It was the third month since Declan and I had gotten remarried. I found a dried, dark red bloodstain on the soft leather cushion of his car seat. Declan raised an eyebrow, his tone incredibly casual. “She was a virgin.” Unlike my usual hysterical, screaming meltdowns, I simply asked in a gentle voice, “Should I have this detailed?” Later, while accompanying Declan to an elite socialite gathering, his friends loudly discussed the young college girl he had been keeping on the side. “Dec, man! The girl you’re keeping is actually a virgin? And in the car, no less? You really know how to have a good time!” Someone whispered a warning: “Keep it down, man. His wife is right here.” But the guy purposely raised his voice even louder: “What wife? After the divorce, she couldn’t handle being broke. She came crawling right back, begging Dec to remarry her. All that ‘pride’ and ‘dignity’ shattered into a million pieces the exact second her family went bankrupt!” Faced with the overwhelming, public humiliation… I maintained a perfectly elegant smile, sipping my champagne. I didn’t lose my mind and start screaming curses at them like I used to. On the ride home, I closed my eyes to rest. Declan frowned, interrogating me. “Chloe, why didn’t you say anything back to those insulting comments tonight?” He had probably forgotten that the last time I screamed myself hoarse fighting back against them, the result was the total annihilation of my family’s business and a set of divorce papers. I had my AirPods in, my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Declan sighed, a hint of helplessness in his voice. “The jokes they made today were definitely out of line. No matter what, you are my wife. They should have given you basic respect.” He paused, then continued: “That college girl… she comes from a desperately poor family. Her mother is severely ill and needs money for life-saving surgery. It’s just a transaction. We both get what we need. There are no real feelings involved. Even if there were, she could never threaten your position as my wife.” It was a rare explanation from him. But in that moment, I couldn’t find the energy to care. Seeing no reaction from me, he raised his voice. “Chloe, are you listening to me?” “I’m listening.” My tone was completely exhausted, but I could still feel Declan’s probing, analyzing gaze landing heavily on me. When I opened my eyes to look at him, I reverted to the perfect, docile obedience I had cultivated lately. “Didn’t you tell me before that when they say those things, there’s no real malice behind it? That I shouldn’t be so petty and hold grudges?” “That girl is quite pitiful, and she doesn’t have much life experience. You should be gentle with her.” I thought that by echoing exactly what Declan wanted to hear, he would nod in satisfaction and praise me for being a good, obedient wife. But to my utter shock, the last remaining trace of a smile completely vanished from his face. The luxury car violently slammed to a halt on the side of the road. Declan’s voice dropped several degrees. “Chloe, I honestly have no idea what kind of tantrum you’re throwing right now.” I froze. I slowly took out my AirPods. “Declan, I haven’t thrown a single tantrum all night.” “Could you really not tell that I was wishing you two the best?” My perfectly logical answer didn’t extinguish his inexplicable, sudden rage. Instead, those words seemed to pour gasoline directly onto the fire. He ground his teeth together as he spat out my name: “CHLOE STERLING!” I looked at Declan, quietly waiting to see what he would do next. Suddenly, a torrential downpour unleashed over the city. The massive raindrops violently smashed against the car windows. The atmosphere inside the car became even more suffocating and oppressive with the pounding of the rain. Just a split second before Declan’s temper was about to explode, a frail, pathetic figure frantically trying to escape the rain on the sidewalk abruptly entered his line of sight. It only took one second. His explosive rage was forcefully swallowed by an overwhelming, visible wave of extreme anxiety. His face turned as dark as a storm cloud as he ordered me out of the car. I didn’t act like I used to—I didn’t get teary-eyed, and I didn’t scream, asking him why. I simply did exactly as he commanded and stepped out into the storm. The freezing rain ruthlessly battered my body. It stung. A few moments later, Declan stepped out of the car too. His jaw was clenched tight. Holding an umbrella, he walked directly toward that fragile, shivering silhouette. There was no conversation. He simply, dominantly grabbed the girl by the wrist and pulled her toward the car. I had heard people whispering about her. This girl’s name was Serena Vance. Suddenly, a conversation from a young couple walking behind me drifted into my ears. The girl frowned, her face full of hesitation. “A tattoo… is it going to hurt really badly?” The boy affectionately pulled her into his arms. “If you’re scared of the pain, we won’t get it.” Hearing that, the tattoo I got on the side of my waist when I was eighteen suddenly felt like it was burning. That tattoo was the wildly romantic, impulsive proof of my and Declan’s first love as teenagers. It’s just a tragic shame that the romance only survived until our third year of marriage. When I discovered his very first affair, my entire world instantly collapsed. Three years into our marriage. The brand-new executive assistant he had hired less than a month ago climbed into his bed. The image of their intertwined, naked bodies on the sheets felt like countless, brutal slaps directly to my face. I cried until I choked, acting like an absolute lunatic, screaming the most vicious, venomous curses in the world at the two of them. Declan calmly absorbed my screaming. “In elite society, a man having women on the side is the most normal thing in the world. Besides, didn’t your own father cheat on your mom when you were just a year old? Your mother played blind for decades. She never told you a word about it until the day she died. And didn’t you all just keep living your lives?” “Chloe, be smart. Grow up. Don’t scream and shout like a crazy person and ruin my mood.” In that exact moment, my blood practically froze in my veins. The curses I was about to scream got stuck in my throat. I couldn’t spit them out, and I couldn’t swallow them down. The man who had once loved me to the absolute marrow of his bones was now callously using the deepest, most agonizing trauma of my entire life just to shut me up. Chapter 2 By the time I finally made it back to the estate, it was midnight. The moment I pushed the heavy front doors open, the girl lounging on the sofa instantly jolted awake, looking like a startled deer. She was exactly Declan’s current type. Pure, beautiful, young. Yet, on her innocent face was a stubborn, unyielding defiance. I was soaked from the freezing rain, my head spinning with a fever. Yet, I forced a perfect, graceful smile onto my face. I considerately called the head housekeeper and told him to go upstairs and prepare a luxury guest suite for her. Seeing the tubes of medicinal ointment and the chaotic, messy aftermath scattered across the coffee table… I knew exactly how wild Declan had been with her. I let out a silent sigh, turned around, and walked upstairs. After we remarried, I proactively requested separate bedrooms. As I walked past his master suite, I heard him sharply, aggressively interrogating his executive assistant, Arthur. “Why the hell was Serena working a part-time job in the pouring rain today?! Didn’t I tell you to wire a million dollars into her account?!” I have no idea how Arthur replied, and I had absolutely no desire to know. At 3:00 AM, my head was splitting open, making it impossible to sleep. I decided to go downstairs to grab some Tylenol. But as I reached the landing, I saw Declan. He had both hands pressed against the wall on either side of Serena, aggressively trapping her. Her face was flushed bright red. He was forcefully demanding she make three promises. “Promise me you will take care of your body.” “Promise me you will spend my money every single day.” “Promise me you will love me forever.” But after making the promises, Serena looked incredibly aggrieved. “You’re wearing the wedding ring you gave to your wife, but you’re forcing me to say these things. What am I to you? Just a mistress?” Hearing this, Declan let out a mocking scoff. He pulled off the custom wedding band he had personally designed years ago and casually tossed it directly into the trash can. “Are you satisfied now?” The dizzying wave of nausea from my high fever made my stomach violently churn. I stumbled back, awkwardly shutting my bedroom door, and collapsed back onto the mattress. I pressed my hand hard against my chest. My heart felt like it was being carved open by a serrated knife. But in the end, the tears still pathetically betrayed me, slipping down my cheeks. Before we remarried, I naively thought that as long as I didn’t look, as long as I didn’t listen, everything would be fine. As long as I could get my mother’s heirloom back, I didn’t care if I had to play deaf and blind. But in this exact moment, I finally realized that some feelings are simply impossible to control. I knew my fever was spiking, but masochistically, I forced myself to endure it. Just endure it a little longer. I don’t know if I actually fell asleep, or if the fever just caused me to hallucinate. I dreamt of eighteen-year-old Declan. The summer right after high school graduation. We had finally thrown off the crushing weight of our college prep classes, traded our stiff school uniforms for mature suits and elegant evening gowns, and went to the highest revolving restaurant in the city. There, he formally and solemnly confessed his love to me for the very first time. The night sky couldn’t hide his flushed, nervous face. In front of those massive floor-to-ceiling windows, we were wild and passionate, over and over again. When we were finally exhausted, he pointed up at the moon and swore an oath. He swore he would love me for the rest of his life. It’s a tragic shame. Oaths are never eternal. And neither is love. When I opened my eyes again, I was greeted by the familiar stark white walls and the sterile smell of antiseptic. “What exactly is the point of treating your own body like garbage? You have a massive fever, you refuse to take medication, and you just suffer through it alone in your room. Does that accomplish anything?” Declan’s tone was entirely devoid of politeness, dripping with heavy, undisguised mockery. In the past, if I caught even a mild seasonal cold, Declan would be an absolute nervous wreck. Back then, he would frown in deep distress, pressing his warm palm against my forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Did you take your meds? Does your head hurt? Do you want some water?” But now. I stared at Declan for a very long time. In the depths of his eyes, there were so many complex emotions. Sarcasm. Mockery. Disdain. The only thing missing was even a single shred of heartache. My heart felt like it was being roasted over an open, nameless flame. Before we remarried, I had warned myself a million times in my head: Do not ever beg for Declan’s love again. I forced a flawless smile. “I’m sorry. I wasted your time. Honestly, having the housekeeper drop me off at the hospital would have been perfectly fine.” Declan raised an eyebrow, seemingly caught off guard by my completely passive attitude. I still vividly remember the day we remarried. He stood outside the courthouse, smiling with arrogant, absolute superiority. “See? Without me, you are absolutely nothing. You can’t pay off your family’s massive debts. You can’t afford to eat at high-end restaurants. Hell, the place you were renting was worse than the servant’s quarters at my estate.” “I protected you too well all these years. You never had to suffer. You had no idea how brutal the real world is. I actually wanted to keep spoiling you, but your demands just kept piling up. So much so that I started to despise you.” “If, after we remarry, you can fix that pathetic temper and personality of yours… that would be ideal.” Well, I fixed it. I no longer clung to him, begging him to do childish things with me. I no longer demanded he check in with me every day. I stopped checking his phone. I stopped acting cute and vulnerable around him. And right now, I no longer needed his concern. Methodically slicing away a passionate, genuine love, piece by piece, is a long, excruciatingly agonizing process. Fortunately, in this exact moment, I felt like I was finally about to succeed. After finishing my IV drip and returning home, Serena came bursting out of Declan’s home office. Her eyes were bloodshot as she blocked my path at the top of the stairs. “Did you post these photos on the university forum?!” “Ms. Sterling, I honestly thought you were exactly as indifferent as you act!” “I never imagined you were this vicious!” “If Declan hadn’t caught it early, my life would have been completely destroyed by you!” Her shrill, piercing voice echoed violently through the hallway, incredibly grating on the ears. A stack of glossy photographs was violently hurled directly into my face. I glanced down. The explicit nature of the photos was so extreme that just a single glance would make anyone blush. I patiently explained: “Ms. Vance, I don’t even know what university you attend. How could I possibly post these photos?” But Serena had completely lost her mind. She sobbed hysterically and lunged at me, using every ounce of her strength to beat me. “Who else hates me this much besides you?! You hate the fact that Declan doesn’t love you! You hate the fact that he treats me well! So you used this disgusting method to destroy me!” Her fists, fast and heavy, rained down on me. I instinctively raised my arms to block the blows. But the next second, her foot missed a step. As she panicked and lost her balance, she made sure to grab onto me to break her fall. A terrifying, dizzying wave of weightlessness and sheer terror exploded through my system. My back slammed brutally against the floor. After a sickening, heavy THUD, my body finally stopped falling. Pain, like a torrential tidal wave, instantly rushed through every nerve in my body. In my hazy, semi-conscious state, I heard footsteps rushing toward us. Fast. Frantic. Declan’s voice was laced with absolute terror and incoherent panic. But the piercing, high-pitched ringing in my ears made it impossible to understand what he was saying. The last time I heard Declan sound this panicked… Was the day I discovered my father cheating. I was crying, screaming for justice for my mother, and my father delivered a brutal, resounding slap across my face. Declan had instantly stepped in, shielding me behind his back. He repeatedly, frantically checked to make sure I was okay, and then used the massive corporate leverage of his family’s empire to force my father to bow his head and apologize to me. The piercing ringing in my ears finally began to fade, and Declan’s words finally became clear. “Chloe, you are absolutely disgusting.” “I literally just finished scrubbing those photos off the internet to protect your reputation, and now you’re trying to murder her.” Declan’s words crashed down like a thunderbolt, completely and violently shattering the illusion of the dream I had just been living in. My explanation was weak and pathetic. My voice trembled uncontrollably from the agonizing pain. “It really wasn’t me…” But Declan refused to listen to a single word I said. Before he carried Serena out the door, I fought with everything I had to swallow my sobs. Suppressing my fading consciousness, I called out to him. “Declan, the auction tomorrow…” Declan’s body stiffened for a fraction of a second. His voice was pure, teeth-grinding fury. “I’ll go. But only on the condition that Serena is completely fine.” The heavy front doors slammed shut with a deafening crash. Only then did the terrified servants finally dare to scream and call 911. The next day, completely ignoring the doctor’s orders, I snuck out of the hospital. Early this morning, Arthur, Declan’s assistant, had texted me. He said Declan had arranged for Serena to undergo a massive, full-body medical workup. All her vitals were perfectly normal. She just had a minor sprain in her ankle. While feeling a wave of relief, I desperately tried to comfort myself in my own mind. He’s going to come. He’ll definitely come. But standing outside the auction house, watching the crowds of people come and go, I never saw that familiar silhouette. I waited from sunset until the moonlight washed over the pavement. The person I was desperately hoping for never showed up. Winter in New York is brutal. The biting, freezing, damp wind whipped relentlessly across my body. My body and my soul were both agonizingly numb. A voice in the very depths of my heart kept tirelessly repeating: He’s not coming. Tears welled up, spinning in my eyes. Even taking a breath sent sharp, stabbing pain through my chest. “Mrs. Pierce? Why are you still standing out here?” I turned my head stiffly. The moment I saw Arthur, a tiny, pathetic shred of hope inexplicably flared up in my heart. I grabbed his hand frantically, my words tumbling out in a mess. “Did… did Declan send you to bid at the auction?” Under my eyes, burning with desperate expectation, Arthur slowly nodded. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through the list of items Declan had ordered him to win today. Out of thirty-two lots, Declan had Arthur successfully bid on thirty-one. My eyes, filled with desperate hope, scanned all the way down to the final line. I never saw the jade bracelet. The blood that had just begun to boil in my veins instantly froze solid. In a fraction of a second, I realized I was the biggest joke in the world. “Today is Ms. Vance’s birthday. They’re throwing a massive party at the estate. Mr. Pierce was in a rush to get these items back to surprise her, so he paid a massive premium to have the auction house expedite the entire process…” “As for the jade bracelet… Ms. Vance said items that belonged to dead people were bad luck. So she told him to pass on that lot…” I stood in the freezing, biting wind. My face was completely numb from the cold. I had lost count of how many times tears had blurred my vision today. Only one thought remained in my mind: Declan broke his promise. I didn’t get my mother’s heirloom back. This entire remarriage had lost its only meaning. I don’t know how much time passed. I stiffly pulled out my phone and sent Declan a single text: “Declan. Let’s get a divorce.” The message said Delivered. The reply was almost instantaneous: “Suit yourself.” Suddenly, someone roughly slammed their shoulder into mine. “Are you Declan Pierce’s wife?” I honestly didn’t know whether to nod or shake my head. But the person suddenly pulled out the exact jade bracelet I had been dreaming of getting back.

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The results of my pre-employment physical finally came back. Under “Blood Type,” it clearly stated: O. I dug out my birth certificate and medical records from when I was a kid. There it was in black and white: Type B. I called my mom, and she just laughed it off. “Oh, the person who filled out the paperwork back then probably just made a typo. It’s no big deal.” I wasn’t convinced. I went to a different hospital and paid for another blood test. Still Type O. My dad is Type A. My mom is Type B. My high school biology teacher taught us that this specific combination can produce a Type O child, but it’s incredibly rare. Both parents must carry the recessive O gene. I stood in front of my mom holding both lab reports. She took them and glanced at the paper. But her eyes didn’t stay on the results. They immediately darted past me, looking over my shoulder. She was checking to see if I had brought anyone home with me. A sudden, icy chill shot up my spine. “Mom, what are you looking at?” She shoved the reports back into my hands, her tone a little too cheerful, a little too forced. “Just looking to see if you finally brought a boyfriend home, that’s all!” She laughed and turned to walk into the kitchen. But I saw her hand gripping the doorframe. Her knuckles were bone white. The smell of cooking oil and garlic began drifting from the kitchen. My mom, Martha’s, voice carried over the roar of the exhaust fan. “Chloe, don’t just stand there spacing out! Go tell your sister dinner is ready.” I folded the medical reports, shoved them deep into my purse, walked upstairs, and knocked on Mia’s door. “Mia, dinner.” “Yeah, yeah, hold on a sec!” I could hear the loud, obnoxious sound of TikTok videos blasting from inside. I stood in the hallway. On my left was Mia’s room. A spacious master suite, south-facing, with a custom bay window covered in plush pink cushions. On my right was my room. Barely eighty square feet. It used to be a storage closet. The single tiny window faced the brick wall of the neighbor’s house. It had been this way since we were kids. I was used to it. At the dinner table, the massive plate of BBQ ribs was placed directly in front of Mia. In front of me was a small plate of cheap, stir-fried potatoes. Mia picked up a rib, chewed it twice, and immediately frowned in disgust. “Mom, these ribs are super tough today.” “I left the heat on too high,” Mom replied instantly, eager to please. “I’ll slow-roast them longer for you next time.” My dad, Frank, sat at the head of the table, his chopsticks moving rhythmically between the meat and the side dishes. I kept my head down, mechanically shoveling rice into my mouth. My brain was screaming, completely consumed by those two blood test reports. Type O. Both tests said Type O. I swallowed a mouthful of rice and forced my voice to sound as casual as possible. “Dad, you’re Type A, right?” His chopsticks stopped in mid-air. It was a fraction of a second. If I hadn’t been staring directly at his hand, I never would have noticed. “Yeah, Type A.” “Can a Type A and a Type B have a Type O child?” The dinner table went completely dead silent for two seconds. “Of course they can!” Mom jumped in, answering before he could. “Anything is possible. Stop reading all that nonsense on the internet.” “But my biology teacher said—” “Are teachers always right?” Mom slammed her chopsticks down, flashing a perfectly natural smile. “Look at the Johnsons next door. Both parents have brown eyes, and their kid has blue eyes! Genetics are crazy, you can’t predict them.” Having delivered her expert scientific analysis, she picked up a prime, meaty rib and dropped it onto Mia’s plate. “Eat up, Mia. The cafeteria food at your college is absolute garbage. You need the protein.” Mia was a senior at a private university. Her tuition was forty thousand dollars a year. Adding in her lavish living expenses, she easily burned through six grand a month. As for me? I had been working a corporate job for three years. I made around $4,000 a month, and every single month, I was forced to transfer $2,500 of it directly to my mom. “The household expenses are high, and your sister is still in school. As the older sister, it’s your duty to shoulder the burden.” Those were my mom’s exact words. And I had shouldered that burden for three grueling years. But today, I suddenly desperately wanted to know one thing. What exactly was I to this family? After dinner, I retreated to my eighty-square-foot closet, locked the door, and opened Google on my phone. Can a Type A and Type B parent have a Type O child? A flood of results popped up. Most medical articles stated: Yes, but the probability is low. Both parents must carry the recessive ‘O’ allele for it to happen. So… it was possible. I almost let out a sigh of relief. But then I clicked to the second page of results. A bolded thread title on a forum stabbed me right in the eye. Mismatched blood types don’t necessarily prove anything, but if your mother’s very first reaction is to check if anyone followed you home— The top comment underneath only had one sentence: Then she’s hiding a massive, guilty secret. I dropped my phone face-down onto my mattress. I stared up at the jagged crack in the ceiling, completely paralyzed. That crack had been there for as long as I could remember. Eighteen years. My mom had sworn she would fix it, but she never did. Not once. Meanwhile, the expensive wallpaper in Mia’s bedroom had been replaced three times. The next day at work, the events of last night were still looping violently in my head. The HR rep at my new company handed me my ID badge. “Chloe, Administration Department. You have a 90-day probationary period.” I took the badge. It was my first day at a new job. During lunch, my new coworker, Sarah, sat down across from me in the breakroom. “Chloe, right? I’m in the cubicle next to yours. Let me know if you need anything.” She had a bright, infectious laugh, her eyes crinkling happily. I nodded, tapping my paper cup against hers. “Are you from around here?” she asked. “Yeah, born and raised.” “Oh, that’s awesome! Living at home must save you a ton on rent.” I didn’t respond. Save on rent. I handed over $2,500 a month. I could rent a luxury one-bedroom apartment in the city for less than what I paid to live in a closet. In the afternoon, my mom sent me a text. “When are you transferring this month’s money? Your sister needs to sign up for a GRE prep course next semester. It’s two grand.” I stared at the glowing screen. Two grand. Last winter, I wanted to take a specialized accounting certification course to boost my resume. It was $500. My mom screamed at me for half an hour. “Why the hell are you wasting money on that garbage? You’re not smart enough for school anyway!” I typed out two words: “Got it.” And hit send. Then, I opened a new browser tab. Search query: How to get a private DNA paternity test. The results showed that for a non-legal, personal knowledge test, you only needed to mail in biological samples. Hair follicles, nail clippings, cheek swabs. All acceptable. The parties being tested didn’t even need to be present. Cost: Around $150 to $300. I checked my bank app. After deducting my monthly “tribute” of $2,500 and my bare-bones living expenses, my total life savings sat at exactly $15,000. That $15,000 was the result of three years of eating instant ramen for lunch, walking home in the freezing rain to save bus fare, and only buying clothes off the clearance rack once a year. Every single dollar was scraped together with blood and sweat. My entire life savings from three years of grinding… wasn’t even enough to cover three months of Mia’s college tuition. On Saturday, I made up an excuse to leave the house. My mom was lounging on the sofa watching TV. She didn’t even look up. “Where are you going?” “A coworker asked me to go to the mall.” “Don’t spend money. You barely make anything as it is.” I didn’t answer. I just put on my shoes and walked out the door. Before I left, I had discreetly pulled a few hairs with the root attached from my dad’s hairbrush, sealing them in a plastic bag. I did the same with a few hairs I found on my mom’s bath towel. Along with three of my own hairs, I sealed them all securely in my purse. The DNA testing clinic was located in a sleek, quiet office building downtown. The receptionist handed me a form to fill out. “Standard processing is seven to ten business days. Expedited processing is three days, but there’s an additional rush fee.” “Expedite it,” I said. She glanced up at me. My expression must have looked terrifying. She didn’t ask any questions. She just took my payment and the samples. When I walked out of the clinic, the sun was blindingly bright. I stood on the sidewalk, suddenly realizing I had absolutely no idea where to go. If the results came back normal, then my life would continue as this miserable, gray existence. But if they didn’t… My phone buzzed. It was a voice memo from Mia. “Hey Chloe, can you buy me that new YSL lipstick while you’re out? I’ve been wanting it forever. It’s like forty-five bucks.” Forty-five bucks. Last month, the soles of my only pair of work shoes completely wore through. I spent thirty dollars on a cheap replacement pair from Target, and I felt guilty about spending the money for an entire week. I typed back two words: “Sure thing.” Then I opened Sephora’s website and started browsing shades. For her. The three days waiting for the results felt like I was holding my breath underwater. On the surface, everything looked perfectly normal. Go to work. Come home. Cook dinner. Hand over my paycheck. But every single thing I had accepted as “normal” my entire life began to look incredibly, violently suspicious. Like the photo wall in the living room. I counted them. There were fourteen photos framed on the wall. Mia was the sole focus of eleven of them. I was in exactly two. They were group shots, and I was shoved to the very edge of the frame. The last one was a family portrait. It was taken when I was twelve, at a cheap mall photo studio with a fake blue-sky backdrop. Mia was sitting happily on my mom’s lap, wearing an expensive, frilly pink dress. I was standing awkwardly next to my dad, wearing Mia’s faded, outgrown winter coat from the year before. I stared at that photo for a very long time. In the picture, twelve-year-old me was smiling so hard it looked painful. On the third day, right around noon, my phone vibrated on my desk. A text from the clinic. I took my phone, locked myself in a bathroom stall, and opened the message. “Hello. Your DNA test results are ready. You may pick up the physical copy at our office, or opt to receive a secure electronic report via email.” My thumb clicked “Electronic Report.” The email arrived three minutes later. I opened the PDF and scrolled frantically, bypassing all the scientific jargon, straight to the conclusion on the final page. Probability of Paternity between Subject A (Chloe) and Subject B (Frank): 0%. The tested individuals do not share a biological parent-child relationship. Probability of Maternity between Subject A (Chloe) and Subject C (Martha): 0%. The tested individuals do not share a biological parent-child relationship. Two lines of text. I am not their daughter. Not related to either of them. The central AC in the office building hummed loudly. But I couldn’t hear it anymore. The only sound in the world was my own heartbeat, slamming against my ribs like a sledgehammer against a brick wall. My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms they drew blood. After what felt like an eternity, I closed my email, opened my Excel spreadsheet, and continued doing data entry. Row 138. Row 139. Row 140. My hands were perfectly steady. When I got home that night, the dinner table looked exactly the same as it always did. The expensive meat was placed directly in front of Mia. The cheap, stir-fried potatoes were placed in front of me. My mom cheerfully piled food onto Mia’s plate while talking to me without looking up. “Mia’s GRE prep course is all signed up. You need to transfer an extra $800 this month to cover it.” “Okay.” “Also, let Mia borrow that gray puffer jacket of yours. She’s going out with friends tomorrow and she complains she has nothing to wear.” That jacket was the only new piece of clothing I had bought for myself in the last two years. I bought it on clearance for $80. “It’s in my closet,” I said flatly. Mia immediately jumped up from the table and sprinted upstairs to claim it. My mom nodded approvingly. “That’s exactly how a big sister should act. Generous and accommodating.” I kept my head down, staring at my bowl of rice. If I wasn’t their daughter. Then who the hell was I? After dinner, I waited until the entire house was dead asleep. At 1:00 AM, I stood barefoot in the dark hallway. My parents’ bedroom door was shut tight. I could hear my dad snoring loudly inside. I crept into the living room and approached the heavy, antique wooden cabinet in the corner. I was strictly forbidden from ever touching this cabinet. When I was seven years old, my curiosity got the better of me, and I tried to open it. My mom caught me and beat me black and blue. “These are adult things! What the hell is a kid doing snooping around in here?!” The cabinet was padlocked. The key was hidden in the drawer of my mom’s nightstand. I had seen her put it there earlier this afternoon. But tonight, I didn’t have the key. I crouched down in the dark and pulled a bobby pin from my hair. During my lunch break, my coworker Sarah had shown me a YouTube video on how to pick a basic lock to get into a jammed locker at work. The mechanism on this old padlock was practically identical. Three minutes. Click. The cylinder turned smoothly. I gently pulled the cabinet doors open. Inside, sitting on the bottom shelf, was a rusted metal lockbox covered in a thick layer of dust. The box itself wasn’t locked. I lifted the lid. Inside were a few yellowed, aging documents, a sealed envelope, and a red bank passbook. The document resting on the very top was a legal contract. It was handwritten. The paper was brittle and yellowing at the edges. I turned on my phone’s flashlight, holding it close, and read every single word. [Guardianship and Financial Trust Agreement] Grantor: Eleanor Vance Trustee: Martha Johnson … “Due to terminal illness rendering the Grantor incapable of continued care, the Grantor hereby entrusts the Trustee with the physical custody and guardianship of her biological daughter, until said minor reaches the age of eighteen…” “The Grantor shall transfer all liquid assets, life insurance payouts, and accumulated savings, totaling $450,000 USD, into a designated trust account managed by the Trustee. These funds are legally mandated to be utilized strictly and exclusively for the living expenses, healthcare, and education of the minor child…” “The Trustee legally binds herself to ensure the aforementioned funds are spent solely for the benefit of the minor, Chloe Vance…” My name. In stark black and white. $450,000. Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. In the year 2000. I crouched in the pitch-black living room, my entire body violently shaking with a freezing, bone-deep cold. I pulled out my phone and photographed the agreement. I photographed the envelope, the bank passbook, and every single piece of paper stacked underneath it. Then, I meticulously put everything back exactly as I found it. The metal box. The wooden cabinet. The padlock. Everything looked entirely untouched. I walked barefoot back to my eighty-square-foot closet. I shut the door. I slid down the doorframe until I was sitting on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. All these years. Wearing Mia’s worn-out hand-me-downs. Eating the cheapest garbage in the cafeteria. Eating instant ramen every day to save money. Being extorted for $2,500 every single month. Being told to my face, “You’re not smart enough for school anyway.” Being told, “As the older sister, you need to be generous.” Being told, “The household expenses are high, you need to shoulder the burden.” $450,000. Exactly who had they spent my mother’s money on? I didn’t confront them immediately. Because there was another name written on that contract. Eleanor Vance. My biological mother. For the next few days, I worked my corporate job during the day and frantically scoured the internet at night. I started with the name of the law firm printed on the letterhead of the contract. Sterling & Associates Law Firm. It had been over twenty years. Information online was scarce. I called the number listed in an old digital archive. Disconnected. I searched the state business registry. The firm had officially dissolved in 2015. But the dissolution documents listed the name of one of the founding partners: Arthur Sterling. I searched his name through the State Bar Association database. He was currently practicing at a different, high-profile corporate firm downtown. I saved his office address and direct line. That entire week, I continued transferring my “rent” money to my mom.

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1 The agonizing cramps in my abdomen were so unbearable that I dragged myself to the ER, where I was diagnosed with acute appendicitis. The doctor was typing on his keyboard to prescribe my pre-op meds when his hands suddenly stopped. He looked up at me. “Why do you have an IUD in place if you haven’t had children yet?” An IUD? I gripped my medical chart so tightly my knuckles turned white. Impossible. I had severe infertility issues. Over the past seven years, I had poured tens of thousands of dollars into treatments and endured endless physical and emotional torture just to try and get pregnant. “Doctor, are you sure you didn’t misread the scan?” The doctor turned his monitor toward me and tapped his pen against a distinct shadow on the imaging. “Look right here. See this? How do you forget that you had an IUD inserted?” I stared dead at the screen, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. Forgot? I never had one put in! For seven long years, my mother-in-law had pointed her finger in my face, calling me a “barren bitch,” and I had swallowed every ounce of that humiliation. Looking at that contraceptive device—something that had absolutely no business being inside my body… I finally realized the truth. It wasn’t that I couldn’t conceive. It was that someone had deliberately ensured that I wouldn’t! … Staring at the shadow on the screen, my hand instinctively drifted to my lower abdomen. Seven years ago, right after we got married, we went in for pre-pregnancy checkups. That was when I was diagnosed with a “hostile reproductive environment” and a small ovarian cyst. I remember looking at David in an absolute panic. He had held me gently, whispering words of comfort. “Baby, don’t be scared. We’ll get the surgery to remove the cyst first. I’ll be by your side the whole time.” For the next seven years, David accompanied me in and out of that hospital countless times. I snapped back to reality and looked at the ER doctor, asking him to remove the IUD during the appendectomy. After the surgery, as I lay in the recovery room, I got a phone call from David. “Emily, where are you? Why was your phone going straight to voicemail?” “I’m at the hospital. I just had surgery.” I kept my voice low. On the other end of the line, I heard genuine panic in his voice. “Hospital? Which hospital?!” Seemingly realizing he had overreacted, he quickly changed his tone. “Baby, what surgery? Are you feeling sick?” I couldn’t even begin to describe the storm of emotions inside me. I gave him a brief, vague answer and hung up the phone. Moments later, the door to my recovery room burst open, and David hurried in. “An appendectomy? Why didn’t you go to St. Jude’s? My Uncle Frank is the Chief of Surgery there, he could have made sure you were taken care of.” As he spoke, his eyes darted over my face, carefully observing my expression. I clenched the small copper IUD hidden in my palm. Without letting my mask slip, I offered him a weak smile. “It hurt too much. This hospital was closer.” My mother-in-law, Martha, pushed the door open just in time to hear my answer. She immediately started loudly complaining. “It’s just appendicitis, how much could it possibly hurt? If you can’t even handle this, you’d never survive childbirth.” “Oh, right. Assuming you can even have kids, which is highly doubtful.” “Mom, say less. Emily just got out of surgery, she’s not feeling well.” David poured me a glass of water. Once he was satisfied that I hadn’t discovered the truth about the IUD, he was already in a rush to leave. “Baby, the company has been struggling lately, I have to get back to the office. I’ll leave Mom here to take care of you.” I nodded, watching his back disappear into the hallway. “I don’t have the time or energy to wait on a barren hen,” Martha sneered. She turned on her heel and left as well. The hospital room fell quiet again. I let out a long, heavy sigh. Three days later, I was discharged. During those three days, the number of times David and Martha visited could be counted on one hand. It was the nurses who took pity on me and helped me out. I didn’t go home. Instead, I drove straight to St. Jude’s Hospital, where Uncle Frank worked, and where I had supposedly gotten my cyst removed. After confirming that Uncle Frank had the day off, I walked over to the Medical Records department. The nurse quickly pulled up my file. I flipped through the pages, one by one. Over seven years, we had spent nearly a hundred thousand dollars on exams, experimental medications, and IVF rounds. Yet, this file only contained a few sparse pages of standard, normal physical reports. I flipped back to the very first page. The surgical record from seven years ago clearly stated it was not a cyst removal—it was a surgical sterilization via IUD insertion! My hands shook uncontrollably. The irony was suffocating. Seven years of absolute torment. Seven years of crushing guilt. And it turned out that I had been artificially, maliciously stripped of my right to be a mother. I pulled my lips into a bitter smile, but the tears spilled over my eyelashes. After a long time, I wiped my eyes and pulled out my phone, ready to take photos of the evidence. That was when I noticed that the page requiring the “Family Consent Signature” was entirely missing from the file. I didn’t alert the hospital staff. I closed the folder, politely thanked the nurse, and walked out. The second I left the building, I called my old college friend, Ethan, who now worked at the State Department of Health. I explained the situation. He agreed to help immediately and told me to give him a few minutes. Shortly after, my phone rang. “Emily, I found the missing signature page. I just emailed it to you.” “Okay. Thank you.” Ethan hesitated for a second before speaking again. “Your husband scrubbed his digital medical footprint incredibly thoroughly. I got curious, so I ran his Social Security Number through our dependent registry.” “I found something. I attached it to the email as well. You…” “You need to brace yourself, Emily. If you need anything, call me anytime.” “I will…” I walked over to a bench by the street, sat down, and opened my email. The first image was the missing consent form. The signature on the bottom line was David’s. Even though I fully expected it, the confirmation still felt like a knife to the chest. David’s patient, comforting voice from seven years ago echoed in my ears. What was going through his head at that exact moment? Did he feel even a shred of pity for me? Or was he laughing at how gullible I was? I clicked on the second attachment. It was a birth certificate. My heart seized with sharp, stabbing pains. I looked at the box labeled “Father.” It was David. I compared the signatures on the two documents. They were completely, perfectly identical. One signature was the blade that severed my right to be a mother. The other was the signature that crowned him a father. Tears poured down my face unconditionally. A volcanic hatred shattered through my heart. I sat on that bench for a very long time before finally driving home. Martha was on the sofa watching TV. The moment she saw me walk in, she ordered me to go to the kitchen and cook dinner. Because I believed I couldn’t give them a child, I had always carried a deep sense of guilt. In the past, I would have dragged myself to the stove even with a 104-degree fever. But this time, I flatly refused. Seeing that I wouldn’t obey her, Martha immediately threw herself in front of my late father-in-law’s memorial picture and started wailing. She sobbed about how I was ending the family bloodline, and how her son refused to listen to her and divorce me. For seven years, I had listened to this exact performance on repeat. Every single time, I had felt incredibly guilty, while simultaneously feeling deeply grateful that my husband hadn’t abandoned me. Now, watching her theatrical display, I suddenly wondered: Did she know she had a big, healthy grandson living out there somewhere? I must have been staring at her too intensely, because she suddenly couldn’t keep up the fake crying. She picked up her phone and called my husband instead. I ignored her, turned around, and walked into our bedroom. I searched the room meticulously, but I couldn’t find a single medical record from any of my past checkups. I had gone through IVF three times, and failed every time. Whenever I asked to look at the medical files, David always refused, claiming he was keeping them from me so I wouldn’t get depressed. Back then, I believed him and was actually moved by his protectiveness. Looking back now, it was nothing but a sick joke. I lay in bed with my eyes closed, completely drained of all energy. A little while later, David pushed the door open. He walked over to me naturally, leaning down to kiss my cheek. I turned my head to dodge it. He didn’t seem to mind. “Baby, are you feeling better? Come on, let’s go eat.” He reached out his hand to pull me up. Looking at the hand extended toward me, I had a sudden, violent urge to scream the truth in his face. But I couldn’t. I still hadn’t investigated everything completely. I couldn’t afford to tip my hand. I submissively placed my hand in his, letting him pull me out of the room. After dinner, David crouched down in front of me, his eyes brimming with absolute devotion. “Baby, you just had surgery. I really didn’t want to lay this on you, but the company just can’t hold on anymore.” “What happened?” I played along, asking the right questions. “Our competitors teamed up to cut off our supply chains. The banks are recalling our loans. The company is on the verge of bankruptcy.” Before I could even respond, Martha started screaming from the living room. “Why are the banks recalling the loans?! Because you can’t give him a child, that’s why!” “Mom, this has nothing to do with Emily.” He turned his gaze back to me. “The banks ran a risk assessment. Because I don’t have a legal heir, they view the company as high-risk. The second there was a hiccup, they recalled the loans. Baby, this company is our life’s work. I don’t want us to go bankrupt.” Right. This company was entirely bankrolled by my father to give David a startup. When he incorporated the company, he immediately transferred 80% of the shares to my name, which was why I had never, ever doubted him all these years. “If you don’t have an heir, then just adopt one! A living person isn’t going to let themselves suffocate just because they can’t find a bathroom!” Martha’s booming voice echoed through the house again. “She’s right, baby. Can we adopt a child from the foster system for now? If we have a kid on paper, the banks will resume our credit lines.” His eyes were filled with pleading and choreographed pain, but I didn’t believe a single word anymore. “I’m tired,” I said, lowering my eyes. “Okay. You rest first, baby. We can talk about this later. I’ll try to think of another way.” 2 For the next few days, David stayed home, drinking whiskey and acting like a man drowning his sorrows, while I secretly investigated the company’s financial status. One day, David didn’t drink. He left the house early in the morning. I received a message from the private investigator I had hired. It contained irrefutable evidence that David was actively tunneling assets out of the company. I held onto the evidence, waiting for him to come home so I could put the divorce papers on the table. That afternoon, David returned. “Baby! I figured out a way to solve the company crisis!” His excited voice interrupted the divorce demand I was about to drop. “I have a distant cousin who recently died in a car crash. He left behind a widow and a young son. The widow can’t afford to raise him, and she’s willing to let us legally adopt him.” “Oh, thank the Lord! Little Noah is related to our family by blood anyway, so this perfectly continues the family name!” Martha was practically cheering from the sidelines. Noah? That name triggered my memory. “What’s the widow’s name?” “Jessica.” I pulled the corners of my mouth into a cold smile. Jessica. That was the mother’s name listed on the secret birth certificate. “What do you think, baby? We adopt the boy, host a massive Welcome Home banquet, and solve the company’s financial crisis first.” “If we manage to have our own biological child later, the company will still go to our flesh and blood.” “Sure.” I nodded. A Welcome Home banquet was a fantastic idea. The more people, the better. I gripped the evidence folder in my hands tightly. The day before the banquet, David brought the “widow” and her child to the house. The moment Jessica walked through the door, she yanked the little boy to his knees. “Hurry up, get on your knees and thank your Auntie! Thanks to her taking you in, she is going to be your new mommy.” “I won’t kneel! I don’t want a new mommy!” Noah screamed and thrashed, lunging forward to hit me. He clawed at my arms, leaving deep red scratches. David was busy helping Jessica up from the floor. “Emily, Jessica is graciously giving you her son. Even if you aren’t grateful, you shouldn’t make her kneel.” Jessica leaned weakly against David’s chest. “It’s fine, David. As long as you both treat Noah well, that’s all that matters.” Unable to dodge in time, I was shoved hard to the floor by Noah. With a sharp crack, the jade bracelet on my wrist shattered against the tile. It was the heirloom my late mother had left me. With bloodshot eyes, I reached out and slapped the brat across the face. David instantly pulled Noah behind his back. “Emily! Are you insane?! Why are you fighting with a child?!” “He broke the bracelet my mother left me!” A brief flash of guilt crossed his eyes, but it vanished instantly. “If it’s broken, it’s broken! I’ll buy you the exact same one in a few days!” David brushed me off, fussing over Noah’s red cheek. But he had conveniently forgotten that when he proposed to me, he had held that exact jade bracelet and sworn to my mother’s memory that he would protect me for the rest of my life! At dinner, Noah hoarded all the best food onto his own plate and openly spit into my food. David and Martha turned a blind eye to it. The four of them sat there laughing and joking like a perfect, happy family, making me look like the hired help. After dinner, David brought a legal document to me. “Baby, to get Noah enrolled in the local school district, I need to use your downtown condo as proof of residency.” “Just sign here, so we can get his paperwork finalized.” I took the document and tried to flip to the previous pages to read the fine print. David clamped his hand down over mine. “Baby, do you still not trust me? Just sign the signature line.” The old me would have never questioned anything he did, but now… “Are you absolutely certain this document is only to prove residency for his school?” Standing directly in the field of view of the hidden nanny cam I had installed, I asked the question loudly and clearly. “Relax, baby. When have I ever lied to you?” Watching his greedy, triumphant expression, I lowered my head and signed, immediately saving that specific clip of footage to the secure cloud. That afternoon, when I logged back into the camera feed, that entire segment of footage had been permanently deleted. That night, Noah threw a tantrum, demanding to sleep in the master bedroom with David. David looked at me, pretending to be conflicted. “Baby, Noah is still little. Can you sleep on the couch tonight? Just for one night.” I didn’t even wait for him to finish before turning and walking away. That bed disgusted me anyway. In the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom. As I passed the guest bedroom, I heard David and Jessica moaning inside. “Husband, when can we finally be together openly?” “Soon. I’ve tunneled almost all the company’s assets out. Once the adoption is finalized and I get the deed to the condo, I can divorce her.” David laughed darkly. “My mom can’t wait either. She’s been dying to hold her real grandson in public.” I clenched my fists in the dark. Since this was how they wanted to play it, they couldn’t blame me for being ruthless. 3 We arrived at the banquet hall, getting out of the car and walking toward the entrance. Noah violently shoved me aside and grabbed David’s hand. “I want to walk in with my mommy and daddy!” He flashed me a provocative, mocking grin. David just patted his head indulgently. “Baby, he’s just a kid who doesn’t know any better. Don’t take it personally. We’re going to head inside first.” I stood under the blistering sun, watching the backs of their “happy family of three.” It was the ultimate, sickening irony. I walked into the grand hall. Distant acquaintances who didn’t know the truth came up to offer their congratulations. “Mr. Miller, this must be your wife and son! What a beautiful family, and the boy looks so sharp.” Jessica smiled gracefully and thanked them, while David just smiled and said nothing. Martha was standing to the side, grinning from ear to ear, displaying a grandmotherly warmth I had never seen her direct at me. But the moment she caught sight of me, her smile vanished. “Why are you just standing there like a statue? You’re in the way. If you aren’t doing anything, go grab some trays and help the servers.” I didn’t move. “Go! You can’t even give us a child, all you do is cause trouble. If you won’t help, get out.” I gripped the evidence in my hand tightly, repeating a mantra in my head: Just endure it a little longer. Not everyone is here yet. A show needs a full audience to be entertaining. I silently picked up a tray of appetizers. As I walked past Jessica, she subtly stuck her foot out and tripped me. The scalding hot food spilled directly onto me. But Jessica was the one who let out a blood-curdling shriek, clutching her wrist where a few drops of broth had landed. “David, it hurts so much!” David rushed over instantly, blowing on Jessica’s arm with exaggerated heartbreak. “Emily, why are you always so careless?!” “Come on, let’s go run this under cold water.” He shot me a look of pure disgust, frowning deeply. “Go change your clothes immediately. The banquet is about to start. Try not to be so clumsy next time.” I ignored the dozens of judgmental stares from the crowd. I endured the burning pain on my skin and walked toward the restroom. Just wait. Just wait a little longer. You two are going straight to hell. By the time I changed into my backup dress and returned to the hall, the banquet was officially underway. David was standing on the stage, delivering his speech. “I want to thank you all so much for coming to this Welcome Home banquet. As many of you know, due to my wife’s… medical complications… we have been unable to have children since we got married.” The crowd cast sympathetic looks in my direction. I kept my head down and said nothing. “The arrival of little Noah is a gift from God. He will be our future, and my successor.” “Everything I own will one day belong to him.” Thunderous applause erupted from the audience. Someone handed David a massive bouquet of red roses. David took them, dropped to one knee, and presented them to Jessica. “Thank you so much for bringing this child into the world. You are welcome to visit him anytime, and he will always know who you are.” Jessica blushed deeply, accepting the roses with a demure smile. The applause grew even louder. Watching their interaction on stage, I felt a bizarre wave of disorientation. It didn’t feel like an adoption banquet; it felt like I was attending their wedding reception. Jessica shot a subtle look to the MC, who immediately turned his attention to me. “Ms. Emily, how does it feel to suddenly be gifted a wonderful, grown son?” David followed the MC’s gaze, looking at me with feigned impatience. “The lucky hour is almost here. Come on up to the stage.” I took slow, deliberate steps toward the stage. David leaned in and muttered instructions under his breath. “Jessica is gifting you a child. You need to show some profound gratitude.” “Now that we have a son, you need to put him first. You can’t act as selfishly as you used to.” “You don’t have any experience raising kids. Make sure you ask Jessica for advice…” Hearing that, I let out a cold laugh. I stepped up, violently snatched the microphone right out of his hand, and looked out at the sea of faces. “Ask for advice?” I enunciated every single word. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I will be having my own children.” “But I’m sure everyone in this room would be incredibly interested to know the real reason why I haven’t been able to get pregnant for the past seven years!!”

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My husband parked in my assigned parking spot again. The front of his car was angled sharply over the line, obnoxiously taking up two spaces. This was the third time. I didn’t call him right away to come downstairs and move it. Instead, I took a quick video and posted it on my Instagram Story. A second later, the Gen Z intern I was mentoring—a guy who constantly bragged about having eighteen ex-girlfriends—sent me a DM: [Hey boss, based on my experience, this is sketchy as hell. If you still want to make it work with him, call him to come down and move it. If you’re done with him, march straight upstairs, open the bedroom door, and make sure your phone is recording.] My hands and feet went ice cold. I went upstairs with my heart in my throat, only to find my husband calmly sitting on the living room sofa, typing away on his laptop for work. I peeked into the bedroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking I was overreacting. But then I looked at him again, and my stomach dropped. The tie he was wearing when he left the house this morning wasn’t this red polka-dot one. Plus, he only ever worked in his home office… I placed my purse on the entryway console, swapped my heels for slippers, and tried to keep my voice steady: “You parked in my spot again.” “I got an urgent email from a client on my way back and had to revise a pitch deck. I parked in a rush. I was going to move it when you were close to home. Give me a minute to finish this, and I’ll head down.” Declan’s tone was relaxed. He answered slowly, completely unbothered. “Don’t worry about it. I parked in visitor parking.” I suppressed my racing heartbeat and sat down on the armchair opposite him. “Why are you working in the living room?” “The desk lamp in the office is broken. The bulb kept flickering.” Sensing my gaze, Declan stopped typing and looked up. “What’s wrong?” “Where’s your other tie?” He looked down, a sheepish, helpless smile crossing his face: “I had a lunch meeting with a client and spilled some coffee on it. You bought me that tie for our anniversary, so the second I got home, I rushed to hand-wash it.” He gave me a sweet, pleading look. “I was clumsy. Don’t be mad, okay?” I glanced toward the laundry room. Sure enough, a blue striped tie was hanging on the drying rack, dripping water onto the tiles. It all made sense. Every single piece of it made perfect sense. But my mind was a chaotic mess. I subconsciously started biting my thumbnail. “Have you been too tired lately?” I didn’t even notice Declan getting up. He knelt in front of me, gently pulling my hand away from my mouth. He let out a soft sigh, pulled me into a hug, and rested his chin on the top of my head, gently patting my back. He knew. My anxiety was acting up again. “Come on.” “Where?” Declan took my hand and led me into his home office. He flicked the switch on the desk lamp. It flashed twice and died. The desk was spotless. The trash can was empty. There were no suspicious traces anywhere. “Feel better now?” He held my shoulders, his voice incredibly soft and gentle. I nodded, then shook my head. I didn’t know. He didn’t get angry. He led me back to the sofa, went to the kitchen to pour a glass of warm water, and pulled a bottle of pills from the cabinet. Anti-anxiety medication. Prescribed by my psychiatrist three years ago. I had stopped taking them a long time ago, but he always kept a refill handy. He held two pills up to my lips. A violent surge of agitation boiled up inside me. I slapped his hand away. The water glass tipped over, splashing warm water all over his shirt. Declan froze. A flash of utter exhaustion crossed his eyes. My breath hitched. But, true to form, he calmly picked up the glass, grabbed some paper towels to wipe the coffee table, and smiled as he ruffled my hair. “I’ll go make you some pasta.” I pulled my knees to my chest, curled up on the sofa, and watched his back as he moved around the kitchen. My eyes burned. I felt terribly guilty, but I couldn’t stop my brain from spiraling: Is Declan cheating on me or not? Three years ago, I asked that exact question a thousand times. The answer was: No. But the process of proving it almost cost me half my life. And now? Was I going to torture him and myself all over again? I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I tossed and turned, analyzing his explanations about the parking spot and the tie until my head felt like it was splitting open. The next morning, Declan left early. He left breakfast on the counter with a sticky note drawn with a smiley face. I didn’t touch a single bite. I stood in the laundry room, staring at the half-dry tie. I took it down and examined it. It was mostly clean, but on the back of the narrow end, right near the brand tag, there was a tiny, crusty white spot. Coffee stains are brown. Even if it didn’t wash out completely, it would be faint yellow. It wouldn’t be white. The tie was dripping wet yesterday, which meant he washed it in a frantic rush. But if it was just coffee, he could have tossed it in the hamper for the dry cleaners. Why was he so desperate to scrub it out by hand the second he walked through the door? Driven by some dark intuition, I lifted the tie to my nose. Beneath the heavy scent of laundry detergent, there was a faint, distinct smell… The sour-sweet scent of baby formula. Clutching that tie, the last thread of sanity in my brain snapped. I stumbled into the storage closet, digging through dusty cardboard boxes until I found it—the hidden nanny cam. When I finally found the perfect spot to mount it on Declan’s bookshelf, I froze. There was already a sticky residue of double-sided tape right there. Left by me. Three years ago. My fingers were numb. My lips were numb. Three years later, and I had never actually been “cured”… But I wasn’t always this “sick.” Three years ago, Declan was promoted to VP of Sales. He hired a new executive assistant. I didn’t think much of it until a friend who worked at his company sent me a photo from their corporate weekend retreat. It was taken secretly. Declan was manning the barbecue grill, and standing right beside him was a woman with a low ponytail, gently using a tissue to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The body language was intimately blurred. [Chloe, do you know this new assistant?] my friend texted. I zoomed in on the photo and recognized the face. Rachel Dawson. Declan’s college girlfriend. When we started dating, he didn’t hide his past. He was upfront about her, claiming she was his only serious ex. I was actually very calm at the time. That night, when Declan came home, I placed the photo on the kitchen island. He didn’t hide it. He said Rachel had been working as a hotel waitress. He ran into her by chance, saw she was struggling, and since his department needed an assistant, he gave her the job. “Wiping the sweat was a lapse in boundaries on my part. I am so sorry.” His attitude was incredibly sincere. The very next day, he even brought Rachel to me so she could apologize in person. I accepted it. But a thorn remained in my heart. And that thorn finally drew blood the day I found a pair of black pantyhose shoved into the gap between his passenger seat and the center console. “Rachel’s pantyhose snagged and tore on our way to a major client pitch. It was a bad look for the company, so we stopped at a pharmacy and she changed in the car.” Declan’s expression was perfectly normal. He explained it with infinite patience. He said Linda, the Finance Director, was also in the car with them. He said Rachel shoved the torn pair into the seat gap in a rush and forgot to throw them away. Linda actually vouched for him. She even sent me a voice memo confirming the story. But I didn’t believe it. I wanted to rip that thorn out completely. I stormed into his corporate office. When I pushed his door open, Rachel was pouring him a glass of water. I snatched the glass from her hand, threw the water directly in her face, and pointed at her nose, screaming that she was a homewrecking slut. Rachel didn’t say a word back. She just stood there and cried. The entire office floor watched me. That was the first time Declan ever lost his temper with me. He slammed his schedule logs, GPS data, and sign-in sheets from the client pitch onto his desk. “The evidence is all right here! What more do you want from me?!” But I couldn’t hear reason. From that day on, I demanded he report his every move. What time did he leave? What time did he get to work? Who was he eating lunch with? What meeting was he in? If he didn’t answer my call within an hour, I would lose my mind and call him twenty times in a row. I installed cameras in our house. I hid a nanny cam in the study. I needed to watch his every single second at home. Everyone around us pitied him. “Declan has it so rough.” “Rachel is a completely innocent victim in all this.” “Do you think his wife… has mental issues?” I knew what they were whispering. But I couldn’t stop. Until the day I forced him to personally process Rachel’s termination papers. Usually so mild-mannered, he finally snapped. He shattered a coffee mug against the wall and screamed something at me—I can’t even remember the words now. I only remember stepping backward, tripping over the leg of the coffee table, and falling hard onto the floor. Blood… so much blood pooled beneath me. It wasn’t until I woke up in the hospital bed that I found out I had been pregnant. Twelve weeks. The baby was gone. Strangely, the loss brought a terrifying wave of clarity. It was like a blistering fever had finally broken. The doctor said my massive emotional swings were likely exacerbated by pregnancy hormones, especially during the volatile first trimester. Declan fell to his knees by my hospital bed. For the first time, he cried in front of me, gripping my hand like a lifeline. “Chloe, I surrender. It’s all my fault. I just don’t want you to get hurt anymore.” Rachel was fired. Declan swore to God we would never have another crisis of trust. But my heart was a tangled mess of guilt and confusion. When I looked back at the cold, hard facts… had I been the one making a psychotic scene over nothing? I felt a deep, gnawing unwillingness to accept it, but I was too terrified to question it. Declan didn’t cheat. Wasn’t that a good thing? I spent an entire year recovering. Therapy, anti-anxiety medications, rebuilding my life piece by piece to return to normal. Everyone comforted me, saying young couples go through dark phases, and once you get past them, it’s smooth sailing. But today, three years later, I was crouching in the study, staring blankly at the hidden camera in my hand. The green light was on. It was ready to record. I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. Three years ago, this was the exact step that started my descent into madness. And now, I was standing at the exact same crossroads. Was the faint smell of baby formula on a necktie enough for me to drive myself insane a second time? I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the edge of the bookshelf. The hard wood dug painfully into my skin. Two voices were going to war in my head. Chloe, how much longer is this nightmare going to last? I left work early and waited in the lobby of Declan’s office building. When I saw him step out of the elevator, laughing and chatting with a few colleagues, I walked up to him. “Declan.” He saw me, and his smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” “We haven’t had dinner together in a while. I came to pick you up.” I linked my arm through his and smiled at his coworkers. “Sorry to interrupt your post-work drinks. I’m stealing my husband for the night.” The coworkers exchanged subtle, awkward glances and politely laughed it off. One person looked down, avoiding my eyes entirely, while a younger guy instinctively took a half-step back, almost as if he were afraid of me. The memory of my hysterical meltdown in this exact building three years ago had probably become legendary office lore. Declan said goodbye to his team, naturally wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and guided me toward the parking garage. At dinner, I asked casually, “Have you been busy lately? Did that project from last week wrap up?” “Yeah, we closed it. This week is mostly following up with new clients. A lot more networking dinners.” “Was Wednesday night a networking dinner too?” “Yeah. Took a client out to play golf.” I nodded, pretending to suddenly remember something. “Oh, right! I heard you had your assistant run to the grocery store for you? What did you have her buy?” Declan’s chopsticks froze in mid-air. He set them down, looking at me, his tone dropping a few degrees. “When were you talking to my assistant?” “When I was waiting for you in the lobby today. The receptionist had her come out to keep me company.” “She’s a fresh grad. She doesn’t know anything,” he said, staring at me as if trying to confirm my mental state. I smiled. “Relax. I’m not a monster. I didn’t give her a hard time.” I looked down, poking at the food in my bowl but not eating it. “I just feel like… the distance between us is getting wider.” Silence stretched over the table for a few seconds. Declan reached across the table, covering my hand with his. His thumb gently stroked my knuckles. “I’ve just been swamped with work lately. I’m sorry.” I shook my head and didn’t push further. When we got home that night, I told him I needed some space and insisted on sleeping in the guest room. Declan stared at me for a long time but didn’t force the issue. I locked the guest room door, leaned against the headboard, and opened my phone. I stared at the screenshots of the store receipts over and over. That afternoon in the lobby, the young assistant had been terrified. She clearly knew my reputation, and her hands were literally shaking when she poured me a glass of water. I didn’t interrogate her. I just made small talk, casually slipping in: “I heard you’re always running errands for Declan. Sounds exhausting.” The poor girl smiled in absolute relief, assuring me it was no trouble, and eagerly showed me screenshots of the grocery lists on her phone to prove it. I asked her to text me one of the screenshots and left it at that. Now, I zoomed in on the image, reading line by line. Bottled water, printer paper, manila folders, espresso pods… all perfectly normal office supplies. Teething biscuits, one box. Organic fruit puree pouches, two packs. I opened an app, searched the brand of the fruit puree, and scrolled through the reviews. Hundreds of moms posting photos, raving about how much their toddlers loved them, saying they bought them constantly. I stared at those reviews until my eyes burned dry. At noon the next day, I showed up at the reception desk of Declan’s company holding an insulated lunch bag. When he walked out of a conference room and saw me, he visibly froze. Colleagues walking by recognized me. They sped up their pace, only whispering to each other once they were a safe distance away. “Why is that woman here again? Mr. Pierce has it so rough being married to her…” “It’s terrifying. Her need for control is psychotic.” Declan frowned at the whispers. He grabbed my shoulders and quickly ushered me into his private office, shutting the door. “Why are you bringing me lunch in the middle of the workday? Aren’t you exhausted?” “I took the day off.” I placed the insulated bag on his desk and unzipped it. “Try the bento I made you.” He looked at me, the crease between his brows deepening. “Chloe…” “Just open it and look.” He stared at me for a few seconds. Unable to talk me out of it, he popped the lid off the bento box. The moment the lid came off, he went rigid. “What is this?” Half a bowl of teething biscuits. Half a bowl of fruit puree. I smiled warmly. “Baby food.”

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The day the money from selling the house hit the account, my phone buzzed with a bank notification. Almost simultaneously, my phone rang. It was my dad. His voice was hushed, almost a whisper. “Did you get it?” “Yeah, I got it,” I said, staring at the long string of zeros on my screen. My chest felt strangely hollow. “A hundred thousand. Hold onto it for now.” “Dad, this is way too much.” “It’s not. That house was marital property between me and your real mom. Half of that money rightfully belongs to you.” Through the receiver, I could faintly hear my stepmother’s voice yelling from another room: “Arthur! Who are you talking to? Why are you being so secretive?” My dad immediately hissed into the phone, “I have to go. Remember, do not tell a single soul. Especially not Linda.” “Why not?” “You know exactly how she is. Just trust me.” The line went dead. Before I could even process the shock of receiving a hundred grand, a new message popped up in our family group chat. It was from my dad. “I just transferred Emily her five thousand dollars.” My stepmother, Linda, replied instantly: “Finally. Glad that’s settled and out of the way.” Right after that, she sent another text: “If you ask me, she’s going to get married and join another family anyway. Giving her even five grand is too much. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s living on her own in the city, she shouldn’t have gotten a single cent.” The group chat fell completely silent. I gripped my phone, staring at her words. I didn’t type a single reply. That evening at dinner, Linda brought it up again. “Arthur, what did Emily say when she got the five grand?” My dad kept his head down, shoveling rice into his mouth, mumbling, “She was happy.” “Hmph, of course she’s happy. Free money falling into her lap.” Linda picked up a piece of chicken and dropped it onto her biological son’s plate. “That money was supposed to go toward Jason’s future wedding fund. Just giving it away to an outsider makes my stomach churn.” “What outsider? She’s my biological daughter,” my dad snapped, his tone laced with irritation. “So what if she’s your biological daughter? Even blood brothers keep their finances strictly separate! She’s going to marry out of this family eventually. Why are you treating her so well?” “Enough. Let’s just eat.” My dad clearly didn’t want to fight with her. But Linda wasn’t finished. She glared at him, her words loaded with implications. “I’m just worried that some people might be favoring outsiders and funneling our family’s money to them. Arthur, I’m warning you. Our entire future depends on the cash from selling that house. Don’t you dare do anything stupid.” My dad violently slammed his fork down. It clattered sharply against his plate. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Linda shrank back slightly, but her mouth kept running. “I just think people should have a conscience. We took the lion’s share, giving her five grand is already incredibly generous. If she had any respect, she would return the money to us.” “In your dreams!” my dad roared. Jason, my stepbrother, jumped in his seat, dropping his fork onto the table. Linda froze, then immediately started crying. “Oh, so now you’re yelling at me?! You’re yelling at me and my son for the sake of your ex-wife’s brat?! I’m only thinking about what’s best for this family! That five grand could have been a down payment on a car for Jason!” The atmosphere in the room plummeted below freezing. My dad stared at her, his eyes heavy with absolute exhaustion. I knew this was only the beginning. 2 For the next month, Linda complained about that five thousand dollars almost every single day. “The Johnsons next door? Their daughter got married and didn’t ask her parents for a dime. She even brings them expensive gifts every Thanksgiving and Christmas.” “Look at Susan from the HOA. Her daughter gave her younger brother eight grand to help him buy a house. Now that is a daughter who knows her place.” “Ugh, comparing kids just makes you angry. How did I end up stuck with such an ungrateful parasite?” She posted these passive-aggressive rants on her Facebook, specifically adjusting the privacy settings to block me from seeing them. But I always heard about them through other gossiping relatives. I never responded. Not once. I simply took the hundred thousand dollars, put it into a high-yield CD, and let it sit there. My dad would occasionally text me privately. “Don’t take what Linda says to heart.” “I know, Dad.” “Keep the money safe. It’s your safety net. If your mom were still here, she would have made me do the exact same thing.” Seeing the words “your mom” made my eyes sting. My mom passed away when I was twelve. Before she died, she held my hand, her voice barely a whisper. “Emily, study hard. Become someone successful, so no one can ever bully you.” Back then, I didn’t really understand what “bully” meant. Now, I understood it perfectly. I texted him back three words: “You too, Dad.” I didn’t know if he would understand what I meant. I hoped he did. With the money from the house sale in hand, my dad was incredibly energized. He had been a long-haul truck driver for years, always dreaming of opening his own small business so he wouldn’t have to answer to a boss anymore. Now, using that cash, he leased a small storefront on the south side of town and opened a breakfast diner. At first, Linda was fully supportive. She posted photos of the diner on Facebook every day, bragging about how her husband was still in his prime and about to strike it rich. I went to the grand opening. The second Linda saw me, she grabbed my hand, smiling so hard her wrinkles showed. “Emily, look at how successful your dad is! Once the family gets rich, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” She seemed to have completely forgotten how she had spent the last month agonizing over that five thousand dollars. I just offered a mild smile. “It’s great that Dad’s doing well.” “Absolutely.” She puffed out her chest, then pulled me aside, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Emily, look, the diner just opened, and we need cash for everything. That five grand is just sitting in your account doing nothing. Why don’t you… let your dad use it for a bit to help with cash flow?” I stared at her, feeling a cold chill settle in my chest. “Linda, that’s my emergency fund.” “Oh, please. You’re single, how much could you possibly need? Besides, that money originally belonged to our family anyway. Lending it to your dad now is just the right thing to do, isn’t it?” She spoke with such absolute entitlement, as if the money inherently belonged to her. I pulled my hand out of hers and didn’t say a word. Her face instantly darkened. She pulled a long face and muttered under her breath, “Ungrateful parasite.” It wasn’t loud, but I heard it perfectly. For the first few months, business was actually booming. My dad had to wake up at 3:00 AM to prep the dough and start the soups, but he looked incredibly vibrant, like he had reverse-aged ten years. Linda was even more insufferable. She posted on Facebook eight times a day—showing off new designer knock-off bags, fresh manicures, and various “Life of a Boss’s Wife” updates. She started organizing family dinners constantly, always aggressively insisting on paying the bill. At the dinner table, she would always inevitably single me out. “Emily, how much are you making a month now? Is it enough to live on?” “It’s fine,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate. “Sigh, it’s so hard for a young woman to be out there working a corporate job. Look at your dad. Now that the business has taken off, he can support this entire family with room to spare.” She paused, pivoting sharply. “Speaking of which, that five grand you have is barely making any interest in the bank. Why don’t you listen to me and invest it in your dad’s diner? We’ll give you a dividend at the end of the year. Isn’t that better than letting it rot in a savings account?” Under the table, my dad kicked my shin, giving me a warning look. I pretended not to notice and simply said, “I don’t know anything about running a business. I’ll pass.” Linda’s face fell immediately. “Why are you so stubborn? I’m only offering you this investment opportunity because we’re family! Other people would be begging for this chance.” The atmosphere at the table turned painfully awkward. A distant aunt finally chimed in to break the tension. “The kids have their own financial plans, Linda. Don’t worry so much about it.” Linda finally dropped it, but she glared at me for the rest of the meal. On the drive home, my dad called me. “Don’t listen to Linda. She’s just obsessed with money.” “I know.” “If she ever brings up money with you again, just tell me immediately.” “Okay.” I hung up the phone, watching the city lights blur past the window. The truth was, I could already tell that my dad’s business was in trouble. 3 The diner was located on the south side, in an area with a lot of newly built apartment complexes, but the actual occupancy rate was incredibly low. He had trusted a slick commercial real estate agent and signed a brutal three-year lease at an exorbitant rate. He was waking up at 3:00 AM every day and not getting home until 8:00 PM. He had lost a significant amount of weight, and the bloodshot veins in his eyes were getting worse. But he never complained, and I didn’t want to press him. He was my father. He was the pillar of the family, and he had his pride. Sure enough, the honeymoon phase didn’t last. The occupancy rate in the surrounding neighborhoods never went up, and foot traffic at the diner dwindled day by day. First, they couldn’t afford to pay the prep cooks, so Linda was forced to wake up at 3:00 AM to help. Then, they started buying cheaper, lower-quality ingredients, which drove away their remaining regular customers. Finally, they started falling behind on rent. The vibe on Linda’s Facebook page took a drastic turn. The bragging vanished, replaced by endless shares of inspirational quotes and articles about “Never Giving Up.” She stopped hosting family dinners, and she barely ever sent messages in the family group chat anymore. The atmosphere at their house became incredibly oppressive. One day, I bought some fruit and stopped by to visit them. The moment the door opened, a thick cloud of stale cigarette smoke hit my face. My dad was sitting on the sofa, the ashtray by his feet overflowing with cigarette butts. He looked emaciated, his face covered in stubble, his eyes completely hollow. Linda was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, her eyes red and swollen. She looked at me with pure, concentrated resentment. “What are you doing here?” she asked icily. “I came to see Dad.” “See him? You came to laugh at him, didn’t you?!” Linda suddenly shot to her feet, pointing a shaking finger at my dad. “Look at him! Look at what he’s become! It’s all your fault! You are a walking curse!” I froze. “If he had just listened to me and left the money safely in the bank, none of this would have happened! But no, he had to open a restaurant! And now it’s all gone! Every last cent!” She whipped her finger toward me. “And you! If you had an ounce of conscience and had coughed up that five grand to help us out when we needed cash flow, we wouldn’t be in this mess! You are a cold-blooded, ungrateful parasite!” She was screaming hysterically. My dad suddenly bolted upright and slapped her hard across the face. “Shut your mouth!” The entire living room fell dead silent, save for Linda’s shocked gasp. She clutched her cheek, massive tears rolling down her face. “Arthur, you hit me? You actually hit me for her?” “I hit you because you can’t keep your toxic mouth shut!” my dad was shaking with rage. “The business failing is my fault! It has absolutely nothing to do with Emily! If you say one more word about her, I swear to God!” Linda collapsed onto the floor and started wailing at the top of her lungs. The sound was piercing, full of despair and absolute grievance. I stood in the doorway, watching the absolute wreckage of their lives, feeling a heavy, sickening knot in my chest. I set the fruit down on the shoe rack and said quietly, “Dad, I’m going to head out.” As I walked down the stairs, the sounds of her screaming and their arguing faded away. But I knew the real storm was just beginning. 4 After that day, my dad didn’t contact me again. I knew he was trying to tough it out alone. He didn’t want me to see him looking even more pathetic. Until one afternoon, an unknown number popped up on my phone. It was Linda. Her voice was hoarse and exhausted, entirely stripped of its usual arrogance. “Emily, where are you?” “At the office.” “Can you… can you come out for a minute? I’m at the coffee shop across the street from your building.” My heart sank. I knew exactly what this was about. I went downstairs and spotted her sitting in a window booth. She looked incredibly haggard. She was wearing a faded, old jacket, her hair was a mess, and she looked nothing like the polished woman from a few months ago. When she saw me, she forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Emily, you’re here.” I sat across from her and didn’t say a word. She stirred her black coffee for a long time before finally forcing the words out. “Your dad… he’s in the hospital.” Her eyes instantly turned red. “A severe heart attack. He needs bypass surgery, and we’re short twenty thousand dollars. I’ve borrowed from everyone we know, I’ve sold everything we own…” She looked up at me, her eyes filled with desperate pleading. “Emily, I know I treated you badly in the past, and I am so, so sorry. But right now, you’re the only one who can help us.” She pulled a crumpled deposit slip from her purse and pushed it across the table. “You still have that money. Your dad told me… he told me he gave you… he gave you a substantial amount.” I looked at her, and everything clicked into place. My dad had finally cracked under the pressure and confessed to her. I just didn’t know how much he had confessed. “Emily, I am begging you. Please, take the money out and save your father’s life! The doctor said if he doesn’t get the surgery soon, it’s going to be too late!” She was practically ready to drop to her knees in the coffee shop. I reached out, steadied her, looked her dead in the eye, and asked slowly: “How much did Dad say he gave me?” Linda froze, her eyes darting away nervously. She stammered, “He… he said… he gave you an extra few thousand… just to round it up…” I let out a cold laugh in my head. Even at rock bottom, he was still trying to protect my secret. He was still guarding against her. He hadn’t told her the truth. Seeing my silence, Linda grew even more frantic. “Emily, your dad is literally dying in a hospital bed, please…” I cut her off, pulling out my phone and opening my banking app. “Linda, give me the account routing number.” Her eyes lit up instantly, like she had just caught a lifeline, and she quickly rattled off the account numbers. I typed them in and initiated a transfer. “I just wired ten thousand dollars.” The expression on Linda’s face completely solidified. The hopeful light in her eyes extinguished in a fraction of a second. “How much?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard me correctly. “Ten thousand.” I turned the phone screen toward her so she could see the confirmation. “That is every single cent of liquid cash I have.” “Ten thousand?!” Her voice skyrocketed in volume. “What is ten thousand dollars going to do?! The surgery costs eighty thousand! We’re still twenty thousand short!” People in the coffee shop started turning their heads to stare at us. She reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, instantly exploding. “Your father is lying in a hospital bed waiting for a life-saving surgery! And you think you can just toss us ten grand and wash your hands of it?! Do you have no soul?! After everything your father has done for you?!” I looked at her calmly and put my phone away. “Linda, originally, Dad gave me five thousand dollars. That’s what the entire family was told. I haven’t touched a single penny of that money. Now, I’ve been working for a few years, and I managed to save up an additional fifteen thousand. That’s twenty thousand total. I’m giving you ten thousand, and I’m keeping ten thousand for my own living expenses and emergencies. Is there a problem with that logic?” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word was razor-sharp. Linda choked on her own rage, completely unable to form a rebuttal. Because in her mind, and in the minds of every relative in our family, I only had that original five thousand dollars. How much savings could a single young woman realistically have just a few years out of college? Handing over ten thousand dollars was already going above and beyond. She opened her mouth, her face flushed dark red, and finally squeezed out a sentence: “You… you can’t give more?! Just give us your entire savings, and we’ll pay you back later!” “Linda, I have to survive too.” I stared at her, my gaze unyielding. “I live alone in the city. If I don’t have an emergency fund and I get sick or need surgery, who is going to pay for me?” I was throwing her own words right back in her face. When she used to complain about me, she always talked about how hard and expensive it was for a young woman living alone in the city. Now, I was serving her own logic back to her on a silver platter. Her face cycled through shades of green and white. Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t say a single word. She had completely backed herself into a corner. She had spent months brainwashing everyone into believing I was a useless, broke parasite. How could she possibly demand that a “broke parasite” suddenly produce tens of thousands of dollars? She couldn’t. “Emily, you… you are completely heartless!” She finally found a new angle of attack. “That is your biological father! He’s dying in a hospital, and you’re sitting here doing math over a few thousand dollars!” “I’m not doing math,” I said softly. “I’m just living my life. Like you said, I’ll be part of another family eventually. I have to plan for my own future.” “You!” Linda pointed at me, shaking violently with rage. She probably never expected that the quiet, submissive stepdaughter she had verbally abused for years would suddenly become so articulate and ruthless. And she definitely never expected that the toxic words she used to tear me down would become the very rope I used to hang her. “Fine. Fine. FINE!” She spat out the words, grabbed her purse from the table, and shot up from her chair. “Arthur is the unluckiest man on earth to have a daughter like you! Keep your ten grand and buy yourself a coffin with it!” She turned and stormed out of the coffee shop without looking back. I sat there, slowly finishing my cold coffee. I knew this wasn’t over.

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When we got to my boyfriend’s apartment, I stopped dead in my tracks at the front door. “You need to text your mom for the temporary passcode, right? I can sit here and wait…” Liam expertly punched a string of numbers into the keypad. With a soft click, the heavy door swung open. “Why would I need a temporary passcode to get into my own house? Those are for plumbers and dog walkers.” He cheerfully typed the code into my phone so I’d have it. “From now on, you don’t even need to knock. Just let yourself in!” I stared at the numbers on the screen, and I suddenly broke down. Because my entire life, my mother had told me that the code to our front door changed every single day, and she was the only one who knew it. So every time I came home, I had to beg her to text me a temporary guest PIN. If she didn’t see my text, or if she was just in a bad mood, I had to sit on the concrete outside the door, waiting for her and my brother to get back. If I didn’t make it home before the temporary PIN expired, she would lock me out, claiming the app “only lets me generate one code a day.” It turned out, master codes existed all along. She just never wanted me to have it. Mrs. Carter walked out of the kitchen wiping her hands on an apron. She had a naturally stern face. “You’re here? Come on in.” My heart skipped a beat. She looked incredibly intimidating. I forcibly swallowed my tears, took a timid half-step back, and acted as submissive as possible. “Mrs. Carter, do you have any disposable plastic shoe booties?” Her eyes dropped to my feet. She turned around, pulled something out of the shoe cabinet, and dropped it right by my toes. It wasn’t a plastic bootie. It was a pair of brand-new, plush pink slippers. The tags were still on them. “I bought these specifically for you. Whenever you come over, you wear these.” I stared down at the pink slippers, my throat tightening until it ached. At my house, I was only ever allowed to wear cheap, disposable plastic booties. They were paper-thin, squeaking loudly against the hardwood with every step I took. If we ran out, I had to use my own pathetic grocery allowance to buy more. My brother, Tyler, never had to wear them. He was allowed to track his muddy sneakers all over the house. Seeing my frozen expression, Mrs. Carter looked a little impatient. “What’s wrong? You don’t like pink? I don’t have time to run back to Target to buy you another pair!” Liam pouted, about to say something to defend me, but I quickly grabbed his arm and frantically slipped my feet into the shoes. “No, no! I love them!” At the dinner table, I stared blankly at the massive spread of food. Every single dish was my absolute favorite. At my house, Mom only ever cooked the things Dad and Tyler liked. Whenever I asked for something, I was met with a heavy, guilt-tripping sigh. “Anna, I’m just so exhausted. I promise I’ll make your favorite next time…” Mrs. Carter ate her food without paying much attention to me, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw her watching my reaction. She leaned over and whispered to Liam. “Are you sure these are her favorites? If you made me cook all this for nothing, I’m going to kill you.” I immediately started shoveling food into my mouth like I hadn’t eaten in weeks. The two of them stared at me in shock. As soon as dinner was over, Mrs. Carter dragged me to the smart lock on the front door. “Give me your hand.” I held my hand out blindly. She grabbed my index finger and pressed it against the biometric scanner. “Fingerprint is registered. From now on, you come over whenever you want. You don’t need to text me first.” Liam sneakily leaned into my ear and whispered, “This means my mom loves you. She basically considers you her daughter-in-law already!” I stared blankly at the heavy wooden door. I opened my mouth to say thank you, but the tears rolled down my cheeks first. Mrs. Carter jumped in surprise, then delivered a swift kick to Liam’s shin. “You little brat, did you bully her in the car on the way over?!” Liam winced in pain. “I didn’t do anything!” As I cried, I felt even more confused. She looked so intimidating, yet she wasn’t mad at me for crying. My own mother, who always put on the face of a gentle, long-suffering saint, would look at my tears and sigh. “Anna, you give me such a headache when you cry. Can’t you just be a little more mature?” Right at that moment, my phone buzzed. It was my mom. “Your curfew is almost up, Anna. Better run.” The call disconnected. A screenshot popped up in my texts: A six-digit temporary PIN. Below it, an active countdown timer: 29 minutes and 47 seconds. Ever since I was old enough to understand what a door was, getting inside my own house had been a battle. When I was little, we had a regular deadbolt. Mom, Dad, and Tyler all had keys. I didn’t. When I asked why, Mom patted my head with a look of deep, sorrowful apology. “You’re so clumsy, sweetie. If I gave you a key, you’d definitely lose it. It costs five dollars to cut a new one! That’s such a waste.” But Tyler was the one who constantly lost things. He lost his house key three times in the sixth grade alone. Every single time, Mom went to Home Depot the very next day to get him a new one, complete with a brand-new Marvel keychain. Tyler would dangle the shiny key right in my face. “Look, Anna! I’ve got a key! Now I can sneak out to the arcade at night and come home whenever I want!” I didn’t have a key, so I couldn’t leave the house. If I did, I might never get back in. When I was in high school, my parents upgraded to a digital smart lock. It had a keypad and a fingerprint scanner. Mom only called Tyler over. “Tyler, come register your thumbprint so you don’t have to memorize a code.” I stood to the side, my eyes full of hope. She noticed me looking. “Oh, Anna. The scanner only holds one fingerprint. Your dad and I can’t even use it.” I refused to give up. “Then what’s the master code?” Mom awkwardly looked away. “There is no master code. They generate randomly. It’s for security. If I gave you a permanent code, you might accidentally tell your friends, and what if we get robbed?” But Tyler was the one who lost keys! Tyler was the one who brought random friends over! I swallowed the words I wanted to scream, and gave a weak, pathetic nod. Mom was already abused by Dad and disrespected by Tyler. She had it hard enough. I needed to be the easy child. From that day on, every time I wanted to come home, I had to beg her to text me a temporary PIN. I tried to beg them to let me live in the dorms for college. When Mom heard that, her eyes turned red. “Dorms cost thousands of dollars extra a semester! Your father will beat me if I ask for that kind of money! The campus is only thirty minutes away… Anna, can’t you just run a little faster?” I felt incredibly guilty. I never brought it up again. But the temporary PIN was only valid for thirty minutes, and the countdown started the exact second she texted it. My campus was thirty minutes away on a good day. It meant I had to sprint like my life depended on it. When my last class ended, I was the first one out the door, sprinting to the bus stop. If I missed the bus, I ran the entire way home. I ran until my lungs felt like they were bleeding, my clothes soaked in sweat. Even then, there were times I didn’t make it. When the code expired, I would stand on the porch and ring the doorbell. Mom was always conveniently “not home.” Dad and Tyler were inside, but they would never open the door for me. So I would sit on the concrete porch doing my homework. When I got too tired, I would drape my jacket over my shoulders, curl into a ball, and sleep outside for the night. For all these years, I had been lying to myself. What if the person who wanted to keep me locked out… was my mother all along? I decided to stay the night at Liam’s apartment. Mrs. Carter specifically set up the guest room for me. The sheets were brand-new, powder-blue Egyptian cotton, incredibly soft to the touch. The pajamas were new, too. Simple, but the fabric felt like a cloud. It was a violent, jarring contrast to my home, where I slept in scratchy, faded clearance-rack pajamas on a mattress with torn bedsheets. I sat on the edge of the plush guest bed, staring at the wall. Thirty minutes had passed a long time ago. Mom didn’t reach out. No missed calls. No texts. I opened Instagram and posted a photo dump. The massive, beautiful dinner Mrs. Carter cooked, the pristine guest room, and a mirror selfie in my brand-new pajamas. Less than five minutes after I hit post, my phone exploded. It was Mom. “Anna, what the hell is that post?! Where are you?!” “At a friend’s house.” “Which friend?! A boy or a girl?! A young woman staying out overnight?! Get your ass home right now!” Her tone was shockingly frantic. It sounded like something had finally slipped out of her absolute control. I spoke completely flatly. “Didn’t my curfew expire? You want me to come back and sleep on the concrete porch?” “Then sleep on the concrete! That’s your punishment for missing curfew!” The moment she said it, she realized she had slipped up. She quickly pivoted back to her usual act. “I mean, it’s dangerous for a girl to be out all alone at night! Mommy is just worried about you!” “Hurry up and come home! I’ll make an exception and send you one more passcode today. If your dad yells at me, I’ll just take the blame…” I cut her off. “Mom. When I was in high school, there was a serial assaulter roaming our neighborhood. Do you remember?” She froze. “…Why are you bringing that up?” “I was late getting home from school that day. The passcode had already expired. No one would open the door for me. I was so terrified of being seen on the porch that I slept behind the community dumpsters all night.” The line went completely dead silent. “Were you really worried about my safety?” “Weren’t you afraid I was going to be murdered right outside our front door?” Silence. My heart turned to absolute ice. I was about to hang up. But suddenly, I heard the sound of plates violently shattering in the background. Then, Dad’s muffled, enraged roar: “What the hell are you doing?!” Mom’s voice broke into a terrified sob. “Anna, please, help me…” The call was violently disconnected. I shot up from the bed. Liam jumped in surprise. “Anna, what’s wrong?” I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. “I have to go back. I think my mom is in trouble.” Liam immediately grabbed his keys. “I’m coming with you!” “No. This is my family’s mess.” The entire Uber ride home, my heart hammered against my ribs. Childhood memories of Dad beating Mom until she sobbed flashed before my eyes. She used to hold me in the dark, whispering, “Anna, you’re all Mommy has left,” and “As soon as I save up enough money, we’re leaving him.” I believed those words for a decade. Even if I was cutting ties with her, I had to make sure she was okay first! I sprinted from the drop-off point to my familiar front door and pounded on the wood. No response. Not a single sound from inside. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. It rang fifteen times before she finally picked up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded incredibly relaxed. She was actually laughing. I froze. “Mom, are you… are you okay?” “Oh, I’m perfectly fine! I just accidentally dropped a plate earlier and your dad yelled at me.” I gripped my phone. My throat went completely dry. A wave of profound, suffocating exhaustion washed over me. I had been played for a fool. “Are you at home right now?” Her next sentence completely shattered my reality. “No… we’re heading out for a family vacation! Your dad said he’s been super stressed at work and needs to unwind.” “We already bought the plane tickets. We’re in the Uber heading to the airport right now! Oh, and I have your debit card with me, so don’t worry, it’s safe.” The very next second, my phone vibrated. Push notifications from my banking app. Charge: Delta Airlines. Charge: Marriott Hotels. Charge: Uber. I made a decent salary at my corporate job. Over the last two years, I had saved up nearly twenty thousand dollars. Because Mom constantly played the victim, crying about how Dad controlled all the finances and wouldn’t give her a dime, I had secretly given her my debit card so she could buy groceries and things for herself. I never, ever intended for Dad and Tyler to touch a single cent of it. Let alone fund their luxury vacation! I needed to call the bank and freeze the card immediately. But my driver’s license and passport were locked inside my bedroom. I stared at the banking alerts. My breathing grew heavy. “When are you coming back?” “Next week! Gotta go, we’re boarding!” “Wait!” I yelled frantically. “I need to get into the house to grab my ID! Give me the master code!” Mom paused. “Code? What code?” “The front door code!” Mom’s voice instantly morphed back into that pathetic, helpless, victimized tone. “I told you, the smart lock generates random codes. I gave you one yesterday, but the app is glitching today and won’t give me a new one.” “You’re lying! Liam’s house has a permanent master code! Why doesn’t ours?!” Mom’s voice cracked into a fake sob. “Other people’s houses are different from ours!” “Anna, have you been listening to outsiders poisoning your mind against me? Have I not been a good mother to you? I raised you from a baby…” I had heard this exact speech hundreds of times. Right now, I felt nothing but absolute disgust. “Enough. Give me the code.” She snapped, dropping the act entirely. “If I say there isn’t one, there isn’t one! We won’t be back until next week! Figure it out yourself! You have someone else giving you a bed anyway!” With that, she hung up. Listening to the dead dial tone, standing outside the house I grew up in, I felt every ounce of strength drain from my body. For my entire life, I had been lying to myself. Lying to myself that my mother loved me, she just didn’t know how to show it. Lying to myself that she was a helpless victim who needed my protection. But now, the final, pathetic illusion had been completely ripped away. She didn’t love me. She never did. I wiped my face aggressively, pulled out my phone, and Googled local 24-hour locksmiths. A guy in a heavy canvas jacket arrived twenty minutes later. In less than five minutes, the smart lock that had kept me prisoner for a decade was easily bypassed. I walked in, grabbed my ID from my drawer, proved my residency to the locksmith, and handed him a massive cash tip. “Please wipe all the existing passcodes and fingerprints from the system.” “Then, re-program it. Register my fingerprint only, and set a brand-new master code.” The locksmith saw the dead, hollow look in my eyes. He hesitated for a second, but did exactly as I asked. Ten minutes later, the lock was completely wiped and reset. I registered my thumbprint. I set a brand-new master code. A code that only I knew. Next stop: The bank. Freezing the debit card and ordering a replacement was quick. The bank teller noticed how incredibly pale I was and gently asked if I needed any help. I shook my head, signing the final piece of paperwork. By the time I walked out of the bank, the sun had set. I stood on the bustling city street, watching the headlights blur into traffic, and suddenly had absolutely no idea where to go. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Liam: “Anna, how are things? Do you need me to come pick you up?” I stared at the text. My eyes burned. So there was still someone in this world who cared if I had a place to go. When I got back to Liam’s apartment, the dam finally broke. I collapsed into his arms and sobbed hysterically. Mrs. Carter handed me a glass of warm water, while Liam gently rubbed my back. Neither of them interrupted. They just sat with me and let me cry. I don’t know how long I cried, but I didn’t stop until my voice was completely hoarse. Right at that moment, my phone rang. It was Mom. I took a deep breath, hit accept, and put it on speakerphone. “ANNA!” Mom’s voice blasted through the speaker. It wasn’t relaxed anymore. It was vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage. “What the hell did you do?! Why is the card declining?!” “Go to the bank and unfreeze it right now! Your brother wants to buy souvenirs! He found a crystal sculpture he wants, it’s three grand! Wire the money to my account immediately!” I spoke with eerie, absolute calmness. “I reported the card stolen.” The line went dead silent for three seconds before exploding into a hysterical scream, laced with the panic of losing absolute control. “STOLEN?! How did you report it stolen?! Your ID is locked inside the house!” “Want to know how? Come home and find out.” I hung up the phone. I opened my contacts list and permanently blocked all three of their numbers. When I was done, I looked up at Liam and Mrs. Carter. They were both staring at me, their expressions incredibly complex. I forced a bitter, broken smile. “Mrs. Carter. Liam. You’ve seen what a disaster my family is.” “A family that worships their golden-boy son and treats their daughter like trash. If I stay tied to them, my future is just going to be bleeding myself dry to pay for my deadbeat brother’s life.” “If this is too much drama for you guys, I completely understand. I can pack my things and leave right now. I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess.” I lowered my head, biting my lip to stop it from trembling, waiting for the inevitable rejection. Suddenly, Mrs. Carter stood up and marched right up to me. Her normally stern face was flushed red with fury. But it wasn’t directed at me. “What kind of mother treats her own flesh and blood like that?! ‘Temporary passcodes’ my ass! What absolute bullshit!” She pointed a furious finger at my phone, her voice shaking with rage. “Stealing her daughter’s hard-earned savings to fund a luxury vacation, while literally locking her child out on the street like a stray dog?! What kind of psychopathic monsters are they?!” I was stunned. Liam pulled me into his arms, patting my head like I was a startled kitten. “Mom, you’re scaring Anna.” Mrs. Carter got even angrier. “I am furious! Such a sweet, hardworking girl, being tortured by those leeches! It’s a miracle she survived this long!” She glared at Liam. “What the hell are you standing around for?!” Liam let out a quick “Oh!” and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He slid a sleek debit card out and pressed it directly into my palm. I was completely bewildered. “What is this…” Liam looked at me with absolute sincerity. “My debit card. The PIN is your birthday.” “From now on, my money is your money. And your money is your money.” Mrs. Carter chimed in from the side. “My son makes a very solid salary. Adding his income to yours, you guys can easily save up a down payment for a condo in two years. We’ll put the deed entirely in your name. Then you’ll finally have a home that’s truly yours.” I held the plastic card in my hands, looking at the mother and son in front of me. The tears surged up again. So this is what a real family looks like. Mrs. Carter saw me crying and immediately put her stern face back on. “Stop crying! Wipe your tears! Your psychotic parents are definitely not going to let this go. We need to prepare for war.” I nodded heavily and wiped my face. The next day, Liam and I hired a moving company and drove back to the house I had lived in for over twenty years. The master bedroom belonged to my parents. The massive guest room belonged to Tyler. I lived in a makeshift, windowless storage space partitioned off from the living room. It held a twin bed and a cheap canvas wardrobe. Liam looked around the claustrophobic space, his jaw clenching. “You slept here?” I nodded casually. “Yeah. Since middle school.” He clenched his fists, saying nothing. I started packing, but I owned almost nothing of value. I took a few stacks of books, my diplomas, my birth certificate, birthday gifts from my friends, and the very first expensive lipstick I bought with my own paycheck. Everything I owned in the world fit into two suitcases. The movers took my things to Liam’s apartment for temporary storage until I could find my own place. That night, Liam and I sat on his couch, excitedly scrolling through Zillow listings. But right after dinner, a violent, aggressive pounding echoed from his front door. Liam and I exchanged a tense look. A heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach. I told him to call the building security immediately. Sure enough, a familiar, shrill voice screamed from the hallway. “ANNA! GET OUT HERE! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” When we opened the door, Mom was standing there, radiating fury. Dad and Tyler were nowhere in sight. “Anna! What the hell did you do to the smart lock?! Why did my master code of ten years suddenly stop working?!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Ten years? Mom, didn’t you swear to me that the lock didn’t have a master code?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400808”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was 3:00 AM, and I was getting ready to head out for my night shift at the convenience store. Suddenly, a notification from a short-video app popped up on my phone. The headline read: [Show off the most bizarre gifts your significant other has ever given you] The comment section was on fire. People were roasting their partners for sending everything from live goldfish to ugly Christmas sweaters. But one comment stuck out like a sore thumb: “My wife’s gift is pretty unique. She got me my own exclusive Black Card~” Unlike the handmade photo albums or custom pillows others were posting, the card in the photo was matte black metal. Engraved in small gold letters were the words: “Baby’s Exclusive VIP,” “Unconditional Love 24/7,” “Present Card to Summon Wife.” I couldn’t help but shake my head. Are rich people really this competitive about showing off their relationships now? I was about to exit the app, but amidst a sea of rowdy comments, the user posted a video screenshot taken inside a bar. My finger froze mid-air. It felt like all the blood had been drained from my body. Under the dim, hazy lights, a woman was leaning back in a booth, holding a cocktail glass, her head turned slightly as she smiled. I would know that face anywhere, even if it were burned to ash. It was my wife, Sarah, who was supposed to be working the night shift at the hospital right now. Chapter 1 The replies in the comment section were still scrolling wildly. “Holy sh*t, is this card real? That is insanely loaded.” To prove it, the boy quietly started a live stream. In the frame, the woman, wearing a form-fitting knit dress, was behind the bar mixing a drink. Seeming to notice someone was filming, she turned back and smiled gently. Revealing Sarah’s familiar face. The boy sounded triumphant, keeping his voice low: “See that? My wife not only gives me a black card, but she also mixes drinks for me personally. Her friend owns this bar, so it’s basically our private date spot~” “Okay, I’m gonna go drink my wife’s special ‘Love Potion’ now~” The stream cut abruptly, leaving netizens howling that they hadn’t seen enough. Only my fingers grew colder, inch by inch. I picked up my phone, set it down, and picked it up again. Finally, unable to help myself, I dialed the familiar number. It rang for a long time before connecting. Sarah’s voice sounded slightly exhausted: “Liam? What’s wrong?” “Nothing… just wanted to ask, what are you doing?” Sarah let out a soft sigh: “What does it sound like? I’m on the night shift. Just finished rounds, I’m exhausted.” “Is Maya asleep? Remember to bolt the door when you leave.” “Oh, right, today is our third anniversary since we signed the papers. Once money isn’t so tight, I’ll make it up to you with a real gift.” I glanced at the time on my phone. 3:17 AM. Just as I was about to speak, a boy’s whining voice came from her end: “Honey, you promised to focus on me tonight. Why are you picking up calls again?” Sarah’s breath hitched. Her tone turned frantic: “There’s… there’s an emergency patient. The family keeps cornering me to ask about his condition. I have to go.” “And… try not to call when I’m on night shifts in the future, it’s not convenient.” With that, she hung up in a hurry. A bitter smile twisted my lips. Was it inconvenient, or was she afraid of making someone unhappy? Putting down the phone, I looked around this small, dilapidated rented apartment. After three years of marriage, this was our entire “marital home.” The paint was peeling in places, the sofa was sourced from a secondhand market, and the springs had collapsed. When I married Sarah, she had just lost a massive amount of money due to a malpractice lawsuit, burying herself in debt, and she was already saddled with a three-year-old daughter left by her ex-husband. She worked at the hospital during the day and took night shifts, wishing she could be on the clock twenty-four hours a day. Because I had to take care of the child, I couldn’t hold down a full-time job, so I took on piecemeal freelance gigs. Every night, after the child fell asleep, I went to work the night shift at the convenience store, thinking I could earn a little more, bit by bit. The jacket I was wearing was three or four years old, the collar washed out until it was white, but I couldn’t bring myself to replace it. Thinking of that high-end bar in the video, that exquisite cocktail, and the tenderness Sarah showed while mixing drinks for someone else. It felt like my chest was stuffed with waterlogged cotton. Heavy. Suffocating. “Ugh, this is so annoying. It’s the middle of the night, why aren’t you sleeping? What are you just staring at?” My stepdaughter, Maya, suddenly poked her head out of the bedroom, frowning at me. “My mom works so hard to make money for this family, and all you know how to do is slack off? You won’t even sleep properly?” “The food you make tastes awful, and you’re so poor and trashy. You don’t compare at all to—” I’ve asked myself over these past three years if I’ve done enough. I’ve been utterly submissive to her. But I don’t know when it started, this child’s eyes became filled with disdain whenever she looked at me. I always assumed she missed her biological father. But at this moment, I caught the anomaly in her words. “Compare to what?” Maya rolled her eyes, refusing to say more. She slammed the door shut, leaving behind only, “Anyway, he’s better than you.” Seeing I was about to be late, I could only tell her to lock the door and rushed out. The night shift at the convenience store was grittier than I imagined. Shelves needed stocking, expired food needed removing, and I had to deal with drunks coming in at midnight to buy beer. By the time the hand-off was done, the sky was growing pale. I was so tired I could barely straighten my back, ready to clock out. The store manager suddenly walked over with a dark expression: “Liam, I looked at your inventory sheet from last night. The numbers don’t match. Don’t leave yet. Re-count the whole thing.” I froze. I had clearly double-checked every item three times. But to avoid having my wages docked, I had to suppress my sleepiness and start counting again. Halfway through, I went to the back warehouse to get stock and heard the manager on the phone: “Mrs. Vance, don’t you worry. I did exactly as you said. I’m making him count slowly, he won’t be leaving anytime soon.” “Guaranteed that young master will get a good night’s sleep without being disturbed.” “Of course, of course. That thirty thousand is enough to cover my son’s wedding.” I leaned against the shelf, my legs heavy as lead. But no matter how heavy they were, they couldn’t compare to my heart, which was growing icy, piece by piece. Subconsciously, I opened my phone and pulled up the home security camera feed. In the frame, that boy from the photo last night was walking out of our bedroom wearing a bathrobe. Hickeys were dotted all over his neck. He wrapped his arms around Sarah’s waist from behind, whining: “Did you drop Maya off at school?” “Honey, since nobody’s here right now, come back to sleep with me for a bit~” “Stop it, I need to send you back. If Liam comes back and sees…” Sarah said no, but she didn’t push him away. The boy curled his lip disdainfully: “So what if he sees? Isn’t that loser just a free nanny you found to take care of Maya? Even your marriage certificate is fake.” “Right now, I’m not your brother-in-law. I’m your legally protected husband~” “When are you finally going to kick him out? I want to live with you in the open.” Sarah paused, then gently stroked his head: “Taking care of a child is too tiring. Liam is used to suffering since he was a kid; he’s better suited for this than you.” “You only need to be responsible for being spoiled by me. Just be a carefree kid.” My head buzzed. The phone almost slid out of my hand. Looking at that young, arrogant face, I finally remembered who he was. Sarah’s ex-husband’s younger brother—Tyler. When Sarah and I got married, because we had no money, we just got the certificate; we didn’t have a reception. Tyler came over once, saying he was checking in on behalf of his brother. He held his chin high, speaking to me in a commanding tone: “Take good care of my sister-in-law and Maya from now on. Don’t let them suffer.” At the time, I thought it was only natural for a brother-in-law to care about his brother’s widow. Now I understood that the arrogance in his eyes was the look a master gives a servant. I stumbled home in a daze. The door was unlocked. Sarah was sitting on the sofa. Standing next to her was a woman dressed professionally in a suit, speaking respectfully: “Mrs. Vance, I’ve already sent Master Tyler back.” “It’s just… yesterday was at least your wedding anniversary with Liam. Are you really not sending him anything?” “For Tyler’s birthday, you sent a sports car.” Sarah shook her head casually: “No need. Liam is someone who came up from poverty. If he finds out I have money, he’ll inevitably get greedy and try to funnel money to his family back home.” “Didn’t I choose him in the beginning because he knows how to raise a child, has no background, is easy to control, and won’t abuse Maya?” “As long as he honestly raises Maya until she’s an adult, I’ll give him a sum of money, enough for him to retire back to his hometown.” “As for Tyler, I promised his brother I’d take care of him. Naturally, I can’t let him suffer.” Sarah and I met because of an accident. That year, I was dragged back by my family to an arranged matchmaking. The other party was a woman in her late fifties who said she’d spend hundreds of thousands to make me her live-in son-in-law. I refused, and was pinned to the ground by the bodyguards she brought, getting beaten. Sarah was passing by and shouted at them to stop. She shielded me behind her, looking coldly at that gang: “He is a human being, not merchandise for you to buy and sell.” At the time, she was newly widowed, depressed all day, and didn’t know how to raise a three-year-old child on her own. She would frequently ask me, someone who came from a large family with many siblings. And I, having been used as free labor by my family since childhood, was indeed the best at raising children. To repay her, I often helped her take care of Maya. The oppression from my parents, the cold eyes of relatives. It left me insecure and starved for love down to my bones. Sarah was the first person to respect me, to protect me. Knowing full well she carried debt and still had her late husband in her heart, I married her anyway. I even quit the job I loved to better take care of the child. But I never imagined that after three years of devotion. In her eyes, I was just a free nanny. I couldn’t even compare to her late husband’s brother. I… was just an outsider. “Liam? When did you get back?” Sarah’s voice suddenly rang out, carrying a hint of panic. She gave a look to the woman in the suit, signaling her to leave. Then she managed a smile: “This is a colleague from the hospital. Shift just changed, she came by for a glass of water.” I didn’t speak. I just found it laughable. What hospital colleague would be wearing a custom suit worth tens of thousands of dollars? Sarah, seeing me silent, walked over to support me: “How are you this exhausted? Did the manager make trouble for you again?” She stuffed a breakfast burrito into my hand, her tone carrying guilt: “I’m sorry, Liam. It’s all my fault, dragging you into this kind of life.” “This is something you usually can’t bring yourself to buy. Consider it my belated anniversary gift to you.” “Once the debt is paid off in the future, I’ll make it up to you properly.” She was right. Over these three years, the money I earned went either to her “debt repayment,” or to buy Maya clothes and sign her up for tutoring classes. I couldn’t bring myself to buy even a bottle of water for myself. But after watching the security footage this morning, I knew. The moment I sent Maya to her tutoring class, she and Tyler picked her up right after, and the three went out for sushi and shopping. There was even one time she said she was taking Maya to her hometown to visit graves, but she actually went on vacation to Miami with Tyler. For Tyler’s birthday, she could casually send a sports car. And I, I only deserved a breakfast burrito. Perhaps in her heart, this was exactly what I was worth. I suddenly felt very tired. “Sarah, we…” Before I could finish, her phone suddenly rang. She glanced at it, violently shot to her feet: “Liam, eat something yourself. I have an emergency, I have to go.” A short while later, Tyler’s social media account updated. In the frame, Sarah was kneeling by the bed, gently rubbing his stomach for him. Her eyes were tender, like she was another person. “Hee hee, I just ate too much this morning and got a little bloated, and this woman got all nervous and rushed over to rub my belly~” He once again showed off that black gold membership card. An extra line of small text was added: The most precious little ancestor. My stomach suddenly churned violently. I rushed to the bathroom and dry-heaved for a long time. The phone rang; it was the school: “Hello, is this Maya Vance’s parent?” “Kindergarten is having a parent-child sports day today. Can you make it on time?” I froze for a moment. Sports day? Maya didn’t tell me. But in the end, this was a child I had raised with my own hands. I went. Arriving at the school, as soon as I stated my identity, the homeroom teacher was stunned: “You’re saying you’re Maya’s father? Then who is that gentleman inside?” I followed her gaze to the playground. Tyler was crouching next to Maya, helping her tie her shoelaces. A few little kids crowded around, sizing up my washed-out hoodie, asking disdainfully: “Maya, didn’t you say your handsome older brother was your dad? Who is this trashy, ugly old guy?” “Which one is real? We don’t play with liars!” Maya looked at Tyler’s branded streetwear, then looked at my old clothes. Her face flushed dark red. She ran over in a huff, giving me a violent push: “Who told you to come?!” “You’re just our nanny, you’re not worthy of coming to my sports day! My daddy is over there! Get out of here right now!” “Or else I’ll make my mom fire you!” Tyler, as if he had expected this long ago, curled his lip in a triumphant smile. I looked down at Maya. When she was three, her body was weak. She often had fevers in the middle of the night. The doctor said it might be because she missed her father. My heart ached for her endlessly. I held her all night long, telling her stories, coaxing her to sleep. When she was sick, I wouldn’t sleep or rest, guarding her, finding new ways to cook things she liked to eat. It could be said this child grew up in my arms. But this child, whom I regarded as my own, along with her mother, played me for a fool. Three years. I never got a single call of “Daddy,” yet Tyler got it easily. Yesterday wasn’t his first time spending the night. Otherwise, Maya wouldn’t have been in such a rush to usher me out. Perhaps, the bond of raising a child really cannot compete with bloodlines. It felt like a hole had been punctured in my chest. I spoke softly: “No need to kick me out. I’ll leave on my own.” Finishing, I didn’t acknowledge Maya’s slightly changing expression, and turned to leave. Walking to the stairwell corner, Tyler caught up. He walked up to me with a smirk, raised his hand, and slapped me right across the face: “What do you think you are? You dare come here to mark your territory?” “You heard Maya, right? You’re just a free nanny. Even the marriage certificate is fake.” “I am her legal husband.” “Sarah and I have known each other for over a decade. Maya is my brother’s child; she has Vance blood in her.” “Our bond is something you can never compare to. You only bring them shame.” Tyler got closer, lowering his voice: “You don’t actually think that child Sarah miscarried years ago was an accident, do you?” My eyes violently went wide: “What did you say?” “Sarah planned that herself. She originally could have saved her fertility, but she told the doctor to remove it.” “Because I told her, if she had your child, you would abuse Maya and fight over the estate in the future.” “Had to eliminate future trouble. She heard that, and she meekly complied.” He looked at me triumphantly: “But I’m different. I’m her late husband’s brother. Our child will have Vance blood.” “That’s why she was willing to get a certificate with me. She was thrilled when she found out I got her pregnant.” “She said we are a real family. As for you, and that dead child, you’re both outsiders.” “I heard you worked all kinds of gigs over these years to support the household? Tsk. Calling it ‘free’ is flattering you.” “Talk to a pathetic loser like you actually makes me feel dirty.” “If I were you, I’d get lost sooner rather than later, and stop getting in the way of our family’s life.” My hands were clenched and shaking. That miscarriage. That child. It was the deepest pain of my life. I held the Sarah who had just miscarried, crying my heart out, saying over and over that it was my fault. Three years of companionship. I thought we were the closest people in the world. But she set up barrier after barrier, guarding against me like I was a thief. For what? Why did my sincerity have to be trampled on like this? I raised my hand, but before it could fall, I was violently shoved aside from behind: “What are you doing?!” My knee already had an old injury; I didn’t keep my footing and rolled all the way down the stairs. Sharp pain shot through my elbow, and a warm stream flowed down from my forehead. Blood covered my face. Sarah’s eyes went wide in shock: “Liam! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to…” She wanted to come help me, but Tyler grabbed her arm tightly, saying pitifully: “Maya had her sports day today, and the teacher couldn’t get in touch with Liam no matter what. Those kids were calling Maya a fatherless bastard, so I came for her sake!” “But he came and started yelling at me for minding other people’s business, said I was an outsider, told me to get lost, and wanted to hit me!” “My brother is in heaven. If he saw me being bullied like this, how heartbreaking would that be…” Sarah’s face instantly darkened. She looked at me coldly: “Tyler is Maya’s biological uncle, they have a blood relation. If he’s an outsider, what are you?” “I don’t know what you’re busy doing all day that you can’t even attend your child’s sports day. Do you even deserve to be a parent?” “Tyler was kindly helping out, and you have the nerve to hit him?” I stumbled to my feet, wiping the blood from my face. I let out a cold laugh: “Sarah, is playing me this fun?” “If I’m not worthy of being a parent, then a lying cheat like you, who tricks people’s emotions…” “An animal who personally murders her own child, deserves to be a mother even less!” Sarah’s expression changed, just about to speak. Tyler tugged at her sleeve: “Maya is still waiting for us, don’t keep the child waiting alone. She’s wearing new shoes today; standing too long hurts her feet.” Sarah nodded, leaving behind one sentence: “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Tyler is much more sensible than you.” “Since you dislike going to Maya’s sports day so much, you don’t need to come in the future. Tyler will go.” “In the end, she’s not your biological child; you can’t compare to blood relation.” Finishing, heartbroken that Tyler’s feet might hurt. She helped him up and walked away without looking back. The glass window nearby reflected my pathetic appearance. Dried-out hair, gaunt face. Because of chronically staying up late, my skin was rough as sandpaper. But I never complained. In the end, it only bought me a scam, and the status of an “outsider.” It needs to end. I used the money saved from my freelance gigs to get my wound bandaged at the hospital. Went home to pack my bags—actually just a few old clothes. Booked a ticket on the nearest train. Sarah, I’m not playing your “pretending to be poor” game anymore.

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In the tenth year after my death, my husband—a high-profile, undefeated defense attorney—received a phone call from a kidnapper. The man on the other end gave him exactly twenty-four hours to overturn my criminal conviction. If he failed, his beloved protégée and junior partner, Chloe, would be killed. In a blind panic, he kicked open the front door of our old house. “This is you, isn’t it?! I know you’ve always resented me for forcing you to take the fall for Chloe!” “If you’re mad at me, take it out on me! Why would you kidnap her?!” Seeing the house completely empty and covered in dust, he dialed my old cell phone number. A gruff voice answered. It was the groundskeeper at the local cemetery. “Evelyn Hayes was buried here ten years ago. Who is this?” My husband let out a cold, mocking scoff, hung up the phone, and drove straight to the police precinct. After hearing his frantic story, the desk sergeant looked at him in total confusion. “Evelyn Hayes? She was executed by lethal injection ten years ago!” My husband froze instantly, violently shaking his head. “Impossible! She was sentenced to ten years in prison!” “She got out on parole three years ago! Why would she… I don’t believe you!” The sergeant turned to his computer and pulled up the federal database. [Inmate: Evelyn Hayes. Convicted of the murder of Mia Foster.] [Sentence carried out via lethal injection on February 6, 2014.] Liam froze for a fraction of a second before violently slamming his fist on the precinct desk. “IMPOSSIBLE!” “She must have hacked your system! The lengths she’s willing to go to just to trick me… it’s pathological!” The sergeant looked at him like he was a psychiatric patient. “This is the secure federal law enforcement database. Who the hell could forge this?” Hearing this, Liam let out a dark, cynical laugh. “Evelyn used to be one of the top cybersecurity hackers in the country. You think altering a database file is hard for her?” “I busted my ass on the outside trying to negotiate her early release! And instead of being grateful when she got out early, she’s been hiding from me for three years, and now she actually has the nerve to kidnap Chloe?!” “Open a case right now! Track her down and throw her back in a cell! I’ll make sure she rots in there for the rest of her life!” The sergeant just shook his head in exhaustion. Just then, Liam’s phone buzzed with a text from the kidnapper. [You have 12 hours left.] Seeing that the police still didn’t believe him, he stormed out, got into his car, and drove straight to the orphanage on the outskirts of the city. But when he arrived, all he saw was a charred, blackened wasteland of rubble. He violently kicked a piece of burnt brick across the asphalt, screaming into the empty air: “Evelyn! You are a ruthless, psychotic bitch! Just to hide from me, you burned down the place you grew up in?!” I floated in the air a few feet above him, watching him lose his mind in a fit of rage. The day after I was executed, Chloe sneaked onto the orphanage grounds and set it on fire. Over thirty children and a dozen teachers were burned alive. Every single one of those people had treated Liam like family when we were young. But in this exact moment, his mind was entirely focused on worrying about the woman who murdered them. Unable to find me, Liam got back into his car. He drove straight to the home of Mr. Davis, the old orphanage director. Mr. Davis had barely survived the fire. He had suffered catastrophic third-degree burns over most of his body, and the trauma had completely shattered his mind. The second Liam burst through the front door, he charged into the bedroom and violently grabbed the old man by the collar of his pajamas. “Where is Evelyn?! Tell her to get the hell out here right now!” The frail, burned old man trembled violently in his hospital bed, whimpering and trying to hide under the thin blankets. Liam grabbed a fistful of his thinning white hair and delivered several brutal slaps across his scarred face. “Stop playing dumb with me! If Chloe loses a single hair on her head, I will make you suffer!” “I know you’re the only family Evelyn cares about! I’ll beat you to death right here! Let’s see if that drags her out of hiding!” I lunged forward, desperately trying to stop him, but my hands phased uselessly right through his solid chest. All I could do was scream at him: “STOP IT! I DIDN’T KIDNAP CHLOE! I’M ALREADY DEAD!” But he couldn’t hear a single word. Mrs. Davis heard the commotion from the kitchen and ran into the room. She forcefully shoved Liam away from the bed, screaming at the top of her lungs: “What the hell are you doing?! He’s an old, sick man! How dare you lay a hand on him! I’m calling the police!” Liam just crossed his arms over his chest and let out a cold, arrogant laugh. “Go ahead! Call them!” “You two conspired with Evelyn to kidnap Chloe! Let’s see who the cops arrest first when they get here: me, or you!” Mrs. Davis stared at him in absolute, horrified disbelief. “Are you insane?! Evelyn is dead!” The mocking sneer on Liam’s face deepened. “Still trying to play me? She was only sentenced to ten years! I literally read the sentencing documents with my own eyes!” Hearing those words, Mrs. Davis’s entire body began to tremble violently. “A brutal murder conviction like that… how could she possibly have only gotten ten years?!” “Right before her execution, the prison called your cell phone over a dozen times. You declined every single call. Finally, out of desperation, they called our house.” “The warden told me that in the very last second before she died, Evelyn was screaming your name, begging you to save her!” A momentary flash of profound shock crossed Liam’s face. He muttered under his breath: “That’s impossible…” He immediately pulled out his phone and texted his paralegal. A minute later, his assistant sent over the official case files from back then. It clearly stated: [First Instance Verdict: Sentenced to Ten Years in Federal Prison.] Liam let out a dark, furious laugh. The rage in his eyes looked ready to ignite the room. “Evelyn. Did you honestly think orchestrating this pathetic ‘faking your own death’ drama was going to fool me?” Floating in the air above him, my heart felt like it had turned to ash. During my first trial, with him aggressively defending me, I had indeed avoided the death penalty. But right before my appeals trial, Chloe orchestrated a car accident that left Liam hospitalized and unable to appear in court. While he was recovering in a hospital bed, Chloe eagerly volunteered to take over my case as my lead defense attorney. During the trial, she intentionally fed me leading questions and manipulated me into giving testimonies that directly incriminated me. Because of her deliberate sabotage, my sentence was upgraded to the death penalty! When I was sent back to death row, she paid off the other inmates to brutally beat me. They stomped on my legs until both my tibias were snapped in half! I passed out from the excruciating pain. When I woke up, the guards told me I had one final opportunity to make a phone call to my family before the execution. Dragging my shattered, useless legs and my bruised, broken body, I begged the guards to let me call Liam. One call. Two calls. Three calls… Over a dozen consecutive calls were ruthlessly declined. Finally, he blocked the prison’s number entirely. I was forced to walk to the execution chamber drowning in absolute, bottomless despair… Ring… The kidnapper suddenly initiated a FaceTime call on Liam’s phone. He scrambled to answer it. On the screen was a figure wearing a black mask. A distorted, robotic voice came through the speaker: “You have 9 hours left.” The camera panned, focusing on Chloe, who was bound tightly to a metal chair in a dark, grimy room. Her face was streaked with tears, her expression twisted in pure terror as she screamed: “Liam… Liam, please! You have to save me!” Liam frantically tried to comfort her. “Chloe, don’t be scared! I promise you, I will get you out of there!” Chloe’s tears fell continuously as she sobbed into the camera: “I know Evelyn is still holding a grudge against me for what happened at the trial ten years ago.” “But I swear, I tried everything I could to help her! Please, talk to her for me! Tell her she can have whatever she wants—any compensation she demands! As long as she doesn’t kill me, I swear to God I will never show my face in front of you ever again…” Click! The video feed was abruptly cut. Liam stared at the black screen, roaring in absolute fury: “EVELYN HAYES! I KNEW IT WAS YOU! I KNEW YOU WEREN’T DEAD!” “When I drag you out of whatever hole you’re hiding in, I am going to make you drop to your knees and beg for Chloe’s forgiveness!” He violently whipped his head around to glare at Mrs. Davis. “Talk! Where is Evelyn hiding right now?! Why the hell are you helping her do this?!” “As a former teacher, hiding a convicted felon… do you have even a shred of a conscience left?!” Mrs. Davis was shaking with apocalyptic rage. She shoved him forcefully toward the front door. “I don’t know who the kidnapper is, but it is physically impossible for it to be Evelyn! She is dead! Stop pouring your filthy lies over her grave!” Liam looked at her with pure, unadulterated disgust and violently swatted her hands away. Mrs. Davis was elderly. Caught off guard by the violent shove, she lost her balance and crashed to the floor, her forehead slamming brutally against the sharp edge of the coffee table. Blood instantly gushed from the wound. She clutched her head, crying out in agony: “Why did Evelyn ever have to meet a monster like you?! To keep your precious little protégée out of prison, you forced Evelyn to take the fall! You sent her to death row, and in the end, she didn’t even have anyone to claim her body!” “And now you have the audacity to come into my home and ask me where she is?! Are you even human?!” Hearing the commotion, the neighbors gathered in the hallway, pointing and whispering at the gruesome scene. Looking at the blood pouring down Mrs. Davis’s face, a microscopic flicker of hesitation crossed Liam’s eyes. “What exactly did she promise you to make you go this far?” “Let me remind you, conspiracy to commit kidnapping is a federal crime. You’ll be looking at a minimum of ten years in prison!” Before the words fully left his mouth, Liam’s phone buzzed again. He unlocked it, and his face instantly turned deathly pale. It was another video call from the kidnapper. He stepped out into the hallway to answer it. On the screen, blood was trickling from the corner of Chloe’s mouth. Her face was covered in fresh, dark bruises. It was glaringly obvious she had just been brutally beaten. She stared into the camera, crying out with a mixture of terror and tragic resignation: “Liam… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said bad things about Evelyn. I deserve to die!” “Please don’t be mad at her anymore. I don’t want you two to turn on each other because of me…” Liam was so furious his eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull. He screamed into the phone: “EVELYN! YOU SICK, TWISTED BITCH!” “I was the one who forced you to take the fall! Beating Chloe proves absolutely nothing! If you want revenge, come after me!” Then, he forcibly softened his voice, trying to project strength for Chloe: “Chloe, hang in there! I swear to God, I am going to save you!” Chloe shook her head tragically on the screen, her tears mixing with the blood dripping onto the dirty floor. “If my death is what it takes for you and Evelyn to reconcile, I am willing to pay her with my life.” “I just want you to promise me you’ll take good care of yourself. Please don’t let anyone hurt you ever again…” Liam’s eyes flooded with burning red tears. He ordered fiercely: “Stop talking like that! I will absolutely not let anything happen to you!” He wanted to offer more comfort, but his phone vibrated with an incoming notification. It was his paralegal, sending over the complete, unredacted transcripts and verdicts from the appeals trial ten years ago. But Liam didn’t even have the patience to open the file. He was just about to swipe the notification away when his paralegal sent a frantic, stuttering voice memo: “Mr. Pierce… Ms. Hayes… During her appeals trial, her sentence was upgraded to the death penalty! She really is dead!” Liam’s heart slammed violently against his ribs. On the video call, Chloe clearly heard the voice memo as well. Her face instantly lost all its color, turning completely ashen. She nervously glanced sideways at the kidnapper standing just off-camera, testing the waters: “Evelyn, you must really hate me. You actually forged federal documents to make Liam think I killed you?!” “How is that possible?! She’s been locked up in this facility for seven years!” “I’ve called the prison dozens of times trying to request visitation rights, but the guards always told me she refused to see me!” Floating in the air above him, a wave of profound, icy sorrow washed over my soul. He tried to visit me because he still had feelings for me? Maybe he did. But whatever feelings he had for me were completely, utterly worthless when compared to his devotion to Chloe. Ever since Chloe became his junior associate, the two of them had quickly developed a magnetic, undeniable chemistry. I had confronted him and asked for a divorce, but he had looked at me with tears in his eyes, swearing on his life that he would cut Chloe off completely. But the very next day, all it took was one phone call from Chloe, and he went running right back to her side. His trust in Chloe was absolute. It was buried in his marrow. He never even noticed when Chloe installed intercept software on his phone. For years, any calls he made to the prison were automatically rerouted to a group of paid actors Chloe had hired to play the prison guards. In the present, the warden’s face darkened. He tapped his pen aggressively against the desk. “There is absolutely no record of her in our system. And there are certainly no logs of any visitation requests.” “If you don’t believe me, I suggest you go to the maximum-security facility where she was actually held and ask them.” Hearing this, Liam gritted his teeth in sheer, manic denial. “Evelyn. You actually have the audacity to hack a federal prison database. Your arrogance knows no bounds!” SMACK! The exact second the words left his mouth, a brutal, echoing slap struck Chloe across the face on the video feed. A cold, robotic voice followed immediately after: “You have 5 hours left.” The video feed was abruptly severed again. Liam screamed in frustration, violently hurling his phone against the precinct wall. A few seconds later, as if a terrifying realization had suddenly struck him, he sprinted down the stairs, jumped into his car, and drove like a maniac. He sped all the way to the state women’s penitentiary and barged into the warden’s office. “I need to see Evelyn Hayes’s release records! Give me the forwarding address she listed!” The warden typed her name into the federal database, his brow furrowing deeply. “This individual was never incarcerated at this facility.” Liam slammed his hands onto the warden’s desk, panicked and furious. “Maybe she was held at the county jail after the sentencing and never transferred to state! Check again!” Liam completely refused to believe it. But with absolutely zero leads, he had no choice but to drive to the county maximum-security detention center. The veteran corrections officer who had been assigned to my cell block ten years ago listened to Liam’s frantic story. His face instantly darkened into a furious scowl. “Mr. Pierce, I assure you, this kind of joke is not funny in the slightest.” “After Evelyn Hayes’s sentence was upgraded to the death penalty during the appeals trial, the Supreme Court review was expedited. She was executed on the third day.” The final, absolute sliver of denial in Liam’s eyes shattered, replaced by profound, paralyzing shock. “Impossible… that’s impossible!” “I was her husband! If she was really sentenced to death, why wasn’t I notified during the review phase?!” The corrections officer frowned deeply, opened a heavy metal filing cabinet, and pulled out a faded manila folder. “The official Notice of Execution Review was sent to your home via certified mail. Is this not your signature acknowledging receipt?” Liam stared down at the signature line. His entire body felt as though it had been struck by lightning. He froze completely solid. It was undeniably his handwriting. But he had absolutely zero memory of ever signing a document like this. A freezing, terrifying dread began to crawl up from the very depths of his soul. He frantically dialed the kidnapper’s number again, but it went straight to voicemail. He immediately called his paralegal, ordering him to file an emergency motion with the courts to obtain the raw, unedited video recordings of the appeals trial. Then, he demanded the entire physical box of case files from the original murder trial and began frantically reviewing every single microscopic detail. While examining the crime scene photos, he noticed something. On the back of the victim’s phone case, there were several deep, erratic scratches that looked like they had been gouged by fingernails. Ten years ago, the police had officially ruled those marks as standard scuff damage from the phone hitting the pavement. But Liam’s brow knotted tightly. He remembered that the victim—my younger sister, Mia—had been learning Braille. He pulled up a Braille alphabet chart on his computer. He meticulously traced the erratic scratches against the chart. His blood ran cold as the translation formed in his mind: “Chloe killed me.” I floated beside him in the air, watching as every drop of blood completely drained from his face. Ten years ago, for my sister Mia’s seventeenth birthday, Liam had invited Chloe to our house to celebrate. That night, Chloe had cornered Mia at the top of the stairs and began viciously bullying her. When Mia fought back, Chloe flew into a violent rage and literally shoved my sister down the massive, marble staircase. Afterward, Chloe fell to her knees in front of Liam, sobbing hysterically. She swore on her life that she was just drunk, and that she had accidentally bumped into Mia, causing her to fall. To save Chloe from a murder charge, Liam actually used extortion to force me to take the fall for her. “I have the city planning reports proving your childhood orphanage was expanded illegally. If I submit them to the zoning board, the entire facility will be bulldozed immediately. Dozens of orphans will be thrown onto the streets.” “All you have to do is confess to involuntary manslaughter. I promise you, with my defense, you’ll be out in three to five years max!” Backed into a corner with the lives of those children hanging over my head, I had no choice but to agree. But I never, in my wildest nightmares, imagined that this decision would cost me my life. At that exact moment, the kidnapper’s video call rang again. “Two hours left!” Chloe was sobbing hysterically, her voice raw and shredded: “Liam! Please, you have to save me… I’m still so young, I can’t die like this…” “I know I was a coward back then! I never should have let Evelyn take the fall for me…” Liam stared at her on the screen. But the deep, profound tenderness that usually filled his eyes was completely gone. “Ten years ago. Did you really just ‘accidentally’ push Mia down those stairs?” “And that Notice of Execution Review… did you forge my signature on it? Did Evelyn really…” Liam’s voice choked on the words. He couldn’t finish the sentence. Chloe’s eyes darted nervously in a micro-expression of panic, but she quickly masked it, crying even harder. “Liam, I’ve been by your side for over a decade! Don’t you know my character by now?! How could I ever intentionally murder someone?!” “Evelyn forged all those documents because she knew you had a soft heart! She wanted to manipulate you into feeling guilty for the rest of your life…” SMACK! The video feed was abruptly cut off again. Liam lost his mind. He violently swept his arm across his desk, sending files, laptops, and coffee mugs crashing to the floor. “EVELYN HAYES! Do you think I’m a complete fucking idiot?!” Just then, a memory flashed into his mind. The gruff voice of the cemetery groundskeeper from earlier today. He immediately pulled up his recent calls and dialed the number. The municipal cemetery on the outskirts of the city was desolate and bleak. The groundskeeper led Liam down a long, overgrown path, finally stopping in front of a massive, communal gravestone. “She’s buried right here. We found that old cell phone in the dirt when we were repairing the plot a few years ago. I kept it charged in the office, figuring someone might eventually come looking for it.” Liam’s eyes widened in horror. Carved deeply into the cold granite headstone were the words: [Here Lies the 37 Victims of the Sunlight Orphanage Fire, and Evelyn Hayes.]

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On National Doctors’ Day, March 30th, I boarded an Amtrak Acela express train heading back to Washington D.C. for work. I never expected that the moment I boarded, I would find a strange man sitting in the seat I had paid for. At first, I politely asked him to move. But he decided to act like a creep, spouting some nonsense about “waiting for destiny to bring him the right person.” After several failed attempts to reason with him, I had no choice but to find the train conductor. Instead of helping, the conductor accused me of having “Princess Syndrome” and actually took the seat-stealer’s side. I stared at their ugly, smug faces in absolute shock. I pulled out my ticket confirmation and refused to back down. Suddenly, the seat-stealer exploded into a violent rage. He snatched the medical sample box out of my hands and smashed it onto the floor. “You crazy bitch! You steal my stuff and then act like a victim?! Let’s see how you like this!” He had absolutely no idea. What he just smashed was the only existing vial of KD-1 antibody serum in the entire country, specifically synthesized for pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia. During the struggle, I accidentally caught a glimpse of the man’s train ticket. I couldn’t help but smile. Since you love stealing seats and smashing things so much, you’d better be ready to face the absolute devastation coming your way! 1 I am a senior researcher at a National Laboratory. Shortly after the holidays, I received an urgent directive to personally transport a highly classified medical sample back to the D.C. headquarters. Because the timeline was so tight, the only ticket I could secure was a standard coach seat on the Amtrak Acela. Before I left, my department head explicitly warned me: “This sample is of paramount importance. You must bring it back intact. I have already arranged for personnel to coordinate with you along the route.” But when I boarded the train and found my assigned seat—Car 3, Seat 4A—there was a strange man sitting in it. After double-checking my ticket on my phone, I politely spoke up: “Excuse me, sir, I believe you might be in the wrong seat.” The man shot me a sideways glance, shifted his weight, and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. I assumed that because the train was packed with people returning to work after the holidays, it was just too loud and he hadn’t heard me. So, I repeated myself a little louder. The moment the words left my mouth, he didn’t even bother lifting his head. He just grunted, “Waiting for destiny!” and squeezed his eyes shut again. Seeing that he had absolutely zero intention of moving, my patience snapped. I lowered my voice and said sternly: “Sir, refusing to vacate an assigned seat on federal transit is a violation of Amtrak policy and constitutes a public disturbance. Please move immediately!” “Who the hell are you trying to scare?” The man finally opened his eyes, letting out a mocking scoff. “You buy a coach train ticket and suddenly think you’re a princess? You say this seat is yours, so it magically belongs to you? Is your name carved into the cushion?” I shoved my digital ticket screen right in his face: “Read it. Car 3, Seat 4A. My seat.” I looked him up and down. “Where’s your ticket?” The man pulled a crumpled ticket from his pocket, glanced at it, and then guiltily slouched back against the headrest. “Why are you yelling? This is a quiet car!” He then puffed out his chest, acting incredibly self-righteous: “Fine, the seat is yours. But I never said I wasn’t going to give it back! Do you know why I’m not moving?” He answered his own question: “Because your attitude was terrible! You were extremely disrespectful to me!” I actually laughed out of sheer disbelief. I set my suitcase down in the aisle. Just as I opened my mouth to argue with this absolute clown, a chorus of impatient groans erupted from the passengers bottlenecked behind me. “Hey, are you guys done up there?!” “Can you let us get to our seats before you start a screaming match?” “You’re blocking the whole aisle, what is your problem?!” The moment he heard the crowd, the man instantly switched masks. He waved his hands placatingly at the people behind me: “Sorry folks, no need to rush, take your time—” Then he turned his head and began “advising” me in a loud, patronizing tone: “Jeez, lady, look at yourself. You have a whole line of people waiting on you, aren’t you embarrassed? Even if you want to throw a hysterical tantrum, learn to read the room!” As soon as he spun the narrative, the ignorant bystanders immediately pointed their frustration at me: “Seriously, the guy is being so polite about it, why are you being so aggressive?” “It’s a morning train, everyone’s stressed. Just show a little grace!” “I’m going to be late for work! Can you stop wasting everyone’s time?!” In the chaos of people pushing past us, someone violently shoved me from behind. The force knocked the sample box off the top of my suitcase, sending it crashing to the floor. My heart stopped. This was the only existing vial of the KD-1 antibody serum in the United States. It was engineered specifically for a highly aggressive, historically untreatable strain of pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Three years of grueling research. Over a thousand rounds of synthesis. Methodically eliminating over two thousand candidate strains until this single, viable culture remained. This trip to D.C. was specifically to deliver it for immediate, Phase 1 clinical trials. If successful, this serum would save the lives of thousands of children who had been issued a death sentence by their doctors. I frantically dropped to my knees, snapped the box open, and checked the structural integrity of the vials. Seeing that the vials were intact, I let out a massive breath I didn’t know I was holding. Clutching the box to my chest, I stood up and screamed at the man: “MOVE! I am telling you for the absolute last time, get out of my seat!” “Why the hell are you screaming at me?! I didn’t knock your stupid box over!” The man remained glued to the seat, utterly shameless. He even rolled up his sleeves in a blatant display of provocation. “Wow, with that kind of psychotic attitude, I really don’t feel like moving now!” My anger ignited into a roaring inferno. Just as I was about to unleash on him, a man in an Amtrak conductor’s uniform pushed his way through the crowd. “What’s all this shouting about? What’s the problem here?” The man leaped out of his seat before I could even blink, rushing up to the conductor with a face full of exaggerated grievance. “Oh, officer, thank god you’re here!” “This woman is completely unhinged! She’s been screaming at me over a seat for ten minutes! Absolutely zero class!” I didn’t have the energy to argue with his delusions. I shoved my phone with the digital ticket directly under the conductor’s nose. “He is occupying my assigned seat. Please remove him.” The conductor took my phone, stared at the screen, swiped it back and forth a few times, and frowned deeply. “Ma’am, this ticket… why is the seat number completely distorted?” I froze. I looked down at the screen. The previously crisp “Car 3, Seat 4A” was now a pixelated, corrupted blur. I suddenly remembered that when I shoved the phone in the man’s face earlier, he had grabbed it for a second, his thumb swiping aggressively across the screen. I looked up, locking eyes with him. He was wearing a sickeningly smug smirk. “Sir, may I see your ticket?” The conductor turned to the man. The man slowly pulled a paper ticket from his pocket and beckoned the conductor closer. The two of them huddled together, whispering furiously. I watched the conductor’s expression shift from confusion, to shock, and finally, to extreme deference. He nodded frantically: “Understood! Absolutely, sir! I will handle this immediately.” Before I could even process what was happening, the conductor spun around and addressed me in a cold, bureaucratic tone: “This seat has been confirmed to belong to this gentleman. Your digital ticket is corrupted and cannot verify your seating assignment.” I stared at him, my eyes wide with sheer disbelief. “Are you serious?! Every single person in this aisle just heard him admit he was sitting in my seat! He confessed to it out loud!” The conductor replied with chilling calm: “The gentleman just explained the misunderstanding to me. Currently, your digital ticket cannot prove 4A belongs to you. Do you have any other witnesses who can verify your claim?” I looked around. The passengers who had been so self-righteously indignant just moments ago were now universally staring at their phones or their shoes, completely unwilling to get involved. I let out a harsh laugh and pulled up my Amtrak app. “Fine. You can look at my purchase history in the app database—” The conductor barely glanced at it before aggressively pushing my hand away, smiling condescendingly: “Ma’am, with how advanced Photoshop and spoofing apps are these days, a screenshot on your phone doesn’t prove anything.” Before I could respond, the automated chime signaling the doors were closing echoed through the car. The conductor smirked, pointing to the only empty seat left in the entire car—the one directly next to the man. “Ma’am, I suggest you realize you made a mistake. Your seat is clearly 4B. Sit down immediately, and stop delaying the train’s departure.” “Yeah, little lady,” the man drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. “I understand you women get a little emotional sometimes. I’ll be the bigger man and let this slide.” “Sit your ass down, and stop keeping this man from doing his job!” Little thing? When standing up for my legal rights was branded as a “hysterical tantrum,” and the victim was painted as the aggressor. No matter how small the issue, I was going to fight for what was mine! “I demand you pull up the central passenger manifest on your tablet and verify exactly who purchased Seat 4A!” “Are you out of your mind?” The conductor scoffed loudly. “This is an express train, I am incredibly busy, and I have five other cars to patrol.” “If I waste my time checking the system for your ego trip, and someone in another car gets robbed or has a medical emergency, are you going to take responsibility for that?!” The moment he said that, the “champions of justice” in the car immediately found their voices again: “The conductor works so hard, we’re all just trying to get through the day. Why are you making his life miserable?” “Seriously, keep your Princess Syndrome in check. If everyone was as selfish as you, how is the train staff supposed to do their jobs?” Facing a train car full of people actively villainizing me, I felt my blood pressure spike dangerously high. I grabbed my phone, ready to dial 911. But as I did, my gaze accidentally fell on the paper ticket the man had casually tossed onto his tray table. Train K1127. Unreserved Standing Room. That was… That was the regional commuter train boarding on the opposite platform! I stared at that line of text for three full seconds. Then, I lowered my phone and smiled brightly at the conductor. “You know what? Fine. He can keep it. I’ll just wait.” I clutched my sample box and sat down heavily in the seat next to the stunned, triumphant man. “See? That wasn’t so hard! You should have just done this from the beginning instead of fighting a losing battle!” He leaned back into the plush headrest, immensely satisfied, and closed his eyes. As the Acela Express smoothly accelerated out of the station, I watched the scenery blur past the window, practically biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Since you love stealing seats so much, don’t blame me for not telling you that you’re on a non-stop train heading in the exact opposite direction of your destination! 2 The train hummed along the tracks. I kept my eyes closed, just wanting to survive this agonizing ride in peace. But the man next to me was relentless. One minute he was manspreading, driving his knee into my space. The next minute he was violently bouncing his leg, shaking the entire row of seats. And every few minutes, he would let out a deafening, wet snore that made it impossible to relax. Driven to the edge of my sanity, I finally grabbed my sample box and fled to the café car to find some quiet. As soon as I found an empty booth, my phone rang. It was the Director of the National Laboratory. “Dr. Vance, is your transit proceeding smoothly?” I gave him a brief rundown of the absolute circus I had just experienced. When I mentioned the sample box being dropped, the Director’s voice turned lethal. “Hold your position for another hour and a half. I am dispatching a federal security detail to meet you directly at Union Station to escort you to the lab.” “I will handle the situation with Amtrak administration. Your only priority is protecting that sample!” “Understood!” I had just hung up when a terrifying, guttural howl echoed from the direction of Car 3. Remembering my suitcase was still at my seat, I clutched the sample box and sprinted back. As I entered the car, I saw the seat-stealing man standing in the middle of the aisle, looking absolutely frantic: “Where is my bag?! Did anyone see my bag?!” “That bag has the medicine to save my kid’s life! I fell asleep, and now it’s gone!” He grabbed the arm of the conductor, who had just rushed over: “Officer, you have to help me find it! My kid is waiting for me!” A wave of panicked murmurs swept through the car. Passengers immediately started checking under their own seats and in the overhead bins, but the man’s bag was nowhere to be found. In the midst of his panic, the man’s eyes locked onto the metal sample box I was clutching to my chest. “It was you! You stole my medicine to get back at me, and you hid it in that box!” He charged at me like a raging bull, reaching out to snatch it from my arms: “Give me my stuff back!” I scrambled backward, instinctively shielding the box with my body. “Your things are not in here!” “Bullshit!” The man’s eyes were completely bloodshot. “You’ve been holding onto that metal box like your life depends on it since you got on!” “You were conveniently gone exactly when my bag disappeared! You definitely stole my medicine while I was asleep and hid it in there!” The conductor marched up to me, his face a mask of severe authority: “Ma’am, return this gentleman’s property immediately, or I will be forced to place you under arrest!” I stared at the conductor, absolutely appalled: “Which one of your eyes saw my box magically swallow his bag?! You can’t accuse someone of theft without a shred of evidence!” The conductor frowned, leaned in close to my ear, and hissed menacingly: “Do you have any idea who this man is?” “He is a senior researcher for the National Laboratory! He is on a highly classified federal mission to D.C.! You stole from him—are you trying to get yourself thrown in federal prison?!” My brain completely short-circuited. He was the researcher? Then who the hell was I? While I was paralyzed by shock, the conductor violently ripped the sample box from my grasp. He spun around, holding it out to the man with both hands like he was presenting a sacred artifact: “Sir, please inspect the contents. Is your property inside?” “DO NOT OPEN THAT!” I screamed. If the internal climate seals were violently breached, the consequences for the biological sample would be catastrophic! But the man ignored me completely. He grabbed the heavy latch and violently ripped the lid open. Seeing the contents, his face froze. “It’s not in here!” He glared at me, and with a roar of frustration, he hurled the metal box directly onto the hard floor. “Where the hell did you hide my stuff?!” CRASH. My heart completely stopped beating. I watched in slow motion as a splash of pale golden liquid erupted from the shattered glass inside the casing. The sound of that shattering glass felt like the sound of thousands of dying children taking their final breath. I shoved my way through the panicked crowd, dropped to my knees, and stared at the glittering shards and the golden liquid rapidly seeping into the floor mats. I was shaking so violently I couldn’t breathe. “Do you have any idea what you just did?!” I lunged upward, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. He didn’t back down. His eyes looked like a rabid animal’s: “You have the nerve to yell at me?! So I broke a stupid glass tube! I lost the medicine that’s going to save my child’s life!” “Are you completely insane?! That is federal—” Before I could finish the sentence, a massive force wrenched my arm behind my back, and I was violently shoved face-first into the passenger seat. As the pain of a dislocated shoulder blinded me, I heard the conductor screaming into his radio: “Car 3 needs backup! Car 3 needs immediate backup! We have an active assault on a protected federal target! Get here now!” The agonizing pain radiating from my shoulder made my vision swim, but I didn’t care. I just stared at the puddle of golden liquid on the floor, my eyes burning with tears of absolute devastation. “Open your goddamn eyes and look at me—” I screamed at the conductor with every ounce of strength left in my lungs: “I AM THE RESEARCHER FROM THE NATIONAL LABORATORY!” The backup security officers who had just rushed into the car froze, looking at each other in confusion.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400805”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The first major case I took over after transferring back to the precinct in the city was a prostitution bust. And the suspect was my husband. The case file was spread open on the desk. The stark black ink on the white paper made my eyes sting. Seeing me zone out, my subordinate gently reminded me, “Captain Hayes, you just transferred back, so you might not be fully up to speed. The suspect is the wealthiest man in the city, Arthur Sterling. And the girl with him is his young girlfriend.” “Those two are practically internet celebrities around here. It’s the classic ‘billionaire CEO and his sweet little princess’ trope. There’s a massive age gap, but their followers eat that drama up.” He lowered his voice, a knowing, slightly amused smirk playing on his lips. “Word on the street is the girl got upset because Mr. Sterling hasn’t been spending enough time with her. She threw a tantrum and called the cops on him just to prove a point. It’s basically just a rich couple’s foreplay. They’re just messing around.” I didn’t say a word. I stood up and walked toward the mediation room. The door was slightly ajar. With one glance, I saw Arthur Sterling bent over, half-kneeling beside the sofa. He was using the sleeve of his multi-thousand-dollar bespoke suit to gently, meticulously wipe a splash of milk tea off her designer sneaker. He handled it like he was polishing a priceless artifact. The girl kicked her legs playfully, her voice a mix of a whine and a pout. “Arthur, are you an idiot? I literally called the cops to arrest you, and you’re still treating me like this?” Arthur looked up at her, his eyes overflowing with a profound, tender adoration. A look I had never, ever seen directed at me. “My little star. As long as you’re happy, you can have my life.” The fluorescent lights overhead flickered. My heart plummeted into a bottomless abyss. If you two love using 911 as foreplay, then as your legal wife, I’ll personally escort you to a holding cell. I tightened my grip on the official summons in my hand, turned back to Officer Miller, and said, “Take them to the interrogation room. Process them completely by the book. No skipped steps.” Officer Miller hesitated, a look of deep discomfort crossing his face. “Captain Hayes, this… are you sure we need to go that far? You just got back, so you might not know, but Mr. Sterling is a major player in this city. Even the Chief of Police treats him with kid gloves…” “I don’t give a damn how big his name is,” I cut him off, my tone turning to steel. “Filing a false police report is a crime. Wasting police resources is a crime. This is a law enforcement agency, not his private playground. He gets no special privileges here.” Rendered speechless by my absolute resolve, Officer Miller simply lowered his head, mumbled a “Yes, Ma’am,” and pushed open the door to the mediation room. Immediately, there was a commotion inside. Chloe’s voice was shrill and dripping with impatience. “On what grounds are you detaining us?! I didn’t actually mean to report him, it was just a joke!” Closely followed by Arthur’s voice. It wasn’t rushed or angry; in fact, it was incredibly indulgent. “Stop making a fuss, babe. Just listen to the officers and cooperate. It’ll be fine.” Footsteps approached, and the two of them walked out. Chloe stormed ahead, her face completely sour, dragging her feet like a petulant child. “This is all your fault! I wanted you to take me to the mall yesterday, but you absolutely had to go to some stupid board meeting! That’s why I jokingly said I was going to call the cops on you!” Arthur trailed closely behind her, practically jogging to keep up, his tone entirely placating. “Next time, I’ll clear my entire schedule just to take you shopping. Whatever clothes you want, I’ll buy the entire boutique and have it moved to our house.” Chloe turned and glared at him. It was then that I finally got a clear look at her face. Small face, bright eyes, cherry-red lips. She was undeniably, strikingly beautiful. The most eye-catching thing about her was her platinum blonde hair. Her skirt was so short that if she walked any faster, you’d see her underwear. She looked to be in her early twenties, radiating a flashy, attention-seeking energy. She looked like someone who lived for the spotlight. We were completely, fundamentally different. I was someone who wore a uniform every day and buried myself in police files. We didn’t exist in the same universe. A heavy, suffocating weight suddenly pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Who was Arthur Sterling? He was the apex predator of the city’s elite circles. Countless people lined up just for a chance to kiss his ass. But right now, here he was, bowing his head, bending his knees, coaxing her like a teenage boy who had just made his high school girlfriend mad. “Don’t be angry anymore. I’ll cancel all my meetings. I’ll go shopping with you, I’ll take you to dinner, whatever you want. Okay?” Chloe let out a cold hmph and didn’t answer, but her pace noticeably slowed down. I watched them walk into the interrogation room. With a sharp click, the heavy door shut, locking their nauseatingly sweet conversation inside. Officer Miller walked over and asked, “Captain, who’s conducting the interview?” “You do it personally,” I said, my voice slightly raspy. “Ask every single detail. Especially the exact reason for the 911 call. Don’t leave a single word out.” Miller nodded and went inside. A few minutes later, Chloe’s voice drifted out from behind the door. You could hear the smugness dripping from every word. “Officer, I swear I was just playing around. He’s always so obsessed with his company. Getting him to take me dress shopping is harder than pulling teeth.” “What’s the point of giving me an unlimited black Amex? No matter how much money is on it, the card can’t stand next to me in the mirror and tell me which color looks better, right?” Officer Miller likely followed protocol and asked about the prostitution allegation, because the room went quiet for a few seconds. Then, Chloe’s voice returned, laced with a giggling smirk. “Oh, I only said that to piss him off. A few days ago, he used his tie to bind my wrists, saying he wanted to try something new… I was just mad that he only cared about his own pleasure, so I intentionally threatened to tell the cops he was paying for it.” She paused, clearly showing something off to the officer. “If you don’t believe me, look at my wrists. You can still see the red marks. He looks like such a refined gentleman on the outside, but behind closed doors… hehe…” The details were getting progressively more sickening. I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned around and leaned against the wall. My mind was an absolute mess. Arthur and I had been married for three years. His family was old money in this city. My family had deep, sprawling political roots in the state capital. When we got married, the elite circles hailed it as the textbook definition of a perfect, equal-status power couple. A match made in heaven. And we certainly played the part flawlessly. We attended all the required holiday galas together. He bought me expensive, thoughtful gifts. I handled the aggressive, politically complex social networking for him. But I was the only one who knew how freezing cold this marriage actually was. He was always calm, detached. He rarely spoke, and he almost never smiled. Even during our most intimate moments, he acted like he was executing a corporate merger. Last year, I made the agonizing decision to transfer back to this city, giving up a highly coveted position at the state headquarters to become a Captain at this local precinct. On paper, it was a promotion. In reality, everyone knew it was a career detour. But I came back anyway. I stupidly believed that if I was closer to him, maybe, just maybe, I could thaw his frozen heart. Thinking about it now, it’s absolutely hilarious. I sacrificed my career trajectory to come back, and this was my welcome gift. Watching my husband look at another girl with a burning, passionate tenderness that he had never, ever shown me. In the end, the arrest warrant wasn’t issued. The Chief of Police rushed down to the precinct personally, rubbing his hands together, playing the ultimate peacemaker. “Captain Hayes, regarding Mr. Sterling… his corporation is critical to the city’s economic infrastructure. Let’s just let this go, alright? No need to blow it out of proportion.” I didn’t say a word, which the Chief took as silent agreement. Given the Sterling family’s massive influence, a false police report was never going to leave a scratch on Arthur. I watched Arthur carefully, protectively guide Chloe into his car. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my mother-in-law. [I just saw Arthur at the precinct. He was brought in on suspicion of soliciting a prostitute.] Arthur’s mother replied almost instantly: [Evelyn? You’re back in the city? I’m sending my driver to pick you up right now. Don’t worry, I absolutely will not let you suffer this indignity.] Half an hour later, I stepped into the Sterling family estate. I could immediately hear Arthur’s father roaring in fury, tearing into Arthur so aggressively that the man couldn’t even lift his head. It wasn’t that his parents were unaware of Chloe’s existence. They usually just couldn’t be bothered to intervene in his personal life. But this time, the drama had spilled over into a police precinct, officially involving law enforcement. The nature of the scandal had completely changed. The Sterling family’s dominant position in the city relied heavily on the political backing of my family in the state capital. Not to mention, to secure our marriage, Arthur’s mother had practically lived in the capital for years, treating me better than her own biological daughter. The moment I walked through the door, Arthur’s mother instantly plastered on a warm, loving smile, grabbing my hands tightly. “Evelyn, my dear, you’ve been so wronged. I am going to teach this useless boy a lesson today, I promise you.” Arthur instantly realized what was happening—I was the one who ratted him out. He glared at me, his eyes burning with absolute fury. Before he could even open his mouth, his father barked a low, commanding order: “Apologize to Evelyn immediately! And cut all ties with that Chloe girl, do you hear me?!” Arthur’s head snapped up. His eyes were completely bloodshot. “I WILL NOT!” “Chloe is the only woman I am ever going to love! No one is going to tear us apart!” His father was so enraged his hands were shaking violently. “Say that again?!” “If it weren’t for Evelyn’s family protecting us in the capital, do you think the Sterling Group would be where it is today?! If you dare betray Evelyn, you are no longer my son!” Arthur ground his teeth together. In the end, he didn’t talk back, but he didn’t offer a single word of apology either. He just kept his head down and stormed out the door. His father turned to me and gave a heavy nod. “Evelyn, go home with him. Talk some sense into him.” I gave a slight nod and followed Arthur outside. Just as we reached the front steps, Arthur suddenly spun around, grabbed my arm in a vice grip, and violently dragged me toward his car without saying a word. The car door slammed shut with a deafening SLAM. Before I could even buckle my seatbelt, he slammed his foot on the gas. The car shot forward like a rabid animal. His eyes were burning red. He gritted his teeth and spat out: “Evelyn Hayes, you are unbelievable.” “You transferred back here just to spy on me? The arranged marriage wasn’t enough to chain me down, so you had to use the police to intimidate me?” I rubbed my arm where his fingers had dug in, not saying a single word. Seeing my silence, he shot me a sideways glare dripping with pure, venomous mockery: “Don’t blame me for finding someone else. Take a look in the mirror. You wear those depressing, rigid uniforms every single day. Your face is colder than a corpse.” “And let’s not even talk about us in bed. Every single time, it’s exactly the same. You just lie there with your eyes closed, like a dead piece of wood.” “Chloe is younger than me, but she knows exactly how to please a man. Being with her is the first time I’ve ever felt my heart race. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt alive!” He was likely furious that I had him arrested, so every word he threw at me was designed to cause maximum psychological damage. Every sentence felt like a serrated knife carving into my chest, leaving me bleeding and raw. For three years of marriage, I had stupidly believed that if I was just patient enough, I could eventually warm his frozen heart. Instead, all I got in return was absolute humiliation and freezing indifference. While I was sitting there paralyzed, his phone suddenly rang. I glanced down. The name flashing on the screen was: “Little Star.” The moment I saw those two words, my nose stung sharply, and tears threatened to spill over. He quickly answered the call. A sobbing, fragile voice instantly came through the speakers: “Arthur… I cut my finger… it hurts so badly… please come here…” Arthur’s face drastically changed. The vicious hostility he had aimed at me vanished instantly, replaced by a voice so soft and tender it didn’t even sound like him: “Don’t cry, baby, don’t be scared. I’m on my way right now. Be a good girl, wait for me.” He hung up the phone, violently wrenched the steering wheel, and slammed on the brakes, pulling the car to a screeching halt on the shoulder of the road. He threw out two freezing words: “Get out.” “We’re at least ten miles from the city center. How am I supposed to…” Before I could finish, he aggressively leaned over, unbuckled my seatbelt, violently shoved the passenger door open, and roared: “GET THE FUCK OUT!” I was brutally shoved out of the car. My foot caught on the curb, and I nearly face-planted onto the asphalt, stumbling several steps before I caught my balance. The next second, the car door slammed shut. The black Maybach kicked up a massive cloud of dust and sped away, completely abandoning me on the side of the road. The biting wind cut through my clothes. I stood completely alone on the edge of the deserted highway. My phone battery was at exactly 5%. I gritted my teeth and dialed the precinct’s dispatch number. But before the call could even connect, the screen went completely black. My phone had died. I dragged my freezing, trembling legs down the highway for what felt like hours. My vision started to blur. Finally, my body gave out entirely, and I collapsed onto the freezing asphalt. When I woke up, the overwhelming stench of hospital antiseptic filled my nose. I was lying in a hospital bed, an IV drip taped to the back of my hand. A doctor walked over, his expression grim and complicated. “You’re awake?” “You suffered a miscarriage. The pregnancy was already high-risk, and walking in the freezing cold for that long…” Miscarriage? I froze. My fingers subconsciously drifted down to rest on my flat stomach. So… there had been a tiny life growing inside me… It didn’t even give me the chance to realize it was there before it slipped away. The doctor let out a heavy sigh. “Get some rest. You need to recover.” After the door closed, I plugged my dead phone into the wall charger. The second it booted up, a breaking news alert popped up on my screen: [Billionaire CEO Arthur Sterling Summons City’s Top Surgeons at Midnight Because Young Girlfriend Suffers Minor Papercut!] In the attached photo, Arthur was holding Chloe tightly in his arms, his face etched with profound, agonizing concern. Chloe’s hand was zoomed in on, clearly showing a microscopic, superficial scratch near her cuticle. My heart was brutally impaled all over again. While he was holding another woman, terrified over a papercut, I was lying unconscious on the side of a highway, losing our child… I ripped the IV needle out of my hand. Like a sleepwalker, I stumbled out of my hospital room. But as I rounded the corner of the hallway, I ran straight into Arthur and Chloe. Arthur’s brow instantly furrowed, his eyes filling with absolute, unadulterated disgust. “Evelyn, are you completely insane? You followed us to the hospital and faked an illness just to stalk me? Weren’t you supposed to be the proud, untouchable career woman? How could you stoop to something this pathetic?” I looked at him, my voice trembling so violently I could barely form words. “I had a miscarriage.” Chloe’s eyes widened in shock. She violently grabbed Arthur’s arm. “Arthur! Didn’t you swear to me that you hadn’t touched her in years?! Whose baby is that?!” “You lied to me! We’re done!” Arthur’s face panicked. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, desperately coaxing her, “Don’t listen to her psychotic lies! I see her exactly once a month for a mandatory dinner, and I haven’t laid a single finger on her!” “Baby, you exhaust me every single night. I don’t have an ounce of energy left to give to anyone else, I swear!” After placating Chloe, he turned back to glare at me, his tone turning vicious and cruel. “Evelyn Hayes, who the hell do you think you are? You think you can get pregnant from sitting across a dining table from me? Have you looked in a mirror lately?” A crowd of patients and nurses had gathered in the hallway, their whispers drilling into my ears. “Who is that woman? She’s wearing a police uniform, but she’s harassing Mr. Sterling?” “Did you hear her? She’s claiming she had a miscarriage. She’s probably trying to trap him with a fake pregnancy to extort him.” “Everyone knows Mr. Sterling is completely obsessed with Ms. Chloe. This cop is delusional.” Those judgmental stares felt like razor blades slicing my skin. There was nowhere to hide. My body went completely numb, but my brain suddenly exploded with a realization. Last month, Arthur flew to the state capital to visit me. During dinner, he had a few too many drinks. That night, he didn’t sleep in the guest room. He held me tightly in his arms, refusing to let go, constantly whispering “Baby” and “Little Star.” His voice was so burning and passionate it made my heart race. I thought he had finally dropped his guard. I thought our relationship was finally changing. It was because of that exact night that I made the definitive choice to transfer my career back to this city, hoping we could finally build a real home. But now… seeing the contact name he used for Chloe on his phone—”Little Star”… Hearing him call her that exact nickname over and over again… I finally understood everything. That night, he wasn’t calling my name. He had hallucinated that I was her. That night of overwhelming tenderness, that embrace that made my heart pound… It was nothing but a humiliating case of mistaken identity. A violent, agonizing cramp twisted my stomach. I leaned heavily against the wall just to keep from collapsing. Arthur was still whispering sweet nothings to Chloe, his voice so soft and gentle it dripped with honey. It was a terrifying contrast to the freezing, venomous hatred he had just aimed at me. Chloe finally stopped fake-crying. She plastered a condescending, fake smile on her face and sauntered slowly over to me. “Evelyn, you really shouldn’t take things so seriously.” “Love can’t be forced. Arthur doesn’t have a single shred of feelings for you. The harder you try to hold on, the more pathetic you look.” I stared at her with dead eyes, not saying a single word. She acted like she didn’t even notice my silence, continuing her arrogant monologue. “To put it bluntly, the person who isn’t loved is the third wheel. If you just let go now, it would be a lot easier for everyone.” Saying that, she suddenly pulled up the hem of her designer crop top, revealing a blue tattoo on her waist: Arthur’s Little Starlight. Then, she violently yanked the hem of Arthur’s shirt up, intentionally showing me the exact same spot on his waist. On Arthur’s waist, there was indeed a line of small, tattooed text: Chloe’s Protector. Seeing those words, I wanted to laugh hysterically, but I also wanted to vomit. The ruthless, cutthroat CEO of the Sterling Group, a man whose gaze was as cold as a butcher’s knife in the boardroom… willingly tattooed that nauseating, cringey garbage onto his body. It felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to my chest, pounding it until it was completely numb. So he was capable of going insane for someone. It just wasn’t me. Chloe proudly dropped his shirt. Her fingers lightly traced his waistline as she pouted playfully. “Arthur said I was the only woman in the world who could make him do something like this. Evelyn, could you ever make him do that?” A violently nauseating wave of bile rushed up my throat. I turned to walk away. Chloe suddenly reached out to grab me. The very second her manicured fingertips brushed the sleeve of my uniform, she dramatically threw her body weight backward, shrieking as she collided with a metal medical cart. CRASH! Glass IV bottles shattered all over the floor. Chloe sat amidst the broken glass, clutching her arm. A tiny trickle of blood seeped through her fingers. “Arthur!” she sobbed, struggling to catch her breath. Arthur’s eyes instantly turned demonic. He lunged forward and grabbed me violently by the collar of my uniform. “EVELYN HAYES! ARE YOU ASKING FOR A DEATH WISH?!” “APOLOGIZE TO HER. RIGHT NOW!” I shoved his hands off my collar, acting on pure instinct. “I didn’t even touch her! Why the hell should I apologize?!” His face turned an apocalyptic shade of purple. He roared at his bodyguards standing nearby. “Hit her! Slap her until she begs for forgiveness!” Two massive bodyguards instantly tackled me. One pinned my arms behind my back in a vice grip, while the other raised his hand and delivered a brutal, full-force slap to my face. SMACK! The sound echoed through the hospital corridor like a gunshot. My cheek burned with agonizing, blinding pain. “Are you going to apologize?” Arthur glared at me, his eyes colder than the Arctic. I gritted my teeth, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. “No.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The slaps rained down on me, each one heavier than the last. My head was violently whipped to the side by the force of the blows, only to be forcibly yanked back to face forward, helpless as I watched the hand strike me over and over again. The crowd of onlookers was completely paralyzed by terror. Not a single person dared to intervene. Chloe was nestled safely in Arthur’s arms, covertly peeking out from behind his shoulder, a twisted, victorious smirk hiding on her lips. After more than a dozen brutal slaps, my face was swollen, bruised, and burning. My vision was swimming. Arthur raised his hand, signaling the bodyguards to stop. He spoke with a terrifyingly calm, dead voice. “I am going to ask you one last time. Are you going to apologize?” I shook my dizzy, throbbing head. Blood dripped steadily from my chin onto my uniform. “I… didn’t… push her.” His eyes turned to absolute ice. He bent down, picked up a jagged shard of broken glass from the floor, grabbed my arm, and viciously slashed a deep, bleeding gash into my skin, in the exact same spot Chloe claimed she was injured. “Then remember this pain! Let’s see if you ever dare to touch her again!” Blood instantly erupted from the wound, pouring rapidly down my arm. He didn’t even spare me a second glance. He scooped Chloe up into his arms and walked away. The hallway emptied out. I leaned heavily against the wall. My face was throbbing, my arm was bleeding, but none of it compared to the apocalyptic, freezing cold inside my heart. He never believed me. Never. My words were completely worthless compared to a single fake tear from Chloe. Since he had made his choice, he couldn’t blame me for being ruthless! Gripping the crumpled ultrasound report in my hand, I stood silently in the hallway for a few moments. Then, I dialed two numbers I had memorized by heart. That night, squad cars surrounded the hospital.

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