Valentine’s Day. My boss forced me to work late, so I bought a whole rotisserie chicken to make up for it. The shop owner, Pete, heard I was spending the holiday alone. He kindly threw in a few smoked “specialty riblets.” He made sure to emphasize they were made with his secret dry rub—smoky, savory, and incredibly flavorful. I got home, settled in, put on Netflix, and started gnawing on a riblet. But the more I ate, the weirder it felt. The meat had a strange, gamey texture. The taste had an unmentionable metallic tang underneath the spice. I figured it was just an old batch that hadn’t sold, and he was clearing inventory on me. I didn’t think too much of it. Until I finished the third piece. I spit out the bone and compared it to my own index finger. They were the same length. Same structure. I crawled to the toilet, puking until I was dry-heaving bile. Then, with trembling fingers, I dialed 911. Chapter 1 My parents passed away years ago. Since graduating college, I’ve lived completely alone. My boss knew my situation. That afternoon, she dropped a stack of files on my desk. “Don’t leave until these are done,” she said, without making eye contact. By the time I closed my laptop, the city lights below were already blazing. My body felt heavy with exhaustion. Considering it was a holiday, I didn’t have the energy to cook. So, I went to my usual spot, Pete’s Smokehouse, to buy a rotisserie chicken. “Hey Pete, I’ll take a whole chicken. Shredded, please.” Twenty-five dollars. Usually, I’d never be so extravagant on a random Friday. Pete saw me ordering so late and started making small talk. “Working late, kid? On Valentine’s Day?” I forced a tight smile. “Yeah. Got student loans and rent to pay, you know?” “You never stop working yourself, do you, Pete?” His hands never stopped moving. “Nah. I sent the wife back to her family in Idaho for the long weekend. Figured I’d keep the stand open a bit longer.” “Look at you, working so hard. Tell you what, take these smoked riblets. I won’t sell ’em tonight anyway.” “I’m telling you, these are made with my secret dry rub. The flavor is out of this world.” He tossed several pieces into a brown paper bag, acting like it was no big deal. I felt a little guilty taking them, thinking I should do something in return. I saw a black industrial trash bag sitting by the counter. Assuming it was trash needing to be thrown out, I stepped forward quickly. “Pete, let me take that trash out for you.” But before my hand could touch the bag, he grabbed my wrist tight. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “You kids are too busy these days. Go home, eat, relax. Take care of yourself.” He handed me the shredded chicken. “Alright, get going. Happy Valentine’s.” His sudden concern made my eyes sting. I blinked back tears, thanked him repeatedly, and headed home. The moment I unlocked my apartment door, I collapsed onto the couch. My miserable boss, Olivia, making me work late with no overtime pay. Squeezing me dry. I turned on the TV, half-watching a drama, half-sending Olivia work updates via email. This had been my life for years. But survival required a paycheck, so I couldn’t just quit. I grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and took a long swig. I reached into the bag for a riblet and started eating. I have to admit, Pete’s dry rub was incredible. Smoky, spicy, totally addictive. Under the warm living room light, the spiced meat looked enticing. I didn’t know where he sourced his meat, but these riblets seemed bigger than usual. I couldn’t tell if they were overcooked or just old, but the texture felt… off when I chewed. But hey, they were free. I didn’t analyze it. Until I got to the third piece, and my teeth hit something hard. I spit it out. The bone was unusually long. “What kind of riblet bone is this big?” I muttered to myself, holding it up to the light. Something felt terribly wrong. Drawn by some morbid instinct, I placed my own hand next to the bone. The length… was identical. I froze, paralyzed. Slowly, I looked down at the remaining pieces in the bag. They were all roughly the same size. I picked one up and flipped it over. On the end of the fourth piece, where the joint should be, there was a clean, brutal chop mark through what looked like a palm. This was… “URP…” I bolted for the bathroom and began to vomit violently. My stomach flipped inside out, retching until I was convinced I was puking bile. Once my stomach was completely empty, I crawled back to the living room, grabbed my phone, and ran into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. My hands shook so badly I could barely unlock the phone. I called 911. I didn’t really process anything until the doorbell rang repeatedly. Even then, knowing the bones were still in the living room, I was too terrified to go out. Until the police called my cell. “Is this Sarah Jenkins? This is the police. We are outside your door. Please let us in.” Shaking uncontrollably, I gripped my phone and crept along the wall to the front door. I unlocked it, and two men in police uniforms appeared. One old, one young—looked like a training scenario. Miller, the veteran, and Davis, the rookie. “You called in saying you found human fingers in your takeout? Where?” I hid behind them, pointing to the pile of bones on the coffee table. I have a bad habit: when I eat snaking food, I pile the trash on the table and clean it up all at once at the end. So that pile of bones looked exceptionally prominent. “You ate them?!” Davis looked at me, horrified. When I called 911, I only said I found fingers in my food. I didn’t say I had spit them out of my mouth. The question made my stomach roll again, and I gagged. Officer Miller cut his partner off. “Stupid question, Davis. Who buys smoked ribs just to look at them?” He turned to comfort me. “Don’t be scared, ma’am. Maybe it really is just a chicken paw or something weird. Animals mutate, they get big. It might be nothing.” But when he put on gloves and picked up a finger bone to examine it closely, his reassuring words died in his throat. He instructed Davis: “Call dispatch. Get forensics down here, and Dr. Evans, the medical examiner. I suspect dismemberment.” Davis did as he was told immediately, then shot me a look of pure pity. Spending Valentine’s Day eating… that. He probably figured I’d be scarred for life. While waiting for the ME, Officer Miller questioned me for background. Location and time of purchase, Pete’s appearance, any other details. When he heard Pete gave me the riblets for free, Miller’s expression shifted to suspicion. “As far as I know, Pete’s Smokehouse usually sells out of those ‘riblets’ by 8 PM.” “They are expensive. Why would he just give them to you for nothing?” I flinched at his sharp, accusatory tone. My lips trembled, and it took a few seconds before I could speak. “Pete told me it was late, and he wouldn’t be able to sell them anyway.” “And I’m a regular customer. He sometimes gives me extras, like chicken wings or ends that didn’t sell.” My heart hammered in my chest as I waited for his response. Officer Miller just stared at me, his eyes deep and unreadable. He didn’t say another word. I felt worse and worse, my anxiety skyrocketing. A moment later, Miller’s phone buzzed. He walked into the corner to answer it. I faintly heard him mutter phrases like “Surveillance and logs show…” and “They didn’t find anyone.” He hung up, and when he turned back to me, his gaze was full of scrutiny. “Sarah Jenkins, are you positive you bought this food at Pete’s Smokehouse?” “Is it possible you were exhausted from working late and hallucinated it? That you bought it somewhere else and got confused?” I was stunned. I shook my head instinctively. “No way. I only go to that one smokehouse.” “My own boss recommended it to me, so I go there every time.” Officer Miller took a deep breath, looking at the bones, the shredded rotisserie chicken, and finally back at me. “But we just got the report. Pete’s Smokehouse hasn’t been open in three days.” The world seemed to explode around me. I literally jumped off the couch. “Impossible! My boss just went there yesterday to buy pulled pork!” “I ate some of it!” Because Olivia recommended it, it was right near the office, so I went there constantly after work. She had even told me she wouldn’t be home for Valentine’s Day, so I could just relax and go there after I finished working. Officer Davis was completely lost, listening to me. He couldn’t help but blurts out: “What the hell is going on here?” The three of us stood in an awkward stalemate. Finally, Miller broke the silence. “You said Pete told you he sent his wife back to her family for the holiday, and he was keeping the stand open.” “But according to our immediate background check, Pete Peterson and his wife, Brenda, are legally separated.” “She’s been living in Idaho since last year because of ‘marital strife’ and they are in the middle of a messy divorce. It’s been dragging on.” Miller pulled up a video feed on his tablet. A woman I didn’t recognize was speaking. She was in a rural-looking kitchen. “Pete and I haven’t seen each other in eight months,” the woman in the video said. “I don’t know what’s going on at the Smokehouse. Pete handles all that. Is he in trouble? We aren’t legally divorced yet.” I stood frozen, my heart skipping a beat. They had been separated for months. So why did he always mention his wife to me? And why did he specifically say he sent her home early because he loved her? Officer Miller saw my confusion and asked another question: “Have you ever seen his wife?” I froze. I realized… I had never seen his wife. The shock was too much, and I stumbled, almost collapsing. Davis caught me just in time. “Sarah Jenkins, we haven’t found anything concrete yet. But I’m going to need you to come down to the station with us to make a formal statement.” “Okay… Okay.” I gripped my phone tightly, not even remembering to grab my coat. Davis saw the biting cold outside the window and grabbed it for me before we left. I shot him a grateful look and followed close behind. At the police station, Miller poured me a cup of hot water, opened his laptop, and began the interrogation. “Sarah, you say you frequently go to Pete’s Smokehouse. But I’m looking at the map. You live on the other side of downtown. It’s not on your way home at all.” “There are dozens of other restaurants, including other BBQ places, much closer to you. Why do you specifically drive all the way there?” I held the warm paper cup tight, as if that warmth were the only thing keeping me sane. “Because that shop… is owned by a relative of my boss, Olivia Smith. It’s right next to our office.” “Olivia makes all of us support his business. Almost everyone in our office eats his BBQ.” “My company is Apex Solutions. My boss is Olivia Smith. You can check.” Officer Miller clicked around on his laptop, confirming the information. Then he asked: “Are you positive the man who sold you that food? Was it Pete Peterson himself?” I was stunned by the question again. “Of course it was him. I go there constantly. How could I get the person wrong?” “Besides, his Smokehouse is the only restaurant on that entire block. I couldn’t have gone to the wrong place.” Officer Miller checked his phone again, remaining silent. After a long while, his fingers lightly tapped the desk, his eyes sharply focused on me. “Sarah, the patrol unit just interviewed the owners of all the other shops on that street. They all said the same thing.” “Pete’s Smokehouse was sold to a corporate chain a week ago.” “So, Sarah, where exactly did you buy those riblets?” Miller’s words were like a hammer blow to my head. What do you mean it was sold a week ago? Then where did my smoked riblets come from? Did I buy food from a ghost? Officer Miller didn’t speak, just sat in silence, staring at me with pure disbelief. “I don’t know if anything you just told me is true.” “But I’m going to tell you something. It was raining all day. It only stopped right before dusk. The ground is wet.” “Raindrops hit water, or feet step in puddles, and they kick up small points of mud.” “The lock on the security pull-down gate of Pete’s Smokehouse had absolutely no signs of mud points being wiped away. And the ceramic tiles next to the door frame had no footprints.” “If you wanted to open the lock on that security gate, you’d have to step on those tiles.” He handed me the tablet with photos, watching my reaction. I stared at the photos, zooming in, desperately looking for any shred of evidence. But the night was too dark, the visibility was too low. From the angle of the photos, the security gate truly looked like it hadn’t been opened in ages. I shook my head, trying to force myself to remember. It had just rained, it was cold, and because it was a holiday, his shop was the only one open on the whole street. The street was dark, and after I bought the food, I left immediately. “Aren’t you supposed to check the surveillance cameras? Technology is advanced.” I muttered a rebuttal. Officer Miller sighed, looking a little helpless. “That’s an old street. There are a few cameras, but most of them have been vandalized or are broken.” “Only one at the street corner still works.” I lifted my head in panic. He shot me a look of pity. “Even without cameras, the filth on that security gate doesn’t lie.” “You can’t seriously be trying to tell me that the owner specifically waited for you to finish working just to give you free riblets.” “That before closing, he took a mud bottle and evenly sprayed mud points on the security gate, then specifically wiped the floor next to it clean, just so anyone investigating would see nothing.” “That would be far too clever.” He was right. It made no sense. Was I truly so exhausted from working late that I hallucinated the whole thing? I grabbed my hair hard, trying to stay calm. Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration and slammed my hand on the desk. “I posted a photo on Instagram!” I quickly pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my feed. I rarely treat myself to rotisserie chicken, so I took a photo to share. By now, many colleagues had commented.

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Just as our wedding night came to a close, Liam held me in his arms and suddenly said: “There’s something I need to tell you.” “Legally, I already have a wife.” “We won’t be able to go to the courthouse to sign the marriage license tomorrow. But aside from that piece of paper, I can give you anything you want.” My mind went blank with a loud ringing. “You’re… married? Why didn’t you mention this once in all these years?” He got up to get dressed, the hickey I left on his neck still visible. “Chloe, I love you the most. We have ten years of history, after all.” “She… was forced on me by my family years ago. Since I took her in, I have to be responsible for her.” I lay paralyzed on our messy bridal bed, the lingering warmth of our intimacy still beneath me. The decorative “Just Married” sign on the wall was as glaringly red as a slap to the face. 1. Maybe the devastation on my face was too obvious. Liam sighed, took my hand, and placed our hands with the wedding bands together. “Chloe, look. Nothing is actually different.” “The wedding, the ring, the title—they’re all yours. Everyone knows you are the rightful Mrs. Sterling.” “As for her… just pretend she doesn’t exist.” He turned, meeting my red, tear-filled eyes. His voice softened. “Come on, don’t throw a tantrum.” “My Chloe is the most understanding, right?” I dodged his touch and said coldly: “We’re breaking up.” Liam’s smile froze. He let go of my hand, lit a cigarette, and said with a hint of exhaustion: “I don’t agree.” “Then divorce her.” Liam stared at me. After a long silence, he said: “Chloe, I’ll be honest with you.” “Sarah and I got married seven years ago. For those seven years, she has taken perfect care of my parents. I have no reason to divorce her.” Seven years ago? That was right after we graduated from college. We had already been dating for three years by then. He married someone else behind my back back then? My stomach churned. I rushed to the bathroom and dry heaved. “There’s no need to overreact like this.” Liam followed me in, gently patting my back. “I don’t have any real physical relationship with her. It was just a strategic marriage arranged by our parents. I had to fulfill the contract.” “The person I love most is still you.” I turned to look at him. His eyes were full of worry. It was the look I had loved most for the past ten years. But at this moment, it made me feel incredibly sick. “Overreact?” “You made me the other woman for seven years, and you’re telling me I’m overreacting?” Liam frowned, a flash of impatience in his eyes. “You’re making it sound so ugly. What do you mean, ‘the other woman’? We dated first. I just married her without telling you.” “You did nothing wrong, so you don’t need to feel guilty.” “Besides, we just lack that piece of paper. In my heart, you are my wife.” Saying that, he reached out to stroke my hair, trying to comfort me. “Don’t touch me!” I swatted his hand away. His hand froze in mid-air. In our ten years together, we had never had a real fight. I used to think it was proof of how much we loved each other. Now I understood. It was a complete and utter scam! Liam pinched the bridge of his nose, losing his patience. “Fine. Let’s both take the night to cool off.” “Chloe, think about it carefully. Giving up our ten-year relationship, the future we planned together, and your parents’ expectations… all for a piece of paper. Is it really worth it?” The door slammed shut. I started dry heaving uncontrollably. My back arched like a bow, but I couldn’t throw up anything. Tears and snot mixed on my face; I must have looked hideous. After I finished crying, I made up my mind. I got off the floor and started packing my bags. I had moved in with so much hope and excitement, and now I was moving out completely shattered. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. My phone suddenly pinged. It was Liam’s mother. She had posted on Facebook: [My daughter-in-law is so thoughtful.] The photo showed the dining room of the Sterling family estate, featuring a table full of food. I didn’t cook that. In the past, my first thought would have been that Liam had ordered dinner for his mother in my name to help improve our relationship. I would have even rewarded him when I saw him. But now I understood. The “daughter-in-law” his mother was talking about was never me. I was just a woman who was forced to be the mistress for seven years. 2. In the middle of the night, I dragged my suitcase out of our bridal home. I walked aimlessly down the street. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my dad. “Chloe, Liam mentioned that you two… had a little disagreement?” Hearing my dad’s voice made me want to cry. But afraid he’d worry, I held it back. My dad continued: “We’ve all seen how well Liam treats you. Tell me, in all these years, has he ever mistreated you?” How well? Like when we graduated, and his parents disapproved of us, so he resolutely cut ties with his wealthy family for me? From a glamorous rich kid to squeezing into a freezing, cramped basement apartment with me, he never complained once. Or when I worked late into the night, and he—despite struggling with his own startup—always showed up outside my office on time with a warm midnight snack? Or when he had a terrible time entertaining clients, but would always adjust his mood in the car before walking through our door with a bright smile, never letting the outside storms touch me? Those details, that seemingly ordinary yet pervasive care and protection. They flashed through my mind now like a slow-motion movie. So vivid. So warm. His kindness to me was real. But the fact that he married someone else was also real. “Chloe? Are you listening?” My dad’s voice pulled me back from my memories. “I’m listening,” I answered. “Dad, I…” I wanted to tell him what happened tonight. But the words felt stuck in my throat like cotton. What could I say? Your daughter was scammed for a decade and has been an unwitting mistress for seven years? Your perfect future son-in-law actually married someone else seven years ago? “Chloe, there’s something I need to tell you,” my dad said before I could finish. “In a month, your mother is going to have heart bypass surgery.” Suddenly, all the bitterness and accusations welling up in my throat froze. “The doctor said she cannot have any major emotional swings before or after the surgery, or it could be life-threatening.” “So Chloe, please, Dad is begging you. During this time, no matter what, we need peace in the family. We can’t let your mother worry about anything…” My dad went on, telling me to take care of my health, not to stay up late, to communicate properly with Liam… I couldn’t hear a single word of it. All that was left in my ears was a buzzing roar. The call ended. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I crouched on the empty street and wailed. Crying for my ten years of seemingly flawless love. Crying for my mother’s life, hanging by a thread. Crying for the beautiful, gilded cage Liam had built for me with a decade of deep affection. I don’t know when it started raining. From a fine drizzle to a torrential downpour… I was drenched on the street corner, unable to tell if it was rain or tears on my face. Suddenly, an umbrella appeared over my head. I looked up. It was Liam. Just like the past ten years, he held me tightly. I could feel his arms trembling. “Come home with me…” “Chloe, I only posted that photo on my mom’s phone to make you mad. I never meant to break up with you…” Liam grabbed my suitcase and gently shoved me into the passenger seat of his car. He promised me: “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. I’ll divorce Sarah.” “We’ll live a good life together.” “Chloe, your dad told me about your mom…” I stayed silent. I just stared at him blankly. The unfamiliar perfume scent on him, the unfamiliar shade of lipstick on his collar… They all belonged to another woman. I closed my eyes, feeling incredibly exhausted. But Liam didn’t notice my numbness; he just kept rambling about how he was going to hire the best medical team for my mom. I leaned my head against the car window. I didn’t even have the energy to reply. 3. Over the next half month, to avoid Liam, I used taking care of my mom as an excuse and practically lived at the hospital. Liam didn’t get mad. Instead, he perfectly delivered on his promise. He used his connections to bring in top-tier specialists for a consultation, crafting the most flawless treatment plan for my mom’s bypass surgery. He even pushed back his work schedule to stay with me at the hospital overnight. He acted like the absolute perfect son-in-law. My mom’s color looked a bit better. She held my hand and said to him: “Liam, knowing Chloe has you to take care of her puts my mind at ease.” He naturally held my hand, intertwining our fingers, his gaze sincere. “Mom, I’ll treat Chloe right for the rest of my life.” Seeing my mom’s earnest eyes, I looked down and nodded. But my heart felt like a waterlogged sponge, heavy and suffocating. Everything seemed normal. The turning point happened one afternoon. Liam was called away for an emergency at his company, so I went to the hospital room alone. I pushed the door open and saw that my mom’s caretaker had been swapped. I had seen that face in the photos Liam’s mother posted on Facebook. Sarah. She was talking to my mom: “…My husband is actually a really good guy. He’s just too soft-hearted and got entangled with someone outside.” “That girl has been with him for years. He always says he can’t cut her off because he’s afraid of breaking her heart.” “My heart… sometimes it just feels so awful. That’s why I came out to do some work, to distract myself.” My mom listened, a sympathetic look on her face. I stood in the doorway, the blood in my veins instantly freezing. “Chloe, you’re here?” My mom saw me and smiled. “This caretaker, Sarah, has such a hard life. If you ask me, those women who become mistresses are absolutely shameless…” I forced a stiff smile and said: “Mom, I brought some soup. Have a taste.” Then I turned to Sarah: “Can you step outside for a moment? I have something to ask you.” At the end of the hallway. I looked at her: “Those things you said—you did that on purpose so my mom would hear?” Sarah’s meek demeanor vanished, the corners of her mouth curling into a very faint smirk: “I was just talking about my own family issues. Is that a problem?” “Whatever is between us, leave my parents out of it.” I kept my voice low, trying to be reasonable. “We are both victims here. If there’s something to discuss, we can talk…” “Victims?” She let out a scoff, cutting me off. “Chloe, you’ve been a mistress for seven years, and you actually feel justified?” “Talk to you?” “Did you really think Liam would divorce me for you? He’s just stringing you along.” “Even your own mother says you’re shameless. Chloe, do you have the guts to tell your mom that you’re the mistress?” I clenched my fists, wanting to argue, wanting to hit her. But I suppressed it with everything I had. Because we were in a hospital. I couldn’t cause a scene, and I couldn’t agitate my mother. But she wouldn’t let it go: “Oh, I get it. You’re afraid it’ll affect your mom’s surgery.” “But honestly, even if you don’t say anything, I doubt your mom’s surgery will go well.” “After all, she’s old and in poor health. Who knows… she might not even make it to the operating table…” The tightly wound string in my brain snapped. By the time I realized what I was doing, my palm was already stinging. I had slapped her hard across the face. Sarah shrieked, stumbling back and covering her cheek. “What are you doing?!” Liam’s voice suddenly rang out. He rushed over, immediately pulling Sarah behind him, grabbing my wrist with a lot of force. “Chloe! How could you hit someone?” Sarah instantly hid behind him, tears flowing on cue, her voice trembling: “Liam… I just saw her mom was lonely, so I kindly came over to help out and keep her company…” “I don’t know why Ms. Evans is so angry. She just came up and hit me…” She sobbed, looking incredibly fragile and pitiful. Completely different from the vicious woman who was just talking to me. “Ask her what she said!” I was shaking with anger, trying to shake off Liam’s grip. Liam frowned tightly. He looked at Sarah’s red, swollen cheek. Then he looked at the agitated me, his eyes filled with disappointment and annoyance: “She’s always been so gentle. What could she possibly have said?” “Even if she did say something, you shouldn’t have gotten physical!” “Chloe, when did you become so unreasonable? Getting physical over a disagreement?” “I’m unreasonable?” I wanted to laugh, but tears stubbornly welled up. “Liam, the unreasonable one is you! If you hadn’t been two-timing us, would she and I ever…” “Enough!” He scolded, putting an arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “I’m taking her home first.” “Cool off and take a good look at your own behavior.” He left with Sarah, without giving me another glance. Soon, I understood exactly what he meant by “cool off.” 4. That very night. The hospital notified us that the original expert medical team had been temporarily reassigned to handle other emergency cases. Following that, vile rumors began spreading through the inpatient ward. About me, about “knowingly being a mistress,” about “harassing a married man”… I don’t know how my mom heard about it, but her face turned deathly pale. She clutched her chest, unable to breathe, and was rushed into the emergency resuscitation room. But the top medical team had already been pulled away. My dad was sweating profusely from anxiety. He grabbed me and asked: “Chloe, what is going on?” “Everything was fine. Why did the doctors just up and leave?” “Your mom’s condition is critical, she needs surgery right now!” My hands shook so badly I could barely hold my phone as I dialed Liam’s number over and over again. No one answered. Desperate, I called Sarah’s phone. Finally, the call connected. “Hello?” “Put Liam on the phone!” My voice was incredibly hoarse. The other end paused for a moment before Liam’s cold voice came through: “Have you thought things through?” “Give the medical team back! Please…” I dug my fingernails into my palms. “I can do that.” His tone was flat. “Come to the Riverside Condo and apologize to Sarah.” “If she’s satisfied, the team goes back.” The Riverside Condo was his other apartment. I went. Because I couldn’t just stand by and watch my mother… die. Inside the condo. Sarah sat on the couch; any mark on her cheek had long vanished. Liam stood by the window, his back to me. “I’m not trying to make things difficult for you on purpose. But I have my dignity too.” “I was hit for no reason, I deserve an apology, right?” Sarah spoke softly, but her eyes were full of provocation. I looked at her, then at Liam’s back. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Can’t hear you,” she blinked. “I’m sorry!” I raised my voice. “Just saying it isn’t enough.” She sighed, as if she were deeply conflicted. “How about this: kneel down and say it. Slap your own face. Whenever I’m satisfied, we’ll call it even.” “Liam, what do you think?” Liam didn’t make a sound. He just silently turned around. I closed my eyes. My knees hit the cold hardwood floor with a dull thud. I raised my hand and slapped my own face, hard. One slap after another. The sound was crisp. A burning heat quickly spread across my cheeks. “Is this enough?” I looked up at them: “Can the medical team go back now?” “I’ll do whatever you want, but my mom… she can’t wait any longer…” Sarah looked at Liam, about to say something. Suddenly, my phone started ringing like crazy. It was my dad. A wave of suffocating terror instantly gripped me. I answered with trembling hands. “Chloe…” “Your mom… she’s gone… her heart stopped just now… they couldn’t bring her back…” The phone slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. I sat slumped there, completely motionless, unable to even shed a tear. The world dissolved into a blur of gray static. Liam seemed to notice something was wrong and turned around. He saw the look on my face, froze for a second, and walked over quickly: “Chloe? What’s wrong?” “Did something happen with Mom?” “Don’t be afraid. I already made arrangements. Mom is going to be fine.” “Your mom was so good to me, how could I actually just leave her? I just wanted to teach you a lesson…” He crouched down, reaching out to touch me. I slowly, incredibly slowly, raised my head and looked at him. Looking at this face I had loved for ten years, which now seemed so utterly alien. All the emotions—the love, the hate, the entanglement, the pain, the bitterness… They were all hollowed out in that single instant. Leaving nothing but cold ash. A lesson? But… I heard my own voice, terrifyingly calm: “Liam, my mom is dead…”

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My boyfriend of ten years came home with me this Thanksgiving to meet my parents. But he didn’t come for me. He came for my stepsister. That night, my entire family stayed awake. Through the thin walls, I listened to my boyfriend, Tyler, play innocent with my sister, Mia. I also heard exactly how wild Mia could be. The cheap bed frame squeaked relentlessly against the wall. Meanwhile, on my phone, my text thread with Tyler was still stuck on yesterday. He had texted me saying he was exhausted and going to bed early. Then, the very next day, he showed up at my family’s house, holding Mia’s hand and carrying a mountain of expensive gifts. “Hey, sis! Mia told me you really like…” The moment our eyes met, the designer cake he was holding slipped from his hand and smashed onto the floor. Mia immediately jumped in to defend him. “It’s his first time meeting the family after all these years together. He’s just a little nervous.” “You don’t mind, do you, Harper?” I forced a stiff, awkward smile. Mia grabbed my hand. “Didn’t you say you were bringing your boyfriend home for the holidays too? Where is he?” “He’s dead. Died right before the holidays.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Plunged into sudden mourning, no one asked any more questions about my “boyfriend.” And yet, that very night, after Tyler and Mia had gone at it for what sounded like a dozen rounds, he actually had the nerve to text me: “I still love you!” Before I even had a chance to reply, my mom pushed my bedroom door open. “Come on, get dressed. We’re going to visit your boyfriend’s grave…” In that moment, sheer panic set in. I instantly regretted everything. I completely forgot that my mother was a deeply traditional, overly empathetic Southern woman who believed in paying respects to the departed, no matter what. I never should have blurted out that my boyfriend was dead just to save face while everyone else was celebrating. Now we had to go visit his grave! What grave?! Where the hell was I supposed to find a grave?! My mom and stepdad gave me my marching orders and immediately started getting ready. They even started packing a cooler with flowers and his “favorite foods” to leave at the site. Using the excuse that I needed to use the bathroom, I locked myself in and frantically posted on Reddit. [Emergency! Does anyone know of a grave nearby for a guy who died around 27? Preferably with the last name ‘Sterling’. I just need to borrow it for a quick visit, please!] [URGENT!] At first, I fully expected to get roasted in the comments. I was mentally prepared for the backlash. But I knew my parents. Once they set their minds on something like this, they wouldn’t back down until they saw it through. Plus, because I genuinely believed Tyler and I were going to get married, I had told my parents practically everything about him. Before Tyler showed up at the door, I was literally a day away from showing them our professional couples’ photoshoot. Thank god! Thank god I thought the lighting in the photos looked a little off and wanted to run them through Lightroom one more time before sending them. Otherwise, the exact second Mia walked through the front door with Tyler in tow… This Thanksgiving would have turned into a bloodbath. While I was waiting anxiously in the bathroom, my mom knocked on the door. “Hurry up, Harper! Your sister and her boyfriend are already dressed. We’re just waiting on you to head to the cemetery.” What?! I immediately texted Tyler. “Do you know whose grave my mom is getting ready to visit?” Tyler sent back a single question mark. I replied bluntly: “She’s going to visit YOUR grave!” The second the message delivered, I heard a muffled, strangled gasp come from the living room. He sent back a massive paragraph of text. The core message being: Why the hell did you tell them I was dead?! I replied, “What was I supposed to say? That you were currently cheating on me with my stepsister?” There was a long silence on his end. Meanwhile, right outside the bathroom door, my parents were having a ridiculously comical discussion about visiting Tyler’s grave. “That boy… Mia only mentioned him a few times. I think his last name was Sterling, but neither of us can remember his first name.” “He promised to come visit for the holidays, and then he suddenly passes away. We really should go pay our respects.” I heard Mia chime in, her voice sounding appropriately choked up. “Yes, we should go. Sometimes a wound needs to be opened up and cleaned out, otherwise it never heals.” “Right, Tyler?” Tyler let out an awkward, strained laugh. “Yeah… yeah, absolutely!” The Waiting Game I stayed holed up in the bathroom, praying to whatever higher power existed that the internet would pull through for me. What if?! Just what if?! Just as I was losing hope and reached for the flush handle, a direct message popped up on my screen. A user had sent me an exact location: a specific cemetery, section number, plot number, and a name. In that moment, I believed this random stranger was an actual angel sent from heaven. I replied instantly: “Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver. Can I get your CashApp or Venmo?” “I’ll send you a little something to say thanks.” But the user never replied. At first, I thought it might be a prank. But after waiting a few more minutes and stepping out of the bathroom, it was the only lead I had. Whatever, I’d gamble on it. I gave my dad the address. As we all piled into the family SUV, my mom kept asking me questions. “I actually had a nice little gift envelope prepared for this young man. Now I can’t even give it to him.” “How did he pass away again?” I racked my brain for a believable lie. “Cancer. He kept complaining about feeling sick right from the beginning. I told him a million times to go see a doctor, but he just refused to go.” My stepdad, who was driving, let out a heavy, emotional sigh. He looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Young people always think they’re invincible and put things off. You can’t be like that, Harper. If you ever feel off, go to the doctor immediately.” I nodded earnestly, playing the role of the perfect, obedient daughter. Mia was sitting next to me, holding my hand and looking at me with deep sympathy. Even though we weren’t blood-related—my mom brought me into the marriage, and Mia was my stepdad’s daughter from his first wife—we had always gotten along well the few times we saw each other over the years. She always treated me like a real sister. Just like right now. She was squeezing my hand, looking like she wanted to say something comforting but didn’t know how. Finally, she looked at me and said, “If I had known your boyfriend just passed away, I never would have brought Tyler home and upset you.” I shook my head. “I’m not upset.” I looked at my mom, then at my stepdad. Honestly, I’ve been pretty content all these years. After my mom remarried, my stepdad treated me incredibly well. He never pressured me to change my last name, and he helped pay for my college tuition. It was my own stubborn pride that kept me at a distance. I always felt like an outsider, refusing to view myself as his “real” daughter and hating the idea of spending his money. Because of that, I didn’t keep in touch with him or Mia as much as I should have. Right now, sitting in this car, we had spoken more in the last twenty minutes than we had in the entire previous year. I smiled, though it felt a bit bitter. My mom seemed to notice I was hurting. “Don’t dwell on it, honey. Everyone has their own destiny. Cancer is unpredictable.” “The poor boy just didn’t have luck on his side. Maybe his next life will be better. Like they always say, sometimes the greatest act of love is letting go.” I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Those cheesy Facebook quotes actually came in handy sometimes when comforting older folks. My stepdad smiled too. “As long as you’re happy, your mom is happy. And if your mom is happy, I’m happy.” I nodded. In this car, Tyler felt like a complete and utter outsider. He didn’t dare say a single word for the entire drive. Then, Mia suddenly asked, “Harper, I have to ask… after the boy passed, his parents didn’t give you a hard time, did they?” I shook my head. “His parents are dead too!” In the front seat, Tyler violently whipped his head around to stare at me. I tilted my head, looking back at him innocently. “What’s wrong, future brother-in-law? Did you have a question too?” Tyler forced an awkward, strained smile. “No, no. Just… just thinking about how tragic that is for the poor guy.” I nodded solemnly. I squeezed Mia’s hand and continued. “My boyfriend came from a really tough background. His parents were unemployed, and from the very beginning, they entirely relied on him to support them.” “Later on, they started looking down on me. They said my family didn’t look wealthy, and that because Mia and I were freelancers, we didn’t have ‘real’ jobs and probably struggled to eat.” “Whenever I went to their house for dinner, they’d only serve me leftovers.” BANG! My mom violently smacked her hand against the car window. In that instant, the entire SUV fell dead silent. “Then he deserved to die!” Mia spat through gritted teeth. In the front passenger seat, Tyler’s face was turning an increasingly ugly shade of gray. And that was when my stepdad, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. The Journey “He doesn’t even have a job, and he has the nerve to look down on my daughter?! We own our home, we have stable pensions, your sister makes good money—between the three of us, he thinks we couldn’t support you?!” “Good riddance. Good thing he’s dead, otherwise I would have driven straight to his parents’ house and given them a piece of my mind.” To be honest, I hadn’t told them any of this before. My biological father never took my side. When I was a kid, if I was bullied and came home crying, my biological father’s response was to beat both me and my mom. So, I developed a habit of swallowing my grievances and dealing with everything alone. Hearing my stepdad say that so fiercely… I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I started bawling in the backseat. Mia and my mom scrambled to find tissues for me. The aftermath was the three of us hugging and crying together in the back, getting so emotional that my stepdad had to pull the car over twice just to wipe his own eyes. Through the tears and the stops, we finally arrived at the address I was given. It was a small, quiet, and slightly older cemetery on the outskirts of town. So small that my parents didn’t even know it existed. I kept staring at the address on my phone, pretending I knew exactly where I was going, and led them through the wrought-iron gates. But internally, I was a nervous wreck. Tyler texted me: “I have to admit, Harper, you’re a freaking genius. How did you even find this place?” I scoffed mentally and ignored him. As I was walking forward blindly, my dad suddenly called out, “Where are you going? You’re so overcome with grief you forgot the way, didn’t you?” I nodded quickly. Squeezing out two more tears. My mom put her arm around my shoulders and guided me down a specific path. It was a relatively new headstone. Perfect. That fit the narrative even better. I secretly vowed to send that helpful Reddit stranger a massive cash reward. The photo on the headstone looked like it had been recently attached. My parents leaned in to look closely. Then they sighed. “Such a handsome young man, gone so soon. It really breaks your heart.” I kept my head bowed, playing the role of the grieving girlfriend. Mia, fully embracing the role of the protective older sister, pulled out a massive bouquet of expensive flowers and placed them at the base of the headstone. “Listen here, kid. You had bad luck. If you were still alive, I had a nice gift card ready for you. Whatever, you can’t spend it over there anyway. Take these flowers, and don’t hold back in the afterlife.” She stood up, brushing the dirt off her knees. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she turned to Tyler. “Don’t you have anything to say to your future brother-in-law?” “You’re supposed to be stepping up as the man of the house now. Stop standing there like a statue and say a few words!” Tyler stuttered and stammered. He couldn’t get a single word out. Finally, Mia lost her patience and kicked him in the back of the leg. “If you can’t speak, then get down and pay your respects properly!” “You guys shouldn’t care about looking cool at a time like this!” Thud. Thud. Thud. Tyler was forced to his knees, awkwardly bowing his head to the dirt in a traditional sign of deep respect. Every time his head bobbed down, I squeezed my eyes shut. I had only ever heard my stepdad say that Mia was a bit “rough around the edges.” I didn’t realize she was this hardcore. “Two… two bows is enough, right?” I asked tentatively, trying to play peacemaker. Mia forced Tyler down for a third bow. “You can’t do even numbers at a graveyard! It has to be odd!” Tyler stood up slowly, rubbing a small dirt smudge off his forehead. He forced a smile. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Meanwhile, my parents were busy arranging the things they had brought—some high-end bourbon, expensive cigars, and a platter of fresh, out-of-season fruit that cost a fortune in our area. “When Harper told us her boyfriend was visiting, we went all out. Since you passed, we figured we had to bring it all to you. Keeping it in the house felt like bad luck.” Watching them lay out what was essentially the highest tier of hospitality reserved for a future son-in-law… It made my stomach twist with guilt. I looked down and saw a new text from Tyler. “You better compensate me for this. You literally killed off my entire family in your little story.” The Incident In that exact moment, I wanted to punch him directly in the jaw. But for the sake of my sister and my parents… I swallowed my rage! I crouched down and whispered a few words to this incredibly helpful stranger’s grave. “I don’t know if it was a friend or a relative who gave me your location, but you really saved me today.” “I’ll make sure to come visit you in the future. We’re the same age, I’m sure we’d have a lot to talk about.” I took the small, resilient succulent plant I had brought and tucked it into the soil next to the headstone. “This plant is a survivor. It’ll grow anywhere you put it.” “I hope in your next life, you’re just as resilient.” I read the name etched into the stone. Julian Sterling. [Replaced with: Oliver Sterling.]

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When Carter Hayes carried me to the shower, he suddenly raised an eyebrow and let out a soft chuckle: “Damn, I seriously wonder if your actual husband will ever treat you as good as I do.” I snuggled into the crook of his neck, murmuring sleepily: “Yeah, yeah, you’re the best in the world.” “Maybe next year I’ll give you a marriage certificate and make you my official—” “Whoa, hold on. Are you biting the hand that feeds you?” Carter forced my face up to look at him, letting out a cold scoff: “Don’t mess with me.” “We’re just playing around. As for marriage, I already have someone else in mind.” 1 Carter placed me in the bathtub, slowly and methodically lathering up the body wash before rubbing it over my skin. He offered a lazy smile: “Don’t scare me like that, or I really might have to ghost you.” “When we first got set up, you explicitly said you weren’t looking for a serious romantic commitment.” I still hadn’t fully come down from the intense passion of moments ago. I looked at him with hazy eyes. “What do you mean?” “You never intended to marry me?” Hearing this, Carter’s hand froze. He stood up, visibly irritated, snatched a bath towel, and threw it over me. His tone turned ice-cold: “Okay, now you’re just killing the mood.” “Aren’t we just regular friends with benefits?” “You didn’t honestly think we were dating, did you?” He was shirtless, his exposed torso lean and muscular, the lines of his abs sexy and tight. Usually, when I saw Carter like this, even after the act, I couldn’t resist running my hands over him for a while. But right now, I didn’t care about any of that. I just grabbed his arm, asking in disbelief: “Where are you going? Are you just leaving me here?” Usually, Carter would carry me to the shower, dry me off, and tuck me safely into bed… But this time, he just looked down at me from above and said flatly: “What am I supposed to do? You aren’t a child. Can’t you wash yourself?” Seeing me frozen in shock, Carter pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Look, don’t look at me like that, okay? You’re making me feel like some irresponsible jerk.” “I just put in two hours of hard work. I’m more exhausted than you are, and now I still have to cater to you?” “I’m going to use the guest shower and go to sleep. Keep the door closed when you blow-dry your hair so you don’t wake me up.” Bang. The door slammed shut. I lay half-submerged in the bathtub, staring at the bright red love marks on my chest, my heart aching with an agonizing sourness. We did everything couples are supposed to do. He even met my parents. And yet, we weren’t dating? 2 I stayed awake all night, agonizingly waiting for the sun to rise. The moment I opened the bedroom door, I bumped into a solid, warm chest. Holding a bank card between his fingers, Carter handed it to me, his voice perfectly calm: “There’s fifty thousand dollars on this.” “The PIN is my birthday.” As his familiar cedarwood cologne enveloped me, my nose stung, and my voice trembled: “Carter…” I thought you didn’t want me anymore, I almost said. But he cut me off softly. “I’m sorry. I treated you too well before, and it made you misunderstand our relationship.” “I honestly thought we both understood what this was—we were just giving each other what we needed.” As if he couldn’t bear to look at my red, teary eyes, Carter turned his head away. “I’ve never paid for this kind of thing before, so I don’t know what the going market rate is, but fifty grand feels like a lot.” “If you aren’t satisfied, we can negotiate.” I froze, completely failing to process what he meant. It took me half a minute to finally snap back to reality. My hand reacted faster than my brain. After the sharp slap echoed through the room, my entire body was still shaking. “Carter, you are absolutely disgusting!” 3 Like a walking corpse, I numbly changed into my own clothes. I simply packed up a few of my expensive jewelry pieces and prepared to leave. During those ten or so minutes, Carter stood on the balcony, smoking a cigarette. It wasn’t until I opened the front door that he lazily pointed a finger at the drying rack. “You forgot something.” I looked over. Using his long, slender fingers, Carter hooked a pair of black thigh-high stockings, walked over to me, and handed them over. “This brand is good quality. They didn’t rip last night.” “I washed them for you.” “You can wear them on a date with your next boyfriend.” Looking at his cold, detached face, I laughed out of pure anger: “This is the first time I’ve ever seen someone so concerned about their hookup’s future love life.” “Worry about yourself, Carter.” The moment the word “hookup” left my mouth, his face darkened. He instinctively wanted to argue back but forced himself to swallow it. Finally, he just compromised and muttered: “Say whatever makes you feel better.” 4 I couldn’t understand Carter’s mindset at all. When we were first set up by mutual friends, we checked every single box on each other’s list for an ideal partner. It was a perfect match. That was why we solemnly allowed each other into our lives. Was this because I went out for drinks with my male colleagues yesterday, and he got jealous? Thinking of this, I reached out to Carter’s female childhood best friend, Chloe Adams, asking cautiously: [Does Carter have some unforgettable ‘one that got away’ or an unrequited first love?] Chloe replied very quickly: [No way! Even if he did, with his looks and background, wouldn’t he easily win her over with just a little effort?] [Why, did you guys have a fight? We’re heading out to a bar later. Do you want to come and talk to him?] Staring at the screen, I breathed a sigh of relief. It made sense. Carter had striking, chiseled features, and his body was flawless. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, with sharply defined muscles. On top of that, he was highly successful in his career, maintained strict boundaries with other women, and was incredibly polite and respectful to my parents. If a guy like him really had an unforgettable first love, he wouldn’t have been able to let her go, right? Was there just some stupid misunderstanding between us? With that thought, I gathered my courage, ready to try one last time. I swapped shifts with a coworker, bought a gift, and rushed straight to the bar Chloe had mentioned. But to my surprise, as soon as I reached the door of the private VIP booth, I heard someone teasing Carter, laughing: “Are you really willing to dump your bed buddy?” “Damn, she’s gorgeous and has an amazing body.” “Why don’t you just pass her to me? I promise I can keep her very, very satisfied!” Carter extinguished the glowing cherry of his cigarette, snapping irritably: “Get lost. You? You couldn’t even catch Stella Bennett’s eye, let alone get into her bed.” Amidst the roaring laughter, he paused. When he spoke again, his voice was rough and strained: “How could I be willing to let her go? She’s like a porcelain doll. When she looks up at you in bed with those big, watery eyes… who could handle that?” “But willing or not, I have to end it. When I agreed to go on those dates with her, wasn’t it just to provoke Chloe?” “Now that my goal is achieved, it’s time to cut ties.” Carter’s eyes darkened. He checked the time, stood up, and warned them in a stern voice: “When Chloe gets here, all of you watch your mouths.” “If she brings up Stella, just play along with me and throw a few insults her way.” “Otherwise, knowing Chloe’s temper, she’ll skin me alive.” My hand hovered mid-air, but I completely lost the courage to push the door open. Because the Chloe he was talking about was the same childhood best friend who had been constantly teaching me how to win Carter’s heart. She used to always say: Childhood friends have zero romantic chemistry. If Carter and I were going to happen, we would have gotten together years ago… 5 In the adult world, you even have to carefully pick the time and place for your mental breakdowns. Without even taking a moment to cry, I rushed straight to the hospital. I couldn’t accept that the relationship I had thought was my “perfect first love” was ending like this. So, when the emergency response leader asked who wanted to volunteer to support the earthquake disaster zone, I was the first to raise my hand. A colleague tugged my sleeve in disbelief: “If you go, it’s for a minimum of three months. Can you and your Carter really be apart for that long?” “Everyone knows you two are attached at the hip…” “Besides, disaster reconstruction is dangerous. Carter treats you so well, he’d never let you go suffer like that.” I took a deep breath and filled my name into the form as calmly as I could. “We broke up.” Honestly, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to heal my broken heart. 6 We were set to leave the following afternoon. I still had a little time to notify my parents and pack my luggage. But I never expected that, just as I was getting ready to leave work, I would be stopped by two police officers. “Hello, someone has accused you of breaking and entering, as well as grand theft.” The passing patients and families stopped in their tracks, looking at me with strange, judging eyes. My face flushed red as I explained over and over again that there must be some misunderstanding. How could I possibly do something like that? After a full five minutes of me defending myself, the people who filed the report finally hurried over from the other end of the hall. My eyes widened. Looking at the incredibly intimate couple standing before me, I was utterly paralyzed. 7 Carter and Chloe stood shoulder-to-shoulder. He pointed at me with a cold, indifferent expression: “That’s her.” “After breaking in, she took several valuable items.” Chloe, her face icy, snatched my purse from my hands and dumped its contents completely onto the floor. She crouched down and effortlessly picked out a keychain. “Officer, look. I wasn’t framing her, was I?” Chloe removed a key from the ring, compared it to the one in her own hand, and gave it to the officer. “This is the evidence.” “She met my boyfriend through mutual friends half a year ago. Not only did she shamelessly cling to him, but she actually stole the key to his apartment.” “The point is, we grew up together and are officially a couple now. Even if you’re chasing ‘true love,’ you can’t resort to these kind of dirty, gutter-trash tactics.” The patients and families in the corridor had all stopped to watch, sizing me up with unapologetic disdain. “Someone like this is allowed to be a doctor?” “What if she takes a liking to my husband during a checkup and steals our stuff too?” The hospital’s heating was blasting. Yet I felt a bone-chilling cold. Even my voice was shaking. “Carter, aren’t you going to explain this?” Standing tall and elegant, he looked down at me for a few seconds before letting out a soft sigh. “We’ve known each other for a while, so I don’t necessarily have to press charges.” “Just return my family’s heirloom jade bracelet, and we can consider this matter settled.” Looking at the man who had once been so incredibly intimate with me, I couldn’t hold back the hysterical scream that tore from my throat: “Your mother forced me to take that!” “As long as you admit you have it,” Carter replied effortlessly, his tone calm. “It’s quite valuable, so I assume you locked it away somewhere safe?” “Let’s go. With the police here as witnesses, we can wipe the slate clean.” I raised my arm, but it felt as heavy as lead. Seeing the police present, I awkwardly lowered it again. I desperately wanted to pull out all our intimate photos to prove the reality of our relationship. But looking at my own wretched, wild-eyed reflection in the glass window, I realized that taking him down would only destroy me in the process. It was utterly meaningless. After a long moment, I let out a cold laugh and gave in: “It’s at my apartment.” “I’ll take you to get it.”

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1 I never imagined that my husband’s ashes wouldn’t just be buried, but would be sliced down the middle and divided up like a birthday cake. On the day of my husband’s funeral, a young boy suddenly walked into the memorial hall. “Ma’am, my family is taking half of my dad’s ashes. We’re going to put him in our family’s private mausoleum.” “From now on, on the anniversary of his death, we will pay our respects separately. Do not bother us.” I stared at the boy, who looked like a carbon copy of my late husband, Marcus. It felt like I had been struck by lightning. Fighting back my violent trembling, I asked him, “Who is your mother?” The boy shot me a look of pure disdain. “My mom is waiting in the car. She said she doesn’t care to see your face. She just wants half the ashes.” I sprinted down the stairs like a madwoman, but the moment I saw the face of the woman sitting in the luxury SUV, I froze completely. It was Vanessa. The same Vanessa who, according to Marcus, was his money-hungry first love who had moved to Europe years ago to marry a rich expat! I gripped the wooden urn tightly, my mind a blank, buzzing void. Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was an anonymous text message: [Marcus isn’t dead. He is currently at a mansion in the Hills, fitting wedding dresses with his third wife!] …… The tinted window of the SUV slowly rolled down. Vanessa sneered and threw a heavy manila folder out of the window, hitting me square in the chest. “Take a good look at that, Chloe,” she mocked. “This is the ten-million-dollar trust fund Marcus set up for me and our son before he died, along with the paternity test.” “What exactly are you? You were nothing but a free maid who served his family for seven years.” Impossible… All of Marcus’s money was in our joint account! My hands shaking, I pulled out my phone, desperate to open my banking app to check the balance. Before I could even unlock the screen, a series of automated bank alerts popped up. [Your checking account ending in 8831 has a current balance of: $0.32.] [Notice: A $500,000 personal line of credit under your name is past due…] My brain practically exploded. The money was gone, and I was somehow saddled with half a million dollars in debt! Immediately following the bank alerts were several vicious texts from an unknown number: [The $1.2 million loan your husband Marcus took out against the house is past due. If you don’t pay up tomorrow, we’re taking your organs as collateral!] My ears were ringing so loudly I couldn’t process a single thing. “Oh, sweet Jesus!” “Those eyes, that nose! He is absolutely a child of our bloodline!” A shrill, wailing cry snapped me out of my trance. My mother-in-law, Martha, burst out of the funeral hall from nowhere. She shoved me hard out of the way and threw her arms around the boy, hugging him tightly. “Mom… what are you doing?” I stared at her in absolute disbelief. Martha whipped her head around, her face twisted with malice. She pointed a trembling finger right at my nose and screamed. “You barren, useless bitch!” “You’ve been married into this family for seven years and haven’t produced a damn thing! What right do you have to speak?!” “Vanessa gave our family a golden grandson! Half of these ashes rightfully belong to her and the boy!” Vanessa looked at me with open disgust and handed a legal document through the car window. “Sign this waiver relinquishing all claims to marital assets, and get out of my sight.” I kept my head down, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. My husband faking his death, his mistress forcing me out, the crushing, astronomical debt… I was trapped in a suffocating web. I thought about the anonymous text mentioning his “third wife.” My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms they drew blood. I had to find out what the hell was going on. If Marcus wasn’t dead… then whose ashes were currently sitting inside this urn?! “Fine… I’ll give you everything,” I whispered. “But Marcus was my husband. Please… let me keep half of his ashes as a keepsake.” I kept my head bowed, putting on the perfect performance of a thoroughly broken, devastated widow to hide the murderous hatred burning in my eyes. Vanessa let out a triumphant, mocking laugh. Her bodyguard stepped forward with a brand-new, mahogany urn. Unbelievably, she actually had him use a silver spoon to scoop out half of the ashes from Marcus’s urn, splitting it exactly like a cake. As I watched their taillights disappear down the street, I rushed back into my house and dug out an old, unwashed razor Marcus used to use. I carefully sealed it inside a Ziploc bag. Then, following the address from the anonymous text, I took an Uber to the upscale gated community in the Hills. Peering through the tall, black wrought-iron gates, I stared at a massive, European-style mansion in the distance. The front doors were wide open, and a sleek luxury transport van was parked in the driveway. Through the pouring rain, I saw a man in a crisp white tuxedo holding an umbrella. He was gently and lovingly adjusting the train of a wedding dress worn by a beautiful young woman. When the man turned his profile toward me, my breathing completely stopped. It was Marcus! He was alive! My hands shaking violently, I pulled out my phone, desperate to open the camera and record this. THWACK! My vision went completely black. A sickening, agonizing pain erupted from the back of my skull. 2 “Ms. Sterling, there’s some psycho stalking the property, trying to record you on her phone.” The world spun dizzily as three men in black suits pinned me face-down into the muddy grass. I fought to open my eyes, blinking through the blood dripping down my forehead, and watched Marcus and the young woman walk toward me under the umbrella. I stared dead into Marcus’s eyes, desperately looking for a single flicker of panic or guilt. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Honey, what’s going on?” “She looks terrifying. Why was she staring at us?” The third wife, the young Ms. Sterling, shrank timidly into his chest. Marcus’s voice drifted down from above, his tone completely flat, devoid of a single ripple of emotion. “Probably just some escaped lunatic from the psych ward down the street looking for a handout.” “Don’t be scared, baby. Don’t let her ruin your view.” He turned to his guards. “Break her leg and throw her in the city dump.” The bodyguard didn’t hesitate. He swung a solid steel baton directly down onto my calf. My bloodcurdling scream tore through the rain, and I passed out from the excruciating pain. When I woke up, it was the dead of night. I was surrounded by the nauseating, suffocating stench of rotting garbage and sewage. My phone screen had been stomped into a shattered spiderweb. My lower leg was swollen and twisted, the agonizing pain making every breath taste like copper. I couldn’t die. I absolutely refused to die quietly in a pile of garbage. Gritting my teeth, I fell and dragged myself back up, over and over again. Dragging my broken leg, I crawled and limped through the torrential rain for two grueling hours. It wasn’t until my shattered phone finally caught a sliver of cellular signal that I managed to call a ride back to the small apartment my parents had left me before I got married. But when I pulled out my keys and shoved them into the lock, they wouldn’t turn. The locks had been changed. I stumbled backward in shock. As the motion-sensor lights in the hallway flickered on, I noticed a pile of cardboard boxes and junk dumped in the corner near the stairs. Sitting at the very top of the trash pile, discarded like garbage, were the framed memorial portraits of my deceased parents. “Look who finally showed up.” The sharp click of high heels echoed as the front door swung open. Vanessa and my mother-in-law, Martha, stepped out of my apartment. Martha was holding a legal document stamped with a bright red thumbprint. “Vanessa! What the hell are you doing in my house?! My parents left this place to me!” Vanessa took a step back in dramatic disgust and shot Martha a look. Martha immediately shoved the document—a Voluntary Property Transfer Agreement—right into my face. “Open your blind, pathetic eyes!” “Hahaha! When you signed that asset forfeiture at the funeral yesterday, you signed this apartment over to Vanessa entirely free of charge!” Looking at the document, my blood ran cold. They had slipped that page into the stack of joint-asset waivers. They had exploited the moment when my mind was completely shattered and broken with grief at the funeral to trick me into signing away my home! “This is fraud! I’m calling the cops!” I screamed, my voice hoarse and raw. “Call them! Go ahead and call them!” Vanessa stepped forward and intentionally planted her designer heel directly onto the glass frame of my mother’s portrait. The glass shattered instantly. She leaned in, mocking me in a whisper only the two of us could hear. “Go tell them you were ‘tricked’ into signing it.” “Let’s see if my uncle, the District Attorney, believes a legally binding document with your signature on it, or a mentally unstable, raving widow?” The commotion in the hallway had woken up the neighbors. Doors cracked open as older tenants peeked their heads out. Martha immediately threw herself onto the floor, slapping her thighs and wailing theatrically. “Look at this, everyone! Look at this vicious, rotten woman!” “She was out sleeping with other men, racked up millions in loan shark debt, and drove my poor son so crazy he got into a fatal car crash!” “And now she has the nerve to come back begging for money! My poor, poor boy! He can’t even rest in peace!” “Oh, so that’s what happened…” “She looked so quiet and polite, too. Cheating on her husband… how shameless.” “People like her don’t deserve to breathe. She should just go drop dead.” The disgusted glares and vile whispers from the neighbors felt like needles piercing my back. Right then, Vanessa’s six-year-old son ran out of the apartment. He pulled a massive water gun out of his backpack and started blasting me with water. I didn’t dodge. Instead, amidst the chaotic shoving, I faked a collapse, falling weakly at the boy’s feet. Using the distraction, I slipped a micro-listening device—which I had originally bought to plant in the mansion—directly into the side pocket of his backpack. I decided to retreat for now and head to the ER to get my leg treated. The real war was just about to begin. 3 Walking out of the hospital on crutches, I mentally replayed every detail I might have missed. Sure enough, digging deep into my digital insurance portals, I found a $3 million accidental death life insurance policy. Insured: Chloe. Beneficiary: Martha (Marcus’s mother). The effective date of the policy was exactly one month before Marcus’s “fatal accident”! My breathing stopped completely. He didn’t just want to fake his death for insurance money. This was a meticulously orchestrated murder plot! They scammed me out of my savings, stole my home, and destroyed my reputation. The final step was for me to conveniently die in a tragic “accident.” My death was going to be the bloody poker chip they used to cash out that $3 million! My phone screen flickered. The mysterious number sent me another text message. [Next Wednesday. The Grand Pearl Hotel. Marcus’s wedding.] [That is also the day you are scheduled to die in a tragic accident. Watch your back!] I snapped my head up. Without realizing it, I had wandered beneath a dark, concrete overpass. A rusted van with no license plates silently rolled to a stop right next to me. The sliding door ripped open, and three massive men dressed in black stepped out. They gripped heavy steel crowbars, advancing toward me! RUN! That was the only primal instinct left in my brain. I grabbed a handful of filthy street dirt and hurled it directly into the eyes of the closest thug! While he screamed and clawed at his face, I scrambled on my hands and knees, dragging my casted leg, and dove into a pitch-black, narrow alleyway. “Grab that bitch! Don’t let her get away!” I dragged my broken leg through the darkness, eventually squeezing myself into a cramped, foul-smelling storm drain beneath a grate. I bit down on my lip so hard I bled, refusing to make even the slightest sound. I waited in agonizing silence until their heavy footsteps finally faded away. Having narrowly escaped death, I didn’t dare call the police. I wanted to see if I could gather more hard evidence first. I opened the app connected to the micro-bug I had planted. After a burst of static, Martha’s voice came through clearly. “Almost there, almost there! As long as that idiot Chloe has an ‘accident’ and dies, all our loose ends are permanently tied up.” “The second that $3 million hits the account, we’re flying to Europe.” Vanessa let out a smug, triumphant laugh. “Marcus is brilliant. He set everything up perfectly.” “But Mom, are you sure the ashes situation is airtight? I mean… that was a real person…” Martha scoffed coldly. “What are you afraid of?” “That old, terminally ill drifter from the countryside had kidney failure. He only had a few days left to live anyway.” “We brought him to the city, gave him a warm bed, and fed him well for a few days.” “Getting to be Marcus’s body double at the end was the greatest blessing of his pathetic life!” “The body was burned completely beyond recognition in the crash. Who the hell is going to investigate it?” They didn’t just fake Marcus’s death. They actually murdered a living, breathing human being in cold blood! What made it even more ironic was that Vanessa, the mistress who thought she had won it all, was nothing but a pawn to Marcus. He was using Vanessa to launder the dirty money and send his mother abroad to retire in luxury. And then, with his hands perfectly clean and a new identity, he was going to marry the heiress of the Sterling corporate empire! Every step was interconnected, bleeding his victims dry without leaving a single trace. Marcus’s intelligence and sheer, psychotic ruthlessness were suffocating. I took a deep breath. I packaged the remaining ashes from the urn, along with the unwashed razor containing Marcus’s DNA, and overnighted them via FedEx. I sent them to an old college friend who worked as a senior analyst at a private forensic testing lab out of state. This was my final, and only, trump card to flip the board. Then, I dialed the number that had texted me the loan shark threats yesterday. “I am Marcus’s wife.” “Aren’t you guys looking for the $1.2 million he owes you?” “His mother and his mistress, Vanessa, are currently sitting on millions in cash and are preparing to flee the country.” “Next Wednesday, The Grand Pearl Hotel. If you don’t catch them there, you will never see a single dime of your money again.” They wanted to use borrowed knives to kill me. Now, it was my turn. 4 Wednesday. The Grand Pearl Hotel. The most luxurious five-star hotel in the city was completely booked for a private event. Wearing a filthy, oversized uniform I had scavenged from a dumpster, I disguised myself and slipped in with the third-party waste management crew handling the kitchen garbage. The hotel staff stepped out of my way in disgust, pinching their noses and muttering insults. I ignored them completely. Fighting through the agonizing throbbing in my leg, I limped step-by-step toward the side doors of the main ballroom. Through the crack in the heavy doors, I saw the perfect couple on the center stage. Marcus, dressed in an astronomically expensive bespoke tuxedo, was gazing lovingly at Olivia Sterling. He lifted a diamond ring the size of a pigeon’s egg, preparing to slide it onto the heiress’s finger. The ballroom erupted in thunderous applause. Right at that exact moment, a violent, explosive crash erupted from the hotel lobby! BOOM! The heavy glass entrance doors of the hotel were violently smashed to pieces by a massive, reinforced SUV! “Lock down the exits! Nobody leaves this building alive!” The mob boss, followed by over thirty massive enforcers wielding steel pipes and baseball bats, stormed aggressively into the grand lobby. And dragging behind them, screaming with faces as pale as ghosts, were Vanessa and my mother-in-law, Martha! I used the panic of the fleeing crowd to slip into the back corner of the grand ballroom. “A $1.2 million loan, with interest, brings the total to two million!” “If you don’t cough up the cash today, I’m selling this bitch to a trafficking ring in Southeast Asia!” The mob boss slapped the flat side of a machete against Vanessa’s terrified face. The elegant, high-society engagement party instantly devolved into absolute chaos. Socialites and billionaires screamed and scattered in panic, the entire venue plunging into total anarchy. Vanessa’s hair was a tangled mess, her expensive makeup ruined by tears as she shook her head frantically. “I don’t have the money! The funds haven’t cleared yet! You grabbed the wrong person!” To save her own life, Martha scanned the chaotic crowd with panicked eyes. Suddenly, she pointed a shaking finger directly at me, cowering in the corner, and began screaming like a banshee. “It’s her! She’s Marcus’s legal wife! She hid all the money! This bitch has it all!” “Boss, take her! Carve out her heart, liver, and kidneys and sell them! That will definitely cover the debt!” How incredibly evil. In a life-or-death situation, they didn’t hesitate for a second to throw me to the wolves, literally offering my organs to pay their debts. The mobsters swarmed me, kicking me brutally to the ground. I gritted my teeth, tasting the heavy, metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Surrounding me were the disgusted, amused, and mocking stares of the city’s wealthiest elites. Just then, on the grand spiral staircase leading down from the VIP suites… Marcus, holding the terrified Olivia Sterling, walked down, flanked by a phalanx of security guards. When Vanessa, currently pinned to the floor by a mobster’s boot, looked up and saw the man’s face on the stairs, her eyes bulged out of her head. Her hysterical crying instantly morphed into a stuttering, horrified gasp. “M… Marcus?! You… you’re alive?!” Vanessa wasn’t stupid. In that single instant, the money laundering, the scams, the fake trust funds… the entire puzzle violently clicked together in her mind. She had been played too! She was nothing but a disposable tool Marcus used to hoard wealth and absorb his criminal liabilities! But Marcus’s psychological fortitude was terrifying. He didn’t show a single ounce of panic. He gently patted the heiress’s hand, and using a tone dripping with polite apology and sympathy, he spoke to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for this disturbance.” “My name is Richard Vance. These people have clearly mistaken me for someone else.” He pointed gracefully to the massive engagement banner that read: Richard & Olivia. Then, he turned to the head of hotel security, issuing a cold command. “Get these people out of here immediately.” “Call the police and report an armed home invasion.” Even now, backed into a corner, he actually believed he could seamlessly erase all his sins! “MARCUS!” “You threw your own mother and your first love to the wolves to take the fall for you! You are a soulless, psychotic animal!” I swallowed the blood filling my mouth. Summoning every ounce of strength left in my broken body, I shoved the mobster’s boot off my chest. From the waterproof lining of my jacket, I pulled out the forensic DNA report, stamped with the official seal of the laboratory. I hurled the papers high into the air, letting them rain down over the ballroom floor. “What a brilliant performance, ‘Richard Vance’!” “Ms. Sterling, open your eyes and look closely! My husband’s real name is Marcus! To climb the social ladder and marry into your family, he conspired with his mother and his mistress to brutally murder an innocent, homeless man to fake his own death!” I stared dead into Marcus’s hypocritical, perfectly sculpted face, screaming until my vocal cords tore. “He even planned to orchestrate a tragic ‘accident’ to murder me, his legal wife, just to cash out a massive life insurance policy!” “He is a parasitic, bloodsucking demon! And right now, the prey he’s preparing to swallow whole… is YOU!!!” The sheer magnitude of these horrifying revelations struck the entire ballroom completely silent. Marcus’s perfect, saintly facade finally cracked. A flicker of genuine panic flashed across his eyes. Just as the hotel security guards unholstered their stun batons and charged toward me… “POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! HANDS ON YOUR HEADS!” Dozens of heavily armed SWAT officers swarmed into the grand lobby. Cold, black rifle barrels instantly locked onto everyone in the room. A tall, imposing man slowly took off his tactical sunglasses, his sharp, predatory gaze locking onto the stage. Marcus, who had been arrogant and untouchable just seconds ago, instantly lost all color in his face the moment he saw the man. He stumbled backward two steps. I stared dead at the man’s face, my breathing completely stopping in that instant. How… how could it be him?!

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They say no one remembers who comes in second place. Unless, of course, you’re the one who’s always in second place. After securing the rank of salutatorian for three consecutive years in high school, I had grown numb to it. I calmly accepted my fate as the eternal runner-up. That was until the early college admissions quotas came down. Our homeroom teacher called me and the valedictorian into his office at the same time. “We have two early admission spots for the Ivy League program,” Mr. Davis said, pushing two sheets of paper across his desk. “Based on academic ranking, the spots go to you two.” “Fill out these recommendation forms.” I nodded. I quickly and meticulously filled out the entire form. Just as I was about to hand it back to Mr. Davis, the valedictorian—who had been standing off to the side, completely motionless—finally moved. He reached out, snatched my form right out of my hand, ripped it into shreds, and tossed the pieces into the air. With an icy glare, he declared: “I’ll accept the early admission. But on one condition.” “Chloe has to be admitted with me.” I let out a cynical laugh. Wow. The delusional romantic is really flexing his muscles. The white pieces of paper fluttered down in front of my eyes like snow. After shredding my recommendation form, Arthur Sterling dusted off his hands, looked straight at our homeroom teacher, and said coldly: “Mr. Davis, I will accept the admission spot, but Chloe Miller must go with me.” As the words left his mouth, a deathly silence fell over the office. After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Davis pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, asking in total bewilderment: “Arthur, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” “I know exactly what I’m saying.” Arthur stood tall, one hand casually shoved into his pocket. “Either Chloe and I both get early admission, or I don’t want the spot at all.” What a tragic, earth-shattering love story. If he wasn’t trying to use my admission spot as a bargaining chip, I almost would have been moved to tears. Mr. Davis’s chest was heaving with anger. The finger he pointed at Arthur was visibly trembling. “You… you are being absolutely ridiculous! Early admission spots are strictly based on academic ranking! Do you not know what rank Chloe is in this school?!” “I make the rules.” Arthur’s tone was incredibly flat and arrogant. “These are my terms. Think it over carefully.” I didn’t say a word. I just stood there, calmly watching this absurd, melodramatic play unfold. Mr. Davis stared at him for a solid thirty seconds. Finally, looking as if all the energy had been drained out of him, he slumped back into his leather chair. He waved his hand, his voice heavy with profound disappointment. “Get out. I don’t want to see your face right now.” Arthur didn’t even bother with a polite goodbye. He turned on his heel and walked out, acting as if he already held all the winning cards. The office door clicked shut, cutting off the noise from the hallway. Mr. Davis let out a long, heavy sigh. He pulled open a drawer, took out a brand-new, blank recommendation form, and slid it across the desk toward me. “Stella, fill this out again.” His voice was a little hoarse. “The school has two spots. If Arthur forfeits his, the spot automatically rolls down to the student ranked third.” I carefully wrote out my name and intended major, stroke by stroke. I almost wanted to burst out laughing. Has Arthur been watching too many teen soap operas? Who exactly does he think he’s posturing for? When I returned to the classroom, I carefully folded the new, completed form and tucked it into the hidden pocket of my backpack. The very next second, a shadow fell over my desk. It was Chloe. She had specifically worn a brand-new lace sundress today. She leaned forward, bracing both hands on the edge of my desk. Her sickly-sweet voice dripped with undisguised gloating: “Stella, what’s the point of having good grades? In the end, it all amounted to nothing, didn’t it?” “When it comes down to it, I’m just luckier. Arthur is willing to give up everything for me.” As she spoke, her eyes were shining. She looked exactly as if she believed she was the beloved main character in a romantic teen drama. Right on cue, Arthur appeared behind her, naturally wrapping his arm around her shoulders in a protective, possessive stance. He looked down at me, using a condescending, pitying tone: “Sorry for taking your opportunity, but Chloe can’t be without me.” “You know how it is. I can’t just let her go off to an out-of-state college all by herself. I wouldn’t be able to stop worrying.” They played off each other flawlessly, their duet practically seamless. They were clearly waiting for me to break down, demand answers, or burst into tears. The eyes of the surrounding classmates covertly darted over, eager to see how this dramatic spectacle would end. Unfortunately for them, they were going to be deeply disappointed. I leaned back in my chair, looking at this couple acting out a soap opera scene right in front of my desk, and suddenly found it incredibly hilarious. So, I actually let out a light, genuine laugh. “Are you guys done?” My reaction was clearly not what they had anticipated. The smug smile on Chloe’s face froze, and Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly. I ignored them completely. I pulled out my AP Physics prep book, flipped to the page I hadn’t finished yesterday, spun my pen, and started solving the final free-response question. The air in the room seemed to solidify. The lines they had so carefully rehearsed, the emotional performance they had put on… It was all completely blocked and suffocated by my flat, apathetic reaction. It was like punching a pillow—not even a sound came back. Ultimately, Arthur grabbed Chloe’s hand and stalked away from my desk, looking incredibly sullen and frustrated. As they walked away, I could hear Chloe’s indignant, hushed complaining: “Arthur, did you see her attitude?!” Arthur comforted her softly: “Ignore her. She’s just a sore loser.” My pen paused for a fraction of a second as I wrote down the final answer on my scratch paper. I had never entertained the thought of arguing with someone who was already destined to be eliminated from the game. What they didn’t realize was… Their grand performance, in my eyes, was nothing but a premature, pathetic one-man show. And I didn’t even have the slightest interest in being part of the audience. Ever since that day, Arthur and Chloe genuinely believed they had both secured early admission. As a result, they completely checked out and stopped trying. During morning homeroom, their desks were empty. During first period, they would stroll in right as the bell rang, carrying iced coffees and breakfast sandwiches from off-campus. By afternoon periods, they simply stopped showing up altogether. Rumors about them flooded the campus. Someone saw them catching the latest romance movie at the downtown theater. Someone bumped into them playing the claw machines at the mall arcade. Someone else snapped a photo of them holding hands while strolling around the lake park and posted it on the school’s anonymous forum. In the gray, high-stress, suffocating environment of senior year, they became the only splash of reckless, uninhibited color. Everyone was envious of them. Envious of Arthur’s profound devotion, envious of Chloe’s incredible luck. A perfect match—the genius valedictorian throwing away his bright future for love. It was practically the script for ‘Teen Romance of the Year.’ And in this script, I became the ungrateful, bitterly jealous, villainous side character. Once, while filling up my water bottle in the hallway, I overheard two girls whispering. “Look at Stella. All she does is study all day. She’s so boring.” “I know, right? She must be insanely jealous of Chloe. What’s the point of having good grades if you still get kicked out of the early admission spots in the end?” I finished filling my bottle and walked right past them, my face entirely expressionless. Jealous? Absolutely unnecessary. I just felt that, standing right before the finish line, watching two runners who mistakenly believed they had already crossed it begin their premature victory laps… It was a behavior that severely challenged the lower limits of my cognitive understanding. My final act of charity happened exactly thirty days before the SATs and final exams. During evening study hall, the classroom was so quiet you could only hear the scratching of pens on paper. Miraculously, Arthur and Chloe had actually shown up. But they didn’t bring any textbooks. Instead, they were using their phones to look up itineraries for a post-graduation senior trip. “Let’s go to the beach, Arthur! I want to take aesthetic photos in pretty sundresses,” Chloe said. Her voice wasn’t exactly shouting, but it was loud enough for everyone in our immediate radius to hear. “Okay. Whatever you want,” Arthur replied, his tone so sickeningly sweet it could give you cavities. The guy sitting in front of me ruffled his hair in absolute frustration. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in anymore and turned around, whispering harshly: “Hey, you two. Can you keep it down? You’re distracting everyone who’s actually trying to study.” Chloe immediately pushed out her bottom lip, looking incredibly wronged, and turned her big, sad eyes toward Arthur. Arthur looked up, his eyes turning cold. “Is our conversation bothering you?” The guy shrank back under Arthur’s aggressive glare and didn’t dare say another word. I put my pen down, turned around, and looked directly at Arthur. “There are thirty days left. Are you absolutely certain you want to waste your time on this?” Hearing my words, Arthur let out a scoff. He leaned back in his chair, looking at me with overwhelming pity. “Stella, did you forget? You’re the one who didn’t get early admission. Not me.” He enunciated every single word, making sure they were crystal clear. “You should spend more time worrying about yourself. It’d be a real embarrassment if you can’t even score high enough to get into a decent state school.” Chloe sat next to him, covering her mouth as she let out a light, mocking giggle, immediately chiming in: “Yeah, Stella. Thanks for caring about us, but we really don’t need your concern.” I nodded slowly and turned back around to face the front. “Okay.” From that day forward, I never spoke a single word to either of them. I watched them live every day basking in the imaginary halo of being “early admitted scholars,” enjoying their final, delusional carnival. Time flew by. Soon, it was time for the final mock exams. When the massive red bulletin board displaying the school-wide rankings was posted, the entire hallway erupted in chaos. Unsurprisingly, I saw my own name right at the very top. Rank 1. Valedictorian. As for Arthur’s name… I had to scan for a very long time before I finally found it, buried in a corner in the lower-middle section of the board. An unprecedented, historically catastrophic drop: Rank 173. As I was looking, Arthur and Chloe pushed their way through the crowd, holding hands. They saw the ranking board. They saw my name at the top. And they saw Arthur’s name, which had plummeted off a cliff. The surrounding area fell into a dead silence. Everyone held their breath, eager to see how the former golden boy would react to this. But Arthur just shrugged carelessly. He pulled Chloe closer, whispered something in her ear, and the two of them exchanged a look before actually bursting into laughter. Finally, completely ignoring everyone around them, they turned and walked away. I watched their retreating backs disappear at the end of the hallway, and let out a soft, quiet exhale. The day of the final exams, the sun was almost blindingly bright. The school gates were packed with anxious parents dropping off their kids. I found a spot in the shade of a large oak tree, leaning against the trunk leisurely, waiting for my best friend—who had very nearly forgotten to bring her exam admission ticket. “Stella?” A familiar, yet somewhat uncertain voice rang out. I looked up and saw two people who absolutely should not have been here—Arthur and Chloe. They were wearing casual street clothes, holding hands, looking like tourists visiting a local landmark. The moment they saw me, the expressions on their faces shifted from shock to a knowing, gloating schadenfreude. Arthur walked up, feigning concern as he asked: “Stella, why aren’t you going inside? They’re about to open the testing rooms. Don’t tell me… you’re giving up?” Chloe, standing behind him, didn’t say a word, but she raised a hand to elegantly cover her mouth as she giggled. “Don’t tell me you realized you didn’t have a chance, so you decided to just not take the test at all?” She delivered the vicious insult with her usual soft, delicate tone. “Honestly, it’s fine. You’re a girl, anyway. You don’t necessarily have to go to a top-tier university.” I watched their perfectly synchronized double act, and I smiled. Meeting his probing, arrogant gaze, I asked softly: “Arthur, did you know? The acceptance letters for the Ivy League early admission program were mailed out last week.” His expression froze for a fraction of a second. I paused, giving him ample time to process and savor the implications of my words. Then, I spoke, slowly and deliberately. “Did you get yours?” The chaotic noise of the crowd around us seemed to instantly mute. Arthur stared at me. For the very first time, a look of utter bewilderment—and a trace of panic he hadn’t even realized was there—appeared in his eyes. Instinctively, blankly, he shook his head. “Oh,” I nodded, the smile on my face deepening just a fraction. “Is that so?” “Because I got mine.” Chapter 2 The destructive power of that single sentence was far greater than I had anticipated. The color drained from Arthur’s face at a visible rate. In exactly one second, his expression morphed from shock to a deathly, ghastly white. His lips trembled. He looked like a fish suffocating on dry land. It took him a long time to finally force out a few choked words: “You’re… lying…” Chloe, standing behind him, finally realized something was catastrophically wrong. She yanked hard on his arm. “Arthur, don’t listen to her! She’s just jealous of us! Let’s go, ignore this psycho!” Arthur reacted as if he had been burned, violently ripping his arm out of her grasp. He stared dead at me, his eyes rapidly filling with bloodshot veins. It was the desperate, final struggle of a man watching his entire belief system collapse. “Impossible! Mr. Davis promised me! He said he’d transfer my spot to Chloe! You were the one who got cut!” I couldn’t be bothered to waste another syllable on him. Sometimes, silence is infinitely more powerful than any words you could speak. My absolute calm completely obliterated his final psychological defense. Looking like a madman, he shoved his way through the dense crowd of parents, screaming hoarsely as he sprinted toward the main administration building. “I’m going to find Mr. Davis! I’m going to demand an explanation!” Chloe hiked up her sundress and went stumbling after him, crying and screaming his name. My best friend, who had just arrived and witnessed the tail end of this circus, stared in open-mouthed shock. “What the hell just happened? What triggered the former golden boy?” I shrugged. “He probably just realized he’s a complete idiot.” We didn’t have to wait long. The warning bell for the exam hadn’t even rung yet when the former “power couple” burst out of the administration building, one after the other. The expressions on their faces were even more spectacular than when they went in. Arthur looked completely hollowed out, like a marionette whose strings had been violently severed. And Chloe? Her face was covered in tears, and her eyes burned with a venomous, unadulterated hatred. SMACK! A sharp, resounding slap echoed over the noisy campus gates. Using every ounce of her strength, Chloe viciously slapped Arthur across the face. Her shrill, hysterical screaming tore through the air. “Arthur Sterling! You liar! You ruined me! You destroyed my entire life!” Arthur held his cheek, staring at her in absolute disbelief. Then, he exploded too. “I ruined you?! Chloe, I threw away my early admission spot to an Ivy League school for you! And now you’re blaming me?!” “Did I ask you to throw it away?! YOU wanted to play the hero! YOU said you could handle everything! And now look?! What the hell am I supposed to do now?! I don’t even have a college to go to!” Chloe broke down completely, pounding her fists against his chest. “You’re just a selfish narcissist! You only care about making yourself feel like a martyr!” “What about you?! Weren’t you thrilled when it happened?! Now that things went south, you’re shoving all the blame onto me?!” Arthur roared, his eyes red and frantic. “If your grades weren’t so pathetic that you didn’t even qualify for the waitlist, would any of this have happened?!” That sentence was the spark that detonated the powder keg. Chloe lunged at him like a feral animal, scratching and tearing at his clothes, screaming the most vile, venomous curses imaginable. However sweet and romantic they used to be, that was exactly how humiliating and ugly they were right now. Their grand, earth-shattering love story, when confronted with brutal reality, was as fragile as wet tissue paper. The surrounding parents and students formed a tight circle around them, pointing and whispering, treating them like a free circus act. I calmly withdrew my gaze and turned to my best friend. “Let’s go. I’ll buy you a matcha latte.” My friend was still in a daze. “Huh? We’re not going to wait until they finish fighting?” I smiled, grabbed her hand, and turned away. Behind us, that pathetic, miserable brawl was still raging on, but I had absolutely zero interest in it. They were just two fools paying the inevitable price for their own stupidity and arrogance.

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I was retouching my makeup when a colleague suddenly tapped me on the shoulder. “That lipstick looks exactly like the one I lost a couple of days ago.” Everyone in the open-plan office stopped what they were doing and turned to look. I calmly put the lipstick away. “Really? Then I better keep a close eye on mine.” “Wouldn’t want yours to turn up right when mine goes missing.” Chapter 1 1 “What is that supposed to mean?!” Brooke Davis’s voice spiked, unable to hide the surge of fury in her eyes. “I just saw it was the same shade and made a passing comment.” “Was there any need to get so passive-aggressive?” “I didn’t say you took my lipstick, but acting like this makes you look incredibly guilty!” I curled my lip slightly. “Right, you didn’t explicitly name me as the thief who stole your lipstick.” “But with all your insinuation and subtext, aren’t you just trying to make everyone here believe that I did?” Brooke was rendered speechless by my retort, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. She probably hadn’t expected me to completely ignore the usual script. I didn’t rush to prove my innocence; instead, I directly attacked her motivation. “I… I didn’t mean it like that!” She tried to defend herself in a panic. But in the next second, she seemed to find her confidence again. She intentionally emphasized her words, her tone dripping with a sense of superiority. “This lipstick is a limited-edition shade I specifically brought back from Europe. You can’t even buy it in this country.” “No one in the office ever used this shade before, yet right after mine goes missing, you start wearing it. Even if I suspect you, isn’t that reasonable?” I raised an eyebrow, countering her slowly and deliberately. “It’s limited edition, but there’s still an ‘edition,’ right?” “Does ‘limited’ mean only you, Brooke Davis, are allowed to buy it? I can’t own one? Your logic is truly fascinating.” My words caused several colleagues who had been silent to chuckle under their breath. Brooke’s expression became even uglier. Just then, a female colleague at the next cubicle over, who was on good terms with Brooke, stood up to play the peacemaker. “Alright, let’s not fight. It’s not worth ruining office harmony over something this small.” “Audrey, since you say you bought the lipstick yourself and didn’t take Brooke’s, why don’t you just show everyone the receipt? That would clear up the misunderstanding, right?” Brooke immediately chimed in, her tone aggressive. “Exactly! You say you bought it, then show us the proof! Unless, of course, you can’t!” The gaze of the entire office focused on me again, pressuring me. I smiled. “Brooke, let’s get one thing straight.” “Right now, you are the one accusing me.” “Based on the principle of ‘innocent until proven guilty,’ the burden of proof is on you.” “First, you prove that this specific tube of lipstick is yours. Then, and only then, will we discuss anything else.” I intended to disrupt her rhythm and force her to follow my logic. Brooke stunned for a moment, then her chest began to heave with rage. “Fine! You want proof? I’ll give you proof!” She glared at me fiercely, pulled out her phone, and tapped aggressively on the screen. Very quickly, she held up her phone. The screen clearly displayed an order confirmation for an international personal shopper service. “See that?!” She held the phone screen out for everyone to see, her voice boasting. “This is my purchase record.” “Where’s yours? If you can’t produce it, it means you’re hiding something.” 2 People around us began to nod, as if they had already passed a verdict of “guilty” on me. I ignored their looks, calmly pulled out my own phone, and pulled up a text conversation with a friend. “I actually didn’t buy this lipstick myself,” I said frankly, displaying my phone screen to everyone. On the screen, the conversation between my friend and me was clearly visible. “This was a gift from a friend.” I pointed to the timestamp on the chat record; it was from a week ago. It showed messages my friend had sent while traveling, saying she had specifically picked up this lipstick as a surprise for me. The expressions around the room shifted from doubt to understanding. “Looks like it really was just a misunderstanding. It was a gift.” “Exactly. Audrey doesn’t seem like she’s strapped for cash; why would she steal?” “Brooke was a bit too sensitive this time. Maybe she’s just in a bad mood because she lost something.” “She’s never gotten along with Audrey anyway. You don’t think she did this on purpose, do you?” The atmosphere in the office instantly became strained. People whispered among themselves. The suspicion originally directed at me dissipated instantly, replaced by judgment aimed at Brooke. Someone started advising her. “Brooke, since it’s a misunderstanding, you should apologize to Audrey.” “Yeah, you were a bit harsh with your words earlier.” Brooke bit her lip tightly, not saying a word. Asking her to apologize to me was probably harder than asking her to swallow glass. She took a deep breath, attempting one final struggle. “My lipstick really is gone! We have had professional disagreements, but I wouldn’t make something like this up!” “I lost something, and she just happens to be using the exact same kind. It’s normal for me to get confused!” Her logic was that her “misunderstanding” was excusable. I put my phone away and crossed my arms, mimicking the exact posture she had used moments ago. “Okay. So?” I countered calmly. “The misunderstanding is cleared up now. Facts prove I didn’t take your things.” “You need to formally apologize right now for publicly slandering me in front of everyone.” Brooke’s face was a map of conflict and reluctance. 3 Just as she was stuck between a rock and a hard place, a male voice rang out. “I don’t think this situation is that simple.” Caleb Stone stood up from his seat. He had just been transferred to our department a few months ago, and no one knew him very well. Nobody expected him to speak up at this moment. In an instant, every eye in the room snapped toward him. He pushed up his glasses, walked slowly into the middle of the room, his expression serious. “Text records can be easily faked, can’t they?” With his opening statement, he directly invalidated my evidence. I narrowed my eyes at Caleb. He didn’t look at me, but spoke to the surrounding colleagues instead. “A few days ago, around noon on Tuesday, most people had gone to the cafeteria. I came back to grab something and saw Audrey standing right by Brooke’s desk.” “There were barely any people in the office then, so I didn’t think much of it.” “But looking back now, her demeanor… seemed a little sneaky.” He was very precise with his wording: “seemed,” “sneaky.” Highly suggestive. “And, let’s not forget, the nominations for the department manager promotion are coming out next month.” “Audrey and Brooke are the two strongest contenders in our department.” “At a time like this, if a scandal about stealing broke out involving one of them, what kind of blow would that be to her career?” He surveyed the room, his voice not loud, but carrying a tone of seeing through everything. “So, is it possible—” “That someone deliberately set this whole thing up? They obtained the lipstick first, forged a text thread, and then intentionally used it today to bait Brooke.” “The goal being to destroy a rival’s reputation during the critical promotion window.” “To make everyone think Brooke is petty and casually accuses colleagues, thereby rallying people to their side and locking in support early.” 4 Caleb finished his speech. A collective gasp of realization rippled through the crowd. “My god, is corporate competition really this cutthroat?” “Playing dirty tricks like that is disgusting!” “I always thought Audrey was quiet, turns out she’s got deep schemes.” “There’s nothing more toxic than a catfight. This is why women can’t be leaders!” Everyone settled in with a spectator mentality, waiting to see how I would handle this. Normally, the person who should be the most smug, the one to immediately jump on this bandwagon, would be Brooke. As long as she nodded along with Caleb’s words, I wouldn’t be able to clear my name even if I had a hundred mouths. Yet, she didn’t look smug. She just frowned deeply, looking at Caleb, her eyes filled with complexity. On the other hand, amidst the wave of chatter turning against me, Caleb calmly pushed up his glasses. A faint smile of satisfaction touched the corner of his mouth. I took all of this in, finding it absurd yet hilarious. I looked up at him and spoke directly. “Oh my god, seriously, guy?” “Brooke and I—two women—are bickering over a stupid tube of lipstick, and you, a grown man, jump out to insert yourself? Trying to act like you’re some genius profiler?” “And you’ve got it all painted out so vividly. Saw me by Brooke’s desk on Tuesday at noon? Are your eyes connected to the security cameras, or did you just hallucinate that?” “Let me tell you, on Tuesday at noon, I wasn’t even in the office.” I took a step forward, staring him down. “Furthermore, even if Brooke and I are professional rivals, I, Audrey Miller, will only win based on merit. Playing low-class, underhanded tricks like that? I’d be worried about dirtying my hands.” “But you, on the other hand.” I shifted the attack, my voice turning icy cold. “An outside hire who’s barely been in the department for two months, and you’re already this desperate to pick a side and muddy the waters.” “Escalating a personal disagreement between Brooke and me into a promotion conspiracy theory.” “Did you really think we couldn’t see your desperate desire to snatch that manager position?” Those words were like a resounding slap in the face to Caleb. His expression twisted instantly, a flash of panic darting through his eyes. He stammered in defense: “You… you’re lying! I saw it with my own eyes! You say you weren’t here, but who can prove that?” That question hit a nerve, and the surrounding people began to whisper among themselves. “Yeah, there needs to be proof.” “Just saying you weren’t here isn’t convincing.” “Audrey, I remember asking you to go to lunch on Tuesday, and you said you weren’t going. You were left in the office.” 5 In that nearly frozen atmosphere, a voice rose that no one expected. “I can prove it.” The speaker was Brooke Davis. For a moment, everyone was stunned, including Caleb. Chapter 2 He looked at Brooke in disbelief: “Brooke, you…” Brooke ignored him. She took a deep breath, as if she had made a difficult resolution. Her cheeks flushed an unnatural shade of red, and she darted her eyes away, not daring to look at anyone. Under the prodding and questioning gazes of the crowd. She used almost all her strength to get the words out completely. “On Tuesday at noon, everyone had gone to lunch. In the office… there was only me and her.” “That day… I had an emergency with my period. It stained my white skirt.” As soon as these words came out, an uproar erupted in the office. The faces of several female colleagues softened with understanding and sympathy. Brooke’s face grew even redder, and she gripped the hem of her jacket. “At the time… Audrey was the only person left in the office. She saw it, didn’t say anything, and just… just went out and bought me pads and a new pair of pants.” “Audrey, I’m sorry.” “The lipstick… I probably just misplaced it myself somewhere. I shouldn’t have suspected you.” Finishing her sentence, she turned and ran quickly out of the office. The colleagues who had been righteously accusing me moments ago now looked at each other, their expressions awkward and complex. “Cough, looks like it was all just a misunderstanding.” “I told you so. We’re colleagues; why would there be so much plotting?” “Someone just intentionally steered the conversation. It was a small thing to begin with; glad it’s cleared up.” Caleb Stone had become the sole clown in this farce. He cleared his throat, forcing a smile that looked more painful than crying, and said to me: “Um… looks like I saw wrong. Audrey, I’m really sorry. Be the bigger person and don’t take it to heart.” I gave him a cold look and let out a light huff. “A grown man, spreading gossip everywhere without knowing the truth. Acting like a little office busybody… it’s a pathetic look.” After saying that, I ignored him, lowered my head, and continued with my work. I originally thought this matter ended there. After all, Brooke and I argued constantly, clashing over work priorities every other day—it was our normal state. We didn’t actually have a bad relationship; we weren’t genuine enemies. Our work philosophies just frequently diverged, leading to arguments whenever our opinions didn’t align. We’d argue and then drop it, never truly holding a grudge. But I never dreamed that someone would use this little friction between Brooke and me as a tool for corporate warfare.

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I brought my daughter back to my hometown for the holidays. On the way, I ran into an old acquaintance. “Owen! You’re finally back to get married! Congratulations!” I was completely baffled. “Get married? Who’s getting married?” The older lady laughed and patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t be shy! Isn’t it you and your girlfriend, Sarah?” Even after she walked away, I couldn’t process what she had said. Sarah? Didn’t she and I break up five years ago? I shook my head, assuming the lady had just misremembered or confused me with someone else. That was, until I arrived at my parents’ house. The entire front yard was strung with festive lights, and a massive, blindingly bright wedding poster featuring me and Sarah was set up by the door. I stood there, completely paralyzed. … My parents, beaming with joy, rushed out to greet me and pulled me toward the house. The moment I stepped through the door, I was face-to-face with Sarah, fully dressed in a white wedding gown. Her gaze landed on me, and the corners of her mouth curled up slightly. “Owen. Surprised?” “I owe you a wedding from five years ago. The day after tomorrow, I’m making it up to you!” The expression on my face froze, cracked, and froze again. I looked around at the “Just Married” decorations plastered all over the house, and I actually laughed out loud. “Sarah, I am already married.” … Sarah stiffened for a fraction of a second, but quickly regained her composure. “Owen, are you still mad at me?” She took a step closer. “Five years ago at our wedding, when Liam said he wanted to marry you with me, it was just a joke.” “He’s a guy, and you’re a guy. How can you still be holding onto that?” She reached out and grabbed my arm, her expression softening into something gentle and coaxing. “Liam is literally just my male best friend. It’s been five years. If there was really something going on between us, why would I have waited for you all this time?” Looking at her earnest expression, I couldn’t help but let out a low, cynical chuckle. Sarah and I dated for seven years. Five years ago, we finally made it to the altar. But I never expected that on the day of our wedding, she and her best friend Liam would show up wearing identical wedding dresses, declaring that they were both going to marry me together. I was so furious I canceled the wedding on the spot and walked out. I just never imagined that five years later, she actually believed I was still standing in the exact same spot, waiting for her. “Sarah, I think you’ve deeply misunderstood the situation.” “What happened back then? I let that go a long, long time ago.” Sarah frowned slightly. Just then, a figure dashed out from the back room. “Brother-in-law! You’re finally back!” “I told you he wouldn’t hold a grudge forever! Who holds onto a joke from five years ago?” Liam sidled up intimately next to Sarah and looked at me. “Sarah and I grew up together. We’re besties. We made a pact that we’d either stay single together or marry the same guy.” “Since you didn’t like the joke, I won’t do it again. But this time, you better not run away and leave Sarah at the altar!” He said it half-jokingly, completely oblivious to how incredibly humiliating his words were. But his little speech seemed to smooth out the frown on Sarah’s face. I ignored both of them, took my daughter’s hand, and walked further into the house. My dad grabbed my arm. “Owen, be nice to Sarah.” I turned to look at my dad. “Dad, didn’t I tell you guys a long time ago? I am already married.” My dad’s face darkened. “You have the nerve to say that? There is absolutely no need to hire some woman to play your fake girlfriend just to trick me and your mother.” “That ‘girlfriend’ of yours? I only saw her once on your Facebook page five years ago!” “We aren’t so senile that we can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake!” I took a deep breath, suppressing the rising frustration and exasperation in my chest. “Dad, marriage is a massive life event. I really don’t need to lie to you about it.” “As for my wife, due to the nature of her work, it’s not convenient for her identity to be made public right now.” “But she’s coming back the day after tomorrow. When she gets here, you’ll see for yourselves whether it’s real or not.” My dad froze. “Are you actually married?” 2 Sarah’s gaze also locked onto me. After a few seconds of silence, Liam suddenly burst out laughing, as if he had just figured out a punchline. “Brother-in-law, are you seriously going to rent a wife the day after tomorrow? Is that the new trend now? Renting a fake partner to bring home for the holidays?” “Stop messing around, man. Sarah has been planning this wedding for three months!” Hearing this, the doubt in Sarah’s eyes dissipated. “Owen, I know you’re going to love the wedding I planned.” “That custom-tailored suit you loved five years ago, a beachfront villa in the most expensive part of Malibu, and that honeymoon trip to Europe you always wanted—I have it all prepared.” She spoke as if she were reminiscing about our shared past. “Even though it’s been delayed for five years, what I can give you now is infinitely better than what I could give you back then.” She took slow, deliberate steps toward me. I stepped back to avoid her. “You said it yourself, it’s been delayed for five years. I am absolutely not marrying you!” “Cancel the wedding.” I pointed at the tacky decorations plastered all over the house. “And take all of this down.” My dad rushed forward and covertly pinched my arm hard. “We have the bridal suite all set up! How can you just say you aren’t getting married?!” I met my dad’s furious glare and let out a harsh laugh. “You prepared everything so thoroughly, yet I, the groom, am only finding out about it today.” “What? Are you guys planning my wedding without even bothering to notify the person actually getting married?” My dad stiffened. My mom looked at me with deep displeasure: “Your marriage to Sarah was settled five years ago! If you hadn’t run away from the altar, you and Sarah would probably have kids by now.” “It’s a done deal. Why do we need to give you advance notice?” Hearing this, my dad seemed to find his footing again. He tried to push me toward Sarah. “Exactly! The invitations are already sent out, the catering is paid for. Stop causing trouble.” I couldn’t hold back a scoff of sheer disbelief. It was exactly the same five years ago. Sarah and Liam were crossing lines left and right, and as my parents, instead of standing up for me, they told me to “relax and be open-minded.” They even accidentally caught Sarah and Liam in highly inappropriate, compromising situations, and actually helped them hide it from me. From that moment on, I made the conscious decision to minimize contact with them. If it weren’t for my grandfather—the only person in this family who ever actually took my side—falling seriously ill, I wouldn’t have even come back for the holidays this year. Sarah reached out, trying to grab my hand again. I retreated back to the entryway, staring at that obnoxious, life-sized wedding poster. I raised my foot and kicked it down hard. “I’m not joking around with you people. Do whatever you want with this ‘wedding,’ but leave me completely out of it!” Sarah finally showed a flash of anger. “Owen, what exactly are you still dissatisfied with?!” “You can ask for anything you want. Consider it my compensation for what happened years ago.” Before I could even deliver a cold, sarcastic reply, my dad frantically grabbed my arm. My mom rushed over, picked the poster up off the floor, and carefully wiped the dust off it. “This poster cost thousands of dollars!” My dad, visibly agitated, began lecturing me: “Exactly! You hit the jackpot! Sarah is about to be admitted into the National Academy of Sciences! What do you have to complain about?!” The Academy of Sciences? Hearing those words, I paused for a second. Sarah sharply caught my reaction. As if she had seen right through me, she let out a low chuckle. “Back when we were in school, you always talked about wanting to be a scientist. But that field really requires natural talent.” She raised an eyebrow haughtily: “You might not have the title of a scientist yourself, but how does the title of ‘husband to a scientist’ sound?” 3 I snapped back to reality, looking at her incredibly self-assured, arrogant expression. “It sounds terrible. Take your garbage and get the hell out of my house!” Sarah’s face went paper-white. I ignored her, turned around, and started violently ripping down the “Just Married” decals and banners taped to the windows, throwing them directly into the trash. My dad panicked and lunged forward to physically pull me away. My mom stood off to the side, muttering angrily: “What the hell is wrong with you, you stupid boy?! We already accepted her fifty-thousand-dollar dowry!” I whipped my head around to glare at my mom. A towering inferno of rage erupted in my chest. “Fifty thousand dollars?! You accepted her money without even asking me?! Are you trying to sell me?!” A look of deep embarrassment flashed across my parents’ faces. “You ungrateful brat, how dare you speak to us like that?!” My mom, furious, raised her hand, ready to slap me across the face. I was just about to dodge when a figure rushed forward and intercepted my mom’s hand. “Mrs. Davis, please, calm down.” Sarah looked at me with a sickeningly forgiving, magnanimous gaze. “I owe Owen for what happened five years ago. He needs time to process this. I completely understand.” I looked at her, feeling absolutely nothing but intense revulsion at her fake, performative grace. “Give that money back to her immediately!” “My daughter is already four years old! I literally do not have the time to play this pathetic ‘second chance romance’ game with you people!” Everyone froze. It was as if they had only just noticed the little girl standing right next to me. Sarah’s deep, calculating gaze locked onto me: “Owen, are you absolutely certain that is your daughter?” Before I could even open my mouth, my dad rushed forward, frantically interrupting me: “What kid?! This definitely isn’t Owen’s kid!” He desperately tried to explain, “Sarah, you know this better than anyone. Think about how hopelessly in love with you Owen was back then.” “He had a crush on you for three years. He secretly brought you breakfast every single day. And later, just so he wouldn’t be separated from you, he gave up his chance to study abroad. You know all of this!” Sarah turned her gaze back to me, a confident smile playing on her lips: “Don’t worry, I trust Owen. You and Mr. Davis have nothing to worry about.” Hearing her say that, my parents finally nodded in relief. Then, they turned back to me: “I don’t care where you found this kid, but take her back immediately! It’s the holidays, why are you causing such a scene?!” As he spoke, my dad reached out, trying to grab my daughter’s hand and pull her away. My daughter flinched in fear. I quickly pulled her behind me, shielding her. “Dad, I’ve already made myself perfectly clear. Believe what you want!” My parents’ faces hardened. Liam, standing off to the side, was staring intensely at my daughter’s face: “You know what, brother-in-law? This kid actually does look a bit like you.” “Did you get so depressed over what happened five years ago that you just found some random woman to have a kid with?” My parents’ eyes instantly flared with fury. Sarah’s heavy gaze lingered on my daughter for a moment before returning to me: “Owen, I want to hear you explain this yourself.” Meeting her stubborn, intense stare, I found the whole situation utterly absurd. “Didn’t I explain it? I’ve said it a dozen times, but none of you want to believe it. If that’s how it’s going to be, I don’t see any reason to stay here and humiliate myself!” I took my daughter’s hand and turned to leave. My parents rushed forward, frantically blocking the doorway: “Wait! Wait a minute!” “Didn’t you say you came back to see your Grandpa? The doctors said he might not make it past the holidays.” My footsteps halted. If there was one single thing tethering me to this house, it was my Grandpa. I turned back to face my parents. “I’m going upstairs to see Grandpa.” Sarah grabbed my hand: “Owen, no matter what happens, I am going to marry you.” As she spoke, she glanced down at my daughter: “This child can be our flower girl. If you like kids, we can have our own later. I just hope their personality isn’t as stubborn as yours.” I couldn’t help but violently shake her off. “You have no right to dictate anything regarding my daughter. As for the wedding, if you want to get married so badly, you can do it by yourself!” 4 I picked up my daughter and walked upstairs. Grandpa was thrilled to see me. We talked for a long time. He looked at his great-granddaughter with absolute adoration, hugging her and giving her a thick, red envelope stuffed with cash for the holidays. I didn’t refuse it; it was an old man’s genuine blessing. He was the only person in this house who actually cared about my feelings. The next day, my parents didn’t bring up Sarah at all. I naively assumed they had given up. But the morning after that, I was jolted awake by the deafening sound of firecrackers. I threw open the curtains and saw a massive crowd gathered in the front yard. A fleet of luxury wedding cars was parked right outside the gate. My brain short-circuited for a second before I sprinted downstairs. My dad grabbed me immediately. “Look at you, why are you in such a rush? Go put your tuxedo on first.” I violently ripped my arm out of his grasp. “Dad, I told you! I am already married! Have you all lost your minds?!” The smiles on my parents’ faces vanished, replaced by looks of intense disapproval: “Owen, you are incredibly lucky to find a wife like Sarah. Why are you being so stubborn? Just take the out she’s giving you!” I realized there was absolutely zero point in trying to communicate with them. I shoved my dad aside and charged out the front door. At that exact moment, my phone rang. I looked down, saw the caller ID, and quickly answered: “Hey honey, are you here?” “Owen, I’m at the entrance to the neighborhood. How do I get to your house from here?” Hearing my wife’s familiar, comforting voice, I couldn’t help but smile. I kept her on the phone and started walking down the street to meet her. But someone grabbed my arm. I spun around. It was Sarah. “Owen, why haven’t you changed your clothes yet?” I didn’t have time to argue with her. But Sarah aggressively stepped in front of me, blocking my path: “Owen, listen to me. Today is our wedding day. Whatever issues we have, we can talk about them after we get married, okay?” I was forced to hang up the phone. I looked at the crowd of neighbors and relatives watching us, and raised my voice. “Sarah, I will say this one last time. We were over five years ago. I currently have a wife and a child!” The crowd erupted into shocked whispers and gossip. Sarah’s face turned dark. She grabbed my wrist tightly, trying to drag me back toward the house: “Owen, you can’t fool me. I know you still have feelings for me in your heart. How could you possibly marry someone else?” I struggled forcefully, but her grip was bizarrely strong, as if she were desperately clinging to a lifeline. “Sarah, let me go!” “I have to go pick up my wife! My wife is waiting for me at the neighborhood entrance!” Sarah’s footsteps paused for a fraction of a second: “Owen.” “Today is our wedding day. Besides me, who else would ever want to marry you?” Looking at her furious, arrogant expression, my anger boiled over into a cold laugh: “Sarah, my wife is literally down the street. We’ll see who’s real and who’s fake in about two minutes.” The surrounding neighbors, never ones to miss a good show, started murmuring loudly. “Yeah, let’s go see for ourselves.” “The guy already has a wife and a kid, and she’s still trying to force a wedding? This is a joke, right?” Sarah’s face grew uglier by the second. She was just about to snap back when another car pulled up to the curb. Liam stepped out and grabbed my arm: “Brother-in-law, congratulations! You finally got to marry Sarah.” He clearly hadn’t witnessed our argument just now. He was smiling broadly: “But Sarah has very high standards. If you want to officially be my brother-in-law, you have to prove you’ve got some skills.” “I won’t make it too hard on you. Just cook a few of Sarah’s favorite signature dishes. I’ve already got the ingredients prepped for you.” He clapped his hands, and two neighbors stepped forward carrying trays of raw ingredients. I met his smug, arrogant gaze and couldn’t help but let out a cynical scoff: “Liam, are you looking for a husband for Sarah, or are you hiring a live-in chef?” “When you tried to humiliate me five years ago, I walked away. Today, I don’t give a damn about your pathetic little games!” “Especially since I have absolutely zero intention of marrying Sarah!” With that, I violently ripped my arm out of Sarah’s grasp and started walking toward the entrance of the neighborhood. “Liam. Apologize.” I heard Sarah’s voice ring out, cold and sharp. “Owen is my husband. He doesn’t have to do any of that, and he certainly doesn’t need to prove himself with any ‘tests’.” Liam’s face went white. He looked at Sarah, playing the victim: “Sarah, I was just playing a little game with my brother-in-law. How was I supposed to know he’d be so sensitive about it?” Sarah’s voice grew even colder: “Shut up. If you speak like that again, you don’t need to attend my wedding.” As she finished speaking, I heard footsteps rushing up behind me. Sarah grabbed my arm again: “Owen, ignore what Liam said. Let’s just get in the wedding car, okay?” Her gaze softened considerably. My parents hurried over, chiming in to pressure me. “Owen, stop lying about being married to get out of this.” “Exactly, it’s your wedding day. Stop throwing tantrums.” Hearing even my own parents say this, the neighbors watching the spectacle began to look confused. “What? They’re just having a lover’s spat? So the whole ‘wife’ thing was fake?” “Young people love drama, but you shouldn’t joke about marriage! On a day like this, it’s bad luck!” I ground my teeth together, a fiery rage surging up my throat. Just as I was about to fire back, Sarah suddenly threw her arms around me in a tight embrace. She looked up at me, her eyes curving into a sweet smile: “Owen, be good. We’re getting married. This time, I won’t let any ‘accidents’ ruin our wedding.” Seeing that she was about to literally drag me into the bridal limo, I struggled violently: “Sarah, let me go! Get off me!” I shouted in fury, but Sarah ignored me, shoving me toward the open car door. Just as the door was about to slam shut. The next second, a familiar voice rang out: “What exactly are you doing?”

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Pregnancy insomnia had me wide awake at 2 AM, mindlessly scrolling through my phone, when I stumbled upon a video titled “Three Toasts to Destiny.” In the video, a frail girl in a hospital bed was holding up a plastic medicine cup filled with ginger ale, toasting to her rebirth. The first toast is to my lover. Here’s to him suppressing his physical disgust to sleep with that woman. Just because she has O-negative blood, making her the perfect incubator to grow my “cure.” The second toast is to the fetus. Because only that woman’s newborn stem cells are pure enough. So my lover tracked her ovulation, swapped out her birth control, and made sure she got pregnant. The third toast is to the due date. In three months, when the baby drops, my new life begins. As for the hollowed-out mother who gets left behind… who cares if she lives or dies. The comment section was flooded with people calling it “edgy” and “romantic.” But reading it, my blood ran ice cold. Because five minutes ago, my husband, Ethan Carter—a top hematology specialist. Had just brought me a glass of warm milk and a Neonatal Stem Cell Directed Donation Consent Form. Ethan was dressed in his cozy cashmere loungewear, his gold-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his straight nose. He looked as gentle and refined as ever. He even thoughtfully tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Audrey, drink your milk and get some sleep. It’s good for the baby.” His voice was so tender it could melt snow. If I hadn’t just watched that video, I would have thought I was the luckiest pregnant woman in the world. I looked down at the consent form. Through the dense paragraphs of legal jargon, there was only one core takeaway: The umbilical cord blood and stem cells after the baby’s birth would be donated, free of charge, to a patient named Lily Rivers. Lily. The name sounded awfully familiar. The ID of the girl in the video was “One White Lily.” My hand trembled. Half the milk spilled onto the blankets. Ethan frowned slightly, but immediately grabbed some tissues to wipe my hands. His tone was a mix of reproach and pampering. “Why are you so clumsy? Did you burn yourself?” I pulled my hand back, avoiding his touch. “Ethan, who is this Lily? Why are we doing a directed donation specifically for her?” Ethan’s movements paused. Only for a second. He quickly recovered his natural composure and pushed the paper a little closer to me. “She’s a very pitiful young girl. Her leukemia relapsed, and her condition is critical. You have rare O-negative blood, and our baby likely will too. It’s a perfect match.” He looked into my eyes, his gaze deeply affectionate. “Audrey, you have the kindest heart. Just think of it as building good karma for our child, okay?” Good karma. That phrase from the video—who cares if she lives or dies—stabbed into my brain like an ice pick. I forced down the urge to vomit and pointed at my phone screen. “What about this video? Is this good karma too?” Ethan followed my gaze. On the screen, the woman in the hospital gown was smiling at the camera. On her wrist was a braided red thread bracelet. It was the exact one Ethan claimed he got from a mindfulness retreat in Sedona two years ago. He told me he lost it. Turns out, he lost it onto another woman’s wrist. Ethan’s pupils shrank drastically. But he was too calm. Calm like a surgeon dissecting a cadaver. He took my phone, closed the app, and even casually tucked the blankets around me. “Don’t read that garbage on the internet. People make up anything for views. And that bracelet? You can buy it at any tourist trap.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. His lips felt freezing cold. “Be a good girl. Sign it and go to sleep. That patient is running out of time.” That last sentence carried a barely detectable urgency. I stared at him. I had loved this face for seven years. From high school sweethearts to walking down the aisle, I thought he was my salvation. I never imagined he was a grim reaper coming for my life. I grabbed the pen and slashed a hard, jagged line across the consent form. “I’m not signing it.” Ethan’s face instantly darkened. That night, Ethan didn’t come back to our bedroom. He stayed in his study until dawn. The next morning, the dining table was covered with my favorite breakfast. Avocado toast, artisanal bone broth, fresh berries, and an unopened bottle of prenatal vitamins. Ethan served me breakfast with a smile, acting like nothing happened. “I had a bad attitude last night. Don’t be mad, Audrey. We can talk about the donation later. Eat first.” He pushed the bottle of pills toward me. “I had a colleague bring these back from Europe. Highest purity folic acid, great for the baby’s brain development. Make sure you take them on time.” If this were yesterday, I would have been incredibly touched. After all, he was a renowned medical authority and a notorious workaholic. Taking the time to care about these little details was proof of his love. But now, I just felt sick. I swallowed the pill right in front of him. Then, maintaining the warm, loving atmosphere, I kissed his cheek and sent him off to work. The second the front door clicked shut, I sprinted to the bathroom, shoved my fingers down my throat, and threw up my entire breakfast and the pill. Stomach acid burned my esophagus. Tears and snot smeared my face. I carefully scooped the dissolved remains of the pill into a Ziploc bag. That afternoon, I went to a private clinic. I sought out my best friend, Sarah, who worked as a pharmacist. The lab results came back fast. Sarah was holding the printout, her hands shaking. “Audrey, this isn’t folic acid. This is Filgrastim! And it’s an incredibly high dose!” “This drug is meant for bone marrow donors. It forces the bone marrow to overproduce stem cells and dump them into the bloodstream. The side effects are brutal. For a pregnant woman, long-term use can lead to liver and kidney failure, or even…” She didn’t dare finish. I finished it for her: “Even maternal death, right?” Sarah nodded, her eyes red. I smiled. A smile uglier than crying. So, the phrase who cares if she lives or dies wasn’t a hyperbole. It was a literal medical plan. He really wanted my life. Just to save his Lily. On my way home, my phone rang. It was Ethan. He was panting slightly, and the background noise was chaotic, like an ER. “Audrey, where are you? Your GPS says you’re out.” He had installed a tracker on my phone. He used to say it was to keep me safe. Now I knew it was just to monitor his “vessel.” I watched the city streets blur past the car window, keeping my voice perfectly flat. “Just out buying some baby clothes. Why?” “Go home immediately! There are too many germs out there, you’ll catch a bug.” He paused, his tone suddenly dropping into something sinister. “Don’t wander off. I’ll worry.” After hanging up, I clicked on “One White Lily’s” profile. She had updated. This time, the photo was taken outside an ICU. The caption read: [That woman hasn’t signed the form yet, but he told me to leave everything to him and rest easy. It’s okay. For our future, I can endure anything.] A comment asked: “What if she finds out?” She replied: [What if she does? The baby is in her belly, the baby’s life is in her hands. But her life, is in his hands.] My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. Ethan. If you want to play games. Let’s play for keeps. I started acting completely normal. Taking my “medicine” on time, reporting my whereabouts. Sure enough, Ethan lowered his guard. To ease whatever twisted guilt he felt, he started coming home earlier, cooking for me, and massaging my swollen legs. His hands were dry and warm, hitting all the right pressure points. Looking at his focused profile, I suddenly asked, “Ethan, we should pick a name for the baby.” His hands didn’t stop. “Let’s name him River.” “What?” “River. Like a mighty, flowing river. It’s a strong name.” I sneered in my heart. River. For Lily Rivers. How poetic. How painfully devoted. “I want to go to Mount Sinai for my next checkup. I heard there’s a specialist there who’s amazing,” I probed cautiously. Ethan’s hands suddenly tightened, digging painfully into my calf. “No need.” He looked up, the gaze behind his lenses chilling. “I am the best doctor. My colleagues are the best team. I don’t trust outside physicians.” “But…” “Listen to me.” He cut me off, leaving no room for argument. “Your condition is unique. Only I understand your body perfectly. Don’t go making a fuss out there. What if something goes wrong?” He made it sound so noble. In reality, he was terrified a real obstetrician would look at my bloodwork, see my hormone levels spiking dangerously, and realize I was being slowly murdered. Over the next two weeks, Ethan escalated his control. He hired a “nanny.” He said it was to take care of me, but she was a warden. My keycard was confiscated. My cell reception became mysteriously spotty. I was a pig in a pen. Just waiting for slaughter day. Until late one night, Ethan got a frantic call and rushed out. He forgot to lock the study. I slipped in and found a folder on his desktop named “L & E”. Encrypted. I tried my birthday. Error. Our wedding anniversary. Error. Finally, I typed in the date from Lily’s video—the day they celebrated their “rebirth.” October 18th. The folder clicked open. It was packed with photos and medical records. Pictures of Lily bald from chemo, pictures of her leaning into Ethan’s chest, laughing brilliantly. The timestamps spanned a decade. They were the high school sweethearts. I was just the tragic accident who got in the way, the unlucky fool who happened to have the golden O-negative blood. In a document titled Ovulation & Conception Protocol, I found something even more vile. Ethan had documented my menstrual cycles down to the hour. Which day he swapped the pills. Which day he poked holes in the condoms. Which days intercourse was strictly mandatory. Every single date corresponded to a night I had mistaken for passionate, spontaneous love. To him, those nights were just sickening, calculated breeding assignments. The last line of the document read: “Target Delivery: 32 weeks. Pre-term C-section to ensure maximum stem cell viability.” 32 weeks. That was next week. He never intended for me to carry to term. A baby born at seven months would be fighting for its life. But he didn’t care. He only needed the “cure.” The front door clicked open. Ethan was back. I instantly killed the monitor and held my breath in the dark. Footsteps stopped right outside the study. The doorknob turned. I pressed myself behind the heavy velvet curtains, shaking uncontrollably. Ethan walked in. He seemed exhausted. He collapsed into his desk chair and lit a cigarette. In the dim glow of the cherry, his face was shadowy and hollow. “Lily, just hold on a little longer. It’s almost over,” he whispered to the empty room. “Next Tuesday. I’ll schedule the surgery. You’re going to be okay.” My heart plummeted into an abyss. Next Tuesday. Three days from now. I waited until Ethan went to the master bedroom before I dared to creep back into my own room. I stared at the ceiling until dawn broke. The next morning, I intentionally threw myself down a flight of stairs. It made a horrific crash. The nanny screamed and frantically dialed Ethan’s number. I curled on the hardwood floor, clutching my stomach, cold sweat pouring down my face. “It hurts… take me to the hospital, the nearest one, now!” Ethan roared through the speakerphone: “Do not take her anywhere else! Wait for me! I’m bringing an ambulance now!” The nanny was paralyzed with fear. I grabbed her arm, my nails biting into her skin. “I’m bleeding! Are you going to watch me die? If we both die, can you afford the prison time?!” That broke her. She dialed 911. Just as the paramedics arrived, Ethan’s SUV tore into the driveway. His eyes were bloodshot as he physically shoved a paramedic out of the way. “I am a doctor! She is my patient! And my wife! I am taking her to my hospital!” The EMTs looked shocked, but recognizing his badge and authority, they backed off. I was shoved into the passenger seat of Ethan’s car. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor, his jaw tight enough to crack stone. “Audrey, did you do that on purpose?” He figured it out. I was pale from genuine pain, but I forced a weak, pathetic smile. “Ethan, I was just so scared for the baby… why are you so angry?” Ethan didn’t say a word. He drove me straight to his hospital and wheeled me right into a VIP suite. Not maternity. Hematology. In the bed next to mine lay Lily Rivers. It was the first time I saw her in person. She wasn’t as arrogant as she was online. She was skin and bones, looking like a shattered porcelain doll. But the way she looked at me was pure, unfiltered greed. Like a starving wolf looking at a slab of meat. Ethan injected something into my IV. A sedative. Before the darkness pulled me under, I heard Lily’s frail voice. “Ethan… is that her? My medicine?” Ethan stroked her hair, his voice dripping with a tenderness I had never received. “Don’t talk like that. She’s our benefactor.” “What benefactor? She’s a walking blood bag. Once the baby is out, she’s useless anyway, right?” “Lily, stop it. The OR is prepped. You get ready too.” “Ethan, do you really not feel bad? That is your child… and your wife.” Silence. A long, suffocating silence. Then, Ethan’s cold, dead voice. “Only the living have the right to claim a title. If she doesn’t cooperate, she’s nothing but medical waste.” A tear slipped from the corner of my eye and soaked into the sterile pillow. So this is what it feels like when your heart truly dies. I was violently awakened by the shrieking of medical alarms. In the bed next to me, Lily was convulsing. The lines on her heart monitor were spiking erratically. Ethan burst through the doors like a madman, a crash team hot on his heels. “Push EPI! Charge the paddles!” The look in his eyes—sheer panic, utter despair—it was the shattering grief of a man watching his soulmate slip away. Nobody paid me any attention. I lay there like an invisible prop, a few feet away, coldly watching this life-and-death melodrama. Half an hour later, Lily was stabilized. Dead silence returned to the room. Ethan slumped into a chair between our beds, his white coat drenched in sweat. He pulled off his glasses, buried his face in his hands, and let out a suppressed, agonizing sob. “Audrey.” A long time passed before he said my name. His voice was raspy, heavy with exhaustion. “She can’t hold on. The original plan was Tuesday, but we have to do it sooner.” He looked up. Those striking eyes I used to adore were bloodshot and filled with a terrifying, psychopathic resolve. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon, we operate.” A chill racked my body. I instinctively covered my belly. “It’s not even 32 weeks! Ethan, you’re a doctor! You know the risks for a micro-preemie! His lungs aren’t developed, he could suffer brain damage, he could die!” Ethan stood up and walked to my bedside. He didn’t bother with the gentle husband facade anymore. He looked down at me from above, his eyes reflecting a clinically insane logic. “I know. That’s why I’ve prepared the best NICU team, the most advanced incubators on the coast. As long as that baby comes out with a heartbeat, I will keep him alive.” “But the priority is the stem cells. They must be fresh. They must be extracted at peak viability.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “398273”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I realized that my childhood best friend was destined to fall for the poor transfer student and eventually kill me… To survive, I faked my own death. Before jumping into the ocean, I left him a single text message: [I saw her touch your hand today. It’s so dirty. I’m never seeing you again!] He was absolutely devastated. He threw himself into the sea multiple times just trying to find my remains. Meanwhile, I was already on a private jet flying out of the country. Five years later, I figured he and the transfer student had probably gotten their happily-ever-after, and it was time for me to return home and inherit my family’s billions. I never expected that on the very night I returned, he would lock me up in a cliffside mansion. The man who was always so proud, aloof, and untouchable slowly peeled off his gloves. He dropped to his knees in front of me, almost pathologically obsessed, intertwining his fingers with mine and kissing my hands relentlessly. “Chloe, I’m not dirty. From now on, no one but you will ever touch me.” 01. Asher Vance and I grew up together. Since I was a little girl, I firmly believed that we would get married when we grew up, and live happily ever after like a princess in a fairy tale. Unfortunately, fairy tales are just fairy tales, and I wasn’t the princess. During our junior year of high school, a transfer student joined our class. She had jet-black hair, snow-white skin, and a gentle, radiant smile. She even talked to stray animals. Without a doubt, she was the real princess. I leaned against the windowsill, looking down at Mia Harper chatting with a bird in the courtyard. Asher stopped behind me, his tone slightly icy. “It’s P.E. class. Why aren’t you downstairs yet?” He had loved bossing me around since we were kids. From what I ate and wore, to my grades and my friends. Because of this, my parents absolutely adored him. After all, what parent wouldn’t love a straight-A student who helped keep their own rebellious kid in line? I was used to his strictness, but sometimes I still pushed back. Like a rebellious teenager defying a parent. I pointed at Mia down below and asked, “Look at her. Don’t you think she’s interesting?” Asher followed my gaze and calmly delivered his verdict. “Lunatic.” “But I think she’s fascinating,” I turned around, testing the waters. “What if I became friends with her?” “Idiot.” He dropped those two words coldly and walked away. I knew that meant my proposal was rejected. 02. However, I never could have imagined that just one month later… He would be gripping my wrist, forcing me to apologize to Mia. His grip was so tight it left red marks. It hurt. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn’t shake him off. Mia was half-kneeling on the ground, her clothes dirty and her knees scraped. “What happened to you?” I asked. “You pushed me down the stairs, and now you’re asking me what happened?” I glanced at the staircase behind me. “I did walk past here just now, but I didn’t push anyone.” “There are no security cameras here, so of course you can say whatever you want. You were the only one who walked by. If it wasn’t you, did I just throw myself down the stairs?” “Why would I even push you?” “Who knows? Maybe you hate seeing me getting close to Asher.” I frowned. I turned to look at Asher. Getting close to him? Didn’t he say we only needed each other as best friends? Why did he forbid me from befriending her, yet he was getting close to her himself? Why was he forcing me to apologize when I hadn’t done anything wrong? But those unasked questions were destined to remain unanswered. He just held me down, forcing me to say sorry. At that exact moment, a massive flood of information rushed into my brain. It was the “Plot.” It told me that Asher and Mia were the male and female leads of a romance novel. Mia had fallen for Asher because he unintentionally scared off some thugs who were bothering her. Asher would slowly fall for her kindness and purity. And I? I was just the vicious, jealous villainess standing in the way of their love. I would eventually be despised and hated by Asher for bullying Mia. And finally, once the two leads got their happy ending, Asher would kill me. My first reaction was, naturally, utter disbelief. But a second later, the hand forcing my head down served as a harsh reality check. It hurt. My wrist hurt, and my neck hurt. In the past, if I got a mosquito bite, he would be the first to fuss over it. Now, he was viciously forcing me to my knees to apologize to someone else. I hadn’t done it, yet he chose to believe a girl he had known for a month over me. And so, I recalled the ending of that “Plot” again. I… would be killed by Asher. Terrified by that thought, I ripped myself out of his grip and ran. I ran all the way home. 03. My mom was arranging flowers in the living room. Seeing me burst in, she quickly asked: “School isn’t out yet. Why are you home? Where’s Asher?” “Asher, Asher, Asher! That’s all you care about! He’s bullying me to death!” “Oh, sweetie, did you pick a fight with him again? You know he only does things for your own good.” I knew I couldn’t reason with her, so I ran upstairs to my room. I locked the door tight and hid under my blankets. I tossed and turned, thinking about the past and this supposed future. Night fell. Asher never came looking for me. Usually, whenever we fought, he was always the first to come coax me out of my mood. He didn’t come this time. And I finally made up my mind. I was going to run. Far, far away. On the day of the autumn break, I had previously made plans to go to the beach with Asher. But right before we left, he brought Mia along. The car ride was suffocatingly quiet. Asher cleared his throat, and Mia immediately handed him a water bottle. When their fingertips brushed, Asher only frowned slightly. Asher was a severe germaphobe. He never let anyone touch him. Even when I wanted to touch him, I had to ask for permission first. Yet now, he didn’t resist at all. This reminded me of the “special exceptions” mentioned in the Plot. It only cemented my resolve to leave. 04. The ocean breeze was gentle. On the picnic blanket that I had personally picked out, the two of them sat side by side. Asher still had his usual stoic expression, but occasionally, when Mia spoke to him, he would reply. I made one last phone call to confirm my arrangements. Then, I asked Asher to walk up the cliffside rocks with me. If he had looked closely, it wouldn’t have been hard to notice how bulky my jacket was. Underneath it was a high-grade life vest. I just wanted to escape; I didn’t want to actually die. Even with all the preparations, I was still terrified. If Asher had asked what was wrong, I would have told him. I didn’t want to leave the home I had known my whole life, but I wanted to live. If he asked, it would mean he still cared about me. And maybe, just maybe, I could avoid that tragic ending. But we walked all the way to the top of the cliff, and he didn’t say a single word. It was so obvious that something was wrong with me, yet he was completely blind to it. Forget it, then. If I couldn’t change the Plot, I would just have to change my own destiny. “My parents really love you. Will you… take good care of them in the future?” Perhaps noticing the strange tone in my voice, he frowned slightly. He just kept his hands in his pockets and gave a vague, dismissive hum. “That’s good.” I smiled at him, though I desperately wanted to cry. We had made a promise that when we turned eighteen, he would take me skiing. I had never seen real snow. Once we got into college and moved out, we were going to get a pet. I had even picked out the breed. I was going to get a massive Alaskan Malamute. When winter came, I would force him to walk the dog. I wanted him to be so cold and exhausted that he wouldn’t have the energy to boss me around anymore. But how could a person’s heart change so quickly? 05. “I thought you were going to throw a tantrum forever.” When he said that, his tone carried a sigh of relief, as if a burden had been lifted. I was moved by that tiny sliver of relief and turned to look at him. “I didn’t push her. Mia framed me. Do you believe me?” He frowned again. “Chloe, refusing to admit when you’re wrong—you’ll never have any real friends acting like this.” I gave a bitter laugh and didn’t ask again. A gust of wind blew past. I said, “You go down first. I want to look at the ocean a little longer.” “Come down with me. It’s not safe up here.” “Just for a minute. You go. I’ll be right behind you.” He stood stubbornly behind me. Until his phone rang. It was Mia. “Asher, can you come look? I think I got bitten by a bug.” Asher hesitated for a second, then dropped a quick: “Hurry up and come down.” Then he turned and left. I sat on the edge of the cliff, watching him walk briskly toward the beach. I let out a soft sigh. It felt like I had used up a lifetime’s worth of sighs over these past few weeks. I pulled out my phone and typed one last message. [I saw her touch your hand today. It’s so dirty. I’m never seeing you again!] Once I saw ‘Delivered,’ I smashed the phone against a rock until it was shattered. I turned and leaped into the ocean. The freezing saltwater swallowed me whole. The life vest quickly pulled me back up. Right before breaking the surface, I swam under the overhang of the cliff. That was exactly why I had chosen this specific spot. It didn’t take long for Asher’s voice to echo from the beach above. “Chloe Sterling!” He had finally seen the text. I heard him tearing off his jacket, ready to jump in, but Mia was frantically holding him back. From a distance, all I could hear were his desperate screams. … Thanks to Mia stalling him, I had enough time. An unremarkable fishing boat passed by and slowly sailed away. By the time the rescue teams arrived, I was already long gone. 06. Our little childhood trio actually had three members. The third was Stella Monroe. Last year, she moved to Italy with her older brother and settled there. They say the most dangerous place is the safest place. I contacted her and begged for her help. She agreed immediately. When I told her about the insane “Novel Plot,” she believed me without hesitation. The very next morning, she flew her family’s private jet back to the States. We met in the security booth of my gated community. There were no cameras inside the booth, so Asher wouldn’t be able to track me. Inside that tiny room, we hatched our master plan. Originally, I just wanted to sneak away while Asher wasn’t looking. But Stella was the one who suggested faking my death. I thought about it and realized she was right. If I just ran away, Asher would have me dragged back within a week. But Stella said: “This is how all those ‘groveling romance’ novels work! The male lead betrays the female lead, so she punishes him with her death.” I seriously suspect there’s something toxic in the water of our neighborhood. How else did it produce three absolute weirdos like us? Regardless, I no longer believed in fairy tale princesses. The princess’s story ends with the prince loving her. My prince didn’t love me. From today onward, I was going to be the wicked witch, cursing all the bad princes to turn into toads. 07. My first year in Italy. I saw snow at the foot of the Alps. The first snowfall happened to land exactly on my birthday. Stella enthusiastically invited all her friends and threw a massive party at her villa. Right before midnight, Stella dragged me onto the dance floor. We danced from age 17 into age 18. She got completely wasted and leaned against my shoulder. She slurred that the female lead would eventually find her true happiness. I looked out the window at the falling snow and said, “I’m already very happy.” I meant it from the bottom of my heart. Aside from the occasional moments when I thought of Asher, I was truly happy. My first birthday without him was loud, chaotic, and wonderful. Without him, I could live a great life too. 08. During the New Year, I finally called my parents. At first, they thought they were hallucinating. Once they realized it was really me, they screamed and scolded me mercilessly. I hadn’t told them my plan because I was terrified they would snitch to Asher. Looking back, I don’t know if that was the right choice. But listening to them yell at me, I didn’t argue back. I reminded them not to tell Asher, and they reluctantly agreed. Finally, I couldn’t help but ask how he was doing. They told me that for the first two days, he sat on the beach from dawn until dusk, staring at the police boats searching the water. It took over a month for him to somewhat calm down. On my birthday, he sat on that cliffside all day. He ignored everyone who tried to talk to him. Displayed on his phone screen was the last text I ever sent him. After that, Mia took my place, following him everywhere like a shadow. My parents felt sorry for me. They said if I hadn’t left, Mia would never have had the chance. I didn’t tell them that they were already practically glued together before I left. I updated them on my life. The Monroe family had a small chateau near the Alps. That was where Stella and I were staying. I had been taking language classes for a few months, and I planned to enroll at the University of Trento by the fall. Stella and her brother had arranged everything, and it had cost a fortune. I told my parents to make sure they paid the Monroes back. Without a second thought, my parents wired five million dollars to Stella’s account. After months of living off my best friend, I was a rich heiress again. 09. I showed them the snow outside my window on the video call, and they promised to visit when they had time. Before hanging up, they couldn’t help but drop subtle hints that Asher had become terrifyingly gloomy since I left, and that he truly cared about me. I explicitly warned them that if they breathed a word of this to Asher, I would disappear again, and this time, they would never find me. After ending the call, I thought for a long time. I had left while Asher still loved me. That was why he remembered me. A dead first love is the most unforgettable thing in the world. But if I had stayed, and waited until he completely fell for Mia… I would have gone from a cherished memory to an annoying stain on his life. If I left then, everyone would have just clapped and cheered. Since that was the case, it was better to stay a ghost in his heart. Once he fell in love with Mia, I would have made a graceful, dignified exit from his story. It was the best possible outcome. After completing a grueling series of courses and exams, I entered the Economics program at the University of Trento the following autumn. Four years later, having fast-tracked my credits, I earned my Master’s degree in Economics. Five years after I left my hometown, Stella was called back to the States. I remembered that I also had a corporate empire waiting for me to inherit. Figuring that Asher and Mia’s relationship was probably rock solid by now, I decided to hitch a ride on Stella’s jet and return home. I hadn’t even eaten dinner after landing before my mom shoved me into a gown and dragged me to a high-society business gala. At first, I hid in the corners, terrified of being recognized. Until I realized that absolutely no one in the room knew who I was. I had hated these glitzy events even back then, so I rarely attended. And after five years away, my face, my aura, and my style had completely changed. No one could recognize me. Relieved, I found a plush sofa and sat down comfortably. Half an hour into the gala, a massive commotion broke out near the entrance. Whispers spread that a “V.I.P.” had arrived. Curious about who could make all these billionaires stand at attention, I cautiously poked my head out from the crowd. And locked eyes with Asher Vance in a tailored suit. 10. Asher wore a bespoke black suit, his posture impeccably straight, his facial features even sharper and more striking than they were five years ago. The moment he appeared, the air in the ballroom seemed to freeze. The corporate titans who normally looked down their noses at everyone were now tripping over themselves to flash him obsequious smiles. I shrank deep into the corner of the sofa, holding up a massive slice of Black Forest cake to hide my face, chanting internally: You can’t see me, you can’t see me. After all, my current look was entirely different from the arrogant, flashy heiress I used to be. I was wearing a low-key champagne gown, my hair pinned up in an elegant twist, and I even had a pair of gold-rimmed blue-light glasses on. It was a very ‘intellectual scholar’ vibe. But Murphy’s Law is undefeated. Asher didn’t spare a single glance at the sycophants surrounding him. Instead, like he had a built-in radar, his gaze pierced straight through the crowd and locked onto my corner. He lengthened his stride, walking directly toward me. The crowd automatically parted like the Red Sea. I swallowed hard, my fork nearly slipping from my hand. Run! That was the only word in my brain. I shot up from the sofa, grabbed the skirt of my gown, and bolted toward the side exit. I made it exactly two steps before a hand clamped onto my wrist like a vice. The grip was brutal, the heat radiating from his skin searing—exactly like that day five years ago when he forced me to apologize to Mia. My entire body went rigid. A chill ran down my scalp. “Chloe Sterling. Where exactly do you think you’re running to?” His voice was low, raspy, vibrating with five years of suppressed madness and greed. It exploded right next to my ear. I took a deep breath, turned around, and forced the most polite, stranger-like smile I could muster. “Excuse me, sir, I think you have the wrong person. My name is Aria. I just flew in from Italy.” Asher lowered his eyes, staring at me dead center, a chilling smirk curling on his lips. “Aria? Italy? Master’s in Economics from Trento?” With every word he spoke, my heart sank an inch deeper. He knew everything! He didn’t just know I was alive; he had investigated every single detail of my life! “Let go! You’re hurting me!” I started to thrash, trying to pry his fingers off. The crowd around us collectively gasped. Clearly, no one ever dared to speak to Asher Vance like that. Instead of letting go, Asher tightened his grip and yanked me flush against his chest. The familiar, icy scent of cedarwood instantly enveloped me. “Does it hurt? When you threw yourself into the ocean, did you ever stop to think if I would hurt?” His eyes turned instantly red, his voice carrying a nearly imperceptible tremor. I froze. Before I could even process what was happening, he bent down, hoisted me over his shoulder, and stood up. “Asher! Are you insane?! Put me down! There are people everywhere!” I screamed in terror, pounding my fists against his back. “I went insane a long time ago. From the exact second you jumped into the sea, I lost my mind.” Ignoring the utterly shocked stares of the elite crowd, he carried me straight out of the banquet hall and shoved me into the back of a black Maybach waiting at the entrance.

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