Beauty invites jealousy, doesn’t it? As the undisputed queen of the entertainment industry, the highest peak and the longest river of trending topics, I could post a selfie, and the comments would casually break a hundred million. Topping the trending list was a daily affair. People would either call me a pure pretty face, or blast me for sensationalizing trivial matters just for attention. I don’t care! The most crucial thing to dominate this industry wasn’t my acting skills or talent, but my devastatingly beautiful face. While the entertainment world never lacked stunning women, there’s a difference between a pretty swan and a gorgeous swan. Even if my acting was a train wreck, my singing off-key, my dancing a stumble, my professional skills abysmal, and my emotional intelligence nonexistent, audiences just ate up my face! 1 My social media backend crashed again. My assistant, Liam, called, his voice on the verge of tears: “Aurora! You have to see the trending topics!” “Selene Blackwood just shaded you in an interview!” I was examining my freshly manicured nails in the vanity mirror. At his words, I simply hummed lazily. Oh, a rival trying to stir up trouble? Just another Tuesday. Beauty invites envy, always. “She said, ‘An soulless facade won’t get you far’!” “Now her fans and ours are tearing each each other apart online!” “The PR department’s phones are ringing off the hook, they say this is a tough one. They’re asking how we want to respond.” On the other end of the line, Liam was frantic, like a cat on a hot tin roof. I held my hand up to the light, admiring the sparkle of the shattered diamonds on my nails, and asked casually, “Those photos I shot yesterday, are they retouched yet?” “Aurora! What time is it?!” Liam sounded like he was losing his mind. “Selene just won a Golden Trinity Award, she’s absolutely red-hot right now, what she says carries weight!” “The entire internet is mocking us as a pretty face, saying you have nothing but your looks!” “Oh,” I finally showed some interest, lowering my hand. I opened my phone’s front camera, tilting it left and right to find the best angle. “Isn’t that perfect?” “The more they curse, the more it shows how much they care about this face.” Online, Selene Blackwood’s fans cited literary references, elevating her to an artist untainted by worldly desires. My fans, on the other hand, were simple and direct. They flooded the internet with iconic images of me from past red carpets, captioned: “Beauty is enough. Does your idol have this face?” A war between “talent and looks” raged across the internet, turning it upside down. Selene’s team was clearly pleased with the outcome, seizing the opportunity to buy up a flurry of marketing accounts, pushing the hashtag “#Actor’sConviction” to the top of the trending list, attempting to nail me to a pillar of shame. Liam reported over the phone: “Aurora, they’ve jumped into the fray again. The public opinion is really against us right now.” “Should we release a statement, just saying…?” “No need,” I cut him off, having already selected nine perfect selfies. “Post this set of pictures. The caption should read: ‘Today’s face, also looking pretty good.’” “Huh? That’s it?” “That’s it.” Minutes later, “#AuroraSterlingNineGrid” descended, obliterating everything in its path, directly snatching the number one trending spot. The server, predictably, crashed again for ten minutes. By the time the tech team restored it, seven of the top ten trending spots bore my name. #AuroraSterlingDivineBeauty #GoddessCreationAuroraSterling #SawAuroraSterlingNowIWantFaceSurgery As for Selene Blackwood’s “#Actor’sConviction,” it had long been pushed beyond the twentieth spot, utterly ignored. Liam’s call came in again, this time his voice filled with glee and adoration: “Aurora! Selene’s PR director reportedly threw their phone in rage!” I chuckled softly, turned off my phone, and picked up the mirror again. Dear Selene, in this industry, being beautiful truly allows you to do whatever you want. Especially when you’re a dazzling, unbelievably gorgeous woman like me. PR? Not needed! After all, there’s a persistent rumor in the industry: people watching me act only want to poke out their own eyes. But then they remember that if they blind themselves, they’ll never see my face again. And thinking, ’Oh, what a waste,’ they give up. 2 It was an unfortunate coincidence: Selene and I ended up in the same production, an annual S-tier blockbuster titled Chronicles of Grandeur. She was the leading lady, and I was the confirmed second female lead. At the launch ceremony, her team’s press release listed her name followed by a long string of acting awards. My name was followed by only four words: “Queen of Trends.” On the first day of shooting our scenes, she flubbed her lines seventeen times. When the director asked what was wrong, she rubbed her temples, looking at me with an agonizing expression. “Director, facing Miss Sterling’s face, I simply can’t get into character.” The entire set went silent. Her reason was that my face was too “modern,” my features too perfectly sculpted, like a soulless piece of art. It disrupted the period authenticity and sense of vulnerability the film required. As she spoke, her gaze was cool and detached, as if discussing some profound artistic dilemma. Over the next few days, this became her routine. Whenever she had a scene with me, she would endlessly flub her lines. Either she’d get distracted by my face while delivering dialogue, or she’d suddenly call for a halt mid-scene, claiming my beauty made her “break character.” While my mouth uttered, “Oh, but I’m not that pretty~” In my heart, I was cursing this pretentious woman, knowing she was deliberately making things difficult for me. After the production schedule was severely delayed, the producer and director’s expressions finally changed. Their gazes towards me held displeasure, only to soften once they landed on my face. Liam stomped his foot in frustration. “Aurora, she’s doing this on purpose!” “What actor complains their co-star is too pretty? She’s using this to get back at you!” I was reading my script, not even looking up. “Let her play her part.” Liam was puzzled. “Play what?” “Play a dedicated award-winning actress pursuing art, whose progress is hindered by a pretty face.” Sure enough, a few days later, various on-set sneak peeks surfaced online. The topic #SeleneBlackwoodDedicated trended, and marketing accounts gushed about her pursuit of artistic perfection, even at the cost of offending a trending star backed by capital. And I, naturally, became the “villain” who “weaponized her beauty,” “lacked any acting skill, dragging down the entire crew.” Eventually, the director called me for a talk. The meeting was held in Selene’s luxury van. She and her junior colleague, fresh out of film school, were also present. The director rubbed his hands, looking troubled. “Aurora, you see… Selene’s really not in her best state.” “For the artistic integrity of the entire film, we’ve discussed it…” Selene leisurely sipped her pour-over coffee beside him, not even raising an eyelid. I looked at the director, waiting for him to continue. “The second female lead role we offered you might have to be changed.” “We’d like Selene’s junior to try it out. They’re from the same school, so they might have better chemistry.” Liam was about to explode on the spot, but my gaze held him back. Of course, I knew this was aimed at me. I subtly glanced at the junior colleague’s face. She was pretty, the sweet, girl-next-door type. Most importantly… she didn’t seem to overshadow Selene. Instead, she subtly enhanced Selene’s sophisticated, classic actress aura. I put aside my thoughts and asked calmly, “What about me?” “The production team still hopes you can stay,” the director’s posture became even more deferential. “There’s a maid role in the script. Although the screen time isn’t much, it has some great moments.” “There’s even a pivotal scene where the lead actress slaps her, which demands significant emotional outburst…” The humiliation was now laid bare. Everyone watched me, waiting for me to explode, waiting for me to break my contract and walk away. Then they could legitimately label me a “diva.” Selene finally put down her coffee cup, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. I ignored her, simply saying calmly to the director, “Alright, I’ll take it.” The air in the car seemed to solidify in that instant. The director was stunned, and the junior colleague’s expression froze. Even Selene’s triumphant face showed a faint crack. The day the slapping scene was filmed, the entire crew was present. They weren’t there to watch a scene; they were there to watch me. The director called action. Selene’s palm swung out, no cheating, no trickery – it was a solid impact of skin against skin. Crisp, loud, and stinging hot. “Cut!” The director’s voice held a hint of hesitation. “Selene, the emotion is good, but… you can dial back the force a little.” Selene rubbed her wrist, looking at me with an innocent expression. “Director, for the sake of realism, the immediate reaction to being hit can’t be faked.” “Miss Sterling, what do you say?” She threw the question to me. All eyes on set focused on my face, waiting for my reaction. My assistant, Liam, clenched his fists, his eyes red. I raised a hand, signaling him not to move. I smiled at the director. “Selene is right. For the sake of the scene, it’s fine. Let’s do it again.” And so, there was a second take, a third, a fourth… Each time, Selene demanded a retake, citing “insufficient emotion” or “not real enough reaction.” And each time, her slap was harder than the last. By the eighth take, I could even taste the metallic tang of blood welling up at the corner of my mouth. My left cheek was numb, swollen high like I had a hot bun stuffed in it. “Print!” The director finally called a stop. Liam immediately rushed over, holding an ice pack to my face, his voice choked with tears. “Aurora, they’re going too far!” I stopped him, calmly telling the makeup artist nearby, “Please touch up my makeup, cover the bloodstain at the corner of my mouth.” Then I turned to the director, still looking unperturbed. “Director, is the effect satisfactory?” The director looked at my swollen face, his gaze complex, and finally just nodded. The incident quickly spread. The internet was flooded with press releases touting Selene Blackwood’s professionalism, claiming she was willing to offend others for artistic authenticity. And I became the useless actress who couldn’t even convincingly take a slap, my public image plummeting. My team was in a frenzy, but I had no time for it. Because the endorsement deal with the international luxury brand V&L was in its final stages of contract signing. This was my best weapon for a comeback. Once announced, it would prove that my commercial value was unshakable. But the night before the signing, Liam burst into my room, his face white. “Aurora, V&L just announced… the endorser isn’t us.” My hand, which was removing my makeup, paused. “It’s Selene Blackwood,” Liam’s voice trembled. “I found out she personally flew her team to V&L headquarters yesterday.” “She told the brand that she was willing to sign a five-year, no-pay, ironclad contract.” A Golden Trinity Award winner, lowering her status to earn nothing. No brand could refuse such a temptation. She wasn’t doing it for the money, nor for the endorsement itself. She was doing it simply to snatch it away from me. Suddenly, the entire internet erupted in celebration. “Hahaha, a pretty face is still just a pretty face. Her commercial value is crushed by a true talent.” “Even her sugar daddy has abandoned her. Looks like Aurora Sterling is really finished.” “She used to be able to live off her looks, but now her face is swollen, and her rice bowl is gone too.” The hashtag #PrettyFaceShattered surged to number one on trending topics within an hour. Liam, looking at the cruel comments on his phone, fretted. “Aurora, what do we do now? The PR department’s phones are being blown up!” I looked at my swollen face in the mirror, clearly showing five finger marks. My phone screen lit up with a news notification. “Star-studded! Nominations for the Annual Entertainment Gala announced.” I tapped it open. In the list of nominees for “Artist of the Year with the Most Commercial Value,” I saw two names listed side-by-side: Aurora Sterling, Selene Blackwood. The Annual Entertainment Gala. Selene and I met face to face. We were both nominated for the “Artist of the Year with the Most Commercial Value” award. The cameras at the event were very cooperative, switching back and forth between our faces. Selene sat poker straight, chin slightly raised, a faint, confident smile playing on her lips. She had just won an international film festival award, and then snatched the global endorsement for V&L from me. She was at the peak of her popularity. The entire venue, no, the entire internet, assumed the award was already hers. When the camera cut to me, I was looking down, adjusting the hem of my dress, not giving it any extra expression. But the other artists around me looked at me with a mix of pity and schadenfreude. A mere pretty face, whose face had been slapped raw, and whose livelihood had been stolen. Now, to be dragged onto the stage for public humiliation, it truly was the joke of the year. The presenter was a highly respected veteran of the industry. He slowly opened the envelope, deliberately drawing out his words, building up the suspense. “The winner of this year’s Artist of the Year with the Most Commercial Value is…” All the spotlights instantly converged on Selene. She was already preparing to stand, the draft of her acceptance speech written clearly on her face.

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Three years into reconciling with Vernon Cumming, he cheated again. His mistress was the same woman from three years ago. When we ran into them at a restaurant, he lied and said she was a client. The next moment, he shielded his “client” behind him, watching me with defensiveness and wariness. I knew he was afraid I’d lose my temper again and hurt the woman he held dear. But I simply stepped forward, straightened his slightly crooked tie, and said gently, “Alright, I understand.” “Don’t get too drunk. Remember to use protection.” After saying that, I suddenly felt my admonitions were unnecessary, so I changed my mind. “Or don’t, it’s fine.” I considered myself gentle and considerate enough. But for some reason, Vernon’s face darkened anyway. 1. The restaurant was quiet. Even conversations were deliberately hushed. Only occasionally could one hear the faint clink of cutlery against plates. The decor was thoughtful, with roses being the only flowers visible. Of course, those dining here were lovers. Perhaps some were like Vernon. But both sides were discreet, playing the part of a loving couple. As if I hadn’t noticed Vernon’s darkening face, I gave the lady he was shielding a slight nod and turned to leave. My friend, walking with me, whispered, “Why aren’t you angry?” Angry? It seemed I genuinely wasn’t. Perhaps I had been before, but it hadn’t done any good. And I had paid a heavy price for it. Such a price, for the current me, was one I couldn’t afford a second time. I smiled calmly. “There’s nothing to be angry about. He’s just meeting a client.” My friend looked at me silently, her gaze complex. I knew what she was thinking. But I couldn’t tell her that this was the first lesson Vernon had taught me: To learn to turn a blind eye to his affairs. When dinner ended, Vernon was waiting for me in his car outside the restaurant. Seeing the long queue on the ride-hailing app, I didn’t refuse. I opened the back door and got in. Sure enough, the passenger seat was occupied. She turned, smiling at me with a reserved yet haughty air. “Excuse me, Mrs. Cumming, I get carsick.” “Vernon felt sorry for me, so he let me sit here. No other meaning, don’t misunderstand.” Vernon opened the car door, got into the driver’s seat, and explained casually, “It’s just a seat. If you mind, I’ll have Selena switch with you.” I nodded gently, still appearing kind and understanding. “It’s alright, I understand.” “I have motion sickness patches. Miss Quinn, would you like one? It might help you feel better.” Selena Quinn didn’t speak. Vernon also fell silent. The car instantly returned to quiet. Outside, it had started raining at some point, and it looked rather cold. My friend texted me, asking if I had gotten into a car, or if she should pick me up. I looked down to reply, not noticing Vernon gripping the steering wheel tightly. After a long moment, he finally started the car before the rain grew heavier. Selena spoke again. “Drop Mrs. Cumming off first. Her place is closer.” Hearing this, Vernon and I spoke almost simultaneously. “Okay.” “No need.” I paused, then understood Vernon’s intention and quickly interjected, “Indeed, it’s too late today, and raining heavily. It would be too much trouble to go back and forth.” “Why don’t you stay over? I just texted the housekeeper to prepare both the master bedroom and the guest room…” Before I could finish, Vernon suddenly slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched against the asphalt. My forehead hit the back of the passenger seat hard. Before I could even register the pain, I heard Vernon say in a low voice, “Get out!” I realized I had once again misread his mood, so I shut my mouth. Then I decisively took a folding umbrella from my bag, opened the car door, and got out. The rain was heavy, and the folding umbrella couldn’t cover me completely. I was soon drenched. Vernon drove past me, and the splash from the puddles soaked my pants. I looked down, and when I looked up again, even the exhaust fumes were gone. Finally, I had no choice but to sheepishly text my friend, asking her to pick me up. My friend appeared quickly. She looked at my soaked self, her eyes filled with frustration. “You deserve this!” I forced a smile. “Clara, thank you.” “I know you mean well, but I can’t. I can’t leave him.” It wasn’t that my emotions prevented me from leaving him. It was the harsh reality that forced me to stay. 2. I finished showering. When I emerged from the bathroom, Vernon was back. He sat on the sofa, head bowed, smoking—he had probably been at it for a while, as the living room was thick with smoke. My motion of wiping my hair paused. I suddenly felt this scene was a re-enactment of three years ago. That was the day before our first divorce. He chain-smoked, cigarette butts nearly filling the ashtray. Finally, shrouded in a haze of smoke, he handed me the divorce papers, his expression resolute and cold. I walked over somewhat stiffly, smiling as I gently removed the cigarette from his mouth. “Don’t smoke so much, it’s bad for your health.” Vernon looked up, his eyes holding a complex emotion I couldn’t decipher. I forced a smile, trying my best. “Don’t worry, I haven’t misunderstood anything about you and Selena.” “If you say she’s a client, then she’s a client.” “You already had plans with her. It was only right to have her in the passenger seat and drive her home. I was the unexpected one.” “Don’t worry, I won’t cause any trouble for her.” I was considerate and generous, thinking from Vernon’s perspective. But for some reason, Vernon still looked displeased. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his face incredibly grim. I grew anxious, almost panicking as I told him, “If you want to bring Miss Quinn back, I don’t mind.” “If she finds me annoying, I can move out…” “Enough!” Vernon suddenly spoke, his voice sharp, cutting off my words. He gripped my hand tightly, staring at me with bloodshot eyes. “Since you’re so gentle and considerate, why don’t you just give up the title of Mrs. Cumming?” I gritted my teeth, enduring the pain in my wrist, and looked at Vernon, asking, “Then will you stop my mother’s medication?” Vernon’s eyes suddenly widened. Receiving no answer, I pressed on, unwilling to give up. “If I give up this position, will you still continue to pay for my mother’s treatment?” “Vernon, I can give it up, as long as you keep paying for my mother’s medicine, okay?” Vernon’s pupils constricted, then he violently flung my hand away, standing up from the sofa with a dramatic movement. He stared intensely at me, scrutinizing every expression on my face. I wasn’t lying. It was all true. I could give up my place for Selena. Really. Vernon didn’t know what he saw on my face. He laughed to himself. “Still saying you haven’t misunderstood?” He walked over again, took my hand, and gently rubbed the spot he had just squeezed red. “Selena is my client. I’m not lying, truly.” “Elara, don’t be jealous. It’s annoying. You know I’m not in the mood to coax you.” I looked down at the spot he was rubbing, wanting to say I wasn’t jealous. But it seemed pointless. So I didn’t defend myself at all. I simply followed Vernon’s words and nodded gently. “Mm, I understand.” 3. From that day on, Vernon seemed like a changed man. He suddenly stopped going out, returning home early. In the mornings, he would have me see him off at the entryway. After he put on his shoes, he would turn back to kiss my forehead. In the evenings, he would bring me a bouquet of flowers—sometimes pansies, sometimes irises… Different every day. Then he would kiss the corner of my lips and tell me, “Today, I missed you very much.” Yet, the man who said he missed me spent his days shopping and going to spas with Selena. He pretended to be in love, and I pretended to be in love, asking no questions, saying nothing. Until Mrs. Cumming’s birthday. Vernon said he wanted to take me along to celebrate. I agreed. When he came to pick me up that evening, the passenger seat was already occupied. It was Selena. She smiled at me, completely unapologetic. “Excuse me, Mrs. Cumming, I get a little carsick.” Was this Vernon’s test for me? I smiled faintly, nodding gently, not caring. “It’s alright, carsickness is terrible. I understand.” With that, I opened the back door, about to get into the car, when Vernon got out. He opened the passenger door and looked at Selena. “Get out.” Selena’s face changed. She tried hard to force a smile. “Mr. Cumming, I…” Vernon leaned against the car door, his face cold. “Don’t make me drag you out myself.” Selena’s face grew even uglier. The atmosphere was tense. Just as I was about to speak to break the awkward silence, Vernon pulled Selena out. “Either sit in the back, or call a cab yourself.” He said this, not looking at Selena’s expression, but instead shielding me as I got into the passenger seat. I felt a little awkward, but I also knew this wasn’t the time to contradict Vernon. So, I said nothing. Selena didn’t call a cab; she got into the back seat. Once the car started, Vernon handed me a gift box, explaining simply, “It’s for my mother. Give it to her later.” I hummed softly. Before I could speak, Selena interjected, “It’s an emerald necklace. I went with Vernon to pick it out. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I felt the gift box, smiling faintly. “Yes, it’s very beautiful.” See? The man who said he missed me. His body was always with someone else. How could I possibly believe him? 4. Mrs. Cumming’s birthday wasn’t a grand affair, just a few family members. She really liked Selena, finding her articulate and endearing. I heard that when Vernon and I first divorced, she had actively tried to set him up with Selena. But Vernon hadn’t agreed. Perhaps he thought a secret affair was more exciting. Today was no different. Vernon bypassed me, reaching directly for Selena’s hand. “I’ve been waiting for you.” “You child, you rarely come to visit me. Without you, I don’t even have anyone to confide in here.” She took Selena’s hand, making her sit beside her. She didn’t spare me a glance the entire time. Accustomed to this, I calmly placed the gift on the table. “Vernon’s gift for you, chosen by Miss Quinn.” Mrs. Cumming, who hadn’t looked at me once, unexpectedly glanced my way. After a moment, she picked up the gift box, examined it, then had Selena put it on. “Your taste is so good.” “Unlike some people, not only do they have bad taste, they lack common sense.” “Such an eyesore.” If it were before, I would have certainly been unable to bear it and would have turned and left. However, I simply stood by, listening quietly, reacting like a dead person. Vernon frowned, suddenly feeling something was off. It seemed that ever since that incident at the restaurant where Elara ran into him and Selena, she had been like this. Overly calm. Or rather… indifferent. For the first time. Vernon got drunk in his own home. For some reason, Elara remained in his mind: standing to the side, head down, silent, seemingly indifferent to everything. Was she truly… indifferent? Vernon drank even more. Unable to return home, he had to stay overnight at the ancestral estate. Selena also stayed overnight. In the room next to Vernon and mine. A deliberate arrangement. I understood Mrs. Cumming’s intention. So, when Vernon, fueled by alcohol, pressed me down that night, trying to kiss me, I pushed him away. I straightened his lapel, smiling faintly. “Wait a moment.” Then I went out and called Selena over. Under Selena’s shocked gaze, I closed the door on her and Vernon. Afterward, I drove away from the Cumming ancestral estate. Ten minutes later, I received a call from Vernon. He suppressed his voice and asked me, “What do you mean by this?” I looked at the road illuminated by the car headlights and said softly, “Last time when you were drunk and held me, you called out Miss Quinn’s name all night.” “I thought this time would be the same.” Vernon roared into the phone, “I didn’t call her name this time!” My voice remained soft. “Hmm, I know.” “But what if you did call her name midway? I was thinking of you.” The call ended. He never called again.

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Simon’s best friend opened a swanky new club. He sweet-talked me, saying it was just a one-time thing to support his friend. But then “one time” turned into many. “Ann is so pitiful, unloved by her parents, forced to make a living here at such a young age.” That’s why he needed to go often, to “support” her. I couldn’t understand, so I decided to visit the club myself. There, I unexpectedly stumbled upon Leo, who was being bullied. Similarly unloved by his parents, he also had a sickly younger sister. Seeing the boy’s cold, broken demeanor, I thought, perhaps I could be his supporter. 1. Originally, I had no intention of meeting Ann. As my husband’s suspected, or actively ongoing, affair partner, we were destined to be on opposing sides. Unless, of course, she was completely oblivious, but the reality was clearly otherwise. So, I despised her. And meeting someone you dislike is an utterly draining experience. I refused to put myself through that. But today—it was my birthday, and our seventh wedding anniversary. The candlelight dinner, the exquisite cake… neither had been touched. Ann’s call came through. “They’re all forcing me to drink, but I really can’t. I’m so scared, brother, please come and save me, okay?” The girl was crying hysterically. Fragile, pathetic. It instantly ignited Simon’s protective instincts. He hung up the phone, mumbled an apology to me, and got up to leave. Without a moment of hesitation. I stopped him: “Do you have to go?” The same excuse, time and again. I was tired of hearing it. Yet, Simon remained consistently worried. Stopped by me, his usual composure vanished. His tone even carried obvious impatience. Every word a reprimand. “I’ve told you repeatedly, Ann is unloved by her parents, forced to make a living in that kind of place. She’s already so pitiful.” “Celeste, don’t be so heartless. Have a little more sympathy, alright?” With that, he disregarded my protests and left decisively. I watched his retreating back, and then the dining table. The birthday candles he had just lit, then abandoned. The candlelight flickered, beautiful. But wax had dripped onto the cake. It was ruined. I had a slight germ phobia, so I couldn’t eat it anymore. As for the candles, I leaned down and gently blew them out. Then I made a wish: “Celeste, don’t feel wronged, and don’t run away.” 2. The club was lavish, and clients were strictly invitation-only. Fortunately, I had the backing of my parents. The Harrington family was one of the most prominent in the city. They wouldn’t dare block my entry. Initially, I intended to go straight to Ann. But as I stepped into the main hall on the ground floor, I noticed several tipsy socialites. They were circling a young man, laughing and teasing. They even poured their drinks all over his head, tormenting him for amusement. I happened to know a bit about these young men. Because of their shared preferences, they often ganged up, ruining one pretty boy after another. This time, I supposed, was no exception. I hadn’t planned to help. There were too many pitiful people in this world. I wasn’t a saint. I couldn’t save everyone. Donating a large sum to orphanages every year was enough for my conscience. So, I hadn’t intended to interfere. Until he suddenly pushed through the crowd, stumbled, and then tripped deliberately. He fell right in front of me. How to describe it? He was utterly captivating. His delicate features were beautiful, and that went without saying. He was originally dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, thin and slender. But with several drinks spilled on him, the defiant, handsome boy now had an added air of cold, shattered vulnerability. What was subtly visible beneath his shirt only made one want to explore further. The term “fragile beauty,” usually reserved for girls, suited him perfectly. Humans, with their inherent flaws, always show more patience towards beautiful things. I was no exception. “Leo, we’re doing you a favor by letting you serve us drinks! Don’t you dare disrespect us!” the leader of the group shouted, rushing over. He looked down at Leo, who was sprawled on the floor, his eyes full of anger and menace. But as he recognized Leo’s face, his expression shifted to lust and greed. He even reached out, uncontrollably, to touch the boy’s face. Leo tried to dodge, but he seemed to have twisted his ankle. He struggled several times but couldn’t get up, his eyes filled with helplessness and humiliation. Finally, his pleading gaze fell upon me. His voice was soft. He said, “Help me.” Looking at Leo’s face, more beautiful than any girl’s, now pale from the bullying, his lips even bruised. He looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed, vulnerable and utterly endearing. It was hard to be heartless and not help him. In that instant, I thought of Ann. The girl Simon described as—equally fragile and pitiful, needing protection. So, this was the so-called protective urge. It was indeed hard to refuse. I tugged at the corner of my mouth. A little self-deprecating, but I still stepped in front of Leo. Facing those detestable socialites, I declared my identity directly: “My name is Harrington, Celeste Harrington.” No need for further words. Customers who could afford to patronize Moonlight were all influential figures in our circle, and the Harrington name spoke for itself. The young men exchanged glances. Finally, they backed down. But as they left, they couldn’t help but look back at Leo with resentment, a sinister smile playing on their lips. “Miss Harrington already has a husband. Even if she’s interested in you now, it’s only temporary. One day, you’ll still fall into our hands!” This wasn’t untrue. If my marriage to Simon hadn’t been troubled, and with the Harrington family’s strict upbringing, even if I saved Leo temporarily, at most I’d help him leave this place. I wouldn’t interfere much beyond that. After all, everyone has their own fate. He and I were not related; helping once could be considered a kindness. But I had no obligation to manage his future. He seemed to understand this. Struggling to get up from the floor, he ignored the menacing socialites. Instead, he sincerely thanked me. “Thank you, big sister, no matter what.” He was likely young, eighteen or nineteen, radiating youth and freshness, perfectly complemented by that captivating face. The address “big sister” touched my heart somewhat. However, just as I was about to speak, a loud commotion suddenly erupted nearby—drawing the attention of almost everyone in the lobby. 3. Simon had gotten into a fight. Three against one. While fighting, he didn’t forget to shield the young woman behind him. Three executives whose names I knew. In no time, Simon had kicked them all to the ground, even stepping on one’s chest, his eyes ruthless. “Ann is under my protection. How dare you force her to drink?” At his words, the executive with a black eye, fuming, retorted, “If she doesn’t drink, then what is she selling?” Another executive, still bleeding from his nose, also accused, “Besides, we had an agreement! She said for every drink she had, we’d buy a bottle. She’s the one who told us to buy ten bottles!” The executive with Simon’s foot on his chest was the most aggrieved. He practically roared, “She tricked us into buying a million dollars worth of alcohol, then didn’t drink a single drop, making it seem like we were bullying her! Do we look like such suckers?” In clubs like this, it was an unwritten rule: to get customers to buy drinks, you had to at least have a few with them. After all, with a 10% commission, a million dollars in alcohol meant a hundred thousand for her. If you wanted to make money fast, you couldn’t have it both ways. Of course, not drinking was fine, it just meant it would be hard to sell much alcohol and earn significant commission. But Ann’s behavior—making an agreement with customers and then going back on it—I had never seen before. Others likely hadn’t either. So, the crowd in the lobby, after hearing the executives’ accusations, couldn’t help but whisper among themselves. But it didn’t matter, in this circle, it was all about power. So Simon could be unreasonable. Because his name was Harrington, and he was the heir to the Harrington family, one of the top elite families. He naturally spoke up: “Ann is pitiful, unloved by her parents. She just wants to earn some money for her tuition. Do you really need to pressure her like this? Can’t you be more understanding?” At his words, not only were the executives dumbfounded, but even I couldn’t help but want to laugh. Ever since Simon first “accidentally” rescued Ann at Moonlight, he had learned about the stubborn and tragic fate of this girl. The young woman’s delicate face, streaked with tears, made his heart ache. That’s why he repeatedly came to Moonlight to stand up for her. He even declared to me, emphatically, that he was merely pitying a young girl. Even when I suggested: “If he’s truly honorable and genuinely wants to help her, he could offer her a small clerical position in one of our companies. Wouldn’t that be better than working here?” A Fortune 500 company, even a minor clerical role, was an offer countless students from top universities would claw their way to get. Now, it was being offered directly to her. Wasn’t that enough? No. Not only was it not enough, it was an insult. Ann said: “Here, I earn money with my own skills and hands. I live with integrity. If I went to your company, that would be through favoritism. I don’t want to be a hothouse flower; I can grow into a towering tree on my own!” Her words were firm and ringing, and Simon admired her even more, turning to scold me. “Celeste, don’t insult people with your money and connections!” That was the first intense argument Simon and I had. Then came the second, and the third. Even now, I still couldn’t understand Ann’s claims of independence and relying solely on herself. After all, she called Simon two out of three days, asking him to come to Moonlight to rescue her. The remaining day, under the guise of gratitude, she spent twenty-four hours by his side, acting as a dutiful “little maid.” Whether it was genuine gratitude or a form of flirtation, only they knew. However, at this moment, Ann, hiding behind him, couldn’t help but speak up: “I really didn’t mean to deceive you. I just wanted to save up for tuition and living expenses, which is why I came here to make a living. But I genuinely can’t drink; I get dizzy, I get sick.” Ann cried as she spoke, also eighteen or nineteen, full of youthful collagen, and her crying was truly pitiful. Simon’s heartache was almost expected. He pulled her into his arms, then took out a black card from his pocket, looking at the Moonlight manager standing nearby. He simply said coldly: “I’ll cover all of Ann’s future earnings.” Ann shook her head, biting her lip stubbornly. “Brother, I know you mean well, but I still want to earn money with my own abilities. Besides, you’re already married. If you spend more money on me, your wife would be unhappy.” Hearing this, Simon’s eyes softened even more, tinged with helplessness. “I offered you a job at my company before, where I could protect you. It would be safer than here, wouldn’t it? Why did you refuse?” “Because I don’t want people saying I got in through favoritism. I want to earn money with my own skills.” Ann shook her head, her attitude still firm. Simon chuckled, his tone impossibly doting: “How can there be such a stubborn, silly girl in the world?” With that, he dropped his smile, then leaned down and publicly kissed Ann on the cheek. In front of everyone, he declared: “Ann has me to back her up from now on. Let’s see who dares to bully her again.” 4. Ann was well-behaved, leaning against Simon, her face flushed. She then playfully punched Simon a few times, her lips slightly pouted: “Who needs your protection? I can live very well on my own.” Simon coaxed her: “Yes, yes, Ann is the most amazing.” They laughed and played around so brazenly. Many people recognized Simon’s identity. And the marriage between the Harrington and Sterling families. The grand wedding seven years ago was known to almost everyone in the city. So, while teasing Simon about his new conquest, they couldn’t help but mention me. “In our circles, which husband doesn’t have a few women outside? But I thought Simon would be an exception.” “Who wouldn’t agree? Celeste and Simon, childhood sweethearts, a truly perfect match. I remember Simon offered his entire fortune as a dowry just to marry Celeste, which finally convinced Old Man Harrington to agree.” “And that’s not all. A few years ago, when the Cloudhaven Mall caught fire and Celeste was trapped inside, Simon didn’t care about his own life and rushed into the blaze just to save his wife.” “For these past seven years, Simon and Celeste’s relationship has been incredibly good. How many aspiring actresses and models tried to gain favor, only to be firmly rejected by Simon?” “Ultimately, it’s just that he hadn’t met the right person before.” “Miss Harrington is going to be heartbroken this time.”

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Liam, my boyfriend, deliberately locked me on the rooftop the day before my piano competition finals, just so his childhood friend could win. He stared at me intently, his voice low: “You’ll have plenty of other opportunities later. What’s the big deal about letting her have this one?” Later, to secure his childhood friend a spot in the orchestra, he even shattered my fingers with his own hands. I angrily confronted him, demanding to know why, when we were the couple. He replied: “Willow, Eloise’s mother saved my life back then. I have to fulfill this wish for her.” But what he didn’t know was that, without my hands, I was as good as dead. When I decided I no longer loved him, he smashed his own hand, begging for my forgiveness. … “Please, Liam, please don’t hurt my hands!” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face, twisting and struggling, shaking my head desperately. In this moment, I had no dignity, begging Liam to spare me. All because tomorrow was the day for orchestra auditions. If I performed exceptionally, I wouldn’t only secure a spot in a renowned orchestra, but I’d also have the chance to become a student of the legendary piano master, Mr. Fletcher. For tomorrow’s performance, I had tirelessly practiced in the music room, all to seize this once-in-four-years opportunity. Because this wasn’t just my dream; it was also the heartfelt wish my late mother had entrusted to me. With the long-awaited opportunity finally within reach tomorrow, my boyfriend, Liam, was paving the way for his childhood friend, Eloise Clark. Right now, he was using two bodyguards to hold me down, intending to smash my hands. All to ensure I couldn’t participate in tomorrow’s orchestra selection, thus allowing his childhood friend to win the competition. I knew Liam was biased, but I never imagined he would be this biased. Liam clearly heard my pleas, yet he still approached me step by step, a dark expression on his face, holding a stool. He stared at me intently, his voice low: “I’m sorry, Willow. You’re a genius, everything has come easily to you, so you don’t understand how difficult Eloise’s path has been. You’ll have plenty of other opportunities later. Just let her have this one, alright?” Just because Eloise’s path was difficult, did that mean mine wasn’t? I stared at him in disbelief, my heart filled with anguish: “So, for her, you’re going to smash my hands?!” “Do you remember? You once said you’d protect me and cherish me for life. But now, for Eloise Clark, you’re doing this to me.” Hearing my words, Liam’s body stiffened, his expression visibly wavering. I noticed his hesitation and felt a flicker of hope, quickly continuing: “Liam, for the sake of all these years we’ve been together, please let me go. Playing the piano has always been my dream too.” The next second, Liam’s phone rang. I caught a glimpse of “Eloise” on the screen, and my heart sank. Liam put it on speaker, and Eloise’s pitiful voice clearly reached my ears. “Liam, I get so nervous thinking about tomorrow’s performance, what should I do?” “I know I’ve always been no match for Willow all these years, but entering the orchestra is my dream, and it’s also my mother’s dream. I…” Hearing Eloise’s voice, a trace of heartache involuntarily flashed in Liam’s eyes. He lowered his voice, gently comforting her: “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it for you.” I stared at him, my unease intensifying. With that, Liam hung up. His gaze returned to me, cold once more. “I’m sorry, Willow. Eloise’s mother saved my life back then, so I have to fulfill this wish for her.” “Don’t worry, I’ll compensate you.” I was so terrified my voice trembled: “Liam, you… you can’t do this to me!” But Liam had already raised the stool in his hand, and meeting my terrified gaze, he brought it down heavily. “Ah!” Ten fingers, ten pains. The searing agony made me unleash a desperate scream. My fingers were instantly a bloody, mangled mess. I stared blankly at my hands. The physical pain, however, was far less than the emotional torment. Ruined… Everything was ruined… My hands, and my mother’s dream, all vanished with Liam’s single blow. Large tears streamed down my cheeks. At this, Liam rushed forward and embraced me. I leaned quietly against his broad, warm chest, but the voice above my head was chilling: “I’m sorry, Willow, just forgive me this once.” “I know this isn’t fair to you. But Eloise’s mother died saving me. Once she successfully joins the orchestra, I’ll have repaid my debt.” “Repaid your debt?” I repeated bitterly. “Liam, so your way of repaying Eloise Clark’s debt is to hurt me.” I pushed him away with all my might, holding up my blood-soaked hands, a flicker of hatred in my eyes: “Do you know how long I’ve worked tirelessly for tomorrow’s opportunity?” Perhaps startled by the hatred in my eyes, Liam’s face actually showed a hint of guilt. But quickly, he became impatient again, his voice cold: “Enough, what are you still making a fuss about? This has always been Eloise’s dream, and her mother’s dying wish.” In that moment, I finally, completely gave up on this callous and ungrateful man. I sneered: “How dare you destroy me for her dream?” Liam spoke indifferently: “It’s alright, Willow. I know you’re upset. Don’t worry, I’ll compensate you well. Once Eloise is in the orchestra, I’ll bring you into the Thorne family, ensuring you’ll be well-provided for for the rest of your life.” Hearing those words, my stomach churned with disgust. I took a deep breath, speaking each word distinctly: “Alright, then let me tell you, I don’t need your so-called compensation. From now on, I’m breaking up with you.” “Are you serious?” Liam’s face suddenly changed, and he said darkly: “I don’t agree.” He frowned, glaring at me, almost gritting his teeth: “Willow, I’ll let this slide this time. If you dare to say that again, I really will break up with you.” With that, Liam no longer looked at me, turning angrily and walking away. I watched his retreating back, helplessly collapsing onto the cold floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Liam and I met in college. He pulled me out of the way when I was lost in thought crossing the street, saving me from being hit by a car. I looked up, still shaken, and met a handsome, aloof face. It was because of his life-saving grace that I fell uncontrollably in love with him. With my fervent pursuit, Liam agreed to be with me. But as our relationship progressed, I gradually discovered that in Liam’s heart, there seemed to be someone more important than me. That was Eloise Clark, his childhood friend, who had grown up with him. Each time Eloise made a call, Liam would rush to her side without a second thought. He even, for Eloise, tricked me onto the rooftop and locked me in, the day before a major piano competition final. And so, I was locked on the rooftop for an entire night, not only missing the competition the next day but also developing a fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit. Eloise, meanwhile, smoothly won first place. Afterward, Liam lightly explained that he did it only to repay a debt. Eloise came from a single-parent family; her mother was the Thorne family’s housekeeper. She had lived with her mother at the Thorne estate since childhood. During a large fire, Eloise’s mother had already escaped, but she returned to the burning building to save Liam. Ultimately, Liam was rescued safely, but Eloise’s mother suffered severe burns and passed away in the hospital not long after. Out of this gratitude, the Thorne family raised Eloise almost as their own daughter. They cherished her, sympathized with her. And whenever Eloise had a request, Liam would fulfill it. Just like now, to prevent me, Eloise’s most formidable competitor, from appearing in tomorrow’s audition, Liam ruthlessly shattered my fingers. But why should his debt to Eloise be repaid with my hands, with my dreams? Whenever I questioned his relationship with Eloise, Liam would furiously tell me that he only saw Eloise as a sister. He told me not to overthink things. Before, for Liam’s life-saving grace and the admiration in my heart, I had chosen to forgive him again and again. But now, looking at my bloody, horrific hands, I cried and laughed, laughed and cried. At six years old, my father had an affair and abandoned my mother and me. My mother was devastated, driven to self-harm by his departure. Her profound depression, coupled with the scars on her hands, once made her abandon her dream of playing the piano. Until one day, my despondent mother heard me playing a song at the piano and her eyes lit up. She began to pick herself up, working tirelessly to earn money. She personally taught me piano and hired renowned teachers for me, sending me to various competitions. My mother delivered food, washed dishes, and single-handedly raised me with great difficulty. Perhaps because she suffered so much to raise me, my mother died prematurely of cancer during my college years. On her deathbed, she held my hand and told me her dying wish. It was for me to continue to pursue piano, to join an orchestra, and to become a student of the great Mr. Fletcher. But now, because I fell in love with Liam, I missed the competition, my hands were ruined, and perhaps… I would never be able to play the piano again. I used to not understand why my mother was so despondent and even self-harmed because of my father’s departure. So, Mother, is this the price of loving someone? Then this time, I truly don’t dare to love again…

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My husband, Sebastian, carried the “super-male” gene. He became obsessed with me, hounding me for three years, simply because I saved his life. He intentionally ran over and crippled my childhood sweetheart, Liam. He threatened to murder my entire family if I didn’t marry him. Seven years into our marriage, his possessiveness turned monstrous. He had a tracking chip implanted in my body, ruthlessly controlling my every move. Yet, at the same time, he showered me with affection and indulged my every whim. When his mother dared to point a finger at me in anger, he snapped it clean off. When his sister’s child disturbed my afternoon nap, he threw both of them out of the house and severed all ties. I refused to bear a child with his “super-male” gene, so he invested his entire fortune into developing cutting-edge gene screening technology, allowing me to conceive a healthy baby. But on the very day my pregnancy test came back positive, his mother burst into our home with a group of people. She accused me of infidelity, of carrying a bastard child, and beat me until I miscarried. As I lay there, clinging to life, Sebastian finally arrived. His mother held up a doctored video and declared, “Son! Your wife has been cheating and is carrying a bastard! Look, this is the proof!” … Staring at the two lines on the pregnancy test, I fell into a deep contemplation. After almost a decade of this twisted entanglement with Sebastian, a child was finally on the way. Maybe it was time to just give in. Even if he was a rabid dog, I was the one holding the leash. With that thought solidified, I snapped a photo of the test and sent it to Sebastian, who was away on a business trip. A moment later, a furious clamor erupted downstairs. I peered out the window to find his mother, who I hadn’t seen in ages, leading a gaggle of white-haired old women. They were striding along, shouting insults. “What a disgrace to our family, to suffer such a thing.” “Ladies, if she hadn’t gone too far, would we ever air this dirty laundry in public?” “Today, I’m willing to sacrifice my reputation to tear that cheating tramp to shreds!” I listened for a few sentences, then lost interest. After Sebastian and I married, his mother always believed I’d stolen her son. She subtly, then overtly, antagonized me until Sebastian broke her finger and banished her from our lives. Our relationship was, to say the least, abysmal. Minutes later, a knock echoed at the door. I checked the time. It was only nine. Why was our cook here so early today? Puzzled, I opened the door. His mother, trailed by her entourage of old women, barged in without an invitation. Before I could even grasp what was happening, his mother’s crooked finger jabbed at me. “Everyone, look! This is the wicked daughter-in-law who, shortly after marrying my son, convinced him to break my finger!” “She also made my son throw me, my daughter, and my grandson out of the house, cutting off all contact!” My brows furrowed in displeasure. “This is my home. Please leave.” But his mother suddenly raised her hand and slapped me. “You little hussy! My son poured his heart and soul into you all these years, but you cheated on him and shamed him!” A searing pain flared across my face, leaving my head ringing. Since marrying Sebastian, if anyone so much as brushed against me accidentally, he’d immediately beat them to a pulp. If he ever found out his mother had struck me today, she would be in for a world of pain. To avert a potential family tragedy, I swallowed my anger and warned, “Leave now, and I can pretend today never happened.” Sebastian, for all his gentle demeanor with me, was genuinely dangerous. With others, he was utterly ruthless. But his mother showed no signs of backing down. She lunged, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “Tramp, feeling guilty, are we? If you dare to cheat, you’d better be ready to face the consequences.” I wrenched myself free, my face cold. “Dare to accuse me of cheating? Have you forgotten how your finger was broken?” Sebastian’s possessiveness was disturbingly extreme. After we married, to constantly monitor my whereabouts, he’d had a tracking chip implanted in my body. There wasn’t even a male mosquito in my vicinity, yet she claimed I was cheating. It was utterly ridiculous. I’d thought reminding his mother of that incident would make her back off. But she simply slapped me again. “Still playing innocent! Such good acting, why don’t you become an actress!” “Since I dared to come, of course, I have undeniable proof.” With that, his mother pulled out her phone, tapping to play a video. It showed a scantily clad woman passionately kissing a man. The woman was then pushed down, emitting suggestive moans. The video was incredibly explicit, and most disturbingly, the woman’s face was identical to mine. One of the old women with his mother gasped, “Shameless! Back in the day, a woman like this, who betrayed her husband, would’ve been drowned in a pig cage!” “If that were my daughter-in-law, I’d beat her to death today!” “The world is truly going to ruin. She looks so demure, but behind closed doors, she’s doing such disgraceful things.” Listening to the endless barrage of insults from these old women, I felt a surge of both fury and panic. Never in my life had I endured such humiliation. The video was clearly a deepfake, AI-generated. I knew there was no reasoning with these old, dim-witted hags. I pulled out my phone, intending to call Sebastian. It was his mother; he should be the one to deal with her. How he chose to handle it, however, was no longer my concern. But his mother, seeing my move, snatched my phone and smashed it to the floor. The device shattered instantly. I stared at her thuggish behavior, utterly shocked. “You’re acting completely out of control today. If Sebastian finds out, even I won’t be able to protect you!” His mother scoffed. “If my son finds out about your cheating, he’ll show you who’s truly in trouble!” I glared at his mother and her group, issuing a final warning. “Your actions constitute a crime. I’m giving you one last chance to leave.” One of his mother’s old friends sneered, “Preposterous! Cheating and still acting so self-righteous!” “Exactly! Eleanor, you need to assert your authority as a mother-in-law today and teach this hussy a good lesson!” Spurred on by their words, his mother strode forward and kicked one of my prized, intricately carved golden sandalwood chairs, snapping it in two. “You eat and live off my son! Without him, you’d still be sleeping on a hard cot in the slums! What right do you have to tell me to leave!” His mother’s act instantly drew cheers from the old women, who hailed her as powerful and intimidating. Encouraged, they began to mimic her, smashing the remaining three chairs. This set of golden sandalwood furniture had cost Sebastian a fortune, bought specifically to make me happy. One woman grabbed a precious antique glass chalice from my table, clearly intending to smash it. My face darkened. “That chalice is an antique, worth twenty million.” At my words, the woman visibly flinched. Seeing this, his mother stepped forward, grabbed the chalice, and hurled it to the floor, shattering it. “Everything here belongs to my son! I said, today, everyone is free to smash things. We need to show this tramp a lesson!” With his mother’s declaration, the group of old women went wild, wrecking the house. I watched their every move, my expression cold. Every item they destroyed would become evidence for their eventual imprisonment. Suddenly, one old woman patted his mother’s shoulder. “Eleanor, look at her, she’s glaring at you!” “Everything you’re smashing now is your son’s hard-earned money. It won’t affect this hussy at all.” “Only by teaching this tramp a severe lesson will she remember it.” Hearing this, his mother looked up at me, a cruel glint in her eyes. She stalked toward me. They outnumbered me; I knew I was outmatched. A smart woman doesn’t suffer immediate defeat. I quickly ran toward the door. But his mother grabbed my arm, yanking me back. A sharp pain shot through my knee, and I crumpled to the floor. His mother planted her foot on my thigh, grinding it down with force. Pain flared, and I cried out. She cursed, “You little hussy, so good at faking weakness! I barely touched you, and you’re moaning like that for who?” I glared at her. “Eleanor Finch, you will regret everything you’ve done today!” “Still defiant, are we? Today, I’m going to teach you manners and show you how a daughter-in-law should behave.” From the day I married Sebastian, his mother had been desperate to teach me “manners.” She’d even drawn up a list, including washing her feet and underwear daily. I’d heard that Sebastian’s grandmother had treated his mother the same way, and his mother was eager to inflict it upon me. It was an age-old tradition: women often tormented other women. But she’d forgotten that my husband had the “super-male” gene, and I hadn’t married him willingly. The list never even reached my hands before Sebastian tore it to shreds, yelling at her. His mother, furious but terrified of her son, had been unable to vent her anger on me. Today, she finally had her chance. She instructed her old companions to fetch a basin of water from the bathroom. Grabbing my hair, she snarled, “In the old days, women who cheated were drowned in pig cages. Today, you’ll get a taste of it.” With that, she shoved my head into the basin filled with icy water. The cold enveloped my mouth and nose, and an instant wave of suffocating pain washed over me. My body thrashed violently, desperate to escape her grip, but I couldn’t. Just as I felt I was reaching my limit, on the verge of drowning, she yanked my hair again, pulling my head from the water. I gasped for air, my face and body drenched, utterly humiliated. “Tramp, will you still dare to be arrogant, relying on my son? I raised him with such difficulty, and you treat him like a servant? Did I give you permission for that?” After I’d regained my breath, I glared at her, an infinite hatred welling up inside me. “If you have the guts, kill me today. Otherwise, I will make you pay!” In that moment, I hated Sebastian with all my heart. It was because he’d forced me to marry him that I was enduring all this. Eleanor, fueled by rage, slapped me again. A thin trickle of blood traced the corner of my mouth. “Still defiant! If I can’t humble you today, my life has been a waste!” With that, Eleanor shoved my head back into the basin. This time, she held it down even longer than before. The cycle repeated, leaving me utterly exhausted and drained. At this point, someone, seeing my pale face, interjected, “Eleanor, just teach her a lesson. Don’t actually kill her.” “Exactly, it’s not like the old days. Killing a daughter-in-law means jail time, and we’d all be accessories!” At the mention of jail, more voices joined in, urging Eleanor to stop. Eleanor, with a harsh yank, flung my hair, and I lay half-drenched on the floor. She sneered, “Today, I’ll let you go for now, you drowned dog. But I’ll make my son deal with your cheating myself!” I thought weakly, When Sebastian makes you beg on your knees, I won’t utter a single word to help you, not like before. Just then, an old woman emerged from the bathroom, holding my pregnancy test. She handed it to Eleanor. Seeing it, Eleanor’s eyes blazed, and she delivered a furious kick to my body. “You wretched woman! You’re even pregnant with a bastard!” My body instinctively curled, my hands flying to shield my stomach. Eleanor moved to kick me again. Fearing for my unborn child, I quickly cried out, “It’s not a bastard! It’s Sebastian’s baby!” Eleanor roared, “You tramp, don’t try to fool me! Don’t think I don’t know you never wanted my son’s child! You made him get a vasectomy ages ago!” She pointed at me, incensed. “You vile woman, you want to leave my family without an heir!” When Sebastian and I first married, he constantly refused to use protection. I’d bought dozens of birth control pill packs, throwing them in front of him, declaring that every time he touched me, I’d take a pill. I refused to bear a child with his “super-male” gene. Worried about the medication’s harm to my body, he’d eventually gotten a vasectomy. His old companions, hearing this, were equally outraged. For women their age, nothing was more important than progeny. “This woman’s heart is too wicked! Not only did she make her own husband infertile, but she wants him to raise another man’s child!” “Oh, these women’s minds are completely twisted now! My last daughter-in-law also cheated on my son and bore a bastard child. I served her for three years before I found out!” “If I had known earlier, I would have aborted her bastard child, no matter what!” Stung by the old women’s words, Eleanor’s eyes fixed on me with malevolent intent. “That’s right! Today, I’m going to abort the bastard in your belly, to prevent it from growing up and harming society!” A panic I’d never known surged through me. I looked at Eleanor, desperately explaining, “He’s truly not a bastard! Sebastian’s company developed cutting-edge gene screening technology, allowing me to conceive a healthy baby!” “If you don’t believe me, call Sebastian and ask him!” “You wretched woman! Do you think I don’t know what you’re plotting? Sebastian is so utterly bewitched by you, he wouldn’t hurt you even if he knew you cheated!” “But I, as his mother, cannot let him endure this utter humiliation!” With that, she brutally kicked me in the lower abdomen. A searing, bone-deep pain spread from the depths of my core.

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On my fifth year of courting the villain of this novel, he finally agreed to marry me. The day of the wedding, the grand chandelier in the hall suddenly plunged. In that critical moment, he violently pushed me aside, shielding the trembling protagonist, his true love, Eleanor. His arm was gashed, a large stain of blood blossoming across his white tuxedo. Eleanor, in his arms, was completely unharmed. Clutching the bleeding gash on my neck, I finally accepted the truth: he didn’t love me. The System appeared, asking, “Do you want to end the mission early?” I nodded. “Since he’s destined to lose his limbs and suffer a fate worse than death because of her, I’ll grant him that wish.” 1 “Are you sure, Host? Once confirmed, there’s no turning back, no room for reversal.” The System sighed, a touch of regret in its tone. After all, the System was born from my wish. It had sent me into this book when I despaired over Elias’s tragic fate, hoping I could change his ending. I pressed a hand to my neck, where blood was faintly seeping, feeling lightheaded. “I did my best…” Elias was the villain of this story, his character twisted by a childhood devoid of love. As an adult, he would go to hell and back for even the smallest kindness from Eleanor. In the end, saving her would lead to him losing all his limbs, becoming a mere torso—a living death. I’d been in this world for five years, meticulously documenting his every joy and sorrow, staying by his side to redeem him. Everyone knew I loved him. I was the only one who had seen his dark side and wasn’t afraid. Initially, he was hostile towards me, distrusting my words, his eyes only for Eleanor. I knew his cruelty. When he deliberately aimed a small knife at me, I stood still, letting him stab me near my heart. The smile on his lips froze, replaced by shock and confusion. I smiled and told him that in this world, he wasn’t the only one willing to give everything for the person they loved. I was too. I won that gamble. He personally took me to the hospital. From then on, he stopped speaking to me with malice. He loved racing. I knew nothing about cars, but to earn a smile from him, I worked desperately, barely sleeping three hours a night, to buy him a global limited edition helmet. But in the fifth year, he had an accident during a race and disappeared. I searched for him tirelessly, without sleep, for an entire day. When he awoke and saw me, his eyes were red-rimmed. He cradled my face, murmuring against my ear. He held me so tight, as if wanting to crush me. Then, suppressed sobs echoed by my ear, and I held him back, comforting him. After he was finally discharged, the first thing he did was grab my hand, his gaze heavy. “We’ll get married someday. You won’t be able to leave then.” His words were soft, laced with a threat, but they left me stunned, unable to recover for a long time. My heart pounded so hard it made my ears ring, and my cheeks flushed. After a long while, I squeezed his hand back firmly, my eyes locked on his. “Then it’s settled, we’ll get married!” That very day, I began planning every detail of the wedding. From selecting the grand ballroom to pairing the smallest accessories on my gown, I handled everything myself. My heart and mind were completely consumed by the final vision. I even invited Eleanor to our wedding. I had been so confident, believing Elias would no longer be captivated by her. But the moment the chandelier crashed, it shattered all my beautiful dreams of these past days. I pressed my hand to the freshly bandaged wound on my neck. It still throbbed. I smiled bitterly, lowering my head to hide my tears. I pulled out my phone, telling the wedding planner to cancel everything, then removed my wedding gown and accessories, folding and sealing them away. I had thought that Elias and I had been through hardships together, that he would treat me differently. But I underestimated Eleanor’s devastating power. No matter how long I’d been with him, how much I’d given, as long as his true love was still around, I would always lose. The System couldn’t help but ask, “Host, are you truly going home?” I nodded. “Why don’t you tell me when I can go home?” “Approximately one day from now, the tunnel will reopen. During this time, you can do whatever you wish, leave no regrets.” 2 I handed the bag to Elias’s sister, Selena, who had been kind to me over the years. “After I leave, please burn this dress for me.” “I’m no longer worthy to wear it.” Selena clutched the bag, a hint of indignation in her voice. “My brother is truly awful. I’m going to go confront him right now, make him give you some severance pay before you go…” She turned to leave, but I pulled her back. “No need.” She had seen how I had treated her and Elias over the years, and she remembered it. The easing of her relationship with Elias was also something I had worked to achieve. Just as I finished speaking, Elias appeared, clutching his freshly bandaged arm, his voice icy. “Where are you going?” I looked up at him, feeling a strange disconnect after only half a day apart. I suddenly remembered the first time I saw him. The bar was dimly lit. He leaned against the table’s edge, drinking alone. He wore a utility jacket, his posture tall and straight. His eyes were dark, his lips a thin line, as if pushing the world away. But with just one glance, I was captivated, unable to tear my eyes away. Over the years, I had seen so many expressions from him, but the gentleness he reserved for Eleanor, I had never witnessed. My thoughts returned to the present. I spoke. “You misheard.” “I was just asking my sister to dispose of some unimportant things for me.” The more I spoke, the more my gaze drifted, as if trying to convince myself. Yes. I came empty-handed, and I’ll leave empty-handed. Elias stared at me for a long moment, seemingly unable to find fault with my words. Finally, he conceded and left. That’s right, I thought. This is the normal him. He was always so taciturn with me, only becoming more talkative when Eleanor was mentioned. Why would he genuinely care where I was going? 3 Soon after, the front door opened. I watched, utterly invisible to Eleanor, as she rushed upstairs to find Elias. It was as if this was her home, and I was merely a phantom. I followed her up. As she knocked on the door, a muffled “Get out” echoed from inside. Eleanor grew more frantic. “Elias, it’s me…” Click. The door quickly opened from within. I realized then that the “Get out” had been meant for me, Elias mistaking Eleanor’s knock for mine. Restraining his desire, Elias asked, “Why are you here?” “Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out you came to see me?” Eleanor’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “He’s not with me yet, he can’t control me.” “Besides, you were hurt because of me. How could I rest easy without knowing you’re okay?” I froze. My heart felt as if it had been struck by a hammer, aching dully. Her words were spoken as if I didn’t exist. Even though I had spent half a day trying to sever their ties, in their eyes, I was still nothing more than cannon fodder. Eleanor’s tears began to fall. “Don’t you want to see me?” Elias could no longer hold back. Right in front of me, he embraced Eleanor tightly. “I need you, I’ve always needed you.” I watched his eyes, red-rimmed, as if he were holding a precious treasure he had thought lost forever. Those words cruelly twisted my heart. So, what about me? Had I been a joke all along? After they had held each other long enough, Eleanor began to inspect Elias’s wound, caressing it while sniffling. “Does it hurt?” Elias looked at her, his heart aching even more. He took her hand from his neck and held it with both of his. His gaze was tender and lingering. “Don’t be scared, Eleanor. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” “Look, the doctor bandaged it well. As long as I change the dressing carefully, I’ll be fine.” “…You should go back.” Five years. I had never heard such a gentle voice from him. Clearly, only the female protagonist deserved it. 4 I couldn’t bear to watch any longer and quietly slipped away. The tears in my eyes refused to be held back, streaming down my cheeks and staining the floor. I sat in the living room for a long time, silently watching the wall clock, counting down the hours. Thankfully, only two more days, and I could leave. Never to return. After a long while, Eleanor carefully came downstairs. Her lips were redder than when she arrived. I averted my eyes, pretending not to notice. But Eleanor walked directly toward me, giving me careful instructions. “Elias is asleep now, don’t wake him.” “I’ve been a bit busy lately and can’t come often. You must take care of him, don’t let him get hurt again.” “Although he has a bad temper, he’s a good person. If he ever yells at you, just come to me, and I’ll get justice for you.” She held my hand, her smugness barely concealed. I subtly pulled my hand away, unable to resist snapping back, “I’m his fiancée, I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” The smugness on her face grew more pronounced. She scoffed. “If I hadn’t allowed it, do you think you’d have had a chance to be with him?” “You think too highly of yourself. I’m his true love; you’re just my stand-in.” “Do what a stand-in is supposed to do.” It was strange. It felt as if I had been utterly broken. There was no ripple in my heart. “Whether I’m a stand-in or not, you don’t need to tell me.” “At least, I’m his fiancée. If we don’t marry this time, we can always marry next time.” “You—!” Eleanor was furious, her voice rising considerably. Then she took a deep breath, composing herself. “Hmph, you only win with your mouth. I’m happy this time, so I’ll let you win.” “Next time, I’ll make you roll out of this house.” “Guess if Elias listens to me or you.” With that, she strode away, the door slamming shut. I instantly lost all strength, collapsing onto the sofa, breathing heavily. Elias came down from upstairs, unable to resist scolding me. “Why do you argue with her? I just see her as a sister…” My gaze fell on the redness at the corner of his lips, and I couldn’t help but mock him. “It seems your relationship is truly close.” He flinched, quickly raising a hand to wipe away the red on his lips. “That was just an accidental smudge. Can you stop overthinking things?” He walked over, his gaze heavy on me. But the excuse was too flimsy. I couldn’t fathom how his lips could have gotten red in such a way. When I first arrived in this world, I knew no one. I only knew to stay by his side. Everyone thought I was mad, shamelessly trying to seduce Eleanor’s man, unafraid of being bitten back. He never offered explanations, only saying, “Don’t even think about it. I won’t abandon Eleanor to be with you wholeheartedly.” I cried until my eyes were red, locking myself in my room, refusing to eat or see Elias. He broke down the door, dragged me out, his expression cold. “Do you think if you starve yourself to death, I’d spare you a second glance? You might as well make the most of things.” I understood his underlying meaning, taking it as comfort. And just like that, I was placated. After that, no matter what outsiders said, I remained indifferent. When someone called me his lapdog, his expression never changed. Yet now, he was worried I would suspect his true love, forbidding me from insulting her. I lowered my head, wiping away my tears. “You’re overthinking. I’m not imagining things.” Elias looked at me with a questioning gaze. I continued, “Next time I see her, I’ll apologize.” 5 Late at night, I looked at my neck in the mirror, unable to stop tracing the wound. An entire day had passed, and such a visible injury, yet Elias hadn’t noticed it. It was as if he was certain I couldn’t be hurt. That day was pure chaos. Only Selena helped me up and took me to the hospital. “After all this time, I really thought my brother loved you. He’s such a private person, yet he was willing to invite so many people to his wedding.” “But you were right beside him, and he still pushed you away to save Eleanor, who was some distance away!” “It’s clear he doesn’t love you at all!” My face was ashen that day, speckles of blood staining my wedding gown. But Elias’s eyes didn’t spare me a single glance. His arms were wrapped tightly around Eleanor, shielding her from all the glass shards, protecting her so she was completely unharmed. Eleanor huddled in his arms for a long time before she reacted, pushing him away with restraint. “Your wife is hurt, you should go check on her.” Elias didn’t listen. Instead, he scanned Eleanor up and down several times before sighing in relief. “It’s good that you’re alright. I knew she wouldn’t be seriously hurt.” Selena helped me stumble out of the banquet hall, tears of pain streaming down my face. Recalling that day, the pain seemed to return once more. I couldn’t help but flinch, trying to shake it off. But a bitter ache still lingered in my heart. Only in moments of life-threatening danger could one truly see if someone loved them. As long as I left this place, I could heal myself. With time, I would completely forget Elias. It would be as if I had never been here.

Five years after my death, my doctor husband, Sauron, demanded once again that I take the fall for a medical malpractice suit involving his first love. He burst into my old apartment, clutching a forged agreement, only to find a house thick with dust. In a panic, he grabbed the corner store owner downstairs, questioning my whereabouts. The owner, however, told him: “Chloe Finch? She died five years ago. I heard the family from that malpractice suit, driven by grief, ambushed her in an alley one night and stabbed her over a dozen times.” My husband refused to believe it, convinced the owner had been paid to lie for me. He raised an eyebrow, a cold sneer on his face. “So, just because I suspended her for two years, she’s throwing a tantrum now?!” “Tell her, if she doesn’t show up in three days, I’m stopping her sister’s cancer treatment payments!” With that, he cursed and slammed the door behind him. The owner watched his retreating back, shaking his head with a sigh: “What sister? Her sister died years ago, unable to afford treatment…” … In the hallway, the deadbolt clacked as a key turned. I floated on the ceiling, watching Sauron burst into my old apartment, clutching the forged agreement. He covered his nose, fanning away the dust, his hurried footsteps echoing on the floor. “Chloe Finch, get out here! Eleanor’s about to lose her license, and you’re still hiding?” I chuckled to myself, a bitter sound. After that medical malpractice incident five years ago, Sauron and I had lost touch. I never imagined his next visit would be to demand I take the blame for Eleanor’s new medical error. I couldn’t help but marvel at how deeply connected he and Eleanor still were. Sauron walked through the rooms twice, his gaze sweeping over the dusty sofa and the cobweb-strung window. His mouth twisted into an even sharper sneer. “What are you trying to do, disappear? Where could someone like you, fired from the hospital, possibly hide?” “Eleanor just texted that the police have started their investigation. You want her to go to jail, don’t you?” “I’ll give you ten seconds. Get out here now!” I watched his impatient face, thinking, Five years, and he’s still so entitled. But no matter how many sets of ten seconds he gave me, I wouldn’t obediently appear before him like I used to. Because I was dead. “Chloe Finch! Do you hear me? Why are you being so difficult about helping me out?!” He suddenly turned and kicked the bedroom door, which groaned dully. But it remained empty. Sauron impatiently “tch’ed,” then searched the rest of the apartment fruitlessly. He finally realized there truly was no one there. He muttered to himself, gritting his teeth, and slammed the door shut. The convenience store door downstairs was yanked open. Sauron grabbed the owner, who was scanning items. “Have you seen Chloe Finch? The one on the third floor.” The owner paused, wiping oil from his hands. “Chloe Finch? She died five years ago.” I saw Sauron falter, then sneer. “Who are you trying to scare? How could someone like her die?” “No, really.” The owner pointed toward the alley entrance. “Five years ago, the family from that medical malpractice suit ambushed her in the alley and stabbed her over a dozen times. She died on the way to the hospital. Who are you to her?” The overly fluent answer made a flicker of surprise cross Sauron’s eyes. His brows furrowed, and his expression showed a hint of pain that I didn’t understand. But then, his attention was drawn by a message on his phone—it was from Eleanor: “Forget it, Sauron. I’m sure Chloe still resents me and will make excuses. Don’t trouble yourself for me, I’ll just go to jail. Without me, you must take care of yourself.” That single message was enough for Sauron to conclude that my death was merely an excuse to refuse them. His fingers trembled as he replied: “What right does she have to refuse? I gave her a huge sum of money back then; when I need her, she has to show up!” “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely drag her back to take the blame. I won’t let anything happen to you!” The “message sent” notification popped up. Sauron looked up, glaring at the owner. “Don’t play this game with me! She’s definitely hiding. Did she pay you?” The owner sighed. “Young man, is this something to joke about? It was in the news back then…” “News reports are always true?” Sauron unconsciously raised his voice. He took a step closer, his eyes full of menace. “Tell her, if she doesn’t show up in three days, I’m stopping her sister’s cancer treatment payments!” The owner opened his mouth, about to say something, but Sauron sharply waved him off. “Don’t waste my time! Either she comes out, or she waits to claim her sister’s body!” With that, Sauron turned and left. The convenience store door slammed shut with a bang. The owner watched his retreating back, shaking his head, and sighed to the empty air: “What sister? Her sister died years ago, unable to afford treatment…” I floated nearby, looking at the water bottle kicked aside on the ground. My soul felt as if it were soaked in that icy liquid. That money never reached my hands. When my sister lay in her hospital bed, waiting for money to save her life, Eleanor was using it to buy imported medical equipment. And when I was stabbed and left to die in that alley, he was accompanying Eleanor at a medical seminar. Now, he was threatening a long-dead person, in the name of another long-dead person. My soul seemed trapped beside Sauron, forced to follow him home. The moment he pushed open the door, Eleanor rushed to meet him, her face alight with anticipation. “Sauron, well? Did you find Chloe Finch?” Sauron shook his head, his expression a little dazed. “No… And, they said Chloe Finch is dead?” “Dead?!” Eleanor’s eyes widened abruptly. She stumbled back half a step, her hand instinctively grabbing Sauron’s arm. “How is that possible? Is she… is she deliberately hiding from us, making that up to fool you?” Sauron frowned, saying nothing. Seeing his expression, Eleanor quickly forced a bitter smile. “It must be! Chloe must still resent what happened five years ago and doesn’t want to help me, so she made up such a lie.” “Sauron, how about… we just drop it? Don’t trouble her anymore. At worst, I’ll just turn myself in…” Sauron was silent for a while, finally nodding. “You’re right, she must be hiding.” “But this can’t just be dropped. Even if I have to dig three feet deep, I will find her and get you exonerated!” Eleanor’s eyes reddened with emotion, her voice choked. “Sauron, you’re so good to me…” “However…” Sauron suddenly cut her off, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Chloe Finch can come up with such an excuse; it seems she’s genuinely furious.” “Eleanor, this is the last time. Once she takes the fall for you and gets out of jail, let’s end things.” I stood by, so shocked I almost forgot I was dead. Sauron actually suggested breaking up with Eleanor? I remembered how he had fought with me fiercely for this woman, turning our world upside down. We had been married for less than a year when Eleanor returned to the country, even specifically transferring to our hospital. From then on, the two of them carried on an open affair right under my nose. If I so much as questioned it, he’d accuse me of being narrow-minded and paranoid. Yet now, he was actually proposing to end the relationship? Sauron didn’t notice the stiff expression on Eleanor’s face. He turned his head away, his voice softer. “I need to return to my family, eventually. I did give her money last time, but these past few years, I’ve truly neglected her.” “Honestly, deep down… I feel quite guilty.” Eleanor looked at him in disbelief. “Sauron… are you leaving me?” “I don’t know,” Sauron evaded her gaze, his brow furrowing even deeper. “Ever since I left Chloe’s apartment, I’ve felt a constant unease, like something terrible is about to happen.” He paused, his voice firming up again. “But I will definitely help you with this! I won’t stand by and watch you go to jail. I’m going to find her now. You wait for me.” With that, he turned and left, his back conveying a sense of determination and finality. Eleanor remained still. But when she looked at him, her pitiful expression was completely gone. I clearly saw her eyes, like venom-tipped blades, sinister and vicious. And the name she ground out through gritted teeth was mine. Sauron was desperate to find me, so the first place he thought of was my sister. I followed his car straight to the city hospital. This road was all too familiar to me, for before, my life had been a straight line between the hospital and home. So many years, never changing. I watched Sauron press the accelerator to the floor, his brow remaining furrowed since he got in the car. It was clear he was still fretting over Eleanor’s situation. He didn’t even bother to properly park the car, rushing into the inpatient ward and grabbing a nurse at the station. “Can you check the room number for Hazel Finch?” “…Oh, okay.” The nurse responded blankly, then began to search through records. Unexpectedly, a cold sneer suddenly echoed from nearby. “Well, well, if it isn’t Dr. Sauron, himself? What brings you to our humble little place?” Sauron turned, his face instantly darkening. It was Dr. Thorne, a chief physician who used to be in the same department as him. As far as I knew, the two had been at odds for a long time. But later, for some unknown reason, after my medical malpractice incident, Thorne had also resigned and left. Now, enemies meeting, their eyes were red with animosity. Sauron scrutinized him, responding testily, “Where I am? What’s it to you?” Thorne crossed his arms, a mocking smile on his lips. “It’s nothing to me, truly. Just curious, how can you be so cold-blooded?” “You didn’t come when they were critically ill, but now that they’re gone, you suddenly decide to look for them?” “Critically ill?” Sauron frowned deeply. “Who was critically ill?” Sauron looked completely bewildered, as if he didn’t understand. But I knew Thorne was talking about my sister and me. Back then, I was stabbed multiple times in the alley, already on the verge of death in the ambulance. They called Sauron, hoping he, as family, would come to see me one last time. But he was with Eleanor, not wanting to disturb their private time, so he hung up without even answering. When they called again later, his number was already blacklisted. My sister, too. Back then, Hazel was given a critical condition notice because she couldn’t afford treatment. When I tried to contact him, he was enjoying a carefree trip with Eleanor. As a result, my sister passed away utterly alone, with no one by her side. Watching Sauron’s bewildered expression, Thorne stared for a few seconds, then suddenly scoffed. “You’re quite the actor. Never mind, I truly don’t know what’s so good about you, to be worth so much to her.” Thorne didn’t say much more, leaving only that cryptic remark before returning to his office. Sauron stood there, his fingers slowly, unconsciously clenching into fists. This was a small gesture he made when he was nervous or afraid. But… what was he afraid of? “Dr. Sauron?” The nurse’s voice pulled him back to reality. “The patient you’re looking for…” She hesitated, then continued, “Hazel Finch, she passed away three years ago.” Sauron’s pupils constricted sharply at those words. He stood frozen, as if nailed to the spot. “What did you say? Hazel Finch is dead? Three years ago?” The nurse nodded timidly. “The system recorded it as spring, three years ago, advanced lung cancer with complications…” “Impossible! This is impossible!” Sauron suddenly lost control, banging on the nurse’s station, drawing stares from surrounding patients. But he quickly forced himself to calm down. As a fellow medical professional, he knew the hospital’s archive system couldn’t be wrong, let alone tampered with. He gripped the nurse’s wrist tightly, his voice trembling. “How could this happen? Isn’t your oncology department the best here? How could she die? And…” He suddenly remembered something, his face growing even paler. “And, I deposit money into that card every month. Eleanor just told me last week that Hazel was doing very well, all her indicators were improving…” The nurse winced at his tight grip but quickly pulled up the system records. “Dr. Sauron, that bank card was unlinked three years ago. And according to the medical records, the patient’s condition was consistently very grim, never improving.” “During the patient’s hospitalization, most of the time she used affordable alternative medications. Because a lady came several times, saying she wanted to save money, and swapped out the imported medications prescribed by the doctor.” “Later, she even completely stopped all medical payments…” Every word from the nurse was like a knife, savagely twisting in my heart. That venomous woman, Eleanor! She knew that was Hazel’s life-saving money, yet she still had the gall to take it! Sauron, upon hearing the nurse’s words, also began to tremble. Of course, he knew who did it. After all, besides Eleanor, no one would be so audacious as to touch his money. I imagine he also recalled the condition I made five years ago when I took the fall for Eleanor—to take good care of my sister. At the time, he had promised faithfully, but the result… Sauron clutched his head, crouching down, his shoulders shaking violently. “How could she… she promised me she would take good care of Hazel!” “How could she do this…” I watched Sauron in his shattered state, feeling not an ounce of sympathy. If not for his indulgence and tacit approval, how would Eleanor have dared to do such a thing? Ultimately, they were two of a kind. Suddenly, Sauron stood up abruptly, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes. He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling so much he could barely dial the number. “Detective Miller, I need you to find someone for me.” I vaguely heard a man on the other end of the phone ask who he was looking for. Sauron spoke calmly, “Chloe Finch. Find out where she is now; I need to see her immediately.” “Chloe Finch? Is there a new breakthrough in Miss Eleanor’s case, and you need to find her urgently?” “No.” Sauron’s hand gripped the steering wheel tighter. After a long pause, he finally whispered, “I just want to apologize to her…” The car suddenly shot forward, tires screeching against the asphalt. I floated in the passenger seat, watching Sauron’s tense profile. Sunlight streamed through the car window onto his face, revealing fine lines at the corners of his eyes. So, after five years, no one remained unchanged. But he didn’t know that the person he wished to apologize to had died in a pool of blood in an alley five years ago on a rainy night. What he owed me, what he owed Hazel, could never be repaid in this lifetime. Returning from the hospital, Sauron practically broke into the house. Eleanor, on the sofa, immediately put on her innocent expression when she saw him. “Sauron, why are you back? Did you find Chloe Finch?” Sauron completely ignored her question, simply throwing his jacket onto the coffee table. “Eleanor, what exactly happened with Hazel Finch?” Eleanor’s hand, holding a teacup, paused. Her brow furrowed. “Hazel? Isn’t she fine? I deposit money for her every month.” “Fine?” Sauron scoffed, pulling out his phone and showing her the death certificate photo the nurse had sent him. “She died three years ago! You swapped her medication and unlinked the bank card. Do you dare say you didn’t know?” The date on the photo was clear. Eleanor’s face instantly paled. She set down her teacup, wringing her hands as she explained. “This… Sauron, let me explain. I had no choice at the time!” “Research funding was tight then. I thought I’d just borrow some, and pay it back once the project progressed…” “Borrow some? You say it so easily!” Sauron took a step closer, his eyes red-rimmed. “That was Chloe Finch’s only sister! Her only condition for taking the blame for you back then was for us to take good care of Hazel! How could you do this?!” Seeing Sauron truly enraged, Eleanor suddenly dropped to her knees with a thud. “I know I was wrong, Sauron! Please forgive me! When I wanted to pay the money back later, I couldn’t find anyone… I was just confused for a moment!” Watching her feigned remorse, I only felt revulsion. When she was using my scapegoat money to buy imported equipment, I didn’t see a shred of guilt in her. The two remained at an impasse. Eventually, Sauron was the first to sigh, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Forget it, get up. I’m also at fault in this; I shouldn’t have given you all the money and not supervised Hazel’s treatment.” Eleanor’s eyes brightened, thinking he had forgiven her. But just as she was about to speak, Sauron cut her off. When I looked up, I saw a clear look of disappointment in his eyes. “Eleanor, I’ll help you resolve the medical malpractice issue, but once this is over, we’re through.” “I already owe Chloe Finch too much; I can’t wrong her anymore.” “Sauron!” Eleanor suddenly looked up, her face filled with panic. But Sauron didn’t look at her again, turning to leave. As he walked halfway, he suddenly stopped—his jacket was still on the coffee table. He sighed, turning back. But as he reached the hallway, he heard Eleanor’s hushed voice from the bedroom, chillingly vicious. “…We must find Chloe Finch immediately, and somehow, we have to kill her!”

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The moment I saw my husband Henry’s name filled in the “Family Signature” section, I knew he was cheating. I’m an obstetrician, specializing in deliveries. In that instant, I stared at his name for a full five seconds. The nurse beside me stamped her foot impatiently. “Dr. Evelyn, hurry! The patient’s already in, and the family is waiting in the hallway!” I didn’t move. Because just last night, during our video call, Henry had been complaining to me. He said his business trip to Seattle would last half a month. He said he couldn’t sleep without me. With that thought, I picked up the consent form and pushed open the door leading to the delivery ward hallway. On a chair in the corridor, Henry sat, head bowed, meticulously peeling an apple. He peeled it so carefully, the skin a single unbroken coil. Yet, in our two years of marriage, he had never once peeled an apple for me. The moment he looked up and saw me, the apple slipped from his hand and hit the floor. “Ev… Evelyn? I thought you were at your fellowship…” He pointed at me, his lips trembling. I didn’t answer. I simply held out the consent form, even unscrewing the pen cap for him. “Mr. McCarthy, you missed one signature.” “Hurry, your wife is waiting for you.” 1 Henry’s face went white. His mouth opened and closed twice, but no sound came out. “Sign it.” I repeated, my voice steady, cold. He took the pen with a trembling hand, his gaze darting wildly, unsure where to look. “Evelyn, listen to me, it’s not what you think.” “I’m not thinking anything.” I pointed to the last line on the form. “Family confirms consent for delivery, sign here.” He looked down, seeing his name printed under “Spouse.” Next to it were the patient’s details: Maya Croft, 27 years old, first delivery. His pen tip hovered over the paper, hesitant to descend. “Evelyn, I can really explain.” I didn’t look at him. I pulled the form from his hand, using the pen to tick a box in the family section for him. “No time for explanations. Dilation is almost complete.” As I turned, he reached out to grab me. I sidestepped, and his hand met empty air. Nurses bustled back and forth in the corridor. Family members dozed on benches, clutching thermoses. No one saw him reach out. And no one knew the doctor walking into the delivery room had just encountered her own husband bringing another woman to give birth. I pushed open the delivery room door. The lights inside were bright. A young woman lay on the delivery bed. Round-faced, her bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat, her eyes red, clutching the bedsheet tightly. She saw me enter and offered a nervous smile. “Hello, Doctor. I’m a little scared.” “That’s normal. Relax.” I lowered my head, flipping through her medical chart. 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant, normal fetal position, complete prenatal check-up records. The signature for every single check-up was Henry McCarthy. From week 12 to week 39, not a single one missed. I did the math. She got pregnant about ten months ago. What was I doing ten months ago? I was discussing with Henry whether we should enclose the balcony to plant flowers. He said yes, he’d find someone to do it after his business trip. That balcony was never enclosed. He said he was too busy. Turns out, he was busy accompanying someone else to prenatal check-ups. I closed the chart and walked to the delivery bed. Maya reached out to me. “Doctor, could you please call my husband in? I want him to be with me.” I looked down at her hand. A ring adorned her left ring finger. Platinum, set with small diamonds, with an engraving inside the band. I didn’t need to get closer to know what was engraved. It was my wedding band. Three months ago, Henry said he lost it at the gym, searched for days but couldn’t find it, and promised to buy me a new one. Now it was on another woman’s hand. This woman lay on the delivery bed, calling my husband her husband. Wearing my ring. “Doctor?” Maya watched me cautiously. I withdrew my hand. “Family can’t come into the delivery room for now. He can come in after you’ve given birth.” I offered her a smile. That smile took all my strength. 2 The contractions grew more frequent. Maya’s forehead glistened with sweat, and her lips were bitten raw. But she never screamed, just endured in muffled tones, occasionally whimpering. When the pain became unbearable, she’d clutch the bedsheet, mumbling, “My husband says it’ll be over after I give birth, it’ll be over after I give birth.” I adjusted the fetal heart monitor, not responding to her words. She was probably too nervous and started talking incessantly. Some people curse when they’re in pain, some cry. Maya was the talkative type. “Doctor, my husband is really good to me.” “Mhm.” “He says he’s been waiting for this baby for a long time.” “Mhm.” “He was in a relationship before, it didn’t work out. Then he met me, and he said he knew I was the one for him, forever.” I smoothed the monitor wires, keeping silent. “We’ve been together for almost two years.” Maya added, a hint of pride in her voice. Almost two years. Henry and I got our marriage license exactly two years and three months ago. Overlap. It overlapped from the very beginning. Which meant, he started this soon after we got married. Our honeymoon period wasn’t even over. Maya probably saw my expression was too calm, assuming I wasn’t interested, and changed the subject. “Doctor, are you married?” “Mhm.” “Then your husband must also feel for you. Being a doctor is so tough.” I handed her the straw cup. “Drink some water. You’ll need the strength later.” She took the cup, drank a few sips, and started talking again. “What moves me most about my husband is that he’s willing to start over for me.” “His previous relationship ended badly. He said the other person clung to him for a long time.” “Later, he moved, changed his phone number, and finally found peace.” I heard the words “moved.” My fingers paused for a second. “Where do you live now?” I asked casually, like idle chatter. Maya didn’t think much of it and gave an address. Emerald Lakes, Building 14, Apartment 1602. My pupils constricted. Emerald Lakes, Building 14, Apartment 1602. That was my property. My parents bought it outright before I was married, in my name. Henry and I moved in together after we got married, living there for over a year. Before I left for my fellowship, Henry said his commute was too long, and he wanted to move closer to his company, suggesting I rent out the Emerald Lakes apartment. I agreed. He said he found a tenant for me, three thousand five hundred a month, paid into my account. Three thousand five hundred. He did transfer three thousand five hundred to me every month. It wasn’t the tenant’s money. It was his own money, a pretense. He was living in my apartment, with another woman, spending my money, and pretending to collect rent every month. Maya was still talking. “Our apartment is so nice. He decorated it himself, and he planted so many flowers on the balcony.” The flowers on the balcony. They were jasmine and mint that I had planted before I left. I had watered them for half a year, fertilized them countless times. Now, they were his gift of romance to another woman. “Doctor? You don’t look so good. Are you alright?” “I’m fine.” I adjusted my mask. “The air in the delivery room is stuffy. It’s normal.” Another wave of contractions hit. Maya was too much in pain to speak. She arched her back, panting desperately, her hands gripping the side rails. I looked at her, thinking, You’re living in my apartment, wearing my ring, carrying my husband’s child, and now you’re lying on my delivery bed, asking me to deliver your baby. Maya, do you know how absurd this world can be sometimes? And I am the only one in this entire room who knows the script. 3 The labor progressed faster than expected. Maya’s physical condition was good, the baby’s weight was moderate, and the fetal heart rate remained stable. It was a smooth delivery. As I acknowledged this inwardly, a bitter taste filled my mouth. Profession was profession, personal matters were personal. I stood by the delivery bed, guiding her to breathe, push, breathe, and push again. Maya’s face was streaked with tears and sweat, gritting her teeth, she strained with my rhythm. In between contractions, she kept speaking, brokenly, as if only talking could lessen her fear. “My husband said… he said he’d wait outside all night…” “He also said… if it’s a boy… we’d name him Henry Jr.… meaning ‘peaceful’…” Henry Jr. A nice name. What did Henry say when we discussed names for our future children? He said not to rush, to wait until his career was more stable. Wait until the mortgage was paid off. Wait until he returned from his business trip. Wait until next month. Wait until next year. I waited for two years, and it turns out he wasn’t waiting for the right moment. He was waiting for someone else to get pregnant. “Push, one last time.” I pushed down all other thoughts, fully concentrating as I delivered the baby. A boy. Six pounds, eight ounces. His cry was loud and clear, filling the entire delivery room with his wails. Maya lay exhausted on the bed, her face a mix of tears and sweat, a foolish grin on her lips. “Is it a boy?” “Yes.” “That’s wonderful, he finally has a son.” She emphasized “finally,” as if she had completed some monumental task for Henry. The labor and delivery nurse took the baby for cleaning, while I performed the final stitches. Maya tilted her head, watching the baby, and suddenly said, “Doctor, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” “No, I’m not talking about the delivery.” Her voice was weak but sincere. “My husband had a difficult past. His ex-wife… the woman who clung to him, she got sick and passed away.” My hand, holding the suture needle, paused. “He’s truly a good man with a loyal heart. Every spring, he says he goes to visit her grave, suffering alone.” “Last spring he took me to San Diego, saying he needed a change of scenery, but he was distracted the whole day. He said he didn’t want his ex-wife to be too lonely by herself there.” “So I’m especially grateful to fate for bringing me to him. And thank you, for safely bringing our child into this world.” She smiled through her tears. I looked at her young, unguarded face and suddenly found it absurd. He told this woman I was dead. I was alive and well, working at a hospital three miles away, delivering babies, doing rounds, writing medical charts every day. In his story, I was an ex-wife who had passed away, a dead person used to elicit sympathy. I finished the stitching, removed my gloves. “Rest for a bit. The nurse will bring the baby to you soon.” Maya hummed in acknowledgment and reached out to stop me. “Doctor, wait. Help me look at something.” She struggled to pull a velvet pouch from a small bag beside her pillow, emptying out a jade ring. Verdant green, with an orchid carved into the silver setting. “My husband said this is a family heirloom his grandmother left him. He told me to wear it after I gave birth, to ward off evil. Do you think it’s valuable?” I stared at that ring. Only one in the whole world. My mother wore it for twenty years before she died, taking it off her hand and pressing it into mine as she passed. “My little Jasmine, this is for you. Mom has nothing else to leave you.” I had locked it in my jewelry box at home. Henry had told me six months ago that we had been robbed, that the jewelry box was pried open, and my mother’s jade ring and some gold jewelry were stolen. He had even taken me to the police station to file a report. Now it was on Maya’s hand. Left by his grandmother. To ward off evil for her. “Quite valuable.” I heard my own voice. “Keep it safe.” I walked out of the delivery room. The hallway was empty. I leaned against the wall, pulling out my phone. I opened my banking app, navigating to the joint account with Henry. Balance: $1083.46. I scrolled through the transaction history. One by one. Outgoing, $50,000. Outgoing, $30,000. Outgoing, $80,000. Outgoing, outgoing, outgoing. Each transaction to the same recipient, the memo always blank. Two years, $410,000 transferred out. My hand, clutching the phone, finally began to shake. Not from fear, but my body was breaking down before my mind. 4 I stood in the hallway for about three minutes. Deep breaths, exhale, inhale, exhale. When my hand stopped shaking, I locked my phone and put it back in my pocket. Pushing the door, I returned to the nurse’s station. The duty nurse was filling out newborn records. Seeing me, she called out, “Dr. Evelyn, the family for 1602 has been asking outside if they can come in to see the baby.” 1602. Even their delivery room number was the same as my house number. “Let him in. Mother and baby are fine. Tell him to be careful not to touch the patient’s stitches.” My voice was flat. The nurse gave me an extra glance. “Dr. Evelyn, you look terrible. Do you want to take a break?” “No, I’m just going to the restroom.” One of the light tubes in the restroom was broken, flickering. I leaned over the sink, cold water running through my fingers. The person in the mirror looked unfamiliar. My eyes were red, but I wasn’t crying. I wanted to cry, but no tears came. A strange feeling, my heart empty, as if everything had broken. I pulled out my phone, opening Henry’s chat. The last message was from 11:07 PM last night, from him. “Goodnight, wife. Seattle is boiling, I miss you so much. Go to bed early.” It was accompanied by a photo of a hotel king-sized bed. I took a screenshot, saving it to my album. I scrolled up. Day before yesterday: “Meetings all day, so exhausted. More tomorrow.” Three days ago: “Seattle is so boring. Home is best.” Every message was a lie. Every message typed so smoothly, so naturally. When did it become so effortless for him to lie? I closed the chat. Opened my album, flipping to our joint photos. Last year for Thanksgiving, he took me to San Diego. In the photo, we stood by the ocean, he held me from behind, his eyes crinkling in a smile. I remembered him saying that day, “Evelyn, let’s go somewhere new every year, and when we have kids, we’ll bring them along.” I said yes. Back then, I didn’t know that in his heart, there was only an expiration date for me. I scrolled past our photos. The most recent three months of photos were all from the hospital: fellowship notes, cafeteria meals. No him. Because he wasn’t there. Or rather, he was there. In my apartment, with another woman. Peeling apples for her, taking her to prenatal check-ups, putting his ear to her belly to listen to the baby move. Then at eleven at night, he’d video call me, calling me his wife into the camera. I turned off my phone. Washed my face. Dried it with a tissue, and put on a fresh mask. As I walked out, passing the delivery room door, I heard Maya talking to Henry inside. The door wasn’t fully closed, and voices leaked out. “Honey, look, he looks just like you.” “Mhm, the nose is similar.” “Kiss him.” Henry let out a soft laugh. I stood outside the door for two seconds. Then I walked away. I finished my last two hours on shift. Changed out of my scrubs, picked up my bag, and walked out of the hospital entrance. 8:17 PM. I didn’t take a cab back to my fellowship dorm. I hailed a cab and went to Emerald Lakes. Building 14, Apartment 1602. My apartment. The elevator reached the 16th floor. I walked to apartment 1602. The door had a pink cartoon bear sticker, proclaiming “Happy Home.” I pulled out my key from my bag. The apartment was mine. The lock hadn’t been changed. The key slid in, a turn. The door opened.

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I had my phone on silent all day for a business trip, escorting clients for a fifty-million-dollar company bid, not wanting to be disturbed. Who knew I’d return only to be stopped by my fiancée’s male assistant? “You didn’t reply ‘received’ in the work chat today. Five thousand dollar fine!” I merely assumed he was unaware of my work schedule and ignored him. The next day, my fiancée, Sally, kicked me and my luggage out of the company. The male assistant fanned the flames nearby. “Company policy clearly states you must reply ‘received’ within two minutes. You’re abusing your position, setting a bad example! Other project managers reply instantly; is your hand too precious to type?” Sally actually spoke up for him. “A Vice President brazenly defying regulations and arguing fallaciously! If you don’t pay the fine within a day, you’re suspended for a day!” I looked at the diligently prepared bidding documents in my hand and smiled. Then I called my eldest sister. “I have a fifty-million-dollar winning bid to hand over to you. Also, I accept your previous offer; I’ll start at your company in three days.” 1 “What, finally came to your senses? Didn’t you refuse to come back before, even for a million-dollar annual salary?” My sister’s tone was full of teasing. Thinking of Sally kicking me out of the company because of a male assistant, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly. “Don’t even get me started. As long as your company doesn’t have some rule about being fined for not replying ‘received’ in the main work group within five minutes, I’ll be there in three days to start.” “Then it’s settled! No backing out this time!” Soon after talking to my sister, Sally called me. “I left the bid documents in the car. Bring them up.” I heard Ben’s deliberately amplified voice. “Ms. Vance, these tasks are for me, your assistant. How can you ask the Vice President to do them? Mr. Will already has a grudge against me after being fined today. I’ll go instead…” Sally’s stern voice, without a second thought, immediately soothed him. “It’s so hot. Your constitution is too weak for running around. Besides, he defied company regulations; you were just doing your job, giving him a friendly reminder.” “Will, I’ll only wait ten minutes for you. If I don’t see those documents, pack your things and leave the company!” The phone call was ruthlessly cut off. I stood there stunned for a long time, then let out a self-deprecating laugh. My fiancée had inexplicably reprimanded me for another man. She even, out of concern for him, made me take over what should have been someone else’s task. I still went to retrieve the documents, after all, there were resignation matters to settle. Sally took the documents. I was about to mention my resignation, but she didn’t even glance at me, handing the papers directly to Ben. “I have an announcement. Due to Will’s disregard for company regulations, I’ve decided to demote him. From now on, Ben will take over his Vice President position, and Will will be an assistant, supporting his work.” Ben looked at her, overwhelmed. “I… Ms. Vance, you’re too kind to me!” “It’s just a shame for Will, but you’ve had enough leisure as Vice President for a few years. It’s time to gain some experience as an assistant.” Listening to Sally heap praise on him, my heart felt as if it were being squeezed by a pair of hands, leaving me breathless with pain. Everyone in the company knew I was Sally Vance’s fiancée, yet under her, I had never received any special treatment due to that connection. On the contrary, I was treated more strictly than regular employees, starting from the bottom, working my way up. I drank so much at client dinners I ended up in the hospital, and secured countless projects to finally reach the position of Vice President. She always used to say, “I don’t want people to treat you differently because you’re my fiancée. I’m training you.” Yet, with Ben, her principles would bend and break again and again. Ben’s brow was etched with smugness. He pulled out a few expense reports. “Will, when you’re in a position, you act accordingly. So I’ll just have to uphold some Vice President rules. These are your hotel receipts from your last business trip.” “The company has always emphasized cutting costs. You’re still staying in five-star hotels? You’re just an assistant now; these expenses can’t be reimbursed.” Sally snorted, praising him. “He just took over and already understands how to generate profits for the company. My judgment is truly good.” My fingertips dug deep into my palms. I forced a calm demeanor. “You can give the Vice President position to whomever you wish, but I will not take the assistant position.” “I’m specifically here to resign. And Sally, our engagement is off.” 2 [Your employment process is complete. Report to work the day after tomorrow.] I received my sister’s message while packing to leave what had been our marital home. Sally returned with Ben, frowning when she saw me at home. “Why are you here?” My hands paused. I couldn’t help but retort, “You must have forgotten, this is my home too.” She seemed surprised by my uncharacteristic attitude, paused, then softened her tone. “Ben’s neighborhood hasn’t been safe lately. He’s now the company’s Vice President, holding considerable power, and as his superior, I should show concern.” “So I’ve decided to let him stay with us for a while, until he saves enough money to move out.” Her words were a complete declaration, with no hint of seeking my agreement. Ben stepped forward, feigning sincerity. “Will, I really don’t want to intrude on your and Ms. Vance’s lives, but Ms. Vance insists on not leaving me alone; she practically forced me to stay.” “She also said that you, Will, are older and more tolerant, and wouldn’t mind these things.” Over the years, I had heard such provocative words countless times, but this time, my heart was already unmoved. I picked up my luggage and said indifferently, “Do as you please. I already said the engagement is off. It doesn’t concern me who you bring into this apartment.” As I approached the entryway, Sally suddenly grabbed my hand, displeasure in her voice. “An entire night has passed, and you’re still not calm? I didn’t even mind you humiliating me in front of everyone yesterday. What exactly are you doing?” “Doing?” I scoffed, all the questions I had for her and Ben trapped within my throat. Looking at this meticulously decorated marital home, I suddenly felt pitifully foolish. It was in this apartment that she had knelt on one knee and proposed to me. “Will, I promise you, I will never let you suffer another moment of hardship.” In the past, even the slightest disagreement between us would make her immediately drop everything to soothe me. But now, she knew I was unhappy, yet chose to resolve it by ignoring me for a night, expecting me to calm down on my own. I shook her hand off, saying calmly, “The engagement is truly off. I’ll have you submit my resignation letter for me.” Ben suddenly rushed forward, blocking me, bowing and apologizing profusely. “Mr. Will! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have come here and made you think I was taking your place!” “I’ll go resign right now and never appear before Ms. Vance again!” With those words, he hurried out the door. Sally clenched her fists tightly, shoving me hard, raging, “Will! Will you only be happy if you drive Ben to his death?! The whole company was talking about him yesterday, and he only fined you to set an example for others!” “If he doesn’t live and travel with me, he’ll be ostracized by everyone in the company! I’m making amends for you! There’s nothing between Ben and me; can you put away your filthy thoughts?!” I crashed against the hallway cabinet, the bones in my lower back almost breaking. She left, slamming the door, without even looking back once. 3 I had my employment documents ready to proceed with joining Thorne & Co., but before I could leave, Sally’s secretary called me. “Mr. Will, Vice President Ben hasn’t approved your resignation letter. He requests you come to the office in person, and this is also Ms. Vance’s wish.” Ms. Vance’s wish. This was a blatant attempt to force me back. If my resignation wasn’t processed, the bid project would remain with Sally’s company. That project was one I had secured after repeatedly humbling myself; now that it had won, I had to take it with me. Ben looked down at me, contemptuously tossing the resignation letter to the floor. “My apologies, Will. Have you been Vice President for so many years that you can’t even write a proper resignation letter? The project handover isn’t clearly detailed, so I can’t approve it.” Looking at the resignation letter, revised dozens of times, I clenched my hands, letting out a scoff. “Intentionally targeting me? Ben, I just disdain to argue with you, otherwise, do you really think you’re qualified for this Vice President position?” I picked up the report, looking at him coldly. “Speaking of which, you reminded me. The projects I’ve handled over the years are all critical to the company’s lifeline. It’s certainly not up to you to approve.” Ben, smugly, blocked my way, pushing a lace negligee into my hand. “You’re going to see Ms. Vance, right? Good. Please return this negligee to Ms. Vance for me. Last night, Ms. Vance insisted on wearing this to cheer me up because I was in a bad mood.” “Let me tell you, forget about firing you for not replying to a message. Even if I said you walked into the company with your left foot first, Ms. Vance would listen to me and tell you to get out!” “Oh, I almost forgot, this outfit got dirty last night because we got a little carried away. Will, could you please wash it before returning it? After all, you’ve done plenty of laundry and cooking before.” Rage surged from my feet to my head. I could no longer restrain myself and swung my fist at his face. “Ben, you’re actually proud of being a homewrecker, aren’t you?!” The force was clearly not great, yet he thumped to the ground, clutching his face, crying and apologizing. “Will, I was wrong! But the resignation letter has to follow this procedure! Hitting me won’t help, everyone has to follow the process!” Accompanying his words was a furious kick to the door. Sally, seeing him on the floor, didn’t hesitate for a moment. She raised her hand and slapped me across the face. “Will! How dare you hit Ben!” A searing pain flared on my face. I looked at Sally’s piercingly cold eyes, and it took me a moment to realize what had happened. “Apologize.” Her voice was icy and merciless, her gaze like millennia of frozen ice, chilling me to the bone. “Won’t you even ask what happened?!” My eyes reddened, my head throbbing. I felt like I was about to collapse. “You laid hands on Ben and still think it’s his fault?! You’re truly irrational now, get out of my way! I need to take Ben to the hospital!” She impatiently shoved me. My ears rang, my head spun, and with that push, I actually fell to the floor. She paused, pulling Ben’s hand, about to help me up, when Ben suddenly cried out in agony. “Ms. Vance, what do we do? I feel so dizzy. I wonder if Will’s punch just now injured my brain!” Sally’s eyes were filled with anxious concern. She looked at me, then back at Ben, and finally let go of me. Before I lost consciousness, the only thing in my mind was that deafening slap. And the unbelievable, yet undeniable, truth. The person who once said she would never let me suffer, who worried when she saw me doing dishes and cooking, had actually raised her hand to hit me for another man.

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The moment she clinched her third straight Best Actress award, right there on live television, with millions watching, my wife stood in a wedding gown, holding a ring I’d designed, and proposed to her agent. Her circle of friends, a flurry of retweets and well wishes, declared it was high time they got together. I, too, quietly posted a comment: “Truly touching. Best wishes.” The next second, my phone rang. It was my wife, fuming. “Don’t be childish, Mark. This is the ninety-ninth task. Once I’m done with the last one, I’ll go public with us.” 1. The live chat was still flooded with congratulations. I calmly ate the dinner that had long gone cold in front of me. It tasted awful. Much like the meager affection between Elara and me – flavorless, yet somehow hard to discard. The video of Elara’s passionate, heartfelt proposal to Jason Reed on the awards stage quickly went viral. The comment section was a unanimous chorus of fans praising them for finally finding their happily ever after, calling them soulmates. I expressionlessly set down my chopsticks and opened Elara’s social media. Her latest post was a photo of her and Jason locked in a deep embrace, captioned: “Finally found you, glad I never gave up.” Below it, her close friends chimed in with identical blessings. “My OTP is finally together!” “This is what fairy tale love looks like!” I scoffed, then casually typed a comment: “Truly touching. Best wishes.” After sending it, I tossed my phone aside and drained the remaining red wine in my glass. A bitter taste spread through my mouth, mirroring the raw emotion churning inside me. Knowing she might win, I’d specifically cleared my schedule. I’d prepared a table full of her favorite dishes and uncorked a cherished bottle of red wine, intending to celebrate with her. Because of Jason, our relationship had steadily deteriorated. I’d tried to confront her countless times, but each attempt ended with her giving me the cold shoulder and me, inevitably, giving in. This time, I had thought, after she won the award, we’d finally have that talk, clear the air. She’d even promised me she’d come home to celebrate with me tonight, putting Jason aside. I sat in front of the TV, brimming with anticipation, waiting for her winning moment, ready to cheer for her, waiting for her to come home. And what did I get? I watched her, tears welling in her eyes, change into a wedding gown. From her assistant’s hand, she took an exquisite velvet box, slowly opening it. Inside lay a pair of rings—a pair I had personally designed, meant for our long-overdue wedding ceremony. “Jason,” she said, her voice filled with deep affection, looking out at the audience. “I know you’ve always been there. Thank you for tolerating all my quirks and shortcomings, for being the man behind me. I…” Her voice caught, tears glistening in her eyes. “For my hundredth little gesture for you… will you marry me?” My wife, on a grand awards stage, before the entire world, had proposed to another man. It was utterly, brutally ironic. I felt like I’d been slapped hard across the face, a scorching pain blooming on my cheeks. 2. She knew how much that ring meant to me, how much thought and effort I’d poured into it. Three years of dating, seven years of marriage. When we got married, her career was just taking off. Her agent insisted that going public would harm her prospects. I understood. I supported her. I willingly became the man in the shadows. She promised that at the right time, she would reveal our relationship. I believed her, and for three years, I worked tirelessly, day and night, designing this wedding ring. I revised it countless times, pouring all my heart and soul into it. I had so hoped it would be a testament to our love. I wanted to give her a magnificent wedding, to personally place this unique ring on her finger, and then tell the world she was my wife. Instead, she put it on Jason’s hand, turning it into a cruel thorn in my heart. My phone screen lit up. It was a video call from Elara. Against my better judgment, I answered. The scene that greeted me sent a chill down my spine. In a bathroom, Elara, dressed in a seductive nightgown I’d never seen before—lace and sheer fabric outlining her graceful figure—was carefully reapplying lipstick in the mirror. Jason held the phone, wearing only a bathrobe. “Honey, what are you doing?” Elara playfully rolled her eyes at him, every curve of her lips and eyelids exuding charm. The call ended. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my phone and typed a message: “Let’s get a divorce.” The message sent, my heart felt hollowed out, empty, leaving only an expanse of bitter emptiness. Three hours later, Elara’s call finally came through, laced with pure venom. “Mark, what the hell is wrong with you? What’s with this sudden divorce talk in the middle of the night?” “I’m home. Where are you?” I asked, my voice cold. “I’m celebrating with the team, why?” Her tone carried a hint of impatience. I scoffed. “Elara, do you really take me for a fool?” Elara’s voice hardened. “Believe what you want! I don’t have time for your drama, I’m busy right now!” Seeing her utter nonchalance, I suddenly felt a profound sense of weariness. “Elara, let’s get a divorce. I’m serious.” I hung up. My mind replayed the last ten years with Elara, every single memory. I picked up my suitcase and walked out of the house without a backward glance. The second floor of my studio had a lounge, a place I usually used for quick naps. Now, it was my temporary refuge. I sat slumped on the cold floor, drinking. In a haze, I dreamt of when Elara and I first got together. She was so young and innocent then, her eyes full of adoration for me. I’d casually mentioned wanting a new gaming console. She’d said, “Waste of money,” but secretly, she’d saved up for ages, scrimping and sacrificing, just to buy it for me. Her joy then was purer than any gift she could have received. 3. I woke the next day with a splitting headache. My phone screen flashed with dozens of unread messages, all from Elara. “Where are you? Why aren’t you answering?” “I bought your favorite matcha cake, when are you coming home?” “Mark, can you please stop being so unreasonable?” “Is this about Jason again? Don’t push it too far!” Unreasonable? Pushing it? I scoffed and blocked her number. When did I become the unreasonable, irrational one in her eyes? Perhaps it was when she started publicly documenting her “100 small gestures for Jason” on social media. I’d questioned her then, and she’d nonchalantly brushed it off. “It’s just to keep up appearances, to grab attention.” I believed her. Again and again, I chose to trust her, lowering my boundaries each time. I convinced myself to understand her, to be empathetic. I thought that once she completed her 100 gestures, she would settle down with me. But I was wrong. Her attitude toward me grew increasingly perfunctory, increasingly impatient. Our arguments became more frequent, each ending with my surrender. I was afraid she would really leave me, even more afraid of losing her. I was forced to accept her late-night trips to the beach with Jason to watch the sunrise. I accepted their passionate kiss in a bar on our anniversary. I even accepted her taking off for a month-long trip abroad with Jason without a word. She never told me about these things; I always found out from her social media updates. Every time I saw them, it felt like a knife twisting in my heart. Everyone else was cheering for their love, while I swallowed all my grievances alone. The ridiculous part was, I still had to pretend everything was normal, asking her, “Busy with work lately?” She’d always answer nonchalantly, “Hmm, I guess.” And then, nothing. It was as if an insurmountable chasm had opened between us. I was an outsider, watching my wife openly flirt with another man. I wanted to let go countless times, but each time I saw her return home exhausted, saw her occasional flashes of vulnerability, my heart softened. I lied to myself, saying it was just for work, just an act. But now I finally understood: I had lost, completely and utterly. An email popped into my inbox, sender: Daniel William, a renowned designer. The email was concise, expressing admiration for my design style and a sincere invitation to join his team. My fingers trembled slightly as I replied, accepting his offer. Deep down, I still wanted to prove that without Elara, without this marriage, I, Mark, could live a more fulfilling life. That afternoon, I was buried in perfecting a design draft in my studio when Elara suddenly appeared. She was wearing a perfectly tailored white suit today, sunglasses hiding her eyes but not the star aura emanating from her. My colleagues couldn’t help but steal glances and whisper about her. She had always been proud; after the first year of our relationship, she never came to my studio again. Before, if she could just come by to see me, I would be ecstatic, like a fool, wanting to tell the whole world she was my wife. But now, I merely gave her a fleeting glance and continued working. “Mark, why aren’t you talking to me?” She walked over, draped her arms intimately around mine, her voice a slight whine. I felt uncomfortable with her closeness, subtly pulled my hand away, and said flatly, “Something wrong?” “Last night, I was too caught up in the celebration, I forgot to celebrate with you. Can we make it up tonight?” “No need, I don’t think we have anything to celebrate.” Elara froze, a hint of hurt in her voice. “Mark, what’s wrong? Are you still angry with me?” “If you don’t have anything important, please go home. I have a lot of work to do,” I said coldly, unwilling to waste any more words on her. She bit her lip, her eyes slightly red. “Don’t be mad. Shall we go to dinner together?” Looking at her pitiful expression and the curious stares of my colleagues, I finally gave in. “Let’s go.” 4. I pulled open the passenger door, only to be met by a pair of men’s slippers. I looked at Elara, expressionless. “Jason’s. I’ll put them in the back,” she stammered, grabbing the slippers and tossing them into the back seat, her embarrassment barely concealed. I said nothing, sliding into the car, but my hand froze before buckling my seatbelt. Tucked into the crease was a used condom, still there. I couldn’t maintain my composure anymore. I snatched the damn thing out and flung it onto the seat. Elara’s face instantly went pale. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Of course, she knew what it meant. I slammed the door and got into the back seat. I watched her coldly, like a stranger, a stranger who made me sick. The white suit she wore today was clearly a matching set with the one Jason posted on his social media last week. I casually glanced at the back seat. Jason’s personal items were scattered everywhere: spare clothes, his usual hairspray, even an unread script… Before, Elara would always complain about my messy things, insisting no clutter in the car, saying it ruined the aesthetic. Now, Jason’s things shamelessly occupied her car. Just like their relationship, shamelessly occupying my life, my marriage. All this time, I had been deceiving myself, deliberately ignoring those glaring details, pretending everything was normal. But now, this car full of “evidence” had slapped me awake, leaving me nowhere to hide. “Mark, listen to me, my hundred gestures for Jason are over. I’ll find a way to go public with us.” Elara’s voice was laced with panic and a plea. Over? So what? The thought of her using my designed ring to propose to Jason in public made me realize this marriage had long ceased to be worth anything. Rain drizzled outside the window. I felt a little drowsy. A jarring screech of brakes jolted me awake. I looked up to see a familiar figure standing in front of the car. Jason. He was soaked through, rain dripping from his hair, his face pale, looking utterly miserable. Elara frantically unlatched the door and rushed out. “Jason, are you okay? Were you hit?” I watched her coldly as she ran to Jason, meticulously checking him for injuries. Elara helped Jason into the car, then turned to me, anxiously. “Mark, Jason’s soaked. Can I drop him home first, then we can go to dinner?” Seeing her frantic expression, the last flicker of hope in my heart died out. “Go ahead and drop him off,” I said expressionlessly. “Pull over somewhere with cover and let me out.” “Mark, why are you being so suspicious again? I’m just worried Jason will get a fever,” Elara frowned, clearly annoyed. “I understand. Just drop me off, then you can go.” I thought I sounded quite composed, even a little nonchalant. Elara’s voice suddenly rose, full of anger and accusation. “Jason has been in the rain for so long; do you really have to be so suspicious now? Will you only be satisfied if he gets sick?” At that moment, Jason weakly spoke up, “Elara, it’s fine. I’ll just call a cab later. Don’t let me disrupt your dinner.” I watched their interaction, finding it incredibly jarring. “No, you can’t. You’re soaked like this, what if you get a fever?” Elara refused without thinking, her voice full of worry. Sitting in the back seat, watching their intimate gestures, I suddenly felt incredibly ridiculous. Elara seemed to lose patience. She snapped at me fiercely: “If you don’t want to come along, then get out now. Don’t waste our time.” She reached to pull me out of the car. A sharp pain pierced my heart, and I let her push me out. The heavy rain poured down, instantly drenching me. I stood by the roadside, watching Elara drive away without hesitation. It was hard to find a cab in the downpour. I walked for a long time before finally reaching a sheltered spot. I was soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. By the time I got back to the studio, I was burning up, my mind hazy. Thankfully, a colleague working late saw me and rushed me to the hospital. In and out of consciousness, I saw my colleague bustling around, buying me porridge, pouring me water. Eating the bland congee, tears streamed down my face, unstoppable. How long had it been since someone cared for me like this? I suddenly remembered how, when we first dated, if I got sick, Elara would drop everything and rush to my side to take care of me. Now, only a colleague was by my side. Upon returning to the studio, I sent Elara an email. The content was simple, just one line: “I’ve drafted the divorce papers. Sign them.” I scrolled through my phone. There were a few messages from Elara, all sent half an hour ago, asking if I had gotten home. Her tone was as demanding as ever, with a perfunctory concern: “Don’t be so childish next time. I’m not going anywhere.” “Learn to be as considerate and generous as Jason, stop being so petty.” “I’ll give you all the security you want, don’t be so small-minded. I’ll come home to stay with you tonight.” Reading these messages, I let out a humorless laugh. She probably hadn’t been back to our house since the awards, having no idea I had already moved out. I expressionlessly blocked her number. Out of sight, out of mind.

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