Everyone assumed I secured my position as the wife of Manhattan’s most elusive tech billionaire purely through my face and a perfectly timed, “amnesia-inducing” car crash. Until one day, my genius ex-boyfriend showed up at a high-society gala with his newly invented time machine, publicly provoking my husband: “Mr. Pierce, wouldn’t you like to see what your pure, innocent, obedient little wife was actually like when she was eighteen?” A cold sweat broke out across my back. I was just about to laugh it off and change the subject. But my usually composed, aloof husband crushed his cigar in the ashtray, stared at my deathly pale face, and unprecedentedly nodded. “Sure. Let’s take a look.” The moment Declan agreed, a collective gasp echoed through the ballroom. My brain buzzed with pure panic. I forced a stiff smile. “This kind of experimental tech… it’s got to be dangerous, right? Why don’t we shelf this for a few years until the technology is more mature…” Before my words even hit the floor, the scientific prodigy coldly cut me off. “Mrs. Pierce, are you questioning my professional expertise?” Ethan Vance. MIT’s once-in-a-century scientific marvel. At a young age, he had won countless international awards and published in every top-tier journal. This time machine was his magnum opus, something he had nearly killed himself to build. It had already passed countless safety tests before he dared to reveal it to the public. I took a deep breath and maintained my plastic smile. “Of course not.” “I just think it’s unnecessary.” I turned to Declan, softening my voice to a sweet, pleading pitch: “Honey, you know my parents died when I was young. I barely survived those miserable days, and I finally have a good life. Who would want to go back and relive that trauma? Besides, you’ve already helped me make so many new memories to replace the ones I lost.” Declan was usually a very gentle, somewhat laid-back man. He was five years older than me and never interfered with my freedom. But today, he was acting completely out of character. Instead of indulging me, he stared deeply into my eyes, as if searching for something. “I’ve actually never seen what you looked like at eighteen.” My breath hitched. A chaotic mess of fragmented memories instantly flashed through my mind. The squeaking, rusty ceiling fans of a remedial classroom. The calculus problems I could never solve. The disgusting, leering jokes from the boys on the bleachers. The massive eye-rolls from my teachers, and the crushing betrayal of my cheating ex. But the most terrifying memory of all was my cousin, Serena Brooks, and her beautiful, venomous face. The person Declan wanted to see wasn’t me. It was the vibrant, radiant heiress he remembered as his childhood fiancée. The spoiled, delicate princess who sometimes played cruel pranks, but was always forgiven by the world the moment she batted her eyelashes. When I was ten, she cornered me in the bathroom and poured a freshly brewed, scalding cup of hot chocolate directly over my head. Not a single drop was spared. She smiled at me like an absolute angel: “Didn’t you go crying to my parents, saying you wanted to taste chocolate? This stuff is imported and expensive. You better lick it clean.” Her little minions held my head down against the cold tiles. That was the first time in my life I ever tasted chocolate. Scalding hot and sticky. It was so sweet it tasted bitter, clogging my throat until I couldn’t even scream. All I could do was let my tears fall, drop by drop, onto the floor. When I looked up, all I saw were the freezing porcelain tiles and her incredibly, brilliantly radiant smile. My eyes were practically identical to hers. Even the tiny teardrop mole under our right eyes looked like a copy-and-paste job. It was precisely because of this that I was later able to successfully steal her identity and live a life of absolute luxury. When we were intimate, Declan loved kissing the flushed skin around the corner of my eye. He would always whisper in my ear, telling me that even though I had forgotten everything about my past, my eyes were just as captivating as he remembered. For five entire years of marriage, I played the role of the sweet, fragile, amnesiac wife perfectly. I never let a single flaw slip. I swallowed the rising panic in my chest and let out a long breath. “What’s so special about being eighteen? We have old photo albums at home. I’ll dig them out and show you tonight.” “But I want to see it with my own eyes right now.” Declan stared at the sleek, compact device on the table, his brow twitching slightly, looking genuinely intrigued. “I’ve always heard you were a perfectly obedient, straight-A student. I think it would be fascinating to see.” Obedient. Perfect. Straight-A student. I kept the smile glued to my face. I waited until Declan’s flashy Rolls-Royce completely disappeared down the driveway before my expression instantly shattered. Did any of those words have a single thing to do with me? The second I turned around, I bumped right into the MIT prodigy. He was taller than before. His messy bangs fell just over his brow bone. That freezing, unapproachable aura that kept everyone thousands of miles away hadn’t changed one bit. This machine today was brought out specifically to target me. I followed him into a secluded corner of the venue. Without a word, the man’s towering frame pressed forward, trapping me aggressively against the wall. “What the hell do you want?” I pushed him desperately, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them against the wall. Ethan’s gaze slowly swept over my features, a dark, incomprehensible current churning in his eyes. After holding his breath for a long moment, he coldly spat out two words: “Get back.” My brain short-circuited. I thought I had heard him wrong. He mercifully repeated himself, his voice completely devoid of warmth: “I mean, you divorce him, and we get back together.” “I don’t mind letting you return to my side.” I found it absolutely, hilariously absurd. “Ethan, did you forget to take your meds this morning?” “I am perfectly lucid,” he stared at me, his tone frighteningly flat. “Hazel, I am the only person in this world who knows your real past. As long as you leave him, I swear on my life, the time machine will never reveal a single syllable of your secret.” The corner was so quiet I could only hear our breathing. I violently surged forward, shoving him away with all my strength. “Ethan, what do you think I am? A stray dog you can whistle for and kick away whenever you feel like it?!” I glared at him, trembling with every breath, dragging up our ugly history word by word. “Weren’t you the one who coldly threw me away like garbage?” He pressed his lips tightly together, not making a sound. There wasn’t a single shred of guilt in those pitch-black eyes. That cold-blooded, heartless reaction. It was exactly the same as seven years ago. Back then, my cousin and I both competed in the State Debate Championship, and our scores tied. As the President of the Student Council and head of the scholarship committee, he waved his hand and awarded the massive $50,000 grant directly to my cousin. The reason he gave back then was incredibly noble: Serena had just become an orphan. Her family was broke. She desperately needed that money to pay for her Ivy League tuition. As for me? My grades were an absolute disaster. I was destined to end up at a community college, so I was completely unworthy of him. “Hazel, you need to face reality. Neither I nor anyone else has an obligation to pay for your hopeless, dead-end life.” “When the SAT scores come out, if you can’t get into my university, then we’re done for the rest of our lives.” Back then, I truly hated Ethan. I hated him so much that whenever I thought of him, I wanted to march up and scream in his face. If you were so desperate to date an academic equal, why the hell did you mess with a delinquent student like me in the first place?! Hearing me dig up these ancient grievances, the Ethan standing in front of me only blinked slightly. His voice was as steady as ever: “I simply chose the most logical solution at the time. Even if I had given that money to you, it would have only been a drop in the bucket for your mother’s endless medical bills. What difference would it have made?” He was still so rational. So rational it was terrifying. He delivered those devastating, cruel reasons with total self-righteousness, as if he had calculated that I would never hold it against him. “As long as you get back together with me, everything I own is yours. Hazel, I’ve figured it out. I have everything I could ever want now. I don’t need a partner to fight alongside me in the trenches anymore. I just want you by my side.” His eyes were burning and obsessive. Hearing this, I only found it hilarious. I laughed so hard that the old, agonizing heartache completely vanished. I violently ripped my hand out of his grasp, fighting back the tears in my eyes, and gritted my teeth. “Then you calculated wrong, Ethan.” “I have never forgotten about that scholarship. I will never swallow that insult for the rest of my life.” I shoved him aside and turned to leave. As I walked away, the man stared at my back and suddenly threw out a chilling sentence: “What if I have a way to return the justice you were denied back then, exactly as it should have been?” Human nature is a funny thing. People always think the path they didn’t choose was the best one. Ethan genuinely believed his decision back then was flawless. But since I was so hung up on it… He didn’t mind turning back time, replaying the entire event, and showing me what true, unbiased “fairness” actually looked like. When I got back to the massive estate, Maria, our housekeeper, had already drawn a hot bath for me. When Declan pushed the bathroom door open, I had submerged my entire head into the cooling water. The man’s large, distinct fingers clamped onto the back of my neck, lifting me out of the water like a soaking wet kitten. His narrow, sharp eyes danced with amusement. “What’s this? Tired of living and trying to drown yourself?” I didn’t say a word. He leaned in closer. “Still sulking about what happened today?” I uncomfortably turned my face away. “I don’t have the time for that.” “Then why were you so resistant? Honestly, aren’t you curious to know what kind of temper you had before you lost your memory?” Seeing me act like a sealed vault, refusing to speak, he good-naturedly ruffled my soaking wet hair. His voice carried a lazy drawl. “To tell you the truth, when I first met you at nineteen, you were exactly like this. Constantly sulking, a temper the size of Texas. You screamed and cried, demanding I honor the trust fund marriage our grandfathers arranged, insisting on following me abroad to study. If it weren’t for what happened later…” He suddenly stopped talking. If it weren’t for the fact that my cousin accidentally fell into the ocean on the day of their engagement party, missing and presumed dead for three whole years… The two of them probably would have been married by now. Until a few years later, when he was vacationing on a remote island and accidentally stumbled upon me—a girl pretending to be his amnesiac fiancée. Steam swirled in the bathroom. The man’s warm palm gently cradled the back of my head, abruptly closing the distance between us. He lowered his voice. “Do you know, Serena? Sometimes I find it incredibly hard to reconcile the person you are now with the person you used to be.” “I constantly wonder… just how much suffering did you endure to turn into this timid, cautious version of yourself? You never cry out loud, you never laugh without restraint, you don’t even throw tantrums at me anymore.” He gently nuzzled his nose against my forehead, speaking as if murmuring to himself: “Do I need to dig up your entire past to figure out which one is the real you? The feral, defensive girl from before, or the sweet, understanding girl standing in front of me now? Which one actually cares about me more?” In the palm of his hand, the micro time machine was blinking with a rhythmic red light. My pupils violently shrank. I didn’t even have time to reach for it. “Keep your heart in your chest. No one will see. This trip through time is just for the two of us.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his long finger pressed down. Click. We were both instantly sucked into a temporal vortex, hurtling ten years into the past. To this day, I still haven’t figured out what wire crossed in Ethan’s brain to make him hand his time machine over to Declan. I stared blankly at my youthful, edgy reflection in the high school bathroom mirror, closing my eyes in utter despair. When I walked out, I saw a group of boys and girls in their blue-and-white uniforms laughing and shoving each other in the hallway. I bit my lip hard, keeping my head down as I pushed through them, predictably drawing a chorus of sleazy catcalls. “Hazel! The bell already rang! Why are you dawdling?!” The class president was screaming at me from the door of the remedial classroom. — Hazel. My brain short-circuited for a second. When my mom had me, it was a season of heavy nostalgia for her. She gave me the name Hazel because she wanted me to grow up strong and resilient like a hazel tree, deeply rooted in reality. If I really calculated it, how long had it been since someone called me that? Probably since the day I made the decision to steal Serena’s identity and marry into the Pierce family. Honestly, living with Declan these past few years hadn’t been that suffocating. At his corporation, he was known as the absolute Grim Reaper—ruthless and dictatorial. But at home, he was completely declawed, like a lazy Persian cat. On lazy Sunday afternoons, his favorite thing to do was squeeze onto the sofa with me to watch old movies, mess with the plants on the balcony, or just use my lap as a pillow and sleep for hours. Sometimes, if I casually mentioned a dish I was craving, he’d patiently pull up a YouTube tutorial and learn to cook it step-by-step. If I really had to pick out his flaws, I couldn’t find any major ones. The only fatal flaw was that the woman he held in his heart… wasn’t me. The sun outside was blindingly bright. I squinted and stepped into the classroom. This rundown, cramped room smelled of teenage sweat from the boys who just finished playing basketball. Even the endless buzzing of the cicadas outside the window felt maddening. This was the absolute last era of my life I ever wanted to revisit. It was an English class. I had zero interest in paying attention. I propped my cheek on my hand, my brain turning to mush, trying to figure out how to avoid bumping into Declan in this timeline. A group of girls in the back row were huddled together, whispering excitedly. They were gossiping about the billionaire sponsor of the upcoming State Debate Championship—a young, incredibly wealthy tycoon who had just returned from studying abroad. Apparently, he had specifically come to our school this morning for an inspection. “I sneaked a peek when I walked past the bathroom earlier. He definitely looks like old money. That face, those long legs… absolutely unreal. The principal wanted to assign him a student guide for the campus history museum. The guy just glanced at the roster and specifically asked for Serena.” “Why didn’t he ask for Hazel? Didn’t she tie for first place with Serena in the regionals?” Someone nearby scoffed coldly, full of disdain. “Serena isn’t just beautiful, she’s the valedictorian. The billionaire picking her just proves he has good taste. Now look at the girl in our class. All she does is dress like a punk and flirt with boys. She has zero actual brains and acts so arrogant. Just because a blind squirrel found a dead mouse and she lucked into a high score, she actually thinks she’s on the same level as the valedictorian?” I slowly blinked twice, finally realizing exactly what year, month, and day it was. This was the critical juncture where Serena and I had tied for first place in the State Championship, and the school administration was holding a meeting to decide who would get the massive scholarship grant. But in my original timeline… There was absolutely no billionaire sponsor who had studied abroad. In the school’s VIP reception room. The principal was bowing and scraping, pouring tea for the aristocratic billionaire sitting across from him, apologizing profusely with a sycophantic smile: “Mr. Pierce, if you had only told us you were gracing us with your presence, we would have prepared a proper welcome! Look at this place, we have nothing ready. We’ve truly slighted you.” The man’s long fingers casually spun a delicate porcelain teacup. He replied lazily, “It’s fine. I was just passing through today. I wanted to see a familiar face.” A few moments later, the class president sprinted back in to report that Serena Brooks was having terrible period cramps. She was lying in bed in her dorm room in agonizing pain, and she probably wouldn’t be able to give the museum tour today. The principal looked incredibly awkward, asking if he should quickly find a sharper student to take her place. Declan stared at the two identical perfect-score exam papers laid out on the desk. He flipped to the one underneath, saw the aggressively messy signature at the top, raised an eyebrow, and asked, “Hazel?” “Yes, yes, Hazel,” the principal quickly supplied, plastering on a fake smile. “Even though the girl is in the remedial class, her English scores are genuinely top-tier. She actually tied for first place with Serena in the state competition.” “And according to the other students, this girl has been working like a maniac these past few months. She’s up at 5:30 AM every day pacing the hallways memorizing vocabulary! She’s a hardworking kid. Having her give you the tour won’t be a mistake.” The man fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment. “If they tied for first place, why is there only one name—Serena’s—on the scholarship recommendation list?” “Well… about that… to tell you the truth, the school administration is actually about to hold a meeting to discuss that very issue.” Seeing the principal stammering, unable to squeeze out a coherent excuse, Declan couldn’t be bothered to interrogate him further. He was never the type to meddle in other people’s business anyway. Besides, his time in this era was limited. He had a maximum of three days. Declan glanced at his luxury watch and suddenly turned his head to ask his assistant, “What’s the date today?” “August 1st, Mr. Pierce. Do you need something?” Early August. That date didn’t align with his wife’s menstrual cycle. But then he thought about it—she had fallen into the ocean, suffered massive trauma, and lost her memory. It was completely normal for her cycle to be thrown off. Declan dismissed the tiny inconsistency from his mind. The man pondered for a moment before instructing his assistant, “Go to the pharmacy nearby. Buy some brown sugar ginger tea and some heating pads.” “Mr. Pierce, are you intending to…?” the principal asked cautiously, thoroughly confused. The man stood up, smoothed out his immaculate suit, and gave the principal a polite nod. “I’ll skip the history museum. You don’t need to waste your time entertaining me here.” “Since you have a meeting to attend to, I’ll go see Serena Brooks myself. Once I see her, I’ll leave.” When the bell rang, I was staring blankly at my desk. The class president suddenly tapped my shoulder, telling me to get to the faculty office immediately. The moment I pushed the door open, oh boy. It was packed to the brim. The principal, my homeroom teacher, the proctor from the competition, the dean of students, and the kids who sat around me during the exam—they were all standing there. The only person missing was Serena. Ethan was wearing his crisp, tailored Student Council uniform. He still had that arrogant, aloof demeanor, acting like he was above the mortal realm and everyone else was beneath his notice. He shot me a sidelong glance, then pulled up the security footage from the day of the exam on his laptop. He turned the screen so everyone in the room could see it clearly. “Since Serena and Hazel scored the exact same points in the competition, I believe that if we don’t provide irrefutable evidence to settle this, rumors will spread that our school is unjust.” As Ethan spoke, he lifted his eyelids. His gaze hit my face like a blazing spotlight. In my original timeline, ten years ago, I never experienced this kind of brutal, public interrogation. Because by the time I found out the results, the scholarship money had already been wired into Serena’s bank account. I had lost my mind with anger. I ran through a torrential downpour to find Ethan, screaming myself hoarse, demanding to know why he did it. Why did he treat me like that? Was it because we were dating, and he wanted to “avoid a conflict of interest” by sacrificing me? Or was it because my handwriting wasn’t as neat as Serena’s? Or was it because he despised my reputation as a remedial student and was afraid giving me the spot would embarrass the school? Back then, the arrogant, untouchable boy just listened to my hysterical screaming and frowned in annoyance. “Regardless of everything else, she is your cousin. Your aunt and uncle raised you and your mom for years. Now her parents are dead. Can’t you be the bigger person and think about her for once?” “But that’s completely unfair!” That was the first time he ever looked at me with pure, unadulterated disgust. “Then teach me what fairness is! Does the earth revolve around you? Do people have to step aside for you just because you grew up poor?” The justice I had screamed my lungs out for and never received back then… today, he had used a time machine to travel back and graciously bestow it upon me. In the office, the boy’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut like an ice pick. He stared me down, articulating every word with lethal precision: “The moment the audio portion of the exam ended, the proctor announced that all pencils must be put down. Hazel, why were you still holding your pencil?” My breath hitched. My entire body stiffened as if I had been paralyzed. Under the suffocating stares of a dozen pairs of eyes, my fingers slowly curled inward, my nails digging painfully into my palms. I forced out a dry, cracked sentence: “I was just checking to make sure I didn’t bubble the wrong row on the scantron.” “Even if you realized you bubbled it wrong, what were you planning to do?” Ethan’s tone was flat, but his words were a brutal interrogation. “Were you planning to defy the rules and secretly change your answers?” “I wasn’t,” I said, grinding my teeth. The moment those words left my mouth, Ethan slammed my scantron down onto the desk with a sharp smack. His finger tapped heavily on a poorly erased pencil mark, his tone aggressive and unyielding: “On the final, hardest question of the audio section, you clearly bubbled ‘A’. But in the final few seconds before the proctor collected the tests, you suspiciously glanced to your front-left, and guiltily changed your answer to ‘B’—the exact same answer as Serena.” “Hazel, do you admit to this, or not?” The dark, desperate little thoughts I had harbored in the shadows were suddenly ripped out and exposed to the blinding sunlight. I stood there like a mute, refusing to say a word. Ethan delivered his final ultimatum, his eyes looking like they wanted to carve me open. “Is it true, or is it not?” In this spacious office, so quiet you could hear a pin drop, my eyes were glued to the floorboards. My throat was impossibly dry. It took an eternity to force out one word: “No.” In the face of ironclad evidence like security footage, all my denials felt pathetic and weak. But I remained incredibly stubborn, squeezing the words through my teeth: “I absolutely did not look at Serena’s test.” “I was just looking at the clock on the wall, trying to see if I had enough time to correct my answer.” “Looking at the clock? Hazel, do you honestly think any of the teachers or administrators here believe a ridiculous lie like that?” Ethan pressed his attack, looking as though he wouldn’t rest until the label of ‘cheater’ was permanently branded onto my forehead. I suddenly felt like the man standing in front of me was a complete stranger. “Didn’t you tell me this yourself? Ethan.” “The broken clock on our school wall is exactly thirty seconds faster than standard time.” My eyes turned red. My palms were slick with cold sweat. I stared him down, demanding an answer from his own mouth. —This was exactly what Ethan had told me after a monthly exam, pointing at his expensive mechanical watch. He had even joked that one day, he could use that thirty-second discrepancy to blindly guess one more multiple-choice question. A deathly silence spread across the office. The arrogant boy’s breathing suddenly hitched. Slowly, he pressed his lips into a tight, thin line. This time, for the first time ever, he didn’t instantly jump to contradict me. Just as the suffocating stalemate reached its breaking point. A student suddenly burst through the door from outside, completely out of breath. “Principal! The billionaire sponsor, Mr. Pierce, just came back from Serena’s dorm room! He says he wants to see you one more time before he leaves!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399961”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve been at this company for three years, and I’ve never worked a single minute of overtime. The first time I stayed late, old man Miller in the cubicle next to me died of a massive heart attack. The second time I worked overtime, Sarah, the senior associate who trained me, “accidentally” fell down the emergency stairwell. The third time, Maria, our sweet cleaning lady, was electrocuted in the breakroom. After that, the whole office knew the unwritten rule: whenever I worked overtime, someone died. No one dared to work on my floor. Management moved my desk into a private, isolated glass office. During a company-wide meeting, the higher-ups explicitly announced: “Under no circumstances is anyone to disturb Chloe during her working hours. When she leaves at 5 PM, she leaves.” And just like that, I coasted through three years of stress-free employment, collecting my paycheck while doing the bare minimum. Until the new corporate VP was parachuted in. “Chloe Vance!” When he barked my name, the entire conference room went dead silent. “Stand up!” I stood up. He picked up the top sheet of paper from his folder and snapped it loudly. “Employed for three years. Overtime hours logged: Zero.” He waved the paper for everyone to see. “Three years. Over a thousand working days! Zero overtime! Can anyone in this room tell me why?!” No one breathed. He stepped down from the podium, marched over to me, and stared me down. “Why is it that out of over a hundred employees in this branch, you are the only one who doesn’t have to put in extra hours? Do you have an extra pair of hands? Or are you just doing half the work of everyone else?” “Mr. Sterling,” I said calmly. “It’s company policy. I am exempt from overtime.” “Policy?” He let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Let me make something crystal clear. As of right now, there is only one policy in this branch: What I say, goes.” He raised his hand, pointing a finger an inch from my nose. “You are working overtime tonight. If you don’t, don’t bother coming in tomorrow.” “Mr. Sterling,” I replied softly. “If I work overtime, someone is going to die.” The conference room froze for a full second. Then, he burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he actually bent over. When he finally straightened up, he pointed at me, looking at the rest of the staff. “Did you all hear that? She says someone is going to die! Chloe, who hasn’t worked late in three years, claims that if she stays past 5 PM, the Grim Reaper shows up.” He turned back to me, leaning in close. “Chloe, let me tell you something. I’ve been climbing the corporate ladder for twenty years. I’ve seen every scam, every lazy excuse, and every ghost story employees invent to get out of doing their jobs. You can preach doom and gloom until your face turns blue, but you are working overtime tonight!” He took a step back and raised his voice. “And you’re not doing it alone!” He pointed to the Head of Security, who was shrinking into a corner. “You. You’re staying with her tonight. If anything happens, it’s on your head!” The Security Chief’s face instantly drained of all color. “Mr. Sterling,” I said. “Don’t make him stay. I don’t want to be responsible for getting him hurt.” He paused for a second, then his laughter grew even louder and crueler. “Hurt? Chloe, who the hell do you think you are? The Angel of Death?” He grabbed the Security Chief by the arm and dragged him forward. “You two, tonight. Together. I want to see just how cursed you really are. If someone actually drops dead, I’ll take full responsibility.” The conference room was as silent as a tomb. He clapped his hands sharply. “Meeting adjourned. Tonight, 7:00 PM. Chloe, Security Chief. Be at your desks. Anyone who doesn’t show, you’re fired.” He was absolutely certain I wouldn’t quit. He knew I needed this job to survive. As the crowd filed out, Linda from Accounting brushed past me and discreetly grabbed my hand. Her fingers were freezing. “Chloe, please be careful.” I gave her a small nod. At 6:50 PM, I swiped my badge at the front desk. The Security Chief, Dave, was already sitting there. He was in his late forties, huddled in his chair. When he saw me walk in, he practically jumped out of his skin. “C-Chloe…” his voice trembled. “Um… is something really going to happen tonight?” “It’s fine,” I said. “Just stay in your seat. No matter what you see or hear, do not move.” At 7:00 PM on the dot, the elevator pinged. Tristan Sterling stepped out. When he saw me, a smug smile spread across his face. “Well, well. You actually showed up. I figured you’d call in sick with some mysterious illness.” I didn’t respond. He walked up to me, looking me up and down. “I looked into your file, Chloe. Three years ago, right after you were hired, someone died on your floor. Since then, there have been two more ‘accidents.’ And every single time, you were the only one working late.” He took a sip from his iced coffee. “Do you honestly expect me to buy that? That because you stay late, someone else magically drops dead? You Gen-Z kids trying to ‘disrupt workplace culture’ with ghost stories are pathetic.” “Mr. Sterling,” I said evenly. “Whether you believe it or not doesn’t matter.” “Oh? Then what does matter?” “What matters,” I said, locking eyes with him, “is that you are also here tonight.” He froze for a second, then scoffed. “Fine. I’ll be right here watching. Let’s see what kind of cheap parlor tricks you try to pull.” He turned and walked toward the executive offices, but paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Chloe, you sit at your desk and revise that Q3 marketing proposal. I’m leaving my office door open. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” I sat down and logged into my computer. Dave, the Security Chief, remained glued to his chair at the reception desk, stiff as a board. The minutes ticked by. At 7:30 PM, the overhead lights flickered. Dave looked up at the ceiling, swallowing hard. At 8:00 PM, the entire floor went pitch black. In the darkness, I heard Tristan curse loudly from his office. Five seconds later, the emergency backup lights kicked on. Tristan was standing in his doorway, looking irritated. “Faulty wiring,” he announced to the empty floor. “Building maintenance says they’re looking into it.” I didn’t say a word. At 8:30 PM, the elevator chimed. The doors slid open. It was completely empty. Tristan marched over, stuck his head inside, and then walked back. “Someone probably pressed the wrong button,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its previous arrogant edge. At 10:00 PM, I finished the proposal. I packed up my bag, ready to leave. Just as I reached the main glass doors of our suite, a blood-curdling scream echoed through the office. It came from Tristan’s office. I sprinted back. Tristan was slumped in his executive chair, his face as white as a sheet. His eyes were bulging in terror, and his shaking finger was pointing at the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk. “The window… outside the window…” Dave was standing in the doorway, his knees visibly shaking. I walked over and looked at the window. It was the 12th floor. There was absolutely nothing outside but the dark city skyline. I turned to look at him. He was convulsing, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to form a single word. “Mr. Sterling, what did you see?” I asked. He stared at me, his eyes widening further in sheer horror. “Someone…” his voice sounded like it was being choked out of his throat. “Someone was looking at me…” “Who?” Tristan didn’t answer. Even as the paramedics loaded him onto the stretcher, he was still blindly repeating: “The window… someone was outside the window…” Dave stood nearby, his legs trembling so violently he had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing. I stood by the office entrance, watching the ambulance speed away into the night. As I turned to leave, I cast one final glance at Tristan’s window. Pressed against the glass, faintly illuminated by the city lights, were three distinct, foggy handprints. I stared at them for three seconds. Then, I turned and walked away. The next morning, the moment I walked into the office breakroom, it was absolute chaos. Linda from Accounting rushed over, grabbing my hand. Her palms were slick with sweat. “Chloe! I heard something happened last night! Mr. Sterling was taken away in an ambulance?!” “Yeah.” “Did… did someone die again?” “No one died. He was just taken to the ER.” She let out a massive sigh of relief, but immediately dropped her voice to a frantic whisper. “I knew it! I told everyone, whenever you work overtime, the Reaper comes knocking! It’s been exactly the same since three years ago!” Mary, our HR manager, leaned in, her eyes wide. “Do you guys think… do you think they came back?” The breakroom instantly fell dead silent. Every single pair of eyes locked onto me. I didn’t say a word. I just took a slow sip of my coffee. Jake, a developer from IT, pushed his way into the circle. “I don’t think it’s anything supernatural. There has to be a logical pattern. Like… maybe Chloe has some weird electromagnetic field around her? Like she attracts bad energy when she’s stressed from overtime?” Linda’s eyes lit up. “Yes! My grandmother used to say some people have ‘heavy souls’—they clash with the spirits around them and cause…” “No,” Mary shook her head. “I was working late the night old man Miller died. Why didn’t anything happen to me?” Jake chimed in again. “Maybe it’s the floor? The 12th floor has always felt off.” “Sarah fell down the stairs from the 13th floor,” someone else pointed out. The breakroom devolved into a frenzy of overlapping voices and wild theories. Some said I had a dark aura that attracted malicious entities. Others claimed my desk was situated on some cursed architectural lay line. One guy suggested the building was constructed over a mob graveyard. Someone even pulled me aside and whispered, “Chloe… can you… see dead people?” I looked at him and said nothing. The theories were getting increasingly ridiculous, but none of them could explain why the victims were always different people, dying at different times, in different places. Except for the one unifying factor. Every time I worked overtime, someone died. They debated it all morning, coming to zero conclusions. The next day, Tristan was discharged from the hospital. The very first thing he did upon entering the office was storm into the security control room. “Pull up the surveillance footage from that night! All of it!” Dave, still looking pale, sat with him as they reviewed the footage, frame by frame. The elevator doors opening. Empty. Me sitting at my desk, drinking coffee, typing on my keyboard. Nothing out of the ordinary. Tristan rewatched that specific timeframe dozens of times. “Is this it?” he demanded. “That’s everything,” Dave confirmed. Tristan sat in silence for a long time. Then he stood up and marched out of the security room. From my desk, I watched him approach. “Chloe. My office. Now.” I stood up and followed him in. He slammed the door shut and locked it. Then he spun around, glaring at me with predatory intensity. “Who the hell are you really?” I met his gaze calmly. “I’m just Chloe, Mr. Sterling.” “Bullshit!” He took a step toward me. “You know something. That night… I know what I saw that night!” “And what did you see?” He opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. I let out a small, quiet laugh. “What did you see, Mr. Sterling?” He still couldn’t say it. I smiled, turned around, and walked toward the door. “Chloe, stop right there!” his voice barked behind me. I didn’t stop. Immediately after, he called an impromptu all-hands meeting. He stood at the front of the room. “Listen up. I know there are some ridiculous rumors circulating the office these past few days,” he said, scanning the crowd. “Regarding my brief hospital visit, it was a simple medical anomaly. I was overworked, severely dehydrated, and experienced a minor panic attack resulting in hallucinations. I psyched myself out.” A few people muttered skeptically, but he pretended not to hear. “The office is returning to normal operations. Mandatory overtime is reinstated for all active projects.” He locked eyes with me. “Chloe, you’re working overtime again tonight.” I stood up. “Mr. Sterling, I refuse.” The conference room went dead silent. He smirked. “Refuse? What gives you the right to refuse a direct managerial order?” “Mr. Sterling,” I said, enunciating every syllable. “I do not want anyone else to get hurt. Or die.” “Hurt?” He laughed loudly. “Did anyone die during our last overtime session? I had a mild panic attack, nothing more. Your little ‘overtime curse’ myth is officially busted.” I stared at him, saying nothing. Whispers broke out across the room. “He’s right, nobody actually died this time…” “Mr. Sterling is fine, Dave is fine…” “Maybe the curse really is just a coincidence?” Right at that moment, a blood-curdling shriek pierced the air. It was Mary from HR. She was standing near the back of the room, her face drained of all blood, pointing a shaking finger toward the dark, cluttered corner near the breakroom entrance. “T-There…” Every head in the room whipped around to follow her trembling finger. The corner was stacked with old cardboard boxes and a broken water cooler. Poking out from behind the bottom box was a hand. A pale, lifeless, grayish-blue hand. The conference room erupted into sheer chaos. People were screaming, scrambling toward the exit, tripping over chairs. A few people’s legs completely gave out, leaving them sobbing on the carpet. Tristan’s face turned the color of ash, but he forced himself to take a step forward. “Don’t panic! Nobody panic! Call 911! Get the police here!” The police arrived within minutes. The area was cordoned off with yellow tape, and the entire floor was evacuated to the lobby downstairs. I stood in the crowd, watching the red and blue police lights flash against the glass facade of the building. Two hours later, the news broke. The victim was a senior developer from the IT department. His last name was Wang. He was a quiet, unassuming guy who mostly kept to himself. The medical examiner’s preliminary ruling was sudden cardiac arrest, pending a full autopsy. But the time of death had already been established. It was the exact night of my overtime shift. The lobby exploded with terrified murmurs. “He died yesterday?! But… that was the night Chloe stayed late!” “Oh my god, he was still in the building that night!” “That corner is a blind spot, no one ever goes back there…” I stood perfectly still in the center of the chaotic lobby. The crowd instinctively backed away from me, leaving me standing alone in an empty circle. I heard someone whisper, “Chloe’s overtime… it really is a death sentence…” “And this time, it was someone from her own department…” I lifted my head and looked for Tristan. He was standing near the revolving doors. I walked straight through the parted crowd until I stood directly in front of him. Everyone was watching me. I stopped, looking dead into his eyes. “Mr. Sterling.” He instinctively took a step backward. “Do you still want me to work overtime?” He didn’t say a single word. I looked at him, waited for three agonizingly long seconds. Then I turned and walked out the door. A suffocating silence trailed behind me. But I knew this wasn’t over. Sure enough, three days later, Tristan called another meeting. He stood at the podium, his face looking haggard and gray. “Everyone,” he began, his voice gravelly. “I am aware of the rumors surrounding the recent tragedy. I have personally reviewed the police reports.” He paused, swallowing hard. “It was a tragic medical anomaly. An accident.” The conference room was silent. No one believed him, but no one had the courage to say it. He looked directly at me. “Chloe. You are working overtime again tonight.” I stood up slowly. “Mr. Sterling, did you completely ignore what I said last time?” He offered a tight, forced smile. It looked more like a grimace. “I heard you. But the company has urgent deadlines, and we need you to deliver.” Hearing that, I couldn’t help but laugh. “The company needs me to die? Or do you just need more collateral damage?” Several people in the room audibly gasped. He took a step toward me, his voice hardening. “Chloe, you haven’t worked a single hour of overtime in three years, yet you’ve collected your full salary every month. This company has accommodated you long enough. Now, when we need you to put in some extra hours, you drag your feet and hide behind ghost stories. Do you really think this ‘curse’ is real?” “Mr. Sterling,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “My overtime kills people. Did you already forget about Wang?” A muscle in his jaw twitched violently. “That was a medical tragedy. The coroner confirmed it was a fatal heart defect. It had absolutely nothing to do with you. Stop inflating your own ego.” “Is that so?” I stared at him. He stared back. “Tonight. 8:00 PM,” he ordered. “You are working overtime. I will be the only other person on the floor. If anything happens, it’s on me.” “You’ll take responsibility?” “I’ll take full responsibility.” I smiled. “Fine.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399960”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night before my wedding, I was scrolling through a local Reddit forum and stumbled upon a trending post. [Tomorrow is my wedding day. I secretly swapped my fiancé’s daily vitamins with heavy sleeping pills so my adopted brother can take his place at the altar. How do I stop feeling guilty?] The comments section was an absolute bloodbath of people cursing out the original poster (OP), but she remained arrogantly unapologetic. [I’ve always loved my adopted brother anyway. If it wasn’t for the fact that my fiancé is the true heir, and marrying him is the only way I can secure the corporate funding I need, who would actually want to marry that naive idiot?] [He loves me to death anyway. Once the deed is done and the marriage is consummated, I’ll just sweet-talk him a little, and he’ll gladly hand over his entire family fortune to me.] Someone in the comments asked what she would do if her fiancé refused to let it go. The OP replied casually: [Then I’ll just let Liam suffer a little bit and take the idiot into my home as a second husband. Once I rebuild my empire, I’ll orchestrate a trap to bankrupt his family, then throw the idiot onto the streets to beg for scraps as an apology to Liam.] The internet was outraged, furiously condemning the OP for being a treacherous, ungrateful snake. Suddenly, I noticed a very familiar profile picture “like” the OP’s comment. [He stole everything that rightfully belonged to me anyway. Once I successfully take his place at the wedding, not only will his bride be mine, but his billion-dollar dowry will be mine too!] His profile picture was a matching set with the OP’s. It was a photo of the custom plush dolls sitting on the nightstand of the “fake heir” who lived in my house. I picked up the bottle of vitamins on my nightstand and swallowed a pill without a second of hesitation. What they didn’t know was… their grand master plan was celebrating a little too early. The next day, I slept until the sun was high in the sky before finally rubbing my temples and walking out of my bedroom. I ran right into my mother in the hallway. Tears were still glistening in the corners of her eyes. When she saw me, she froze for two full seconds before gasping aloud, “Arthur?! What are you doing here?!” My dad heard the commotion and hurried over. He looked at me, then looked out the window at the wedding motorcade that was already driving away in the distance. He looked thoroughly confused. “If you’re here, then who just got into the Sterling family’s wedding car?” I put on a flawless mask of utter confusion. “What do you mean? What happened?” “Yesterday, my brother gave me a new bottle of vitamins. After I took them, I felt incredibly dizzy and just slept until now.” Instantly, the festive, joyous atmosphere in the mansion evaporated. The servants and family members exchanged bewildered glances. My mom was the first to react. Her face turned to pure ice. She reached out and violently grabbed the arm of Maria, our head housekeeper, who was discreetly trying to back away. “I was wondering why a mere housekeeper was crying harder than the groom’s actual mother when the wedding car left! It turns out the person you just sent off to get married was your own fake son!” Maria instinctively recoiled, her eyes darting nervously around the room as she stammered. “M-Madam, whatever do you mean?” “The Young Master overslept on his own! How can you blame that on me?” My dad stood to the side, barking a furious order to the security detail. “What are you standing around for?! Go catch that ungrateful bastard Liam and drag him back here right now!” Just as the words left his mouth, our estate manager came rushing up the stairs, panting heavily. “S-Sir… The Sterling family… the wedding ceremony has already concluded.” My mom let out a cold, furious scoff. “So what if the ceremony is over?! Do you think a sparrow can magically turn into a phoenix just because it wears a suit?! A fake is a fake!” With that, she ordered the security team to follow her and marched straight toward the Sterling family’s wedding venue. I lowered my eyes and obediently followed behind my parents. But in my heart, I was laughing coldly. I knew it wasn’t just a simple matter of the ceremony being over. When our two families were planning the wedding, Victoria Sterling had fiercely insisted on a highly traditional, old-fashioned ceremony. She claimed that the Sterlings were a family with centuries of history, and it was a strict ancestral rule. Looking back on it now, she had premeditated this entire thing. In those traditional ceremonies, the groom’s face is heavily veiled throughout the procession, making it incredibly easy for Liam to pull a bait-and-switch. Calculating the time, by now, the deed was definitely done, and the marriage had been consummated. Standing nearby, Maria could barely suppress the triumphant, victorious smirk playing on her lips. Seeing that, I was absolutely certain. The trap had been sprung. When I was just a baby in the hospital nursery, Maria had intentionally swapped me with her own son, Liam. It wasn’t until we were ten years old that Liam suffered a severe fall. A routine blood test at the hospital revealed the horrifying truth: he was a fake. My parents spent an astronomical amount of money and resources to finally track me down and bring me home. But because they had raised Liam for a decade, my parents were kind-hearted. They allowed the fake son and his biological mother to remain living on the estate. They never imagined they were harboring a viper in their own home. Liam had always believed that because of me, he lost his title and glory as the eldest son of a billionaire dynasty. That twisted resentment was what drove him to concoct this disgusting, underhanded scheme. Even if I caught them in the act, my family was one of the most powerful, elite dynasties in Manhattan. They calculated that to protect my family’s reputation and avoid a massive public scandal, I would be forced to swallow this humiliating insult and stay quiet. While I was lost in thought, our group arrived at the doors of the lavish bridal suite that Victoria had supposedly prepared exclusively for me. The wedding guests, sensing the drama, had followed us upstairs and were crowding around the hallway to watch the show. The heavy oak doors were violently kicked open. Inside the room, a disheveled Victoria panicked, frantically grabbing a discarded tuxedo jacket to cover the naked man beneath her. Her face turned as black as storm clouds as she screamed at us, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Invading our privacy on our wedding night?! Have you lost your minds?!” My mom let out a sharp sneer. She took quick, purposeful strides forward and violently ripped away the tuxedo jacket that was covering half of Liam’s face. “Your wedding night? Open your damn eyes and look closely! Who exactly is the groom?!” My mom pointed a trembling finger at me, putting on an Oscar-worthy performance of absolute shock. “Liam?! Why are you in that bed?!” The moment the crowd saw Liam’s face, the hallway erupted into utter chaos. “Wait, isn’t the guy in the bed the fake son who got exposed years ago? Why is he in the Sterling heiress’s bed?!” My dad let out a cold, booming laugh. “I apologize for making you all witness this circus. The man in that bed is the son of our housekeeper. We raised him out of the goodness of our hearts for over two decades. And now, blinded by vanity and greed, he stole his brother’s wedding and is disgracing himself right here in front of everyone.” Victoria frantically pulled the duvet up, trying to cover Liam’s pale, naked body. Her brows knitted together in intense annoyance. “Arthur Sterling! When are you going to stop throwing this tantrum?!” “You overslept and missed the ceremony! Liam only took your place at the altar to protect your family’s reputation!” “I had too much to drink earlier, so I didn’t recognize him in the dark. But now that we’ve slept together, I have to take responsibility for Liam.” “Anyway, you’re both sons of your family. It doesn’t matter which one of you I marry; it won’t affect the corporate merger between our families.” “I know you’re desperately in love with me, and you brought all these people here to cause a scene because you want to switch back.” “Don’t worry. Even if I stay married to Liam, I can guarantee that the position of the Sterling family’s primary heir will forever belong to the child you and I have together.” “There. Are you satisfied now?” My dad was grinding his teeth so hard they looked ready to shatter. “Arthur is the sole, legitimate heir to my family! You were caught sleeping with another man on your wedding day, and now you have the audacity to humiliate him like this?!” I forced my eyes to turn red, letting a pool of unshed tears gather in my lower lashes. My mom pulled me into her arms, looking heartbroken, while my dad stood protectively in front of us. He turned to me and said, “Arthur, don’t worry. Dad will get justice for you!” The guests were whispering furiously, casting looks of absolute disgust at the people in the bed. “Did I hear that right? His family is one of the most respected, powerful dynasties in New York, and the Sterling heiress wants the legitimate heir to act as her secret sidepiece?” “The real heir is over six feet tall and built like an athlete. The fake son is short and scrawny. How drunk would the Sterling heiress have to be to mistake the two of them in bed?” Hearing the crowd’s mockery, Victoria frowned deeply in displeasure. She looked at me as if I were an irrational, hysterical child throwing a baseless tantrum. “Arthur, it’s just a minor hiccup. I already promised you that your child will be my primary heir. If you want to move into the Sterling mansion later, I won’t stop you.” “Why are you being so relentless? Dragging all these people here to make us a laughingstock… you are being completely unreasonable!” Looking at her arrogant, self-righteous face, I was so angry I actually laughed! She wanted to use my family’s wealth to throw a century-defining wedding for her and the fake son, and then expected me to willingly play the “other man,” ensuring my future child would be born as a dirty, illegitimate secret. What massive, delusional audacity! The Sterling family’s ancestors had been brilliant, but by her generation, the dynasty was nothing but a rotting, hollow shell hiding behind a gilded exterior. If it weren’t for the arranged marriage pact made by our grandfathers, and the massive financial backing my family provided, her name would have been wiped from the Manhattan elite registry a long time ago. And Victoria actually thought she could have her cake and eat it too, enjoying a harem of men. She was absolutely dreaming! My dad was so furious he started laughing. “The Sterling family has barely enjoyed a few days of luxury, and you’ve already forgotten how you used my family’s money to claw your way out of bankruptcy?” Victoria’s grandmother, the matriarch of the Sterling family, hurriedly pushed her way through the crowd to run damage control. “Now, now, what kind of talk is that?” “Planning a wedding is exhausting. Victoria has been working herself to the bone for a month. It’s totally understandable that she had a momentary lapse in judgment today.” “It’s just a simple misunderstanding. Once we talk it out, everything will be fine.” My family had always been cautious. A month before the wedding, my parents had hired a private investigator to look into Victoria. The night before the wedding, the PI handed me a thick stack of explicit photos of Victoria and Liam hooking up. I was shocked, furious, but mostly, in disbelief. Until I stumbled upon that viral Reddit post. I abruptly woke up to reality. Victoria wasn’t just cheating; she was plotting to use my family’s immense wealth as a stepping stone to rebuild her empire. And once my family outlived our usefulness, she was going to orchestrate our bankruptcy and destroy us. I was absolutely not going to let her vicious scheme succeed. Hearing the grandmother’s excuses, my mom let out a cold scoff. “Mrs. Sterling, do you think everyone in my family is a complete idiot?” “Arthur was brought back to our estate when he was ten. He and your granddaughter grew up in the same social circles. No matter how ‘exhausted’ she was, how could she possibly mistake the man she’s known for over a decade in her own bed?” Hearing this, Liam hurriedly threw on a silk bathrobe, dropped to his knees with a loud thud in front of the crowd, and began crying beautifully, like a tragic victim in a movie. “Mom, it’s all my fault! My brother overslept! I was so terrified our family would be humiliated, so I took it upon myself to put on the tuxedo!” He turned his head to look at me, tears streaming down his face, his voice breaking. “Brother, it’s all my fault! But no matter what happened, Victoria and I are already legally married! If you keep causing a scene like this, you’re the one throwing away our family’s reputation! Even if you don’t care about me, don’t you care about the family that gave you life?!” His eyes were bloodshot. He looked so pitiful and wronged, as if he were the victim of a massive injustice, completely erasing the fact that he was the one who conspired to sleep with the bride. Instead, I was the villain who was embarrassing the family by demanding justice. Right at that moment, the private investigator I had contacted earlier arrived, handing a thick envelope to my dad. “Sir, I’m afraid this situation is far darker than it seems.” My dad ripped the envelope open. Inside were the explicit photos I had obtained earlier. In photo after photo, Victoria and Liam were engaged in degrading, humiliating sexual acts, completely disregarding any basic sense of human decency or morality. My dad’s face turned beet red with rage. He violently hurled the stack of photos onto the bed. “What else does the Sterling family have to say for themselves?!” “Mrs. Sterling! If your granddaughter was in love with our housekeeper’s son, she could have just said so! There was absolutely no need to orchestrate this disgusting circus on her wedding day to humiliate my son!” “The corporate merger is terminated immediately! My family is pulling all our funding from the Sterling Corporation!” The moment my dad’s words hit the air, the Sterling matriarch’s face went ghastly white. Without my family’s massive capital injections, the Sterling Corporation’s supply chain would instantly collapse, leaving them drowning in astronomical debt. The matriarch swung her hand and delivered a brutal, resounding slap directly across Victoria’s face. “Look at what you’ve done! Look at the disaster you’ve caused!” With that, she pointed a trembling finger at Liam. “Guards! Grab this filthy stray dog and throw him out into the street!” Victoria covered her stinging cheek, shooting me a glare so venomous and hateful it felt like she wanted to skin me alive. In her twisted mind, I—the victim—had become the villain who ruined her wedding and destroyed her relationship with her grandmother. She shielded Liam behind her, stubbornly locking eyes with the matriarch. “Grandma! Liam and I grew up together. We’re truly in love! If Arthur hadn’t shamelessly begged and forced me to marry him, Liam and I would have been together years ago!” She shot me a look of absolute, unadulterated contempt. “Arthur is arrogant, spoiled, and completely unworthy of being the husband of the Sterling CEO. I already promised him that his child would inherit everything! What right does he have to drag all these people here to throw a tantrum, humiliating both our families?!” Looking at her shameless, delusional face, my stomach churned with disgust and profound regret. How could I have ever been blindly devoted to someone this vile? I stared coldly at the adulterous couple, mercilessly ripping away their last shred of dignity. “So what you’re saying is… you two conspired to swap my daily vitamins with heavy sedatives, causing me to oversleep and miss the ceremony, and you genuinely believe you did both our families a massive favor?” “I simply accompanied my parents here to cancel this pathetic circus, and suddenly I’m the criminal ruining both families’ reputations?” I leaned forward, locking eyes with both of them, and spoke in a voice loud enough for every single person in the room to hear clearly: “If you two were so madly in love, why didn’t you just announce it from the beginning?” “Was it because you specifically wanted to trample my family’s dignity into the dirt? Or was it because you didn’t just want a wedding… you wanted to steal every single penny of my family’s entire fortune?!” The faces of the two people in front of me instantly drained of all color, turning as white as paper. Victoria’s eyes darted around nervously as she stammered, “What… what nonsense are you talking about?!” Tears streamed down Liam’s face as his voice trembled. “Brother, just because you couldn’t win the heart of the woman you love, why must you falsely accuse me out of jealousy? I genuinely love Victoria!” I tapped my phone screen once. Instantly, the link to the viral Reddit post from last night was Airdropped and texted to every single person in the room. The guests clicked the link. The entire horrific plot was laid bare for everyone to see. “What a disgusting pair of sociopaths! Using such filthy, underhanded methods to climb the social ladder, and then plotting to destroy their benefactors! Absolute scum!” “Doing something this vile and then bragging about it on the internet? If that was my kid, I’d strangle him myself to save the family from ruin!” Some people directed their crosshairs entirely at Victoria. “The Sterling heiress really has absolutely zero shame. If she wanted the housekeeper’s son, she should have just married him.” “Orchestrating this entire trap… it was obviously for the dowry, right? Plotting to steal their family fortune, while simultaneously forcing the legitimate heir to act as her secret sidepiece… Does she think our elite social circles are entirely populated by idiots?!” The Sterling matriarch trembled with apocalyptic rage. She swung her hand and delivered another brutal slap to Victoria’s face. Victoria’s head snapped to the side, but she still instinctively wrapped her arms around Liam to protect him. Seeing this, the matriarch was consumed by fury and despair, clutching her chest. “You ungrateful, rebellious child! When are you going to wake up?! You still refuse to repent?!” “Crawl over to your father-in-law and mother-in-law right now! Beg for their forgiveness! Throw that filthy stray out of this room immediately, and finish the wedding ceremony with Arthur properly!” With that, she turned to me, her face plastered with a desperate, fawning smile, and reached out to grab my hand. I didn’t change my expression. I simply took a half-step backward, smoothly dodging her grasp. The matriarch’s smile froze for a second before she doubled down on her groveling. “Arthur, my dear boy, this is entirely our fault. I failed to discipline my granddaughter properly.” “As her grandmother, I am personally apologizing to you. Whatever you want, the Sterling family will give it to you.” “I promise you, nothing like this will ever, ever happen again.” At that exact moment, Victoria straightened her back, her face a mask of absolute, stubborn defiance. “Grandma! The man I love is Liam! In this lifetime, the only man who will ever sit in the seat of the CEO’s husband is him!” “We aren’t even married yet, and Arthur is already acting this arrogant and disrespectful! He has zero respect for our family!” “If you force me to marry a man like him, it will literally kill me!” “If it weren’t for the sake of our family’s alliance, even touching that naive idiot would make me sick! Me being willing to give him a child was already an act of supreme charity!” “If he doesn’t know what’s good for him, then he can enjoy being the laughingstock of all of Manhattan! A man whose engagement was canceled in public… he’s lower than a pool boy! Who would ever dare to marry him now?!” I looked coldly at the woman I had deemed the love of my life since I was ten years old. Fourteen years of history. I had given her almost everything a person could possibly give. Two years ago, when the old Mr. Sterling passed away, the stunningly mediocre Victoria took over as CEO of the Sterling Corporation. Within three short months, she managed to offend more than half of their primary investors. Not only did she completely botch the corporation’s flagship project, but despite the fierce opposition of her entire board of directors, she aggressively poured money into over a dozen ventures that were guaranteed to fail. In just six months, the Sterling dynasty—which had taken a century to build—had its supply chains completely ruptured and was drowning in billions of dollars of debt. The Sterling family liquidated their assets, but they still couldn’t cover the deficit. Seeing a century-old legacy about to burn to the ground, I begged my father to step in and save the Sterling Corporation from declaring bankruptcy. At the time, Victoria had knelt in front of my father, weeping hysterically, swearing that she would never betray me in this lifetime. She swore that between us, there would only ever be death, never separation. Relying entirely on my family’s immense resources and connections across multiple industries, Victoria was able to bring the Sterling family back from the brink of death in just two years. Now, before the Sterling family had even stabilized their footing in the elite circles of Manhattan, she was already impatient to force me into being her illegitimate sidepiece. The guests in the room looked at her like she was completely clinically insane. Everyone in the room knew that while the corporation technically bore the name “Sterling,” aside from Victoria holding the empty title of CEO, the company essentially belonged entirely to my family. A woman who relied completely on her fiancé’s money to maintain her billionaire lifestyle… where did she find the audacity to provoke her literal financial lifeline like this? But Victoria was completely oblivious. She genuinely believed that I was still desperately, unconditionally obsessed with her, just like before. Seeing my silence, she tightened her grip around Liam’s waist. “Arthur, if you get down on your knees and bash your head against the floor three times right now, I might be generous enough to forgive your childish tantrum.” “Otherwise, you will never even get the chance to give me a child, let alone move into the Sterling estate!” Looking at her arrogant, delusional, nauseating face, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. An idiot like this… whoever wants her can have her. A man destined for greatness doesn’t walk into a cursed house. My dad let out a freezing, booming scoff. “The absolute treasure of our family… do you really think you are worthy of even speaking his name?” “This wedding is canceled.” “In the future, if Arthur ever wants a wife, there are countless brilliant, elite women in New York who would line up around the block for him. If he never wants to marry, I will gladly support him for the rest of his life.” With that, he clapped his hands three times. His voice dropped to a dark, commanding baritone as he ordered his security detail: “Men! Pack up every single piece of my son’s dowry and load it back into the trucks!” “The two hundred briefcases of cash, the equity shares in twenty different tech firms, the ten custom Rolls-Royces, the thirty luxury properties across eight different countries… and the three billion dollars in liquid cash wired into the Sterling corporate accounts. Claw every single penny of it back! Do not leave a single cent behind!” The sheer, astronomical magnitude of my dowry made the entire room gasp in collective shock. “The Sterling family is completely finished. Without his family’s money, the Sterlings aren’t even a hollow shell!” “Throwing away a billion-dollar empire for the son of a housekeeper… she is literally as stupid as a pig!” Liam screamed in pure, unadulterated panic. “No! That dowry belongs to me!” My mom stepped forward and delivered a brutal, resounding slap directly across his face. “Our family only has one legitimate son! You think you are worthy of dreaming about that dowry?! If you want a dowry, go ask your housekeeper mother for it!” My family’s private security team flooded into the room, preparing to confiscate the assets. “Hold it right there!” Victoria stood up, using her body to block the security team. “Father-in-law, have you conveniently forgotten the prenuptial agreement our families signed during the engagement?” “Only if I betray a son of your family do you have the right to withdraw your funding. Otherwise, not only does this entire dowry belong to the Sterling family, but your family is also legally obligated to surrender all your corporate equity to us!” “Liam’s name is legally registered under your family’s household. At the end of the day, he is technically a son of your family. Everyone in this room is a witness! The Sterling family kept our promise! It is your family that is breaching the contract!” Legally, her words were flawless. My dad was so furious the blood rushed to his head; he clutched his chest, gasping heavily for air. My mom’s eyes were blood-red. She wanted to fight for justice, but Victoria’s airtight legal defense left her completely speechless. Liam twisted his waist, leaning seductively against Victoria’s chest, smiling with absolute, victorious arrogance. “Brother, it doesn’t matter if Mom and Dad refuse to acknowledge me. What matters is that I am now the legally recognized husband of the Sterling CEO.” “If you’re willing to drop to your knees right now, bark like a dog, crawl through my legs, and entertain me… for the sake of the family that raised me, I might be generous enough to get Dad a job as a security guard.” “Consider your dowry a tribute to me, the legitimate husband. It will all be transferred directly into my personal accounts.” The Sterling family’s private security violently shoved me aside. It looked as though my entire dowry was about to be swallowed whole by the Sterling family. My mom, enraged, tried to physically block them, but the Sterling guards, emboldened by their sudden power, shoved her hard, sending her crashing to the floor.

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I was seven months pregnant. After my prenatal checkup, I dozed off in the passenger seat on the ride home. When I woke up, the baby in my belly was gone. I instantly freaked out, but my husband just smiled at me with absolute adoration. “Still half-asleep? You were never pregnant, honey. What baby?” I thought it was a sick joke and forced him to turn the car around and speed back to the hospital. But the nurses said I was there for a routine physical, not a prenatal exam. The OB-GYN shook her head and swore she had never seen me in her life. Even my own mother called me, her voice red and teary. “Sweetheart, is the stress of trying to conceive getting to you? Why don’t we go see a psychiatrist?” But just two hours ago, I had literally watched the tiny, beating heart of my child on the ultrasound monitor. How could a seven-month pregnancy just vanish into thin air like a magic trick? I refused to believe I was crazy. I called the cops, demanded security footage, and tore through the clinic’s records. There was absolutely zero trace of my pregnancy or my checkups. Everyone was convinced I had lost my mind. In a haze of heavy sedatives and utter despair, I slipped and fell from the hospital roof. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the morning of my prenatal checkup. 1 “Chloe, time to get up. We can’t be late for your checkup today.” Mark’s voice floated through the bedroom door, as gentle and loving as always. I groggily opened my eyes, my hand instinctively dropping to my stomach. I froze for two seconds, then shot up in bed and yanked up my pajama shirt. It was round and heavy. The little one inside seemed to be startled by my sudden movement and gave me a sharp kick. My eyes instantly welled up with tears. In my previous life, today was the exact day Mark accompanied me to the Women’s Clinic for my seven-month checkup. After it was over, I felt incredibly drowsy and dozed off in the passenger seat. When I opened my eyes again, my stomach was completely flat. The baby was gone. My husband claimed I had never been pregnant. The nurses said I was there for a basic physical. Even my own mother told me my anxiety over getting pregnant had caused me to hallucinate. I refused to accept it. I caused a massive scene at the hospital, and eventually, security dragged me away and admitted me to a psych ward. But even as I fell from that rooftop to my death, I couldn’t understand it. How could a seven-month-old fetus, a baby I had felt moving inside me, just vanish without a trace? They all said she was a figment of my imagination. But right now, she was unequivocally resting inside my belly. I stroked my stomach, the tears silently falling down my cheeks. “What’s wrong, honey? Did you have a nightmare?” Mark leaned halfway into the room, pausing when he saw my red, teary eyes. I looked at him, my emotions an absolute tangled mess. In my previous life, he was exactly like this—gentle, considerate, the absolute best husband in the world. But after the baby disappeared, he was the one who swore I had never been pregnant, and he was the one who followed the doctor’s advice to lock me in a psychiatric facility. In this life, I didn’t know if I could trust him at all. But no matter what, until I uncovered the truth, I couldn’t tip my hand. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well,” I forced a tight smile. “I don’t feel like going out today. Let’s reschedule the checkup.” Mark paused, walking over to feel my forehead. “Are you feeling sick?” “Just really exhausted.” “Alright then. I’ll call the clinic and push it back three days,” he said, looking down at his phone. “That specialist is in the office on Wednesday anyway.” Watching his profile, my mind raced. In this life, if I just hid at home and refused to go to the clinic, would my baby be safe? But how long could I hide? I had to figure out exactly what happened in my previous life. Why did every single person swear I was never pregnant? I closed my eyes, pressing my palm against my skin, feeling the subtle movements of the little life inside me. It’s not a hallucination. I had three days to uncover the truth. The first day, I found nothing out of the ordinary. All I could do was take photos of every single prenatal medical record I had accumulated over the past seven months and back them up to a secure cloud drive. I remembered that in my past life, when I frantically searched the house for my old ultrasound printouts, they were all gone. Even the hospital’s security cameras magically had no record of me. But I still felt paranoid, so I booked a last-minute maternity photoshoot at a local portrait studio. During the shoot, I paid the assistants extra to take a ton of behind-the-scenes videos on my phone, clearly documenting me walking around with a massive baby bump. Only then did my anxiety ease slightly. Next, I called my mom. “Mom, I’m really craving your homemade lasagna.” “Of course, sweetie! I’ll make a huge batch and bring it over. You’re eating for two now, you need the calories.” “Mom, do you remember how many months pregnant I am right now?” “Seven months, Chloe. How could your own mother forget that?” I recorded that entire conversation. In my past life, my mother had looked a police officer dead in the eye and told him I was never pregnant. In this life, no matter what crazy tricks they pulled, these audio files weren’t going to just vanish. The day of the rescheduled checkup arrived. Mark went to the billing counter to handle the copay, leaving me sitting on a bench in the waiting area. A nurse in standard pink scrubs walked over. Seeing my belly, she offered a warm smile. “Carrying high and pointy like that, I’d bet money it’s a boy.” Mark returned just in time to hear her and chimed in smoothly. “Boy or girl, I don’t care. If it’s a boy, we’ll protect his mom together. If it’s a girl, I’ll protect both my girls.” The nurse covered her mouth and giggled. “Oh my, your husband is so sweet.” I couldn’t bring myself to smile. I remembered this nurse. In my past life, she had said those exact same words: Carrying high and pointy, I’d bet money it’s a boy. But later, when I tore through the hospital looking for her, she had stared at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Ma’am, are you confused? You were here for a routine physical, not a prenatal exam.” This time, I had quietly opened the voice memo app on my phone and recorded her every word. The examination room was on the third floor. The OB-GYN doing my ultrasound was a middle-aged woman in her early forties with a gentle demeanor. Dr. Evans. In my past life, she was the one who examined me too. When the baby disappeared and I charged into her office demanding answers, she had looked completely bewildered. “Ma’am, I have never seen you before in my life. Are you sure you have the right doctor?” But my memory was crystal clear. It was her. I stared at her face. She was looking down, adjusting the monitor, completely oblivious to my intense glare. “Alright, go ahead and lay back. Lift your shirt for me.” I lay down. The cold gel hit my skin, and the probe slid across my stomach. The familiar, tiny silhouette appeared on the screen. “Developing beautifully,” Dr. Evans said. “The head circumference is slightly above average. Just keep an eye on your sugar intake so the baby doesn’t get too big for delivery.” I stared at the monitor, my eyes tearing up again. “Dr. Evans, could I take a quick picture with you?” She paused, surprised. I quickly added, “First-time mom. I just really want to document the journey.” She smiled warmly. “Of course. Go ahead.” I pulled out my phone, switched to the front camera, and leaned in close. Click. I looked down at the photo. Dr. Evans’s face, my face, and the ultrasound monitor clearly showing the baby in the background. It was all there. Crystal clear. Let’s see you try to deny this in this life, I thought fiercely. Walking out of the exam room, I purposely tracked down that nurse. “Nurse Rachel, could we grab a quick picture?” I held up my phone. “I’m making a pregnancy vlog for the baby.” Rachel was incredibly accommodating. “Where’s your husband? Let’s have him take a full-body shot of us.” Mark was pulled over, and he snapped several photos of Rachel and me. In every single photo, my massive baby bump was front and center. “Why are you so hyper today?” Mark asked with a chuckle. I put my phone in my purse. “First pregnancy, remember? I just want to make a lot of memories.” In reality, I wanted to make a lot of evidence. This time, I had photos, videos, audio recordings, and multiple witnesses. I refused to believe they could pull off whatever they did last time. Walking out of the hospital, Mark helped me into the passenger seat. “Tired? Take a quick nap. I’ll wake you when we get home.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to go home. I want to go to that famous brunch spot downtown.” He paused, then smiled. “Alright. Whatever the queen wants.” In my past life, I had fallen asleep in the car on the way home. When I woke up, my child was gone. This time, I absolutely refused to sleep. And I needed to be somewhere packed with people! The diner wasn’t far from the hospital. We got there in twenty minutes. But there was a massive crowd waiting outside. “Want to go somewhere else?” Mark asked. “No. I want this place.” I waddled over to the crowded waiting area and sat down. Mark offered a helpless smile and went to the host stand to put our name in. The waiting area was packed. A waitress carrying a tray walked over. “Ma’am, please have some crackers while you wait. We can’t have our expecting mothers going hungry.” She handed me a small bag of artisan crackers. I thanked her, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. With so many people watching, nothing could possibly happen to me here, right? I leaned back against the bench, watching the bustling crowd, but my eyelids started to feel incredibly heavy. I had barely slept the night before. Now, sitting in the warm, cozy waiting area, waves of unnatural exhaustion began crashing over me. I fought desperately to keep my eyes open, but my vision rapidly blurred into darkness. …… “Chloe?” Someone was shaking my shoulder. I jolted awake. My very first instinct was to grab my stomach. It was flat. I froze, and frantically felt it again. Flat. I violently yanked up my sweater. My stomach was completely smooth and flat. “What’s wrong?” Mark crouched in front of me, looking deeply confused. I opened my mouth, my voice trembling violently. “The baby is gone…” “What?” “The baby is gone!” I pointed at my stomach, screaming. “My seven-month-old baby is gone!” Mark froze for a second, then let out a soft chuckle. “Chloe, are you still half-asleep? Since when were you ever pregnant?” I stared at him, my eyes wide with terror, and shrieked: “What do you mean?! We literally just left the prenatal clinic!” Mark frowned slightly, looking genuinely concerned. “Honey, we did go to the hospital today, but it wasn’t for a prenatal exam. You had a routine physical.” Those exact words again. My entire body began to shake. I stumbled out of my chair and lunged at the waitress who had given me the crackers, grabbing her arm. “Earlier! You said I was an expecting mother and gave me crackers so I wouldn’t go hungry! Do you remember?!” The waitress looked terrified. “Ma’am, what are you talking about? We don’t even serve crackers here.” I stood there, paralyzed. Then I frantically dug into my purse, pulled out my phone, and opened my photo gallery. The selfies with Dr. Evans and Nurse Rachel… they were all gone. Refusing to give up, I opened Facebook. Yesterday, after the maternity shoot, I had posted the behind-the-scenes videos. Dozens of friends and coworkers had liked and commented on it. But that post had vanished completely from my timeline. “Impossible…” My trembling fingers kept scrolling. Mark walked over and gently squeezed my shoulders. “Chloe, you’ve been under so much stress trying to conceive. You’re having hallucinations.” I violently slapped his hands away and sprinted out of the diner. I had to go back to the hospital. I had to find that doctor, and that nurse. They had to remember me. When I burst through the clinic doors, Nurse Rachel was taking a pregnant woman’s blood pressure. I grabbed her arm. “Nurse Rachel! Do you remember me?!” Rachel jumped, looking at me in utter bewilderment. “Ma’am, do you have the wrong person?” “How could I have the wrong person?! You literally took photos with me this morning!” Rachel thought for a second, then shook her head, cutting me off. “I’ve been working the inpatient ward all morning. I wasn’t even in the outpatient clinic. Were you here for a prenatal exam?” I froze. “Then what about the female doctor who did my ultrasound?!” Rachel flipped through the clipboard on the desk. “All the attending ultrasound technicians on duty today are male. There are no female doctors on shift.” My brain exploded with a deafening ringing sound. A pregnant woman sitting nearby muttered to her husband, “Is she mentally ill?” “Probably drove herself crazy trying to get pregnant. My cousin did the same thing. Tried for three years, ended up having phantom pregnancies and hallucinating babies…” “Seriously, look at her stomach. It’s completely flat. Who is she trying to fool…” I ran into the hospital bathroom like a madwoman, lifted my shirt in front of the mirror, and stared at my stomach. Smooth. Flat. As if I had never been pregnant a day in my life. I slid down the wall of the bathroom stall, collapsing onto the tile floor. My mind was completely blank. No. This is wrong. I must have missed something. My phone rang. It was my mom. I scrambled to answer it. “Chloe, did you get the lasagna I dropped off?” I opened my mouth, a desperate spark of hope igniting in my chest. “Mom… do you remember that I’m pregnant?” The line was silent for two seconds. Her voice came back laced with pure confusion. “Pregnant? Haven’t you and Mark been trying for over a year with no luck?” My hand gripping the phone began to shake violently. “Mom, I literally sent you my maternity photoshoot videos yesterday. Did you forget?!” My mom sounded even more confused. “No you didn’t, sweetie. You just called me saying you were craving lasagna. That’s all.” I opened my text messages. The videos in our chat history were gone. My mom’s voice filled with deep concern. “Chloe, are you overworking yourself? Don’t put so much pressure on yourself, honey. A baby will come when the time is right…” Sitting on the cold bathroom floor, an icy chill seeped into my bones. Was I doomed to repeat this nightmare? Was I trapped in this impossible loop forever? No. I refuse to be a sitting duck! I splashed cold water on my face and marched out of the bathroom. I immediately heard a commotion down the hall. “That’s her. She’s the one harassing the staff…” “Call security. She’s clearly having a psychotic break…” I looked down the corridor. A crowd had formed outside the OB-GYN clinic. In the center, Mark was explaining something to a nurse. When he saw me, he rushed over. “Chloe, where did you go? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” I stared at him. This man. We had been married for five years, and he had always been loving and perfect. Right now, his eyes were filled with nothing but profound worry and heartbreak. I stared dead into his pupils. “Mark, do you really not remember taking me for my prenatal checkup today?” Mark sighed heavily, reaching out to hold my hand. “Honey, let’s go home first. You need to rest, okay?” “Answer the question!” He paused, his eyes darting away for a fraction of a second. “Chloe. You were never pregnant.” I closed my eyes. There it is. “Ma’am, please stop disrupting hospital operations.” Two security guards approached me. “We received a complaint that you are harassing medical staff. Please cooperate and leave the premises.” I took a step back. The hallway was full of people staring at me, whispering loudly. “What a shame. She’s so pretty, but completely out of her mind…” “I’ve seen cases like this. They all end up in a straightjacket…” “Her poor husband…” Mark stepped in front of me, speaking to the guards. “I am so sorry. My wife has been under extreme psychological stress lately. I’ll take her home right now.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the exit. I followed mechanically, my brain totally numb. But right at that moment, I caught a glimpse of the digital calendar hanging on the lobby wall. I stopped dead in my tracks, grabbed the arm of a passing nurse, and asked, my voice trembling violently: “Is… is the date on that clock correct?” The nurse was startled by my intensity but answered anyway. “Yeah, it’s correct. Why?” So that was it! I finally understood why my baby was gone, and why there was absolutely zero trace of my pregnancy! Chapter 2 “Ma’am, you need to leave,” the security guard said, his hand already clamping down on my shoulder. Mark chimed in with the perfect tone of a loving, exhausted husband. “Chloe, please, be good. Let’s just go home…” I stared dead at the digital calendar on the wall. March 15, 2024. The day of my prenatal checkup was March 15, 2023. An entire year. When I fell asleep in that diner and woke up, it wasn’t a few hours later. It was a whole year later! A horrifying realization suddenly crystallized in my mind. “Chloe?” Mark asked, his voice probing cautiously. “What are you thinking about?” I slowly turned my head, looking at his mask of gentle concern. In my past life, he had looked at me exactly like this right before having me committed to an asylum. In this life, if I kept causing a scene, the ending would be exactly the same. I forced down the tidal wave of horror and panic inside me, and squeezed out an exhausted, fragile smile. “Nothing. I’m just so tired. I think I really am having hallucinations.” Mark visibly exhaled a sigh of relief and supported my arm. “That’s okay. Let’s get you home.” I let him guide me out the hospital doors. Behind us, the crowd continued to whisper. “What a tragedy, going crazy so young.” “Her husband is a saint for putting up with that.” I kept my head down, burying the absolute storm of fury in my chest. Mark helped me into the passenger seat and leaned over to buckle my seatbelt with practiced care. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you when we’re in the garage.” “Okay,” I closed my eyes, my voice soft and perfectly level. As the engine started, I pretended to sleep, squinting through my eyelashes to study his profile in the driver’s seat. Mark Davis. What the hell did you do to me? Back at the house, Mark tucked me into bed and brought me a mug of warm milk. “Drink this, then get some real sleep.” I took the mug, faked a sip, and the moment he left the room, I poured the entire thing into a potted plant. Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, my brain was spinning at lightspeed. If my theory was right, then how did no one notice I was missing for an entire year? Was someone actively impersonating me on my social media and messaging apps? The only person who could pull off an elaborate, sustained identity theft like that was the person closest to me. Mark. But I needed hard proof. When I was certain he was fast asleep next to me, I quietly slipped out of bed, grabbed my phone, and dialed a number. “Hello, Private Investigator? I need a deep background check on someone.” The voice on the other end was gruff. “Ma’am, this kind of work isn’t cheap, and it takes time.” “Money is not an issue. As for time…” I gritted my teeth. “How fast can you do it?” “A week.” “I’ll pay you double if you have it in three days.” “Deal.” I hung up, wiped the call log, hid my phone, and slipped back under the covers. Mark rolled over, his arm draping heavily over my waist. “Why are you still awake?” he mumbled. “Just going to sleep now,” I whispered softly. I didn’t let a single tremor of fear enter my voice. Those three days were like walking on a tightrope over a pit of vipers. Mark smothered me with care. He cooked me organic, nutrient-dense meals every day, walked with me in the evenings, and meticulously reminded me to take my pills. “These are your vitamins. The doctor said your body has been very weak lately. You need to build your strength back up,” he said, pressing the white pills into my palm. I smiled, took them, and the second he turned around, I spit them into a tissue and buried them in the trash. I refused to consume anything he gave me. God only knew what chemicals were in those pills. On the second day, I used the excuse of visiting my best friend to sneak out and meet the private investigator. “Got it,” the PI slid a manila folder across the cafe table. “Your husband, Mark Davis, has a hidden prior marriage.” My fingers trembled as I opened the folder. A photograph showed Mark in a tuxedo, his arm wrapped around a woman in a wedding dress. He looked blissfully happy. The woman looked terrifyingly familiar. “His ex-wife’s name is Rachel Brooks,” the PI said. “She used to be a registered nurse at the Women’s Clinic. Actually, she still works there.” My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. The nurse who had taken my blood pressure, the one who smiled and told me I was carrying a boy. That was Mark’s ex-wife? “There’s something much worse,” the PI slid a second folder toward me. “They had a son together. He was six years old, diagnosed with acute leukemia. He desperately needed a bone marrow or stem cell transplant.” “From my research, stem cells from a biological sibling have the highest success rate. And the absolute highest quality stem cells come from the umbilical cord blood of a newborn sibling.” The folder slipped from my hands and hit the floor. Every single disjointed puzzle piece violently slammed into place. Mark and his ex-wife’s son was dying. He needed a sibling to save his life. But they were divorced. They couldn’t just have another baby together. And I… happened to be pregnant. “How is their son doing now?” my voice was a raspy whisper. The PI shook his head. “He passed away last month.” I closed my eyes, the tears falling silently. “There’s one more thing,” the PI’s voice grew heavy. “Over the past year, your husband made three massive wire transfers to a shell account tied to the hospital. A total of $800,000. The ultimate beneficiary was the OB-GYN department at the Women’s Clinic.” “I also hacked into your sealed medical records. On March 15th of last year, you were there for a prenatal checkup. But on that exact same day, there is a surgical log under your name. An emergency, forced premature C-section.” My entire body shook violently. “Where is my baby?!” “The logs state that a premature infant girl survived the procedure, and was signed out and discharged to the biological father, Mark Davis.” Discharged? Discharged to where?! I shot up from my chair, the world spinning so violently I almost collapsed. “Ma’am, are you alright?” the PI asked, alarmed. I gripped the edge of the table, inhaling sharply. “I’m going to the police.” The next day, I marched straight into the local police precinct. “I need to report a crime! My baby was kidnapped!” The desk sergeant looked up. “Ma’am, take a deep breath. Start from the beginning. What happened?” “Last year, I was seven months pregnant. I went to the hospital for a checkup, and then…” I took a shaky breath. “Then I slipped into a coma. When I woke up, my baby was gone, my stomach was flat, and everyone told me I was never pregnant!” The officer’s expression shifted into something uncomfortable. “Ma’am, are you saying you were in a coma for an entire year?” “Yes!” “And where were you during this year?” “I…” I froze. I didn’t know. Where the hell had my physical body been kept? “Ma’am, do you have any proof of this?” I reached for my phone, but the PI was still compiling the hard copies of the financial records and medical logs. I didn’t have the smoking gun in my hand yet. I panicked, but my silence translated to guilt in the eyes of the police. The officer sighed, his tone shifting to that polite, patronizing voice reserved for the mentally unstable. “I suggest you go to a hospital for a psychological evaluation. If there was genuine medical malpractice, we can connect you with the medical board. But in all likelihood, you are experiencing a mental health crisis…” “No! I want to file a police report! This is human trafficking!” “Ma’am, please calm down…” “I am calm!” I slammed my hands on the desk. “Rachel Brooks, a nurse at the Women’s Clinic, stole my baby! Investigate her!” My shouting drew the attention of the other officers and the civilians in the lobby. “What’s going on?” “Oh, another crazy medical conspiracist…” “She looks so normal, but she’s completely unhinged…” Hearing those whispers made my chest tighten. It was happening again. Just like my past life. Everyone thought I was insane. “I am not a psychopath!” I spun around and screamed at the lobby. “My child was stolen! Go investigate the hospital! Investigate Rachel Brooks!” “Ma’am, you need to calm down!” Two officers stepped forward to restrain me. Right at that moment, the hospital delegation arrived. The Vice President of the Women’s Clinic walked in, flanked by two corporate lawyers. He looked gravely serious. “Officers, we were notified that someone is publicly and maliciously defaming our hospital. We demand legal intervention.” The VP looked at me, his eyes ice-cold. “Mrs. Davis, you caused a massive disturbance at our facility yesterday. We chose not to press charges because we sympathized with your mental distress. But we will not tolerate you escalating this to false police reports.” “False reports?” I sneered. “Your OB-GYN department took an $800,000 bribe from my husband to cut me open, force a premature delivery, and steal my child, and you have the audacity to call it a false report?!” The VP’s face twitched slightly, but he recovered instantly. “What $800,000? What forced delivery? Mrs. Davis, do you have a shred of evidence for these insane allegations?” “I…” I choked. The $800,000 was discovered by my PI. It was an illicit transfer and wouldn’t hold up as immediate hard evidence without a subpoena. And the hospital could easily delete or alter my surgical logs. “An accusation without evidence is defamation,” the VP turned back to the police. “We demand you open a case against Mrs. Davis for filing a false police report. Furthermore, our hospital retains the right to sue her for reputational damages.” “Exactly, we can’t let these crazy patients get away with this!” “She looks so put together, how can she be this insane?” “I heard her husband treats her like a queen. Poor guy.” The crowd in the lobby started pointing fingers. Someone even pulled out their phone and started live-streaming me. “Hey chat, look at this psycho at the police station claiming her baby was stolen, when she was never even pregnant!” My entire body was shaking. Not from fear, but from a volcanic, consuming rage. It was exactly the same. Exactly like my past life. They stood on their moral high ground, weaponizing the word “crazy” to turn my trauma into a public spectacle.

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Everyone in Manhattan’s elite circles knows that Sterling Vance, the ruthless and bloodthirsty CEO of Vance Enterprises, fears absolutely nothing in this world—except for a single frown from his older sister, Evelyn. Rumor has it that during the vicious, bloody inheritance war against our half-siblings, I was the one who took the literal bullets and arrows for him, paving his way to the throne. He suffers from severe insomnia. He can only fall asleep if he breathes in the custom-blended, soothing essential oils that I personally mix for him. But no one knows the truth. All those bullying incidents and assassination attempts he faced back then? I orchestrated them from the shadows. There is absolutely nothing biologically wrong with Sterling’s body. I spiked his essential oils with an untraceable chemical compound, ensuring that he would experience brutal withdrawal symptoms without it. He could never, ever leave me. With my own hands, I tamed this vicious wolf pup into a loyal dog who only recognizes me as his master. After helping Sterling thoroughly secure absolute control over the conglomerate, I voluntarily requested a transfer to our European branch to expand our market. It was a three-year stint. When I returned to the States three years later, there was a new face by Sterling’s side: a female security consultant, freshly retired from an overseas private military contractor. This consultant didn’t care for haute couture; she preferred tactical camo. She spent her days lounging in the top-floor executive suite, calling Sterling “bro” and treating him like one of the guys. She even slept directly in his private executive lounge. The first time she met me, she clamped a cigarette between her teeth and scoffed. “You’re the boss’s sister, not his wife. Why are you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?” The entire socialite circle was watching, waiting for a joke. They assumed that I, the former shadow-ruler of the Vance family, had lost my power, and now any random stray dog could step on me. It’s a shame. They didn’t realize that my absolute favorite game is psychological warfare. Especially when dealing with the kind of woman who uses the “I’m just one of the guys” banner as an excuse to sleep with her “bro.” …… The grandfather clock outside the penthouse office struck 3:00 AM. I sat on the French velvet sofa, casually toying with a cold, metallic lighter in my hand. My executive assistant, Arthur, pushed the door open. Despite the freezing air conditioning in the hallway, his forehead was slick with cold sweat. “Ms. Vance, Mr. Vance is… sleeping at the office again tonight.” I picked up the black coffee in front of me and took a slow sip. “With Consultant Miller keeping him company?” Arthur lowered his head even further. “Yes. Consultant Miller said the security system is undergoing an upgrade, and there are a few vulnerabilities she needs to troubleshoot with Mr. Vance overnight. She… she also said that mercenaries like her aren’t picky, so she’d just crash on the sofa in Mr. Vance’s lounge.” I set my coffee cup down. The porcelain clinked against the glass coffee table with a dull thud. Arthur’s shoulders violently flinched. Roxy Miller. Lately, that name had been echoing like thunder through the halls of the Vance Building. A female bodyguard who had spent three years dodging bullets in overseas warzones. She signed a massive security contract with Vance Enterprises, but instead of staying in the five-star hotel suite the company provided, she squatted in the CEO’s office every single day. She perpetually wore cargo pants and sported a choppy wolf-cut. She never knocked before entering a room, claiming it was a “professional habit” from the warzone. And incredibly, Sterling allowed it. At that exact moment, the faint sound of a man and woman laughing drifted down the hall from the executive suite. I stood up, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles on my designer suit. “Let’s go. Time to deliver the CEO’s essential oils. His insomnia can’t handle a break from my medicine.” Arthur looked like he wanted to say something, but ultimately walked ahead of me and swiped his keycard to unlock the security doors. The door to the executive office wasn’t fully closed. As soon as I reached the threshold, the conversation inside drifted out with perfect clarity. “Sterling, have your abs shrunk lately? Men who sit in offices all day really lose their edge. Come on, feel my core. Hard as a rock, right?” It was Roxy’s voice. She purposely lowered her voice to a raspy, tomboyish pitch, trying to sound effortlessly cool. Then came Sterling’s low, resonant chuckle. “Consultant Miller is certainly hiding some impressive skills.” “Damn right! When I was running ops overseas, I slept in the same tent as six-foot-four, two-hundred-pound mercenaries. We took bullets for each other. We aren’t like those high-maintenance Manhattan princesses back home, rushing to the ER over a papercut. So pathetic.” I pushed the door open. The entire scene inside was laid bare before my eyes. Sterling was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, reviewing financial reports. Roxy had half her body draped across the desk, one combat boot resting casually on the edge of the CEO’s leather chair. She was holding a greasy box of takeout fried chicken, her mouth smeared with oil. Draped over her shoulders was Sterling’s bespoke suit jacket. The oversized, tailored jacket hung loosely over her frame, revealing the tight black tank top she wore underneath. Seeing me enter, Roxy paused, then casually tossed a chicken bone into the trash can. She didn’t stand up. She just tilted her chin at me. “Well, look who it is. The Princess. Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep? Coming to talk business with Sterling in the middle of the night?” Sterling looked up, his gaze landing immediately on the velvet box in my hand. “Evelyn.” I walked over, pulled the glass vial of essential oil from the box, and set it on the desk. “Time for your medicine.” Roxy reached out to grab the vial. “What kind of magic water is this? Let me get a whiff for Sterling. Rule of the squad: anything that goes in the mouth or nose has to pass security.” My face turned to ice. With a flick of my wrist, I smoothly dodged her hand. “Consultant Miller, this is prescription medication.” Roxy’s hand grasped empty air. She let out a dry, awkward laugh, then proceeded to wipe her greasy fingers directly onto the hem of Sterling’s suit jacket. “Don’t give me that attitude, Princess. I’m a straight shooter. I don’t understand all these passive-aggressive high-society mind games.” With that, she forcefully wedged herself onto the armrest of Sterling’s chair, throwing an arm casually around his shoulders. “Right, Sterling?” Sterling didn’t push her away. He just looked at me quietly, his dark eyes unreadable. “Evelyn, Roxy is wild. Try to be tolerant.” The following evening, the corporation hosted a private banquet at an exclusive club to formally welcome Roxy’s security team. I sat directly to Sterling’s right. Roxy had swapped her usual gear for a black leather jacket, sitting with her legs manspreading in the seat of honor to his left. After a few rounds of drinks, Jax stood up. He was Roxy’s second-in-command—a former rich kid adrenaline junkie who had followed Roxy overseas for a few years and now acted like he was enlightened and superior to the rest of the world. “Mr. Vance, if you ask me, the fact that our overseas branch survived this recent crisis is entirely thanks to Roxy. She might be a woman, but she’s more ruthless than most men. She’s a hundred times better than those fragile, delicate little rich girls who only know how to swipe credit cards and carry Birkin bags!” As Jax spoke, he shot a highly provocative glare directly at me. A few corporate security executives exchanged nervous glances, offering dry, awkward chuckles to appease him. Roxy picked up a whiskey decanter, downed half a pint of straight liquor in one breath, and heroically wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Jax, cut the bullshit. I just can’t stand those fake, dramatic ‘mean girls’. A woman should hold up her own sky. Spending all day getting plastic surgery and plotting to steal a man’s money? Pathetic.” She pushed her chair back and walked to the dartboard in the center of the private room. “Mr. Vance, just drinking is boring. How about I show everyone a little trick to liven things up?” Sterling leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Go ahead.” Roxy grabbed a handful of professional, steel-tipped darts from the table. Her movements were indeed sharp. However, with every single throw, the trajectory of the darts intentionally or unintentionally skimmed incredibly close to where I was sitting. For her final throw, she spun around with sudden, violent force. The steel tip of the dart slammed directly into the solid wood paneling right next to my ear. It was exactly three inches from my temple. The gust of wind it generated literally brushed the hair against my cheek. The private room fell into a deathly silence. Roxy clapped her hands together and burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. “Oh man! Did I scare you, Princess?! My bad, I’ve got a heavy hand. If I frightened you, I’ll take a penalty shot!” Her mouth was apologizing, but her eyes were brimming with malicious, triumphant satisfaction. I sat perfectly still in my chair. My eyelashes didn’t even tremble. “Consultant Miller’s hand-eye coordination is certainly impressive. It’s a shame her brain’s aim seems to be a little off.” Roxy’s face instantly stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean, Princess? Looking down on us security grunts?” “I simply think that since you claim to be Mr. Vance’s ‘brother,’ you severely lack boundaries. Brandishing a lethal weapon at the Executive Vice President during an official corporate dinner? In any other company, you would already be sitting in a police interrogation room for reckless endangerment.” Roxy turned to look at Sterling, pouting her lips in a grotesque imitation of a wronged “bro.” “Sterling, look at your sister. I told you I was just a rough-around-the-edges grunt. I don’t know the rules. That was just a slip of the hand, I wasn’t targeting her. Does the Princess just hate my guts because she thinks I’m stealing her spotlight?” Sterling set down his wine glass. “Evelyn, Roxy had a bit too much to drink. It was just a joke.” I turned to look at Sterling. He avoided my gaze, tilting his chin at Roxy. “Go back to your seat.” Roxy shot me a smug, victorious eyebrow raise and turned to walk back. As she passed Jax, the two of them shared a knowing smile and violently high-fived. After the banquet ended, I intercepted Sterling in the underground VIP parking garage. “What do you really think of Roxy?” Sterling stopped walking, signaling for his bodyguards to step back. “What are you trying to say, Evelyn?” “Her intentions toward you aren’t clean.” Sterling let out a low chuckle, looking down to light a cigarette. “Is my sister jealous?” I stared at him. “I am simply reminding you that corporate secrets and personal safety leave zero room for crossed boundaries. She uses the ‘good bro’ excuse to get close, but her actions are becoming increasingly inappropriate.” Sterling’s fingers, holding the cigarette, reached out. He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re overthinking it, Evelyn. Roxy saved my life once. She’s a straight shooter, she doesn’t have any hidden agendas. Besides…” He lowered his head. His warm breath brushed against the side of my neck, his voice turning dark and husky. “I can only stand the scent of my sister.” I swatted his hand away. “I hope the CEO remembers what he said today.” Sterling stared at his empty hand, his eyes darkening. He didn’t argue. He simply pulled open the door of the Maybach and got in. Watching the taillights fade into the distance, my heart was filled with nothing but cold mockery. A straight shooter? If she were truly a straight shooter, she wouldn’t intentionally wear his suit in his office, and she wouldn’t try to publicly humiliate me at a corporate dinner. I had gotten bored of these pathetic, low-tier power plays back when I was a teenager surviving the Vance family inheritance wars. Half a month after Roxy integrated into the company, my custom-blended essential oil disappeared from Sterling’s desk. It was the one thing he absolutely required every single night. The formula belonged exclusively to me. It contained a highly addictive, incredibly difficult-to-extract compound. I pushed open the door to the executive suite. Before I even stepped inside, I was hit by the pungent, nauseating stench of cheap coffee mixed with synthetic air freshener. Inside, Roxy was directing the cleaning staff to throw the custom-built diffuser I had placed on Sterling’s desk straight into the trash. “Throw it out, throw it out! What is this girly, fragile nonsense? It gives me a massive headache.” I walked into the room, my heels clicking sharply against the floor. “Put it down.” The cleaning lady’s hands shook in terror. She looked at me helplessly. Roxy turned around, holding a cup of iced Americano. “Oh, look who it is. Perfect timing, Princess. I’m just helping Sterling clear out all this useless garbage.” “That is Mr. Vance’s sleep medication.” “Sleep medication? Looks more like a hypnotic poison to me.” Roxy swaggered over, swirling the ice in her plastic cup. “Princess, a man needs to have a man’s bloodlust. Breathing in these soft, fragile perfumes all day is grinding away all of Sterling’s wolf-like instincts. Overseas, when we can’t sleep, we chug black coffee and spar for two rounds! That’s what real men do!” I looked at her with eyes like ice. “He has severe clinical insomnia. If he stops his medication, his body will collapse.” “That’s just a bad habit you spoiled him into having!” Roxy raised her voice aggressively. “What insomnia? It’s just him being overly sensitive. Drag him to the boxing gym, let him go ten rounds until he’s dead on his feet, and I guarantee his head will hit the pillow and he’ll sleep like the dead. Sterling has just been crippled by a control freak like you.” Just then, Sterling walked out of his private lounge. He was wearing a white dress shirt, the collar unbuttoned. Underneath his eyes were heavy, bruised, dark circles. It was obvious he hadn’t slept at all last night. “What’s the yelling about?” I pointed at the diffuser in the trash can. “Sterling, Consultant Miller just threw away your medication.” Sterling frowned, looking at Roxy. Roxy immediately walked over and bumped her shoulder against his, playing the loyal comrade. “Sterling, I’m doing this for your own good. Smelling all those random chemical perfumes damages your nervous system. Look how pale you are—it’s because you lack physical exertion. Starting today, after work, I’m taking you to the gym to spar. I promise you’ll sleep like a log tonight.” Sterling rubbed his throbbing temples. “My head really has been killing me lately.” I stared at him. “Are you going to keep her ridiculous theory, or are you going to keep the essential oil?” Sterling fell silent. Roxy grabbed his sleeve and gave it a shake. “Sterling, just trust your bro this one time, okay? Would I ever hurt you? We’ve literally dodged bullets together.” Sterling lifted his head and looked at me. “Evelyn, Roxy means well. This medicine… stopping it for a few days to see what happens won’t hurt.” My hands, buried deep in the pockets of my trench coat, violently clenched into fists. My manicured nails dug so hard into my palms that they sent a sharp, piercing spike of pain through my hands. “You’ve made up your mind?” “Yeah. I want to try Roxy’s method.” Roxy shot me a smug, triumphant look, lifting her chin in victory. “Hear that? Lady, hurry up and throw that garbage out!” I looked at the empty, barren desk. The absolute last trace of lingering warmth in my heart completely froze over. “If that’s your decision, then I won’t interrupt Mr. Vance’s journey to reclaim his ‘manhood.’” I turned and walked out of the executive suite. Behind me, I could hear Roxy’s entirely undisguised voice. “Sterling, look at her face. It’s like someone owes her a billion dollars. It’s so much more relaxing when it’s just us bros hanging out, right?” Sterling didn’t answer. But I heard the sound of him grabbing his suit jacket off the chair. On the second subterranean level of the Vance Building was a private, state-of-the-art boxing gym built specifically for Sterling. Today, Jax was there too. Inside the octagon, Roxy and Sterling were sparring with heavy gloves. The hits were brutal and wet with sweat. During a break, Sterling sat by the edge of the cage. His thumb subconsciously rubbed the watch on his wrist. It was an antique Patek Philippe. When he turned eighteen, I used the very first bonus check I ever earned, scoured the antique markets of Europe, and bought it for him. He had worn it every single day since. He never took it off. I was walking past the gym on my way to the elevators, not intending to stop. “Princess!” Jax had sharp eyes and shouted loudly across the room. “Since you’re here, why don’t you come down and give us some pointers? Oh, wait, I forgot. You’re a refined intellectual. You can’t stand the sight of blood.” Roxy took out her mouthguard and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Jax, don’t embarrass the Princess. She’s a hothouse flower. She’s never seen a real fight in her life. She probably wouldn’t even dare to kill a chicken.” The two of them bounced off each other, drawing low, muffled chuckles from the surrounding security team. Sterling leaned against the cage mesh, not uttering a single word to stop them. He just looked at me faintly from a distance. I stopped walking and stood on the staircase leading down. “I admit, I don’t understand the primitive ways barbarians vent their frustrations.” Roxy’s face instantly darkened. “Barbarians? Princess, this is called power! If we weren’t out there bleeding and risking our lives, how could you possibly sit comfortably in an air-conditioned office signing contracts?” Saying that, she violently vaulted over the top of the octagon cage, jumping to the floor outside. Her movements were too aggressive. As she landed, she slammed heavily into Sterling with a loud thud. “Oof!” Sterling’s wrist slipped. The clasp of the antique watch snapped open, and the timepiece flew off his wrist. The mechanical watch sailed through the air in an arc and slammed brutally onto the unforgiving concrete floor. A sharp, devastating CRACK echoed through the room. The crystal glass shattered. The intricate, delicate gears and cogs scattered violently across the ground. The air instantly froze. I stared at the scattered gears on the floor, my heart violently clenching. Sterling shot up from his seat. The atmospheric pressure around him instantly dropped to absolute zero. His face was terrifyingly dark. Roxy seemed startled for a second, but quickly shrugged it off with a look of total indifference. She walked over and casually kicked the shattered watch with the toe of her combat boot. “Whoops. It broke. My bad, Sterling, I couldn’t stop my momentum.” She looked up, acting as though it was completely trivial. “It’s just a busted old watch, right? I’ll deduct it from my commission and buy you the newest Rolex. It’ll look way cooler than this antique junk.” Sterling stared intensely at the shattered watch on the ground. His hands curled into tight fists, the veins on the back of his hands bulging threateningly. I looked at him, waiting for his reaction. Waiting for his apocalyptic, thunderous rage. However, Jax rushed over to run interference. “Mr. Vance, Roxy didn’t do it on purpose! Out with the old, in with the new, right? It’s just a watch. How could a watch compare to the bullet Roxy took for you in the rainforest?” Sterling’s fists tightened, relaxed, and tightened again. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. When he opened his eyes again, the violent, murderous rage had been forcibly suppressed. “Forget it.” His voice was incredibly hoarse. “If it’s broken, it’s broken.” Roxy let out a massive sigh of relief. She walked over and familiarly slung her arm around Sterling’s neck. “That’s my guy! We’re real men, we don’t hold grudges over a piece of metal. Come on, let’s keep sparring!” I stood rooted to the spot, looking at the mechanical wreckage on the floor. I knew the game was over. Sterling turned his head and looked at me. In the depths of his pitch-black eyes, there was a flash of frantic struggle and panic. “Evelyn, you heard her. Roxy didn’t do it on purpose. Just go back to your office.” I slowly walked down the stairs. I bent down and, piece by piece, picked up the shattered watch face and the scattered gears. The edges of the broken glass were razor-sharp. It instantly sliced open my palm, beads of crimson blood welling up and rolling down my skin. But I couldn’t feel the pain. I only felt a bottomless, freezing cold that instantly spread from the soles of my feet to my very bones. “Sterling.” It was the first time I had ever called him by his full, first name. “Do you truly believe this is just a ‘busted old watch’?” Sterling awkwardly avoided my gaze. “I’m tired. Evelyn, just leave.” I gripped the blood-stained gears tightly in my hand. “Okay.” I nodded. My voice was so calm that even I was surprised by it. “Since the CEO finds my presence so irritating, I will disappear completely. I wouldn’t want to ruin this beautiful moment of brotherhood.” I turned around and walked out of the gym, step by step. Behind me, I could hear Roxy’s contemptuous laugh. “Sterling, look how dramatic she is. It’s literally just a watch, is it really that serious?” Is it really that serious? Of course it is. Because it wasn’t just the watch that shattered. It was ten years of my blood, sweat, and tears poured into him. And it was the very last shred of my patience. When I returned to the top-floor office, I called for Arthur. “Book me a flight. Pack my things.” Arthur froze. “Where is Ms. Vance going? Didn’t you just finish the European handover?” I tossed the blood-stained, shattered watch onto the desk. “I’m going to the coastal villa.” “But what about Mr. Vance…” “Don’t tell him. Revoke all his access permissions to my itinerary.” I looked out the floor-to-ceiling window at the city’s neon lights flickering to life in the gathering dusk. “From this day forward, Evelyn Vance no longer exists within Vance Enterprises.” The rain outside the coastal villa felt even more desolate and isolated than in the city center. I wrapped a cashmere shawl around my shoulders, sitting by the floor-to-ceiling window, listening to the waves and the rain violently lashing against the glass. There were no endless trans-Atlantic conference calls here. No fake, sycophantic corporate smiles. I slept the most peaceful, uninterrupted sleep I had experienced in three years. On the first night after I left, the top floor of Vance Enterprises was unnervingly quiet. Sterling finished reviewing the final merger acquisition file. Out of pure habit, he reached toward his left side. He grasped empty air. Usually, at this exact time, I would be sitting on the sofa, holding his custom-blended essential oil, waiting for him. He ripped his tie off in frustration and called out loudly. “Evelyn?” No response. The only person to push the door open was his assistant, Arthur. He stood in the doorway, too terrified to even breathe properly. “Mr. Vance… Ms. Vance is… not here.” “Where did she go?” “Ms. Vance said she was feeling dizzy, so she went back to her apartment to rest.” Sterling didn’t press the issue. He rubbed his violently throbbing temples, stood up, and walked into his private executive lounge. The lounge reeked of a pungent mix of cheap tobacco and men’s cologne. Roxy was sitting cross-legged on his custom leather bed, holding a stack of security blueprints. Seeing Sterling walk in, she patted the mattress next to her. “Sterling, get over here! These camera blind spots are pretty interesting, let’s run through them.” Sterling walked over and sat on the edge of the sofa. The stinging stench shot straight up his nose, making his eyes burn and his stomach violently churn in disgust. “That smell is way too strong. Open the window.” Roxy waved her hand dismissively. “The strong smell is what keeps you awake! Sterling, you’re way too delicate. You’re so used to breathing in those sickly-sweet perfumes. It’s good to switch it up and get a taste of something wild. You’ll get used to it.” Sterling lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes. All he could think about, the only thing his brain could process, was the faint, lingering scent of cold, clean cedarwood. It was my scent. He rolled over. He couldn’t sleep at all. His head was splitting open. It felt like ten thousand needles were stabbing directly into his cerebral cortex. “Roxy.” “Yeah?” “Get out.” Roxy froze. “Get out? Go where? I thought we agreed to pull an all-nighter troubleshooting the vulnerabilities?” “I want to be alone.” Sterling’s voice was dark and freezing. Although Roxy was arrogant, even she could tell his mood had turned lethal. She pursed her lips and rolled up the blueprints. “Fine, fine, fine. You’re the boss, whatever you say. I’ll come find you tomorrow.” After Roxy left, Sterling cranked the ventilation system to its maximum setting, desperately trying to eradicate the cheap stench from the room. But the migraine didn’t fade. It escalated violently. He tossed and turned on the sofa until the sun came up. At the morning executive briefing, Sterling sat at the head of the table, his eyes heavily bloodshot. The senior executives were terrified into absolute silence. Roxy sat in the back row, winking and making faces at Jax, implying that the “battle” last night had been intense. The second the meeting ended, Sterling marched straight to my Vice President’s office. “Evelyn.” He pushed the door open. The massive office was completely empty. The desk was spotless. Every single personal item had been cleared out. The only thing remaining was sitting dead center on the desk: a pile of shattered antique watch gears, resting on top of a formal letter of resignation. Sterling’s heart slammed violently against his ribs. He rushed over. In the blank space of the resignation letter, four words were written in pristine fountain pen ink: Take care of yourself. The knuckles of the hand gripping the paper turned bone-white. His fingertips trembled uncontrollably. Arthur stood in the doorway, cold sweat soaking his shirt. “Mr. Vance… Ms. Vance cut off all contact last night and went to the coastal villa… for an extended leave of absence.” “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me earlier?!” Sterling violently swept his arm across the desk, sending the folders and the pen holder crashing to the floor, letting out a roar of absolute, unhinged rage. “I… I didn’t dare…” Sterling collapsed into the desk chair, staring obsessively at the pile of blood-stained watch parts. The dried blood had turned a harsh, glaring crimson. He reached out to touch the red stain, but his fingertips recoiled violently as if he had been burned by fire. An unprecedented, suffocating terror wrapped around his heart like a thorny vine. She left. The sister who had thrown herself in front of a speeding car during the family inheritance war, who gave him the only path to survival, who guarded him every step of the way until he sat on the throne of Vance Enterprises… had been completely driven away by him. Sterling fell violently ill. A 104-degree fever. He was delirious, muttering incoherently in his sleep. The private medical team Vance Enterprises paid millions for worked around the clock, but they couldn’t find a single biological cause for the fever. All they could do was keep him on an IV drip. Roxy paced around the top-floor penthouse, frantic like a rat on a hot stove. “You bunch of useless hacks! You can’t even break a simple fever?! What is the point of the company paying you people?!” She snatched a cup of water from a nurse’s hand, attempting to force-feed Sterling fever reducers. Sterling’s eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clamped shut like a vice. The water spilled down his chin and soaked into his collar. “Sterling, open your mouth! It’s Roxy! It’s your bro!” Roxy screamed at him, violently shaking his shoulders to wake him up. Sterling’s brows were tightly knitted. He mumbled something incomprehensible through his fever dream. Roxy leaned in close to listen. “The essential oil… the scent…” “What essential oil?!” Roxy whipped around and glared at Arthur. Arthur kept his head down, answering quietly, “Mr. Vance is asking for the soothing essential oil that Ms. Vance personally blends.” “That garbage again?!” Roxy slammed the water cup brutally onto the nightstand. “I refuse to believe this bullshit! You’re telling me he can’t survive without that controlling bitch?!” She turned, stormed into the master bathroom, grabbed a towel soaked in ice water, and violently slapped it directly onto Sterling’s face. “Sterling, wake the fuck up! Stop acting like a coward and letting a woman control you!” The freezing shock sent violent tremors through Sterling’s comatose body. He hacked and coughed violently, his face flushing an alarming, sickly, feverish red. “Get out…” He struggled to open his heavily bloodshot eyes, his voice a raspy, jagged whisper. “Get her… the fuck out…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399956”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day my mom was getting remarried, my future stepsister blocked the entrance to the County Clerk’s office, in front of everyone. “Before you go in, there’s something you need to sign,” she announced. “We need a prenuptial agreement notarizing that my dad’s pension and his house remain separate assets. What’s his stays his.” My mom looked at me, her eyes stinging with hurt and humiliation. I took a step forward, smiling coldly at the girl. “Sure, we can notarize an agreement. But before we settle up who owns what in the future, how about we settle up what’s already owed?” She froze, a look of confusion crossing her face. “Standard rate for a full-time live-in caregiver and housekeeper in this state is easily four thousand a month. My mom has taken care of your father for four years. That’s forty-eight months.” I pulled out my phone, calculator app open, and turned the screen toward her. “That comes to $192,000. Are you paying with cash, or do you need to set up a financing plan?” The air outside the downtown County Clerk’s office was bitter, making my face sting. I held my phone screen steady in the air, the number “$192,000” staring back with a cold glow. Tiffany stood on the top step, the hem of her expensive beige trench coat whipping in the wind. She clearly hadn’t expected me to counterattack. Her practiced smile faltered for a second, her gaze darting between me and the calculator screen, finally landing on my mother, Sarah. “Sarah,” Tiffany said, her tone softening, like she was coaxing a confused child. “Maya must be joking. We’re about to be family. Bringing up money just ruins the mood. I’m only doing this so everyone can have peace of mind later. Don’t you agree?” Having said her piece, she stepped aside, revealing the man standing behind her in a sleek charcoal suit. That was her boyfriend, Mark. He was a partner at a prominent downtown law firm. Right now, he was pushing up his wire-rimmed glasses, holding a thick legal folder, wore a mask of professional neutrality. “Sarah, here is the agreement,” Mark said, offering the document with the practiced grace of someone presenting exhibit A in court. “If you don’t have any objections, just sign here, and we can go inside and finish the paperwork. We don’t want to miss our appointment slot.” My mom stood frozen, her hands gripping the unfinished marriage license application so tightly the paper was beginning to crumple. She looked at Tiffany, then at Robert, her soon-to-be husband, who was standing with his head down, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Mom’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Around us, other couples waiting to get licensed—some giddy with love, others looking miserable—had stopped to watch. A dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on us like spotlights. Robert finally lifted his head. His face, still somewhat sallow from years of health issues, was flushed with deep embarrassment. He coughed, clearing his throat, and reached out to tug at my mom’s sleeve. “Sarah… maybe… maybe just sign it? It’s just a formality, really.” My mom flinched. The light that had finally returned to her eyes after countless sleepless nights nursing this man back to health seemed to dim. She turned to look at me. That familiar, silent plea for help pierced through me like a needle. It was always like this. Whenever a conflict arose, her first instinct was to retreat, to endure, and then look at me to either fight her battles for her or suffer alongside her. I took a deep breath, shoved the phone back in my pocket, and took a decisive step forward, my heels clicking sharply against the concrete. I stared straight into Tiffany’s immaculate makeup. “Tiffany, if you think talking about money ruins the mood, then let’s talk about devotion. Do you honestly think this retirement account and this house were built solely by your dad over these last four years? Or did they just fall from the sky?” Tiffany frowned. “Maya, what are you implying?” “It’s simple.” I pointed at Robert. “For the past four years, whether this old man was living or dying, whether he could feed himself or needed to be cleaned up in bed, whether he needed hospitalization or complex surgery, my mother was the only one managing it. Where were you with ‘family peace of mind’ back then? Why didn’t you bring notarized documents to manage his care?” “That was Sarah’s choice!” Tiffany’s voice rose an octave. “Besides, they are in love!” “Right, love.” I smiled, turning my attention to Mark. “Well, Attorney Mark, since this is based on love, is this folder in your hand meant to protect that love, or is it meant to guard against a thief?” Mark’s professional composure crackled for a second. He took a step forward, shielding Tiffany, looking down at me. “Maya, legally, assets acquired before marriage are separate. Notarizing this is standard procedure for asset protection. As for your mother’s caregiving, that is considered a moral contribution, which the law does not quantify as a debt. If you are not comfortable with the arrangement, you can advise your mother not to proceed with the marriage.” That comment sent a ripple of whispers through the spectators. “That lawyer is ruthless.” “But he’s not wrong legally. For a second marriage, you have to protect your assets.” “That poor woman, four years of nursing for nothing?” My mom’s face went completely pale. The marriage application slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the ground. “Maya…” her voice was trembling as she grabbed my arm. “Don’t say another word. I’ll sign. I’ll sign, okay?” Tiffany smiled instantly. She pulled a sleek pen from her purse, unscrewed the cap, and offered it to my mom. “That’s the right decision, Sarah. Once you sign, we really are family.” I firmly clamped my hand over my mom’s extending arm. Her hand was ice cold. Her knuckles were enlarged from years of hard work, and there was a scar on the back of her hand from a hot kettle when she was making Robert’s herbal tea two days ago. “Mom.” I looked dead into her eyes. “Think about this. Signing this means you admit that the last four years of your life, all that devotion, was worth zero. From this day forward, in that house, you aren’t a wife; you are a live-in housekeeper who has to pay for her own groceries.” “Maya!” Robert suddenly bellowed, his face red with rage. “How dare you speak to your mother that way! Today is a celebration. Do you have to ruin everything just to embarrass us?” I turned to him. This man, whom my mom had waited on hand and foot for four years, was now glaring at me like I was his mortal enemy. “Robert, don’t worry.” I let go of my mom’s hand and pulled a pre-prepared folder from my purse. “Since Attorney Mark says the law doesn’t quantify moral contributions, let’s quantify them based on current agency rates.” I flipped open the first page and shoved it directly in front of Mark’s face. “2021: Robert was hospitalized with a stroke for 43 days. Private nurse rate: $250 per shift. Nighttime care surcharge: $100. Agency total: $15,000. My mom did it all.” “2022: Pneumonia hospitalization, 21 days. Specialized care rate: $300 a day. Total: $6,300. My mom did it all.” “2023: Vascular surgery. Post-op recovery period: three months. Needed assistance with bathing, feeding, and physical therapy. Private health aide rate: $3,000 a month. Total: $9,000. My mom did it all.” As I spoke, I began slamming the photocopied medical invoices and my mom’s handwritten care logs down on top of Mark’s expensive legal agreement. “And that’s just the medical events.” I flipped to the final summary page, pointing at the calculated total. “Then we have four years of groceries, cooking, laundry, and deep cleaning. Live-in housekeeping agency rate: $3,500 a month. Forty-eight months. Total: $168,000. Let’s round the whole thing off to a clean $190,000.” I looked up, meeting the icy stares of Tiffany and Mark. “Attorney Mark, you’re the professional. How do we categorize this debt? Is it a gift, or is it unjust enrichment?” Mark opened his mouth, but no words came out. He stopped, adjusting his glasses, a look of genuine discomfort crossing his face. Tiffany’s fake smile completely shattered. She violently slapped the folder out of my hand, sending papers flying across the concrete steps. “Maya! You are completely insane! You’re presenting this disgusting invoice now? To humiliate us? My father isn’t dead yet!” “It’s precisely because he isn’t dead that we can settle the account now.” I bent down, picking up a stray receipt, gently dusting it off. “Once he’s dead, it becomes a probate dispute, and that’s a much bigger headache.” “You—” Tiffany was shaking with rage. She turned to my mom. “Sarah, are you just going to stand there while your daughter curses my father? If you truly want to spend your life with him, aren’t you going to control your daughter?” My mom stood in the cold wind, her hair messy, covering half her face. She looked at the papers scattered on the ground—the documented proof of four years of her life’s blood. Then she looked at Robert, who had turned his head away, pretending to study the brickwork of the building. Silence. A deafening, absolute silence. Five full seconds passed before my mom finally moved. She bent down and began picking up the scattered papers, one by one. Tiffany thought she had won. Her lips began to curl into a smirk, until she heard my mom speak in a low, quiet voice: “Maya, can you… can you wait outside by the car for a minute?” I froze. It felt like an icicle had been driven through my heart. “Mom?” I stared at her, unable to believe what I was hearing. My mom didn’t look at me. She gathered the papers and stuffed them into my folder, then pushed it into my hands. The push wasn’t hard, but it was decisive. “This is between Robert and me,” she said. She wouldn’t look at me, and her voice was a hoarse whisper, but it landed like a hammer blow. “Go wait outside.” Tiffany laughed. It was a triumphant, cruel laugh, with no attempt to hide the mockery. “You heard her, right?” Tiffany raised her chin at me. “This is a family matter for the adults. The hired help should stay outside. Mark, give Sarah the pen.” Mark offered the pen again. I stood there, watching my mom take the pen. Her hand was shaking, but she lowered her head and signed her name on that agreement, legally validating four years of exploitation and ensuring more to come. In that moment, I realized I was the joke. I was standing on the steps of the County Clerk’s office, clutching my folder full of “invoices,” watching my mother sell herself out for the sake of “security” and what she called “love.” “Fine.” I closed the folder, slid it back into my purse, and forced my voice to remain steady. “I’ll wait in the car.” I turned and walked down the steps, refusing to look back. Behind me, I heard Tiffany’s sugary-sweet voice: “Oh, Sarah, that’s the right decision. Now we really are one family. Dad, shall we go in?” I walked to the sidewalk, pulled a pack of cigarettes from my purse, and lit one. My hand was shaking so badly it took three tries. The nicotine hit my lungs, dulling the urge to scream or cry. My phone rang. It was my best friend, Chloe. “Hey, how’d it go? Did that wicked stepsister give your mom any trouble?” Chloe’s loud voice blasted through the receiver. I exhaled a cloud of smoke, staring at the City Hall seal on the County Clerk’s building. “No trouble. They coordinated perfectly.” “What does that mean?” Chloe asked, getting anxious. “Sarah signed? The prenup?” “She signed.” I watched the lit end of my cigarette. “She didn’t just sign; she told me to leave.” “Holy shit!” Chloe cursed. “Is she brainwashed? What does that old guy even have besides that rundown house? Is she in love with his arthritis? His dentures?” “She’s in love with the idea of a family,” I said, tapping the ash onto the sidewalk. “She always believes that if she just endures enough, she can have a home.” “So what are you going to do?” Chloe asked. “Just watch?” I squinted, looking at the Clerk’s office entrance. Tiffany and Mark were escorting the old couple inside. Tiffany was clinging to Robert’s arm, smiling like a beauty queen, and my mom followed behind them, looking like a beaten-down servant. “Watch?” I threw the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with my heel. “We’re just getting started.” “What does that mean?” “Chloe, I need you to look up something for me.” I said into the phone. “Don’t you know the HOA manager for Robert’s neighborhood?” “Yeah, I do. Why?” “Get me a copy of all the records for his address.” I watched the glass doors slowly close behind them, and my heart turned to ice. “I need every single expense itemized for the last four years. Water, electric, heating oil, HOA fees, property taxes, any maintenance. I want every penny.” “What are you planning?” “I’m going to settle the account.” I opened my car door and sat inside. “Since they are so obsessed with separate assets and ‘fairness,’ I’m going to make sure we play by their rules. Perfectly.” After hanging up, I sat in the car for twenty minutes. I waited until I saw them come out. Everyone was holding an official-looking document. Tiffany’s smile was even bigger now, and she was taking a photo of the “happy couple” with her phone. Robert was grinning, showing all his wrinkles. My mom stood next to him, still forcing a smile, but her eyes were weary. I started the engine. I didn’t go over to say congratulations. I just dropped the gear into drive and sped out of the parking lot. Round one. I lost. I lost because I cared, and because I underestimated how deeply the fear of being alone ran in my mother’s veins. The wedding reception was small and simple, held at a diner in the old neighborhood. Tiffany hadn’t contributed a single dime. My mom had managed the entire event, rushing around for weeks. Mom did all the planning, sent the invitations, and handled the decorations. Robert just sat on the sofa, drinking coffee, occasionally offering helpful critiques like “The coffee at that diner is better” or “Don’t spend too much on flowers.” I didn’t help with the reception. I only showed up for the mandatory toasts. Tiffany walked over to my table with a champagne glass in hand, right in front of all the relatives, wearing a sweet, performative smile. “Maya, let’s put our misunderstandings in the past. Today is a celebration for my dad and your mom. Let’s have a drink and try to get along from now on.” She phrased it perfectly to make me look like the difficult child. I stood up, picked up my glass, but didn’t drink. I just stared at her. “Tiffany, you’re too kind. As long as my mom is happy, I’ll be happy to ‘get along.’” Tiffany’s smile twitched, but she managed a forced giggle. “Of course she’s happy. I’m her daughter now; I’m going to take care of her.” “Is that so?” I clinked my glass against hers. “I hope you mean that. Because I have an excellent memory, and I still have my calculator.” The smile instantly evaporated from Tiffany’s eyes, but given the audience, she could only swallow the champagne in silence. Three weeks into the marriage. I was at my desk reviewing a contract when my phone rang. It was my mom. “Maya…” she said, her voice cracking with tears. “Can you come over?” “What’s wrong?” I threw my pen down, my heart instantly racing. “Tiffany… Tiffany showed up with Mark, that lawyer. They want me to sign some kind of family agreement…” I could hear her sobbing on the other end. “And they want me to hand over my debit card for ‘centralized management’ of the household finances.” I almost laughed. It hadn’t even been a month, and the wolves were already at the door. “Don’t sign anything.” I grabbed my keys and ran out of my office. “Don’t say a word to them. Wait until I get there. I’m leaving right now.” I broke speed records getting to Robert’s house. I pushed open the door, and the tension in the living room was even worse than it had been outside the Clerk’s office. Tiffany and Mark were occupying the prime seats on the sofa, legal documents spread across the coffee table. Robert was sitting in his armchair, chain-smoking, the ashtray already full of cigarette butts. My mom was sitting on a kitchen chair in the corner, wiping her eyes. When I walked in, Tiffany just arched an eyebrow. “Well, the busy professional returns. Perfect timing. You work in legal, right? Maybe you can help Sarah understand.” I ignored her, walked straight over to my mom, pulled her off that wooden kitchen chair, and sat her down in the comfortable recliner. “Mom, sit here.” Then I took a seat on the coffee table opposite Tiffany and picked up this so-called “family agreement.” I scanned the first few pages and almost started laughing out loud. This wasn’t an agreement; it was an indentured servitude contract. Clause 1: All household income (pensions, social security, interest, and Sarah’s salary) will be managed exclusively by Tiffany Sterling. A monthly allowance will be issued for living expenses. Clause 2: Any personal expenditure over $100 requires approval three days in advance. Clause 3: All pre-marital savings must be disclosed and documented; no assets may be hidden. “Attorney Mark,” I said, dropping the contract on the table. “Did you draft this? Is your firm that slow that you’ve started specializing in the financial abuse of seniors?” Mark pushed up his glasses, maintaining his ‘elite professional’ facade. “Maya, please mind your language. This is standard procedure to protect aging parents from financial scams. Robert’s health is frail, so he isn’t suited to manage large sums, and Sarah has no experience with asset management or investing. Entrusting Tiffany to handle the financials is the most prudent decision for everyone.” “Prudent?” I scoffed. “Putting all the cash directly into Tiffany’s pockets is certainly prudent for her.” “Watch your mouth!” Tiffany slammed her hand on the table, standing up. “I don’t need their money! I’m trying to make sure they are secure! Besides, my dad already agreed, so what the hell are you doing interfering?” I turned to Robert. “Robert, did you agree to this?” Robert avoided my gaze, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. “Tiffany has good intentions… besides, Sarah and I are getting older, our minds aren’t what they used to be…” “Your mind seems sharp enough to protect your own interests.” I reached into my purse and pulled out a manila envelope, slamming it onto the coffee table. “Since you’re so obsessed with asset management and ‘security,’ let’s settle some pre-existing accounts first.”

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When Silas handed me the divorce papers, he actually reached out and tucked a stray, greasy lock of hair back behind my ear. With his gold-rimmed glasses and academic tweed jacket, he looked every bit the refined university professor. “Stella, I appreciate how hard you’ve worked these past few years to support us,” he said, his voice quiet and coated in that gentle condescension he used on freshmen. “But my days are spent in the lab dealing with complex equations and abstract theories. When I come home, I want to discuss literature, philosophy, art. Instead, you just want to talk about which customer stiffed us on a check or how the price of wholesale eggs went up twenty cents.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Our souls are no longer in alignment. For both our sakes, we have to let go.” With that smooth, compassionate tone, he effectively erased ten years of my life. I walked out of our apartment in a daze and stepped right into the path of a speeding delivery truck. As I felt myself hitting the pavement, my vision blurring, I saw her. The young, artsy English major who did understand his soul. She was holding an umbrella, smiling shyly as she walked toward him. Then, darkness. Chapter 1 I opened my eyes, gasping for air, and blinked against the harsh sunlight. I wasn’t on the asphalt. I was standing in the doorway of the greasy spoon diner on North Street that I had just signed the lease for. The calendar on the wall read: May 12, 1992. Silas was standing right in front of me, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking irritated. “Stella, honestly, running a diner isn’t dignified,” he said. “What if my colleagues from the university university see you? It’s embarrassing.” I looked at him—twenty years younger, just starting his tenure track, and already ashamed of the woman who bought his books. The visceral anger from my past life surged up, clean and sharp. I didn’t argue. I just ripped the dirty apron off from around my waist and threw it into the mop bucket. “You’re embarrassed? Fine,” I said coldly. “The courthouse is still open for another hour. Let’s go down there and file for divorce right now.” Silas froze. He stared at me, completely taken aback. In his mind, I was the high school dropout obsessed with him; there was no way I would ever leave him. He took a deep, controlling breath, repressing his anger and replacing it with that ‘pained intellectual’ look I knew so well. “Stella, you’re being completely unreasonable again. I’m just trying to have a rational discussion with you, and you immediately jump to ultimatums? Marriage isn’t a game. Don’t throw words like that around just because you’re throwing a tantrum.” “Who’s throwing a tantrum?” I turned my back on him and walked into the dusty restaurant. “I spent two years working double shifts in a cafeteria, saving every penny to rent this place. Who are you to tell me my hard work is embarrassing?” “Silas, your dignity is your problem, not mine. We’re getting a divorce today. If you don’t go, you’re a coward.” I felt sick just looking at him. I grabbed a rag and started viciously scrubbing the layers of grease off the old industrial stove. Silas stood in the doorway, his face flushing a deep, angry purple. A few pedestrians walking by stopped to stare. He was obsessed with his public image; he couldn’t stand being made a scene of in the street. “Fine, Stella. Have it your way.” His voice was clipped, cold enough to draw blood. “Don’t come crying to me later. You really think you can cut it out here on your own? Good luck.” He turned, hopped on his rusty ten-speed bicycle, and rode away without looking back. Early the next morning, I was waiting on the steps of the courthouse when they opened. Silas showed up in his best suit, clutching a leather briefcase as if to remind me of his superior status. He looked surprised that I actually showed up. The clerk handling the paperwork was a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a massive coffee mug. She looked between the young, academic-looking man and me in my working clothes. “Are you sure about this, sweetie?” she asked me, trying to be helpful. “It’s a tough world out there. Maybe you two just need to talk?” Silas pushed up his glasses, his tone calm and patronizing. “It’s no use, ma’am. We just have different… intellectual wavelengths. We have different life pursuits. I am focused on academic contribution and mental development. She is entirely focused on profit and petty grievances. We are incompatible.” I slammed my ID and the marriage certificate on the table, cutting off his self-absorbed monologue. “That’s right. He’s focused on ‘mental development,’ yet he takes his whole paycheck to buy rare books in foreign languages, not bringing a single cent home for bills. Our rent, our food, everything was paid for by my double shifts in that cafeteria. I’m done supporting a moocher who complains about my cooking. Just stamp the papers.” The clerk’s eyes went wide. Silas’s face turned bright red. “Stella! How dare you speak such nonsense!” He completely lost his academic composure, his voice cracking as he shouted. I didn’t even give him a second glance. I just stared at the clerk. She didn’t ask another question. She stamped the papers with a satisfying thwack. As I picked up my copy of the divorce decree, I felt the crushing weight of two lifetimes finally shatter and fall off my shoulders. The air outside the courthouse smelled cleaner than it ever had before. “Are you satisfied now?” Silas hissed, walking close behind me. His tone was full of unearned charity. “There are four hundred dollars in the savings account. You can keep it as a settlement. I’m done with you. The university housing apartment is mine, obviously. You need to be moved out by tonight.” That four hundred dollars was money I had saved from working myself to the bone. And yet, he spoke as if handing me my own money was an act of grace. I let out a cold laugh. “Don’t worry, Silas. I won’t take a single thing that belongs to you.” I went back to that cramped university apartment. It only took me an hour to pack my few belongings. Silas was sitting on the sofa, flipping through a collection of poetry, pretending to be unbothered by the dissolution of his marriage. Then, there was a knock at the door. A young woman in a flowy sundress with her hair tied in a innocent ponytail stood outside, clutching a Tupperware container. “Professor Vance, I heard you weren’t feeling well, so I brought you some homemade chicken noodle soup.” It was Claire. She saw me holding my duffel bag and her eyes flickered with guilt for a split second before she plastered on a sweet, innocent smile. “Oh, hi, Stella. I was just… checking on Professor Vance.” Silas put down his poetry book and stood up, walking over to take the soup container from her hand. His voice was incredibly gentle when he spoke to her. “Thank you, Claire. This means a lot. Actually, I was hoping to discuss some translation theories with you. Come on in.” Soul resonance. I grabbed my bag and shoulder-checked Claire out of the doorway. “Excuse me. Don’t block the path.” Claire let out a dramatic gasp, stumbling weakly toward Silas. He caught her immediately, glaring at my retreating back. “Stella! You are a complete savage!” I didn’t look back as I walked down the stairs. Savage? Fine. In my last life, I was kind and devoted, and it ended with me dead in the street. In this life, I was going to be successful, rich, and happily drowning in money. After leaving the university housing, I moved directly into the back storage room of the diner. It was filthy and cramped, but it was wide enough. I could cook in the front and sleep in the back. I used my four hundred dollars to buy pots, pans, plates, and a few sturdy, second-hand wooden tables and chairs. 1992 was the year the economy was booming, and everyone was encouraged to start small businesses. The diner was located near a massive textile mill and a logistics hub that was currently under construction. The foot traffic was immense. But the only other food options around were expensive, sit-down restaurants with terrible service and bland food. I decided to do fast, cheap comfort food. Big portions, plenty of grease, lots of flavor—the kind of food that stuck to the ribs of men doing hard manual labor all day. The day before the grand opening, I went to the massive wholesale market on the south side of town to get supplies. Wholesale markets in the early 90s were chaotic, grimy places, full of mud, slush, and rotten produce. I needed to find reliable long-term suppliers for meat and spices. At a spice stall, I was locked in a heated debate with the owner over a price difference of fifty cents. “Look, pal,” I said, leaning over the counter. “These cinnamon sticks are old. The aroma is practically gone. If I buy in bulk, I’m giving you a dollar-twenty a pound, max. You asking for a dollar-seventy is treating me like an idiot.” The owner was a big, hulking guy. Seeing I was a young woman, he had assumed he could just bully me into paying. Now that I called him on the market price, he got defensive and waved his hand to dismiss me. “Get lost. If you don’t have the money, don’t buy. That’s the price. Take it or leave it.” “Actually, I agree with her. That batch isn’t worth a dollar-seventy.” A deep, commanding voice came from behind me. I turned around. Standing there was a man in a black leather jacket with a very short, military-style buzz cut. He was tall, nearly six-foot-two, with a sharp, piercing gaze. In this grimy, working-class wholesale market, he carried himself with an aura of authority that didn’t belong. He casually grabbed a handful of the cinnamon sticks and held them up to his nose. “They sat in humidity and were then redried. There’s no flavor left in them.” He looked coldly at the stall owner. “Lee, you need to run a honest business. You try to screw people over with garbage like this, and I’ll make sure you’re taken off the market’s approved vendor list.” The owner, Lee, went pale. He instantly morphed into a fawning, sniveling sycophant. “Oh, Mr. Pierce! I didn’t see you there! This is a complete misunderstanding, I swear! My employee must have put out the wrong sack.” The man ignored him and looked down at me. “You have a sharp eye for quality, ma’am. What kind of spices are you looking for? Go to the stall three rows over on the east side. Mention the name Grant Pierce. They’ll give you the wholesale price.” Grant Pierce. The name clicked immediately. In my past life, he was the biggest commercial real estate developer in the city, holding a monopoly on the entire Southside logistics network. Apparently, back in 1992, he was just starting out, running logistics for this wholesale market. I wasn’t going to refuse the help. I nodded at him. “Thank you, Mr. Pierce. My name is Stella. I’m opening a diner over on North Street near the factory. I imagine I’ll be sourcing a lot of goods from here.” He wasn’t overly polite, and he didn’t look down on me for being a woman in business. He just glanced at the detailed, disorganized list of items in my hand. “North Street is a high-traffic spot. Stella, I wish you luck with your opening.” Having secured low-cost, high-quality ingredients, I went back to the diner and spent the entire night simmering a massive pot of my grandmother’s secret BBQ sauce base. It was a recipe I had perfected over hundreds of trials in my past life. The smoke and spice aroma was so potent it drifted halfway down the block. The next morning, with a modest crackle of cheap fireworks at the door, “Stella’s North Street Diner” officially opened. I set up a glass display counter right at the front and filled it with massive trays of glinting, saucy ribs, pulled pork, and smoked sausage. The aroma immediately drew in the factory workers who were just finishing their night shift. “Hey, boss. How much for a plate?” “Two dollars, brother. Huge helping of pork, sides, and the coffee is free!” I yelled back over the din. I was wearing an old apron, my hair tied back, wielding a massive steel ladle. I was cutting meat, scooping rice, and pouring sauce at lightning speed. By 11:30 AM, the fifty portions I had prepared were completely sold out. In the evening, I offered spicy grilled chicken and steak tips, attracting all the long-haul truck drivers pulling into the logistics hub. By the end of the day, I was exhausted. My back ached, and my arms were sore. But as I sat under the single dim light bulb at the back of the kitchen counting the cash, smoothing out the crumpled single dollars and twenty-dollar bills in the metal tin… I realized I had made a net profit of thirty-five dollars. In 1992, that was nearly half a month’s salary for a factory worker. I carefully folded the money and tucked it into my bra. This was real security. Meanwhile, back at the university, Silas was probably hungry, debating the meaning of a poem with his “soulmate.” The diner’s business grew faster than I could have imagined. Because I used high-quality ingredients, served massive portions, and kept prices low, I captured the market perfectly. Within a month, I had to hire two women to help with prep and dishwashing. We set up a takeout window at the front for evening orders. I worked from dawn until late at night, barely stopping for a sip of water. But I felt more alive than I ever had before. My complexion was glowing, a stark contrast to the pale, depressed wife I used to be. One evening, right during the prime dinner rush, the diner was packed. I was standing in front of the open kitchen, working the grill, when I heard a voice that made my spine go cold. “This place is utterly disgusting. Look at the grease on the floor. I can’t even stand to walk in here.” I kept working the grill and looked over my shoulder. Silas and Claire were standing at the door. Claire was wearing a brand new sundress, holding a scented handkerchief to her nose, looking at the crowded, working-class clientele with utter disdain. Silas had bought himself a new suit. It looked expensive. He frowned as he scanned the room, his eyes finally landing on me. Seeing me in my stained apron, covered in sweat and grease, a look of arrogant pity flashed in his eyes. “Stella, look at yourself. Look at what you’ve become.” He walked through the crowded room, dodging a table of burly factory workers drinking beer, and stood right in front of my station. “Is this your revenge against me? Running a dive bar in a rough neighborhood just to embarrass me? How much profit are you even making, fifty cents a plate? Degrading yourself like this… is it worth it?” I finished plating an order of ribs and handed it to my waitress. I wiped the sweat from my brow with my shoulder and wiped my hands on my apron, staring at him with a amused smile. “Why, if it isn’t Professor Vance. Didn’t they have steamed vegetables and tofu at the faculty dining hall tonight? What are you doing in a ‘dive bar’? Experiencing how the other half lives?” Claire walked up and weakly grabbed Silas’s arm. “Stella, don’t misunderstand. Professor Vance just got a major grant from the university for his research, so we came out to celebrate.” “We were passing by, and Professor Vance felt nostalgic. He wanted to see if you were doing okay.” She extended her slender, pale fingers and adjusted the hair behind her ear. “Stella, your hands are completely chapped and covered in cuts. Oh, I feel so terrible for you. Unlike us who work with our minds and pens, manual labor is so incredibly hard on the body. You look exhausted.” It was blatant bragging disguised as sympathy. Ten years ago, I would have felt inferior, I would have cried. Now, I just found it funny. “If you’re here to celebrate, find a seat,” I said, pointing at the diner. I grabbed a pen and pad and slammed them on the nearest table. “Pulled pork sandwich is five dollars, ribs are ten. What can I get you?” At the mention of the prices, Silas’s face went pale. In 1992, five dollars was a lot of money for a sandwich. His salary, after buying his expensive foreign books, was minimal. He used to rely entirely on me to cover our living expenses. Now that I cut him off, where did he find the nerve to come here and order ribs? “Stella, are you insane? Five dollars for a sandwich? You are completely money-grubbing. That is armed robbery,” he hissed under his breath. “The prices are listed right there. If you can’t afford it, there’s a McDonald’s two blocks over. Their dollar menu is probably more your speed.” I didn’t hold back. Around us, several tables of customers stopped eating and turned to look. “Look at this guy in the suit,” a drunk trucker laughed loudly from a near table. “Comes in here with his girl, orders a sandwich, and then complains he can’t pay five bucks? Who is this loser?” The crowd burst into laughter. Silas’s face turned bright red. He could not handle public humiliation. He violently slammed his hand on the table, pointing a finger at my face. The mask of the refined professor was completely gone. “Stella Vance! You have become utterly grotesque!” “My colleague, Professor Davis, is on the city’s health and fire safety board! He oversees this entire district! You think your little greasy spoon is up to code? The sanitation in here is atrocious! Believe me, one phone call tomorrow and I will have your business license revoked, and you’ll be on a bus back to the sticks!” The diner went dead silent. Everyone knew you didn’t fight City Hall. Claire immediately started playing the peacemaker. “Stella, just apologize to Silas. He has a kind heart. Just admit you were wrong, and he won’t take away your livelihood.” They were completely certain that I had no choice but to bow down to them to survive.

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I’ve been married to Nolan Sterling for three years, yet everyone in our circle still firmly believes in his carefully crafted “single and available” persona. At the company’s annual success gala, his personal assistant sang a love song dedicated entirely to him. She even got down on one knee, delivering a deeply passionate confession of her love. I thought, surely, this was the moment he would finally announce our relationship to everyone. But instead, faced with the roaring encouragement of our colleagues, he simply offered a helpless, indulgent smile, nodded, and accepted Chloe’s confession. The cheers erupted like a tidal wave, each wave louder than the last. I stood in the shadows, my entire body trembling with a cold so deep it chilled my bones. Nolan’s gaze met mine across the room. His eyes carried a sharp, unmistakable warning. But this time, I didn’t pull him aside to demand an explanation like I usually did. I just stood there and clapped along with the rest of them. “Congratulations, Director Sterling. Congratulations, Chloe.” “Such a happy occasion! Doesn’t this mean the Director owes everyone here a round of drinks on his tab?” … The moment the words left my mouth, the crowd’s cheering grew even more frantic. Nolan’s brows knotted together. He shot me a covert, furious glare. But, trapped by the sheer enthusiasm of the crowd, he had no choice but to bite the bullet and pull out his black card, paying for a massive round of expensive champagne for everyone. When he finally made his way over to me, he waited until no one was looking, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the breakroom. “Why are you joining in and making a scene? Do you have any idea how much money I just dropped buying drinks for this entire department?” “What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” He genuinely believed my comments out there were just me being petty. I forced a bitter smile. I wanted to speak, but it felt like something was suffocating me, blocking my throat. I couldn’t force a single word out. I just let out a heavy sigh. “Nolan, we’ve been married for three years. You promised me.” “You promised that once your career stabilized, we would make our relationship public. What exactly are you doing right now? Are you cheating on me?” Nolan’s eyes had been darting toward the breakroom window, nervously checking if anyone was listening. Hearing my accusation, his head snapped back to me. “What kind of nonsense are you spewing?!” Realizing his voice had spiked, he forcibly swallowed his anger. “Harper, yes, I made a promise.” “But have you stopped to think about your mother? If I hadn’t been financially supporting her treatments, do you really think she’d still be alive today?” “I have to climb higher. I have to make more money. Otherwise, how many months of her medical bills do you think your pathetic little salary could cover?” Every single word he spat out hit my eardrums like a physical blow. “So you accept Chloe’s confession right in front of my face? What am I to you? I am your wife!” I growled, keeping my voice low but fierce. This only made Nolan angrier. “Can’t you be a little understanding?! If it weren’t for me these past few years, your mother would be dead and buried by now!” I had heard these exact words countless times over the years, but they had never ripped my heart apart quite like this. In Nolan’s eyes, our marriage, our home, our entire future… They would always, always be secondary to his ambition. And all of this was simply because Chloe was the CEO’s daughter. That was why he desperately maintained his single persona, while brazenly flirting with Chloe in front of the entire company. He was affectionate with her right in front of my eyes, yet he demanded that I be “understanding.” From the day we started dating to the day we got married, he had always been this intensely ambitious. After we got married, he even took control of all my bank accounts, insisting he manage our finances. As he worked harder and harder, and the money piled up, his heart grew colder and colder. Whenever we had an argument, he always, without fail, weaponized my terminally ill mother’s life against me. “Then give me back my bank cards. From today on, my mother doesn’t need a single cent from you…” My words were cut off by the sound of the breakroom door being pushed open. Chloe leaned against the doorframe, looking at Nolan and me with a surprised expression. Nolan immediately took a huge step away from me, acting as if nothing had just happened. “Oh, Manager Vance, you’re here too. I was looking everywhere for you guys. I thought something was wrong.” Chloe beamed a massive smile, walking over and naturally intertwining her fingers with Nolan’s. She affectionately pressed her cheek against his. “I’ve already told my parents about us. They want to meet you.” I could clearly see the flash of absolute ecstasy in Nolan’s eyes. He instinctively shot me a glance, then tightened his grip on Chloe’s hand. “Of course. I’m available whenever they are.” My hands, hanging loosely at my sides, clenched into tight fists. My nails dug deep into my palms; only the sharp, stinging pain kept me grounded in reality. Chloe walked over to me and shoved a thick, bulging envelope into my hands. She flashed a radiant, triumphant smile. “Manager Vance, you work so closely with Nolan and handle so much. Consider this a little bonus for all your hard work.” As soon as she finished speaking, Nolan gently pulled her away. Before he walked out the door, he didn’t even spare me a single glance. I was left completely alone in the breakroom. Outside, the celebration continued to rage. The notifications in the company group chat were exploding with congratulatory messages for the new couple. I looked down at the hidden photo album on my phone. It was a scan of our official marriage certificate photo. He had forbidden me from using it as my lock screen, so I could only hide it deep in my camera roll. Every time I looked at it, I somehow convinced myself I could hold on a little longer. I stared at that photo with its bright red background for a very long time. Then, I uploaded it directly to the company’s internal message board. I had endured this for three years. I had absolutely no strength left to keep pretending. It took exactly one day for that photo to circulate to every single screen in the building. When I walked into the office, the way my coworkers looked at me was entirely different. The relentless, hushed whispers drifted into my ears from every direction. [What the hell is going on? Manager Vance and Director Sterling are married?] [Then what was all that yesterday? Chloe is the other woman…?] Some of the bolder employees walked right up to my desk and asked me directly. “Manager Vance, you never mentioned you were married. Is that photo photoshopped?” Before I could even open my mouth to answer, Nolan summoned me into his private office. The moment the door clicked shut. A splash of scalding hot water was thrown directly into my face. Nolan’s face was twisted with absolute fury. He violently smashed the glass mug onto the floor right at my feet. The flying shards of glass sliced a shallow cut near the corner of my eye. Drops of blood hit the floor. “Harper, are you intentionally trying to ruin me?!” “Didn’t I explicitly tell you that absolutely no one could know about our marriage?! The entire company is gossiping about it right now!” “Did you even stop for one second to think about how this would affect Chloe?! Everyone out there is calling her a homewrecker!” I wiped my face. The skin where the boiling water had hit was searing red. “I just posted the truth. Is telling the truth a crime?” I didn’t feel I had done anything wrong. “Are you afraid of losing face, or are you just terrified of ruining your perfect image in Chloe’s eyes?” “Does the CEO’s precious daughter know she’s sleeping with a married man?” Nolan’s lips parted, a flash of undeniable guilt crossing his eyes. He aggressively rubbed his temples, then, predictably, brought up my mother. “Don’t you dare forget that your half-dead mother is currently laying in the most expensive VIP suite at that care facility, being kept alive by the most expensive imported drugs.” “If I get suspended over this scandal, how the hell are you going to pay her medical bills?!” I let out a dry, exhausted chuckle. The fatigue weighing on my soul felt infinitely heavy. Always this. It’s always this. “Give me my bank cards back. I can pay my mother’s medical bills myself.” Nolan looked at me in shock, which was quickly replaced by utter contempt. He let out a mocking scoff. He marched over to his safe, pulled out a thick, heavy stack of hospital bills, and slammed them onto his desk. “You want to settle accounts with me? Fine! Let’s go through it line by line. Let’s see exactly how much money you and your mother have bled from me!” He stabbed his finger at the stack of bills, speaking through gritted teeth. Only then did I realize that from the day we got married until this exact moment, he had meticulously tracked every single penny he had spent on me. Three years ago, when he asked me to marry him, he had looked me in the eye and said: Your mother treated me like her own son. She saved my life once. I will give everything I have to help her. He did keep his word. But Nolan turned that help into a weapon to control me. Every time. Every single time. Whenever I did the slightest thing that displeased him, he weaponized my mother’s life against me, forcing me to surrender over and over again. He climbed higher and higher, eventually becoming the highly respected Director Sterling everyone admired. And then he told me: “Harper, my career is on a massive upward trajectory right now. I can’t let the executives know we’re married. It’ll ruin my image as a fully dedicated company man.” “You have to understand. Mom’s life is more important than anything else right now.” I believed him. I watched him meticulously build his “single, eligible bachelor” persona, while simultaneously getting closer and closer to his new assistant, Chloe. Whenever I confronted him about it, he would look at me with sheer impatience and say: “Chloe is the CEO’s daughter. She is going to inherit this entire corporation one day.” “I’m just trying to climb the ladder and secure our financial future. What exactly am I doing wrong?” The office door was violently shoved open. Chloe burst into the room, her eyes completely bloodshot. She held up her phone, the screen displaying our marriage photo, and screamed at Nolan. “Nolan Sterling! You lied to me?! Are you two actually married?!” Nolan didn’t miss a beat. He shook his head with absolute conviction. “No, I have always been single. Harper has already admitted she made a terrible mistake. She’s going to issue a public clarification right now.” His expression didn’t change as he pulled out his phone and opened a live security feed. The camera was pointed directly at my mother’s hospital bed. He lowered his voice into a vicious, lethal whisper. “The private nurse at the hospital works for me. If you don’t go out there and clarify this right now, I will order him to pull her oxygen tube.” My pupils dilated in sheer, unadulterated terror. I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. “Nolan?! Have you lost your fucking mind?!” Nolan raised his hand, counting down on his fingers. “Three. Two…” “Fine.” I clenched my fists so tightly my nails drew blood. The agonizing, tearing pain in my chest was the only thing reminding me I was still alive. I stood in the center of the bullpen, facing the entire company, and confessed. “I photoshopped that image. Director Sterling and I have absolutely no romantic relationship whatsoever.” Because of my “confession,” Nolan was immediately reinstated and cleared of all suspicion, while I was indefinitely suspended pending an investigation. As I packed up my desk into a cardboard box, I could feel the malicious stares piercing my skin like needles. The hushed whispers had escalated into open, blatant verbal abuse. “I knew Harper was shady. She’s been acting so desperate for a sugar daddy lately.” “Exactly. Director Sterling always said he was single. How could he possibly be married to someone like her? She was clearly trying to force his hand and be the other woman.” “She’s so disgusting.” I bore the brunt of their malice, fleeing the corporate building like a cornered rat. When I finally got back to our apartment, my phone buzzed with a text from Nolan. [Harper, no matter what happens, we are still husband and wife. Once my promotion to VP is finalized, I’ll fix all of this, and I’ll cut ties with Chloe completely.] [Just wait a little longer. You have my word.] Staring at those empty promises, I realized I didn’t believe a single syllable anymore. I don’t know who did it, but someone had recorded a video of my forced confession and leaked it onto the internet. Overnight, I became the city’s biggest laughingstock. “Tarnishing the company’s reputation.” My suspension was quickly converted to a termination for cause. I didn’t even receive a severance package. The internet mob relentlessly attacked me, flooding my social media with vile, degrading insults. Some deranged vigilantes even tracked down my address and splashed red paint all over my front door. I was terrified to step outside. Every single day, people would gather outside my door and scream abuse. “You desperate, homewrecking slut! If you want money so badly, go find an old creep to pay you!” “People like you are the absolute scum of society!” No matter how I tried to defend myself, no one was willing to listen to the truth. I sat on the couch, completely hollowed out, scrolling mindlessly through Nolan’s Instagram. He had just posted a new carousel of photos. Aside from a series of romantic couples’ portraits with Chloe… There was a close-up shot of two hands, both wearing matching Cartier diamond rings. The diamonds caught the light flawlessly. The caption read: [The love of my life.] I covered my face with my hands, hot tears pouring through my fingers. I grabbed my heavy glass water bottle and hurled it violently at the massive framed wedding portrait hanging on the wall. The glass shattered, raining down in a thousand pieces. I took a deep, shuddering breath and dialed the number of a lawyer friend. “Draft divorce papers for me and Nolan Sterling. I want to completely maximize my financial settlement.” “He committed adultery. I have irrefutable proof.” During the days I spent finalizing the divorce strategy, Nolan never came home. He never even called. A week later, it was company payday. When I was terminated, HR had assured me that my final month’s base salary would be paid out normally. But when I checked my bank account, the only deposit was a pathetic $200 attendance bonus. At the exact same time, my former colleagues in the departmental group chat were throwing a digital party, celebrating Chloe for single-handedly closing a massive, highly lucrative corporate contract. I stared at the signature on the finalized project brief. A deafening ringing filled my ears. That was the contract I had literally drank myself into a stomach hemorrhage to secure during a brutal negotiation dinner. I was the one who had built the relationship with that client from the ground up. If that commission had paid out to me, I would have had enough money to cover my mother’s bills. I wouldn’t have needed Nolan’s money anymore. My hands shook violently as I tried to message the client, confused as to why they had signed early without me. But the message bounced back. The client had blocked my number. I called Nolan. The phone rang and rang, but he didn’t pick up. It wasn’t until my nineteenth call that the line finally connected. Before I could even speak, the sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing came through the speaker. Chloe’s voice, thick with annoyance, snapped at me. “Harper, you’ve been fired. Could you stop harassing my boyfriend?” “Can’t you take a hint?” I instinctively slammed the ‘End Call’ button. But those repulsive, wet sounds kept echoing in my brain. The hand holding my phone was trembling uncontrollably. A sharp, piercing agony radiated from my heart, spreading through my entire body like venom. But reality didn’t give me a single second to catch my breath. My phone rang again. This time, the caller ID showed the hospital. It rang relentlessly, sending me into a blind panic. “Hello…” “Ms. Vance, there has been a critical incident regarding your mother.” I don’t even remember how I made it to the hospital. The attending physician met me with a terrifyingly grim expression. “When our nurses did their rounds, they discovered that your mother’s oxygen supply had been disconnected.” “We investigated immediately. The private nurse hired by your husband admitted to doing it. He stated that he was acting under your husband’s direct orders.” The doctor forwarded an audio recording to my phone. “Your mother’s condition is extremely critical. She’s been moved to the emergency surgical wing and requires an immediate, high-risk operation to stabilize her.” “However… there are insufficient funds in her account to proceed…” The doctor’s voice was heavy with profound regret. I tapped play on the audio file. It was unequivocally Nolan’s voice. He said: “I’ve spent enough money keeping that old woman alive, and honestly, she’s tired too.” “Find a window when no one’s looking and pull the oxygen. Yeah, Harper agreed to it too. It’s what she wants.” The world tilted on its axis. My knees buckled, and I had to grip the edge of the doctor’s desk just to keep from collapsing onto the floor. “I… I never said that… I would never say that…” My voice was incredibly hoarse, tearing at my throat. The doctor’s eyes remained filled with deep pity. “Can’t you please just start the surgery? I’ll go get the money right now, I swear!” “Ms. Vance, I’m so sorry, but you have to understand our position. Hospital policy dictates…” I couldn’t lose my mother. I absolutely could not survive that kind of pain. She was the only family I had left in this world. After frantically signing the consent forms, I sprinted to the billing department. But the balance on my debit card wasn’t even enough to cover the anesthesia. My salary, my savings—it was all sitting in an account controlled entirely by Nolan. I texted Nolan over and over and over again. He didn’t reply to a single one. Gritting my teeth, I used a hospital landline to call his cell. Finally, the call connected. “Nolan, my mom needs emergency surgery right now! Transfer my salary to me, and my commission from the contract…” Before I could finish, Nolan replied with a slow, arrogant drawl. “Didn’t I just pay her facility bill last week? Why does she suddenly need emergency surgery?” “Stop making up these pathetic lies just to get my attention, okay?” I knew he wouldn’t believe me, so I took photos of the critical condition notice and the surgical authorization form and texted them to him. “She needs surgery because the nurse you hired pulled her oxygen! Nolan, you are responsible for this!” The line went dead silent for a moment. Perhaps a flicker of guilt finally hit him, because his tone lost its aggressive edge. “Got it.” He hung up the phone. I stared at the clock on the hospital wall, pacing the hallway in agonizing panic. But minute after minute ticked by, and the money never hit my account. My mother’s breathing grew weaker and weaker. They had already attempted to resuscitate her once, but the monitors showed she was still in the critical red zone. My phone screen lit up. I scrambled to open it, praying it was a bank notification. Instead, it was a photo from Chloe. A picture of her and Nolan lying in bed, their fingers tightly intertwined over the sheets. [So sorry, Harper! The money is going to have to wait a bit. Let us finish what we’re doing first, okay? 😉] It felt like I had been plunged into an icy abyss. At that exact moment, the life support machines in my mother’s room began blaring a frantic, continuous alarm. The crash team rushed in to resuscitate her again. But this time, there was no miracle. She stopped breathing. Her heartbeat flatlined. She was gone. The doctor walked out, removing his mask, and offered a grim, apologetic shake of his head. “I’m so sorry for your loss. We did everything we could.” Ding. My phone chimed with a bank transfer notification. I stared at the screen for a very, very long time, my mind completely detached from reality. The sheer absurdity of the world felt suffocating. The money had arrived. But my mother would never, ever need it again. “I sent the money. Now you and your mother need to behave and stop causing trouble.” “Harper, these next few days are critical for me. I’m meeting with the CEO and the board to negotiate my VP salary package and finalize the promotion.” “Once that’s done, I’ll come straight home. Just trust me one last time, okay?” A long string of voice notes arrived, his tone laced with that familiar, manipulative coaxing. I didn’t listen to the rest of them. Instead, I attached the finalized divorce settlement—the one demanding he leave the marriage with absolutely nothing—and sent the PDF directly to Nolan. “I don’t need it anymore, Nolan. We are done.”

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My husband parked in my assigned spot again. The front of his SUV was angled sharply over the yellow line, obnoxiously taking up two spaces. This was the third time. I didn’t call him right away to come down to the garage and move it. Instead, I took a quick video and posted it on my Instagram Story. A second later, the new 22-year-old intern I was mentoring—a guy who bragged about having had eighteen ex-girlfriends—sent me a direct message: [Hey, based on my experience, this is super sketchy. If you still want to make it work with him, call him to come 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 pounding in my throat, only to find my husband calmly sitting on the living room sofa, typing away on his laptop. I peeked into the bedroom. Nothing. No anomalies. I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking I was overreacting again. But when I looked back at him, 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.” Sterling’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, Sterling 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 Sterling 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?” Sterling 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. Sterling 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 Sterling 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, Sterling 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 Sterling’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, Sterling was promoted to Department Director. 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. Sterling 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. [Penelope, do you know this new assistant?] my friend texted. I zoomed in on the photo and recognized the face. Rachel Dawson. Sterling’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 Sterling 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.” Sterling’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 Sterling 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. “Sterling 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. Sterling fell to his knees by my hospital bed. For the first time, he cried in front of me, gripping my hand like a lifeline. “Penelope, I surrender. It’s all my fault. I just don’t want you to get hurt anymore.” Rachel was fired. Sterling 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. Sterling 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. Penelope, how much longer is this nightmare going to last? I left work early and waited in the lobby of Sterling’s office building. When I saw him step out of the elevator, laughing and chatting with a few colleagues, I walked up to him. “Sterling.” He saw me, and his smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Penny? 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. Sterling 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?” Sterling’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. Sterling 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. Sterling 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 Sterling. 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 Sterling’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. Brooks has it so rough being married to her…” “It’s terrifying. Her need for control is psychotic.” Sterling 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. “Penny…” “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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“Does it mean that your foster sister, Lily Vance, told you exactly why your father, Mark Sterling, only bought things for her and not for you?” Detective Evans stared at me intently, her expression strictly professional. She had her hair pulled back into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail. I met her scrutinizing gaze, swallowed hard, and gave a heavy nod. “Yes. And it wasn’t just once.” From the moment I woke up in the school nurse’s office, I had been immediately transferred to the local police precinct. I looked up at the ceiling of the interrogation room, wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, and let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “Did she know how cruel it was to show off like that in front of me?” I held up my hand toward Detective Evans, spreading my fingers. “Five,” I said. “My daily allowance for food was five dollars.” “Chloe, I’ve done the math. You’re a girl, you don’t eat that much. Five dollars a day is plenty for your meals.” “Look, if you eat breakfast at home, it’s healthy and nutritious. And you can cook for me and your sister at the same time.” Under the dim, yellow light of our cramped kitchen, my father wore a gentle, reasonable smile. He spoke to me as if I were an adult, as if we were having a rational conversation between equals. I stared at the tips of my worn-out sneakers, finally gathering the courage to speak up. “But Dad, I have to get to school. I’ll be late.” “If you’re going to be late, then wake up earlier!” His voice suddenly spiked, sharp and aggressive. I flinched, shrinking back from him. His eyes widened drastically, the whites showing, looking like they might pop out of his skull. But just as quickly, the manic look vanished, replaced once again by that gentle, reasonable smile. He said, “Chloe, I know you’re a good girl. Now that your sister has moved in, we have another mouth to feed. Dad has a lot of financial pressure. You’re going to help Dad out, right?” “Detective Evans, do you know what my sister’s daily allowance was?” I pulled myself back from the memory and looked at the detective. “Mark, I really want to go to Olive Garden,” the memory of Lily Vance echoed in my mind. Her long hair cascaded down her back, her pale face looking incredibly wronged, her eyes misty with unshed tears. She looked so pitiful. She bit her lower lip. “My mom used to take me there every week.” My dad’s heart broke instantly. He panicked, rushing to comfort her. “Okay, okay. I’ll take you.” “Really?” Lily burst into a radiant smile through her tears. “Thank you, Mark! You’re so good to me. You’re such a good man.” I thought they would at least take me with them. But Lily’s eyes grew red again. “But Mark… my mom only ever took me.” So I watched them drive off together, and I watched them come back loaded with shopping bags. Lily’s face was flushed with excitement. “Mark, you don’t think I’m spending too much of your money, do you?” My dad waved his hands frantically. “Silly girl, what are you talking about? You’re just so mature. Spending my money means you treat me like family! From now on, whatever you want, you just tell me. I’ll make sure you get it.” “Thank you, Mark. No… thank you, Dad. You’re the best.” In the interrogation room, I looked at Detective Evans and said, “There was no limit.” “My father, Mark Sterling, placed zero limits on his foster daughter Lily’s spending.” My lips trembled. The tears I had forced back countless times finally broke free, streaming down my face. I abruptly stood up and slammed both my fists onto the metal table. “I am his biological daughter, and I got five dollars a day! I was starving every single day! I had no snacks, no new clothes! I had to buy groceries, cook the meals, do the laundry, and wait on them hand and foot! And all I got was five dollars!” “But her? She had everything! She ate at Olive Garden until she was sick of it, and she would rather throw the leftovers in the trash than let me have a single bite! Why?! Why was it like that?!” The officers beside me and my homeroom teacher, who was sitting in on the interview, quickly rushed forward to calm me down. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Detective Evans’s jaw tighten. She gestured to a colleague, they whispered, and the colleague quickly stepped out of the room. “Chloe,” Detective Evans closed her notebook and looked at me. “We will investigate everything you’ve said. You need to understand that you are responsible for the statements you make. Do you understand?” She turned the computer monitor toward me. It displayed the transcript of our entire conversation, typed out verbatim. I sneered and swatted the monitor away. “You think I hate her, that I resent her, so I’m framing her and making up lies. Is that it?” I looked around the room at the adults. “That’s what all of you think, right?” I clenched my fists and raised my voice. “Yes! I hate her! I despise her! Why shouldn’t I?! She stole my father! She stole everything that was supposed to be mine!” “Detective Evans, Mrs. Miller… my dad loves her. He doesn’t love me. I am his actual flesh and blood, and he doesn’t love me.” My emotions were spiraling completely out of control. “Lily’s mom abandoned her and ran off. My dad felt sorry for her because she didn’t have a mother. But Mrs. Miller… my mom died! I don’t have a mother either! I’m the one who doesn’t have a mother!” “But my dad didn’t feel sorry for me. He didn’t love me.” “He only loved Lily.” “He only loved my sister! He only loved her!” I broke down completely, becoming hysterical, crying so hard I almost dry-heaved. Mrs. Miller, my teacher, pulled me into a tight, heartbroken hug. “Chloe, don’t cry. Your mom is looking down from heaven, and she’d be so sad to see this.” Mrs. Miller’s eyes were red. “If your mom saw you like this, it would break her heart.” I forced myself to repeat the agonizing truth. “My dad loved her. But later on… I started noticing something was wrong. My dad would stare at Lily’s back when she walked away. He would get lost in thought… he would… he would brush his hand against her arm…” “Then, one night, I got up to use the bathroom, and I heard my dad… I heard him moaning Lily’s name in his bedroom.” “Lily… Lily… In that moment, I finally understood why my dad treated her so well.” “My dad was in love with her.” Huge, heavy tears rolled down my cheeks. I clutched my chest. “So no matter how much I hated her, I didn’t want to hurt her. After all…” I fell silent for a moment before continuing. “After all, she was exactly my age. She was just a kid back then.” “Back then, she used to ask me, confused, ‘Why?’ She couldn’t understand why my dad treated her so amazingly well.” “But… but… I knew why.” “I just didn’t know how to tell her. She was only sixteen. She was a minor.” I looked at Detective Evans, my voice trembling, thick with nasal congestion, on the verge of breaking completely. “Detective Evans, please. Help me. But… help her too. She was only sixteen.” “My dad loved her.” “The way a man loves a woman.” “She was only sixteen years old. She was a child.” “Honestly, everything that happened today… Lily and I planned it. We couldn’t think of any other way to ask for help.” My voice floated softly through the interrogation room, drifting up and circling the space, before settling heavily into the hearts of everyone present. At that exact moment, in an interrogation room at the other end of the hallway… My father, Mark Sterling, sat with a look of utter confusion on his face. “Why was I brought to the police station to give a statement?” Meanwhile, Lily Vance was just walking out of the forensic medical examination center, escorted by her homeroom teacher and a police officer. She was pale as a ghost as she got into the back of a squad car. I walked out of my interrogation room and sat on a bench in the main lobby, waiting for Lily to arrive. When the clock on the wall read 10:35 AM, Lily walked through the front doors. I immediately stood up, rushed to her side, and announced loudly: “Lily, don’t be scared! I told the police everything!” As I pulled her into a hug, I whispered clearly into her ear: “Lily, I told them we planned this whole thing. So, tell me… do you want to say you were dating my dad? Or do you want to say he was just creeping on you one-sidedly?” When I pulled back, I gripped her hands tightly, giving her a half-smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Actually, you’ve been seducing him this whole time, haven’t you… stepmom?” She stared at me, her face completely drained of blood, like she was looking at a demon. “You…” “Aren’t you scared?” I cut her off before she could speak. “Go on. Tell them the truth. Tell them how innocent you are.” I watched Lily walk into the interrogation room. I watched her take step after step into the destiny I had meticulously woven for her. Back then, hiding in the shadows, I had watched them laugh together. They looked so genuinely happy. I knew that Lily’s “happy life” had begun. Expensive watches, expensive bags, expensive phones, expensive times. While I wore my dead mother’s oversized, faded t-shirts. An empty stomach, endless household chores, late-night studying, and a childhood stolen from me. My life had been miserable for entirely too long. So, Lily, your happy life is over now. This time, it’s my turn to be happy. That’s fair, right? The police investigation moved faster than I expected, and Lily’s ability to read the room and adapt was exactly as I had predicted. She mixed truths with lies. She used the truth to build a fortress of lies. But who could blame her? My dad “loved” his foster daughter so, so much. The thousand-dollar iPhone, the two-thousand-dollar bag, the three-thousand-dollar necklace, the four-thousand-dollar watch, the weekly trips to Olive Garden—all sharply contrasting with the severely malnourished biological daughter. “After my mom left, he took me in. I was so grateful to him.” “Why did he treat me so well?” “It was him. He came into my room at night.” “He said he’d buy me things. Whatever I wanted.” “He gave me his debit card. He said we were a family.” “I spent his money because I wanted to punish him.” “He is a monster.” Under Lily’s testimony, my father transformed from the “Neighborhood Saint” into a vile, predatory monster. Even without hard physical evidence. The medical examiner could only confirm that Lily was no longer a virgin; they couldn’t scientifically prove that the person responsible was my father, Mark Sterling. But Lily said it was him, so it was him. Stack after stack of bank statements proved that Lily and my father had a financial relationship. They couldn’t prove it was hush money, but Lily said it was, so it was. Interviews with the staff at Olive Garden confirmed that Lily and Mark came in together frequently. They couldn’t prove it was a date. But Lily said it was, and she said she was “forced” to go. So they were forced dates. “He said my mom left, so he didn’t have a wife anymore, and I had to make it up to him.” Lily spoke through her tears. Her statement, documented in black and white, and her blurred-out interview footage, took the local news by storm. With that, her foster father—my biological father—was nailed firmly to the cross of public opinion. The day the police issued the official press release, our small, working-class city exploded. Overnight, it was all anyone could talk about. The local newspaper published a front-page exposé using pseudonyms for the key figures, detailing the entire sickening case. On the local news channels, legal analysts fiercely debated whether “the absence of physical evidence is sufficient to secure a conviction,” turning it into a prime example for true crime shows. Online, people claiming to be “insiders” or “friends of the victim” crawled out of the woodwork, trying to piece together a version of the truth that fit their own twisted imaginations. In every coffee shop and on every street corner, everyone was talking about it. My father, Mark Sterling, was a predator. A villain. A disgusting piece of trash. Back at the old apartment complex, the neighbors were busy condemning the “sick bastard.” The old man from the sixth floor sat in his wheelchair and spat aggressively on the ground. “A hypocrite! A shameless, sick bastard!” Meanwhile, I was staying at Mrs. Miller’s house. The ceiling fan spun in slow, lazy circles. Mrs. Miller handed me a slice of watermelon, her eyes full of concern. “Chloe, don’t pay any attention to what’s happening out there. The most important thing right now is to focus on yourself. Your grades have always been top of the class. Don’t worry, the school is already fast-tracking your full-ride scholarship applications. You just stay here with me and focus on your future.” “Thank you, Mrs. Miller.” I took a bite of the watermelon and looked at her. “Mrs. Miller, when I leave for college, I’m never coming back here.” Mrs. Miller patted my head gently. “I understand.” The day before my high school graduation, my father was officially indicted. Legally, when establishing a conviction for statutory rape, the prosecution must consider a totality of evidence. Yes, the victim’s testimony is critical, but a conviction rarely rests on testimony alone. There needs to be corroborating evidence—signs of a struggle, a disrupted crime scene. Physical evidence is key—DNA, fluids, torn clothing. Witness testimony is also crucial if anyone else was present. Only when these pieces form a complete, unbroken chain proving a crime occurred can a guilty verdict and sentence be handed down. If it’s solely a ‘he said, she said’ situation with zero corroborating evidence, securing a conviction is incredibly difficult. But my father just loved his foster daughter way, way too much. Every single piece of evidence from their past corroborated his “malicious intent.” All the preferential treatment he showered on her, the things that were carved into my soul, the memories that repeated on a loop in my nightmares—they were finally dragged out into the daylight. Documented in black and white in police reports, they became the final straws that broke his back. His own biological daughter testified that he “loved” his foster daughter. Because Lily was a minor at the time, my father was sentenced to a heavy term: 7 years in state prison. In the courtroom, Lily pointed a shaking finger at the defendant’s table where my father—her foster father—sat, crying hysterically. “It was him! It was him!” “He came into my room late at night and touched my legs!” I couldn’t help it. I let out a sharp, genuine laugh. She had told the lie so many times, she actually believed it herself now. Lily’s mother, Sarah Vance, had also resurfaced for the trial. She was even more dramatic. Taking advantage of a distracted bailiff, she actually charged the defendant’s table and lunged at Mark Sterling. “You bastard! You sick animal! How could you do this to my daughter?! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” Wow. She looked exactly like a devastated, fiercely protective mother. Assuming, of course, you ignored the fact that she had viciously slapped Lily across the face in the hallway when she found out there wouldn’t be a massive civil settlement payout. “I didn’t! I didn’t!” In the courtroom, my dad denied it over and over again. “I just treated her like a daughter!” “I was just trying to be a good person!” “I was just trying to be a good person!” He kept repeating it, right up until the prosecution started presenting the mountain of corroborating evidence. Security footage from Olive Garden: the two of them sitting across from each other. The most prominent thing on the table wasn’t the pizza, but a massive bouquet of red roses. “Yes, they came in almost every week, always requested the same booth. I remember them clearly,” the restaurant manager testified. “When he bought the watch, they came in together,” the jewelry store clerk testified smoothly. “Mark doted on that girl. He gave her the best of everything, while completely neglecting his own biological daughter. As neighbors, we saw it, but we were too afraid to say anything,” the old man from the sixth floor testified as the neighborhood representative. … I watched as piece after piece of evidence was presented. Every single one was a snapshot of their happy, loving past as “father and daughter.” And my father, Mark Sterling, sat frozen in horror at the defendant’s table as his own displays of affection were weaponized against him. As if sensing my gaze, his head snapped toward the back row of the gallery, looking directly at me. I was genuinely curious. In that moment, was he shocked by the sheer volume of “evidence,” or did he finally realize the monumental debt he owed me? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that I could never forget that my mother worked herself into an early grave. She was driven to her death by this “Saint” of a man. I lost my mother when I was very, very young. “Yes, I saw my father go into Lily’s bedroom late at night,” I stated calmly from the witness stand. His face turned ashen and dead, looking exactly like my mother did when she used to come home from her grueling shifts, sitting on the front steps. Ashen, dead, and utterly consumed by despair. “Yes. I plead guilty.” He finally broke. He whispered the words, followed immediately by the heavy, definitive slam of the judge’s gavel. My father, Mark Sterling, was sentenced to 7 years. My foster sister, Lily Vance, became known around town as “the girl who got abused by her dad.” Before I left town for college, I saw Lily one last time in the stairwell of the old apartment building. She was wearing an incredibly revealing outfit, looking me up and down. “Chloe, you’re heading off to college, huh?” “These days, a college degree is useless. You’ll max out at a generic office job making four grand a month. What’s the point?” She kept rambling, and I just listened quietly. Then, I asked her a question. “You’re actually incredibly jealous of me, aren’t you?” Her expression froze. But a second later, she burst into a loud, exaggerated, theatrical laugh, acting like I had just told the funniest joke in the world. I laughed along with her. “Jealous of you? Jealous that you’re poor? Jealous that you don’t have a mom?” I pulled my mother’s framed funeral portrait out of my backpack and looked at her. “Of course you’re jealous of me. Before my mom died, she hid away enough money to pay for my entire college tuition. And she left me the deed to this apartment. What did your mom leave you?” My mother went to heaven. But Lily’s mother was going to drag her straight down to hell. After the trial, Sarah didn’t take Lily away to start fresh in a new city. Instead, she abandoned her right back where she started. Lily had no source of income. She had nowhere to go. With her back against the wall, she had no choice but to return to the old apartment building. And so, under the shocked gazes of the neighbors, she transitioned from a tragic victim to a willing, cheap commodity. She tried to explain, over and over, that she was a victim of circumstance. But the looks she received grew increasingly predatory and vile. She didn’t realize that you can’t just brush off vicious rumors. She didn’t realize that once you validate the premise, it stops being a rumor and becomes an accepted fact. The moment she pointed the finger at her foster father, she became the other half of that dirty, sensational headline. When she walked by, there were hushed, dirty whispers. When she stopped, men would call out her name and laugh lewdly. She stopped leaving the apartment. She locked herself inside. But the door would be knocked on late at night. Men would stand outside her window, calling out to her. “Open up, Lily! Come out and play!” Sometimes it was one guy sneaking around; sometimes it was a whole group of them. She had no income. She couldn’t support herself. She didn’t have a mother to protect her. Her “rich girl” persona was entirely shattered, so she was too terrified to show her face at school, even though the district would have provided her with emergency housing and a bed. A parasitic vine cannot survive a storm. But she wasn’t born a parasite; her mother just never taught her how to be a tree that could stand on its own. How incredibly tragic. Finally, one day, she opened the door. “You really had no idea, did you?” I pulled the strap of her cheap tank top back up her shoulder, my voice a low whisper. “Your mom really did abandon you and run off.” In her slowly dilating, horrified pupils, I saw the reflection of my own faint smile. “All it took was one afternoon. I waited until the neighborhood gossips were sitting in the courtyard, went to the corner bodega to buy a soda, and ‘accidentally’ let slip a massive, top-secret piece of information.” My mind drifted back to that day. “Hey, Mr. Johnson, give me three Cokes. Don’t open them, I’m taking them to a friend’s house.” The gossips nearby chimed in. “Oh, you have a friend over there?” “Yeah! And their family is super important, so I can’t show up empty-handed.” “Important? What does your friend’s family do?” I pretended to think hard. “I don’t know exactly… but they work at the city zoning office. The department that decides which neighborhoods get demolished and bought out by developers.” “Oh! Well, ask them if our complex is getting bought out!” I acted shy. “I can’t ask that! I’m just a kid.” One of the nosy women got annoyed. “This kid doesn’t know how to network at all. How is she going to survive in the real world?” I grabbed my Cokes and stormed off, pretending to be angry. Then I spent the entire afternoon sitting in front of my mother’s grave. A few days later, I found a beat-up, abandoned sofa on the street and dragged it back to the apartment. The noise of me hauling it up the stairs made everyone poke their heads out their doors. “Chloe, why are you hauling that junk up here? When the developers buy us out, you won’t be able to take it with you anyway.” I flashed a brilliant smile and announced loudly, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Smith! My friend told me I can live here comfortably for a long, long time. Our complex isn’t getting bought out! The real estate boom is over. The real money now is in tech stocks and crypto, not buying up old land!” That day, the rumor that the buyout was canceled spread like wildfire, half-believed but heavily discussed. Sarah came knocking to verify. “Chloe, is what your friend said true?” I had never shown Sarah or her daughter an ounce of respect, so I gave my usual annoyed response. “Believe whatever you want. If you don’t believe me, go down to City Hall and ask them yourself.” “City Hall? Like they’d let regular people like us in there,” she muttered as she walked away, heading straight for Lily’s room. I was absolutely certain she had bought it, and was going to discuss her exit strategy with her daughter. If I had been polite to her, she would have suspected a trap. Sure enough, a few days later, Sarah packed her bags and vanished. “Your mom thought the massive developer payout was a bust, so she ran. She ditched her dead weight—you—to go find her next mark,” I told Lily, enunciating every word. “Did your mom tell you she was just going to go make some quick cash and come back for you? Don’t believe it. She lied to you.” “She abandoned you.” “Oh, and by the way, I should probably tell you… this complex is actually getting bought out by a developer next month. They’re tearing it down. You’re about to be homeless.” “How tragic. A true dead weight.” Then, I gently pulled her apartment door shut. As I walked down the stairs, I heard an agonizing, bloodcurdling scream echo from behind the closed door.

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