1 At a dinner party with friends, someone raised their glass, smiling at me. “Violet, you and your husband are so deeply in love. Isn’t it about time to put a baby on the agenda?” I smiled softly, leaning naturally against Dante’s shoulder. “We’re just letting nature take its course. No rush.” Before the words even left my mouth, my best friend, Jessica, let out a sharp, amused laugh. “No rush? Well, I suppose that makes sense. After all, you did rush things once before, didn’t you?” She propped her chin in her hand and looked at Dante, her eyes shining with a strange, pitying light. “Don’t mind me, Dante. My mouth runs faster than my brain. I was just thinking about last year, when Violet secretly sneaked off to the hospital. I was the one who accompanied her through the whole thing.” A few people around the table exchanged quick, uneasy glances. The lively chatter died instantly. Jessica acted as if she hadn’t noticed the sudden tension, lazily swirling the ice cubes in her glass. “When it comes to babies, well, what’s meant to be will be. But sometimes, when the timing is wrong, you just have to… take care of it first.” She offered Dante a gentle, reassuring smile. “Don’t overthink it, Dante. Violet chose you, and that’s all that matters. As for what really happened last year, there’s no point in digging into the past, right?” … “Jessica, you’ve had too much to drink,” I cut in, keeping my smile tight. Jessica didn’t even look at me. Her eyes remained locked on Dante’s face, her tone airy. “I’m not drunk at all. I’m just hurting for Violet.” She finally turned her head and winked at me, as if we shared some intimate, secret code. “Right, Vi?” I didn’t answer. The others at the table scrambled to break the silence, someone raising a glass to change the subject, another pulling her arm to tell her to slow down. Dante remained silent the entire time. “Let’s go, Violet. It’s getting late.” Throughout the goodbyes, his social mask remained flawless. He nodded and bid everyone farewell, not skipping a single beat of politeness. But when he grabbed my hand, his grip was much tighter than usual, his knuckles turning white. We stepped out of the restaurant. In the dim alleyway outside, he let go of my hand. He opened his own car door without reaching for the passenger side. I walked around, climbed inside, and pulled the door shut. When we reached our apartment’s underground garage, he killed the engine but made no move to get out. “Last year,” he said. My breath caught in my throat. “When did you go to the hospital?” It wasn’t a question. It was a cold, flat demand. “Dante, listen to me…” “I asked you when.” The silence weighed heavily in the cramped car. “September last year,” I whispered. His knuckles cracked against the steering wheel. “How far along?” I opened my mouth, but my throat felt as if it were stuffed with dry cotton. “Eight weeks.” He turned his head to look at me, his gaze freezing. “Did you abort it?” “No.” My voice was trembling, the panic obvious even to me. “It was a miscarriage, Dante. I didn’t abort it. I couldn’t save it…” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” The question was softer than all his previous demands, but it cut deeper. I couldn’t answer. Because last year in September, he had been working until three in the morning every single night. The company’s funding round was on the verge of collapsing, and he was standing on the edge of a cliff. He would crash the second he got home, if he even came home at all. The night I started bleeding, I called him three times. His voice had been utterly exhausted, snapping quickly before I could speak: “Violet, everything is falling apart on my end. Don’t add to my mess right now. Whatever it is, we’ll talk tomorrow.” The next day, Jessica sat with me in the ER hallway all night. And he didn’t even know there was a next day. “I just…” “You just felt it wasn’t convenient to tell your own husband,” he finished for me, his voice dripping with a bitter sarcasm I had never heard from him before. “But it was convenient enough to tell Jessica.” “She only found out because she ran into me at the clinic, Dante.” “So she knew everything, and I am the last to know.” He let out a soft laugh. That laugh was far more terrifying than his silence. “What else am I the last to know?” “What is that supposed to mean?” “Nothing.” He pushed his door open, his leather shoes hitting the concrete floor. “Go on up. I need some air.” He leaned against the concrete pillar by our parking space, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. I didn’t even know he bought them. The lighter clicked twice before catching. He didn’t smoke. In our three years of marriage, he had never touched a cigarette. “Violet, you make me feel like a complete stranger in my own marriage.” I sat frozen in the passenger seat. Jessica’s final words at the dinner table kept echoing in my ears. There’s no point in digging into the past, right? It wasn’t a careless remark. I knew her too well. Jessica never said anything without a calculated purpose. “Vi, I am so, so sorry about last night.” Early the next morning, Jessica’s voice message arrived, her tone raspy as if she had been crying. “I really drank too much. You know how my mouth gets when I have wine. Are you and Dante okay? Please don’t let my stupid words cause a fight.” I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Outside, the morning light filtered into the living room, illuminating the blanket neatly folded on the sofa. Dante had slept in the living room. I typed out a quick reply: It’s fine, don’t worry about it. The second it sent, she replied: Really? Oh, thank goodness. It was followed by a hugging emoji. I placed my phone face down on the table. Dante stepped out of the bathroom, his hair damp. He walked past me without making eye contact. “Breakfast is on the stove, oatmeal and eggs.” “I’m not hungry.” He grabbed his car keys and walked toward the door, pausing. “Stay home today. I have some things to discuss with you tonight.” “About what?” The door clicked shut. My phone buzzed six times throughout the afternoon. Four check-ins from Jessica, one delivery notification, and one restricted number that hung up the moment I answered. At three in the afternoon, Jessica sent a long voice note. “Vi, I’ve been feeling sick with guilt all day. I shouldn’t have brought up the past in front of everyone. But my heart just breaks for you. You have no idea how terrified I was when I found you at the hospital. You looked like death itself, lying there so pale. I only wanted the others, and especially Dante, to understand how much pain you’ve carried, so he wouldn’t take you for granted.” She sighed, her tone dripping with carefully crafted vulnerability. “If you’re mad at me, I understand. But please don’t freeze Dante out. It’s not worth it.” I didn’t reply. At seven in the evening, Dante walked through the front door. He kicked off his shoes, sat on the sofa, and placed his phone on the coffee table. The screen was lit, displaying an open chat interface. “See for yourself.” I picked it up. The interface belonged to CarePortal, a medical consulting app. The sender’s username was “TruthFinder.” The first message was sent three months ago: Mr. Song, I’ve hesitated for a long time, but I believe you deserve to know. Your wife, Violet, underwent a procedure at Westside Women’s Hospital in September last year. I shouldn’t disclose the exact nature of the surgery, but I suggest you look into her medical files yourself. Some secrets are kept even from the person sharing your bed. I scrolled up. The second message was from two months ago: I don’t know if you saw my last message. Just to add: she was only accompanied by a female friend. You were not the one who signed the consent forms. The third was from a month ago: As an outsider, it’s not my place to judge. But don’t you find it strange? She still hasn’t mentioned a word of this to you. Does a wife hide a miscarriage from her husband unless there is some doubt about whose child it was? The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering against the edge of the coffee table. “Dante, who is this?” “I don’t know.” “And you just believed them? You believed some random anonymous account?” “When the first message came three months ago, I ignored it. When the second came, I still didn’t believe it.” He paused, his gaze burning into mine. “Until last night, when Jessica confirmed every single detail at that dinner table.” A loud buzzing filled my head. “So you actually think I’ve been sleeping around?” He didn’t answer. The heavy silence was answer enough. “Dante, look at me.” He raised his eyes. “That baby was yours. A week after that terrible fight we had last year, I found out I was pregnant. Before I could even process the joy, I started bleeding three days later. By the time I made it to the clinic, the doctor said it was already gone.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” “Because you told me not to! Have you completely forgotten what you said?” He knit his brows. “You snapped at me on the phone, telling me not to add to your mess and that we’d talk the next day. By the time you actually came home, I had already left the clinic. I didn’t know how to bring it up. Then, every day that followed felt like the wrong time. Eventually, I decided it was a burden I should carry alone.” He was silent for a long moment. “Violet, do you know what that sounds like?” I stared at him. “It sounds like a beautifully rehearsed script.” He took his phone back, locking the screen. “I’m going to look into this.” “Then do it. Dig until you find the truth.” “I will.” He stood up, pulled a spare blanket from the closet, and walked toward the living room. Halfway there, he stopped, his back still turned to me. “Get some sleep. I’ll be on the couch again.” “Excuse me, I need to pull my medical files from September last year. What’s the protocol?” First thing the next morning, I drove to Westside Women’s Hospital. The clerk behind the desk glanced up. “ID and insurance card. If you’re the patient, I can print them out immediately.” I handed over my cards. She typed into her system for a minute, then frowned. “Are you sure it was September?” “Yes. Admitted on September twelfth, discharged on the thirteenth.” She tapped her keys a few more times. “Violet Zhuang, right? The system shows these files were already requested and printed last month.” “What? By whom?” “I can only see that they were pulled. To see who requested them, you’ll have to submit a formal inquiry form.” A cold shiver ran down my spine as I stood at the window. Last month. That was right around the time Dante received the third anonymous message. I obtained the copies. There it was in black and white: Admitting Diagnosis: Threatened Miscarriage. Procedure: Dilation and Curettage. Discharge Diagnosis: Incomplete Miscarriage. It wasn’t an elective abortion. Every page clearly stated it was a spontaneous miscarriage. I snapped photos of the documents and sent them to Dante. Twenty minutes later, his reply came: Jessica told me you might try to falsify the records. My fingers trembled over the keyboard. I typed a reply, deleted it, typed another, and deleted that too. In the end, I sent nothing. Around noon, Jessica called. “Vi, I heard you went to the clinic today?” I squeezed my phone, keeping my voice as flat as possible. “How do you know that?” “Dante told me, of course. He was worried about you and asked if I knew what was going on.” “Dante contacted you?” “Yeah, he called this morning.” Her tone was incredibly casual. “Don’t be mad at him. He just doesn’t know how to talk to you right now, so he reached out to me.” “What did you tell him?” “What could I say? I’m not a doctor. I just told him the truth, that I was there with you last year, that you were in a really bad state, and that I didn’t know the exact medical details.” My grip tightened on the phone. “Jessica, you know exactly what you were doing at that dinner party.” The line went quiet for a couple of seconds. “Vi, you don’t seriously think I did that on purpose, do you?” Her voice softened into a hurt, delicate whisper. “I’m your best friend. If I didn’t care about you, why would I even bother?” “You said ‘what’s meant to be will be’ and ‘when the timing is wrong, you just have to take care of it.’ How do you think anyone would interpret that?” “Oh my god, Violet, I was trying to defend you! I wanted everyone to know how much you’ve struggled. Think about it, did I actually say you did anything wrong?” I opened my mouth, but no words came. She had trapped me perfectly. She hadn’t actually used words like “abortion” or “affair.” “Jessica, are you the one sending those anonymous messages?” “What anonymous messages?” She sounded genuinely baffled. “Vi, what are you talking about? What messages?” I had no proof. Absolutely none. “Never mind. It’s nothing.” “You’re worrying me. Are you under too much stress? Why don’t you come over to my place? We can talk. Don’t sit there spiraling on your own.” After hanging up, I sat on the sofa for a long time, numb. Later that evening, Dante’s mother, Eleanor, called. “Violet, Dante told me about what happened last year.” “Mom, about that…” “Let me finish first. September last year, an eight-week miscarriage. Is that correct?” “Yes.” “You know that at eight weeks, a miscarriage is usually due to chromosomal issues or progesterone deficiency. It’s a medical issue, nothing to be ashamed of. But choosing to hide it from my son, that is where the problem lies.” “Mom, back then I…” “I’m not trying to blame you. But Jessica shared some details with me, and I need to verify them.” My heart sank. “What did Jessica tell you?” “She said you hesitated for a long time before the procedure, debating whether to tell Dante.” “Yes, but that was only because…” “She also said the reason you ultimately chose silence was because you weren’t entirely sure of the child’s situation yourself.” A bomb went off in my brain. “Mom, she’s lying! That child was one hundred percent Dante’s! I have never…” “Violet, calm down.” Her voice remained perfectly measured, carrying the cold precision of a surgeon holding a scalpel. “I am not making any assumptions. But as a doctor, let me give you a piece of advice: if you are telling the truth, you had better find a way to prove it. Because right now, things look incredibly bad for you.” “We are having a family dinner this weekend. You and Dante will both attend, and we will clear this up in person.” The line went dead. My palms were slick with sweat. Dante’s text arrived right after: We’re going to my parents’ place for dinner this weekend. Be ready. I typed out a response: Dante, have you ever realized that you believe every single word that comes out of Jessica’s mouth, but you haven’t believed a single thing I’ve said? Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Over an hour passed before his three-word reply came: Just get ready. “You’re here? Come in.” Eleanor opened the door. The table was already set with dinner—a quiet family meal, no different from our usual weekend visits. Dante’s father, Richard, sat at the head of the table. Dante walked in ahead of me, kicked off his shoes, greeted his father, and sat straight down. He didn’t take my hand. He didn’t hand me a pair of indoor slippers. None of the small, attentive gestures he used to do were there today. “Sit down, Violet,” Eleanor said. “Mom,” I murmured, sitting directly across from Dante. Once the meal began, nobody mentioned the elephant in the room. I knew the more normal they acted, the worse it actually was. Sure enough, halfway through dinner, Eleanor set down her utensils. “Violet, let’s address the matter we discussed on the phone.” Richard glanced at his wife, quietly set down his bowl, and leaned back in his chair. “Please, Mom.” “Violet, Dante brought home the medical records you sent. I’ve looked them over. The admission and discharge diagnoses both state a miscarriage.” A faint warmth bloomed in my chest. “However,” Eleanor continued, “believing the file is only the first step. The deeper issue is why you chose to hide this from Dante.” “At the time, I…” “I know you have your reasons. But have you considered that your silence is exactly what allowed room for these rumors to fester? You are an adult, Violet. A marriage cannot survive when one partner makes these major decisions in total isolation.” Richard spoke up, his voice deep. “Eleanor, don’t put it all on her. Dante shares the blame here.” “I know my own faults,” Dante muttered, his eyes on his plate. “Do you?” Richard glared at him. “Your wife was carrying your child, lost it, and you as her husband didn’t have a single clue. You think that’s normal?” “That’s why I’m looking into it now.” “You call this looking into it?” Richard slammed his fork onto the table. “It’s been nearly two weeks and you’re sleeping on the couch. Your wife hands you her medical files to explain, and you won’t even look her in the eye. You call that normal?” The dining room fell into a tense silence. Dante kept his head down, refusing to argue. Eleanor sighed. “That’s enough, Richard. Let Violet speak.” She turned her steady gaze back to me. “Violet, I need to verify something. Jessica mentioned a few details to me that contradict your story.” “What details?” “She said that when you were in the emergency room, you told the nurse: ‘Can we skip this shot? I don’t want him to know.’” “I never said that.” “She claimed you were incredibly resistant to the treatment plan.” “I did speak to the nurse, but my exact words were: ‘I’m allergic to penicillin. Can we use something else?’” “The version she gave me was that you begged: ‘Can we not do the injection? I don’t want him to find out.’” My hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. Jessica had been there the entire time. I remembered my exact words with absolute clarity. She had altered just a few words, completely twisting the meaning. “Mom, she is distorting the truth.” “I have no way of knowing who is telling the truth,” Eleanor said, taking a sip of tea. “But I must tell you, the evidence is stacked against you. Those anonymous messages contained highly specific details about your night in the ER, details only someone who was physically present would know.” “Jessica was the only other person there,” I said, my voice rising sharper than I intended. “So you are accusing your best friend of trying to sabotage you?” Eleanor looked at me calmly. “Mom, I…” “I’m not putting you on trial, Violet. But your claims must hold weight. If Jessica is truly the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, you need more than mere suspicion. Where is your proof?” I sat there, my lips dry. I had nothing. I had no proof she sent the messages, no proof she twisted my words, and no proof of any malicious intent on her part. Every word she spoke sounded like concern. Every action she took looked like devotion. Meanwhile, every explanation I offered sounded like a pathetic attempt to shift blame. At the end of the meal, Dante went to the kitchen to wash the dishes, leaving only Eleanor and me at the table. She suddenly leaned in, lowering her voice. “Violet, there is one thing I haven’t mentioned to Dante.” I looked at her. “Jessica came to our house last month. In person, not over the phone.” “What did she say?” “She sat right where you are sitting for two hours, talking about your lives, all the way back to college.” “She said she felt a lingering guilt. She said if she hadn’t introduced you to Dante back then, you wouldn’t have had to suffer through any of this.” Eleanor glanced toward the kitchen to ensure Dante was out of earshot before continuing. “She sounded incredibly sincere. I almost believed her entirely. But one detail made me uneasy.” “What was it?” “Throughout the entire conversation, her phone was propped upright behind her teacup. She thought I didn’t notice.” “The camera was pointed directly at me.” A cold chill ran down my spine. “She was recording you?” “I can’t say for certain if she was actively recording, but the angle of the phone made it obvious she wasn’t just checking her messages.” Eleanor stood up, gathering the last few plates. She walked to the kitchen doorway, pausing before she entered. Without turning around, she said, “If I were in your position, and my best friend was secretly filming my mother-in-law, I would ask myself: who is that recording meant for?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “461178”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I used to think I was adopted by the absolute best parents in the world. They fed me the finest food, gave me the biggest bedroom, and dressed me in custom-tailored clothes. That illusion lasted until I was twelve. We took a family vacation overseas. The moment the plane touched down, I was dragged into a sterile operating room. While I was still breathing, they carved my heart out of my chest. It turned out I was never a daughter. I was just a biological spare part, a vessel kept alive solely to extend the life of their sick biological child. The lead surgeon couldn’t bear to watch me die on that table. He went rogue, installing a highly experimental artificial heart in my empty chest cavity. I survived. And I spent the next twenty years clawing my way up to become the world’s most elite cardiothoracic surgeon. Now, I was back in the States for a medical symposium. Right in the middle of my lecture, a man stormed through the double doors, desperate and screaming. “Dr. Valerie, please! You have to save my little girl. She’s in the OR at City General right now. You are the only one in the world who can pull off this surgery!” I took the medical file from his trembling hands. The second my eyes locked onto the patient’s family name, I handed it right back. “I’m not doing this surgery.” The man lost his mind. He pointed a shaking finger an inch from my nose, spitting with rage. “You are a doctor! How can you just watch a child die? Do you even have a heart?” A soft laugh escaped my lips. I reached up, letting my fingers rest over the faint, mechanical whir beneath my left breast. “A heart? I think that’s a question for your family, Tristan.” 1 Tristan froze. A few seconds later, whispers began ripping through the auditorium. “Wait, does Dr. Valerie really have an artificial heart?” “No wonder she’s practically a god in cardiovascular research.” I picked up my leather briefcase and let the security detail escort me toward the backstage exit. Tristan lunged forward to chase me, but a wall of guards shoved him back. “You’re going to regret this, Valerie!” His furious roar echoed off the vaulted ceilings. “There is nothing the Sinclair and Whitmore families can’t buy or break. You are a doctor with zero backing. Who the hell do you think you are?” I didn’t even break my stride. I stepped straight into the waiting elevator. The moment the metal doors slid shut, I closed my eyes and dragged in a long, deep breath. The mechanical valve in my chest adjusted its pump rate, letting out a hum so quiet only I could feel it. Back in my penthouse suite, I collapsed into a velvet armchair. My phone buzzed against the glass coffee table. It was a Swiss number. “Dr. Valerie, word on the street is you turned down Tristan Sinclair’s request today.” News traveled fast in the billionaire boys’ club. “I did.” “I have to remind you, the Sinclair family has deep, billion-dollar ties with European defense contractors. Tristan’s sister is married to a top executive at the Ministry of Defense. If you keep stonewalling them, you might run into some serious friction when you fly back to Zurich.” I repeated the word, letting the heavy sarcasm drip from my voice. “Friction? Like being randomly detained at customs? Or something more permanent?” Dead silence on the other end. “You are a global asset, Doctor. We respect your medical autonomy. But sometimes, you have to play the game. The Sinclairs are offering triple your usual surgical fee. They’re also guaranteeing five years of bottomless funding for your lab in Switzerland.” I let out a dry, rattling chuckle. “Do me a favor. Pass a message to Tristan and the Whitmore family. I will never operate on anyone sharing their bloodline. Bribes, bullets, or blackmail. None of it will change my mind.” The line stayed quiet for a long moment. “You are gambling with your life, Valerie.” “I already died once when I was twelve.” I cut him off, my voice turning to ice. “Every single day since then has been stolen time. I have nothing to lose.” I killed the call and poured myself two fingers of neat bourbon. The amber liquid caught the glittering skyline of New York outside my window. I raised the glass to the city. “To a second life.” I tossed the drink back in one smooth motion. The phone lit up again. This time, it was my assistant, Sarah. “Doctor, City General just sent an update. Lily Sinclair’s condition is tanking. But they miraculously found a matching donor heart. A ten-year-old girl named Daisy. She was supposedly declared brain-dead after a hit-and-run. The surgery is scheduled for three days from now, but the chief surgeon is terrified to touch it. He says the success rate is under thirty percent.” My grip on the empty glass tightened until my knuckles turned white. “Which hospital?” “City General.” “I want a deep dive on this Daisy kid. Everything. Family background, financial records, full medical history, and exactly which doctor signed off on that brain-death diagnosis.” “Valerie, are you seriously about to…” “Just do it.” I grabbed my trench coat off the rack. “Oh, and get our Swiss legal team on the line. I want my will updated immediately. If I die under mysterious circumstances, every single patent, blueprint, and research file under my name goes open-source to the public. Free of charge to every medical institution on the planet.” I heard Sarah suck in a sharp breath. “Are you declaring open war on these people?” “No. I’m just teaching them that human lives aren’t disposable commodities.” 2 Serena Whitmore came looking for me while I was analyzing a batch of pathology slides. Sarah knocked on the door, looking totally stressed. “Valerie, Serena is in the lobby. She refuses to leave. She says it’s about her daughter.” I didn’t look up immediately. I just peeled off my latex gloves and tossed them in the bin. “Put her in Conference Room Three.” When I walked in, Serena was standing with her back to the door, staring out at the chaotic city traffic. “Let’s talk, Doctor.” I took a seat at the far end of the mahogany table, gesturing for her to sit opposite me. “If this is about your daughter’s surgery, my answer hasn’t changed.” “Why?” Her voice cracked with sudden volume, but she forced herself to swallow it down. “Look, I know Tristan came on way too strong yesterday. I apologize for his behavior. But Lily is just a little girl. If this is about the money, name your price. Blank check. The combined assets of the Whitmores and Sinclairs are at your disposal. Whatever you want.” I sat perfectly still, just watching her. She really didn’t recognize me. She had absolutely no memory of the skinny little girl who used to trail behind her twenty years ago, calling her “big sister.” Then again, why would she? In their twisted minds, I died on a cold operating table in a black-market clinic. I was just biological trash. Medical waste. You don’t remember the wrapper after you eat the candy. “I simply don’t want to take the case.” She slammed her perfectly manicured hands onto the table, leaning over. Her eyes were rimmed with red. “What the hell do you actually want?” I didn’t blink. “You don’t have what I want.” “Try me.” I leaned back into the leather chair, crossing my fingers over my stomach. “Alright. Let me ask you something. This donor heart your daughter needs. The one from the ten-year-old girl, Daisy. Are you entirely sure her parents consented to this out of the goodness of their hearts? Are you positive the hospital confirmed she is completely, irreversibly brain-dead with zero chance of waking up?” Serena’s flawless expression cracked for a split second. “What does that have to do with anything?” “It has everything to do with it.” I stood up, walking slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “If getting a heart requires pulling the plug on another child prematurely, I won’t touch the scalpel. It’s really that simple.” “Are you accusing us of something?” Her voice dropped an octave, turning venomous. “Daisy’s parents signed the paperwork. The hospital issued the death certificate. Everything is strictly by the book.” “Is it?” I spun around to face her. “Then let me ask you one more thing, Serena. Your own heart. The one beating in your chest right now, the one you received twenty years ago. Was that donor a willing volunteer too?” All the oxygen was violently sucked out of the room. Serena’s face turned the color of ash. That heart had belonged to me. It pumped blood through my veins for twelve years before they butchered me for it. And now it was keeping her alive. “You investigated me?” She was shaking now. I kept my tone absolutely flat. “I’ve spent years in elite medical circles overseas. Your miracle transplant is practically an urban legend. A flawless surgery. Perfect recovery.” I took a slow step toward her. “But there’s one glaring anomaly. Every single trace of the donor was wiped off the face of the earth. No name. No medical history. No family records. Not even a blurry photograph. It’s almost as if the girl never existed.” “It was a closed adoption process. To protect donor privacy.” Her defense sounded pathetic, even to her. “Or to bury a crime?” I closed the distance between us, leaning down until I was looking right into her panicked eyes. “A twelve-year-old girl happens to be a perfect genetic match for you. Right when your heart failure becomes terminal, she conveniently gets into a fatal accident. She’s conveniently brain-dead. Her nonexistent family conveniently signs her away.” “Don’t you think that’s a hell of a lot of conveniences, Serena?” Her head snapped up. Pure terror swam in her eyes. “What are you trying to say?” I stood up straight, casually adjusting the cuffs of my silk blouse. “I’m saying your daughter’s current situation feels like history repeating itself.” She was barely whispering now. “What do you mean?” “I mean I will not slaughter one child to save another. Find a different butcher.” I pulled the door open, giving her one last look over my shoulder. “I have rounds to make. Let yourself out.” 3 Tom and Mary O’Connor showed up to the cafe thirty minutes early. They were huddled in the darkest corner booth. When Mary saw me, she bolted upright, slamming her knee into the table with a dull thud. “Dr. Valerie. Can you actually save our little girl?” I took the seat across from them and gestured for them to breathe. “Did you bring the files?” Tom scrambled to pull a thick stack of crumpled, tear-stained papers from a cheap canvas tote bag. Scans, billing statements, diagnostic reports. I flipped through them one by one. The cranial CT showed a hematoma, but there was zero compression on the brain stem. The EEG readings were where things got dirty. “How many days after admission was this second brainwave test done?” “The second day.” “Medical protocol mandates two separate doctors must confirm brain death, with a strict time gap between tests.” I tapped my manicured fingernail against the timestamps on the two reports. “These were done exactly four hours apart. That violates federal protocol. Furthermore, the waveforms on this second test…” I paused, tracing the suspiciously flat line on the paper. “This looks fabricated.” The couple froze, staring at each other in horror. “But Dr. Carter swore she was gone. He said there was zero brain activity left.” Tom’s voice was a ragged rasp. “He told us if we signed the donor papers, the hospital would waive our massive medical debt and give us a half-million dollar grant from a charity foundation. We maxed out every credit card we have just to keep her on life support. We were out of options.” I closed the folder and looked them dead in the eye. “I need you to do two things right now. First, march into that hospital and legally revoke your consent for organ donation. Second, demand an immediate medical transfer to City Presbyterian. That’s my hospital.” “But…” Mary slapped a hand over her mouth, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. “A private transfer costs thousands. We don’t have a dime left.” “I am covering every cent.” I leaned in closer. “But you have to move right this second. Every minute she stays in that ICU is a minute closer to her being legally murdered.” Tom suddenly reached across the table and gripped my hand. His palms were calloused and rough from years of manual labor, his grip completely desperate. “Are you swearing to God you can wake her up? You aren’t playing us?” “I don’t deal in absolute guarantees.” “But looking at this raw data, your daughter is not brain-dead. She is in a deep, medically induced coma. City General’s diagnosis is a lie.” “Why would they lie?” I debated shielding them from the ugly truth, but the bloodshot panic in their eyes made me drop the filter. “Because a very powerful family needs a healthy heart for their kid, and your daughter happens to be a biological match.” The air in the cafe turned to lead. After a few agonizing seconds, Tom shoved his chair back so hard it screeched against the tile, drawing stares from the counter staff. “The Sinclairs. That bastard Dr. Carter kept dropping hints about a VIP family whose kid needed a miracle. He framed it like Daisy would be a hero.” “Keep your voice down.” I kept my tone sharp and commanding. “The only thing that matters is getting her out of that building. Are you with me?” They looked at each other, a sudden, fierce fire replacing the grief in their eyes. They nodded in unison. “We trust you.” Mary wiped her face roughly. “We will burn that place down to get her out.” “Good.” I pulled out my phone. “I’m texting my contacts at the major news networks right now. With cameras shoved in their faces, the administration won’t dare block the transfer. Go straight to the ICU desk. Tell them the deal is off. I’ll be right behind you.” An hour later, the third-floor ICU at City General was a total circus. Security guards were physically blocking the O’Connors. Dr. Carter, sweating through his scrubs, was shouting at them while local news crews rolled cameras from the elevator lobby. “Revoke consent? Are you completely insane?” Dr. Carter tried to keep his voice down, but the panic was bleeding through. “Your daughter is dead! You are wasting critical hospital resources and letting her organs rot!” “Step away from my patients, Dr. Carter.” I pushed through the crowd, putting myself firmly between the corrupt doctor and the weeping parents. “Federal medical guidelines dictate that brain death must be confirmed by two independent neurologists, spaced at least twelve hours apart. You ran two tests in four hours. I am taking custody of this patient for a complete re-evaluation.” Carter’s face went from red to a sickly pale green when he recognized me. “Dr. Valerie. This is an internal matter regarding my patient.” “It stopped being an internal matter the second you engaged in illegal organ trafficking.” I let the words ring out loud enough for the reporters’ mics to catch. “I just filed a formal complaint with the Medical Board. Until they finish their criminal probe, Daisy is coming with me.” Sweat dripped from Carter’s nose. He fumbled for his cell phone. “I highly suggest you step aside, Doctor.” I leaned in, dropping my voice so only he could hear. “If she truly is gone, I will issue a public apology on prime-time television. But if I find out you chemically paralyzed her to fake a flatline, you are going to rot in federal prison.” His hands started violently shaking. Under the glare of a dozen camera lenses, Daisy was loaded into my private ambulance. The tests at my clinic confirmed exactly what I suspected. Deep coma. Intact brain stem. The corrective surgery took three hours. It was flawless. When I walked out of the OR, Mary dropped to her knees, trying to kiss my hands. I pulled her up into a hug instead. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Unknown number. 4 Arthur Whitmore wanted to meet at an exclusive, members-only cigar lounge downtown. “Dr. Valerie. Have a seat.” “Nice spot, Arthur.” I slid into the leather booth across from him, glancing at the antique chessboard between us. His black pieces had my white king trapped, but he was intentionally delaying the final move. “Chess is a lot like life. Sometimes, if you just back down and surrender the board, you get to walk away in one piece.” He finally looked up, his eyes cold and dead. I wasn’t here to play his billionaire mind games. “Skip the metaphors. What do you want?” “Straight to the point. I like that. My granddaughter’s surgery.” “Not happening.” “Name your price, Valerie. Cash? Real estate? A seat on the Whitmore corporate board?” He paused, a dark smile playing on his lips. “Or maybe you’re playing the hero for someone else? I ran a background check on that trailer park kid. You have zero connection to her.” I kept my face perfectly neutral. “I don’t know her. But I am a doctor. And I draw the line at slaughtering poor kids to keep rich ones breathing.” Arthur’s fake grandpa persona vanished. “Watch your mouth.” “The parents signed a legal waiver. The hospital issued the death certificate.” “A forged certificate makes it legal?” I cut him off, my voice dripping with disgust. “You people really keep a stocked pantry of spare parts, don’t you? If Daisy didn’t work out, who was next on the chopping block?” He slammed his fist onto the chessboard, sending pieces scattering across the floor. “You arrogant little…” “What?” I tilted my chin up, daring him to finish the threat. “You think God isn’t watching you, Arthur? Aren’t you terrified of karma?” “Karma?” He burst into a raspy, genuine laugh, sinking back into the leather cushions. “I’ve lived a long, ruthless life, kid. Karma is a bedtime story for poor people. I believe in leverage. I believe in power. Like right now.” He picked up his smartphone and tapped the screen. “You young hotshots always think you’re invincible. But everyone has a weak spot. It would be a damn shame if someone you cared about paid the price for your stubbornness.” “I know you left a mentor back in New York. A Dr. Harrison. Lovely old man. Pushing seventy, right? Lives alone in a brownstone in Queens. Every single day at 5:00 PM, he walks down to the corner deli for a pastrami on rye.” “What is your point?” He smirked, showing yellowed teeth. “My point is that bad choices have fatal consequences.” He slid the phone across the table. It was a live video feed. It showed the front steps of Dr. Harrison’s Queens apartment building. “I make one phone call, and your sweet old father figure doesn’t wake up tomorrow.” He stared into my eyes, practically begging to see a flicker of terror. He wanted me to break. He wanted me to beg. I didn’t even blink. I picked up the glass of scotch he had poured me and took a slow sip. “Ice is melting, Arthur.” His brow furrowed. This wasn’t the script he had written in his head. He snatched the phone back and barked into the microphone. “Go inside. Drag the old man out.” On the screen, a group of bulky men in leather jackets rushed the front door. I set my glass down. “Call off your dogs, Arthur. You’re wasting your time.” “Excuse me?” “He isn’t there.” Arthur’s smug expression evaporated. He stared hard at the live feed. His thugs were currently arguing with a confused property manager. The apartment was completely gutted and empty. Arthur slowly raised his head, a flicker of genuine uncertainty crossing his face for the first time in his miserable life. “You moved him?” I leaned forward, locking eyes with the monster who had raised me. “I lived under your roof for ten years. I know exactly how you operate.”

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My stepsister dragged a stray man in from the pouring rain. Her eyes were rimmed with red as she looked at me. “Sienna, he got into a terrible car crash. He is in a vegetative state. It is just too pitiful.” She wiped away a fake tear. “How about I pay you, and you put in the labor? You can take him back to your place and nurse him back to health.” I looked at the man lying on the sofa. His face was ghostly pale, but it could not hide the sharp, aristocratic lines of his jaw and his inherently cold, untouchable aura. My heart softened. I nodded. The very next second, a barrage of glowing golden text exploded in the air right in front of my eyes. [ LMAO the supporting character took the bait! ] [ This naive idiot has no idea that the vegetable on her couch is Alexander Kensington, the absolute apex predator of Manhattan’s elite! ] [ In the last timeline, the supporting character took him in, nursed him back to health, and became a billionaire’s wife. The female lead was jealous to the point of madness. ] [ That is why the female lead brought him home early in this reborn timeline! But she thinks wiping and feeding a living corpse is too much work, so she is dumping him on the supporting character again! ] [ Exactly! She is going to let Sienna do all the dirty work for three months until he wakes up. Then the female lead will use that dark magic Transference Sigil she bought to forcibly swap bodies with Sienna. She will steal the credit and become the richest woman in the country. I can hear her calculating from outer space! ] I froze in place. My eyes swept over those glaring golden lines. A chill shot up from the soles of my feet straight to the crown of my head. I turned my head and looked at Ruby. She was crying beautifully, but her eyes kept darting toward the bloodstained man on the sofa. It was disgust. It was repulsion. But beneath it all, it was undisguised, ravenous greed. “Sienna, you know I have a weak constitution. I can barely take care of myself. How could I possibly care for a bedridden patient?” Ruby stepped forward and affectionately linked her arm through mine. “Plus, you are a certified caregiver. I feel safest leaving him in your hands. If you agree, I will transfer you two thousand dollars a month for your hard work. Please?” Her tone was sickeningly sweet, but her fingernails dug painfully into my flesh. She was terrified I would refuse. [ Oh please. Two thousand bucks to play nursemaid to a comatose man for three months? The female lead is too cheap. ] [ Poor Sienna. The female lead already bound the Transference Sigil to her. The moment the female lead wants to swap bodies, it is over. ] [ Once Alexander wakes up, she will swap bodies, taking Sienna’s form. All his billions will belong to her! ] [ Tsk tsk. Sienna finally got a happy ending in the last life, and now she is going to be sucked dry again! ] I lowered my eyelashes to hide the icy rage rolling in my eyes. So that was it. Ruby, you really played a brilliant hand. You refuse to endure the grueling labor of caring for a comatose man, but you want to swallow the immense wealth and gratitude that comes from saving his life. You are even willing to use a toxic occult curse to steal my entire existence. Seeing my silence, Ruby grew anxious. “Sienna, aren’t you the kindest person in the world? Are you really going to just watch him die?” Moral kidnapping. She always used it with flawless precision. If this were the past, I might have actually been fooled by her hypocritical mask. But now. I looked at the floating golden text and a barely perceptible smile curled the corners of my lips. “Alright.” I looked up at her with a gentle expression. Ruby’s face lit up with joy. She opened her mouth to speak, but I sharply changed the subject. “But Ruby, you know how incredibly expensive it is to care for a comatose patient. IV nutrition, a specialized medical bed, imported medications. Two thousand dollars will not even cover the taxes.” I stared at her freezing smile and spoke with absolute clarity. “Non negotiable. Twenty thousand a month, three months paid upfront. Total of sixty thousand. Otherwise, you can keep him yourself. Or I can call the cops and let the city hospital deal with him.” Hearing this, Ruby’s face drastically changed. [ She is panicking! The female lead was reborn, so she knows the Kensington family is tearing the world apart looking for him right now! ] [ If Sienna actually calls the cops and the authorities take Alexander away, her entire body swap scheme is ruined! ] [ But wait, why did Sienna counter so perfectly? Did she notice something? Is she playing the female lead? ] “Sixty thousand it is.” Ruby gritted her teeth. A flash of physical pain crossed her eyes at the cost, but it was quickly replaced by feverish fanaticism. “I will pay the money. But you must take perfect care of him, Sienna! You have to handle his food, his hygiene, everything personally. Do not let anyone else touch him!” She stared at me like I was a highly efficient, free piece of machinery. [ LMAO sixty grand in exchange for a hundred billion dollar empire. The female lead won the lottery! ] [ Sienna actually thinks she made a profit. In three months she is going to learn what true despair feels like! ] My phone chimed. Sixty thousand dollars had been deposited. I put my phone away and smiled brightly. “Do not worry. I will take excellent care of him.” Ruby looked like a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She covered her nose in disgust, unwilling to stay in the room for a single second longer, and ran out the front door. Only the man and I were left in the living room. The heavy metallic scent of blood saturated the air. I walked over to the sofa and looked down at this legendary figure. The ruthless, cold blooded crown prince of Manhattan’s elite. Right now his eyes were tightly shut. His face was the color of crushed chalk. He looked utterly defeated. I fetched a basin of warm water and a towel, gently wiping away the dried blood crusting his face. The golden text exploded in front of me again. [ Actually the male lead is completely conscious right now! His body is paralyzed, but his hearing is perfectly intact! ] [ Yes! He definitely hates the female lead right now. He heard every single word when she looked at him with disgust and used him as a bargaining chip! ] [ When the body swap happens, the drama is going to be legendary! ] My heart skipped a beat. He was conscious? I leaned down. The man’s sharp, aristocratic features were mere inches from mine. Even in this pathetic state, he radiated the suffocating pressure of a man used to absolute power. My sharp eyes caught a microscopic detail. The fingers resting by his side twitched in a faint spasm. He really could hear. My mind raced through a dozen different plans. I gently reached down and hooked my pinky finger around his. I leaned close to his ear and deliberately softened my voice. “Let’s go home.” I moved Alexander to my small apartment. I used the sixty thousand Ruby gave me to rent a top tier medical bed and life support monitors overnight. I drained my own meager savings to buy premium IV nutrients and the best imported wound care medications. Looking at Alexander hooked up to the tubes, I took a deep breath. Washing his hair. Bathing his body. Massaging his atrophied muscles. Dressing his severe lacerations. For three solid hours, I worked until I was drenched in sweat and my lower back was screaming in agony. But I did not stop. Because the golden text told me he could feel everything. [ Sienna has it so rough. This is not a job for a human being. No wonder the female lead could not handle it. ] [ But she is so meticulous. She even cleaned the dried blood out from under his fingernails. ] [ Alexander has severe OCD. He must be touched beyond belief right now! ] I wrung out the towel and dabbed the last drops of moisture from his face. With the blood and grime gone, his true face was finally revealed. Sharp eyebrows, a prominent nose, a jawline carved from marble. I looked at Alexander, reached out my hand again, and gently hooked his pinky finger. “If you can hear me, give me a little response. Okay?” Dead silence. Two seconds later. The man’s eyelashes gave a violent tremble. The very next second, his stiff, heavy fingers moved with agonizing slowness. He curled his pinky backward, hooking tightly onto mine. [ AHHHH! The Crown Prince responded! ] [ He is famous for being a violent, cold blooded tyrant. I cannot believe he is being this obedient for Sienna! ] [ Obviously! When a man is trapped in the darkest abyss, the person who pulls him out becomes his entire world! ] My heart stirred. I leaned down and whispered. “I am going to heal you. But you have to cooperate with me. Can you do that? Do not be afraid. I will never abandon you.” A faint friction brushed against my skin. The force of his pinky hooking mine slowly tightened. The apartment door was suddenly shoved open. Ruby stood in the doorway, covering her nose with a look of extreme disgust. “Sienna, this dump smells absolutely revolting. Is this living corpse going to rot in…” Her voice abruptly died in her throat. Ruby stared blankly at the bed. Stripped of the blood and dirt, the man was breathtakingly handsome. The disgust in her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by undisguised awe and a sickening greed. But she quickly forced her expression into a mask of bitter cruelty. “What good is a handsome face? He is still just a cursed cripple!” After cursing him, she turned her venomous glare on me. “I paid you to be a nursemaid. Who are you trying to seduce, holding his hand like that? You cheap tramp!” Golden light flashed in front of my eyes. [ The female lead is pure poison! She is deliberately trying to enrage the male lead so he hates this body! ] [ Exactly! Once she uses the sigil to force Sienna into her body, Alexander will wake up and instantly want to kill the new female lead! ] [ She is borrowing his knife to commit murder! ] Seeing my silence, Ruby sneered and raised her hand high. “I am talking to you! Are you deaf?” A sharp slap cracked across my cheek. Her manicured nails instantly sliced open the corner of my mouth. The metallic taste of blood flooded my tongue. Before I could even swallow the blood, the quiet man on the bed suddenly went into a violent convulsion. The heart monitor connected to his chest let out a piercing, high pitched alarm. His eyebrows locked together. His entire body radiated an aura of extreme, violent rejection. Ruby shrieked in terror and stumbled backward. “What is wrong with him?! Did you give him the wrong medicine?!” I ignored the throbbing pain in my lower back and completely ignored her. I stepped right up to the bed, turned my back to Ruby, and flawlessly hooked Alexander’s pinky finger again. “It is okay. I am right here.” It was like magic. The man’s violent convulsions stopped instantly. His tightly knit brows slowly relaxed. His skyrocketing heart rate dropped rapidly back to a safe, steady rhythm. That stiff, massive hand locked onto my pinky with a death grip, exactly as it had before. He squeezed even harder than the last time. The golden text erupted. [ AHHHH! The Crown Prince heard Sienna getting bullied and went totally feral! ] [ A vegetative body absolutely cannot handle that kind of emotional spike. He is literally fighting his own ruined nervous system to protect her! ] [ He has developed an absolute psychological dependency on her. He refuses to let anyone hurt a single hair on her head! ] Ruby peeked out from behind the doorframe, staring at Alexander clutching my hand. Instead of being angry, her face twisted into a mask of irrepressible ecstasy. “Well Sienna, it looks like he really likes you. You better hold onto this blessing tightly.” After Ruby left, the apartment fell quiet again. I turned back to the bed. With the outsider gone, the man’s brow furrowed anxiously once more. His entire body remained rigid. He had absolutely zero sense of security. I took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the mattress. The second my fingers brushed his. He latched onto my pinky like a drowning man clinging to the only piece of driftwood in the ocean. With that single point of contact, his rigid muscles instantly melted into the mattress. I looked at his pale, thin lips and could not help but smile as I soothed him. “Sleep peacefully.” “When you sleep, I am not going anywhere.” “If you need anything, just squeeze my finger. I am always going to be here.” His breathing hitched. Then, very faintly, his pinky rubbed against the pad of my finger. Two months passed. Under my relentless, day and night care, Alexander’s muscles stopped atrophying. Color slowly returned to his ghostly pale face. Every single night, that one mobile pinky finger would lock onto mine, refusing to yield a single inch. During these two months, Ruby came looking for trouble every few days. “Wow, treating him like treasure? Only you would sell your soul for a crippled vegetable!” She maliciously kicked over the basin of hot water I had just drawn. The scalding water splashed all over my legs. I did not dodge. I endured the searing pain of the burns, lowered my head, and quietly cleaned up the mess. On the bed, Alexander’s fingers dug into the bedsheets so hard his knuckles turned white. The veins on the back of his hand bulged. He was using every ounce of his willpower to suppress his murderous rage. I gently hooked his pinky to soothe his violent emotions. I knew Ruby was getting impatient. She was desperate to swap bodies. The harder she tried to make Alexander hate her face, the more perfectly calm I remained. Another month passed before the golden text appeared again. [ Sienna is so tragic. She has no idea the female lead already got the dark magic Transference Sigil from the occult master! ] [ That sigil is pure evil. The moment the female lead activates it, their souls will be forcibly swapped! ] [ Poor Sienna cleaned up his filth and slaved away for three months, and tomorrow everything will be stolen from her. She is just making a wedding dress for someone else! ] Looking at the text, I turned my head and stared fixedly at the man with his eyes shut tight. I leaned down and asked in a whisper so soft only the two of us could hear. “Alexander. If one day, I suddenly wear a face that is completely foreign to you.” “Will you still be able to recognize me?” Dead silence. One second later. The man’s fingers trembled. He applied force in the opposite direction, hooking my pinky with bone crushing strength. Exactly as the golden text predicted, Ruby kicked my door open the next morning. The second she walked in, she viciously dug her nails into Alexander’s newly scabbed wounds. Golden light flashed frantically in front of my eyes. [ HIGH ALERT! Patriarch Kensington tracked the GPS! His convoy is pulling up to the building right now! ] [ The female lead is making her move! She is maxing out his hatred, and then she is going to trigger the swap! ] Sure enough, Ruby leaned close to Alexander’s ear and laughed venomously. “You dead cripple. I have been praying for you to die every day for three months. Why are you still breathing?” Alexander’s eyes snapped open. He stared at her with a gaze filled with apocalyptic, murderous intent. But the very next second. A vicious light flashed in Ruby’s eyes. She slammed a piece of yellow parchment hard against her own chest. A violent, catastrophic tearing sensation instantly ripped through my entire body. My vision went black. It felt like my internal organs were being thrown into a meat grinder. When I opened my eyes again, my perspective had completely shifted. I looked down and saw the expensive Chanel dress Ruby had been wearing. The body swap was a success. Crash. The cheap metal door of the apartment was violently kicked open. A dozen men in black suits flooded the room, securing the perimeter in seconds. An old man with silver hair, leaning heavily on a carved walking stick, stepped into the room. The moment his cane struck the floor, the oppressive aura of absolute authority plunged the temperature in the tiny room to below freezing. The ruler of Manhattan. Patriarch Arthur Kensington. His eyes locked onto Alexander, whose eyes were open on the bed. The old man’s eyes instantly went red. “Alexander! Your grandfather was too late!” Ruby, currently wearing my face, immediately dropped to her knees and began sobbing hysterically. “Mr. Kensington! You are finally here!” She pointed a trembling finger at me, weeping tears of blood. “My sister Ruby has lost her mind! She hated Mr. Kensington for being in a coma. Not only did she starve him, but just now she was digging her nails into his wounds trying to murder him for his money!” “For three months, I woke up before dawn and stayed up all night keeping him alive. But she came here every day to torture him!” Her acting was Oscar worthy. She even pulled up her sleeve, revealing the scratch marks she had inflicted on herself just moments ago. “Look! These are the injuries she gave me when I tried to stop her from hurting him!” The golden text scrolled like a waterfall. [ She is utterly shameless! Framing the victim while playing the hero! ] [ Oh no, oh no. Sienna is stuck in the female lead’s body right now. She has no way to defend herself! ] [ Patriarch Kensington is notoriously protective of his own. He is going to skin Sienna alive! ] Patriarch Kensington’s gaze snapped toward me. It was dark, cold, and dripping with the lethal intent of a man who decided who lived and died. “You arrogant, filthy creature. You dared to touch someone from my family!” Two bodyguards immediately lunged forward. They pinned my shoulders down with crushing force and kicked the back of my knees. I hit the hard tile floor with a heavy thud. The pain of a fractured kneecap shot up my leg. I did not struggle. I did not bother explaining. Because I knew that in the face of absolute power, explanations were useless breath. I lifted my head, looking past the Patriarch, staring straight at Alexander on the bed. Ruby stood to the side, a smug smile hooking the corner of her lips, acting as if the hundred billion dollar empire was already sitting in her bank account. Patriarch Kensington walked to the edge of the bed, looking at his grandson with heartbreak. “Alexander, you suffered.” He pointed his cane at me and Ruby on the floor. His voice was freezing cold, carrying the finality of a death sentence. “Tell your grandfather. Between these two women, who is your savior, and who is your tormentor?” “Today, I will make her wish she was dead.” The room fell into a deathly silence. Ruby looked at Alexander with eyes full of shining expectation. I looked at him too. Alexander leaned against the headboard. A chilling, razor sharp smirk pulled at his pale lips. He slowly lifted the right hand that I had held for three months, and pointed it straight at. Ruby. More accurately, he pointed at the woman wearing my face. “Her.” Alexander’s voice was rough as sandpaper, but it carried an undeniable, lethal certainty. “She is the one who tortured me day and night.” The room went dead. In a room so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the only sound was the faint, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. The triumphant, victorious expression frozen on Ruby’s stolen face completely shattered. Her eyes widened so far they looked like they would pop out of her skull. She shook her head like a maniac. “No! Impossible! Alexander, are you confused from the brain injury?” “I am Sienna! I am the savior who worked day and night to keep you alive for three months!” She scrambled wildly toward the bed, desperately trying to grab Alexander’s hand. But a bodyguard stepped in and kicked her brutally to the floor. “Stay back!” the bodyguard barked. Ruby ate dirt, but she refused to give up, screaming at the Patriarch. “Mr. Kensington! You have to see the truth! I really am the one who took care of him!” “His brain is damaged! He is confusing me with my evil sister!” Patriarch Kensington frowned deeply, the veins bulging on the hand gripping his cane. He looked at Alexander and spoke in a low voice. “Alexander, you just woke up. Is your mind still clouded?” “Grandfather is here. You do not need to be afraid. Whoever hurt you, I will have them torn limb from limb.” “My mind is perfectly clear.” Alexander rested against the pillows. Though his face was still pale, those dark, bottomless eyes burned with a terrifying, hellish fury. He snapped his head toward Ruby. His piercing gaze scraped across her face, and he let out a cold laugh. “In the past three months, you came here exactly twenty seven times.” “The first time, you called me a cursed cripple, kicked over a basin of boiling water, and severely burned someone.” “The fifth time, you dug your fingernails into my healing wounds because you said I smelled.” “And just ten minutes ago, you leaned into my ear and told me you had been praying for me to die every day, and asked why I was still breathing.” With every sentence Alexander spoke, Ruby’s face grew another shade of white. By the end, she had collapsed into a pathetic puddle on the floor, her teeth audibly chattering. “No. That wasn’t me. I didn’t say those things. I am Sienna.” She was still offering pathetic, weak lies, snot and tears smearing all over her face. Patriarch Kensington’s face was as black as thunder. He raised his heavy cane and smashed it violently against the floorboards right next to Ruby’s head. “You venomous wretch! You dared to dig your claws into my family!” The old man laughed from pure rage, his eyes practically dripping with murderous intent. Then, Alexander’s gaze bypassed everyone in the room and landed squarely on me, pressed onto my knees by the bodyguards. I was currently wearing Ruby’s face. But as Alexander looked at me, his cold, severe gaze instantly melted into incredible softness, carrying a trace of deeply hidden heartbreak. “And her.” Alexander raised his hand and pointed at me. “She is the one who spent the last three months cleaning up my filth, bathing me, feeding me medicine, and dragging me back from the gates of hell.” The room erupted into quiet gasps. The bodyguards exchanged bewildered looks. The hands pinning my shoulders subconsciously loosened their grip. Patriarch Kensington looked utterly baffled. He looked at me, then back at Alexander. “Alexander, are you absolutely certain?” “Grandfather.” Alexander cut him off, his tone absolute. “I would never fail to recognize what is mine.” The golden text scrolled in a frenzy. [ HELP! Sienna is wearing the female lead’s face! How did the male lead figure it out?! ] [ Yeah! Her face changed, her voice changed. Does the male lead have X-ray vision? ] [ Did he just guess? What if he got it wrong? ] I was stunned too. I looked up at the man on the hospital bed, tears swimming in my eyes. He recognized me. He really recognized me! Under the confused stares of everyone in the room, Alexander slowly moved his right hand and extended his pinky finger. He looked at me. A storm of intense emotion raged in his eyes. His voice was hoarse beyond belief. “In the last three months, during the countless dead of night when the pain was driving me insane and I thought I could not hold on.” “It was her who hooked my pinky, over and over again, telling me not to be afraid.” “It was her who held my hand every time the heart monitor went off, telling me she would always be there.” Alexander’s eyes turned red. He took a deep breath, as if using every ounce of strength he had left in his body, to speak his final truth to me. “In this entire world, she is the only one who knows I am terrified of sleeping alone.” “She is the only one who left a lamp on every single night, standing guard over a living corpse.” “Faces can change. Voices can be altered. But that warmth, that absolute dependency carved directly into my bones and my blood. I, Alexander Kensington, would never mistake it even if I died.” As his words faded into the air, I could no longer hold back. The tears broke the dam and slid silently down my cheeks. Wearing Ruby’s foreign face, separated by a crowd of armed men, I slowly extended my trembling hand and faintly, so faintly, hooked my own pinky finger in the air. Alexander immediately responded. His pinky hooked forcefully in the empty space, as if crossing the barrier of life, death, and physical flesh, locking onto me with unbreakable force. The golden barrage completely exploded. [ AHHHHHH I am sobbing! The ultimate romantic warrior has arrived! ] [ To hell with the Transference Sigil! In the face of true love, dark magic is garbage! ] [ The Crown Prince is too cool for words! He never loved the skin, he loved the soul that saved him! ] [ The female lead calculated everything, and the clown was her all along! Deserved! ] Seeing her empire crumble, Ruby had a complete mental breakdown. She shrieked and lunged at me like a rabid animal. “You bitch! What kind of demonic seduction did you use?!” “Give me back my wealth! I am Sienna! I am the real Sienna!” Before she could even touch the hem of my dress, two bodyguards slammed her brutally to the floor. Her cheek was pressed hard against the freezing tiles, rendering her completely immobile. “Drag this lying, murderous viper out of my sight!” Patriarch Kensington roared his orders. “Throw her in the Kensington underground holding cells! Without my explicit order, no one gives her a single drop of water or a crumb of food!” “I am going to make her taste what it means to beg for death!” “Yes sir!” The bodyguards dragged Ruby away as she squealed like a slaughtered pig. As she was dragged past me, she glared at me with eyes full of pure venom and madness. She mouthed a silent threat. “You won’t be smug for long.” I watched coldly as she disappeared down the hall, but my heart did not feel an ounce of relief. Because I knew, the true curse of the Transference Sigil was just beginning.

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1 For the second time that week, Simon Hale stared at his phone and fed a whole grape to our six-month-old son. The next second, our baby choked. His little face turned red, his hands and feet thrashing in panic. Simon didn’t even lift his eyes from the screen. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” Ever since his first love added him back, that sentence had become his favorite excuse. I fumbled to pat our son’s back, tears spilling down my face from fear. Only when the grape finally came out did I breathe again. Simon glanced at the resentment on my face, then went right back to staring at his phone. “Natalie has been waiting months for these concert tickets. I had to grab them fast. One second late and they’d be gone.” It wasn’t an explanation. It was a warning not to make a scene and delay him from buying tickets. I held our sobbing, trembling child, cold sweat soaking my back. In that moment, this happy family everyone envied was no longer a place I wanted to stay. … Our son curled into a ball in my arms, clearly still uncomfortable. I said softly, “Why don’t you drive us to the hospital? Even a checkup would put my mind at ease.” “Got them!” Before I even finished, Simon nearly jumped off the couch. Then he sent Natalie a voice message telling her he had secured the tickets. The two of them started chatting excitedly. I stood there, suffocated by how absurd it all felt. Only when he accidentally looked up and saw my expression did he belatedly put away his smile. “The kid already stopped crying. If you’re worried, check an AI app. It has everything.” After our son was born, I struggled with postpartum anxiety for a while. Whenever I asked one extra cautious question, Simon would toss his phone to me. “If you don’t understand, ask AI. Artificial intelligence is so advanced now. You can find anything on your phone.” What temperature the formula should be. What to do about jaundice. How many night feeds were best. I typed every question into an AI app, word by word. Sometimes the answers were wrong, and I had to take the baby to the hospital alone. Meanwhile, Simon was busy helping Natalie fix clogged pipes, making her hangover soup, and celebrating her birthday. Whenever she asked, he answered. I often mocked him. “Didn’t you say AI is useful? Can’t she ask it?” And he would turn around and question me. “Is that the same thing? Can AI keep her safe? Sometimes I really don’t understand what goes on in your head.” Thinking of all that, then looking at our baby shaking in discomfort, I couldn’t help asking him. “Between me, our child, and Natalie, who comes first in your heart?” Simon finally looked up, as if surprised I would ask such a thing. Then he quickly frowned. “It’s just a concert ticket. Do you really have to turn it into some childish ranking?” “You’re a mother now. Stop being immature.” Whenever Natalie was involved, his final conclusion was always that I was immature. If Natalie had asked the same question, he would have posted online praising her for being innocent and adorable. I didn’t want to waste any more words. I picked up the keys, ready to take the baby to the hospital myself. But Simon snatched them away. “The concert is in the next city. We have to leave now. It’s more convenient if I drive her.” “Ask AI where you can get a cab. It’s not that far. Same thing.” After dropping those words, he grabbed a coat and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t even see our son cough up blood. Looking at the cold lines of answer text appearing on my phone screen, something in me finally snapped. I didn’t manage to get a ride until after midnight. The doctor said a baby’s throat was extremely fragile. If I had delayed treatment, it might have affected his speech later. When the doctor saw the “answer” from the AI app on my phone, he was furious. “What is wrong with you parents? If AI can solve everything, why do you need doctors?” In that instant, the tears I had been holding back finally fell. The doctor quickly stopped scolding me. I shook my head. “You’re right. Thank you.” I stayed with my son all night while he received anti-inflammatory fluids. Natalie posted a photo of herself and Simon on the concert’s big screen. [Random couple-cam kiss and hug. Didn’t expect Simon to be such a good sport!] I tortured myself by zooming in. The lipstick smudged at the corner of Simon’s mouth was clear. I still remembered our son’s first birthday. I begged Simon over and over to take us to Disneyland. He waved me off impatiently. “It’s hot, crowded, and exhausting. What’s so fun about that?” But now, in the photo, his smile was bright and free. That night, our son developed a high fever. I carried him up and down the hospital stairs, rushing through admission paperwork. At the corner of the stairwell, I heard a familiar voice. “Natalie, how are you feeling? I’ll get you admitted right away.” I looked up and saw Simon carrying Natalie in his arms, hurrying toward us. He was so nervous he didn’t even notice us. “Doctor, her blood sugar dropped. Admit her quickly.” The young nurse looked troubled. “We’re short on rooms right now. Mr. Hale, you’re a hospital VIP, so technically your family can be prioritized for a room, but…” The nurse looked at me and the baby. “These two are your wife and child, right? Then the baby should…” Only then did Simon follow her gaze and see us. He froze. But he reacted immediately. “Ah… no. This young lady needs to be admitted. Her situation is more urgent.” No. That single word slapped me across the face. The nurse, who recognized me and the baby, looked at us with sympathy. Natalie was quickly sent into a hospital room. Simon hurried after her. He never looked back. My son grew hotter in my arms. My heart was shaking. The hospital room entrance was crowded with people fighting for beds. Every minute felt like torture. Half an hour later, Simon came out of the room, frowning awkwardly. “I asked the department head. The baby’s throat is just a little inflamed. He can get anti-inflammatory meds in the hallway. He doesn’t need a room.” “Natalie fainted on the way back. If she doesn’t get properly checked, there could be long-term effects. Don’t be so petty.” As he spoke, he reached out to touch our son. I moved away without hiding it. “We’re not staying.” Then I held the baby and turned to leave. Simon’s hand froze in midair. His brow twitched. The hospital hallway was full of families coming and going. Only I walked alone with my baby in my arms, looking for somewhere to give him his fever shot. Thankfully, by the next morning, his fever finally broke. Then immigration services called and told me to come pick up the result. Simon’s company was moving overseas next month, but the immigration paperwork for me and the baby had been rejected again and again. As soon as I walked into the lobby, I saw Simon’s subordinate, Aaron. He greeted me warmly. “Mrs. Hale, what a coincidence.” “Are you really okay with being separated from Mr. Hale across countries? Taking care of the baby alone must be hard.” I was confused and thought he had misunderstood. So I smiled politely. “We’re still working on the immigration paperwork. This time should be fine. It’s not like someone can take the spot, right?” Aaron looked puzzled. “But Miss Natalie already took the immigration slot. I helped Mr. Hale submit the documents back and forth. I’m here to pick up the result.” All the blood in my body seemed to freeze. The approval letter in Aaron’s hand clearly had Natalie’s name on it. At that moment, the staff at the window handed me my result. Again, three words: Not approved. Only then did Aaron realize what had happened. He asked if I was okay. I shook my head. I didn’t even have the strength to say thank you. That night, when Simon came home and saw the piles of immigration applications on the table, his expression showed he understood. “Looks like you know.” One light sentence. No apology. No guilt. He walked over, his tone much softer than usual. “Natalie wanted to live in that country since she was little, so I asked a friend to help with her immigration. It took your slot.” My hand tightened on the table. Ever since he decided to move the company overseas, I had submitted my immigration documents more than thirty times. Every time, they were rejected. I revised them over and over. I had nearly memorized the fifty-plus pages of requirements. In the end, everything I did had meant nothing. Simon held my shoulders as if soothing a child throwing a tantrum. “When there’s another chance, I’ll bring you and the baby over. It’s not urgent anyway.” “You’re doing fine taking care of the baby alone. You’re getting more skilled.” I suddenly wanted to laugh. “Is the baby mine alone? Does he not have a father?” “Wren.” He interrupted me impatiently. “Are you trying to wake the baby?” He took a breath, as if explaining calmly and rationally. “Natalie is still young. There are more opportunities for her over there. Maybe she can find a good job.” “You’re just a homemaker now. You don’t need to do anything. What difference does it make where you stay?” I stared at him in disbelief. It felt like his next word would be useless. Once, I had a respectable and promising career too. He coaxed me into quitting. “Why work so hard when your husband can support you? After we have a baby, you can stay home, look after the child, go shopping whenever you want. When I come home, I’ll see you right away. Isn’t that nice?” He personally broke my wings. Then blamed me for not being able to fly. I suddenly smiled. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” A flash of surprise crossed Simon’s eyes. He probably hadn’t expected me to compromise so quickly. “You’re not fighting this time?” I threw the applications into the trash. My voice was unusually calm. “No. The baby and I aren’t in a rush.” It wasn’t that we weren’t in a rush. It was that we would never go looking for him. Simon finally smiled, visibly relieved. He touched my face, then looked at the baby in the crib with fatherly affection. “You and the baby will always be the most important people in my heart. I’m glad you understand.” Then he called a restaurant to celebrate Natalie’s successful immigration. I sat there and watched him leave, cheerful and eager. A divorce agreement lay on the coffee table. I signed my name and reached out to touch my baby’s chubby cheek. “Mommy will take you somewhere else to live, okay?” The baby didn’t understand anything. He only stared at me and giggled. The next evening, I was holding the baby and getting ready to go to the airport when Simon suddenly burst through the door. He slapped me across the face. Furious, he shouted, “Wren Hayes, how can you be this vicious? You tricked Natalie into going to some deserted place and nearly got her attacked!” I was stunned by the blow. The taste of blood spread quickly through my mouth. “I tricked her? I don’t even have her phone number.” Simon didn’t listen at all. He dragged me straight to the hospital. I stumbled the whole way. The baby cried in terror, but Simon didn’t care. When we entered Natalie’s room, she was curled up on the bed, trembling. The moment she saw me, she threw herself into Simon’s arms. “I’m scared. I’m so scared…” While I was still confused, five large, rough-looking men at the door bowed and nodded at me. “Miss Hayes, we followed your instructions to scare her and ruin her reputation. Take a look. Are you satisfied?” I frowned in confusion. “I don’t know…” Before I could finish, Simon shoved his phone screen in my face. “You’re still denying it? What is this threatening message if not yours? You even paid people to do your dirty work. Do you know you could go to prison for this?” I stared at him in disbelief, then pointed at Natalie, who looked secretly pleased on the bed. “Do you believe me, or do you believe her?” Just as he hesitated, the men pulled out chat records with “me.” “Boss, the transfer records are still here. You can’t deny it. Look…” “Or are you saying we didn’t do enough? That we went too easy on her? Just say the word. Next time, we’ll make sure she can never show her face again.” I looked up helplessly and met Simon’s ice-cold gaze. In the end, he chose to believe them. The man roared like a madman. “Get out, all of you! If you dare touch Natalie again, I’ll make sure you don’t see tomorrow’s sun!” Those men exchanged glances and rushed out of the room. My feet felt nailed to the floor, heavy as lead. Simon walked toward me, his expression cold to the extreme. “Apologize to Natalie. Now.” I held my crying baby tightly and looked at him. Then repeated, “I didn’t do it.” Natalie’s face was pale as she grabbed his arm. “If she doesn’t want to apologize, forget it. I deserve it. I took their immigration slot. I deserve this…” The more she said that, the more disappointment filled Simon’s eyes when he looked at me. He gritted his teeth and suddenly gave a cold laugh. “Your mentally ill mother lost her mind after being attacked. Are you mentally ill too? Do you want everyone to suffer like your family did?” I froze. Something shattered in my chest. That was the nightmare of my life. And now he had taken it and stabbed it straight into my heart. A tear slid down before I could stop it. Only then did he realize what he had said. “Wren, I…” I stared at his unfamiliar face and suddenly felt this marriage was nothing but a joke. I looked at Natalie, then at him. Without hesitation, I carried my child and left the room. After a long pause, Simon’s powerless roar came from behind me. “If you don’t apologize, don’t ever come home again!” But my steps never stopped. Fine. We would never go home again. … When Simon returned home, he opened the car door and stared blankly at the flowers and gifts he had bought. My abnormal behavior made him inexplicably irritated. In truth, he didn’t want to soften toward me so quickly. But after thinking it over, he still carried everything upstairs. The moment he pushed open the door, however, his steps stopped abruptly.

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1 On the eve of my due date, I received the news that Marcus Reed’s yacht had exploded and that he was missing at sea. The shock sent me into obstructed labor and massive bleeding. When I woke up, the doctor told me my baby had been born without a heartbeat. The double blow of losing my husband and my child hollowed me out. I drifted through the hospital ward every day like a ghost. Until late one night, the algorithm pushed me a video from an account called *Rosie’s Diary*. The title read: [A family of three escaping to an island. Love is the only salvation.] In the video, a pair of long, well-defined hands gently held a woman in a lace dress. Between them was a newborn wrapped in a blanket. On the inside of the baby’s wrist was a butterfly-shaped birthmark, red as blood. The creator had been careful. The man’s face was heavily blurred, and the wedding ring he always wore was gone. But I could never mistake those hands. Those hands had once pushed a burning beam away from me in a fire, leaving a long burn scar across the palm. That scar was the medal of our seven years of love. For one instant, I thought grief had made me hallucinate. But if the scar was a coincidence, then how could I explain the butterfly birthmark on the baby’s wrist? That birthmark was a maternal inheritance in the Whitaker family. My grandmother had it. My mother had it. I had it. With trembling fingers, I touched the skin on my own wrist. It was a genetic brand. No one outside my family could possibly know about it. If the scar was coincidence, what about this one-of-a-kind family birthmark? I bit my lip hard, trying to use pain to force back the dizziness, but my fingers shook uncontrollably as I opened the comments. “Marcus really pulled off the fake-death escape. Congrats, man. When are you coming back so we can celebrate?” “Keep it low-key. Only heaven and earth know about this. Don’t let anything leak.” “Don’t worry, Marcus. I’ll keep an eye on your wife.” Although the two accounts had default profile pictures, I would know that tone even if it turned to ash. They were Marcus’s two closest friends. My nails dug deep into my palm, leaving sticky red crescents behind. I never imagined that the husband who had sworn the day before to stay beside me in the delivery room would fake his death and run off with another woman the next day. And even steal my child, the baby I had been told was stillborn. “Julia, why are you out of bed? Lie back down. The doctor said you’re dangerously weak.” Travis pushed open the door, his face full of worry that almost looked real. He hurried forward to support me. “Julia, the dead can’t come back. You have to take care of yourself for Marcus. His death certificate and funeral arrangements are still waiting for your signature.” Funeral? For a living man? Maybe my dead, empty stare made Travis nervous. His eyes flickered, and he tried to smooth things over. “Don’t be too hopeless, okay? The search at sea still isn’t over. They haven’t found a body. Maybe… maybe there could still be a miracle.” “You mean Marcus might not be dead?” My sluggish mind finally caught a thread of logic in the chaos. I didn’t understand what Marcus was trying to accomplish with this act. Abandon his wife and child, then come back later as if nothing had happened? Travis didn’t dare meet my eyes. “I’m just trying to comfort you. Anyway, you need to take care of yourself first.” As if afraid I would notice the holes in his story, he muttered something about paying the hospital bill and fled the room. Two minutes later, my phone chimed with a special-follow notification. [Your special follow just posted a new update.] The moment I saw that first video, I had followed Rosie’s account with an old unused profile. To avoid being tracked, Marcus must have cut off all contact back home. That woman’s account was his only window. Dragging my body, torn with pain, I supported myself against the wall and moved step by step toward the door. I knew this might be my only chance to tear open the bloody truth. 2 I clenched my teeth and quietly followed Travis. Just as I turned the corner of the hallway, I heard him complaining in a low voice. “Marcus, what the hell is this? Julia looks like she’s about to follow you into the grave.” Through the phone came the sound of waves and the familiar voice of that man. Cold enough to freeze my blood. “What’s the rush? Stabilize her first. Have her handle the insurance claim and funeral matters. Once the heat dies down, I’ll naturally come back.” “Didn’t you say you were just going on a honeymoon and coming back? Why drag it out so long?” Marcus laughed softly, his tone full of indulgence. “What do you know? There are too many annoying procedures back home. Rosie wants a once-in-a-lifetime wedding, so of course I have to give her one overseas.” The pulling pain in my abdominal incision reminded me that I had walked through the gates of death for this man. But no physical pain could compare to even one ten-thousandth of what was happening to my heart. In a daze, I remembered every time I mentioned holding the wedding we never had, Marcus always put me off. He said, “My career is rising right now. A wedding would be too distracting. You’re my best partner, Julia. You understand, right?” After I found out I was pregnant, he said, “Honey, wearing a wedding dress with a big belly won’t look good. After the baby is born, I’ll give you the grandest wedding.” How ridiculous. I once treated those lies as sacred promises. From the other end of the phone came a woman’s sweet, clingy voice. Marcus immediately changed into a gentle tone and coaxed her for a few words. Then he spoke coldly to Travis. “Remember to keep an eye on your sister-in-law. Make sure she recovers. Rosie says she wants a daughter, and then we’ll have the perfect pair.” When I returned to the room, my phone screen was still lit. The influencer called Rosie had started a livestream. On camera, she wore a bohemian dress and smiled innocently. “Good evening, babes. The baby’s dad is way too shy. He refuses to appear on camera and won’t even let me talk too much.” A large hand reached in from the side and affectionately pinched Rosie’s cheek. The live chat exploded. “Oh my God, what kind of fairytale love is this?” “So this is the rich heir who fought the whole world for love? I’m obsessed!” “New follower here. What’s the story?” “Girl, this is true love wins. Rosie’s husband faked his death and gave up a billion-dollar inheritance to escape an arranged marriage!” On-screen, the woman lowered her head shyly. “We already exchanged vows at a local church. In the face of true love, a marriage certificate is just paper.” As soon as she finished, the man outside the frame leaned in and kissed her forehead. The livestream was full of their shameless flirting, while in the background, a baby’s weak crying could be heard. “Am I the only one who thinks that baby sounds miserable? His throat sounds hoarse.” When Rosie saw the comment, her face changed slightly. She reached over and dragged the baby into frame. Her stiff way of holding him made him cry even harder. “He’s an abandoned baby my husband and I adopted. I’ve never had a child before, but I’ll love him as my own. He’ll be the luckiest baby in the world.” The comments were full of praise, calling her beautiful and kind. Only I caught the disgust that flashed in Rosie’s eyes when she lowered her head. And the hand hidden under the blanket, pressing too hard. My child. I covered my mouth tightly as tears broke free without sound. When Travis came back, he arranged top-tier VIP care for me. I did not refuse. Even if it was paid for with my husband’s “death money,” I needed to recover as fast as possible. Only then would I have the strength for revenge. In the days that followed, I lived like a ghost and watched through a screen as Marcus and his true love held a lavish wedding in Bali. From the release of white doves to the champagne roses scattered across the ground. Every detail was taken from the dream wedding I had once drawn for him in my notebook. I still remembered showing Marcus my hand-drawn plans with excitement. He had looked so carefully, his eyes warm enough to melt. He said, “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Even if you ask for the stars.” Back then, I was so moved I held him and said I only needed him. Now, he had indeed recreated my dream perfectly. Only the bride had changed. 3 Watching the man on-screen kneel on one knee and swear his loyalty, I lifted my hand without expression and wiped away my last tear. Snap. The rosewood prayer bracelet on my wrist suddenly broke, scattering beads across the floor. Marcus had once climbed the steps of a mountain shrine on his knees to ask for that bracelet. Back then, my family had fallen apart. My father jumped from a building. My mother lost her mind. Debt collectors cornered me until I almost ended my own life. It was Marcus who stood in front of me, took the beating for me, and said through blood: “Julia, as long as I’m alive, no one can touch you.” He put that bracelet on my wrist and swore: “The priest said these beads block disaster. If they stay, I stay. If they break, I die.” His vow still rang in my ears. And now the bracelet had broken. I looked at the beads rolling across the floor. The last soft filter I had over my youth shattered completely. This was fate. The toxic bond was over. “My son is barely gone, and you’re sitting here eating grapes one after another? You curse of a woman!” Before I could bend to pick up the beads, brute force dragged me off the sofa. Marcus’s mother stormed in like a madwoman. After postpartum bleeding, my body had been ruined. Add the mental torture of these days, and I was frighteningly weak. But Mrs. Reed had spent her life doing farm work in the countryside and was strong as an ox. I was shoved around like a rag doll. “I said from the beginning you had the face of a woman who would ruin her husband! And look now. You killed my son, and you didn’t even leave behind a grandson. Give me back my son!” Mrs. Reed wailed and struck me at the same time. Travis peeked in from the doorway, calling out hypocritically. “Ma’am, calm down. Julia is a victim too.” He said he was helping, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He did not take a single step forward to separate us. “What kind of victim is she? Living in my son’s house, spending my son’s compensation money! What use is a hen that can’t lay eggs?” Mrs. Reed and I had always had a tense relationship. She despised me as a fallen heiress, too delicate and too expensive. Marcus used to protect me. He even sent his mother back to her hometown over it. That only made Mrs. Reed hate me more. Now that Marcus was no longer there to restrain her, her malice burst open like floodwater. “Ugh!” Her elbow rammed into my abdomen. The wound that had barely healed tore with sharp pain. In my daze, I wondered whether Marcus had imagined this scene before staging his death. Of course he had. Maybe this had been part of the plan. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, only icy resolve remained. If no one would protect me, then I would protect myself. I grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table. With a loud crack, I smashed it against Mrs. Reed’s forehead. Blood instantly ran down her cheek.

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On the day I died, my husband was being lifted onto a pedestal by his new book, *Born Toward the Sun*. The book told the inspirational story of how he and his first love fought cancer together. She was a fellow patient he had met during treatment. The whole internet praised the resilience of life and cried over their love, the kind that seemed to cling to each other between life and death. No one knew that his treatment had been paid for by me. I worked in an office during the day and delivered food at night, order by order, mile by mile. He survived cancer. But I worked myself sick, ate irregularly for too long, developed stomach cancer, and died vomiting blood. When I opened my eyes again, my husband was standing in front of me, handing me his cancer diagnosis. The water that had filled my brain in my last life seemed to flow out through my eyes. This time, I was perfectly clear-headed. So I let myself collapse onto the sofa. Forget “seek treatment as soon as possible.” Let me perform first. 1 I was back. Back to the day my husband, Ryan Cole, was diagnosed with leukemia. I looked at the diagnosis in front of me. Lymphocytic leukemia. Ryan and I had been college classmates. We dated for two years on campus, married after graduation, and spent four sweet years as a couple. We had even planned to start trying for a baby this year. In my last life, I got Ryan’s call and rushed home after asking for leave from work. When I learned about his illness, it felt like lightning striking a clear sky. But when I saw how devastated he looked, I forced myself to pull together. I knew I couldn’t fall apart. Ryan was more fragile than I was at that moment. He needed me. The diagnosis recommended seeking treatment as soon as possible. So I hurriedly packed our things and took him to the hospital that very day. After all, for things like bone marrow donation, the earlier you got in line, the better your odds. In the rush, there were bound to be oversights. And later, that became one of Ryan’s reasons for resenting me. “Audrey always does things in such a panic. She never thinks things through.” At the time, I blamed myself. I thought I shouldn’t have lost my head in the chaos. But later, I accidentally heard him sigh to another patient. “If only I’d been admitted one day later. Then I could have shared a room with Lily.” His voice was full of regret. Lily was the cancer patient in the next room. She was also the first love in his book. Thinking of that, I lowered my eyes. I refused to look at the face I had once found handsome and now found almost hateful. Since he regretted it so much, I would make his wish come true this time. 2 I closed my eyes. Warm liquid slid from the corners. It reached my lips, but I couldn’t taste salt. I thought perhaps these were the waters from my flooded brain in my last life. So I cried even harder. And my mind became clearer. Sometimes, doing something well is far less important than looking like you are. I let myself go limp on the sofa, head tilted at an elegant forty-five-degree angle. My face held four parts grief, three parts panic, two parts helplessness, and one part fragile beauty. Seeing me cry so hard I couldn’t speak, Ryan seemed to feel the heavy stone in his own chest loosen. He actually began comforting me softly. “Audrey, it’s okay. I’ll always be with you.” That had never happened in my last life. Back then, I quickly wiped away my tears, became his pillar, and arranged his hospital admission as fast as possible. Through the whole process, Ryan had been like a puppet with its strings cut, completely defeated. I was the one running up and down, while still taking care of his emotions. Who would have thought that in this life, shedding a few extra tears would make Ryan feel even more comforted? So I only cried and said nothing. After a long while, I finally stopped my attack of tears. Crying took energy too. “Ryan, we’ll get you treated properly. You’ll recover.” Before he could answer, I “struggled” to my feet. I kept muttering, “You rest. I’ll hurry to the store. Hospital stay means towels, and…” My mouth didn’t stop, and my steps were hurried. I looked busy from head to toe. Ryan’s expression softened more and more. What a thoughtful wife I was. So considerate. So completely devoted to him. 3 Preparing everything took time. By the time I finished, we could only go to the hospital the next day. Listening to the shower running in the bathroom, I took my phone from my bag. The slightly hard touch under my fingers steadied me. It was the tiny voice recorder I had bought that day. I opened TikTok and created an account. Expressionless, I wrote my first diary entry. [Day One After My Husband’s Leukemia Diagnosis: Preparing for admission. Come on. You can do this. You can protect him.] The photos were his diagnosis and the two large bags of supplies I had bought. I blurred the personal information on the diagnosis, leaving only the word leukemia visible. After posting, I logged out and put the phone back in my bag. The bathroom door opened. Ryan came out in a robe, his hair still dripping. By instinct, I wanted to grab a towel and dry it for him. In my last life, I did that every time. I was terrified he would catch a cold and affect his treatment. Taking care of him in every possible way had become a habit carved into my bones. “What’s wrong?” Seeing me stand, Ryan looked confused. “Nothing. I’m going to shower.” I smoothly withdrew the hand that had been reaching for the towel and walked into the bathroom. In the mirror, my eyes were faintly red at the edges. Steam filled the bathroom, blurring everything. For a moment, I seemed to see the wretched version of myself from my last life. I reached out and wiped the fog from the mirror. And with it, I smoothed away the tiny ripple that had risen in my heart. The woman in the mirror had deep, still eyes. There was no trace of panic from just learning her husband had cancer. 4 Early the next morning, I carried two large bags and accompanied Ryan to the hospital. I remembered at all times that I had to be a proper “good wife.” And a good wife, of course, had to record every detail. Click. My phone captured a photo of our “departure for battle.” In the picture, the woman’s back was straight, not crushed by the two heavy bags. Her face wore a strong smile. By contrast, the man beside her carried a small bag. His smile was forced, shadowed by gloom. Anyone who saw it would think I was the good wife about to carry the weight of the whole family without being broken. Diary material plus one. After completing the admission paperwork, Ryan was assigned to Room 21. The very room he had pined over for so long in my last life. Back then, we had arrived one day earlier, and he had been placed in Room 22 next door. Right after he was admitted, a bed had opened in Room 21, right next to Lily’s. He regretted it for ages. Later, he even resented me for it, blaming me for being too hasty and making him miss the chance to be closer to Lily. Ryan’s bed was by the window. On the bed beside his sat a young woman with her legs crossed. She was in her early twenties, bald from treatment, and looking down at a book. Hearing us, she lifted her head and smiled brightly. “Hi there.” Her voice was crisp, nothing like a person suffering from cancer. Her smile made me dazed for a moment. She was like a bright splash of color in that pale hospital room. Apparently, I was not the only one dazed. Ryan froze too. Then his eyes lit up like searchlights. That light was different from the gentle warmth I had seen in him before. Before, he was like fruit wine, warm and mellow, enough to make someone softly drunk. Now, the light in his eyes was like hard liquor, burning hot. “Hi. I’m Ryan.” “Everyone calls me Lily,” the girl said with an easy smile. 5 Lily was lively and talkative. Soon, the atmosphere in the room became animated. She was completely open about her eye-catching bald head. “It looks a little ugly, but washing my hair is so easy now.” “Not ugly. Not ugly at all,” Ryan said, word by word, his eyes full of seriousness. Lily froze slightly. She glanced at me as I busied myself setting things up, then seemed a little embarrassed and quickly changed the subject. So everything had signs from the beginning. In my last life, to cover Ryan’s expensive medical bills, I worked delivery after my day job. Under both mental and physical pressure, my hair fell out in handfuls. When Ryan saw it, he was only disgusted. He told me to pay attention to my appearance and stop getting hair everywhere. “Audrey, your scalp is showing. It’s kind of gross.” “Audrey, why are you so sloppy now? Your hair got on my blanket.” Perhaps in Ryan’s eyes, Lily’s bald head represented the glow of life. While my hair loss was nothing but the messy reality of daily struggle. My hands did not pause as I made the bed and arranged his things. Using my body as cover, I placed the tiny voice recorder in a hidden corner. Once everything was settled, I stepped outside the room and called my mother-in-law. The real me would not stupidly carry this burden alone again. 6 I was never Ryan’s parents’ ideal daughter-in-law. One reason was that my parents had died young, and my family offered no real support. But they forgot something. When we married, I had only asked symbolically for a bride gift of six thousand six hundred dollars. And in the end, every cent went back into household expenses. The old me thought Ryan was my whole life. Whatever I had belonged to our little home. As someone alone in the world, I longed for family. So I gave everything, every ounce of my heart, to maintaining that home. In my last life, Ryan persuaded me not to touch his parents’ retirement money unless there was no other choice. “Audrey, we still have about two hundred thousand. If something happens to me, we can’t leave my parents with nothing in old age…” Back then, I couldn’t bear hearing him talk like that. I quickly agreed. I thought I was young. If I worked a few more jobs, I could make it through. Later, one of his relatives accidentally let slip that my in-laws had nearly a million dollars in demolition compensation from their hometown property. So my understanding of them had been that shallow. After four years of marriage, I was still an outsider. In my last life, whether Ryan or his parents, they all watched me work by day and deliver food by night. Through wind and rain, growing more haggard by the day. No one ever mentioned that million. The phone rang seven or eight times. In my heart, I counted. Nine. Ten. My mother-in-law’s dissatisfaction with me also showed in how she answered calls. She never picked up immediately. She always waited until the call was about to end before leisurely pressing answer. “Hello, Mom. Ryan is in the hospital.” My voice carried a sob. “The doctor says treatment will cost hundreds of thousands.” “Mom, what should I do?” 7 After a passionate crying performance, I hung up, still wanting more. I guessed the old couple would arrive from their hometown tomorrow. Just as in my last life, I registered on a food delivery app, preparing to deliver after work. But this time, I would not work myself to death. In my last life, I wanted to buy Ryan the best medicine possible. I wished I could grow eight arms. I kept refreshing the app for orders and rode my scooter like I was flying. Several times, I was nearly hit. Rain, wind, snow, it didn’t matter. I usually worked until midnight every day before returning home. To squeeze in more orders, I often missed meals. When I ate, I would grab a bun or piece of bread and swallow a few bites casually. Now? After eating my fill, I opened the app at a leisurely pace. Too far, no. Too heavy, no. After picking a few easy orders, I called it a night. When I got home, I logged into TikTok and began editing the day’s material. Including hospital clips, delivery clips, and more. I wrote my second diary entry: [Got my husband to the hospital in time. The doctor estimates treatment will cost hundreds of thousands. It’s okay. I can still do delivery part-time. Smile.jpg] The next day, my in-laws arrived at the hospital. The moment my mother-in-law entered the room and saw Ryan, her eyes reddened. “Son, you’ve suffered.” Ryan quickly comforted her. “Mom, it’s okay. The doctor said it’s treatable.” As he spoke, guilt appeared on his face. “Dad, Mom, I made you worry.” The three of them looked warm and close. I arrived in my bright delivery vest, like an intruder ruining the scene. My voice trembled. “Dad, Mom, I’ll take good care of Ryan.” My fingers tugged at the delivery vest, and I lowered my head in shame. “But the economy is bad right now. Last night I only made forty-one dollars…” Halfway through, I “lost control” and began wiping tears. Ryan, who had looked vaguely disapproving, now seemed moved. My mother-in-law stiffened. Then for the first time ever, she reached out and patted my arm. “You’re a good girl. Ryan is our only child. Even if we have to sell everything, we’ll treat him.” As she spoke, she took out her phone. “We came in a hurry. We only have thirty-six thousand and change on hand. I’ll transfer it to you for emergencies first. Later, I’ll ask relatives to lend us more.” Thirty-six thousand and change. Very convincing. I did not mind that it was little. With the first thirty-six thousand, could the second be far behind? I looked deeply moved. “Dad, Mom, Ryan will definitely treat you well in the future.” 8 The days passed one by one. I still worked in the office during the day and delivered a few orders at night depending on my mood. Every day, I checked in at the hospital. I never stayed long, but my photo album recorded my figure at the hospital every night. Every few days, I made Ryan a nice nutritious meal. But making it every day and changing the menu constantly like in my last life? Impossible. In my last life, the doctor said nutrition was important for patients. So I shamelessly asked the doctor for details, from meals to snacks. For a while, the doctor practically avoided me. I also searched online. To get Ryan to eat a few more bites, I learned recipes from food bloggers. The meals had to be nutritious and delicious. I did not want the effort from my last life to go to waste. On TikTok, my diary became richer and richer. I wrote out all the experience I had gained from caring for Ryan in my last life. How to book specialists. How to handle donor matching. How to prepare nutritious meals for patients. Post by post, I turned it into practical content. These were all things I had learned through countless sleepless nights, endless research, and consulting many people. Cancer tortured patients physically. But family members carried both mental and financial pressure. My account followers grew from zero to ten. Then one hundred. Then over three thousand two hundred. People began thanking me in the comments, saying my posts were useful. The effort of my last life was finally being seen. But Ryan still did not see it. His eyes were full of Lily now. If Lily had one more needle mark on her hand, he felt heartache. If the book Lily read was one he loved, he was delighted. They talked from *Norwegian Wood* to *Gone with the Wind*, then to *Wuthering Heights*. The more they talked, the more perfectly they clicked. Lily was like spiritual opium for Ryan. With her, he could no longer feel the terror of cancer. He no longer feared life suddenly ending. Ryan had a literary side, which was one of the things I loved about him in my last life. Whenever he spoke eloquently about some classic novel, I always looked at him with starry eyes. But when I shared my own thoughts, he would give me a look that said, You don’t understand. Now, he and Lily were chatting happily. I put down the thermos, left the room, and updated my diary. [My husband chatted about literature with his fellow patient today. His smile was very bright. As long as he’s happy. I just feel a little regretful that I couldn’t join the conversation. I need to work harder.]

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1 I have been a preschool teacher for five years. I treat every single kid in my class like my own flesh and blood. So when I had just seen off the last toddler and was about to clock out, the phone call from my director made my stomach drop. “Autumn, get back to the office right now.” Valerie’s voice was sharp. “Fiona’s dad is furious. He says she broke out in a severe rash. You need to get here and explain yourself.” My heart hammered against my ribs. Without thinking, I pivoted on my heel and started sprinting back toward the administration building. Then, lines of glowing crimson text abruptly materialized in my line of sight, floating in thin air. [Do not go back. Whatever you do, do not step into that office.] [Fiona is dead. She stopped breathing the second she got home. If you go back now, you are walking straight into a trap.] [They planted all the fake evidence in your desk. You will be framed for murder and put on death row. The internet mob will drive your parents to suicide.] My sneakers skidded to a dead halt on the concrete. Cold sweat drenched my spine in an instant. I rubbed my eyes hard. I wondered if I was having a hypoglycemic hallucination from being overworked. But the blood red warnings remained burned into my retinas, stubbornly hovering in the air. Parents and pedestrians walked right past the letters, completely oblivious. Only I could see them. Right on cue, the piercing wail of ambulance sirens echoed from a few blocks away. They were heading exactly toward Fiona’s neighborhood. My pulse pounded in my ears. I took a deep breath, forcing my panicked brain into logical overdrive. Something was deeply wrong. If it was just a rash and not anaphylactic shock, why would Valerie and the corporate board be making such a massive deal out of it immediately? My phone vibrated violently in my palm. A voice memo from Valerie. I tapped the screen. “Autumn, where the hell are you!” “Richard from the corporate board is doing an inspection today and he is pissed! You have exactly three minutes to get your ass in here!” “Come back, explain yourself, sign the incident report, and you are off the hook!” Her tone was utterly unhinged. It was dripping with a frantic, desperate energy. And why a strict three minute deadline? Why not tell me to rush to the hospital? The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. If the floating text was real, they weren’t calling me back to deal with a rash. They were locking me in a room to pin a dead child on me. There were no security cameras in the director’s office. Once I stepped inside, it would be my word against theirs. The moment they “discovered” the planted evidence in my desk, my life would be over. I stared at the screen, my fingers curling into tight fists. I absolutely could not go back. But as the lead teacher, if I just bolted from the campus during a crisis, they would twist that into a confession. They would tell the cops I fled out of guilt. I needed an alibi. I needed an irrefutable, rock solid excuse for why I couldn’t make it to that office. If the warnings were right about the trap, I had to gamble my life to break out of it. I whipped my head toward the busy intersection right outside the academy gates. The crosswalk light was flashing yellow, warning pedestrians to clear out. A silver delivery van, loaded with cargo, was gunning the engine to beat the red light. It showed zero signs of slowing down. There was no time to hesitate. I shoved my phone into my pocket, zipped up my jacket, and sprinted straight into the crosswalk. The roar of the wind mixed with the ear piercing screech of rubber tires locking up. I calculated the van’s trajectory, took two hard steps to the right, and threw my entire body weight into the massive grille of the vehicle. A sickening, hollow thud rang out. A monstrous wave of kinetic force shattered into my left hip. Gravity ceased to exist. I was launched through the air, slamming brutally onto the asphalt and rolling four times before grinding to a halt. An agonizing, tearing pain ripped through my left leg. Warm, sticky liquid cascaded down my forehead, gluing my left eye shut. The van sat diagonally across the lanes about forty feet away, leaving two thick, black skid marks on the pavement. The driver kicked his door open. He was pale as a ghost, pointing a trembling finger at me and screaming. “Are you insane! You just jumped a red light!” A crowd swarmed instantly. Cell phones were pulled out. People were screaming for someone to call 911. Black spots danced in my vision. The pain was blinding. I bit down on my tongue so hard I tasted copper, using the metallic tang to anchor my fading consciousness. A patrol officer stationed near the intersection pushed his way through the crowd. “Back up! Give her space! Did someone call an ambulance!” The cop dropped to one knee beside me, grabbing his radio to call dispatch. I reached out with a trembling right hand and clamped my fingers onto the sleeve of his uniform. My knuckles turned white from the effort. The officer looked down at me. “Officer.” I gasped, staring directly into his eyes. “I was in a severe accident. Please. Make sure your bodycam captures the scene and my injuries. Document the exact time on your official report.” The cop frowned but immediately tapped the camera on his chest, ensuring the lens was angled at my bloodied face. “It’s recording. Just save your strength. The paramedics are two minutes out!” He gripped my wrist, shouting over the noise to keep me calm. A fraction of the tension drained from my muscles. It was exactly 4:15 PM. I was lying in a pool of my own blood down the street from the academy. No matter what documents Valerie forged in that office, no matter what exact minute Fiona was pronounced dead, I now possessed an unbreakable, heavily documented alibi. The ambulance wailed onto the scene. Paramedics hauled me onto a stretcher. My entire left leg was dead weight, my knee twisted outward at a grotesque, unnatural angle. The heavy doors of the ambulance slammed shut, cutting off the chaotic street noise. The EMT snipped my pant leg open with trauma shears and physically flinched. “Open tibial fracture. Let’s get a splint on this, now!” Cold antiseptic poured directly over the exposed bone. I bit down on a wad of gauze, swallowing my own agonized screams until my throat tasted like ash. My phone vibrated violently against the stretcher. The screen lit up. Valerie. I stared coldly at the flashing caller ID until the screen finally went black. Mercy General’s trauma center smelled like bleach and copper. The ER doc was brutally efficient, realigning the bone and setting the cast. Every time they manipulated the fracture, white hot lightning shot through my nervous system. I lay back on the thin pillow, my face drained of color, staring blankly at the harsh fluorescent lights. The patrol officer from the intersection walked into my bay holding a clipboard. “Autumn, the accident report is finalized. The driver was speeding to beat a yellow light. He’s fully at fault.” “Here is the official citation and report. I need your signature here.” I took the pen, scribbled my name, and locked my eyes on the timestamp at the top of the page. Time of incident: 16:15. I folded the thick yellow paper twice and shoved it deep into my sports bra. The curtain was suddenly ripped open. Jess burst into the room, her backpack slung over one shoulder, panting heavily. She was the assistant teacher in the classroom next to mine. She was also Valerie’s niece. Her eyes darted straight to my massive plaster cast. The corner of her mouth twitched in something that looked a lot like relief, before she slapped a mask of sheer panic onto her face. “Oh my god, Autumn! What happened to you!” “Valerie has been calling you non stop! We’ve been worried sick!” As she spoke, she immediately reached her hands under my pillow, blindly feeling around. “Where’s your phone? Let me text the director and tell her you are okay.” I raised my right hand and caught her wrist in a vice grip. Jess went pale, wincing as she tried to yank her arm back. “Autumn, what the hell, you are hurting me.” “My battery died.” I released her, keeping my gaze deadlocked on hers. “Why is Valerie looking for me?” Jess rubbed her wrist, her eyes darting away. “It’s about Fiona. The parents are going crazy. They are claiming she ate something toxic at school and broke out in hives. Valerie wanted you to come explain things.” “But obviously you can’t go back looking like this.” She forced a smile. “Just give me your desk keys. I’ll go through your drawers and see if I can find your lesson plans or anything that proves you did nothing wrong.” Liar. The red warning flashed in my memory: The fake evidence is in your desk. She wasn’t here to help me. She was here to get the keys so she could plant the lethal dose right in my private drawer. “No.” I planted both hands on the mattress and forced myself into a sitting position. The violent movement sent a shockwave of agony through my shattered leg. A fresh layer of cold sweat popped out on my forehead. “Fiona is my student. If her parents have questions, I am going to answer them to their faces. That is my job.” I said it loud enough for the hallway to hear. Jess’s face fell. She frantically pushed on my shoulders, trying to shove me back down. “Are you insane! The doctor said you can’t move! You are just going to make things worse!” “Who said anything about going to the school?” I swatted her hands away. “If Fiona had a severe allergic reaction, they called an ambulance. And this is the only level one trauma center in the district. She’s in this hospital, isn’t she?” Jess’s pupils dilated. She stammered, “Who… who said she was here? Stop guessing.” I ignored her and looked past the curtain at the patrol officer. “Officer.” I raised my voice, filling it with desperate urgency. “One of my students is having a medical emergency. The parents are extremely volatile right now. I cannot hide in this bed.” “Please. Find me a wheelchair and take me to the pediatric ICU. With a police officer present, we can keep the parents from getting physical.” The cop looked at my cast, then at Jess’s terrified, guilty expression. “Alright. I’ll grab a chair. I’ll escort you down.” He turned and walked out. Jess practically stomped her foot in frustration. She turned her back to me, ripped her phone out, and started furiously texting someone. The wheelchair squeaked against the linoleum as the officer pushed me down the seemingly endless corridors toward Pediatric Resuscitation. Before we even turned the corner, the sound of guttural screaming and shattering plastic echoed down the hall. A massive crowd clogged the corridor outside the ER doors. Fiona’s father, Marcus, had bloodshot eyes and was swinging a metal folding chair like a baseball bat, smashing it repeatedly into the drywall. Chunks of plaster rained down around him. Two dozen of Fiona’s relatives stood in a semi circle, weeping and screaming curses at the top of their lungs. Valerie was cowering in the corner. Her hair was a rat’s nest, her expensive blouse ripped at the collar. She was fake sobbing, hiding her face in her hands. When the crowd saw the cop wheeling me into the hallway, the screaming died instantly. A suffocating silence blanketed the room. Every pair of eyes locked onto me. Valerie lunged forward. She pointed a manicured finger so close to my face it almost poked my eye, spit flying from her lips. “Autumn! You have the nerve to show your face! What the hell did you feed that poor girl!” “Just to make a few extra bucks under the table from those shady supplement vendors, you fed her unapproved pills! You killed a child!” The hallway erupted. Marcus snapped his neck toward me. He dropped the metal chair and charged like a wounded bull. “You! You killed my little girl!” He kicked the wheelchair with everything he had. I went flying out of the seat, hitting the hard marble floor. The heavy plaster cast smashed against the tiles and cracked right down the middle. Freshly clotted wounds tore open. Bright red blood instantly soaked through the white gauze, pooling on the floor. Marcus stood over me, his eyes wide and psychotic, screaming until his vocal cords shredded. “You evil, murdering bitch! You poisoned my daughter for a goddamn kickback!” “You are a monster! I am going to tear you apart with my bare hands!” Other patients and bystanders in the hallway caught wind of the accusations. They closed in, disgusted, spitting vile insults at me. “Literal murderer! Looking all sweet and innocent while poisoning kids!” “Trash like her needs to rot in a maximum security cell!” A glob of spit flew from the crowd and landed on my cheek. The pain in my leg was making the room spin. I curled into a fetal position in my own blood, massive tears mixing with the cold sweat on my face. I bit down on my lip until it bled, my fingernails digging into my palms. “Back the hell off! Everyone step back!” The police officer roared, stepping over me and throwing his arms wide to hold back the mob. Marcus’s relatives surged forward, shoving the cop. Someone managed to slip a foot past the officer’s boots and viciously stomped on my back. Fighting through the dizzying pain, I forced my head up and looked at Valerie. Valerie, hiding safely behind the wall of angry family members, shot a subtle look at Jess. Jess immediately unzipped her backpack. She pulled out a clear evidence bag holding a small, empty plastic pill bottle. She held it high in the air, screaming like a banshee. “Look! Look everyone! I just found this hidden in the very back of Autumn’s desk drawer!” “The doctor just told us Fiona died from going into anaphylactic shock from an unknown chemical substance! This is what she gave her!” Seeing that empty bottle completely broke Marcus’s mind. He sidestepped the cop, grabbed a heavy red fire extinguisher off the wall bracket, and hoisted it above his head, aiming straight for my skull. “I’m sending you to hell to apologize to my baby!” “Put it down! You swing that and you are catching a felony charge right now!” The officer ripped his metal baton from his belt and struck the side of the fire extinguisher with a deafening crack. The metallic boom echoed through the hallway, making Marcus freeze for a split second. The cop pointed his baton straight at Jess and the plastic bag. “You’re claiming she fed the kid those pills. What time did this happen?” Valerie pushed her way to the front of the crowd, playing the heroic whistleblower. “Four thirty! Right before Fiona went home! I saw it with my own eyes. Autumn pulled her into a corner and slipped her the pills with her water!” “The girl was picked up at five, and she was dead before she even walked through her front door!” The officer slowly turned his head. He looked down at my broken body lying in a pool of blood, and then leveled a glacial stare at Valerie. “Bullshit.” The cop reached into his chest pocket and pulled out the yellow accident report with the bright red official police stamp. He unfolded it and held it up for the entire hallway to see. “Then look at this. What the hell is this?”

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1 For the past thirty days, I’ve been living inside Anna’s house, and she still has no idea I exist. It’s kind of a thrill, honestly. I know “phrogging” is technically a felony, but I didn’t plan on staying this long. I originally just needed a place to crash for a couple of nights. But her setup is just too perfect. She lives alone, she’s wealthy, and she’s completely blind. The first time I slipped inside was during a torrential thunderstorm. I popped the vent grating on the side of her luxury condo and slithered into her life like a cockroach. Because she’s blind, I don’t even have to hide in the crawlspace or the attic like I used to. I can sit right on her expensive leather sofa, watching her fumble her way to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. I can watch her change her clothes less than four inches away from my face. She has beautiful eyes. Even though they’re milky and unfocused, it always feels like she’s looking right at me. It gives me a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction. I log all her daily habits into my encrypted private blog. I titled it: Diary of Keeping a Blind Girl. Anna is a piano instructor. Her routine is as rigid as a machine. She wakes up at 8:00 AM, feels her way to the bathroom, practices piano at 9:00, and listens to audiobooks at 2:00 PM. As a seasoned phrogger, I mapped out her auditory blind spots by day three. I know exactly which floorboards creak. I know exactly when she turns on her loud robot vacuum so I can sneak into the kitchen and steal her food. The feeling of watching your prey living completely defenseless right under your nose… it’s addictive. I am addicted to this blind girl. I feel like I am her god. But I haven’t touched her. I haven’t even dared to steal a kiss while she sleeps. Once she goes to bed, I just lie down on the plush rug next to her mattress and breathe the exact same air she breathes. It makes me feel like, for once in my miserable life, I actually have a home. That was, until the day an unexpected man rang the doorbell. I peeked through the peephole. A heavy set man with a scarred, meaty face was standing there, gripping a steel hammer. Anna walked to the door, her hands trembling slightly as she unlocked it. I was watching through the crack of the bedroom door, calculating exactly how I was going to burst out and play the hero if things went sideways. But what happened next froze the blood in my veins. The moment the door swung open, Anna didn’t ask “Who is it?” Instead, she smiled at the empty hallway and said something that made my skin crawl. “You’re finally here. Come on in, he’s been waiting under the bed for a long time.” My heart completely stopped. I was literally lying flat on my stomach under her bed at that exact moment. Cold sweat dripped from my forehead onto the hardwood floor. In that split second, my mind raced. Did she see me? Has she been faking her blindness this entire time? But the man with the hammer just blinked, looking confused. He muttered, “Crazy bitch,” turned around, and walked away. She was bluffing. Or maybe she was just talking to herself to scare off intruders. I let out a long, shaky breath. The sheer adrenaline rush of a near miss made me even more euphoric. In this apartment, she was the owner, but I was the ghost. And the ghost sees everything. Anna locked the door and felt her way over to the grand piano. She sat down. I stood exactly six feet behind her, holding a bag of potato chips I had just swiped from her coffee table. Crunch. I bit down on a chip. The sound was deafening in the dead silent apartment. Anna’s fingers slammed on the brakes, hovering directly over the piano keys. She slowly turned her head. Her dead, milky eyes locked perfectly onto my exact position. I stopped breathing. Every muscle in my body locked up. I held the half chewed chip in my mouth, terrified to even swallow. This was the ultimate high. Dancing on the razor’s edge. If she were a normal person, she would be screaming for the cops right now. Too bad she’s blind. As long as I don’t make another sound, I am just air. Anna stayed frozen for about five seconds. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, like she was trying to isolate a sound wave. Then, she shook her head. Her fingers dropped back onto the keys, and the booming classical music drowned out everything else. I smiled a silent, manic smile and swallowed the potato chip. A blind person’s world is pitch black. And in her darkness, I am the only speck of white. 2 I absolutely relished the absolute control I had. As a veteran phrogger, I have a strict set of rules: No noise. Do not move objects. Leave no scent. Every day, while she showers, I use her exact shampoo and body wash. That way, no matter how close I get to her, she only ever smells her own scent. It is the perfect camouflage. It’s also a deeply sick form of possession. That night, I was hiding in the hollow space above her walk in closet, updating my blog. Diary of Keeping a Blind Girl – Day 30: “Her piano playing was a little messy today. Probably spooked by that guy at the door. She is so fragile. Like a porcelain doll. But she is safe here, under my watchful eye. I am her guardian angel.” The blog is heavily encrypted. Only I have the password. It’s my trophy case. My proof of existence as an invisible man. At 2:00 AM, I heard movement below me. I peeked through the slats of the closet vent. Anna, wearing a thin silk nightgown, was sleepwalking toward the closet doors. She hadn’t turned on any lights. The pale moonlight washed over her face, making her look like a corpse. She slowly pressed her cheek against the wooden closet door. Her face was only half an inch of wood away from the bottom of my feet. She just stood there. Completely motionless. What the hell was she listening to? Did I snore? Impossible. I literally tape my mouth shut when I sleep. It’s a professional habit. She stood there listening for ten agonizing minutes. Then, the corner of her mouth twitched upward into the tiniest, most microscopic smile. The smile looked incredibly sinister in the moonlight, and then it was gone. She turned around and went back to bed. I lay flat on my back above the closet, my eyes wide open until the sun came up. That was the very first time I felt genuine fear toward the blind girl I was “keeping.” The next day, a different man showed up. This wasn’t a wrong door situation. He was specifically looking for Anna. He was wearing a wrinkled blue mechanic’s shirt with a cheap plastic badge that read “Building Maintenance.” I could tell instantly it was a fake. There wasn’t even a photo on the ID. “Who is it?” Anna asked through the closed door. “Maintenance. Checking the pipes,” the man grunted. His voice was raspy and reeked of stale cigarettes. Anna opened the door, but kept the heavy chain lock secured. “I didn’t call for maintenance,” she said, her voice tight with suspicion. “Building wide inspection. Gotta check every unit,” the man said, shoving his thick fingers through the gap, trying to reach the chain. I was crouched behind the shoe rack in the entryway, my fists clenched so hard my knuckles were white. A wave of pure, unadulterated rage hit me. This was my territory. She was my prey. Any other predator who stepped onto my turf needed to die. How dare this greasy piece of shit try to lay his hands on my property. Anna was visibly terrified. She tried to slam the door shut, but she wasn’t strong enough. The man wedged his heavy work boot into the gap, flashing a disgusting, yellow toothed grin. “Living all alone, huh sweetheart? Let me come in and take a look. I’m real good with my hands.” You didn’t have to be a genius to hear the vile threat in his voice. I glanced at the heavy ceramic vase on the console table next to me. It was Anna’s favorite piece. She dusted it meticulously every week. Right now, all I wanted to do was smash it repeatedly into the side of that man’s skull. Just as I grabbed the neck of the vase, ready to charge, the man suddenly yanked his foot back. It was like he sensed something. He snapped his head, staring directly toward the shoe rack where I was hiding. Maybe I was breathing too hard. Maybe he could feel the sheer malice radiating off me. The man muttered under his breath, “Jesus, it feels like a graveyard in there.” He let go of the door. Anna slammed it shut and locked the deadbolt with a loud click. She pressed her back against the heavy wood, slid down to the floor, buried her face in her knees, and started to sob. Her crying was muffled and completely helpless. It made my chest ache physically. I wanted to burst out of hiding, wrap my arms around her, and tell her not to be afraid. Tell her I was here. But I bit my tongue. I couldn’t blow my cover yet. I was a shadow, and shadows die in the light. I watched her cry, and the dark, twisted possessiveness inside me grew like a cancer. That guy wasn’t going to just walk away. I looked through the peephole. He hadn’t left the hallway. He crouched down by the baseboard next to her door and used a piece of chalk to draw a tiny, crude symbol on the wall. It was a burglar’s mark. It meant: “Single female. Easy target.” He was coming back tonight. I reached into my pocket and flicked open my switchblade. I wasn’t sleeping tonight. I was going to teach him that this house already had a master. 3 Midnight hit, and right on cue, the guy came back. He was garbage at picking locks. The deadbolt clicked and scraped loudly. Normally, Anna would have been wide awake from the noise. But I had crushed half a sleeping pill into her evening glass of milk. I needed her dead to the world so she wouldn’t witness the bloodbath I was about to cause. The door creaked open. The man crept into the apartment, a short hunting knife gripped tightly in his right hand. Using the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the window, he started making his way toward the master bedroom. I was standing flat against the wall right next to the breaker box. The second he stepped into the center of the living room, I threw the main switch. The already dim apartment was plunged into a suffocating, pitch black void. “What the fuck?” the man muttered, freezing in his tracks. The dark is a living nightmare for the blind. But for a phrogger? It’s an absolute playground. I slid my military grade night vision goggles over my eyes. The room instantly lit up in crisp, glowing green. I could see every pore on his sweating face. He was waving his hands in front of him like a blind man, completely disoriented. I picked up the heavy TV remote off the coffee table and hurled it as hard as I could at the far wall. SMASH. The plastic shattered loudly. The man spun around violently, slashing his knife at the empty air. “Who’s there?! Show yourself!” I didn’t make a sound. I slipped behind him with the silent grace of a ghost. I was barefoot, wearing thick wool socks. I made literally zero noise on the hardwood. I leaned in, putting my lips an inch from his ear, and blew a soft puff of cold air onto his neck. That single breath did more damage than a gunshot. The man violently flinched, his entire body convulsing in sheer terror. He spun around wildly again, staring into the pitch black abyss. “Ghosts… there’s a fucking ghost…” his voice cracked, laced with raw panic. I pulled a heavy steel wrench from my tool belt and swung it hard into his shinbone. Because he couldn’t see me, his brain processed it as some invisible, demonic force snapping his leg. “AGH!” He screamed, completely abandoning his plan to rob or assault anyone. He scrambled backward, tripped over his own feet, and dropped his knife on the floor. He crawled frantically toward the door, threw it open, and ran for the elevator. I waited until I heard the elevator ding and the doors slide shut before I flipped the breaker back on. The lights flickered to life. I knelt down and picked up his dropped hunting knife. Etched into the base of the blade was a strange logo. It looked like a URL emblem I had seen once on a deep web forum. Suddenly, the bedroom door clicked open. The sleeping pill wasn’t strong enough. Anna was awake. She leaned heavily against the doorframe, her face pale and exhausted. She stared blindly into the empty living room and whispered, “Thank you.” Every muscle in my body turned to stone. Who was she talking to? Me? Then, she pressed her palms together, bowing her head toward the ceiling. “Thank God. Please protect me and don’t let that man come back.” She was praying. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling a strange twinge of disappointment. But it didn’t matter. As long as she was safe. What I didn’t know at the time was that the moment the intruder ran out of the building, he pulled out a burner phone and sent a text. The text read: “The bait is taken. The squatter is highly territorial. Pushing his boundaries further.” That logo on the knife was bothering me. But before I could look into it, everything went straight to hell. Three days later, right around noon, a courier dropped off a package for Anna. She thought it was her new braille books. She grabbed a pair of scissors and excitedly sliced through the tape. I was sitting criss cross under the dining table, watching her. The moment the cardboard flaps opened, a sickening, metallic stench of raw blood filled the apartment. Anna’s hands shook as she reached inside. Her fingers brushed against something furry and wet. It was a dead cat. Its throat had been slit. The blood was still warm. “AHHH!” Anna screamed, violently throwing the box across the room. She scrambled backward into the corner of the room, curling into a tight ball, shaking uncontrollably. It must have triggered the memory of her old guide dog. That dog had died under similarly mysterious circumstances a year ago. She cried so hard she hyperventilated, eventually passing out cold on the floor. Screw the rules. Screw staying hidden. For her, I would gladly turn from a ghost into a demon. I crawled out from under the table and scooped her up into my arms. She was so light. Her skin was freezing. I laid her gently on the couch. I stared at the mutilated cat, the killing intent boiling over in my veins. I picked up the blood soaked box. The return address was printed clearly on the label: Abandoned Textile Mill, Warehouse 3, City Limits. It was a blatant provocation. That bastard was declaring war. I poured a glass of water and set it on the table next to her. Before I left, I slipped a small piece of thick paper into her palm. I had spent weeks learning to write braille just for her. I used a pin to punch out the dots. The note read: “Don’t be afraid. I am here.” It was the first time I had officially broken cover and admitted I existed. I knew exactly what I was risking, but I didn’t care anymore. I was going to that warehouse, and I was going to slaughter that animal with my bare hands. 4 But when I got to the warehouse, it was completely deserted. It was a sprawling, rotting industrial wasteland. A single naked lightbulb hung from the ceiling in the center of Warehouse 3. I gripped my switchblade tight, stepping silently over the shattered glass and debris. Under the lightbulb was a folding table. On the table was an open laptop. I walked over and looked at the screen. The blood in my veins turned to ice. It was a live video feed of Anna’s living room. High definition. Perfect overhead angle. No blind spots. I watched the live feed as Anna woke up on the couch. She sat up. She held the braille note I had left her between her fingers. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t scared. Her face was completely, terrifyingly blank. She slowly ripped my note into tiny pieces, shoved the paper into her mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed it. Then, she slowly raised her head. Those milky, dead eyes locked flawlessly onto the exact location of the hidden camera lens on the ceiling. And she smiled. A massive, ear to ear, psychotic smile. She was smiling right at the camera. She was smiling right at me. It was a trap. There was no stalker. There was no threat. That guy with the knife was working with her! I ran out of that warehouse like a madman, sprinting until my lungs felt like they were going to burst. By the time I got back to the apartment, the locks had already been changed. But I had a spare key. The one Anna “hid” under the welcome mat. My hands shook violently as I jammed the key in and turned the deadbolt. The living room lights were blazing. The greasy mechanic who had broken in three nights ago was sitting on the leather sofa, casually flipping that hunting knife in his hand. He saw me, flashed those disgusting yellow teeth, and laughed. “Took you long enough, man. Been waiting.” “Where is Anna?” I growled, my voice rough and ragged. “In her bedroom. Sleeping like a baby,” the man stood up, twirling the blade. “What? You wanna play the knight in shining armor?” Looking at his smug face, every ounce of fear evaporated, replaced by pure, blinding rage. “Who the fuck are you?” “Doesn’t matter who I am. All that matters is you’re leaving in a body bag.” He lunged at me, driving the point of the knife straight at my chest. A month ago, I would have bolted. But right now, the only thing playing in my head was the image of Anna’s psychotic smile as she swallowed my note. I had been played. The absolute humiliation of being her pet was worse than death. I sidestepped his thrust, grabbed a heavy brass lamp off the console table, and brought it down hard on his skull. CRACK. The man stumbled, blood pouring down his forehead. But he didn’t drop. Instead, he let out a roar and tackled me around the waist. We hit the floor hard, violently rolling and thrashing across the hardwood. He had forty pounds on me, but I was ruthless. When you spend your entire life surviving in the shadows, you learn exactly where a human body is weak. I drove my thumbs deep into his eye sockets and slammed my knee upward into his groin. The man shrieked in agony. His grip loosened, and the knife clattered to the floor. I scrambled for it, grabbed the hilt, flipped him over, and pinned him to the floor with my knees on his biceps. I pressed the edge of the blade against his throat. “Wait… wait, please don’t…” he suddenly froze, his eyes widening in absolute, primal terror. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at something right behind me. “Run… she’s a…” He tried to warn me, but I didn’t give him the chance. I thought about the slaughtered cat. I thought about the helpless tears Anna had cried. Whether she was playing me or not, this piece of trash deserved to die. “Go to hell.” I drove the hunting knife deep into the side of his neck. Hot, thick blood sprayed directly across my face, burning my skin. The man convulsed violently beneath me for a few seconds, then went entirely limp. His eyes were still wide open, locked onto whatever was behind me. And in his dying gaze, I swear I saw… pity. Playing the hero sometimes means you have to become a monster. I sat there straddling the corpse, panting heavily, my hands slick with blood. The knife slipped from my fingers. I just killed a man. Right then, a soft click echoed behind me. The bedroom door opened. Anna walked out. She was wearing a pristine white silk nightgown, barefoot on the hardwood. She perfectly sidestepped the shattered lamp. She perfectly sidestepped the dead body. She even stepped neatly over the pooling blood. Her steps were confident and deliberate. She wasn’t walking like a blind person at all. She walked right up to me, crouched down, and gently reached out. Her thumb wiped a smear of blood off my cheek. Her skin was freezing cold, sliding against my face like a snake’s scales. I braced myself for her to scream. For her to run to the phone and dial 911. She didn’t. She didn’t even ask what happened. She just looked at me with those blank eyes and whispered in a soft, sweet voice: “It’s okay. We’ll just clean him up.” She stood back up, walked over to the front door, locked the deadbolt, and pulled the heavy blackout curtains shut. It was the practiced, methodical routine of someone preparing a kill room. I stared down at the corpse beneath me. One of his hands had fallen open, revealing a blood splattered leather wallet. I reached down and flipped it open. Inside was a heavy metal shield and a laminated ID card. The photo was a perfect match. Name: David Miller. Rank: Undercover Detective, Vice Squad.

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1 For the winter holidays, my parents urged my husband Sam and me to take my adopted sister Sophie and some of his relatives on a road trip into Alaska to see the Northern Lights. We reached the frozen tundra just as a massive blizzard struck. All three SUVs hit empty at once. Sophie stared at the deep snow and suggested shoveling it straight into the gas tanks. “It will melt into water, stretch the gas, and cool the engines,” she said. Sam smiled and agreed. His relatives praised her cleverness. In my past life, I had argued fiercely, warning that water would ruin the engines and leave us stranded at minus thirty degrees. Desperate to save everyone, I risked my life siphoning fuel into my car and driving blindly through the storm until I ran out, then walking for a full day and night. Frostbite destroyed my feet before I reached help. On the rescue mission, Sophie accused me of abandoning her for glory, threw a fit in the woods, and drew a pack of wolves that tore off both her legs. She lied to Sam, who raged and shoved me into the blizzard. I was devoured by wolves, nothing left of me. I blinked. Now I stood again in the freezing wind, on that same day. I rubbed my stiff hands together, forcing a bright smile. “Go for it. Snow means luck for the new year. Fill the tanks—we’ll drive even faster.” “People online say the gas up here is unrefined. If we put pure snow in, it will definitely clean out the fuel lines and save us money.” Sophie’s sickly sweet voice echoed in my ears. I reached down and pinched my own thigh hard. Pain. I really was reborn. “Aria, don’t be so grumpy. Let’s just listen to the group. Maybe this old wives’ tale is exactly what we need to get out of these mountains.” Sophie looked at me timidly, shrinking into her thick down jacket like I was some evil stepmother about to strike her. Sam and his relatives were all staring me down. If I dared to reject Sophie’s “genius” proposal, they would drown me in insults, calling me a selfish brat who didn’t care about the family. I kept my smile perfectly in place. “Sophie is so smart. I can’t believe you came up with such an eco friendly solution.” “Fill them up. Snow is just water anyway. It will be great.” Standing next to her, Sam gave me a rare, approving smile. “For once, you are actually being reasonable.” I didn’t want to waste another second arguing with them. My brain was already calculating a high speed escape plan out of this frozen graveyard. There were eleven of us in total, split between three off road vehicles. Originally, Sam and I were supposed to share a car. But Sophie claimed she was too cold and needed Sam to sit in the back with her so he could hold her and keep her warm. So, for the entire trip, I had been driving my own SUV completely alone. In my past life, my car had the most gas left. To keep them all alive, I left every single thermal blanket and emergency ration with them, venturing out into the deadly cold by myself. Having lived through death once, I absolutely refused to care about these ungrateful parasites. As long as I made it out alive, that was enough. According to my memories, there was an abandoned logging camp about fifty miles south that still had a working satellite relay. My car had enough gas to cover thirty miles. Luckily, I was a hardcore winter athlete. With my physical endurance, I could easily cover the remaining twenty miles on my emergency cross country skis before nightfall. The self heating MREs and thermal packs in my trunk would easily sustain me. With a concrete plan locked in my mind, my tense muscles finally began to relax. Just to be safe, I slipped my hand into the inner pocket of my parka and touched the cold plastic of my emergency satellite phone. It was a Christmas gift from him. In my past life, he was the one who found this shattered phone in the bloody snow where the wolves had attacked me. He had dropped to his knees, screaming in agony, slamming his forehead into the ice until he bled, blaming himself for not coming on this trip. The corners of my lips twitched upward. Pretending to adjust my scarf, I pressed and held the emergency SOS beacon. This time, I hoped he would take me home. Seeing the expensive, heated ski gloves on my hands, a flash of pure jealousy crossed Sophie’s eyes. “Aria, don’t you have a whole box of those chemical body warmers in your trunk? Why don’t you take them out and share them with the rest of us?” My stomach dropped. They wanted to steal my only remaining survival supplies? 2 “You have four boxes of them in your own car. I bought them for you. Why don’t you take yours out?” I shot back. Sophie pouted, acting completely entitled. “Aria, we are trapped in the Alaskan mountains. Heat equals life right now. You can’t just hoard all the heat sources for yourself.” I let out a dark laugh. Just an hour ago, she complained she was too hot and stuck those exact body warmers onto the car windows just to watch the frost melt for fun. Now she suddenly knew their value? Sam took a step forward, glaring at me coldly. “Take them out.” It was an absolute command, like he was talking to a disobedient dog. I took a deep breath, suppressing the icy rage building in my chest, and tried to reason with them one last time. “I packed these specifically for extreme weather emergencies.” “This is an emergency! Why are you still dividing things into yours and mine? We are a family!” Sophie interrupted me, playing the righteous victim. “We have to stick together when things get tough. If everyone was as selfish as you, how would any of us survive the night?” Right on cue, Sam’s relatives started throwing disgusted looks my way. “You’re a tough girl, you can handle the cold. Sophie is delicate. Bring the supplies out so we can distribute them evenly.” “Listen to your husband, Aria! Bring the stuff out before one of the elders has to force you.” “These spoiled rich city girls are all the same. Selfish and fragile. Not sweet and understanding like our Sophie.” Selfish? If it weren’t for the massive influx of cash I brought into the marriage to save Sam’s failing startup, his deadbeat relatives wouldn’t even have the money to go to a diner, let alone a luxury vacation. Even these three SUVs were bought with my trust fund. I suddenly understood why fate put me back on this exact trip. Extreme environments force the ugliest parts of human nature into the light. This was the universe giving me one final warning. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, two of his cousins marched over and aggressively popped my trunk, looting every single supply bag I had. I stepped forward to stop them, but they grabbed my arms and violently shoved me face first into the snowbank. I lay there, watching helplessly as they scooped up wet, freezing snow and dumped it directly into the open gas tank of my SUV. Without pure gasoline, my car would stall out in this extreme cold. I would freeze to death. “Give me my thermal packs back.” I struggled to push myself up. Sophie took the opportunity to grab a handful of icy snow and violently shove it down the collar of my jacket. She leaned in, her voice dripping with venom. “Shut your mouth! If you make another sound, I’ll shove ice down your throat.” The freezing snow slid down my bare spine. I violently shivered, coughing hard, looking completely pathetic as I crawled in the snow. Seeing me humiliated, the relatives erupted into cruel laughter. “Is this really the high and mighty Mrs. Kensington? She looks like a frozen stray dog! Hahaha!” I gritted my teeth, pushed myself off the ground, and raised my hand to slap Sophie across her smug face. Before I could make contact, a vicious grip clamped down on my wrist. Sophie realized what was happening, and instantly backhanded me across the face with all her strength. Smack! Sam froze, instinctively letting go of my wrist. My boots slipped on the ice and I crashed to the ground. My cheek instantly swelled, burning with a stinging heat. Sophie immediately hid behind Sam’s broad shoulders, trembling like a leaf. “I’m so sorry, Sam. Aria tried to hit me first. I just panicked. I was so scared.” Sam looked down at me, holding out a hand with a look of utter disgust on his face. “Get up. Stop embarrassing yourself in front of my family.” I blinked back the hot tears forming in my eyes and tilted my head up, staring directly into his soul. “Sam, I want a divorce.” “Sophie just had a trauma response. She didn’t do it on purpose. Why are you throwing a tantrum on Christmas?” Sam shielded Sophie with his body, watching me like I was a wild animal about to rip out his precious darling’s throat. A wave of absolute exhaustion washed over me. A tantrum? From the day we got married, anytime I didn’t completely bow to his demands, I was “throwing a tantrum.” When I refused to lend more money to his endless line of grifter cousins, I was throwing a tantrum. When I refused to quit my career to become a stay at home housewife, I was throwing a tantrum. Whenever Sophie shed a single fake tear, it was always my fault for throwing a tantrum. “Sam, this marriage is dead. Getting a divorce is the best thing for both of us.” This marriage had corroded my dignity until there was nothing left. Ten years ago, I found Sam sitting in the dark corner of the university library, eating stale bread. His hands were swollen and bleeding from frostbite, but his eyes were glued to his textbooks with an intense, burning determination. 3 My heart had broken for him. I secretly paid his entire semester’s tuition and forged a letter claiming it was an anonymous school grant. Sam worked hard. He secured a full ride for his master’s, and when he started his tech company, he worked himself to the bone. During a site visit to a new warehouse, the roof collapsed. He threw his body over mine, taking the brunt of the falling debris. His back was torn to shreds, requiring twenty stitches. He had laid in that hospital bed, pale and sweating from the pain, but he still smiled and comforted me. “Don’t be afraid. As long as I am breathing, I will always keep you safe.” After that, it was only natural that we got married. But somewhere along the line, his eyes started lingering on my adopted sister, Sophie. She came from the same dirt poor background he did. Her constant, pathetic damsel in distress act reminded him of his own past struggles. Eventually, his entire heart shifted completely to her. I stumbled to my feet, lunged forward, and snatched my car keys right out of Sophie’s pocket. I scrambled into the driver’s seat and hit the ignition. The moment the engine roared to life, a heavy weight lifted off my chest. I was finally getting away from these monsters. But a second later, Sam stepped directly in front of the hood. I slammed on the brakes, my forehead smashing violently against the steering wheel. Sam marched over to my window and slammed his fist against the glass, his eyes flashing with annoyance. “Stop acting crazy! The blizzard is picking up. If you drive off alone, you are committing suicide.” Sophie trotted over, linking her arm through Sam’s, shooting me a provocative, mocking smile. “Aria, stop acting like a spoiled princess. Your SUV has the highest clearance and the best snow tires. If you drive away, what are we supposed to do?” Her words instantly rallied the relatives. “Exactly! We are a family, we stay together.” “Drag her out! We keep the car. We can all squeeze in, it will share body heat.” I let out a cold laugh. “This car is under my name. It was bought with my money. Why the hell should I give it to you?” In fact, all three cars were registered under my name. A cousin yelled angrily, “It’s a matter of life and death! Who cares whose name is on the title right now!” I rolled my eyes. “Your car is packed to the roof with your stupid holiday gifts and booze. Where am I supposed to sit? Are you giving up your seat for me?” The cousin went dead silent. Sophie tilted her head, faking a look of sweet innocence. “Aria, don’t you love extreme winter sports? You could just sit up on the roof rack! I bet it’s way more thrilling than skiing, and you get a great view.” The sheer absurdity of the comment should have been met with silence, but the relatives eagerly jumped on it. “Yeah, the roof has great visibility. If she loves adrenaline so much, she can enjoy the ride.” “Don’t worry, we brought heavy bungee cords for the luggage. We’ll strap you down tight. You won’t fall off.” “It’s a VIP observation deck. You can post photos on Instagram when we get back.” Sam let out a heavy sigh. Just as I thought he was finally going to shut down this psychotic idea, the words that left his mouth plunged my soul into an ice bath. “You have a strong constitution. Just bundle up. You can survive sitting on the roof for a little while.” The very last spark of hope I had for him died in that instant. I slammed my foot on the gas pedal, ready to run him over. Sophie shrieked, “She’s trying to run! Grab her!” The mob swarmed the car. Someone grabbed a heavy rock and smashed my driver’s side window. Hands reached in, violently grabbing my hair and clothes, dragging me kicking and screaming out of the vehicle. I thrashed wildly, kicking my boots to break their grip. “Ah!” Sophie let out a piercing cry, clutching her stomach and dropping to the snow in agony. “Sam, why did Aria kick me in the stomach?” Sam violently shoved me aside and rushed to gather Sophie into his arms, his face pale with panic. I froze for a second, instantly defending myself. “I didn’t even touch her! I am wearing heavy snow boots, I would feel it if I kicked a person.” Sophie buried her face in Sam’s chest, massive tears rolling down her cheeks. “Aria, I shouldn’t have tried to stop you. Please don’t kick me again. It hurts so much. I think something is bleeding inside.” Hearing that, Sam’s face hardened. He turned his head, his eyes slicing into me like butcher knives. “Apologize to her!” “I didn’t do anything wrong! Why should I apologize? Are you too stupid to see she’s acting?” The relatives immediately started screaming at me. “You were thrashing around like a lunatic! You definitely kicked her.” “Sophie is too pure to lie about something like this. Get on your knees and apologize right now!” 4 Sophie’s face was deathly pale, her entire body trembling. “The wind is so strong. My face hurts.” She buried her face deeper into Sam’s coat. Sam glared at me with pure hatred. “Aria! Look at how terrified you’ve made her!” A mocking smirk crossed my lips. “If you wait any longer, her fake tears are going to turn into icicles.” Sophie forced a weak, pathetic smile, looking at me with big, puppy dog eyes. “Aria, you don’t have to apologize. But could I please borrow your extreme weather parka? The jacket I’m wearing is too thin. My stomach is freezing.” The parka I was wearing was a custom, expedition grade mountain coat. He had specifically commissioned it from overseas as a gift for me. It was completely windproof, waterproof, and designed to withstand the harshest elements on earth. I rejected her without a second thought. “I have severe cold urticaria! If I take this off, the temperature drop will send me into anaphylactic shock. No!” Sophie let out a pained, dramatic groan. “Forget it. My life isn’t worth as much as my sister’s precious body.” Sam’s face turned absolutely lethal. “What fake allergy are you making up now? You are just looking for excuses to be a selfish bitch.” “I am going to count to three. Take the coat off.” “One. Two.” He didn’t even make it to three. His patience completely snapped. He lunged forward, pinned my shoulders down, and violently ripped the zipper of my parka open. The brutal arctic wind instantly hit my chest. I was only wearing a thin thermal shirt underneath. The biting cold slashed against my bare skin like a barrage of razor blades. Sam gently draped my custom parka over Sophie’s shoulders, carefully zipping it all the way up to her chin to make sure she was warm. Looking at the two of them made me physically nauseous. I turned around and started to run. Before I made it two steps, Sam grabbed the back of my collar and yanked me backward. “It’s just a damn coat! How long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum!” The word “tantrum” ignited a nuclear explosion in my brain. I spun around and slapped Sam across the face with every ounce of strength I had left. “I don’t throw tantrums. I just beat animals!” A bright red handprint blossomed across Sam’s cheek. Sophie shrieked in horror. “Are you insane?! How dare you hit him!” Sam ran his tongue over his split lip, tasting the blood. His expression turned completely demonic. “Aria, you are hopelessly stubborn. It seems you need a serious wake up call.” My stomach plummeted. A terrifying chill spread through my veins. “Since you refuse to sit on the roof, you can run behind the car. Let’s see if that cools your temper.” My eyes went wide with sheer terror. “Sam, it is negative thirty degrees! You are going to kill me!” Two of his massive cousins tackled me into the snow. They grabbed my wrists and bound them tightly with a heavy nylon tow strap. They hooked the other end of the strap to the metal tow hitch on the back of the SUV. “When you are ready to admit you were wrong, I’ll let you inside.” Dropping that final, heartless sentence, he turned his back on me and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine revved. The car lurched forward. I was violently jerked off my feet, stumbling blindly through the deep snow as the vehicle picked up speed. I couldn’t run fast enough. I tripped and slammed face first into the icy ground. The car didn’t stop. I was being dragged. The jagged ice and frozen rocks shredded through my thin clothes, grinding against my skin like sandpaper. The paralyzing cold began to shut down my nervous system. Panic consumed me. I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Stop the car! Sam, I am going to kill you!” I could hear Sophie’s high pitched, mocking laughter echoing from inside the warm cabin. They completely ignored my screams. The SUV drifted hard to avoid a massive pine tree. The centrifugal force whipped my body outward, slamming me brutally against the thick wooden trunk. My vision went entirely black. Warm blood poured down my forehead, instantly freezing into crimson ice chunks on my eyelashes. Absolute despair crushed my chest. The primal instinct to survive erased whatever dignity I had left. I started crying and begging. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please. Let me go.” The roar of the engine drowned out my pathetic pleas. The car showed zero signs of slowing down. I was really going to die in this white hell. My consciousness began to fade into a numb, peaceful dark. But then, through the haze, I heard the deafening, rhythmic chopping of helicopter rotors. A massive, blinding spotlight pierced through the blizzard, locking dead onto the SUV. A man’s voice, amplified by a loudspeaker and vibrating with world ending fury, boomed from the sky. “Sam, you are a dead man!” At that exact moment, thick, black smoke began pouring out of the hoods of all three SUVs. The vehicles sputtered violently and died. One of the cousins inside screamed in panic. “Oh my god! The engines just seized!”

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1 On my very first day back with my obscenely wealthy biological family, I maxed out the million dollar compensation card my mother gave me. Cinda, the fake daughter who had lived my life, doubled over in laughter looking at the mountain of rice, flour, and cooking oil piled in the courtyard. “Are you trying to turn the estate into a wholesale warehouse? The Sinclair mansion isn’t a refugee camp.” My biological brother, Preston, kicked over a box of MREs I had just unloaded. “You really can’t teach trash to be classy. You get a little bit of cash and instantly buy this garbage. You country hicks have zero vision!” My biological parents stared at me with ice cold expressions and froze my supplementary credit card on the spot. “If we knew you were going to be this much of an embarrassment, we never would have brought you back!” In this life, I didn’t bother explaining myself. I simply reached down and quietly fed a piece of premium Wagyu beef to the golden retriever sitting by my feet. Sure enough, the dog’s inner voice echoed perfectly in my mind. [Eat up while you can. The apocalyptic rainstorm hits in exactly three days. This entire stuck up neighborhood is going to drown in mud!] I patted my pocket, feeling the crisp deed to an abandoned mansion up in the hills. Let’s see if they are still laughing three days from now. “Are you doing this just to spite Mom and Dad?” Cinda pointed at the boxes of instant ramen at my feet, looking absolutely heartbroken. “I know you resent us since you just got back. But you shouldn’t degrade yourself like this, and you definitely shouldn’t drag the Sinclair family’s reputation down into the mud.” “These things smell awful. How could you bring them inside?” Preston pointed a finger right in my face and yelled. “Riley, do you think we mistreated you? You purposely blew a million bucks on cheap junk just to make us the laughingstock of the city’s elite!” Eleanor’s eyebrows were pinched together in deep disgust. There wasn’t a single trace of joy in her eyes upon finding her biological daughter. There was only bitter resentment. “If we knew you were going to be this humiliating, we would have left you out in the sticks! Alfred, cut off her card immediately.” My father, Winston, glared at me with pure disdain, not even wanting to look at me for another second. In this life, I didn’t try to desperately explain myself like I did in my past life. I didn’t warn them about the apocalyptic floods coming in three days. I crouched down and fed another piece of meat to Buster, the golden retriever rubbing against my leg. He swallowed the Wagyu whole and wagged his tail in absolute bliss. [Oh man, this beef is insane! Gotta eat the good stuff now. The world ends in three days.] [These idiots are still obsessed with acting rich. Pretty soon they won’t even have warm shit to eat.] Buster bared his teeth, growling at Cinda and Preston. [These people run their mouths too much. You want me to bite them right now to help you vent, Mom?] I quickly wrapped my arms around his neck. “Good boy, ignore them.” I couldn’t let Buster get beaten to death and eaten by the Sinclairs like he did in my past life. Cinda sneered. “Wow, what a lovely mood you’re in. Are you really that starved for affection since moving to the city?” “Calling a dumb animal your son? Doesn’t that make Mom and Dad the animal’s grandparents, and Preston the dog’s uncle?” The moment those words left her mouth, the Sinclairs’ faces turned livid. I shot her a sideways glance. “You? You aren’t even qualified to be Buster’s family.” Cinda’s face went pale. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. She looked at our parents with overwhelming grievance. Winston stormed forward and slapped me hard across the face. “You ungrateful brat! You just got back and you’re already turning this house upside down!” “You have absolutely zero manners. You are a complete disgrace to the Sinclair name!” Eleanor pulled Cinda into a protective hug, looking at me with nothing but bitter disappointment. “Cinda has been an angel since she was a little girl. We never had to worry about her. You should learn from her on how a proper young lady from a prestigious family behaves.” “Learn what? How to act like a pathetic, manipulative hypocrite?” Winston exploded in rage. “You dare talk back! Security! Throw Riley and all her garbage out onto the street right now!” Several heavily built bodyguards stepped forward, ready to grab me. I took a step back. “Don’t touch me. I know how to walk.” The guards roughly tossed the emergency supplies I bought out the front doors. Preston stood in the doorway, a cold sneer on his face. “Cinda is the only treasure of this family. If you bully her, you deserve to get kicked out!” Cinda smiled, looking incredibly smug. “Please don’t do anything reckless, sister.” “I hope you and your precious junk can survive out there on your own. Don’t come crawling back to drag us down.” I ignored her venomous taunts. I pulled out my phone and ordered five of the largest moving trucks available. In less than ten minutes, the trucks pulled up to the Sinclair estate gates. I directed the drivers to load up every single box of supplies from the courtyard. The destination was the abandoned mansion complex at the very top of the mountain. It was a failed real estate project Winston threw at me like a scrap of charity just to pacify me. Once everything was loaded, I looked back at the family of four standing on the marble steps. I flashed them the brightest, most radiant smile. “Thank you for letting me go. See you never.” The Sinclairs looked at me like I was a psychiatric patient. “Did she lose her mind? She just got kicked out and she’s smiling?” “Thank god we got rid of her, otherwise she really would have ruined our reputation in the high society circles!” 2 “Driver, stop right up ahead at that unfinished mansion.” The place was desolate. It didn’t even have proper doors or windows, but the elevation was incredibly high. When the biblical floods hit in three days, this would be the absolute safest spot in the entire city. I stared at the mountain of cardboard boxes on the concrete floor, but my brows furrowed. This amount of supplies was barely enough to survive a standard natural disaster. To outlast months of apocalyptic extreme freezing temperatures and endless rain, it wasn’t even close to enough. Thankfully, before they froze my supplementary card, I managed to withdraw the remaining seven hundred thousand dollars in cash. I took Buster back down the mountain for round two of a massive shopping spree. However, after hitting three major wholesale club stores, I came up completely empty handed. “Sorry miss, we aren’t selling rice or flour to individuals today.” “Apologies, all our canned goods and MREs are out of stock. The warehouse is empty.” “The boss said we aren’t taking any customers right now. Try somewhere else.” Refusing to give up, I tried placing orders online. The apps either showed system errors or claimed they were doing inventory checks. Every single order was canceled without exception. A heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach. In my past life, hoarding supplies before the apocalypse was incredibly easy. As long as you had the cash, no one cared how much you bought. But in this life, I was hitting brick walls at every turn. Why was this happening? Did someone else know the storm was coming? [It’s that evil witch Cinda playing tricks again!] Buster’s inner voice practically growled with rage. [She used the Sinclair family’s connections to blacklist you with every major supplier in the city! She wants to watch you starve to death on the streets!] Buster suddenly pivoted, barking aggressively at a spot down the street. [The bitch who bullied my mom actually showed up! Watch me bite her face off!] A flashy red sports car slowly pulled up to the curb. It was Cinda. “Sister, it’s so late and you still haven’t gone home. Oh my, are you really homeless now?” She looked at my empty shopping carts, feigning shock. “Couldn’t buy anything? Are you out of money? Do you want your little sister to lend you a few bucks?” Preston, who was sitting in the driver’s seat, let out a harsh laugh. “Why would she go home? Let me make this clear, Riley. As long as the Sinclairs are in power, you won’t be able to buy a single grain of rice in this city! I want to see exactly how long you and your pile of garbage can survive!” “This is what happens when you disrespect our family!” The look in his eyes was identical to the look he gave me in my past life when he shoved me toward that pack of violent men. In my past life, the floodwaters trapped everyone. I told them I could understand animals. I told them I knew where a safe shelter was, and where we could find clean food. They didn’t believe me. They called me a lunatic. Cinda had smiled and said, “Since sister is so capable, why don’t you go out and trade yourself for some food for us?” Then they literally sold me to a filthy, overweight creep in the neighboring mansion for a single box of expired canned beans. Buster was beaten to death by them and boiled into a pot of dog meat stew. All because Cinda mentioned she was craving fresh meat. I took a deep breath, forcing down the violent hatred boiling in my chest. Buster sensed my rising anxiety. [Don’t be scared, Mom! Do you really think your son is a pushover?] [In these streets, I am a very respected guy!] With that, Buster trotted right into the middle of the empty street and let out a piercing, dominant howl. “Awooooo!” In less than five minutes, exactly ninety nine stray dogs poured out from every alleyway and side street! There was a husky missing half its tail, a one eyed poodle, a scarred pitbull. My mind instantly exploded with a chorus of canine voices. [The boss’s mom is our mom!] [Who dares to bully her? I just sharpened my teeth!] Buster strutted to the front of the pack, looking like an absolute warlord. [If the big stores won’t sell to our mom, we’ll find those hidden mom and pop shops in the back alleys!] [Also, if you see those two Sinclair brats, bite them until they bleed!] [Yes, Boss!] Ninety nine dogs barked their agreement, the sound echoing like thunder. I looked at my brand new Stray Dog Scavenger Squad and my eyes welled up with tears. “You are the best son ever. Let’s go shopping!” 3 Buster took the lead, perfectly avoiding all the upscale commercial districts controlled by the Sinclair family. We dove deep into the rundown industrial zones and forgotten neighborhoods. A Shiba Inu missing half an ear led me to a wholesale grain distributor hidden deep in a labyrinth of alleyways. [This boss is a good guy. He used to feed me sausages. His warehouse is packed!] Without hesitating, I bought out the owner’s entire inventory. Five thousand pounds of rice, three thousand pounds of flour, and dozens of industrial barrels of cooking oil. A chubby Corgi led me to a meat canning factory that was on the verge of bankruptcy. [Mom, the labels are ugly, but it’s one hundred percent real meat inside! I sniffed it, it’s amazing!] I waved my hand and bought ten thousand cans of beef stew and five thousand cans of preserved fruit. For the entire afternoon, guided by my loyal pack, I went on an absolute spending spree. I bought pallets of MREs, emergency rations, gallons of purified water, extreme weather arctic gear, and even crates of medical alcohol and antibiotics. Every time I made a purchase, I had the moving trucks deliver it straight to the abandoned mountain mansion. By the end of it, the cash in my bag was practically gone. But it still wasn’t enough. The unfinished mansion was completely exposed to the elements. It would never hold up against the extreme cold and floods. I walked into a high end security door and window dealership. The owner took one look at my casual clothes and practically ignored me. I let out a cold laugh and slammed the premium Sinclair Corporation executive access card Winston had given me onto the glass counter. “I am Riley Sinclair. The eldest daughter of the Sinclair family.” “My father is building a private apocalypse bunker up on the mountain. We need maximum grade bulletproof glass and reinforced steel vault doors.” “Send the entire bill directly to the Sinclair Corporation’s finance department.” It would be a crime not to fleece the Sinclairs while I still could. The owner’s eyes practically turned into dollar signs. “Rest assured, miss! My materials are military grade!” “Move fast. I need everything installed by tonight. If you delay my father’s project, your business will be ruined.” The owner nodded frantically and immediately rallied his best construction crew. Using the exact same tactic, I financed three heavy duty diesel generators, dozens of tons of fuel, and a complete solar powered central heating system. All night long, the abandoned mansion blazed with floodlights. The construction crew worked with frantic energy. Bulletproof glass was slotted into the frames. Thick steel vault doors were welded shut. Top tier insulation panels were bolted to the concrete walls, and a smart climate control system was wired throughout the entire property. It wasn’t until early the next morning that all the renovations were finalized. After the crew packed up and left, I locked the final biometric steel door. The massive room was lined with perfectly organized crates of food and supplies. The air was comfortably warm. Buster sprawled out on a plush wool rug, rolling around in pure comfort. This impenetrable fortress filled me with an overwhelming sense of security. Just as I was about to boil a pot of ramen to reward myself, a violent pounding echoed from the front gates. I frowned and walked over to the security monitors. Outside stood several men in official uniforms holding clipboards. “Listen up inside! We are from the City Planning Department!” “This unfinished property is classified as an illegal structure. We are preparing it for explosive demolition!” “You have ten minutes to evacuate the premises!” I froze completely. Demolition? In my past life, this building stood tall for years. Why was it suddenly being torn down? 4 My mind went completely blank. My phone buzzed. It was Cinda. “Riley, do you hear the commotion outside?” “Are you surprised? Are you shocked?” I stared dead at the security monitors, gritting my teeth. “You did this?” Cinda’s laughter was piercing and arrogant. “That ugly ruined building was such an eyesore on the mountain. I just acted a little spoiled and Daddy pulled some strings to move the demolition date up.” “You love hoarding trash so much, right? Then you can get buried under the rubble with all your garbage!” “So what if you are the biological daughter? I am still the one Mom and Dad love the most!” I trembled with sheer rage. Buster’s tail slapped the ground anxiously. [There are a lot of people outside!] [The bad guys are trying to tear Mom’s house down! We haven’t even eaten those meat cans yet!] I looked down through the bulletproof window. On the winding mountain road, three massive yellow excavators were roaring up the incline. Trailing right behind them was that familiar red sports car. Preston waved his hand, signaling the demolition crew to start tearing the walls down. “You can’t let them do this!” I rushed to the control panel, preparing to activate the newly installed high voltage electric perimeter fence. “Final warning! If you don’t come out, we are bringing the house down with you inside!” I kept my hand hovering over the kill switch, my palms slick with cold sweat. If I triggered the electric grid now, it would become a massive legal incident. I might be dragged off to jail before the storm even hit. But if I backed down, all the supplies I spent my life savings on would be crushed! Weighing my options, I pulled open the heavy steel vault door. “Stop right there!” Buster charged out right beside me, barking aggressively at the massive construction vehicles. Preston curled his lip in disgust. “Let me spell it out for you, Riley. This house is coming down today! No one can stop it!” Cinda doubled over in laughter. “A stupid woman and a dumb animal trying to stop heavy machinery? Pathetic!” She lifted her chin at the crew foreman. “What are you waiting for? Tear it down! If anything happens, I’ll take full responsibility!” “I’d like to see you try!” I threw my arms wide, planting my body directly in front of the building. The massive steel claw of the excavator swung upward, whistling through the air, ready to crash down on my roof! [Mom, watch out!] Suddenly, an apocalyptic clap of thunder shattered the sky directly above us! The sky, which had only been slightly overcast, instantly turned as pitch black as midnight. The very next second, torrential rain mixed with jagged chunks of hail smashed into the earth. Cinda, wearing a designer slip dress, shrieked as the freezing ice hit her skin. “Preston, it’s freezing! I’m getting soaked, I need to go home and take a hot bath!” The construction crew immediately started panicking. “Boss, the rain is too heavy! Zero visibility. We can’t operate the rigs safely!” “Yeah, the mountain roads are going to wash out. This is a massive landslide risk!” The foreman looked up at the terrifying, unnatural weather and immediately backed out. “Mr. Sinclair, Miss Sinclair, these conditions are extremely unsafe. We are pulling out! Safety first!” Preston scowled at the torrential downpour, but had no choice but to grab Cinda and jump back into his sports car. Standing in the absolute downpour, soaked to the bone, I actually smiled. Buster spun around in circles, completely thrilled. [The storm came early! The apocalypse is here!] Preston slammed the gas pedal, his sports car skidding dangerously on the muddy mountain road, nearly crashing through the guardrail. He managed to stabilize it and sped recklessly down the mountain. I watched their taillights disappear into the wall of rain, a cold smirk crossing my lips. Run. Run back down to your luxurious mansion in the lowest elevation valley in the city. This rain isn’t something a hot bath is going to fix. The rain poured down in Biblical sheets, as if the heavens had been ripped wide open. In just two hours, the outside world became entirely unrecognizable. The winding mountain roads were swallowed by churning mud, and the city below was completely lost in a thick, gray fog. I turned around and walked back into my warm, secure bunker. The climate control system kept the interior at a perfect, cozy seventy five degrees. I pulled out a box of self heating hotpot from the supply stacks and sliced up a massive slab of premium steak. The spicy red broth bubbled and popped, filling the room with an incredibly mouthwatering aroma. Buster laid beside me, gnawing on a massive three pound beef bone, his tail wagging like a helicopter blade. I leaned back comfortably into the plush sofa and opened the Sinclair family group chat on my phone. The chat was already exploding in pure panic.

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