of causing a serious injury, and looked to Dominic for direction. Dominic’s face was livid. “If I don’t teach you a lesson today, people will think Dominic Blackwood is a pushover! My wife’s reputation will be in tatters!” “What are you waiting for? Grab her! If anything happens, I’ll take full responsibility.” Several men swarmed me at once. They seized me, and the pen scraped my neck, drawing blood. “You little girl, you have some nerve causing a scene in front of our house,” one of them snarled as he twisted my arm. The pen clattered to the ground. The force they used nearly broke my wrist. I struggled against them. “Dominic Blackwood, if you so much as touch a hair on my head, my father will make you pay when he arrives! I’m not slandering her! She is an imposter!” A cruel smile touched Dominic’s lips. “Let’s see if your father gets here in time to save you.” “Slap her,” he commanded. “Slap her hard. Let’s see if she dares to spread rumors again!” “Oh, that’s too much. She’s just a young woman.” “Quick, record this! Post it online and show everyone how the Blackwoods operate above the law!” “What are you all standing around for? Call the police!” “That poor girl looks so delicate. This is going to be brutal.” I fought with all my might, but it was useless. Two guards held me fast. “Hit her,” Dominic ordered. Smack. Smack. Two sharp slaps landed on my face, and it immediately began to burn and swell. Bea, her face pale, screamed, “Don’t you dare hit my cousin!” My mouth was covered, and I could only make muffled, desperate sounds. Dominic stared at me, his eyes cold. “You need to be taught a lesson. Hit her!” Two guards raised their hands, preparing to strike me again. Just as I braced for the blow, a powerful voice thundered from a distance. “Stop! I’d like to see who dares touch my daughter!”

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I’m a sign language teacher. After I was unexpectedly pulled into the world of a novel, I found myself married to the disabled heir of a powerful Greenwood dynasty. He was non-verbal. My skills were a perfect match. When he signed that we should sleep in separate rooms, I ‘interpreted’ it for the staff as, “All of you, get out.” When he signed for them to throw me out, I told them, “He says to bring me an extra lobster tail.” He’d get so furious his hands would become a blur, but I’d just ‘read’ his signs and make up whatever I wanted. This went on until one day, a line of text floated before my eyes— [LMAO, the poor side-character has no idea the male lead is just faking it, does she?] My knees buckled, and I scrambled, practically crawling, for the door. The next second, a hand gripped the back of my neck, and I was hauled back. A low voice purred in my ear. “Losing interest in our game already, wife?” 1 My name is Kara. Three days ago, I was a sign language teacher at the Starlight Special Education School. Today, I’m a character in a trashy novel. The “Kara” in the book is the daughter of the CEO of AAA Construction Supplies. Her dad is, to put it politely, more ambitious than he is successful. As for the man I’m supposed to marry… Dominic Blackwood. He’s the eldest son of Hamilton’s powerful Blackwood Corporation, with a face that belongs on a magazine cover. Six months ago, he was in a car accident. His legs were crippled, his vocal cords were damaged. He was confined to a wheelchair, a mute. The cause of the accident was a mystery, but Dominic’s younger brother, Vincent, seized the opportunity to take over most of the family business. To top it all off, Dominic’s fiancée, Isabelle Devereaux—Hamilton’s premier socialite—promptly broke off their engagement and got engaged to Vincent instead. Tsk. The Blackwood family matriarch, heartbroken for her eldest grandson, sent out an offer to the city’s elite: Any family willing to offer their daughter in marriage would receive a fortune in dowry. My father, operating under the principle that only an idiot passes up a good deal, immediately contacted the Blackwoods. “I have a daughter! She’s willing!” When he came home, he tried to convince me. “You’ll be the first lady of the Blackwood family, living in a mansion, driving luxury cars.” My mother chimed in with her own brand of wisdom. “Most husbands pretend to be deaf and dumb after they get married anyway. With this one, you get to skip the ‘pretend’ part.” By the time I was transmigrated into this body, the engagement was already set. There was no backing out. I thought about it and decided to go along with it. For two reasons. First, Dominic Blackwood was undeniably gorgeous. I’d seen photos of him from before the accident. His features were so perfectly symmetrical they looked like they’d been sculpted. Second, I was a professional sign language teacher. Living with a man who couldn’t speak? This was my home turf. My specialty. On the day we signed the papers, Dominic sat in his wheelchair, dressed in a sharp suit, his expression completely blank. He raised a hand and slowly formed the words in sign language. “I will never like you.” I just smiled at him. I don’t care if you like me. I’ve always enjoyed a challenge. 2 On our wedding night, in the master bedroom of our new home, Dominic sat on the edge of the bed, his face as dark as a thundercloud. He raised his hands and signed. “We will sleep in separate rooms.” I turned to the butler and the maids standing by the door and offered them a pleasant smile. “Mr. Blackwood says you may all leave for the night. Please get some rest.” The maids blushed and scurried out. The moment the door clicked shut, Dominic froze. His eyes widened, and his hands flew in a blur of motion. “That’s not what I meant!” I watched his hands intently and nodded with feigned sincerity. “I know, you’re just shy.” “It’s okay. I’ll take the lead.” He tried to push himself up from his chair, but his legs wouldn’t obey. He collapsed back into the seat. I took a step forward. He flinched back. The wheelchair hit the edge of the bed, leaving him with no room to retreat. I stood over him, looking down. The lamplight cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting his ridiculously perfect features. His cheekbones were flushed with anger, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line. Beautiful. Ten times more beautiful than in the photos. I licked my lips. His fingers trembled as he signed. “What… what are you doing?” I smiled, my voice soft and coy. “May I?” Dominic didn’t have the strength to fight me off. The accident had damaged his spine, and his upper body strength was a fraction of what it once was. When I placed my hands on his wrists, his whole body went rigid. “Mr. Blackwood,” I whispered, leaning closer. “I know your legs don’t work.” “But… the important part… that still works, right?” His face instantly turned a deep shade of crimson, the blush spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. I decided to check the merchandise myself. “Oh,” I murmured. “The merchandise is perfectly fine.” With a face like that, the crippled legs were a bonus. It meant he couldn’t run off. He shook his head wildly, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. “Go ahead and scream,” I said, then paused and chuckled at my own joke. “Scream your lungs out. No one will hear you.” Oh, right. He couldn’t. By the time we were finished, the sun was beginning to rise. Dominic lay on the bed, his eyes empty as he stared at the ceiling. The blanket had slipped down to his waist, revealing a canvas of marks across his collarbones. I propped my head on my hand and just looked at him. The more I looked, the more satisfied I was. He must have felt my gaze, because he slowly turned his head. His eyes were red-rimmed. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but couldn’t. Finally, he turned away, his eyelashes trembling with a hint of moisture. That just made me like him more. Even if he were in a coma, he’d still be my handsome man. Hamilton’s most beautiful man was all mine. 3 The next day, I wheeled Dominic to the main Blackwood estate to pay our respects to his mother. Catherine Blackwood was a woman of impeccable breeding—elegant, poised, and known in her youth as one of the city’s most brilliant women. The moment Dominic saw her, he began signing frantically. “Make her leave. I want her to leave!” Catherine couldn’t understand sign language and looked to me for a translation. “What is he saying?” I smiled sweetly. “He’s saying, you mustn’t ever send me away.” Dominic whipped his head around to glare at me, his gestures becoming even more rapid. “I did not say that!” I continued to translate. “He says he likes me very, very much.” Catherine’s eyes filled with tears. She took her son’s hand. “Dominic, darling, of course I would never send Kara away.” “I was worried that because her family’s background is… modest, she wouldn’t be a suitable match. That you wouldn’t like her.” “To see you care for her so deeply, it makes me so happy.” Catherine ordered the staff to prepare a grand feast. I gently placed some food on Dominic’s plate. His face was grim as he signed, “Not hungry.” I turned to his mother. “He says he doesn’t like any of this.” Dominic was getting desperate. “I didn’t say that!” I turned back. “He says he’d like some garlic oysters.” Catherine clapped her hands together. “Oh! Of course! You’re newlyweds! You need to keep your strength up!” “I’ll have the kitchen prepare some right away! Several dozen for my dear Dominic!” A short while later, Dominic stared at a mountain of oysters, completely stunned. He sat up straighter, signing with more force than ever. “Mom! She’s lying to you! Make her leave! Make her leave right now!” I offered a helpful translation. “He says this isn’t enough.” “He says he’s going to give you three healthy grandsons.” The entire room fell silent. Catherine shot to her feet, her voice trembling with excitement. “Really? Did he truly say that?” I nodded. “Every word.” She threw her arms around me, sobbing with joy. “Ever since the accident, Dominic has locked himself away. I was afraid he would be like this forever…” “For him to say these things now… you must be a wonderful wife!” I patted my chest reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Mother. His main account might be down, but I’ll level up a new one for you.” Catherine was so thrilled she was practically dancing on the spot. She slipped a jade bracelet from her own wrist and onto mine. Then came the earrings. Then the necklace. “Someone! Bring me my ruby collection! It’s for my daughter-in-law!” I was dizzy from the sheer weight of the gold and jewels. I glanced over at Dominic. He was still sitting there. His face had turned a shade of green. On the way home, he signed furiously from his wheelchair. “Kara, you just wait.” I pushed him along, smiling brightly. “Of course, darling. I’ll be waiting.” “We can continue tonight.” His hand faltered. 4 I started to let myself go completely. Every day, I dragged Dominic into a new activity. I had a tablet filled with… adult films, and we worked our way through them, one by one. The first week, we covered Asia. The second week, we moved on to Europe and the Americas. Maybe the oysters were actually working. Once he realized resistance was futile, he started to cooperate. He would use his one good leg for leverage, and honestly, he was more than a handful. He had the stamina of a man in perfect health. The maids, blushing, had to change the bedsheets several times. Anyone would have to say it: the young master was disabled, but his spirit was strong. One afternoon, my friends invited me out for tea. When you have a husband this handsome, you have to show him off. I wheeled Dominic out of the house and to a dessert shop next to the mall. My friends gathered around, their eyes wide. “Whoa, so this is Dominic Blackwood? He’s even better looking in person!” “And with the leg, you know he won’t be running around on you.” “Plus, he’s a mute. He can’t say the wrong thing and make you mad.” The more they thought about it, the more perfect he seemed. Pushing him was getting tiring, and I wanted to go shopping with my friends. So I found a sturdy pillar near the mall entrance, locked the wheelchair’s brakes, and for good measure, tied him to it with my scarf. There. He wasn’t going anywhere. I crouched down to his level. “Darling, I’m just going to do a little shopping. You stay here and get some sun, okay?” Dominic stared at me in utter disbelief, his fingers trembling with rage. “Oh, don’t be so clingy,” I sighed dramatically. “This is girls’ time. What’s a man going to do, anyway?” When I came back from shopping, he was propelling himself forward with his hands, the wheels spinning so fast they were practically throwing sparks. The moment we got home, he started looking for a pen and paper. I reminded him sweetly, “I put the pen and paper away.” “It’s getting late. Let’s get down to business.” He pointed a shaky finger at me, then signed to the maids. “Get her out of here! Make her leave!” The maids looked at me, confused. I translated. “He says he’s so happy to be married to me that he’s giving the entire staff a three-month bonus.” “Thank you, Young Master! Thank you, Young Mistress!” The news spread like wildfire, and the whole household erupted in cheers. “The Young Mistress is an angel!” “The Young Master has been so much more cheerful since she arrived!” “They’re a match made in heaven!” Dominic was frozen in place, his hand still raised in mid-air. He started signing again, a frantic, blurry mess of motion. “That’s not what I meant! I didn’t say that!” Everyone stared. “Young Mistress, what’s wrong with him?” I smiled. “Oh, he’s just so excited. He’s doing a little celebratory flourish.” The staff whispered among themselves. “I never knew the Young Master had such a cute side to him.” “It’s an endearing contrast, isn’t it?” That night, Dominic finally resigned himself to his fate. Or maybe he’d just had too many oysters. 5 And so life went on. By day, I translated his sign language, making it as absurd as possible. By night, I translated his body, making it as pleasurable as possible. We were becoming quite the connoisseurs of action films. One evening, before the sun had even set, I was already dragging him toward the bedroom. He struggled, but I pushed him back down. “Don’t move.” I unbuttoned his shirt, examining him from every angle. “So beautiful.” His eyes were red with protest. I pulled out my tablet, found a newly downloaded film, and cued up a specific scene. “Darling, let’s try this one today.” He glanced at the screen, and his pupils dilated in shock. He shook his head frantically. I held him down. “Did you know? I got top marks in my equestrian class in college.” He struggled even harder. It was no use. I was much stronger. But just as I settled into position— A line of semi-transparent text floated in front of my eyes. It scrolled from right to left, like the comments on a livestream. [Wait? Who is this evil side character? How did she end up sleeping with the male lead?] I froze. Another line appeared. [The male lead was saving himself for the female lead, and now this side character has forced herself on him. This is so tragic.] My hand stopped in mid-air. What was this? I rubbed my eyes. More comments streamed past. [Female lead, where are you? Your man is being ridden!] [The side character doesn’t know the male lead is faking it, does she? He’s already recovered his strength!] [LMAO, she’s still up there, bouncing away!] [Don’t worry. As soon as the male lead gets his company back, she’s the first one he’s going to deal with.] Get his company back? Deal with me? Faking it? My legs gave out. Dominic can hear? Then he— I looked down at him. He was looking right back at me. Usually, at this point, he would have turned his head away, his eyes red-rimmed, the very picture of a man being violated. But he wasn’t looking away now. He was staring directly at me, his gaze deep and unreadable. My legs turned to jelly. The Dominic Blackwood in the book was notoriously ruthless. In college, he had single-handedly turned three failing subsidiaries of the Blackwood Corporation into profitable ventures. His business tactics were so sharp that his name alone made seasoned executives tremble. If he had recovered… He could crush me like an ant. I let out a shriek and scrambled off him. I didn’t even bother with my clothes. I just stumbled and crawled toward the door. I only made it three steps before a hand clamped down on the back of my neck. I was lifted up like a kitten. “Wife,” a low voice murmured from behind me, tinged with amusement and a hint of huskiness. “Losing interest already?” My soul practically left my body. “D-Dominic… you’re better? When did you get better?” He chuckled softly. “A month ago.” A month ago??? Then all the things I’d done to him this past month… He was fully conscious for all of it??? I grabbed onto the doorframe for dear life. More comments appeared. [Did the side character figure it out?] [No way. This side character has an IQ of 5. She couldn’t possibly have figured it out.] [LMAO, she’s clinging to the doorframe like a scared quail.] I now understood three things. First, I was in a novel, complete with a comment system that only I could see. Second, according to the comments, I was an evil side character with an IQ of 5 who was destined to be disposed of by the male lead. Third, the male lead was standing right behind me, and I was only wearing panties. I quickly replayed the events of the past few weeks in my head. Tying him to a pillar in the sun. Telling his mother a string of blatant lies. Forcing him into nightly “equestrian practice.” Making him watch two full catalogues of adult films. My legs buckled with fear. “Mr. Blackwood… I suddenly miss my mom. I think I’d like to go home for a visit…” “It’s too late tonight,” he said. With one effortless pull, he hauled me back to the bed. “I’ll take you tomorrow.” “But for now—” He leaned over and retrieved the tablet from under the pillow. He navigated to the clip I had bookmarked. “Let’s continue.” I shrank back. “I… I don’t think that’s necessary…” “But wife, I thought you loved riding,” he purred, pinning me down. “What’s the matter? Scared now that I’m on top?” The comments exploded.

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1 At my wedding to my childhood sweetheart, Nolan Barclay, a stream of comments suddenly materialized before my eyes. [LMAO, the poor side-character doesn’t even know the groom is a fake! The real Nolan Barclay is at the hospital with his precious little damsel in distress!] [Who the groom is doesn’t matter. The male lead is only marrying her for a cash infusion into his company. After all, this story is a pure romance where the childhood friend never stood a chance against the girl who fell from the sky!] [The side-character is going to have her family destroyed by the male lead in the end. I almost feel sorry for her.] I buried the shock in my eyes and, feigning ignorance, completed the ceremony. I refused to be a stepping stone for their love story, destined to be a casualty. If he didn’t want to marry me, then I’d just make this fake wedding real with someone else. … “Do you, the groom, take this beautiful bride to be your wife, for richer or for poorer…” “I… do.” The man’s voice, muffled by a surgical mask, was deep and low. The guests below the stage were whispering amongst themselves, marveling at the profound love Nolan Barclay, the heir to the Barclay fortune, had for me. “Mr. Barclay is so devoted. I heard he came down with a sudden high fever last night, but he insisted on wearing a mask to go through with this wedding of the century today, just so he wouldn’t disappoint his childhood love, Seraphina.” “It’s true, the bond between childhood sweethearts is different. The union of the Thorne and Barclay families is a massive earthquake in the Crestwood business world.” Listening to the praise, I felt a wave of nausea. Because the comments floating before my eyes were refreshing at a manic pace: [Devoted my ass! Nolan is holding Isabelle in his arms at his mountainside villa, watching a livestream of the wedding! They’re sipping red wine and laughing at what a fool the side-character is.] [This stand-in is so pitiful. He gets a measly ten thousand dollars to take the fall for this, and he’s about to be publicly humiliated by the bride.] [Newbies upstairs don’t know, do they? This stand-in is the biggest hidden powerhouse in the whole book, Alexander Reed! The invisible billionaire!] [He’s been in love with Seraphina for a whole decade. Later in the story, to avenge her, he completely uproots the Barclay family and scatters their ashes! A true champion of romance just bit the dust!] My heart pounded in my chest. Alexander Reed? The legendary, mysterious tycoon who controlled a commercial empire… was in love with me? And he was here, acting as my fake groom? I took a deep breath and raised a hand, cutting off the officiant. “Wait a moment.” The entire venue fell silent. The man before me averted his gaze, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Even his breathing grew ragged. A small smile played on my lips as I asked gently, “Nolan, you don’t look well. Were you so busy with the wedding preparations that you forgot to take your medicine?” He coughed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes, I… I’m not feeling great.” I seized the opportunity, turning to the officiant and the guests. “My apologies, everyone. The groom is feeling quite unwell. I’m going to take him to the lounge for his medication. We’ll pause for just ten minutes. Please, enjoy the champagne.” With that, I gripped the groom’s wrist and pulled him into the backstage dressing room. The moment the door closed, the phone on the table buzzed. I picked it up. A dozen unread messages, all from Isabelle. [Seraphina, you know the groom is a fake by now, right? Surprise! Nolan and I are watching your wedding live.] Attached was a high-resolution photo: Nolan was wrapping Isabelle in a tender embrace, his chin resting on the crown of her head. They were both smiling sweetly. [Forgot to mention, this was my idea. Nolan said that even though you two were childhood friends, he’s truly in love with me.] [This wedding is just a game he’s playing to make me happy. You’re not mad, are you, Sera?] I let out a cold laugh, my fingers flying across the screen as I typed a reply: [Is that so? Do you want to bet that with one phone call from me, he’d drop you and come crawling back like a dog?] As expected, the other end went silent for a long time. Good. The fish was on the hook. I turned to the silent groom beside me. He looked at me, a touch of panic in his eyes, his voice low and raspy. “Seraphina, the truth is…” I patted his shoulder. “Alexander, don’t be nervous.” The comments were a flurry of confusion: [She knows! Why isn’t the side-character following the script?] Alexander instantly looked relieved. “So you knew all along.” After a moment of silence, he seemed to make a decision, taking a deep breath. “Nolan Barclay isn’t worthy of you. He planned this today just to humiliate you.” 2 I suddenly leaned in close to him. “I didn’t stop the wedding to expose you. I just want you to act out a scene with me.” Remembering how, in the book, he had avenged me by taking on the Barclay family, ultimately perishing with Nolan, tears welled up in my eyes. Alexander fumbled, gently wiping them away. “If you feel wronged, I can…” I looked at him, my gaze serious. “Alexander Reed, listen to me carefully. The man I want to marry is you.” The comments exploded in a sea of pink: [HOLY S**T! Did I hear that right? The side-character has awakened! A reverse proposal?!] [I ship it so hard! Look at the sparks flying from the tycoon’s eyes!] When we returned to the stage, the officiant smiled and announced, “And now, the bride and groom will exchange rings.” I picked up the ring, but as I slid it onto his finger, it got stuck tight at the knuckle. He tried to force it on awkwardly, but I held his hand still. The guests began to whisper. “What’s happening? Is the ring size wrong?” “How could they mess up something so important? The Thorne and Barclay families are being awfully careless.” At the main table, Nolan’s parents’ faces turned pale. They exchanged a look, and I saw the panic and unease in their eyes. It was clear they knew about Nolan’s ridiculous charade all along but chose to enable and protect him. My own mother’s brow furrowed, her eyes filled with worry as she looked at me. I gave my parents a reassuring glance, silently telling them not to worry. Then, under the bewildered stares of everyone present, I ripped the mask off Alexander’s face. “Oh my god! The groom isn’t Nolan Barclay!” “Then where is the real groom?!” Nolan’s mother was the first to react. “What… what is going on! Who are you!” His father’s face was ashen as he yelled at the chaotic crowd of guests and reporters. “Everyone, be quiet! Security! There’s been a small incident with the wedding, it will be resolved immediately!” The comments scrolled wildly: [YESSS! This is amazing! Popcorn and soda for sale!] [In the original plot, it was Seraphina who was supposed to be a sobbing, panicked mess on stage. Now it’s the Barclay parents. The irony is delicious.] My mother also looked at me with concern. “Sera, what on earth is going on? Where’s Nolan?” I turned and gave my parents another comforting look. Then, to the astonishment of the entire room, I took Alexander’s hand. “Thank you all for attending the wedding of Alexander Reed and myself today. Due to a small oversight, the wedding posters and rings had the wrong name.” I paused, then continued, “But no harm done. The wedding will proceed!” Beside me, Alexander stood tall and proud, as if claiming his territory. Mrs. Barclay was trembling with rage. “Seraphina, are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” “You just found some random nobody to replace Nolan! Where does that leave the Barclay family’s reputation!” Mr. Barclay rushed up, hissing at me, “Seraphina, stop this foolishness! You and Nolan grew up together. Even if he was being playful and didn’t show up today, you can’t treat the union of our two families like a joke!” “Stop the wedding now! We’ll handle this privately!” I ignored them, handing the microphone to Alexander. “Alex, tell them why you’re standing here.” Alexander met my gaze and smiled, his voice steady and clear. “I am standing here today because Nolan Barclay paid me ten thousand dollars to impersonate him at this wedding.” 3 The moment he spoke, the room erupted. “What?! He hired someone to marry for him?!” “My God, is Nolan Barclay out of his mind? This is like grinding the Thorne family’s face into the dirt!” Exposed so publicly, the color drained completely from Mr. and Mrs. Barclay’s faces. My father’s anger finally ignited. He pointed a trembling finger at Mr. Barclay and roared. “So this is the Barclay family! This is Nolan Barclay! Treating my daughter’s wedding like a child’s game! You’ve gone too far! Did you really think the Thorne family would just stand by and take it?!” My mother, her eyes red with fury, strode onto the stage and pulled me behind her, her voice icy as she addressed the Barclays. “The wedding is off! From this day forward, the Thorne family and the Barclay family have nothing to do with each other!” Seeing the alliance about to crumble, Mrs. Barclay panicked. “Sera, it was Nolan being immature and foolish. Auntie will have him come back right now and beg for your forgiveness.” I scoffed. “Fine. I’ll give him one more chance. If you can get him on the phone right now, I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.” Alexander squeezed my hand, and I leaned in to whisper, “Don’t worry, Nolan isn’t coming back.” Mrs. Barclay clung to this last shred of hope, frantically dialing Nolan’s number. Once, twice, three times… The only response was the cold, automated voice: “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed has been switched off.” I feigned disappointment. “It seems the great Mr. Barclay has no intention of returning.” “Security, please escort the irrelevant parties out.” Mr. and Mrs. Barclay were hauled away by security, a frenzy of reporters shoving cameras in their faces. My mother took my hand, not asking a single question. “Sera, whatever you decide, your father and I will support you.” My father gave my shoulder a firm squeeze. A warmth spread through my chest, and I fought back tears. A comment drifted by: [In the original story, Seraphina insisted on marrying Nolan, alienating her family. In the end, Nolan bankrupted the Thorne business, and her parents, their hair white overnight, both jumped from a building. Seeing this now, I really want to cry.] I looked down to hide the emotion in my eyes. Since they had been merciless, they couldn’t blame me for being ruthless. As soon as the wedding fiasco was over, I called my executive assistant. “Terminate all partnerships with the Barclay Corporation immediately. And pull every single dollar of our invested capital. I want it all back, down to the last cent.” The news that I had swapped grooms and married Alexander on the spot didn’t spread quickly. The Barclay family, desperate to stabilize their stock price, paid to have the story suppressed. Right after the ceremony, Alexander and I went to get our marriage license. Afterwards, he told me he had urgent business and had to go abroad for a few days. Meanwhile, a completely oblivious Nolan spent two days living it up with Isabelle at his suburban villa before he finally sensed something was wrong. Usually, by now, I would have thrown a massive fit, demanding he come back. But this time, there was nothing but silence. Nolan scrolled through his phone distractedly, not even hearing Isabelle when she called his name. “No, that woman Seraphina must be playing hard to get,” Nolan sneered, tossing his phone aside. Isabelle tested the waters. “Nolan, do you think Seraphina is really angry? Maybe you should go back and smooth things over. It’s not worth offending the Thorne family over me…” “Smooth things over with her? Does she deserve it?” Nolan pinched Isabelle’s chin, his face a mask of arrogance. “She’s head over heels in love with me. Twenty years of history… she can’t live without me.” “I bet you in less than three days, she’ll come crawling back, begging me to marry her with a fresh injection of cash. I’ve been spoiling her too much.” A comment floated by: [I’m dying, has this male lead lost his brain? He doesn’t even know the Thorne family has already pulled their funding and the Barclay Corporation is about to face a catastrophe.] [Oh, honey. Your house is being robbed and you’re still here patting yourself on the back.] 4 I never expected to run into those two disasters at my father’s business gala. Nolan spotted me immediately. But when he saw me chatting with another man, his expression darkened into a stormy scowl. When Isabelle saw me, she casually placed a hand on her stomach and whined to Nolan, “Nolan, my feet are so sore, I can’t walk anymore. It’s so stuffy in here.” Nolan dotingly supported her, though his eyes kept darting in my direction. He was probably waiting for me to make the first move. Unfortunately for him, I was about to disappoint. From start to finish, I didn’t spare him a single glance. He finally lost his patience, striding over to our table and slamming his wine glass down. “Seraphina, are you still mad that I had someone stand in for me at the wedding?” I didn’t even bother to look at him and started to get up to leave. “The wedding was an emergency. Isabelle was sick, that’s the only reason I wasn’t there.” Isabelle swayed over, blocking my path. “Seraphina, please don’t blame Nolan. It’s all my fault, my body is just so weak. I’m so sorry I delayed your wedding…” Nolan listened, then let out a humorless laugh. “Seraphina, I never realized you were so petty. It was just a wedding.” “We didn’t even sign the papers, so what does it matter? Are you really going to team up with your dad and pull funding just to force my hand?” As he spoke, he reached for my arm with an air of entitlement. My eyes turned to ice as I yanked my arm away. “Mr. Barclay, please have some self-respect.” “As for the wedding, didn’t your parents tell you?” Nolan froze. “Tell me what?” Isabelle’s expression flickered with panic as she grabbed my wrist. “Sera, please don’t be like this. Nolan really does care about you in his heart…” Her words were placating, but her nails dug viciously into my skin, the pain making me gasp. The comments went wild: [Whoa! What’s with the female lead? She’s already getting physical?] I violently shook her off. “Get lost!” “Ah—!” Isabelle tumbled to the floor in a pathetic heap. Nolan’s eyes blazed with fury. He rushed to help her up and roared at me, “Seraphina! Do you have any idea how fragile Isabelle is? Apologize to her, now!” I sneered and motioned to the security guards who were approaching the commotion. “Security, throw them out!” Nolan’s face was livid. “Don’t think this will get my attention. If you behave, I’ll go with you to get our marriage license in a few days.” [LMAO, what is with this guy? Doesn’t he love the female lead? He’s acting like a textbook narcissist.] [This is hilarious. He has no idea the side-character already married the tycoon and he’s still waiting for her to come running back to him.] I laughed. “Get a license? But I’m already married.” The smile on Nolan’s face froze. He stood there, stunned, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What nonsense are you talking about!” He took a step forward, his tone arrogant. “You say you’re married? Then why isn’t your husband here with you?” A mocking curve touched my lips. “My husband is away on a business trip. Unlike some useless loafer who needs a woman to survive.” Before he could explode, Isabelle’s eyes reddened, and tears began to fall on cue. “Sera, how could you say that about Nolan? He works late every night for the Barclay Corporation. Not only do you refuse to help, but you’re making up lies to hurt him. You’re breaking his heart.” She paused deliberately, making Nolan’s gaze, now fixed on me, fill with disappointment and anger. “Seraphina, look at yourself. So bitter and cruel. Who else would ever want you but me?” “Let me tell you, stop playing these games. It only makes me look down on you even more!”

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It was the fifth year of my marriage when I met my eighteen-year-old husband. He sized me up, a puzzled frown on his face. “Why would I marry you ten years from now?” I asked him what he wanted to do. The young man, with an air of complete conviction, replied: “Get a divorce. The sooner, the better. I can’t let my future self marry someone I don’t love.” I nodded, agreeing to his terms, and began to subtly distance myself from Matt. Until one day, I left work early and heard a violent brawl erupting from inside the house. “Spreading rumors about me? You little punk, you think a thirty-three-year-old me can’t see through your eighteen-year-old schemes?” A younger voice roared back, “You’re ancient! Why do you get to eat so well?” “Hate your future self, just die!!” My response: ? 1 The first time I saw Matt, I knew something was off. He was so… young. Too young. None of the effortless poise, none of the deep, unfathomable cunning I was accustomed to. He sat sprawled on the couch like a mere kid, his face still holding a touch of youthful plumpness that softened his otherwise sharp features, making them less intimidating. His first words stunned me. “Who are you?” “Laura,” I replied. Matt wore a casual hoodie and designer sneakers. The arrogance on his face seemed genuine, not a pretense. It was obvious. Either my husband of five years had de-aged, or this was his identical twin brother. I pondered for a moment, then pointed directly to our huge wedding portrait. “As you can see, I’m married to you.” Matt exploded. He shot to his feet, already showing the subtle bearing of someone used to authority. “Married?” “To you?” His tone dripped with disdain, his words laced with shock, his expression pure disgust. I subtly pulled my gaze away, calmly stating, “It’s my turn to ask questions.” Matt seemed taken aback by my composure, visibly pausing. His eyes lingered on my face a little too long before he cleared his throat, rubbing his nose and looking away. “Uh… go on, ask.” Three minutes later, I understood. The person before me was an eighteen-year-old Matt. No wonder he was so arrogant. I couldn’t help but stare intently at this younger version of my husband. It was, honestly, a fascinating experience. Matt rarely spoke of his past, and all I knew of him came from our married life. Perhaps my gaze was too open, too undisguised, because the Matt on the couch grew visibly flustered. He awkwardly drew in his long legs, trying to focus on the faint music playing in the background. After several attempts, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Look, can you stop staring at me?” I peered down at his face. His fair skin was flushed with pink, even his earlobes were red. As he wished, I turned away expressionlessly to get fruit from the fridge. Despite the shock, I was adapting well. Still, I found it hard to imagine what would happen if the two Matts ever met. Lost in my thoughts, the young Matt suddenly spoke. “Why would my future self marry you?” I was speechless for a moment. The boy’s gaze was direct, even somewhat scrutinizing. Before I could answer, Matt continued, “Knowing myself, my future self wouldn’t like someone like you.” I instinctively retorted, “What ‘like me’?” Matt’s next words caught in his throat. His lips parted, then closed again. I watched as his face reddened and his eyes darted away. Finally, unable to articulate anything coherent, Matt gave up, throwing caution to the wind. “Just… your kind of flashy!” Flashy? Me, flashy!? I had braced myself for him to call me ugly, or old, but flashy? Maybe I had been a little headstrong and bold in my youth, but ever since marrying Matt, I’d transformed into the perfect daughter-in-law, a pillar of refined grace. “Flashy” was the last word anyone would use to describe me now. My expression soured, and my pleasant tone vanished. “So, what exactly do you want?” Matt, seemingly oblivious to my change in mood, didn’t miss a beat. At my question, he jumped to his feet, a strange mix of excitement and joy in his voice. “Divorce, of course!” Then, he added, almost as an afterthought, “The sooner, the better. I can’t bear the thought of my future self marrying a woman he doesn’t love.” 2 I pretended to agree. The main thing was to stabilize this eighteen-year-old Matt first. I settled him in a small villa I owned, handing him a phone. “You can reach me anytime, but you must not show yourself to the other Matt.” The young Matt visibly scoffed. “You care about him that much?” I blinked. “…” It wasn’t a matter of caring. It was a matter of two identical people existing in the same reality. Anyone would find it absurd. Besides, Matt was currently preoccupied with a crucial international partnership. I didn’t want to disrupt his work or burden him with this sudden, bewildering appearance of his younger self. Thankfully, young Matt agreed. But he had one condition. I was shocked. “You want to hug me??” Matt, as if stating the obvious, said, “What’s the big deal? You hug him all the time, don’t you?” I was a bit slow to react, struggling to keep up with a teenager’s logic. But young Matt didn’t wait. He simply pulled me into his arms. His hand on my waist felt incredibly warm. I squirmed uncomfortably, but Matt held me tighter. He seemed to take a deep breath, then slowly said: “He’s thirty-three now, isn’t he? Does he smell like an old man? I bet I smell pretty good, right?” He? Oh, older Matt. “…He’s only thirty-three, not fifty-three,” I murmured. Before I left, Matt frowned, reiterating, “Remember, divorce him quickly.” I nodded dismissively, thinking to myself: He is you, you know. 3 When I rushed home, older Matt had just finished showering. He stood leaning against the doorframe, a towel wrapped around his waist, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he tilted his head at me. “Busy day?” I nodded subtly, fabricating a quick excuse. “My studio just landed a big project. It’s been quite hectic.” A simple exchange. After that, we both fell into a comfortable silence, a habit of ours. Matt looked down at me, lost in thought. He didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask. This had been the norm for our five years of marriage. People often said the honeymoon phase faded after three years, and a couple’s relationship would gradually morph into a familial bond, with communication dropping off a cliff. But Matt and I had been like this since the start of our marriage. To put it nicely, we were respectful partners. To put it less so, we were glorified roommates. Our routine was a symbolic check-in, then we’d each go about our own business. After I came out of the bathroom, I noticed Matt was lost in thought. I raised an eyebrow, a little surprised. He was usually a master of time management, always maximizing every moment. It was unusual to see him simply daydreaming. I slipped into bed. Matt, as was his custom, turned off the lights. My mind was a whirlwind. One moment, I was thinking of the eighteen-year-old Matt. The next, a headache brewed at the thought of the word “divorce.” Did I really want a divorce? 4 Matt and I met five years ago. I had just graduated a year prior and, with startup funds from my family, established my design studio. Attending a gala to expand my client base, Matt approached me, complimenting the necklace I wore. At the time, Matt was known for his extensive romantic history and numerous rumored conquests. A man with many companions naturally purchased a lot of jewelry. I, harboring intentions to profit from him, exchanged contact information. But strangely, for a full six months, Matt never bought a single piece of jewelry from my studio. I felt all those dinners with him had been a waste. So, I stopped initiating contact and silently labeled him a cheapskate. About three months after our last contact, my studio ran into financial trouble. My pride wouldn’t allow me to ask my family for money. While scrambling for investors, I bumped into Matt at a dinner party. I pretended not to know him, playing along with the charade. Matt, too, followed my lead. After the party, I squatted by the roadside, sobering up. Matt’s car pulled up beside me. He got out and squatted down with me, his voice gentle. “Miss Laura, I’ve always wanted to ask, what did I do wrong for you to block my number?” I ignored him. Matt, despite being brushed off, didn’t seem annoyed. “Alright, then let’s say it was my fault. May I have the honor of driving you home?” I agreed. In the car, Matt and I discussed my studio’s operations. Though I considered him stingy, his insights into my problems were remarkably sharp. I listened, mesmerized, my eyes unconsciously drawn to his profile. Frankly, Matt had every right to be considered the most eligible bachelor in high society. I wondered who would finally make this playboy settle down. Perhaps my gaze was too obvious; Matt chuckled softly. “Laura, reel in your stare. I’m driving.” My face flushed, and I looked away, belatedly embarrassed. I intended to doze off, but Matt suddenly asked, “What were you thinking about just now?” Perhaps I was truly drunk. I actually blurted out my honest thoughts. “I was wondering who you’d marry.” Matt abruptly pulled the car to the side of the road. I looked at him, puzzled, then heard him say, “Laura, if it were possible, I’d really like to marry you.” At that moment, I must have lost my mind. Without thinking, I asked, “What are the benefits of marrying you?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt I sounded too mercenary. I was about to explain, but Matt, after a serious pause, spoke. “Money, resources, social standing — I can give you all of it.” “And if that’s not enough, I’m willing to let you step on everything I have to get what you desire.” 5 Perhaps it was my father’s constant belittling during my childhood that made me so desperate to prove myself. Or perhaps Matt’s charm truly was captivating. I agreed. He seemed afraid I’d change my mind and, the very next day, took me to get our marriage license. I was absently reliving the events of five years ago. I didn’t even notice when Matt had moved closer until his hand suddenly closed around my thigh, jolting me back to reality. His lips brushed my neck. “The collaboration is wrapping up. It’s been a while since we… you know.” “A while?” Was he referring to four days? That seemed like a perfectly normal frequency to me. In the past, I might have readily agreed. But today, with the eighteen-year-old Matt occupying my thoughts, I was worried he might suddenly cause some trouble. So, I stopped his hand from moving further down. “I’m so tired.” Matt’s movements paused. After a few seconds of silence, he pulled my nightgown back down. “Alright. How about we go on a vacation once I’m done with work?” I neither agreed nor refused, instead falling back on my usual noncommittal reply: “We’ll see.” 6 Laura slept. But Matt couldn’t. He had always possessed a keen sense of smell. The moment Laura returned, he’d detected the scent of another man’s cologne on his wife. If it had been a women’s fragrance, he might have dismissed it. But it was distinctly male cologne. Usually, men’s fragrances weren’t overpowering, yet the scent on Laura lingered even after she’d come home. Had they shaken hands? Or embraced? A long-dormant surge of possessiveness stirred within Matt. He let out a soft, humorless chuckle, then carefully slipped out from under the covers. On the cologne shelf in his walk-in closet sat a familiar bottle. It was a scent he’d favored in his wilder youth. Without a second thought, Matt tossed it into the trash. “Disgusting.” “Appalling taste.” Having finally disposed of the offensive cologne, Matt returned to the bedroom. He gently pulled Laura into his arms. His wife. His wife. He took a deep breath. It’s fine, Matt reassured himself. Laura loves him. She’d actively sought his contact information the first time they met. Later, she’d initiated invitations multiple times. Even after their initial misunderstanding, she always showed up at events where he was present. Laura had even been willing to marry him. If this wasn’t love, then Matt’s perception was as reliable as an old, worn-out shoe. So, what he needed to do was be patient. Give Laura enough time to resolve whatever trouble was threatening their marriage. This cologne was a blatant provocation from the outsider. If Matt were to confront Laura over a mere scent, he would be falling right into the third party’s trap. He wasn’t that foolish. But if his wife truly became entangled in external chaos, Matt wouldn’t hesitate to use less than savory methods to teach that presumptuous kid a lesson. 7 The next morning, Matt had already left for work. I slowly went through my morning routine, eating breakfast. When I finally picked up my phone, it was bursting with notifications. Assuming it was urgent client matters, I quickly checked, then couldn’t help but roll my eyes. From the moment I’d arrived home last night until now, young Matt had sent hundreds of messages, non-stop. At first, they were normal, asking a variety of random things. But as time went on, they grew increasingly peculiar. I even suspected he was trying to pry into every detail of my life. Just before I fell asleep, the messages had peaked. [Are you asleep? Are you with him? Are you sharing a bed?] [Why aren’t you replying, Laura? What are you doing?] [You need to remember you’re getting a divorce. Be modest and proper, got it?] [LAURA!!!] … It was too much. My eyes stung from scrolling. I skimmed through them, finally letting out a soft scoff. “Childish,” I mumbled. 8 I’d initially assumed young Matt’s behavior was merely due to his sudden displacement in time. But I was wrong. Later that afternoon, I finished a meeting. Walking into my office, I found Matt sprawled on my single sofa. He’d changed clothes today, opting for a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, the top two buttons undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. I paused. That face, paired with this attire, made him look almost exactly like older Matt. Except for his eyes. Older Matt’s eyes held a restrained depth, a quiet wisdom forged by years and experience. Young Matt’s eyes, however, were wide open, like a raging fire, making one feel disoriented. Noticing my unwavering gaze, he grumbled, “What are you staring at?” “Never seen a young man before?” Okay. Still arrogant as ever. “…What are you doing here?” I asked, exasperated. “You dumped me in that rundown villa for a day and a night, didn’t even reply to a single message.” Young Matt strolled over to me, then casually plopped himself onto my desk, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m here to supervise your divorce progress.” My temple throbbed. “Get down.” “No.” “Get down.” “Won’t.” I took a deep breath, reaching out to pull him. But he used the momentum, pulling me into his lap. The familiar scent of cologne filled my nostrils—a youthful aroma, a burning body heat, and a thumping heartbeat. I couldn’t tell if it was his or mine. “Laura,” he murmured against my hair, his voice muffled, “you smell like him.” I struggled to get up. “Of course, we live together.” “No.” Young Matt’s arms tightened, holding me in a vice-like grip. “I forbid you from smelling like him.” I let out a mirthless laugh. “Matt, are you out of your mind?” Perhaps it was truly ill-advised to speak ill of someone behind their back. The moment I cursed him, Matt’s phone rang. I shot young Matt a warning glare, then answered. “Should I pick you up today? I booked a restaurant, heard the view is quite nice.” I was about to answer when I felt a sudden chill at my waist. My eyes darted down. I saw a mischievous, playful grin on young Matt’s face. In his hand, he held my fountain pen. The icy touch made me instinctively flinch, but the boy didn’t stop. As my heart hammered in my chest, the pen slid down my side. My breath hitched. I stared at young Matt in disbelief. He, however, calmly mouthed a command: “Reject him.” Then, the pen poked me threateningly. “…My appetite hasn’t been great lately. You should go eat by yourself.” A long silence stretched on the other end. Finally, Matt simply said, “Alright.” 9 After finally coaxing young Matt back to the villa, I prepared to collapse onto my bed at home. Opening the door, the house was dark. Matt must have gone to that restaurant alone. A strange pang of guilt pricked at my heart. I sighed heavily. As I made my way towards the stairs, passing the sofa, Matt’s voice suddenly startled me. “Laura.” “Your assistant said you left at six, but it’s nine now.” A cold sweat broke out. I quickly explained, “Had dinner with a client.” My tone was even, my excuse perfect. He shouldn’t suspect anything… right? Matt didn’t say anything, just nodded faintly. My heart pounding, I went to shower. Halfway through, the door suddenly opened. My response: ? Matt walked directly in, standing by my side, staring at me. His gaze made my scalp tingle. I tried to find a topic to ease the tense atmosphere. “Cough, cough… Did you eat?” Matt’s reply was concise. “No.” I was speechless. I was about to suggest he get something to eat, but the next second, Matt pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my wet neck. “Didn’t eat, but I want something else.” … I was eventually carried out of the bathroom. Matt seemed to be in a slightly better mood, but not by much. I lay sprawled on the bed, watching him move about. The phone on the table suddenly buzzed. Before I could reach for it, a large hand picked it up ahead of me. Matt’s voice, cool and indifferent, resonated through the room. “Young Matt? New friend?” 10 My already muddled brain immediately froze. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Just as Matt waited for me to speak, the call disconnected. I let out a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, my relief was premature. I opened my mouth, about to explain, when the phone buzzed again. A message popped up on the screen. [Laura, I can’t sleep. Are you asleep?] Matt’s gaze fell on the screen. Silence. A deathly silence. My heart stopped. An inexplicable sense of guilt and remorse washed over me. I tried to explain, but Matt suddenly interrupted. “Should I reply?” He didn’t even give me a chance to answer. “Your new friend seems to need some melatonin. I don’t mind ordering him some delivery.” My response: “…” Damn it. If Matt saw the delivery address was my villa, that would be disastrous. So, I calmly said, “It’s fine. Just a casual friend. I’ll reply tomorrow.” Matt’s expression remained placid, showing no emotion. But his next move sent a shiver down my spine. “Wait!” “Didn’t you say just once?!” 11 The next morning, Matt was already dressed in a suit. I looked at him, puzzled. Matt smiled gently. “I’m going on a business trip, about a week.” A business trip? A week? Although Matt often had impromptu business trips, this one seemed unusually sudden. Besides, hadn’t he just finished a major international collaboration? A sense of unease settled in my stomach, but seeing Matt’s refined profile, I didn’t say anything. I simply whispered, “Take care of yourself, don’t overwork.” As soon as I spoke, I realized how hoarse my voice was. I winced. Matt finished tying his tie and walked towards me, inexplicably caressing my collarbone. “I will. You rest up.” Matt left. I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. After a while, I checked my phone. Surprisingly, young Matt hadn’t sent any messages since the one last night. He’d been completely silent. I considered it, then typed a reply: [I fell asleep very early last night, didn’t see your message.] Just as I sent it, the doorbell rang. Opening the door, Matt stood outside, dressed in a suit. I was a little surprised. “Why are you back? Did you forget something?” The Matt at the door stared intently at me, his gaze slowly moving from my face down to my neck and collarbone. I looked at him, bewildered. Matt’s jawline was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. He suddenly reached out, tracing a path from my neckline to the hollow of my throat, then lightly pressed on the hickey there. His voice was chillingly quiet. “Laura, is this what you meant by divorce?” 12 The moment the words left his mouth, I realized the person before me wasn’t older Matt. But why… Why was he wearing a suit!? Perhaps sensing the shock in my eyes, Matt slowly withdrew his hand. “Oh, just a suit I bought randomly.” I couldn’t help but marvel: They really are the same person; even their taste in suits is identical! Matt seized on the flaw in my words, his tone casual. “He left?” I stepped aside to let him in, softly humming in affirmation. As soon as I closed the door, Matt pulled me into his arms, his palm pressing hard against my lower back, kneading it meaningfully. His voice was deep. “You’re so unwilling to divorce him? What exactly do you see in him, huh?” I suddenly had a headache because of this kid. Before I could think of a suitable excuse, Matt unleashed his sharp tongue. “Do you like him because he’s old? Because his legs aren’t nimble anymore? Because in a few years, his birthday cake will be replaced with a longevity bun? Or because he gets foam at the corners of his mouth if he talks too much?” My response: “…” What a poisonous tongue. Who talks about themselves like that? Seeing my silence, Matt’s pretense of composure finally crumbled. “You like him that much?!” Like? I couldn’t help but fall into contemplation. From the very beginning, our marriage wasn’t built on love. Yet, over these five years, Matt had given me all the prestige of being Mrs. Thorne. I’d climbed step by step, using him as a stepping stone, achieving everything I desired. But, as they say, marriage is where novelty goes to die. Even without love, I’d grown tired. Tired of the mundane, day-in, day-out routine. Matt suddenly bit me, jolting me back to attention. He snarled, “Laura, do you know the flower language of sweet pea?” I rubbed my aching cheek, instinctively asking, “What?” Matt enunciated each word: “Too old to keep.” It wasn’t until the young man’s ardent, clumsy kiss descended that I fully grasped Matt’s intentions. Oh. He was stealing from his own home. I stared at the handsome young face so close to mine, feeling a momentary disorientation. Was this the arrogance and aggressiveness of Matt in his youth? I was in a daze. I suddenly recalled the rumors before our marriage: charming, passionate, untamed. But the Matt before me now was pure, childish, and petty. This stark contrast was strangely intoxicating. Unconsciously, I ran my hand through his soft hair, giving his earlobe an encouraging squeeze. To be honest, I didn’t have a preference for virgins. But if I could choose, who wouldn’t prefer a blank slate? Besides, this was still Matt, just from a different timeline. Essentially, the same person. I thought, I need to add something new to my dull life.

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I took him, a scholarship student, by force. He remained distant and aloof, but I didn’t care. Every day, I’d demand hugs, kisses, and piggyback rides. Until, on our wedding night, subtitles suddenly appeared before my eyes. [The male lead has a germ phobia! He washes eight hundred times every time the side character touches him.] [So cute, the male lead has been saving himself for the female lead.] [Oh my goodness, is the side character going to force herself on him again tonight?! I can’t wait to fast forward to the ending where she loses everything!] I was horrified. I quickly unlocked the handcuffs on Hayes’s wrists. “Um… I suddenly feel that, in terms of our married life, a platonic relationship might be better.” Hayes’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He asked in a hoarse voice, “What position is platonic?” 1 On our wedding night, I cuffed Hayes to the bedpost. I was getting ready to do what I usually did, quite expertly. Red marks already bloomed on Hayes’s wrists, his shirt open to reveal a lean, sculpted torso. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes shrouded in an unreadable darkness. I straddled him, using the small leather whip I held to lift his chin. Hayes’s breathing grew heavy, his muscular chest subtly rising and falling. His pale skin was flushed with a strange, delicate pink. My desire surged, and I pounced like a famished lion. The next second, countless subtitles materialized before my eyes. [AHHHHHH! Can the side character just disappear?!] [GERM PHOBIA ALERT! GERM PHOBIA ALERT! He washes eight hundred times every time this woman touches him!] [My heart aches! Hayes has been saving himself for the female lead, only to be forcibly taken by this crazy woman.] [On their wedding night, is this evil side character going to force herself on him again? The male lead’s first time belongs to the female lead!] [I wish I could fast forward to the ending where the side character’s family is ruined!] I froze, my brain crashing from the sheer volume of information. The whip slipped from my hand, landing on Hayes’s abs. He let out a soft groan, a sound that was indescribably sexy. The subtitles kept scrolling. [Almost there, almost there! The female lead will appear soon to save him!] [Does this evil side character think she’s amazing just because she has some money? The male lead hates arrogant, spoiled rich girls like her the most.] [Countdown to ruin: Side character’s dad’s company explodes, she goes bankrupt, and has to beg on her knees at the male lead and female lead’s wedding, hahahahaha!] I was horrified. A handsome man was precious, but money was more valuable. I immediately fumbled to uncuff Hayes’s wrists. “Um…” I said, unable to meet his gaze, my voice wavering. “Even though we’re married…” “I suddenly feel that, in terms of our married life, a platonic relationship might be better.” Hayes was free, but he remained in his original position, unmoving. After a moment of silence, he licked his lips, asking in a husky voice, “What position is platonic?” I choked, stammering, “It’s… it’s hard to explain right now.” “You… you can look it up yourself.” Never mind, just run. I swiftly grabbed my duvet. “I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.” As I was about to leave, I heard a rustling sound behind me. I turned to see Hayes picking up the black lace lingerie I’d left by the bed, which I hadn’t had a chance to put on. “What are you doing?” He didn’t look up, calmly stating, “Didn’t you say you’re sleeping in the guest room?” “I accidentally… wasn’t careful and soiled the sheets here.” My face instantly burned. My palms still felt hot and damp. Remembering the sensual scene just moments ago, my mind was filled with Hayes’s restrained gasps. Desire had clouded my judgment. It took several seconds to realize he’d misunderstood me, and I quickly explained: “I’ll go alone; you don’t need to follow.” “It means we’ll be sleeping in separate rooms from now on.” I took a deep breath, trying to look sincere. “I was wrong before, I didn’t respect your wishes or feelings. I won’t do that anymore.” Without waiting for Hayes’s reply, I fled. 2 I rushed into the guest room. I locked the door, leaning against it, still breathless and shaken. Thankfully, I’d slammed on the brakes in time. Otherwise, it would have been irreversible. The subtitles kept scrolling: [OMG, the side character actually let the male lead go???] [She’s playing hard to get, isn’t she? Scheming women are best at that!] [Male lead, run—no, female lead, appear!] [When will the side character realize the male lead doesn’t like her at all! He’s only staying with her to repay a debt!] I buried my face in the pillow, deflated. So, every time I initiated physical contact with Hayes, he would immediately go shower. It wasn’t because Hayes was naturally aloof or abstinent, but because he found me… dirty. And his passive acceptance of my demands? It was all for the sake of repaying a debt, enduring humiliation. Even marrying me was born out of sheer desperation. Though I knew this was all part of the plot, that the male and female leads were destined to be together, tears still pricked at my eyes, betraying me. Hayes had been the only scholarship student at our elite boarding school. The first time I saw him was in the summer of our freshman year. He wore a white shirt, speaking as the top student under the school flag. Strands of hair swayed gently in the wind, his nose bridge high, his brow bone deep-set. The moment our eyes met, my heart skipped a beat. On graduation day, I cornered him outside his dorm to confess my feelings. Hayes looked down at me for a long time, then calmly said, “We’re not suited for each other.” “Why not?” I pressed, my eyes welling up. Hayes’s tone remained calm. “Nowhere are we suited.” I, having been spoiled since childhood, tasted rejection for the first time. In an instant, I was furious and anxious. And, having read too many novels at a young age, my brain was a bit scrambled. I don’t know where I got the courage, but I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him hard. Then I declared defiantly: “A bitter fruit is still a fruit!” “Even if you don’t like me, I’ll still have you.” Later, I learned Hayes’s father had a gambling problem and owed a lot of money, and his mother had fallen seriously ill and was hospitalized due to stress. I paid off his father’s debts and moved his mother to the best nursing home. From that day on, Hayes no longer resisted my presence. I had genuinely believed he felt something for me, even if it was just gratitude. I rolled over, wiping away my tears. Forget it. Whether he liked me or not, the most important thing now was to save myself. 3 Lying in bed, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Usually, I’d cling to Hayes like an octopus, burying my head in his neck, inhaling the faint scent of his shower gel, and quickly drifting off. Now, hugging empty air, I stayed awake until 2 AM. The next morning, I woke up with dark circles under my eyes and headed to work early. I deliberately avoided any chance of seeing him, and didn’t pester him to drive me as usual. All day, I surprisingly didn’t send Hayes any messages. Before, I’d call him eight hundred times a day to check in. Every ten minutes, I’d ask him, “What are you doing?”, “Do you miss me?”, “Send some hot pics.” Today, I stubbornly set his chat to Do Not Disturb. By noon, I couldn’t resist checking my phone. No messages. Eleven o’clock, checked again. Still no messages. Twelve o’clock, lunchtime. My phone finally rang. My heart skipped a beat. I eagerly picked it up— It was the delivery driver. “Hello, your takeout is at the front desk.” “…Oh.” I hung up, telling myself: Good, just like this. Slowly wean yourself off him. He’s not contacting you, which saves you the trouble of figuring out how to reply. This is a good thing, a great thing. The subtitles flared up again: [The side character isn’t bothering the male lead today? The sun must be rising in the west.] [It’s an act, she’s definitely planning something bad.] [The male lead finally has some peace today, hooray!] I pretended not to see them and ate my lunch. 2 PM, a meeting. 3 PM, replying to emails. 4 PM, reviewing documents. 5 PM, quitting time. I didn’t leave. I lingered in the office until six, seven, eight. The sky outside had turned completely dark. My phone suddenly rang. Caller ID: Hayes. I stared at the name for five seconds, then hesitantly answered. “Hello?” Hayes’s voice, low and calm, came through. “Busy today?” “Ah, yes, overtime,” I said, picking at my fingers, my voice soft. “Then I’ll come pick you up.” “No, no need.” I refused without thinking. In the past, I would have jumped for joy. But now, keeping my distance from Hayes and not annoying him was paramount. “My assistant is driving me.” “No need to trouble you.” Silence stretched for a few seconds on the other end. I thought he would hang up. But he didn’t. The silence continued. I heard his breathing, soft, steady. “…Hayes?” “Hm.” After a long pause, he spoke again. “Then be careful on your way.” “I’ll wait for you at home.” “Okay.” “Text me when you’re off work.” “…Okay.” I looked at my phone screen, feeling a pang of sadness. I finally lingered until eleven before I had to go home. Pushing open the front door, the living room was pitch black. I thought Hayes had already gone to bed, so I tiptoed to switch on the light. Instead, I was startled. Hayes was sitting alone on the sofa. No TV on, no phone in hand, just sitting there. The light caught his profile, half-illuminated, half-shadowed. His expression was unreadable. He wore loungewear, his hair a little messy, as if he’d showered and then waited for a long time. I clutched my chest. “What are you doing? You scared me.” He was silent for a moment, then finally spoke. “Today, I logged into your account.” “I noticed many people calling you ‘baby’.” When he said this, his voice was calm, but his eyes never left me. My heart skipped a beat. That WeChat account, constantly sending “baby” messages, was actually my best friend Clara’s second account. She and her younger boyfriend recently had a unique dynamic, where she used a male avatar and called herself “husband,” and he used a female avatar and called himself “wife.” I was about to explain, but the subtitles scrolled past again: [The male lead was just using the study computer for work and logged into the wrong account!] [Is the side character overthinking again? Who told her to set the male lead’s phone and computer passwords to be the same as hers, just to check up on him? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have logged in wrong.] [LOL, the queen of self-pity.] The subtitles were right. He couldn’t be jealous of me. He was just stating facts. Or perhaps he was unaccustomed to my aloofness, just making conversation. I took a deep breath, absently giving a vague answer: “I’ll change it.” Hayes seemed surprised by my candor, freezing for a moment. “What?” I patiently explained: “The password.” “I’ll change the password.” The usually composed man suddenly darkened. I looked at him, bewildered, and mumbled, “Don’t worry, I won’t use your computer indiscriminately anymore.” “All those pop-up messages today must have disturbed your work, right?” “Sorry, sorry, I’ll be more careful next time.” The subtitles were full of question marks: [Hold on! Hold on! What did the side character just say she’d change? She said she’d change the password?] [No, is this right? Is it the password that needs changing?] [I’m actually dying of laughter, sounds like the side character’s delirious after too much overtime.] The atmosphere was a bit heavy. Seeing he didn’t reply, I prepared to discreetly leave. “Then I’ll go back to my room and sleep.” Just as I turned to walk to the guest room, Hayes suddenly called out, “Wait.” I turned back. He stood in the center of the living room, the light casting a long shadow behind him. “No kisses, hugs, or piggyback rides today.” This was a rule I had set for Hayes before. Every day, he had to give me kisses, hugs, and piggyback rides. I thought it would foster intimacy. But ever since I learned Hayes actually found me repulsive, I didn’t dare dance on his landmines anymore. My head shook like a rattle, and I quickly said, “No need.” “Not anymore?” Hayes frowned slightly, emotions churning in his eyes. I nodded furiously. “No need for any of it.” “It’s too childish, it was my fault for always dragging you into my silly games.” Hayes hummed, his eyelashes fluttering. “Then… good night.” “Good night,” I said. Hayes paused, then said in a low voice, “Good night.” I turned and went upstairs. At the corner, I couldn’t resist looking back. Hayes was still standing there, looking in my direction. When he saw me look back, his eyes seemed to brighten. The subtitles immediately exploded: [Was the male lead waiting for the side character to regret it and go back to kiss him? No way, right?] [How could that be? The male lead is probably trying not to laugh, hahahahahahaha, afraid he’ll burst out laughing!] [Exactly, exactly. He finally got rid of this troublesome side character, he must be overjoyed.] I snapped back to reality, disappointed, and walked into the guest room. A dull ache settled in my chest.

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After working late to print the quarterly report, the printer spat out an extra page. I casually flipped it over and froze. It was an “Employee Reassignment Notice,” stamped with the red seal of the HR department. Luna Vance, transferred from the Strategic Products Department to the Customer Service Department. Salary adjusted from 11,000 to 6000. Effective next Monday. I read it three times. My name was on it, my employee ID was on it. In the “Department Head Signature” field, Eleanor Hayes’s name was signed, perfectly round and full. The conference room at the end of the hallway was lit. I heard Eleanor’s voice, laced with laughter: “That eight-million-dollar contract with Knight Industries, I’ll personally sign it next week.” Adrian Grenier said, “Don’t worry, Eleanor, I’ve memorized the proposal.” Every page of that proposal was written by me. I turned off the printer and took both sheets of paper with me. 1 I didn’t go back to my desk; I went straight to the stairwell. The signal was terrible on the twelfth floor, but it was enough for me to clearly photograph the reassignment notice. One picture of the front, one of the back. A smudge of ink marked the edge of the red seal, a tiny tail where Eleanor’s pen had paused during her signature. I saved them to my personal cloud, then locked my phone. The next morning, I went to see Ms. Stark in HR. She sat behind her desk, her expression fleetingly awkward when she saw me. “Luna, dear, come in, have a seat.” “When was this reassignment decided?” She sipped her water, avoiding my gaze. “It was brought up at last Friday’s department meeting. Ms. Hayes said the customer service pace would suit you better.” “Last Friday evening at nine, I was still working overtime, writing the closing report for Knight Industries.” “Well… personnel changes are all arranged by the company uniformly.” I glanced at the documents on her desk. The top one was Adrian Grenier’s promotion approval form. Position: Senior Product Manager. My former position. “Ms. Stark, I’ve been in the product department for five years, and all the core client relationships were managed by me. Was this reassignment ever discussed with me personally?” She finally looked up, lowering her voice. “Luna, I’ll be honest with you. This was Ms. Hayes’s direct decision, and Mr. Vance, the VP, signed off on it. I just stamped it.” “But you know it’s not compliant.” She didn’t respond. “The stamp was still placed.” I stood up, not waiting any longer. Back at my desk, Adrian was already sitting there. No. It was my desk. He had moved my belongings into a cardboard box in the corner. The pothos plant I’d nurtured for two years sat on the floor, its leaves drooping. “Luna,” he said, swiveling his chair with a smile, “I hear you’re moving to customer service? It’s pretty laid-back over there, and closer to home.” I bent down to pick up the pothos, ignoring him. Several colleagues nearby pretended to focus on their computers, their keyboards clattering loudly. I pulled open my drawer. My folders were still there, but all the documents for the Knight Industries project had been removed. “Where are the Knight Industries files?” Adrian waved a USB drive in his hand. “Ms. Hayes said the project was handed over, so I’m holding onto the documents for now.” I stared at that USB drive. Inside were one hundred and seventeen pages of PPTs, forty-three client communication logs, and nine versions of requirements iteration documents. Every single word was typed by me. He wouldn’t even understand the file naming conventions. Five years. Squatting on the floor, packing my box, I counted: one employee badge, three notebooks, a white mug with a chipped rim. The mug was emblazoned with the words “Employee of the Month.” It was an award given at the annual meeting the year before last. Eleanor had gone on stage to accept it, giving a speech thanking the team. My name hadn’t been mentioned once. I placed the mug at the bottom of the box, covering it with a jacket. Moving was quick; one cardboard box held everything. The elevator ride from the twelfth floor to the third took less than a minute. When the doors opened, an A4 paper was taped to the opposite wall, with “Customer Service Department” printed on it. The paper was slightly crooked, the bottom right corner peeled up. Two of the hallway lights were out, and the tiles were two shades darker than upstairs. I stood at the doorway, hugging the box. Pushing the door open, the office area was smaller than I imagined. Six desks squeezed together, with only three people sitting. A white-haired man stood up from the innermost desk—it was Old Man Jenkins from customer service. “Luna Vance, right? Welcome, welcome, come sit here.” He led me to a desk by the window. The surface was clean, but the corner had a dusty tape residue, as if something had been taped there long ago. “Not many people here, you’ll adapt slowly,” Old Man Jenkins smiled. “It’s a small department here, but we don’t work overtime.” A girl next to me raised a hand. “I’m Sarah Lin. Just call me Sarah.” Her computer screen was filled with customer complaint tickets, dense with red labels. I set down the box and opened my computer. My system account hadn’t been migrated yet. I entered my password three times, each time met with “Insufficient Permissions.” I submitted a ticket to IT. They replied that my product department system access had been revoked, and my customer service access needed supervisor approval. Old Man Jenkins went to get it approved for me. He came back shaking his head: “The process is stuck with HR. Might take two or three days.” I sat at the empty desk, unable to open any system. My phone vibrated. Eleanor had sent a message: “Luna, which folder did you put the Knight Industries client preference analysis report in before? Adrian can’t find it, and he needs it urgently.” I stared at the screen for five seconds. I didn’t reply. 2 The next day, Adrian posted a message in the main product department group chat: “Everyone, I will be fully responsible for the Knight Industries project moving forward. Please contact me directly with any issues, no need to contact Luna anymore. Thank you, Luna, for your foundational work in the early stages; you worked hard.” Foundational work. One hundred and seventeen pages of proposals, forty-three communication logs. Foundational work. The group chat was flooded with “You worked hard,” “Keep it up,” “We trust you, Adrian.” Not a single person tagged me. I left the group. The customer service system access finally came through on the third day. When I logged in, the homepage was filled with a screen of pending tickets. Four hundred and seventy-two entries. The earliest was from three months ago. “No one handled these?” Sarah gave a wry smile. “There are only three of us in the department, four with you. Old Man Jenkins handles administrative tasks, Mark transferred last month, so it’s just me answering calls.” She pointed to the corner, where seven or eight unopened boxes of documents were stacked. “Those are last year’s paper complaint forms. There wasn’t even anyone to log them into the system.” I opened the top box. The complaint forms were handwritten, the penmanship messy, but the complaint content was highly repetitive: “System page loading timeout,” “Data synchronization delay,” “Export function error.” All pointed to the same product module—the data analysis system newly added after the Knight Industries project went live. I pulled out twelve of them, arranging them by date. The earliest one was from five months ago. The Knight Industries data analysis system had gone live exactly six months ago. This meant problems started appearing just one month after launch. “Do management know about these complaints?” Sarah shrugged. “I mentioned it. Wrote two reports, sent them to the product department—no reply. Sent them to Eleanor—she said clients don’t understand technology, just need teaching.” She pulled out her phone to show me the email reply. Eleanor’s exact words: “Don’t overreact to minor issues. Clients need guidance, not indulgence.” Date: three months ago. I took photos of those twelve complaint forms and saved them to my cloud. At lunch, looking for a seat with my tray, I ran into Leo, a former colleague from the product department. He saw me and paused. “Luna, you…” “Yes, third floor.” He opened his mouth, then took his tray and sat at another table. At 1 PM, my phone rang again. Eleanor’s message: “Luna, Mr. Stark from Knight Industries asked about the details of the previous communication regarding requirement changes. Adrian hasn’t been in charge long and isn’t quite clear. Please help organize a summary and send it over; I need it by the end of the day.” Adrian hasn’t been in charge long. So he’s not clear. So they’re asking me, the ‘transferred’ person, to organize it. I replied with two words: “Too busy.” Three seconds later, Eleanor called. I hung up. She called again, and I hung up again. The third call was from Adrian. I simply turned off my phone. Sarah watched me turn off my phone, saying nothing. After a moment of silence, she pulled two chocolates from her drawer. “Want one? Not a fancy brand, just from the convenience store.” Crispy rice. Three dollars and fifty cents a bar. I unwrapped it and took a bite. Very sweet. It was the only sweet thing I’d eaten all week. 3 A week later, I cleared all four hundred and seventy-two backlog tickets. Not out of dedication, but because I needed to see all the data. I’d created a spreadsheet for every single complaint, categorizing them by product module, fault type, and frequency of occurrence. The night I finished, I spread the spreadsheet across my computer screen. Three hundred and nine entries pointed to the same module: the data analysis system’s underlying interface had severe concurrency handling flaws; it crashed as soon as the user load increased. This wasn’t a minor issue. It was a fundamental architectural flaw. And this module was the core deliverable of the Knight Industries project. Of the eight-million-dollar contract, three and a half million was paid for this module. I remembered it clearly, because that price was one I had negotiated line by line with Mr. Stark. I closed the spreadsheet, leaning back in my chair. The third-floor windows faced north, so I couldn’t see the sunset, but I could see the lights of the opposite office building flicker on, floor by floor. The second week, Eleanor came to the third floor. She wore a grey MaxMara coat and eight-centimeter stilettos. The moment she walked into the customer service department, her brows furrowed. “Why is it so dark? Why aren’t the broken lights reported for repair?” Old Man Jenkins quickly stood up. “Good afternoon, Ms. Hayes. Please, have a seat.” Eleanor didn’t sit. She walked over to me. “Luna, you wrote the Knight Industries system training manual before, where is it?” “I gave it all to Adrian during the handover.” “He said he couldn’t find it.” “I handed over thirty-eight documents and signed a handover form. If he can’t find it, he can check the form.” Eleanor’s face wasn’t pleasant. She lowered her voice, softening her tone slightly. “Luna, I know you’re upset, but Knight Industries is due for renewal soon. At this critical juncture, everyone needs to cooperate. Please help Adrian complete the training manual. Consider it a favor to the department.” “Which department?” She paused. “I’m with customer service now, Ms. Hayes.” Her lips twitched. As she turned to leave, her high heels clacked crisply on the threshold. Ten minutes after Eleanor left, Adrian’s message came in. “Luna, Eleanor said you have a draft of the training manual? Could you send me a copy if it’s convenient? Mr. Stark is pressing for it.” I didn’t reply. He sent another message: “If it’s really inconvenient, I’ll treat you to dinner. Please, just consider it a favor from an old colleague?” I sent his chat to the bottom of my list. That night, on my way home after overtime, I turned onto a street I’d never taken before. There was a twenty-four-hour print shop at the corner. I went in and printed something. Sarah had brought me dinner today: a box of pan-fried dumplings and a cup of soy milk. Eight dollars. As I ate, I saw a new email on her screen. The sender was Mr. Stark’s assistant from Knight Industries. The subject line read: “Formal Notification Regarding Product Stability Issues.” I paused, chewing my dumpling. Formal notification. Not a complaint ticket, not a phone complaint—a formal letter with a company seal. This meant Knight Industries no longer intended to resolve this issue internally. Sarah forwarded the email to Old Man Jenkins. Old Man Jenkins read it for a long time, then sighed. “I’ll forward it to the product department.” He cc’d Eleanor. Three days passed. No reply. 4 Mr. Stark from Knight Industries called the customer service department directly. Sarah answered, and I, sitting nearby, heard everything clearly. “I want to speak with Luna Vance.” Sarah covered the mouthpiece and looked at me. I hesitated for two seconds, then took the call. “Mr. Stark, this is Luna Vance.” Silence on the other end for three seconds. “I called your old extension, and they said you’d been transferred.” “Yes, I’ve been transferred to the customer service department.” More silence. “Luna, I’ll be frank with you. That new guy, Adrian, who came to present the proposal last time, stumbled over his PPT and couldn’t answer a single one of my three technical questions.” “I’m not in a position to comment on that.” “I’m not asking for your comment. I’m telling you, a big part of why we signed off on this project was your expertise. With you gone, it’s very difficult for me to explain this to the board.” “Mr. Stark, discussing the renewal with Ms. Hayes would be more appropriate.” He let out a cold laugh. “Ms. Hayes? At the last meeting, she couldn’t even grasp our industry jargon, just kept repeating ‘strategic empowerment’ and ‘ecological closed loop.’ Luna, to put it bluntly, if your company maintains this attitude, I cannot sign an eight-million-dollar renewal.” He hung up. I put down the phone. Sarah looked at me, her eyes wide. I shook my head at her. That afternoon at 2 PM, Eleanor called an online meeting. The product department, technology department, and customer service department were all required to attend. The topic was “Knight Industries Project Renewal Advancement Plan.” Old Man Jenkins pulled me to a corner of the third-floor conference room, with his laptop speaker on. Eleanor’s voice came through the speaker, full of vigor: “Knight Industries is the most important renewal client this year. Everyone must cooperate fully.” Adrian reported on the renewal plan. Eleanor asked a few details, and he answered vaguely. Eleanor smoothed things over, “Adrian just took over, and some historical details are still being sorted out. Please bear with him.” Then she said, “Customer service, have you received any feedback from Knight Industries recently?” Old Man Jenkins turned on his mic. “Yes, they sent a formal notification last week regarding the stability issues of the data analysis system. I forwarded it to the product department, but have not yet received a reply.” Silence in the meeting for two seconds. Eleanor’s voice changed tone. “What notification? I didn’t see it.” “Ms. Hayes, the email was sent last Wednesday. I cc’d you.” Eleanor didn’t address this. She said, “For technical issues reported by clients, customer service should first pacify them. Specific technical details will be followed up by the product department. Luna, you were previously responsible for this client and are familiar with their habits. Please cooperate with Adrian to handle client pacification.” Cooperate. Pacify. Credit to the product department, dirty work to customer service. I pressed the microphone button. “Ms. Hayes, the client’s feedback isn’t about usage habits; it’s a concurrency handling flaw at the system’s core. I’ve compiled the past six months of complaint data, and three hundred and nine tickets point to the same module. This isn’t something pacification can solve.” Eleanor’s voice grew cold. “Luna, technical judgments are for the product and technology departments to make. Customer service should stick to your responsibilities.” “Understood.” I turned off my mic. Old Man Jenkins glanced at me, saying nothing. After work, I didn’t leave. I reorganized all the complaint data, creating a comprehensive analysis report. Charts, timelines, fault frequency curves, number of affected clients. Twelve pages. I saved two copies. One in the customer service shared folder on the company server. One in my own cloud drive.

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After my reincarnation, when McVeigh’s student deliberately locked me in the MRI machine again, I neither cried nor made a scene. I simply closed my eyes calmly and slept. After all, in my previous life, because I was trapped in the MRI for six hours, I, in my anger, went to the hospital to complain about McVeigh’s student, Chloe. After Chloe lost her medical license, McVeigh hated me. He retaliated against me cruelly, as if I were an enemy, not only forcing a divorce where I left with nothing, but even when I was diagnosed with brain cancer and desperately needed him, a nationally renowned brain cancer expert, to save my life, he showed no mercy. He even warned all his former students not to treat me. Finally, penniless and nearly despairing from brain cancer, I crashed my car at the entrance of the house that had once been our marital home, ending my life. So, in this new life, sleeping for six hours in an MRI machine is nothing. It’s okay, as long as I can receive McVeigh’s treatment and survive. 1 When I opened my eyes again, it was McVeigh who woke me. He looked at me in horror. “Elle, how… how are you stuck in the MRI?” In my previous life, McVeigh also entered the examination room at this moment. However, he had been drawn by my screams. So, in that life, the moment McVeigh released me, I, having lost all reason, charged hysterically at McVeigh’s assistant, Chloe, the instant my feet touched the ground. I slapped her across the face. Chloe’s lip bled from the impact. Yet, she didn’t defend herself, only wept and repeatedly apologized. But how could I have listened then? After all, when Chloe had locked me in the MRI, she had provocatively told me: “Mrs. Thorne, you’re so annoying, always stopping the professor from teaching me how to write my papers.” “You can just reflect on yourself in the MRI machine.” With that, she left the examination room. No matter how loudly I screamed, no matter how hysterically I struggled and cried, Chloe never re-entered the examination room. So, how could I have listened to her apologies? After slapping her, I angrily accused her. “Apologize? You dare apologize to me? You deliberately locked me in the MRI for six whole hours.” “Do you think crying and saying sorry twice can make up for it?” “Chloe, you don’t deserve to be a doctor. I’m going to complain about you to the hospital. I’ll make sure you can never practice medicine again.” After roaring in anger, I rushed out of the examination room. Even when McVeigh followed behind me, trying to calm me, begging me, even threatening me with divorce if I reported her, I didn’t listen. I just angrily kicked open the door to their complaints office. Even when the head of their administration department smoothly tried to persuade me not to pursue it, I simply threatened them, saying if they didn’t fire Chloe, I would go to the reporters. Finally, I got what I wanted: Chloe was fired from the hospital. But what happened in the end…? A painful ache spread through my chest. As I lost myself in memories, McVeigh had already unfastened the restraints on me. This time, I chose not to make a scene as I had in the previous life. As I was released from the MRI, McVeigh, just like before, nervously tried to explain to me. “Please, let me explain, Elle. Chloe was just inexperienced. I happened to call her away, and she forgot you were in the examination room. She didn’t do it on purpose.” “She’s young; give her a chance to make mistakes.” I merely glanced calmly at Chloe, who had been crying since the examination room. I picked up my coat from a nearby chair, put it on, and then smiled gently and empathetically. “Don’t worry, I understand. Interns make mistakes; it’s perfectly normal.” “I only spent six hours in the MRI. I don’t feel bad; I was just tired, so I fell asleep in there.” “Oh, and I have something to do. I’m going home now.” With that, I didn’t look at McVeigh, but turned and walked out of the examination room. After all, what was there to say? In my previous life, after Chloe was fired from the hospital, McVeigh divorced me because of my “malice.” After the divorce, he went to work at another hospital, on the condition that Chloe could practice medicine there. And I? I not only received no divorce settlement, but my initial headache, which had led me to the hospital for an examination and consequently got me trapped in the MRI by Chloe, soon turned out to be brain cancer. The moment I was diagnosed with brain cancer, I immediately went to McVeigh’s hospital and booked an appointment with him. He was a national authority on brain cancer, and we had once been deeply in love. Even if he hated me, he wouldn’t truly watch me die. But to my surprise, the instant he saw me, McVeigh tore up my medical records. “You still dare to come to me? You almost ruined Chloe’s career as a doctor.” “Do you know how hard it is to study medicine? Eight years, how many medical texts do you need to memorize, how many bitter nights does that entail?” “But you? You were only locked in the MRI for six hours, and you wouldn’t let it go, almost making Chloe lose her chance to be a doctor.” At that time, my headache was severe. I could only cry and tell McVeigh that he misunderstood me. I wasn’t there to cause trouble; I was truly sick. But hearing my words, McVeigh sneered at me. “Oh, brain cancer, huh? Good. That’s what you get for your wickedness.” Afterward, to get back at me, he even called all his former students right in front of me, one by one, forbidding any of them from treating me. At the end of my life, penniless and unable to get a specialist appointment, I could only stab myself repeatedly with a fruit knife into my emaciated body. Desperate for a full night’s sleep, I swallowed dozens of ibuprofen pills. In those final moments, the pain became unbearable. I sought McVeigh out again. But by then, he was already embracing Chloe, sweetly dating and intimately kissing her in the home I had once meticulously nurtured, using the bowls I bought and the wine glasses I carefully selected. The last scene of my life was McVeigh kneeling and proposing to Chloe. And I, my head throbbing as if being torn apart by a drill, unable to bear the pain, crashed my car into the entrance of the home I had once poured all my efforts into. So in this life, what’s six hours in an MRI? Those six hours are nothing compared to life itself. 2 After leaving the examination room, I immediately went to the garage and drove straight home. Once home, I called the hospital and rebooked a full body check-up for myself. But just as I hung up the hospital phone, McVeigh, for some reason, suddenly returned. He held a bouquet of flowers and a cake. “You must have been scared today. I bought your favorite strawberry cake.” With that, he took off his suit and unwrapped the cake box. Watching the tenderness that enveloped his eyes, my chest ached again. In my previous life, McVeigh had also bought these flowers and cake, but it was to beg me to drop the complaint against Chloe. Yet, it was worth noting that McVeigh had never sent me flowers or cake since he met Chloe. He often even forgot our wedding anniversary and my birthday. That’s why in my previous life, realizing his unusual behavior towards Chloe, I had been so relentless with her. My heart ached almost to suffocation, but in an instant, I calmly smiled. “I’m sorry, my stomach feels a bit off, so I won’t eat your strawberry cake.” “And the flowers too, I don’t like red roses, so you can give them to Chloe.” I was really telling the truth. After all, I had a big medical check-up tomorrow, and keeping a 24-hour fast was essential. Flowers? They sickened me. In my previous life, when I died, when he proposed to Chloe, he had filled the villa we lived in with these very red roses. But McVeigh, frowning slightly, walked towards me. “You’re just deliberately trying to pick a fight, aren’t you?” “I have so many surgeries all day long; I’m half-dead from exhaustion, and I still have to come home to coax you. Can you please stop overreacting and dwelling on one small thing?” “I already explained to you at the hospital, Chloe is an intern; it’s normal for her to make mistakes.” “But you, you just walked out of the hospital with a sour face.” “Fine, I tolerated that, specifically bought flowers and a cake to come home and coax you, and you’re still giving me the cold shoulder.” My heart felt so weary. But I calmly met McVeigh’s gaze. “Believe it or not, I’m really not angry, nor am I being unreasonable, and I’m not giving you the cold shoulder either.” “I was in the MRI for six hours, and I’m genuinely exhausted, so all I want to do now is sleep.” With that, I didn’t look at McVeigh again, turned and went back to my room, locking the door securely. When I came out again, McVeigh was gone. Instead, my WeChat was constantly being bombarded with messages. This was Chloe’s habit. Whenever she was with McVeigh, she would continuously send me photos of her life with him. She treated me like a file transfer assistant. In my previous life, this was why I had thrown such a huge tantrum out of jealousy when Chloe trapped me in the MRI. But now, looking at the photos Chloe sent, I didn’t curse her as I usually would. Instead, I very sincerely commented: “Your phone angle is wrong. McVeigh’s side profile looks better. Remember to hold your phone higher next time when you take pictures.” “Also, look at the negative space in your photos. It should be less, so you and McVeigh can look more intimate.” As soon as I sent the WeChat message, Chloe replied. “You’ve been hacked.” I sent her a smiling emoji. “No, just wanted to let you know, McVeigh is yours.” With that, I blocked Chloe’s WeChat. This current triangular ownership situation is perfectly fine. I want the status of Mrs. Thorne, so McVeigh will treat my illness. McVeigh’s body and presence? If Chloe wants them, I’ll give them to her. Not like my foolish self in the last life, who only wanted McVeigh’s love. 3 After dealing with Chloe, I lay on the bed, calmly closing my eyes. But that night, even though I had been reincarnated, I still didn’t sleep well. Just like when I had cancer in my previous life, I kept dreaming of my past with McVeigh. When he was a child, McVeigh was often beaten by his special education teacher mother because he was introverted and didn’t like to talk. Often at midnight, when I had already slept, he would still be wearing thick glasses, doing test papers, while his mother stood by with a stick. Every time he made a mistake, his mother would raise the stick and hit him hard on the back. Living across from him, every time I saw him being beaten by his mother in the middle of the night, I felt so sorry for him. So whenever I got candy, I would secretly slip it into his backpack on the way to school, then smile and say to him, “McVeigh, when your back hurts, eat one.” The first time I gave McVeigh candy, his face flushed red. It wasn’t until I had run a hundred meters away that he stammered in a low voice, “I… I don’t eat candy.” And I just waved back with a smile. “McVeigh, you should talk more, your voice is really nice.” After that, it seemed to become a habit. McVeigh, who had always been a loner, got used to waiting for me, and used to me slipping candy into his backpack. And so, in that small alley outside our neighborhood, McVeigh and I walked through countless springs, countless summers, countless winters together. Until he was 18, McVeigh, who got into a top university as the county’s top scholar, nervously handed me a school number, pushing up his glasses. “I looked up this school. It’s very close to mine, only a ten-minute walk. Your scores aren’t enough for a bachelor’s degree, but you could do an associate’s degree.” I looked at his awkwardness. I didn’t tell him that my parents had an emergency meeting the night before, after getting my college entrance exam scores, saying that even if I had to go to a third-tier university, I had to get a bachelor’s degree; our family could afford it. After that, I secretly changed my college application without telling my parents. Even though the ultimate price was a beating from both my mother and father, I never regretted it. Later, McVeigh and I went to university in the same city. His life, after leaving his mother, seemed to take a miraculous turn. He removed his thick glasses and put on contacts, changed his buzz cut to curly hair, and even his fashion began to change. He shed his plaid shirts for white ones. His perpetually black sneakers became white athletic shoes. I didn’t know why McVeigh had undergone such a transformation until I once again shrieked with excitement because my favorite celebrity was coming to my university city for a concert. McVeigh, with reddened eyes, grabbed me. “I’ve become the person you like for you, but you still can’t like me?” The word “like” hammered into my chest like a heavy blow. Even though we attended different schools, I had heard of McVeigh’s legend: a medical genius, who at only freshman year had apprenticed under a nationally renowned neurosurgeon. By his sophomore year, he was interning at a hospital through his mentor’s recommendation. And because of his sudden change in appearance, a group of women even created a forum dedicated to documenting McVeigh’s transformation. I had always thought there was an ocean between us, and we would forever remain just friends, but then McVeigh told me he liked me. Being the thick-skinned person I was, I didn’t think twice before rising on my tiptoes and impulsively kissing McVeigh. After that, we started dating. My main focus became feeding McVeigh all sorts of bubble tea, sweets, and desserts that I liked. I had no life plan; every day was either about figuring out what McVeigh would eat, drink, or what we would do for fun. McVeigh’s life, meanwhile, continued its miraculous trajectory, publishing multiple papers during his graduate studies. Immediately after earning his doctorate, he was recruited by a prestigious top-tier hospital. In stark contrast to McVeigh’s life, my own seemed to be cursed afterward. I failed to transfer from my associate’s to a bachelor’s degree. After graduating from college, I lived solely on McVeigh’s allowance. Even my parents, who had adored me since childhood, tragically died in a car accident on their way to visit me in the hospital for pneumonia two years after I graduated. As an orphan, I cried until my tears soaked their bodies. McVeigh, kneeling beside my parents’ corpses, swore to me in his mother’s gloomy, hateful gaze that he would take care of me for the rest of his life. McVeigh and I got married. I had multiple miscarriages; each pregnancy ended in loss. Until later, Chloe became McVeigh’s assistant. He started to disdain me, calling me shallow. All I did all day was ask him what to eat and drink. Unlike Chloe, who could talk about medicine and surgeries with him. My eyes welled up with tears. When I opened them, I realized the day had already broken. And just like in my previous life, my pillow was soaked with tears. Just then, McVeigh’s WeChat message came through. “Going to the nursing home to see my mom this afternoon.” 4 Seeing McVeigh’s message, I calmly replied, “I’m busy today, no time.” McVeigh immediately called. “What are you doing today?” “Elle, how many times do I have to tell you, Chloe and I have nothing going on. Why do you insist on clinging to a small issue and not letting it go?” Hearing McVeigh mention Chloe again, a sneer touched my lips. McVeigh, ever since becoming a doctor, had grown accustomed to speaking concisely. This was the first time he clung to an issue so stubbornly. So, was he trying to convince himself that he hadn’t developed feelings for Chloe, or was he trying to lessen his guilt towards me? My chest ached with a tremor, but I calmly explained to McVeigh again, “McVeigh, I’m not feeling well. I need to go to the hospital for a check-up. I truly can’t accompany you to see your mom today.” “Also, your mom has a heart condition, and she’s always disliked me. Isn’t it better if I don’t go to the nursing home and upset her? And doesn’t your mom really like Chloe? She says only someone of Chloe’s status is worthy of you. Just let her go with you.” I truly meant well in advising McVeigh, but to my surprise, McVeigh lost his temper again. “Elle, just keep acting out.” With that, he hung up. Listening to his abrupt hang-up, a sneer once again crossed my lips. See? This is the difference between love and not love. After all, the McVeigh who once loved me would frantically ask if he’d done something wrong to upset me whenever I showed even a hint of a wronged expression. But now, the McVeigh who no longer loves me still thinks I’m being unreasonable, even when I genuinely offer advice.

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My father’s company was facing a cash flow crisis, so I went to my ex-husband for help. Seeing me approach, he put down his documents and looked at me intently. “We’ve been divorced for three years. What makes you think I’d help you?” I pointed to my slightly rounded abdomen: “This baby inside me.” He chuckled at that. “Scarlett Goldsberry, if you’re going to lie, at least come up with a better reason. Whose child takes three years to be born?” At his words, I scoffed, turning to leave before he could say another word. But who would have thought, that very night, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. [Hey, you still there? I was actually drunk earlier today. I didn’t mean what I said.] [You wanted to borrow money, right? I’ll agree. And I’ll consider the child too.] [Why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t you want my money anymore?] “Please, I beg you. I’ll raise the child—just don’t go looking for anyone else, okay?” 1. The day my father told me our company was facing bankruptcy, I happened to run into Chris Davies. He was impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, exuding an air of powerful confidence. A swarm of hopeful investors circled him, showering him with praises. He was a stark contrast to the skinny, blue-and-white uniform-clad boy I’d known years ago. To gain his favor, some sycophants chugged their drinks; others subtly slipped him photos and hotel key cards, their faces alight with suggestive smiles. Chris, however, politely but firmly declined each overture. Those rebuffed didn’t dare show anger, merely resuming their obsequious grins. “Mr. Davies has impeccable taste; common gold-diggers certainly won’t catch his eye. And speaking of poor judgment, those who once overlooked true talent are definitely getting their comeuppance now.” Before Chris could even open his mouth, someone nearby chimed in. “Who are we talking about? The Goldsberrys, perhaps, on the brink of ruin?” “Who else would have such terrible foresight, casting aside a talent like Mr. Davies?” As the other party in their little conversation, I stood not far off, taking it all in. Chris Davies and I were high school classmates. Back then, I was Scarlett Goldsberry, the Goldsberry family heiress, while he was a struggling student whose family barely scraped by on recycling to pay his tuition. But there was no heartwarming tale of me coming to his rescue. In fact, I often teased and bossed Chris around. Even with the demanding high school curriculum, I’d order him to write my notes and do my homework. I found him attractive, so I didn’t let up in college either, constantly making him run errands for me, and practically coerced him into marrying me before graduation. A few years into our marriage, the novelty wore off, and I filed for divorce. Who would’ve thought that three years later, Chris’s company would skyrocket, while our family business spiraled, teetering on the edge of collapse? Chris’s expression remained unperturbed by their taunts, leaving his admirers unsure of his mood. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t openly mocking me after hearing about my misfortunes. Chris was still a decent man. That meant there might still be a glimmer of hope. I’d tried to schedule a meeting with him to secure an investment, but his secretary always claimed he was too busy. My only shot was to corner him at tonight’s gala. Finally, I caught Chris alone as he headed to the restroom. I simply waited by the door, and the moment he emerged, I rushed forward. “Chris Davies, I need to talk to you!” The man, who had been washing his hands, met my gaze in the mirror before quickly averting his eyes. He didn’t speak until he’d finished, meticulously drying his hands with a paper towel. “What is it?” “Can we find somewhere private to talk?” “No, I’m busy.” His dismissive tone made me even more anxious, but given the urgency of my situation, I didn’t care that we were standing outside a restroom. I blurted out, “Our company has a promising project. I was wondering if you’d be interested in investing.” “Why on earth would I invest in your project?” 2. I expected him to at least ask about the project, but instead, he uttered that cold, almost petulant remark. “For old times’ sake.” “What old times?” My lips trembled, and after a long silence, I finally spoke. “Chris… hey, hey, don’t walk away!” Seeing him turn to leave, I quickly blocked his path. Chris’s assistant appeared just then, handing him a document. He signed it with swift efficiency, finally sparing me a glance. “We’ve been divorced for three years, Scarlett. What makes you think I’d help you?” Considering how ugly our divorce had been, it was a testament to his character that he wasn’t mocking me now, but actually speaking to me. But I was out of options. After much thought, I pointed to my slightly swollen abdomen. “This child.” His assistant’s eyes widened, darting between Chris and me. Chris’s face grew darker and darker. Just as I thought he was about to explode and walk away, he forced a smile. “Scarlett Goldsberry, if you’re going to lie, at least come up with a better reason. Whose child takes three years to be born? Do you think he’s some kind of mythical hero?” I was about to explain, but he cut me off. “You haven’t forgotten how you treated me back then, have you? You pressured me into marriage, then forced a divorce when my feelings were strongest, playing me like a fool. Are you still trying to make a fool of me?” Chris’s voice grew louder, and people around us started to stare. My face burned, and I wished I could vanish into thin air. “Can you believe Scarlett Goldsberry still has the nerve to approach Chris Davies?” “Seriously, she forced him to marry her back then, almost drove his mother to her grave, and now she’s shamelessly begging for a partnership.” “If I were Chris, I’d kick her out.” I stood frozen as the whispers around me intensified. Meeting Chris’s gaze, I finally conceded defeat, turning to leave before he could say anything more. That evening, back home, my father eagerly asked about the situation. I could only sigh in defeat. “Maybe you should send Chris another message?” “No, it’s no use. He made himself perfectly clear.” Besides, even though I’d unblocked him, there was no guarantee he hadn’t blocked me. Why torment myself further? Before bed, I scrolled through my social media. Under a picture I’d posted yesterday of scattered documents, captioned, “Life’s a tough climb,” my childhood friend, Leo Green, had just commented. “I heard about your family’s situation. Don’t panic, I’ll help you.” Knowing his family couldn’t solve my current predicament, I joked, asking if he’d won the lottery. Leo immediately replied, “What’s to be afraid of? Worst case, I’ll just tell my parents I’m getting married and make them foot the bill. You can help me spin the story.” I chuckled at his cheeky remark, finally feeling a little lighter. Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a flurry of messages popped up. [Hey, you still there? I was actually drunk earlier today. I didn’t mean what I said.] [You wanted to borrow money, right? I’ll agree. And I’ll consider the child too.] [Why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t you want my money anymore?] [Please, I beg you. I’ll raise the child—I don’t care if he’s a hero or a demon—I’ll raise him. Just don’t go looking for anyone else, okay?] 3. I stared at the messages, rubbing my eyes, seriously wondering if Chris’s account had been hacked. Before I could react, Chris’s call came through. “Are you asleep? Did you see my messages? I’ve thought about it. I’ll raise the child.” “And the investment…” “No problem, I’ll invest thirty million tomorrow. But I have one condition.” I took a deep breath, telling myself that no matter how harsh the condition, I had to agree. This was our family’s only chance. “What condition?” “Tomorrow morning at nine, meet me at City Hall. We’re getting married.” I froze, repeating it incredulously. “Married? Us?” “That’s right. Technically, we’re remarrying. Bring all your documents. See you at City Hall.” Chris’s call kept me awake almost all night. The next morning, I asked my dad for our family record book. He immediately clutched my arm, wailing. “Oh, Scarlett, please don’t! I know I failed you, running the company into the ground, but you can’t disown your own father because of this!” “I’m not disowning you.” “Then why do you need the family record book? You’re not trying to sever our father-daughter ties, are you?” I lowered my head, silent for a moment, then spoke softly, “I’m going to remarry Chris Davies.” My dad gasped, taking a step back. “Scarlett, you really don’t have to go this far for me. You broke up with him back then; Chris probably hates your guts. He might even torment you.” “It’s fine. I accept it.” With low marriage rates, City Hall had no queues. Chris and I arrived at nine, and within half an hour, the paperwork was done. As I held the marriage certificate, I felt a moment of unreality. How did I end up back with him? I opened the certificate, feeling the official seal was slightly crooked, and turned to ask the clerk. “Excuse me, this…” “Once you’re married, there’s no going back.” Before I could even ask, Chris grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of City Hall. I hadn’t had a chance to speak when his phone rang in his pocket. “Chris, where are you right now? I brought you breakfast, but everyone at the office said they haven’t seen you.” It was Penny Miller’s voice. I couldn’t believe she was still clinging to Chris. They were childhood friends, I remembered Chris introducing me to his friends years ago, and Penny’s face had fallen. Then, when we got married, Penny had gotten so drunk at the wedding she almost crashed her car on the way home that night. I looked up. The person on the phone was still whining, asking for Chris’s location. He remained unfazed, speaking softly into the phone. “City Hall.” “Scarlett and I remarried.” 4. Penny Miller was fast. Chris and I had barely sat down for breakfast at a nearby diner when she burst in, rushing over to our table. “Chris, did you really remarry?” Penny was panting, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her gaze darted between us, finally zeroing in on me. “It’s all because of you! Everyone knows your family’s about to go bankrupt, and you still want Chris to clean up your mess! You’re so heartless!” I said nothing, merely looking at Chris. His teacup was set down on the table with a soft clink. Penny instantly shut up, nervously watching Chris. “This is my business, Penny. It has nothing to do with you.” “But…” She started to protest, but Chris cut her off with a look. After getting our marriage certificate, we each headed back to our respective companies. Before leaving, Chris gave me a gate code, telling me to move into his house today. “Today? Already?” “Can you call a couple who doesn’t live together a couple?” I was speechless. Penny, beside me, was fuming but dared not speak. So, that day, I packed my things and moved to Chris’s address. But Chris didn’t come home that night. The social circle was small. A few inquiries quickly told me Chris was at a bar. Someone sent me a video: Chris was in a booth, drinking, with Penny chattering incessantly beside him. “Chris, why did you suddenly get married? What’s so great about Scarlett Goldsberry anyway?” “You’re not leaving tonight.” Chris tilted his head, avoiding the drink she offered, but didn’t argue with her words. Oh, so that’s how it is. All men are the same, aren’t they? Get a wife, then leave her hanging. Without a word, I marched straight to the bar, kicked open the door, and the music in the private room screeched to a halt. “Chris Davies, home!” I glared at the startled man on the couch, ignoring everyone’s strange looks, and practically dragged him to his feet. “I’m telling you, a married man needs to act like one. From now on, if you’re not home by eleven, don’t bother coming back.” As I tugged his tie, preparing to leave, someone nearby rushed to stop us. “Wait, wait, let’s just sit down and talk this over nicely.” The person blocking us had a cigarette clutched in their hand, its smell, mixed with alcohol, made me want to gag. “Snuff that out.” Without a second thought, the person flicked the cigarette into an ashtray. Penny, seeing this, shot up from her seat. “Scarlett Goldsberry, what’s your deal? Why does everyone have to listen to you?” “Because I’m pregnant, and any decent person wouldn’t smoke in front of a pregnant woman, right?” Everyone’s faces changed, and they immediately looked at Chris. Chris calmly said, “My apologies, everyone. My wife is here to pick me up, so I need to head home. Also, any gatherings that won’t finish by eleven, please don’t invite me.” I was extremely pleased with Chris’s prompt understanding. I dragged him out of the bar. But we had barely walked a few steps when Penny came running after us from behind. “Wait, Chris, how could you? Don’t you remember? Today’s my birthday!” So it was Penny’s birthday. No wonder it was such a lively gathering. “Stop! Scarlett Goldsberry, have you no shame?” Penny rushed forward, blocking our way, her gaze fixed on my stomach. “You’re pregnant and you still married Chris? Don’t you think that’s incredibly unfair?” “Oh really? I don’t think so.” I even glanced at Chris. “He knows I’m pregnant too.” 5. Penny froze, her face a mask of disbelief. “What? Chris, you know she’s pregnant?” “Yes, I know.” Penny fell completely silent. I was putting Chris into the car, about to leave, when she, still not giving up, ran to block us. “Scarlett Goldsberry, everyone knows you’re only with Chris for his money. Beggars can’t be choosers, so why are you acting so arrogant and bossy?” I leaned against the car door, smiling at her. “Well, Chris hasn’t said anything, has he? He hasn’t demanded that I grovel. And he was the one who initiated the marriage, you know.” As Penny’s face grew paler, I made sure to deliver the crucial blow. “Oh, and by the way, he chose to remarry me, not be with you.” Penny swayed, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked at Chris. “Why? Chris, don’t you understand how I feel about you? She’s carrying someone else’s child; don’t you care?” Chris remained silent, but I saw his clenched fists. He turned, his gaze sweeping over my face, then my stomach, before quickly looking away. “I don’t care.” A simple sentence, carried away by the wind, yet it struck a heavy blow to Penny’s heart. She stumbled back a few steps, collapsing to the ground, and finally burst into tears. Unfortunately, my only response was to ruthlessly close the car door and drive away. To be honest, I was just as perplexed about Chris wanting to marry me again, so I couldn’t help but ask him. “Why did you marry me?” There was no reply. The man beside me seemed to be asleep. I turned my head to look at him, meeting his gaze, so I asked again. “Why did you marry me?” “To make you regret it.” I raised an eyebrow, puzzled, waiting for him to elaborate. “Scarlett Goldsberry, you’ll see the difference between our two marriages. I’ll make you regret divorcing me.” “What kind of differences exactly? Tell me, so I can prepare myself.” Chris scoffed. “Before, I’d buy groceries and cook right after work. I’m telling you, that’s not happening anymore. I’ll hire a housekeeper, and you’ll never eat my cooking again.” “And I’ll go out once a week and won’t be home until ten-thirty. I won’t sit with you every night at eight to watch those cheesy soap operas.” “Also, I won’t cut your peeled apples into slices anymore. And those strawberries you love, where you eat the tip and I eat the bottom? From now on, you’ll eat the whole thing.” What… “vicious” punishments. I was too stunned to speak. Chris glanced at me triumphantly. “Hmph, scared now, aren’t you? This is the price for insisting on divorcing me.” It did sound quite terrifying. But compared to Chris wanting us to sleep in separate rooms, it was nothing. After we got home, Chris glanced at my belongings in the master bedroom, then, without a word, grabbed a pillow and blanket and went to another room. In the dead of winter, as a married woman, my bed was ice cold. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I barely slept that night, waking up with dark circles under my eyes. Chris had already left for work. I was sitting at the dining table, eating breakfast, when the housekeeper suddenly answered a call. “Hello? Did Mr. Davies leave a document in the study? Oh, okay, I’ll bring it over?” Hearing her, I put down my breakfast and offered, “Why don’t I take it?” It would be a good opportunity to check on the investment process at his company. On the other end of the line, Chris scoffed. “No need, I’ll send someone to pick it up.” But I didn’t expect that ‘someone’ to be Penny. As I opened the door, our eyes met. “How are you here?”

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He became a billionaire mogul, but I still acted like a spoiled brat. I treated him like a male model and a servant. Tonight, As Alan, his face dark, pushed hard, I suddenly saw comments scrolling: [Great, the antagonist is finally getting pregnant this time!] [The protagonist is an OB-GYN, and the antagonist, along with her brain-damaged son, are just tools to facilitate the protagonist couple’s romance.] [The male lead is finally divorcing to have a sweet romance with the protagonist!] I shuddered. I quickly pushed him away: “Stop!” “Stop it now!” 01 I pushed too hard. Alan, half-propped up, lost his balance and fell onto the bed. His custom-tailored shirt slid off. Revealing his sculpted chest. Pale. Seductive. A million times better than any male model’s physique. But a brain-damaged son? Absolutely not! I quickly looked down. Thank goodness. Not yet. I breathed a long sigh of relief. Alan got up, a slight frown on his face. His amber eyes, set in his distinguished, calm, handsome face, looked at me curiously. “What’s wrong? Not feeling well this time?” “We can try again.” Terrified, I quickly shook my head. “No, no, it’s fine.” “It’s getting late. You’ve had a long day. Let’s just get some rest.” Alan’s expression darkened a bit. A flicker of displeasure crossed his face. But quickly. He recomposed himself. “Alright, I’ll go downstairs and make up my bed then.” Go downstairs to make his bed? Where? I was confused. Then it dawned on me. When we first got married, I despised Alan for being dirt poor, only able to afford a cramped basement apartment, and a bed that was only a twin size. Every night after we were done, I’d kick him off the bed to sleep on the floor. I’d hog the entire bed. Over time, it became a habit. Even now that he was a successful entrepreneur, had moved into a huge mansion, and our bed was a luxurious king-size. I still preferred to have the entire bed to myself. Yet I wouldn’t let him sleep in the guest room next door, because I’d get scared at night. So he still slept on the floor in my room every night. Thinking of this. I felt a little guilty. No wonder the later plot had him falling in love with someone else. Who could endure such constant exploitation? [Why did it stop at the crucial moment? Did the antagonist have a change of heart today? Didn’t she used to cling to the male lead every time, treating him like a male model, forcing him to try different positions over and over again?] [So how is she going to get pregnant today? If she doesn’t get pregnant, when will she meet the protagonist?] [It stopped, it stopped. The male lead can get some rest. It’ll be the same if she gets pregnant next time.] [But next time, will it still be a brain-damaged child?] [Who knows…] I watched the comments for a while. Only then did I confirm that the “antagonist” they were referring to was indeed me. It sent another chill down my spine. Next time? Absolutely no next time! 02 The next morning. When I woke up, Alan was already up. The bedding on the floor had been neatly folded and put away. I quickly got dressed and out of bed. I removed my bedding from the bed, then carefully spread out his bedding on the bed. Then meticulously tidied it for him. After that, I tiptoed with my own bedding to the smallest guest room, furthest from the master bedroom. I thought to myself, I can’t cling to Alan for intimacy every day anymore. Nor can I make him sleep on the floor. Giving birth to a brain-damaged son or being kicked out of the mansion after divorce. I wanted neither. [What trick is the antagonist trying to pull now? Is she tired of sleeping in the master bedroom, so she’s slumming it in the tiny 100 sq ft guest room?] [The antagonist even made the male lead’s bed in the master bedroom. Is she planning to make him sleep on the floor in that small guest room after they’re done? Is she not even willing to give him his bedding now? That’s so evil!] [This terrible plot is infuriating. Every time they’re intimate, we only see the male lead and antagonist’s faces. We’ve paid money, why can’t we see? If he’s sleeping on the floor in the small guest room without bedding, won’t we finally get to see the male lead’s perfect body?] I ignored the misunderstanding in the comments. I was just annoyed that they were trying to peek at Alan’s body. He was my man. Why should they get to see him? After tidying the guest room. I went downstairs. Just in time to see Alan, wearing a pink apron, meticulously preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating his broad-shouldered, long-legged back. Casting a perfect, domestic glow around him. I’d stared blankly at that physique countless times. Such a perfect man, and he was mine. But now. He was about to not be mine. Thinking this, my chest suddenly felt tight. A little ache. Seeing me come downstairs, Alan looked a little surprised. “Up so early today?” “Breakfast will be ready soon. I’ll go to the bathroom and prepare your wash water and toothpaste in a bit. You can sit down and wait for now.” I quickly shook my head and waved my hands. “No, no, it’s fine.” “I’ll wash my face and brush my teeth myself. You don’t need to prepare it for me.” With that. I rushed to the bathroom without stopping. Afraid that Alan really couldn’t stand me anymore. And would ask for a divorce. Of course. I was also afraid that after a divorce, I’d lose my mansion, my luxury car. My quality of life would plummet. Alan stood in the kitchen with the spatula. Watching my hasty retreat into the bathroom, he paused for a few seconds. Soon. I came back in a hurry. Looking at the half-prepared breakfast, I swiftly took the spatula from Alan’s hand. “You don’t have to get up early to make breakfast anymore.” “I’ll do it from now on.” [Hahahaha, so funny, the antagonist wants to get up early to make breakfast. Can that lazy pig even get up?] [Exactly. It’d be a miracle if she got up three days a year. The male lead is just too sentimental, too soft-hearted. The antagonist, relying on the fact that she was with him when he was poorest, demands he serve her like a servant every day. The male lead actually endured it for five years. If it were me, I’d have slapped her a long time ago.] [It’ll be great when the male lead meets the protagonist! Our protagonist is excellent at everything, both in public and at home. While her career is soaring, she also takes very good care of the male lead’s daily life. This kind of marriage is what successful men crave.] Alan, puzzled, gently touched my head. “What’s wrong with you?” “Are you feeling unwell?” I quickly interrupted him. Shaking my head so hard it almost came off. “I’m fine.” “I just feel really bad. You work so hard every day to earn money and support the family, and you still have to make breakfast for me.” “I want to learn to be self-sufficient from now on.” I thought to myself, if I’m more attentive. And sincerely apologize for my past haughtiness and immaturity. Even if he’s annoyed with me, even if he doesn’t love me anymore, even if he meets the so-called protagonist, he surely wouldn’t have the nerve to abandon his faithful wife, right? After all. His first pot of gold in his startup. Came from me selling the only house my parents left me. So even if he were to abandon me. Perhaps because of my good attitude, he’d compensate me with more money. Ensuring my quality of life. Perhaps it was because I’d acted on too many impulses before. Alan’s puzzled expression only lasted a few seconds. After I finished talking about self-sufficiency. His handsome eyes darkened. His voice, tinged with what sounded like regret, softly said, “Alright then.” “Whatever makes you happy.” 03 Evening. Alan arrived home promptly, according to the schedule I had set for him. He dutifully stepped through the front door with his right foot first. This was also one of my old rules. I belatedly realized how recklessly I had behaved in the past. After entering, Alan, holding freshly bought groceries, prepared to go to the kitchen to cook. But as he reached the dining room, he was surprised to find that I had already prepared dinner. I feigned domesticity. “Alan, come eat.” “I made your favorite braised fish.” “Try it and tell me if it’s good.” Alan sat down tentatively. He asked me anxiously, “What’s wrong with you today?” “Did you… did you put aphrodisiacs in the food?” I was speechless. I didn’t know how to explain, and for a moment, I lost my temper, huffing, “Yes, I did. Are you going to eat or not?” After realizing what I’d said, I immediately felt guilty and regretted it. I wished I could slap myself. Terrified, I quickly shut up and focused on eating. Alan said nothing more. He ate his meal diligently. Half an hour later. The dishes on the table were completely cleaned by the two of us. But Alan didn’t feel the effects of any supposed drug. Instead, he noticed I was gone first. He assumed I had gone back to the bedroom, so he followed. But upon returning to the bedroom. Alan was surprised to find his bedding neatly laid out on the bed. I was still nowhere to be found. Alan was puzzled, his head full of questions. He searched every room, finally finding me in the smallest guest bedroom. By then, I had already showered and snuggled under the covers. Alan entered the room. He half-knelt by my bed, asking softly, “Why are you here?” “Am I supposed to sleep on the floor here tonight? My bedding is on the master bed. Can’t I bring it in here?” I quickly shook my head. “No, no need for that.” “From now on, the big bed in the master bedroom is for you. I’ll sleep in this small room. This way, we can both get good rest.” Alan froze, unable to believe his ears. His handsome eyes watched me deeply. The tear mole at the corner of his eye was utterly captivating. His face darkened. He asked me in a cold voice, “Are you saying I wasn’t… diligent enough last night?” “Didn’t satisfy you?” “If not, I’ll make up for the positions we missed last night, tonight.” His tone was cold. But I clearly saw. His eyes held a restrained anticipation. And his hand slowly, honestly, unbuttoned his shirt. If this were before, I would have succumbed to that tempting sight and pounced on him. But now, I was terrified. I instinctively shrank back into the corner of the wall. Make up for what? Make up for a brain-damaged son? No, no. “Alan, get away.” “Get away now.” 04 Alan froze. He looked at me in disbelief. His eyes held confusion, shock, anger. And a hint of something barely perceptible, Disappointment? I cowered in the corner. Clutching my small blanket tighter. “Um, it’s getting late, and I’m pretty sleepy.” “You’ve had a long day too, you must be tired. Go back to sleep. Get some good rest. Goodnight.” [Is the antagonist crazy? She’s refusing to be intimate with the male lead? Didn’t she used to demand he use at least 108 different positions every night?] [It’s just playing hard to get. She’s so insatiable, how could she not? I bet she won’t last a minute before grabbing him, clinging to him and refusing to let him go.] [Exactly. I remember one time the male lead came back from a business trip after midnight, and the antagonist exploded. The male lead transferred thirty million to her and coaxed her for an hour, just to barely appease her. Even then, she punished him by making him try non-repeating positions all night!] [The male lead hates being intimate with her the most. He always does it with a dark face, just to avoid being clung to all night again. That’s why he comes home on time every day.] Alan was still standing there. Motionless. His tall, upright figure stood rooted like a statue. After a long silence. He finally turned and left, his face cold. Several seconds later. Once I was sure he was far away, I tiptoed out of bed. And quickly locked the door. The moment the lock clicked, the worry that had been weighing on my heart finally eased. I touched my stomach and breathed a long sigh of relief. Perfect. Safe, safe. [Huh? The antagonist is crazy! Not only did she not call out to the male lead, but she also locked the door?] [Something’s wrong. Shouldn’t the male lead be happy right now? After all, he doesn’t have to disgustingly humor the antagonist anymore. Why does he seem a little disappointed?] [The male lead isn’t disappointed. He’s suppressing his inner joy, not wanting the antagonist to see that he dislikes her.] [Why isn’t the protagonist getting pregnant yet? When is the protagonist going to appear? I can’t wait.] [Good things come to those who wait. The protagonist will definitely appear soon. Even if the antagonist can hold off tonight, I don’t believe she can hold off tomorrow night.] Outside the bedroom door. Alan’s footsteps suddenly stopped. He instinctively looked back. He heard the click of the guest room door locking. The unease in his heart grew stronger. From being pushed away last night, to taking the initiative to wash up this morning, and eagerly preparing breakfast and dinner. It all felt wrong. Alan couldn’t help but let his mind race. What is Scarlett trying to do? She’s never been like this before. Is she bored? Does she want a divorce? Thinking this. His expression grew even more despondent. 05 For the next while. I was looking for a job. Although Alan gave me a lot of money, and being a stay-at-home wife was comfortable and free. But before I saw those comments. I never realized my so-called freedom was built on Alan’s pain. I was reluctant to divorce. Reluctant to leave such a perfect man. But I had to find a fallback plan for myself. Before his disgust completely erupted. … According to the time I’d set on the job app, I arrived at a company in the east of the city for an interview. The interviewer was a chubby, middle-aged bald man. Everything was going well. He asked about my desired salary. I said five thousand. He suddenly sneered. “Do you think just because you’re somewhat attractive, you’re some high-society lady who doesn’t understand the struggles of the common people?” “You haven’t worked in five years, and you graduated from a mediocre university. You want five thousand a month? Are you dreaming?” I was shocked. Only five thousand. Is that a lot? It was precisely because I hadn’t worked in years that I didn’t dare ask for more. Before I met Alan, I earned eight thousand a month. Back then, Alan was just a poor graduate. He had nothing. I was a low-level worker bee who had already been working for a year. But I also had no money. The first time I saw Alan, the young man had clear eyes, a tall and lean figure, standing there, he was more dazzling than any movie star. I fell hopelessly in love. No one knew. The basement apartment we rented when we were dating, I actually paid for it. I dared to act the way I did because he truly treated me well. I could feel his intense and abundant love, and I was certain he wouldn’t leave me. That’s why I was so unrestrained. Three meals a day, cleaning, laundry, making the bed, organizing the wardrobe, bathing, even washing his feet and massaging his back. Alan took care of every single detail for me. Since my parents passed away when I was eight, It was the first time I dared to live so freely, like a giant baby. It wasn’t that I didn’t face criticism. I greedily indulged in such beauty. Like being intoxicated in a dream I didn’t want to wake from, I probed further, grew bolder. My demands became more excessive. But no matter how excessive I was, Alan never said no. Later. Alan started his own business. Seeing him struggling to raise money everywhere, I gritted my teeth and sold the only property my parents had left me in my hometown. Alan held me and cried for a long time that day. But he succeeded. In just one year, he multiplied the money I gave him tenfold. I remember very clearly. That day, he transferred all five million he had earned to my name. He reverently handed me the bank card. As if completing the signing of a contract. “Scarlett, marry me.” He bought flowers and a diamond ring, proposing grandly. And so. We moved out of the basement. And got married. 06 From then on. I quit my job and became a full-time wife. Alan’s company took off like a rocket. In just a few years, it grew from a small startup to an industry leader, successfully going public. Then it became a phenomenal and popular major company, a household name. Our little home also slowly changed from a three-bedroom apartment to a large condo. And now, to this grand mansion. Alan also became busier and busier. The smiles on his face grew fewer. I don’t know if I wanted to hold onto him, to prove that he still loved me as before. Or if I simply enjoyed being served and cared for by him. After he became a billionaire mogul, I didn’t rein myself in; instead, I escalated my demands. Thankfully. Although Alan was busy, he was willing to fulfill my unreasonable requests. I originally thought this was a sign that he still loved me. A sign that our love hadn’t soured. But I never imagined that Alan was already at his limit with me. I know it’s my fault, I was too much. But thinking about this. My heart still felt heavy. Like a large stone was pressing on my chest. It hurt so much.

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