When my Brigadier General husband took the $100,000 holiday bonus the military issued him and gave it all to a female massage therapist. I completely lost control. I smashed everything in the house that could be smashed and screamed at him with the most vicious words I could find: “Get the hell out of my house! And don’t you dare bring some filthy disease back to me!” Hearing this, Liam Vance simply and calmly crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and let out a mocking laugh: “Right. You’re so high and mighty.” “I wonder who it was that stripped naked and rolled into bed with me at 18, and then went to high school carrying a belly.” The true heart I had once surrendered to him had now become a bullet tearing through my chest. Liam Vance would never know. The exact moment he said those words, I gave up on this marriage. And I gave up on our second child. … The living room was dead silent. The military spouses who had come over to mediate covered their mouths in shock. The deepest wounds can only be inflicted by the people closest to you. I still remember being eighteen. We were just kids. We couldn’t scrape together the money for an abortion clinic, so we had no choice but to buy pills off the street and mix them into a mug of hot tea. In that cramped, tiny bathroom, wave after wave of agonizing, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. Eighteen-year-old Liam held me tight, his back drenched in cold sweat, his tears dropping into my hair. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m a piece of shit. This is all my fault…” And now, that most vulnerable, humiliating past was being dug up by thirty-year-old Liam and weaponized to attack me as “cheap.” All for that massage therapist. The color drained completely from my face. I could barely stand, unable to force a single word out of my mouth. Liam rubbed his temples in frustration. The fellow officers and their wives beside him hastily tried to smooth things over for him: “Chloe, we swear it’s not the General’s fault this time. That girl, Serena, literally ran up to the base gates to block his car.” “Yeah, she fell to her knees crying hysterically, saying she was dying. The General just had a moment of soft-heartedness.” “It’s the holidays! Couples shouldn’t hold grudges overnight. Just talk it out and it’ll be fine!” A long time ago, I used to think the same thing. I thought Liam just pitied Serena. She was a massage therapist from a poor, rural town with barely a high school education. I never imagined he would develop real feelings for her. Until he pulled strings to connect her with the top cardiology specialists at the VA hospital, paying for her treatments year after year. Because she casually mentioned she “hadn’t seen much of the world,” he brought her as his plus-one to the base’s annual formal gala. When she said she was never pampered as a child, he took her to Disney World, awkwardly trying to make up for her so-called “childhood trauma.” They kissed when the Ferris wheel reached its highest point. A tourist snapped a photo and posted it on a local Facebook group, which is how I belatedly found out. The man who was always “swamped with deployments,” who never had time to eat a single dinner with me, had long since become someone else’s rock. We had our first earth-shattering fight. Liam said Serena was the one who threw herself at him. He said he just saw her crying and didn’t have the heart to push her away immediately. The fight ended with him writing a letter of apology and promising never to contact her privately again. But I never expected that what followed would be an endless cycle of suspicion, cold wars, and brief reconciliations. Sometimes it was because of a strange perfume scent on his uniform. Sometimes it was because of ambiguous text messages he received late at night. He became increasingly impatient, increasingly silent. And I became increasingly unhinged, acting more and more like a bitter, paranoid housewife. Today, I was completely exhausted. Liam had given Serena too much. Money, attention, favoritism. So, he might as well take the title of “Mrs. Vance” and give that to her, too. I forced a pale smile at the group. “We won’t be a couple for much longer.” Chapter 2 Liam stared at me in disbelief. “You’re asking for a divorce over a hundred grand?” “Chloe, throwing a tantrum has its limits!” Even to this day, after trampling on my dignity time and time again for that woman. He actually still believed our marriage was unbreakable. How laughable. As the standoff continued, Liam’s phone rang. It was a custom vibration pattern. I immediately knew who it was, and the blood rushed straight to my head. How many late nights, the moment that ringtone sounded, would he leave in a hurry, leaving me alone to face an empty, freezing house? After a few brief words on the phone, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “Where are you going now? You are not leaving!” I simply couldn’t believe it. Before we had even settled things here, he was going to find her again. “We’ll talk when I get back.” “If you walk out that door today, we are getting a divorce immediately!” “General! Say something!” one of the wives pleaded. “Chloe is emotionally unstable right now, you should stay and be with her…” Everyone could see I was on the verge of a total breakdown. He was the only one who turned a blind eye. He didn’t care at all. Liam’s impatient voice cut through the air. “I’ve explained everything that needs explaining. Give her a few days to cool off, she’ll figure it out herself.” “We’ve been married over a decade. We aren’t going to split up over something this trivial.” I listened to the heavy slam of the front door, offering a silent, bitter laugh. On the living room wall, the massive framed portrait of him in his dress uniform and me in my wedding gown had fallen during the earlier chaos. The glass was shattered all over the floor. Tears fell silently. For so many years, I was habitually finding excuses for him, forgiving him time and time again, compromising time and time again. But Liam was no longer that green, teenage boy who would sneak out of his window just to buy me a hot bowl of soup. I was the only one still clinging to the pitiful, fading warmth of those memories, lying to myself. Today, even I couldn’t keep up the lie. I drove straight to the hospital. The doctor told me that because of my previous medical abortion history, my uterine lining was in poor condition. Another abortion could lead to permanent infertility. I listened numbly, nodded, signed the paperwork, and lay down on the operating table. When the cold instruments entered my body, I didn’t cry. I just stared at the blinding white glare of the surgical lights, drifting in a haze back to that suffocatingly hot afternoon when I was eighteen. The bathroom smelled heavily of bleach. Liam was holding me tight, his palms slick with sweat, his eyes full of tears. The pain back then was real. The heartbreak in his eyes was real, too. It’s just a shame that the person he is heartbroken over now is someone else. After the procedure, the nurse helped me sit up and went over the post-op instructions. I leaned against the wall and slowly walked out, every step feeling like I was walking on cotton. The hospital corridor reeked of antiseptic. And right in my most vulnerable, weakened moment, I saw Liam. Chapter 3 He was supporting another woman, wearing the exact expression of gentle tenderness that I used to be so intimately familiar with. I watched them quietly, my heart a wasteland of dead silence. Serena was wearing a hospital gown, leaning bonelessly against Liam’s arm. He seemed to be heading off to fill out some paperwork. He whispered a few comforting words to her, then turned and walked away. When Serena saw me, she froze for a second, then spoke up timidly: “Chloe? What are you doing here… Did you follow us?” “Liam just saw that I was all alone and took pity on me. He kindly brought me in for a checkup. Please don’t be mad, okay?” She enunciated the words “all alone” with deliberate clarity. Waves of cramping pain washed over my lower abdomen. I was in no mood to play her games. Just as I turned to leave, Serena suddenly bit her lip and threw herself at me. “Chloe, that hundred thousand dollars might just be the price of a few designer bags to you, but to me, it’s life-saving money! The doctor said if I don’t get the surgery this time, it’ll be too late. Please, I’m begging you, don’t force me into a corner, okay? Once I’m better, I’ll work like a dog to repay you!” Without warning, she dropped to her knees with a thud, gripping the hem of my pants in a death grip, tears instantly streaming down her face. “I’m begging you, please don’t take away the money for my life, okay? I just want to live!” Her agonizing, pitiful cries echoed through the waiting area. The surrounding patients and families all turned to look, pointing and whispering at me. “What’s going on here? Forcing a sick person to give up their treatment money?” “She looks dressed so nicely, how can she be so cold-hearted?” “Can’t she see the poor girl is on her knees? Saving a life comes first…” I was breaking out in cold sweats from the pain. I tried forcefully to pull my leg free, but Serena used the momentum to collapse limply onto the floor, trembling all over. Liam pushed through the crowd and saw the scene. His face darkened instantly. He yanked Serena up off the floor, looking at me with eyes full of disappointment and irritation: “You followed me to the hospital? Do you really have to be this relentless? Are you actually haggling over the money she needs to survive?” “Chloe, as a military spouse, do you have any compassion left at all?!” When he was called away by Serena on our anniversary, he had accused me with the exact same words. “She has no family, no friends, she’s so pitiful. Can’t you have a little empathy?” “As an officer, I serve the people.” “When did you become so cold?” I was sick to death of hearing these speeches. Whatever. Let him think what he wants. Perhaps days of arguing had exhausted my patience. Or perhaps anger had clouded his judgment. Liam frowned, stepped forward, and shoved my shoulder hard: “Speak! What exactly do you want?!” That shove made my already weak and unsteady footing completely fail. I stumbled backward and crashed heavily onto the floor. My tailbone slammed against the hard, freezing tile, and a tearing, explosive pain ripped through my lower abdomen. Gasps erupted from the crowd. I curled into a ball from the agony. Liam froze. He didn’t understand how I, who usually had excellent physical stamina, could be knocked down so easily. Just like he didn’t understand that during the few hours he had spent rushing around for Serena… The very last tie binding us together had quietly snapped. He instinctively bent down to help me up. I turned my body, avoiding his touch. “Liam.” My voice was incredibly hoarse. “From now on, give her however much money you want. I don’t care. I will never ask about it again.” He stiffened entirely, rooted to the spot. I used my hands to push myself up off the floor and limped out the hospital doors. Standing in the freezing wind outside the hospital, I dialed my lawyer’s number. The lawyer quickly analyzed the situation and told me the division of assets would be heavily in my favor. I listened, but felt no joy in my heart. Only a profound, heavy exhaustion. I returned to the base housing unit that we used to call “home.” As the key turned and the door opened, I heard the soft, delicate laughter of another woman. He actually brought her home. The blood seemed to instantly rush to my head, only to freeze into solid ice the next second. I stood in the entryway, looking into the living room. Serena was wearing my fluffy slippers, holding the insulated thermos I used every day. Liam sat beside her, looking down at his phone, likely researching surgery details. They looked exactly like an old married couple enjoying a peaceful afternoon. Hearing the door, they both looked up simultaneously. Liam stood up, his expression completely normal: “You’re back.” Serena immediately put down the thermos, acting flustered: “Chloe… please, please don’t misunderstand. Liam was just…” “Just what?” I cut her off, trembling with rage. “Liam Vance, what do you think this place is? A hotel? Or your little love nest? Am I invisible to you?!” “Chloe!” Liam frowned deeply. “Can you stop making everything sound so filthy? Serena is about to be admitted for surgery. Her condition is very bad right now; she could go into cardiac arrest at any time. Plus, those blood-sucking relatives of hers from her hometown tracked her down to cause trouble. It’s not safe for her to stay out there alone.” He walked over, trying to grab my arm. His tone carried a rare note of earnestness and apology. “I promise, this is the last time. Once her surgery is done and she’s recovered, I will cut ties with her completely. We’ll go back to living our life, okay?” Living our life? My stomach churned violently. How many times had he said those exact words? Every single “last time” was followed immediately by the next escalation. I exhaled a heavy breath of stale air, pulled the divorce papers from my bag, and slapped them onto the coffee table. “Liam, your promises are completely bankrupt to me.” Chapter 4 The paper hit the wood with a sharp smack. Liam stared dead at the document. He practically growled the words. “Chloe!” “Are you serious? Over a hundred grand? Just because I temporarily took in someone who needs surgery and has nowhere else to go? Are over ten years of our relationship really worth this little to you?!” “Over ten years of our relationship?” I laughed. I laughed so hard tears almost came out. “Liam Vance, you have the nerve to bring up our relationship? Everyone knows you’ve been having an emotional affair for ages!” “I have not!” He denied it vehemently, the rims of his eyes turning red. “I just pity her! You didn’t use to be like this. You used to be so kind. Why have you become so bitter, so petty?” “You’re right. I am bitter, and I am petty.” I nodded, my tone terrifyingly calm. “So, sign the papers. It’s best for both of us.” Liam violently snatched the divorce papers from the table and ripped them to shreds. As if he were infuriated beyond reason, or perhaps to prove something, to retaliate against something, he turned to Serena and forced a smile. “Serena, stop feeling inferior just because you don’t have a degree.” “Look at this ‘highly educated’ college graduate here. Didn’t she follow me into a cheap motel when she was 18?” “On her knees for me in high school, then going to class carrying a belly, hiding in the girls’ bathroom to take abortion pills because she was terrified the teachers would find out.” “You might not have her education, but your character is a million times purer, cleaner, and more self-respecting than hers.” A loud buzz erupted in my brain. My mind went completely blank. My entire body shook uncontrollably. Serena exaggeratedly covered her mouth, her eyes wide as she looked at me, a gleam of unconcealable triumph hidden in the depths of her gaze: “Oh my god… Chloe, you actually… Liam, why didn’t you tell me sooner! That poor baby…” As she spoke, her eyes actually welled with tears. She looked at Liam, “Liam, we should… go pay our respects to that baby sometime? Set up a little memorial, as a way to…” “Shut up!” “You do not have the right to mention my child!” Serena looked at Liam with red eyes, waiting for him to defend her, but the defense never came. Everything from the past completely collapsed in this single moment. The man who toasted my parents at our wedding making promises, the man who stayed by my bedside without leaving for a second when I was sick, the man who smilingly handed over his entire salary for me to manage… All of them mutated into the unrecognizable man standing before me, attacking me with the most vicious words imaginable. Tears poured out like a flood. I could barely stay on my feet. Liam seemed to finally realize what a horrific thing he had just said. His face turned ugly. “Two years ago, when my mom was critically ill, you accompanied Serena out of state to ‘relax’ and find her a specialist. You ignored every single phone call.” “Right before my mom passed, she told me not to blame you. She said you had your responsibilities.” His eyes darted away, afraid to look at me. I gave a tragic smile, choking on my words. “You always say you were wrong, that you’ll change, that you’ll never break my heart again.” “But Liam, the truth is, you’re exactly the same as you were at 18. You never learned how to take responsibility.” “You will forever be indebted to me.” Those words carried too much weight. They hit him so hard his shoulders slumped slightly. He stared off into space, a rare occurrence. I wiped my tears away and smiled. “Thank God, this time I had my own money to pay for the abortion.”

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At the wedding reception, the woman who had stolen my life drifted over to me, a smug, provocative smile playing on her lips. Under the guise of a toast, she leaned in close. “Happy wedding day. Just wanted you to know, I took your billionaire husband and your bridal bed for a test drive last night. He’s incredible.” I couldn’t help myself. I slapped her hard across the face. The very next second, my fiancé, Liam Sterling, grabbed me and furiously slapped me six times in front of everyone. “Chloe Vance doesn’t have a greedy bone in her body! She’s given you everything, and yet you still can’t stand her existence!” “I would rather marry a dog than a classless, pathetic woman like you!” With one command, Liam had me thrown into the deep, lawless backwoods, tossed into a snake pit filled with venomous serpents to “reflect on my actions.” After seven days of torture, my three biological brothers finally came to settle the score. Caleb Vance, the oldest and CEO of the family empire, brutally kicked me, breaking my leg bone. “Chloe Vance cried all night. I’ve already authorized the legal transfer of every asset in your name to her.” Elias Vance, the second oldest and Hollywood movie star, twisted my arm until it snapped. “The family tree will only ever list Chloe Vance’s name. You, on the other hand, are dead to this family.” Gideon Vance, the youngest and a renowned medical prodigy, was the cruellest. He drove a knife straight into my abdomen. “Chloe Vance has had kidney issues since she was a child. To make it up to her, you must give her one of your healthy kidneys!” Before I could utter a single word in my defense, my organs were brutally ripped out of me while I was still alive. Amidst the bone-deep, maddening pain that should have broken my mind, the cold, mechanical voice of the System suddenly pinged in my mind. [Congratulations, Host. You have successfully completed all torturous plotlines assigned to the ‘cannon fodder’ villainess!] [Upon the confirmation of this physical body’s death, you will be transported back to your original world to enjoy a grand prize of $100 Billion USD!] 1 Hearing those words, I suddenly stopped screaming. The despair and agony inside me were instantly replaced by the absolute relief of imminent liberation. My older brothers, Caleb and Elias, had already left with my kidney. Inside the frigid snake pit, only I and my third brother, Gideon Vance, remained. Blood was still gushing from the incision. Gideon frowned in dissatisfaction as he started stitching the wound closed. “If you had just cooperated and donated the kidney earlier, we wouldn’t have had to operate under such primitive conditions.” “You’ve wasted so much of my time. You’re such a pain.” Just last week, Chloe Vance was processing some files when she got a tiny paper cut, so small it was barely visible. Gideon Vance acted like the sky was falling. He called in the nation’s top medical team to assist him in performing emergency bandaging on Chloe Vance, and then personally checked the wound’s healing progress every three hours. But now, facing me, whose entire kidney had been alive excavated, he was actually complaining that basic suturing was too much trouble. Perhaps seeing that I hadn’t moved or made a sound for a while, he leaned over, slapped my face lightly, and injected me with a shot of antibiotics. “Stop acting. I know you’re healthy as a horse. A little scratch like this is nothing to you.” “Aren’t you just trying to act pitiable to make me feel guilty, so you can steal my affection away from Chloe Vance? You are too dark and petty. Since you’ve entered the Vance family, you better learn to suppress your pathetic little schemes!” If this were the past, facing my own flesh and blood’s misunderstanding, I would have cried, my eyes red, pleading that I wasn’t that kind of person. But now, I felt only a numb calm. I closed my eyes and whispered, my voice raw, “You should leave too. I can wait here and die alone.” To me, the fastest way to liberation was to die immediately. But when those words fell into Gideon Vance’s ears, they clearly meant something else. “Elara Vance, what is that supposed to mean? Intentionally saying negative things just to disgust me, right?!” He deliberately pulled the suture violently. The fragile skin and flesh around the edge instantly constricted, dark blood gushing out, bringing with it a剧剧normal person would find absolutely unbearable. Seeing me gasp for air from the pain, my head covered in a cold sweat, a flicker of reluctance flashed in his eyes, and his tone softened slightly. “You are my biological sister. You can’t even imagine how much money and effort we three brothers spent over the years to find you. How could we possibly let you just die like this?” “Ultimately, if you weren’t so petty, unable to stand Chloe Vance, and even slapped her, why would you be suffering like this?” While complaining, he gave me a shot of anesthesia directly into the wound. “Just promise me that when you get back, you will stop making things difficult for Chloe Vance and give her a proper apology.” “I can take you back to the hospital, get you the best treatment, and you won’t have to suffer here anymore.” Listening to his condescending tone, as if he were bestowing a magnificent favor upon me, I felt only a cold, sarcastic chill. Even though I was a transmigrator, I had transmigrated into the body of Elara Vance when I was only six years old. Three years ago, after I had suffered countless hardships, the three Vance brothers found me, tears in their eyes, saying I was their long-lost biological sister, and brought me back to the Vance estate. But after going back, I discovered that the Vance family already had a princess: Chloe Vance, who they had adopted years ago. The first moment I saw her, I recognized her. Years ago, back in the orphanage, it was her who locked me in a small, pitch-black utility closet and impersonated me to go out and meet the Vance family, which is why she was adopted by them. For twenty years, Chloe Vance enjoyed all the Vance family’s care and affection in my place, while I endured all the suffering and misfortune in hers. But whenever she just pretended to be wronged and wrinkled her brow, my three biological brothers would unconditionally stand by her side and accuse me of being petty. Even my fiancé, Liam Sterling, with whom I had an arranged marriage, would only ever have a smile for her, while treating me with nothing but cold, furious glares. I was exhausted by this constant entanglement and pain. I didn’t want to waste another ounce of energy arguing. I simply lifted my hand and violently tore open the incision that had just been stitched shut. When the blood and intestines poured out together, Gideon Vance’s scream was utterly unhinged. “Elara Vance, you’re insane! You’re going to die!” Looking at the tears of panic on his face, I just curled my lips. “Die? That would be wonderful.” “Every second I have to spend alive in this world… makes me feel utterly disgusted!” After finishing that sentence, I could no longer control my sinking eyelids. Then, my head lolled to the side, and I lost consciousness. 2 I don’t know how much time passed before I woke up from the darkness. I thought I had already returned to my original world. When I opened my eyes, the familiar face of my oldest brother, Caleb Vance, was right there. “You’re finally awake.” His eyes were bruised with dark circles, looking like he hadn’t slept well, but his tone was completely devoid of patience. “You’re an adult. Why are you so impulsive?” “Making such a dramatic scene over one little thing… is absolutely beneath a daughter of the Vance family…” At the thought of still having to deal with this rotten world, I felt only a wave of exhaustion. I didn’t have the slightest interest in arguing, so I simply interrupted him, my gaze vacant. “You’re right. I’m an embarrassment. I don’t deserve to exist.” “So, just let me die.” Caleb Vance’s face instantly twisted. He instinctively lifted his hand to slap me. But when he saw my ghostly, pale face, completely devoid of any color, that slap ultimately did not fall. “Elara Vance! I am warning you to stop talking nonsense!” His voice was trembling. The impatience in his eyes faded slightly, hidden beneath a sliver of panic that even he himself didn’t recognize. “I spent so much effort pulling you out of thatSnake Pit. It wasn’t so you could sit here and say ridiculous things!” I curled my lips, revealing a completely cold, humorless smile. Spend effort? More like he’s terrified that if I die, nobody will be left to serve as Chloe Vance’s spare organ bank, and nobody will be left for her to play the pitiable, wronged victim with. Just as I was thinking this, the hospital room door was pushed open, and my youngest brother, Gideon Vance, walked in carrying medication. Seeing that I was awake, a flash of relief crossed his eyes, but when he spoke, his tone was still extremely aggressive. “Since you’re awake, drink your medicine. Don’t force me to have to pour it down your throat!” He held the medicine bowl to my face. The liquid was pitch-black, emitting a bitter aroma. I turned my head away and closed my eyes in refusal: “No need. Waste of medicine.” “You!” Gideon Vance was so angry his hands were shaking, but he didn’t force the medicine down my throat as he normally would. Instead, he placed the medicine bowl on the nightstand and reached out to check my wound. When his fingertips touched the bandage, his movements were actually unusually gentle. For the first time, there was a hint of the tenderness and consideration he normally reserved only for Chloe Vance. “Sure enough, using the best medicine really does speed up the healing process quite a bit…” He re-wrapped the bandage, giving me a vicious glare. “You better behave yourself. If this wound opens up again, I absolutely will not stitch it up a second time!” His words were harsh, but I clearly saw the red veins in his eyes, and the barely detectable tremble in his fingertips. No doubt, he had stayed up many nights watching over me. If it were the past, I would have definitely been moved by this sliver of tenderness, would have held him and cried, pouring out my grievances. But now, I found it only ironic. I broke free from his hand, violently yanked off the duvet, and was about to tear open the incision again. Right now, every second I spent alive was excruciating torture. As long as I could die quickly, I didn’t care about anything. “You’re insane!” Caleb Vance grabbed my arm in a death grip, his force so strong it nearly shattered my bones. But when I groaned in pain, he instantly loosened his grip slightly, only to scream at me, tears in his eyes: “Elara Vance, what exactly do you want to do?” “I want to die.” My tone was flat, like I was speaking about something completely insignificant. “Letting me die is best for everyone.” “You won’t have to be torn, and Chloe Vance can securely be the princess of the Vance family.” “So, please be so kind as to let me die faster.” 3 These words seemed to have struck Caleb Vance’s painful spot. His eyes went red, and he lifted his hand to give me a slap, but it was much lighter than any time he had ever hit me before. It was more like an act of frustrated desperation than punishment. “I absolutely forbid it! You are the biological daughter of the Vance family. Who would dare let you die?” Gideon Vance also panicked. He rushed forward, holding my shoulders, pushing me back onto the bed, his tone carrying a rare note of pleading. “Elara, stop messing around.” “I know you’re in pain, but just heal up. In the future… in the future, I’ll spoil you more, okay?” I looked at the pleading in his eyes, finding it utterly preposterous. What were you doing before? When you were alive excavating my kidney, when you were making such a huge fuss over Chloe Vance’s tiny cut, why didn’t you think about spoiling me then? I closed my eyes, refusing to look at them again. I let Gideon Vance tuck me back in, let him bring the medicine bowl to my lips, but I simply refused to open my mouth. Amidst the stalemate, the door opened, and my second older brother, Elias Vance, walked in, followed by a pale-faced Liam Sterling. Elias Vance’s eyes went red when he saw me. He quickly walked to the bedside. “Elara, I’m so glad you’re awake. You scared your big brother to death.” When I was first recognized by the Vance family, Elias Vance was actually the kindest of all the relatives to me. Not only did he take me all over the country to have fun, but he also told me about the family’s missing and searching for me over the years, often breaking down in tears when he spoke about it. But later, after Chloe Vance had wiped away tears and accused me of things a few times in front of him, his demeanor changed. He accused me of being a hypocritical, superficial person, betraying the family’s true sincerity toward me. Seeing him again, I felt only disgust and moved away from the hand he was trying to use to touch my face. Elias Vance’s hand froze in mid-air, a bitter expression on his face as he withdrew it. Seeing this, Liam Sterling stepped forward, proactively taking the medicine bowl from Gideon Vance’s hands. “I’ll feed her. She might listen to me.” It wasn’t surprising he would be so confident. After all, over the past few years, anyone with eyes could see just how much I tolerantly yielded to this fiancé of mine. I basically loved him to my very bones. Just as he walked toward me, the hospital room door opened again. “Elara Vance, I came to see you.” Chloe Vance, wearing hospital pajamas and looking very weak, walked in. Caleb Vance immediately stood up to help her: “Chloe, you just accepted the kidney transplant surgery, your body is still weak. Why are you here?” Chloe Vance shook her head, her gaze landing on me, her eyes filled with manufactured guilt. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t failed to stop Sister Elara that day, things wouldn’t have gotten to this point.” “My mind is uneasy. I had to come and apologize to her.” As she spoke, she took the bowl from Liam Sterling’s hands and sat on the edge of my bed. “Sister Elara, stop punishing yourself. Drink the medicine and heal up. Everyone is worried sick about you.” “I know you still blame me, but I really didn’t want to steal anything from you. Everything in the Vance family was originally supposed to be yours…” These words appeared to be a retreat, but in reality, every sentence was a hidden accusation that I was petty, holding onto the past, and intentionally using my own body to throw a fit. Before her spoon could touch my lips, I lifted my hand and violently slapped the medicine bowl away. A massive crash echoed as the porcelain bowl shattered on the floor. The scalding hot medicinal liquid splashed all over Chloe Vance, especially on her wrist and the front of her clothes, which instantly turned red from the heat. Chloe Vance gave a dramatic gasp, her eyes instantly red, her voice carrying a cry. “Sister Elara… how could you do this? I was just trying to feed you medicine…” She bit her lip, looking like she was enduring immense suffering, tears welling up in her eyes, a sight that was enough to break anyone’s heart. “Elara Vance! You’re insane!” 4 Caleb Vance was absolutely furious. He yanked Chloe Vance behind him, glaring at me with vicious hatred. “Chloe was kind enough to come see you, even feed you medicine, and this is how you treat her?” Gideon Vance immediately rushed forward to check Chloe Vance’s burn, his tone full of anxiety. “How is it? Does it burn badly? Call a doctor!” Elias Vance also knitted his brows tightly, his gaze filled with complete disappointment. “Elara, you’ve gone too far! Chloe has already proactively apologized. When are you going to stop with this dramatic tantrum?” Liam Sterling also quickly walked to Chloe Vance’s side, pulling out a tissue to wipe her off, his tone laced with accusation. “Elara Vance, can you stop being so immature? Chloe came here with good intentions. Even if you don’t appreciate it, you shouldn’t have violently attacked her.” Several men surrounded Chloe Vance, showering her with excessive concern and care, completely disregarding me—someone who had just been alive excavated of a kidney and whose wound was still throbbing with intense pain. Chloe Vance leaned into Caleb Vance’s arms, secretly casting a得意glance at me, a victorious flash in her eyes, though her mouth was still pretending to plead for me: “I’m fine, don’t blame Sister Elara. She’s just in a bad mood…” This white lotus performance… if this were the past, I would have definitely been shaking from fury. But now, I found it only absurdly hilarious. Such a clumsy, amateurish routine… anyone else would have seen right through it, but these four men, who occupied the very highest peaks in their respective fields, were actually willingly being played for fools by Chloe Vance. Or, as the saying goes, one is willing to beat and the other is willing to endure the beating. I was just an insignificant part of their weird play. “If you want to feel heartbroken for this animal, please take it outside to feel heartbroken. Do not pollute my hospital room.” Hearing my cold, indifferent voice, several men were so angry they were shaking all over. “Elara Vance, it seems you haven’t reflected enough!” Gideon Vance looked at me with profound disappointment, his voice sharp: “From now on, I am stopping all your pain medication!” “Until you’ve cleared your mind, until you are willing to apologize properly to Chloe Vance, then you will get your medication restored.” Caleb Vance also agreed: “Exactly! You should have a good taste of intense pain. Let’s see if you still dare to be so willfully reckless!” Elias Vance let out a sigh, his gaze full of powerlessness, but he did not object. Liam Sterling stood to the side, silently nodding, clearly in agreement with this decision as well. I closed my eyes, not offering any refutation, not feeling any anger. So what if the pain medication was stopped? The pain of the wound was completely insignificant compared to the humiliation and torture I had endured over the past twenty years. Instead, the intense pain would keep me even clearer as I waited for death to arrive. Seeing my completely unmoved attitude, Gideon Vance immediately acted, ripping out my pain pump. The moment the overwhelming, catastrophic wave of pain hit, my closest relatives and fiancé all surrounded Chloe Vance and walked out, looking deeply concerned for her. Until the door was slammed shut with a massive BANG, not a single person looked back. Ignoring the blood dripping from the corner of my lips, I pulled out a sharp porcelain bowl shard I had covertly hidden under my pillow just now, and slashed it toward my throat without a second of hesitation. As I collapsed again, I could feel the strength in my body slowly draining away. The pain of the wound gradually faded into the distance. My heartbeat got slower and slower… The moment the darkness fully descended, I actually let out a small laugh. This suffocating, painful life was finally over. … Out in the hallway, after the group had walked quite a distance, Caleb Vance, who was in the front, suddenly halted his footsteps. “You guys go accompany Chloe to get that burn treated. I… I don’t feel quite at peace. I’m going back to check on Elara.” The second he said that, Elias Vance immediately cut him off: “I’ll go. Elara is truly angry this time. Out of all the relatives in the Vance family, she and I had the best relationship. It should be me who goes to coax her.” Gideon Vance was unhappy upon hearing this. “Listen to that. Like anyone here isn’t Elara’s biological brother!” “You guys are amateurs. Elara needs a doctor right now. I should be the one going back.” Seeing them simultaneously turn to walk back, Liam Sterling knit his brows, giving a apologetic smile to Chloe Vance, who still hadn’t processed what was happening. “They are all going. As her husband, it would be inappropriate for me not to go.” “Besides, your burn isn’t very serious. Go get it treated yourself. When I’m done, I’ll go see you.” Finished speaking, not even giving Chloe Vance a chance to react, he chased after the three Vance brothers’ footsteps. But when they pushed open the door of the hospital room they had only just left, a thick, suffocating smell of blood came rushing directly toward them.

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On the eve of our wedding, a heavily pregnant college student showed up at our door. My usually ruthless and decisive fiancé, Liam, immediately dropped to his knees and apologized to me. “I was drunk that night, I thought it was you. I swear it will absolutely never happen again.” The young girl, blushing, admitted that she saw Liam was wealthy and wanted to use the baby to secure her future. Liam personally took her to the clinic for an abortion. For the next six years, our marriage was the picture of perfect devotion. Until our sixth anniversary, when I held my positive pregnancy test, ready to completely turn the page and start a family. I was carrying a box of his favorite cake, arriving at the hotel where he was supposedly on a business trip. Just as I stepped out of the elevator onto his floor… I heard a woman’s voice coming from around the corner, holding a six-year-old boy and sending a sickly-sweet voice memo. “You’re so bad… you insisted on finishing inside last night. My legs still feel like jelly.” “You have to go easy on me tonight, or I’m going to give you the silent treatment.” I couldn’t help but marvel at how open people were these days, and out of sheer curiosity, I took a glance. My entire body froze in place. It was that exact same college student from six years ago. 1 Chloe seemed not to recognize me. She continued recording her voice memo, her tone soft and seductive. “Make sure you shower and wait for me. I’m going to wring you dry tonight.” “I don’t want strawberry flavor today, I want cheesecake~” “Mommy, I want to eat the strawberry tart Daddy bought!” The little boy called out in a sweet, childish voice. Chloe crouched down and kissed his cheek: “Okay, Daddy is waiting for us in the room. Be a good boy. When you see Daddy, you have to tell him how much you missed him.” With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and sent Liam a text: [Honey, are you busy?] The top of the chat window continuously showed “Typing…”. But after a full minute, no message came through. I dialed his number. “We’re sorry, the number you have reached is turned off…” It seemed he had turned his phone off so he wouldn’t be disturbed. Chloe held the child’s hand, her hips swaying seductively as she walked to the presidential suite at the end of the hall. She raised her hand and knocked lightly three times, a cheerful rhythm. A large, distinctively masculine hand reached out, grabbing Chloe’s slender waist. He pulled her and the child inside. In the second before the door closed, through the crack, I clearly saw Liam’s familiar face. He was smiling so tenderly. He lowered his head to kiss Chloe’s forehead, his eyes full of absolute adoration. Then he scooped up the little boy, put him on his shoulders, and made funny faces to make the child laugh. Click. The door shut in my face, cutting off the happy laughter of their family of three. A wave of dizziness hit me. My feet felt as heavy as lead. The scenes from the past six years flashed through my mind like a movie reel. I remembered how, no matter how late he worked, he would always cook me healthy soups, insisting takeout wasn’t good for me. I remembered how every time he traveled for work, he would send me his itinerary and bring back a suitcase full of my favorite local treats. I remembered three years ago when he had the opportunity to transfer to the London office and be promoted to Executive VP. But because I wasn’t used to living abroad, he gave it up without a second thought. He had said: “Rylee, what’s the point of conquering the world if I don’t have you by my side?” That night, I was so moved I cried in his arms until dawn. I also remembered the day we got our marriage license six years ago. Chloe, heavily pregnant, stood crying hysterically outside the courthouse, begging me to step aside. Liam’s face had turned pale with rage. He dragged Chloe into his car, saying he was taking her to the hospital. Three hours later, he came back alone. His hands were covered in blood, and his shirt was stained with it. He dropped to his knees in front of me, knocking his forehead against the ground: “Honey, the mistake has been taken care of.” “Please, give me one chance. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” Those blood-soaked hands became a nightmare I couldn’t shake for six years. But they also became the ironclad proof that made me believe he had truly changed. To give me peace of mind, he even voluntarily got a vasectomy. “Rylee, we don’t need kids. You are the only one I want for the rest of my life.” The vows were still ringing in my ears, but the man had completely changed. My phone vibrated suddenly. My mom sent a text: [How is it? Did you tell Liam the good news about the pregnancy? He must be thrilled!] Fighting back the urge to vomit, my fingers trembling, I typed a reply: [Just got to the hotel. Haven’t had a chance to tell him yet.] 2 After sending the message, I turned and walked toward the elevator. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I forced them back down. I sat on a sofa in the hotel lobby, waiting quietly. Ten minutes later, the elevator doors opened. Liam had changed into a navy blue button-down shirt, with gold-rimmed glasses resting on his high nose bridge. He looked refined and elegant, showing absolutely no trace of the degenerate behavior happening in that room just moments ago. When he saw me, his pupils constricted, and his footsteps halted for half a second. But he quickly adjusted his expression and walked briskly toward me. “Honey!” He crouched in front of me, his face full of concern, and reached out to hold my icy hands: “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to get some rest at home?” “Traveling is exhausting. I didn’t want you to strain yourself.” I discreetly pulled my hands away and pointed to the cake box on the table: “Today is our sixth anniversary. I wanted to surprise you.” Liam glanced at the cake, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, honey. It’s my fault I have to travel on a day like today.” “This is from your favorite bakery, right? Thank you so much.” Just then, the phone in his suit pocket vibrated. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, his expression shifting slightly, and then naturally hit ‘decline’ right in front of me. “Just a spam call.” He explained, but his eyes couldn’t meet mine. Watching his guilty demeanor, I sneered inwardly. My gaze swept over his collar. Even though he had purposely buttoned his shirt all the way up to the top. As he looked down, my sharp eyes still caught the edge of a hickey on his neck. Liam seemed to notice my gaze. He instinctively adjusted his collar, stood up, and said: “Honey, I have an incredibly important overseas conference call this afternoon.” “How about you go sit in the café for a bit, maybe get some hot milk? Once my meeting is over, I’ll come right down and take you out for a massive dinner, okay?” I abruptly stood up and grabbed the cake from the table. “No need. Since you’re busy, I won’t bother you.” With that, I turned and headed for the hotel entrance. Liam obviously didn’t expect this reaction and hurriedly chased after me, grabbing my arm. “Rylee, are you mad because I don’t have time to be with you right now?” “Be good, don’t throw a tantrum. This project is really critical for the company…” As he spoke, he leaned in, trying to kiss my cheek to coax me. As he got closer, the smell of baby lotion drifted into my nose. “Don’t touch me!” I violently shook off his hand and stepped back twice. Liam froze, his outstretched hand suspended in mid-air. “Rylee?” I stared at him, forcing down the bitterness in my heart. “I’m tired. I want to go home. Go do your work.” Liam checked his watch, hesitated for a moment, and still chose that mother and son. “Honey, please don’t be mad. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I get back. That necklace you had your eye on? I already had someone buy it for you.” With that, he quickly turned and walked briskly back into the hotel. Watching his eager, retreating back, I stood on the sidewalk, trembling all over. Two cleaning ladies passing by were chatting. “Wow, the guy in the presidential suite really dotes on his wife and kid.” “Yeah, every time he comes, he specifically asks for the baby crib with rounded edges. Says he’s afraid the kid will bump his head.” “Just now I saw him peeling shrimp for the woman. Tsk, makes you jealous.” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I raised my hand and threw the cake box directly into a nearby trash can. 3 I flagged down a cab and headed straight for the train station. Along the way, my hands and feet were freezing, but my mind was exceptionally clear. I opened Instagram, searched the location tag for the hotel, and typed in keywords: “baby,” “anniversary.” Quickly, a mommy-blogger account named “Chloe’s Darling Life” popped up. Her latest post was from half an hour ago. In the photo, a man was holding a little boy, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the city skyline. The caption read: [Daddy finally finished work and came to celebrate our sixth birthday with us! Baby wished that Daddy and Mommy would be together forever. Love you, hubby~] The background was unmistakably that presidential suite. I kept scrolling down, my thumb swiping faster and faster, my heart growing colder and colder. This account had documented an entire six years. From prenatal checkups, giving birth, postpartum recovery, to the boy learning to walk and starting kindergarten. At every major milestone, that man—always shown only from behind or in profile—was there. Finally, I scrolled to her pinned post. It was a photo of a pink diamond tennis bracelet, with the caption: [Someone insisted on buying me this flashy thing, saying it’s a limited edition. But how am I supposed to hold the baby wearing this? It’s too scratchy. It’s just sitting in my jewelry box now.] I looked closely. It was the exact limited-edition pink diamond bracelet I had been obsessing over but couldn’t bring myself to buy. A follower commented below: [Wow, Chloe, your husband loves you so much! So jealous!] Chloe replied: [He said six years ago that he chose us, and he would love us for the rest of his life.] Large drops of tears smashed onto the phone screen, blurring my vision. Right then, Chloe posted a new update. The camera panned over a floor covered in red roses, ending on a nightstand with an opened box of condoms. In the video, Chloe’s sickly-sweet voice could be heard: “Hubby, for our next baby, do you want a boy or a girl?” Immediately after, Liam’s deep, laughing voice replied: “As long as it’s yours, I don’t care.” My entire body was shaking uncontrollably. Unable to stop myself, I dialed Liam’s number with trembling fingers. It rang for a long time. Just as it was about to go to voicemail, the call connected. “Hello? Honey?” Liam sounded slightly out of breath. I took a deep breath, forcing down the tremor in my voice: “Liam, if… if I was pregnant, would you be happy?” There was a two-second silence on the other end. Then came Liam’s gentle, reassuring laugh: “Silly, didn’t I get a vasectomy? How could you be pregnant?” “Besides, giving birth hurts too much. I couldn’t bear to see you suffer.” Just then, Chloe’s seductive, urging voice could be faintly heard in the background: “Hubby… the bath is ready, hurry up…” Though the voice was quiet, in the dead of night, it was incredibly loud. Liam obviously panicked for a second, speaking hurriedly. “Honey, the signal is bad here. What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll take you out after my meeting.” I stared at the pregnancy test results in my hand and spoke flatly. “No need. I suddenly lost my appetite.” I could practically hear Liam let out a sigh of relief on the other end: “Then get some rest early, honey. I pulled a few all-nighters for this project and I’m really exhausted. I’ll make it up to you when I get back. Be good.” Hearing the dial tone as he hung up, I let out a self-deprecating laugh. When the train arrived, I took a cab straight to the clinic. I lay on the operating table, watching the anesthesia slowly push into my IV. “Ms. Miller, are you absolutely certain? The fetus is developing very healthily.” The doctor asked for final confirmation. “I’m certain.” I closed my eyes, tears sliding silently down my temples. After the procedure, I lay in bed at home for two full days. During those two days, Liam called dozens of times. I didn’t answer a single one. On the third day, my mother-in-law called. “Rylee, tonight is Liam’s 30th birthday, we’re having a family dinner at the estate. Your parents and your brother are already here. Get ready and come over.” 4 I agreed, put on a full face of makeup, slipped into a striking, crimson evening gown, and pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Thorne estate. My mother grabbed my hand, frowning at me: “Rylee, where have you been these past two days? Liam said you were throwing a tantrum and you wouldn’t answer your phone.” My brother, Ethan Miller, walked over, his brow furrowed: “Why are you so pale? Did Liam do something to you?” Before I could answer, Liam walked over briskly. He naturally wrapped an arm around my waist, coaxing me in a low voice: “Honey, are you still mad that I didn’t spend the day with you?” “I promise, I’ll never go to another meeting like that again.” Saying that, he pulled out a velvet box and opened it like presenting a treasure. It was the exact limited-edition pink diamond bracelet Chloe had called “flashy” and “scratchy.” “I pulled a lot of strings to win this at an auction. I think only my wife is worthy of its beauty.” Liam looked at me with deep affection. I didn’t take it. I picked up a glass of red wine from a passing waiter and threw the contents directly into Liam’s face. “Rylee! What are you doing!” My mother gasped, standing up and rushing over to grab my hand. My mother-in-law froze, and when she recovered, her face was ugly: “Rylee, Liam treats you so well! Even if you have a little temper, you need to know when and where to show it!” Liam wiped the wine off his face, surprisingly not angry at all. He gave a bitter smile and waved it off to the elders: “It’s fine. It’s my fault I neglected Rylee on my business trip. She’s upset, let her get it out of her system.” My mom quickly tried to smooth things over, smiling and changing the subject: “Rylee went to the hospital for a checkup a few days ago, and we have good news! Liam has been talking about it non-stop these past few days. If you guys can have a baby, he says his life will be complete.” Liam froze, then looked at me with an expression of wild ecstasy. “Honey, you’re pregnant? I’m going to be a dad?” I sneered, pulled the abortion clinic paperwork from my designer clutch, and slapped it onto the table. “I was pregnant. But I already had it aborted.” The ecstasy on Liam’s face instantly froze. He stumbled backward, his eyes turning bloodshot. “Why?” I pulled the divorce papers from my clutch and threw them in his face. “Liam Thorne, I’ve already seen Chloe Davis and your six-year-old son.” “After six years, aren’t you exhausted from all the acting?”

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In the blinding neon glare of the VIP lounge, the crystal chandelier scattered fractured beams of light across the room. The clinking of glasses, raucous laughter, and drinking games blurred together into a chaotic roar that made my eardrums throb. I leaned back in the deepest corner of the leather sofa, an unlit cigarette pinched between my fingers. The cold light caught the dial of my Patek Philippe watch. Dressed in an immaculate, bespoke Italian black suit without a single crease, I exuded an unapproachable distance that felt entirely out of place in this loud, suffocating environment. “Ethan! Ethan, man!” Someone with sharp eyes spotted me through the dense crowd and raised a glass, his voice booming over the blasting pop music. “The biggest nerd in our graduating class is now the CEO of a publicly traded tech empire! We have to toast to you!” The room erupted in laughter, and several others eagerly chimed in. “No kidding! Who would have thought? Back in the day, Ethan used to walk across three different quads just to catch a glimpse of Sarah at the dining hall. And what happened? She turned around and got together with Brad! Man, people clowned on him so hard back then!” “Hey, don’t say that! It was a blessing in disguise! If he hadn’t been so crushed, would Ethan have buried his head in his books, snagged a full ride to grad school, moved out to Silicon Valley, and built his startup into what it is today?” The gossip buzzed in my ears. I let out a faint, cynical smirk but didn’t say a word. I simply raised my glass of whiskey and took a slow sip. The harsh liquid burned down my throat, but it couldn’t quite extinguish the old, familiar itch rising from the depths of my memory. Nobody here knew how that “nerd” had survived countless freezing nights, eating cheap ramen while cramming for exams. Nobody knew that when I was in grad school, I lived in an unheated basement apartment to save on rent, my hands covered in frostbite as I stayed up coding until dawn. Nobody knew that during the early days of my startup, when we were on the verge of bankruptcy, I stood on a rooftop all night in the freezing wind, clutching a business proposal that was soaked through with my own nervous sweat. I never told anyone about that pain. And the only thing that had kept me going—aside from sheer, stubborn ambition—was the memory of a girl in a white dress walking away from me on the elm-lined campus walkway. Sarah. For twenty years, that name had been a thorn buried deep in my heart. I had never pulled it out, but slowly, it had stopped hurting. Right at that moment, the heavy door to the VIP room was pushed open. The noise in the room died instantly, as if someone had hit the pause button. All eyes snapped toward the doorway. I looked up, too. Silhouetted against the hallway light stood a frail, exhausted figure. The woman wore a simple, unadorned linen dress, her hair pulled back into a messy bun that exposed her thin neck. She was so gaunt it looked like a strong gust of wind might blow her away. But that face, even weathered by time, was instantly recognizable. It was Sarah. Twenty years later, the radiant, confident girl from college was gone. Her brow was lined with profound exhaustion. Only her eyes still held a faint trace of the lively spirit I once knew. But right now, those eyes were brimming with anxiety, helplessness, and a heavy, unshakable guilt. Her gaze cut through the crowd and landed directly on me. It was as if, across two decades of time, she had perfectly located the boy who used to be madly in love with her. The room was eerily quiet; you could hear a pin drop. Someone muttered under their breath, “Sarah? Why is she here… Where’s Brad?” Those words were like a needle, popping the dusty membrane over my memories. Scenes from the past flooded my mind without warning. I remembered the summer I was eighteen. The elm leaves blocked out the sky, and sunlight filtered through the gaps, landing on Sarah’s white dress, blindingly bright. I was clutching a three-page love letter, my palms sweating, my voice trembling: “Sarah, I like you. Will you… be my girlfriend?” I remembered Sarah biting her lip, her brows furrowed in apology, yet her tone undeniably firm: “Ethan, I’m sorry. I know you’re a great guy, but… I like Brad.” I remembered Brad walking up from behind her, a smug smirk on his face. He threw an arm around her shoulders and raised an eyebrow at me, his tone dripping with mockery: “Hey man, you can’t force these things, right?” I remembered the wind howling that day, scattering the elm leaves across the ground, and blowing away all the joy of my youth. I remembered hiding in the darkest corner of the campus library, listening to the muffled sounds of Brad and Sarah laughing outside. I gripped my pen so hard it snapped in half. The ink splattered across my notebook in an ugly, black stain—just like how I felt inside. After that day, I never spoke a single word to Sarah again, and I never acknowledged Brad. I poured every ounce of my energy into my classes and tech competitions. Like a cornered, enraged beast, I ran toward one single goal: to become stronger. Strong enough that everyone would have to look up to me. “Ethan.” Sarah’s voice, soft and carrying a barely detectable tremble, pulled me back to reality. She gripped the hem of her dress and walked toward me step by step, her white canvas shoes slightly dusted with dirt. When she reached my table, she stopped and lowered her head, not daring to meet my eyes. “Long time no see.” I withdrew my gaze. I crushed the unlit cigarette between my fingers, letting the shredded tobacco fall into the ashtray. I looked up at her, my eyes as calm as a stagnant pool. “Can I help you?” No pleasantries. No small talk. Not even a ripple of emotion. It was as if the woman standing in front of me was just an irrelevant stranger. Sarah’s face paled. She bit her lower lip, her voice dropping even softer. “I… I’ve been looking for you for a long time. Can we… talk privately?” I raised an eyebrow, scanning the room. Some people were gloating, others were hungry for gossip, and in the corner, Brad was holding a beer, glaring at us with a dark, resentful expression. I stood up slowly, my long fingers adjusting the hem of my suit jacket. “Let’s go.” As I walked past Brad, he reached out to block me, his tone laced with a forced, aggressive familiarity. “Ethan. Long time no see. Have a drink before you go?” I didn’t break my stride. I didn’t even glance at him, leaving him with nothing but a cold shoulder. Brad’s hand froze in mid-air, his face turning an ugly shade of red and white. An Apology Twenty Years Late In the emergency stairwell at the end of the hallway, only the dim, yellow backup lights were on. It stretched our shadows out thin and long against the concrete—like two parallel lines that could never intersect. The heavy steel door was shut tight, completely cutting off the noise from the lounge. The only sound was our slightly labored breathing. Sarah spoke first. Her voice choked with tears, her eyes rimmed with red. “Ethan. I’m sorry.” Three words. Twenty years late. I leaned against the freezing concrete wall, my hands shoved into my suit pockets, just looking at her. I didn’t say anything. Under the dim light, I could clearly see the fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the bloodshot veins in her sclera. She looked incredibly haggard. She was practically a different person from the radiant, smiling girl in my memory. “Back then… I shouldn’t have treated you like that.” Tears fell without warning, splashing onto her plain dress and leaving dark, damp spots. “I know you spent a long time writing that love letter. I heard later that you dug through dozens of poetry books and stayed up for nights…” She wiped her face, her shoulders shaking. Her voice was thick with regret. “I was too young and stupid back then. I just thought Brad was exciting. He could take me to concerts, make me laugh, give me a thrill. I never realized my rejection would hurt you so deeply. And I never considered that getting together with Brad would turn you into the laughingstock of our entire class…” “Later, when I saw you burying yourself in the library every single day, when I saw how much weight you lost, how you were solving equations even during breaks… I felt incredibly guilty.” Sarah sniffled, her words disjointed. “I wanted to apologize to you, but I was too scared. I was afraid you hated me, afraid you didn’t want to see me…” I remained silent, just listening quietly. My gaze rested on her face, but it felt like I was looking right through her, seeing that young, broken boy hiding in his dorm room, secretly wiping away his tears. How pathetic was I back then? After she rejected me, the whole class gossiped about it. Some said I was out of my league, a toad trying to eat swan meat. Some said I deserved it—who told me to aim so high? Others pointed behind my back, calling me a spineless loser. Back then, my only thought was to get stronger. Strong enough that no one would ever dare laugh at me again. Strong enough to make Sarah regret it. Strong enough that… I would never have to shrink myself down into the dirt for anyone, ever again. “Brad and I broke up less than two years later,” Sarah’s voice pulled me back. “During our junior year, he cheated on me with a sorority girl from another major. That was when I realized ‘excitement’ is the most unreliable thing in the world.” She gave a bitter, sorrowful smile. “After the breakup, I was a mess for a long time. I used to see you in the library a lot. You always sat by the window. The sunlight would hit you, and you looked so focused reading your books. Back then, I kept thinking… if only…” “There are no ‘if onlys’.” I finally spoke. My voice was light, but it carried an undeniable, absolute certainty. Sarah froze, looking up at me with tear-blurred eyes. “Even if you had never existed, I still would have made it to where I am today,” I said, looking her dead in the eye, pronouncing every word clearly. “Your rejection was, at best, a minor catalyst. The thing that actually pushed me forward was me. It was the nights I stayed up coding, the days I gritted my teeth and endured, the ambition in my bones.” I paused, then added, “It didn’t have much to do with you.” Sarah’s tears fell even harder. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her dress. She had always assumed my years of relentless struggle were somewhat tied to her. She thought I still harbored some lingering affection for her deep down. But my words were a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the last, faint flicker of hope in her heart. “I know it’s too late to say any of this now.” Sarah took a deep breath, as if making a massive decision. She reached into her canvas tote bag, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, and handed it to me. “Please. Just look at this.” I looked down. It was a medical diagnosis from a hospital. The handwriting was a bit messy, but the words were unmistakable: Pancreatic Cancer. Terminal. My pupils constricted slightly. I had noticed her complexion was terrible, but I hadn’t expected something this fatal. “I have cancer. Terminal.” Sarah’s voice was as light as a feather, as if a breeze could blow her away. “The doctors say I don’t have much time left.” She looked at me, the guilt in her eyes so dense it was suffocating. “For the last twenty years, I’ve regretted it every single day. I regretted my immaturity, I regretted humiliating you, I regretted… not apologizing to you sooner.” “I’m not looking for you to beg for forgiveness. I just… I didn’t want to leave this world carrying this guilt.” Sarah’s voice carried a hint of pleading. “Ethan, can you… forgive me?” Only her muffled sobbing echoed in the stairwell. I looked at the diagnosis, then at the tear-streaked woman standing in front of me. In my heart, there was no hatred. There was no resentment. There wasn’t even a ripple of emotion. I thought about the boy twenty years ago, crying under his covers because he was rejected. I thought about the version of me in the library, turning all my humiliation into fuel. I thought about the arduous, brutal path I had walked to get to where I am today. Those memories had long been smoothed over by time. Did I hate her? Maybe, once upon a time. But now? Not anymore. Brad’s Provocation and the Hidden Truth Before I could answer, the heavy steel door to the stairwell was violently thrown open. Brad stormed in. He gripped a beer bottle, his face terrifyingly dark. His eyes were filled with aggression as he glared daggers at Sarah and me. “Sarah! What the hell are you doing out here?!” Brad’s voice was furious. He marched over and reached out to grab her arm. “Get back inside! What are you doing embarrassing yourself at a college reunion?!” Sarah violently dodged his hand, her brows knitting together tightly. “Brad, stop making a scene!” “I’m making a scene?” Brad acted like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. He pointed at me, sneering. “I think you’ve lost your damn mind! It’s been twenty years and you’re still chasing after him? Did you forget how he used to be the biggest joke in our class?” “Enough!” Sarah’s voice spiked, filled with exhaustion. “Brad, please, just stop talking.” “Why shouldn’t I talk?” Brad’s gaze locked onto me, burning with jealousy and bitterness. “Ethan, you think you’re hot shit now, huh? A big-shot CEO! But don’t you ever forget, if it weren’t for me and Sarah, you wouldn’t be where you are today! You should be thanking us!” I frowned slightly. The thing I hated most was people attributing my success to some pathetic college heartbreak. My success was built step by step, with my own blood, sweat, and tears. It wasn’t given to me by anyone, and it certainly wasn’t fueled by some cheap romantic trauma. “Brad,” my voice dropped a few degrees. “My success has absolutely nothing to do with you, or Sarah. You don’t need to flatter yourself.” “What the fuck did you just say?!” Brad was triggered. He stepped forward, raising his fist to swing at me. “You arrogant piece of shit! If I hadn’t—” “I said enough, Brad!” Sarah suddenly screamed. She stepped in front of me, looking at Brad with pure disappointment. “When are you going to stop? Have you forgotten what actually happened back then?!” Brad froze mid-motion. His face instantly drained of color, a flash of panic crossing his eyes. I looked between the two of them, a hint of confusion surfacing in my mind. What actually happened? Was there a hidden truth to what went down twenty years ago? Sarah turned around to look at me, fresh tears welling in her eyes. She took a deep breath, as if resolving to finally unearth a secret she had buried for two decades. “Ethan, back then… I didn’t get together with Brad just because I liked him.” Her voice trembled. “During our junior year, my dad’s business failed. He went completely bankrupt and owed a massive amount of debt. Aggressive creditors were showing up at our house every day, threatening me and my mom.” My pupils shrank. I had known absolutely nothing about this. “I was losing my mind.” Sarah choked on a sob. “Brad found out. He came to me and said he could help. His family was wealthy, and he offered to pay off a significant chunk of the debt. But… he had a condition.” Sarah bit her lip, her voice dropping to a whisper. “His condition was that I had to be his girlfriend.” My heart gave a sudden jolt. I looked at her, a flash of shock in my eyes. I had never imagined that there was such a dark, desperate reason behind her choosing Brad. “I was at a complete dead end.” Tears fell like broken pearls from Sarah’s eyes. “My dad fell terribly ill from the stress. My mom cried every single day. Brad was the only person who could save us. I didn’t have a choice.” “So, when you confessed to me… I had to reject you.” She looked into my eyes, her own filled with immense guilt. “I couldn’t drag you down with me. You were a brilliant student. You had a bright future ahead of you. I couldn’t let my family’s mess ruin your life.” “And…” Sarah’s voice grew even quieter. “Brad threatened me. He said if I didn’t agree, he would hire people to come to the campus and broadcast my family’s bankruptcy to the entire university. I didn’t want everyone to look at me like a joke… and I especially didn’t want you to look at me like a joke.” Brad stood off to the side, his face ghostly pale, his lips trembling, but he couldn’t utter a single word. I was stunned. I looked at her tear-stained face, and it felt like something had gently struck my heart. So that was the truth. For twenty years, I thought she had rejected me simply because she liked the excitement Brad offered. I thought I was just a pathetic, discarded loser. I never knew she was hiding so much pain and helplessness behind her choice. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice carrying a barely noticeable huskiness. “Maybe I could have helped you.” “You couldn’t have helped.” Sarah shook her head, tears blurring her vision. “You were just a broke college kid, same as me. How could you have helped? I didn’t want to drag you into a life of being harassed by loan sharks.” She gave a bitter smile. “I thought choosing Brad would solve my family’s problems. But I never realized… he was just a predator. He paid off some of the debt, but it was only to possess me. It didn’t take long before he got bored and cheated on me.” “Eventually, my dad recovered. We slowly paid off the rest of the debt ourselves.” Sarah looked at me, her eyes full of regret. “But I lost so much. I lost my dignity. And I lost… the right to love you.” The stairwell fell into a dead silence. What We Miss is Just Our Youth The yellow emergency light cast a hazy, ambiguous glow over our faces, each harboring vastly different emotions. I looked at Sarah, a complex storm brewing in my chest. So, the “white rose” of my youth wasn’t the carefree, radiant girl I had pictured in my head all these years. Behind her smile, she had hidden so much suffering and despair. Brad kept his head down and left the stairwell without another word. The heavy steel door slammed shut behind him with a dull thud, breaking the suffocating silence. Sarah’s emotions slowly leveled out. She wiped her eyes and looked at me with a sense of relief. “I’ve held onto those words for twenty years. Now that I’ve finally said them, I feel so much better.” I was quiet for a moment before asking, “How is your health right now?” She smiled, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Not great. The chemo is agonizing. My hair is all gone. I’m wearing a wig today.” She reached up and gently touched her hair, a self-deprecating tone in her voice. “Does it look awful?” “No,” I shook my head. Her eyes welled up again. She looked at me and asked softly, “So… do you forgive me?” I looked into her eyes. They were so full of hope. I stayed silent for a few seconds, then nodded gently. “I forgive you.” That answer made Sarah let out a sigh of relief, yet it also brought an inexplicable, profound sense of loss to her heart. She felt like things shouldn’t be this way. She had thought I would hate her, that I would interrogate her, or at least yell at her. But I didn’t. My calmness was like a thick glass wall, permanently shutting her out of my world. “Actually…” Sarah hesitated, then spoke softly. “Over the years, I sometimes thought about our college days. I thought about how you used to save a seat for me in the library. How you brought me hot milk. How your eyes would sparkle like there were stars in them when you looked at me.” I looked at her, not saying a word. I thought about those things too. I remembered the summer I was eighteen, the girl in the white dress under the elm trees. I remembered the dimples framing her smile. I remembered her gentle voice when she asked to borrow my notes. Those memories were like yellowed, vintage photographs, locked away in the deepest vault of my heart. “I always thought I couldn’t forget you,” Sarah said, her voice laced with confusion. “I always thought my guilt all these years was because I still loved you.” I cut her off. My voice was light, but every word was crystal clear. “Sarah. You don’t miss me.” Sarah froze, looking up at me. “You miss the girl who dared to love and hate so fearlessly. You miss the carefree youth you used to have,” I said, looking out the small window at the neon-lit city sky—a sky that looked exactly like the one above our old campus night market. “Just like me.” I paused, then continued, “I used to think I couldn’t forget you, either. I couldn’t forget the look in your eyes when you rejected me. I couldn’t forget seeing you walk away with Brad. I used to think I worked so hard just to make you regret it.” “But later, I realized that the thing I couldn’t let go of was never you.” I turned back to look into her eyes, my gaze filled with total closure. “The thing I couldn’t let go of was the boy I used to be. The insecure, sensitive boy who made his crush his entire universe.” “It was that chaotic, heartbreaking, but incredibly pure youth.” Sarah stared at me, dumbfounded. The tears spilled over once again. But this time, it wasn’t out of guilt. It wasn’t out of regret. It was out of absolute closure. It was true. She didn’t miss Ethan Wright. She missed the version of herself that was young and willing to risk everything. She missed the days when my eyes would light up just by looking at her. That was the most beautiful testament to her youth. And what I missed wasn’t her, either. I missed the reckless, passionate boy I used to be. I missed the years I spent fighting tooth and nail for a single goal. We didn’t miss each other. We just missed the youth we could never get back. “Ethan.” Sarah wiped away her tears and gave me a relieved smile. This smile stripped away all the guilt and exhaustion, finally showing a glimpse of the radiant girl from twenty years ago. “Thank you.” Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for releasing me from twenty years of guilt. Thank you for helping me understand that the fading of a first love isn’t a tragedy—it’s just growing up. Looking at her smile, I smiled too. I reached out and gently patted her shoulder, like an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. “Focus on your treatment. Medicine is very advanced now. There’s always hope.” Sarah nodded vigorously. Her eyes were red, but her smile was brilliant. “I will.” We stood side by side in the hallway, watching the bustling traffic outside the window. Neither of us said another word. The obsessive grudges of our youth, the lingering resentments of the past—in this very moment, they vanished into thin air. The phantom of my youth had finally faded. But maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new. The Curtain Falls and Final Farewell It was late into the night by the time the reunion ended. I had just seen the last of my classmates off and was about to get into my car when I saw Sarah standing under a streetlight. She was gripping her canvas bag, her silhouette looking exceptionally fragile in the yellow glow. “Did you need something else?” I walked over and asked. Sarah shook her head, then nodded. She pulled a small box tied with a red string from her bag and handed it to me. “This. I’m giving it back to you.” I opened the box. Inside was a fountain pen—the expensive brand-name pen I had saved three months of allowance to buy. I had planned to give it to her when I confessed my feelings, but ended up leaving it behind in the library. “I found it back then, but I never had the courage to return it.” Sarah smiled, fine lines of exhaustion showing around her eyes. “Giving it back to you now feels like checking off a final box on my list.” I closed the box and slipped it into my suit pocket. “Thank you.” “I should be the one saying thank you.” Sarah looked at me, her eyes full of genuine sincerity. “Ethan, I hope everything in your life only gets better from here on out.” “You too,” I said. “Focus on your health. There’s always hope.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397492”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For the fifth year of my relationship with Carter Hayes, we were still crammed into a tiny, run-down studio apartment. Because we were broke, I took on a side hustle on an anonymous venting app called VentSpace. It paid $15 an hour, double if the client wanted to hurl verbal abuse at you. While other listeners avoided the bad-tempered clients like the plague, I always scrambled to take them on. But today, I matched with an incredibly generous client who had a strong urge to confess. [I’ve been with my girlfriend for five years. Honestly, I’m getting bored.] [But she’s so stupidly cute. I purposefully buy her knockoff designer bags, and she accepts them with tears of joy. I pretend to be broke and tell her I can’t afford to marry her, and she actually says she’ll work extra shifts to help save up for our future home.] [I’ve wanted to end the game for a while now, but I just can’t seem to let her go. Besides her, I doubt anyone else would be stupid enough to work three jobs a day just for the chance to marry me.] A strange, unsettling feeling twisted in my chest. I tentatively replied: “Why don’t you try spending some time apart? See how you really feel about her?” The very next second, Carter sent me a text. “Baby, my boss just assigned me to a month-long business trip out of state! Triple pay! When I get back, I’ll finally have enough saved up to marry you!” 1 I stared at his pinned message at the top of my screen, a suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unable to type a reply. How could this be possible? I looked up and scanned my surroundings. The cramped studio was filled with our shared life. Matching towels, matching toothbrushes, even the matching pajamas we wore were personally picked out by Carter. Every time he came back to this apartment, he would cling to me like a koala, never holding back his words of affection. “Baby, I love you so much. I washed cars all day today and my hands feel like they’re going to fall off, but the second I think of you, I’m not tired anymore.” “Baby, you’re too good to me. I just wish I wasn’t so broke. If I had money, I’d marry you tomorrow and hide you away in a mansion.” My eyes landed on the small humidifier by my bedside—a gift from Carter. Working multiple jobs from dawn to dusk had wrecked my skin. It was constantly dry, tight, and itchy. Especially my hands. They had endured the elements from passing out flyers, delivering takeout in the freezing rain, and soaking in commercial dishwater until they swelled. No one would ever guess they belonged to a twenty-something girl. They were calloused, cracked, and frequently bled. I still remember how Carter had held my bleeding hands back then, his eyes turning bright red. “Harper, when I make it big, I’m going to move you into a massive house. I’ll never let you suffer or get hurt again.” I would always smile at him and say, “I know. I believe in you!” The day I received that humidifier, my heart was full, completely convinced that true love could conquer all. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, I thought. I opened his chat: “Okay, I’ll wait for you.” A moment later, Carter replied: “Even though it’s only a month, it’s still long-distance. Baby, while I’m gone, you are absolutely not allowed to fall for anyone else.” He attached a cute, insecure-looking meme. I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. Because of his supposed poverty, Carter always acted incredibly insecure around me, terrified that one day I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore and would leave him. To reassure him, even during the darkest, most exhausting days, I never once brought up breaking up. Now, I replied exactly as I always did: “I could never fall in love with anyone but you.” Before the text even finished sending, the VentSpace app chimed. I immediately switched screens. After all, this client was the only one who paid double without screaming at me. [That’s a great idea. I told her I have to go on a month-long business trip, and she didn’t suspect a thing. So gullible.] [I’ve played poor for so long, and she still refuses to leave me. Looks like she genuinely loves me. They say long-distance is the ultimate test of loyalty, right? I’m going to hire a guy to hit on her. If she resists the temptation, then I might actually consider marrying her.] [I don’t really have anyone I’m madly in love with right now anyway, so I might as well marry someone who is madly in love with me. When the time comes to reveal the truth, she’ll probably cry from how touched she is…] … The more I read, the colder my blood ran. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I clicked on his anonymous profile. It was filled with pictures of luxury watches and exotic sports cars. One photo was of a sleeping Toy Poodle. I stared at it for a very long time. The blanket the dog was sleeping on… was the exact scarf I had hand-knitted for him. He told me he lost it on the subway. He said he was so scared I’d be mad that he secretly saved up for months to buy me a Louis Vuitton scarf to make up for it. It turns out, my handmade scarf was thrown into a dog bed, and the LV scarf was a counterfeit. My nose stung. I blinked, and a heavy tear smashed abruptly onto my screen. Masochistically, I scrolled further down his feed, my heart turning to ash with every swipe. On Valentine’s Day, while I was freezing on a street corner selling single roses for five bucks a pop, he tipped an internet model ten thousand dollars in a single night. On New Year’s Eve, while I was crying tears of joy because he bought me a ten-dollar sparkler, he was dropping hundreds of thousands to rent out a drone light show for a minor actress. Carter was right. I really was stupid. Stupid beyond cure. Naive enough to believe that pure, unadulterated love could overcome any obstacle. I never stopped to consider if the other person’s heart was just as genuine. I wiped my tears and deleted the text I was about to send Carter. Instead, I typed: “Carter, what if I really do fall for someone else?” 2 Carter didn’t reply for a long time. I stared at the screen until my eyes burned. Just when I thought he was going to ignore it, my phone began to ring. It was him. “Baby, I was just joking! You know I have major insecurity issues. I’m so broke, and I’m dragging you down, making you work yourself to the bone just so we can afford a future together. I’m the one who’s terrified of you leaving.” I wanted to laugh. Five years of unwavering loyalty. What exactly did I have to do to give him a sense of security? “If you fell for someone else, I think I’d literally cry until I died. You wouldn’t have the heart to do that to me.” I don’t even know how I managed to hang up the phone. Choking back the sobs in my throat, I gave a vague hum of agreement. The VentSpace app flashed: [I just casually mentioned wondering if she’d fall for someone else while we’re long-distance, and she actually seemed to get mad. Tsk, tsk. Guess she just loves me too much. That’s why she’s so anxious.] I composed myself and typed a reply. As cold and detached as a bystander. “Are you still planning to hire someone to test your girlfriend? What if she actually does cheat?” [Of course I’m going to test her. Don’t you think it’s a fun game? If she actually cheats, perfect. It gives me the upper hand to force a breakup. I get to be the flawless victim. Then, when I drop the ‘poor’ act, she won’t have the dignity to come crawling back to me.] [If I talked about this with my buddies, they’d call me a toxic bastard. That’s why I like your service. You’re tight-lipped. Tell you what, I’ll send you a nice tip. Drop your CashApp.] Listening to the ding of the “$1,500 received” notification, I typed back, word by word: “Thank you, boss. Wishing you a successful breakup.” It wasn’t until my shift was completely over that sensation finally returned to my limbs. Two hours of chat time, plus the tip. A total of $1,530. Enough to cover a year’s rent on our cramped studio. Or, exactly the amount we were short for our goal. We had a goal of $20,000—the down payment for a modest starter home. Carter and I had been saving for five years, but we were always just a little bit short. Every time we got close to the finish line, an “accident” would happen. Either I would be purposefully harassed by a customer at the diner and forced to pay for a ruined meal, or Carter would fall severely ill and the money would vanish into medical bills. I still remember two years ago, when the mason jar we used as a piggy bank was finally stuffed to the brim. I held it, bursting with joy, ready to tell Carter we could finally start looking at houses. But when I called his phone, a nurse answered. She said Carter had been in a terrible car accident and was in the ICU. They didn’t know if he would ever wake up. I remember my hands shaking so badly I dropped the phone. I ran to the hospital in the middle of the night, still wearing my thin pajamas. I never got to see him, but I was directed to the billing department. When I smashed that mason jar on the counter to pay the deposit, my hands were trembling. Not because I couldn’t bear to part with the money, but because I was so, so thankful we at least had emergency funds to save his life. I wasn’t allowed into the ICU, but the daily out-of-pocket costs crushed me. Soon, our entire life savings were gone. I had no choice but to work day and night. I had just resolved to quit the waitress job where my manager constantly made creepy, inappropriate comments. The very next day, I had to swallow my pride and beg him for my shifts back. I still remember the way he looked at me in his office. Like I was cheap, desperate trash with zero self-respect. I endured his harassment, working twice as hard to make money. Whenever I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore, I would run to the hospital. Even though I couldn’t see Carter, I would sit on the floor outside his ward for the entire night. The next morning, I would gather my strength and face reality all over again. But I had just seen the truth on his anonymous profile. During that exact same time period, when he was supposedly in a coma… He wasn’t fighting for his life in a hospital bed. He was taking his new flavor-of-the-month to a private villa in Bali. It was all fake. The only thing that was real was me being the ultimate punchline. I stared at the balance on my screen. I didn’t transfer it to our joint “future fund” like I usually did. Instead, I bought a blind-box plane ticket. The destination was a total surprise. Carter really didn’t know me at all. I love fiercely, but I hate just as fiercely. The thing I despise most in this world is desperate, pathetic clinging. 3 It didn’t take long for me to meet the man Carter sent to “test” me. Tristan Sterling. A notorious playboy and heir to a massive real estate empire. Logically speaking, we existed in two entirely different universes. If it weren’t for that deliberate rear-end collision, we never would have crossed paths in this lifetime. When I felt the violent jolt from behind my car, my heart skipped a beat, and my fingers trembled uncontrollably on the steering wheel. It wasn’t until a polite knock came at my window that I snapped out of it. “Miss, let’s talk about the damages.” I stepped out and took a look. His headlights were smashed, and my rear bumper was completely caved in. However, my car was a beat-up clunker. The entire vehicle wasn’t even worth one of his headlights. Carter really spared no expense just to play a prank on me. I forced a tight smile and looked at Tristan. He instantly offered a perfectly calculated, charming smile. Elegant and effortless. “Miss, let me get your number. We can settle this privately.” “Name your price.” As he pulled out his phone, I caught a glimpse of his active call screen. The profile picture was incredibly familiar. It was Carter’s. The call was active. A sharp pang of agony wrapped around my heart. I closed my eyes for a second. “You’re entirely at fault, correct?” Tristan froze, clearly not expecting this reaction. “Since that’s the case, let’s wait for the police to arrive and file an official report. The law will dictate the compensation.” Tristan’s perfect smile cracked. His expression changed, masking sheer disbelief. “Are you stupid? If we settle privately, you can walk away with a lot more cash!” “How much do you think insurance is going to pay out for this piece of junk?” Exhausted, I sat down on the curb. Looking down at my cheap, thrift-store clothes, I let out a bitter laugh. How could I not understand? It’s just that, now that I didn’t need to save for Carter’s fake future, I wasn’t that desperate for cash anymore. I made enough to feed myself just fine. As the wail of police sirens grew closer, I watched Tristan’s active call disconnect. At the exact same moment, the VentSpace app chimed. [I had my buddy rear-end her car to manufacture a meet-cute, and she actually called the cops! Do you think poverty rotted her brain? She could have easily used this to squeeze a massive payout out of him.] [Do you know how many women would kill for my friend’s phone number? The opportunity is practically shoved in her face, and she turns it down.] [I used to think she was just naive, sometimes in a cute way. But now I realize she’s a total moron. You don’t think she’s actually planning to latch onto me forever, do you?] I sat on the bus stop bench outside the police precinct. The cold, sterile glow of the streetlamp illuminated my face. It was terrifyingly apathetic. “If you want to make a clean break with her, why not just be direct? Maybe she won’t cling to you like you think.” The typing bubble flashed, and Carter replied instantly. [Are you kidding me!] [You have no idea what people like her will do for money. Her old boss was a total creep who constantly sexually harassed her. She would cry and complain to me about it every day, but when I told her to quit, she refused.] [She claimed she wanted to share my financial burden, but if you ask me, I bet she actually enjoyed the attention.] A numb, creeping sensation spread through my chest. My immediate instinct was to type back and expose the entire ugly truth. But the curses stalled in the text box. Word by word, I deleted them. I kept reminding myself: Do not give Carter what he wants. Five years of blood, sweat, and tears. I wasn’t going to let this end with a quiet, pathetic whimper! “If that’s the case, then you really don’t need to worry. Since your friend is wealthy and handsome, your girlfriend will likely jump ship very soon. When that happens, you’ll finally be free.” I hit send. When I looked up, a sleek Bentley had silently pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Tristan’s face. The flirty, playboy attitude from earlier was dialed back, replaced by a veneer of formal charm. “Miss Evans, perhaps I misjudged you.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the thrill of the hunt sparking in his eyes. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” “Let’s start over. Nice to meet you, Madam Plaintiff.” A freezing gust of wind whipped my bangs across my forehead, but I flashed a brilliant, radiant smile. “Sure thing, Mr. Defendant.” I cleanly opened the car door. As I leaned in, my hair fell forward, masking my face. Tristan never saw the absolute, glacial ice in my eyes. 4 With my deliberate encouragement, my relationship with Tristan escalated rapidly. Very soon, I moved out of the dingy studio apartment and into a luxury villa Tristan arranged for me. When I moved, one single suitcase held my entire life. The studio was too cramped, overflowing with cheap, random knick-knacks that were almost all tied to Carter. So, I left it all behind. “What’s wrong? Already missing your little dump?” Tristan’s voice pulled me back to the present. He smiled, loaded my suitcase into the trunk, and opened the passenger door for me. “Come on, I’m taking you out for a candlelight dinner. Let’s soothe that wounded little heart of yours~” When the FaceTime call from Carter came through, I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. I gave Tristan a quick wave and went up to the quiet second floor of the restaurant to answer it. “Baby, why did it take you so long to answer? Are you doing something bad behind my back?” “No, I was just eating.” I kept my face perfectly neutral. “What about you?” Carter panned his phone camera around the room, then whispered conspiratorially: “My boss took me out to this super fancy restaurant! But honestly? I don’t think their food is half as good as the homemade chicken noodle soup you make me.” I couldn’t stop a short laugh from escaping my lips. Just a few days ago, Carter had complained on VentSpace: [I absolutely despise her chicken noodle soup. When I’m sick she makes me eat it, when I’m sad she makes me eat it. I’m so sick of it. It’s like she doesn’t know how to make anything else.] But Carter didn’t know that I remembered the very first time he made me chicken noodle soup. It was the first time anyone had celebrated my birthday since my parents died in a car crash. “Baby, did you just laugh?” Carter’s heart skipped a beat for some inexplicable reason. I looked over the balcony railing. Down below, Carter was enjoying a romantic candlelight dinner with a gorgeous girl. “I just think chicken noodle soup is bland and awful,” I said softly. The moment the words left my mouth, Carter’s smiling face instantly turned forced and irritable. “Baby, I’ll bring you back a gift. Let’s talk later.” I watched him hurriedly hang up the phone. The very next second, his entire aura shifted. He picked up a brand-new, latest-season designer handbag—easily eighty thousand dollars, enough to fund ten of our imaginary weddings. He casually tossed it into the lap of the girl sitting across from him. The girl squealed in delight. She looked remarkably like the minor actress he had briefly dated years ago. Her name was Serena Vance. Everyone in her social circle knew she had a billionaire boyfriend who spoiled her rotten, elevating her to the status of a socialite. Calculating the timeline, they probably started dating three years ago. I gripped my phone tightly. The VentSpace notification icon began to flash. [I purposefully FaceTimed her to test the waters, and she actually acted totally cold to me. So weird.] Leaning against the wall, I watched Serena intimately kiss Carter on the floor below, while my fingers flew across the keyboard: “Isn’t that a good thing? It looks like you’re getting exactly what you wished for.” But to my surprise, Carter suddenly exploded. It was the first time he had spoken harshly since buying my monthly listener package. [What the hell do you know?! She is NOT allowed to cheat, and she is DEFINITELY not allowed to fall for someone else!] “Even though this is a test you meticulously orchestrated?” [So what?! Besides me, who else would even want her? Even her own parents abandoned her; they didn’t even show up for their own funerals.] [Tristan Sterling? He’s just playing with her. I doubt a guy like him is even capable of loving someone. She’s better off with me. At least I’m not a complete bastard, and I actually know how to coax her.] [Forget it. Why am I even telling you this? Get lost. Service terminated.] Ding. A text from Carter popped up. “Baby, do you like this? I’ll bring it home for you when my trip is over.” Attached was a picture of a logo-stamped keychain. It was very familiar. It was the complimentary gift tag that came attached to the $80,000 bag he had just given Serena. It turns out that when your heart breaks past a certain threshold, you really do just go numb. I didn’t reply. I walked downstairs and returned to my seat. Under Tristan’s confused gaze, I sent one final message to Carter on the VentSpace app. “Look behind you.” Carter whipped his head around violently. As our eyes locked, the color completely drained from his face.

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Four hours before the city-wide lockdown was announced, my husband, Liam Vance, sent me a text: Working late tonight, don’t wait up. Six hours later, the entire city was under a strict quarantine mandate. I called his phone. It went straight to voicemail. I opened my flight tracking app. His name was listed on the passenger manifest for Delta Flight 587. Destination: Auckland, New Zealand. On that same flight, sitting right next to him, was Chloe Davis. Seats 12A and 12B. Window and middle. They were even sharing an armrest. In the kitchen, the pot roast was still simmering on the stove. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, poked her head out of the guest bedroom. “Why isn’t Liam home yet? I’m starving.” I turned off the burner. He wasn’t coming home. The broth boiled over, hissing as it extinguished the flame. I stared at my phone screen. DL587, Status: Departed. Next to the status bar, a tiny airplane icon was slowly inching its way toward the Southern Hemisphere. I placed my phone face down on the counter. Walking into the master bedroom, I slid open Liam’s side of the walk-in closet. Empty. Suits, winter coats, cashmere sweaters—not a single piece remained. Even his favorite brown loafers were gone. In his desk drawer, a rectangular dust outline marked where his passport usually sat. The house deed and our marriage certificate were still there. But his photocopy of his driver’s license had been removed. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. I crouched down and pulled a shoebox from the very bottom of the closet. Inside was a printed e-ticket receipt from Delta Airlines. The print date was eleven days ago. Three tickets. DL587, Auckland. Rylee Miller, Liam Vance, Chloe Davis. The three names were printed side-by-side. But stamped across the ticket bearing “Rylee Miller” was a red “CANCELED/REFUNDED” watermark. Cancellation date: Five days ago. Eleven days ago, he bought three tickets. Five days ago, he canceled mine. He had considered taking me with him. And then, he decided not to. “Rylee!” Eleanor’s voice echoed from the living room. “Where is the food? My blood sugar is dropping, are you trying to starve me?” I folded the itinerary and shoved it into my purse. When I walked out carrying a plate of food, the TV was blaring the emergency lockdown broadcast. “Effective at 10:00 PM tonight, all public transportation in the metropolitan area will be suspended. Residents are ordered to shelter in place and non-essential travel is strictly prohibited—” Eleanor frowned and changed the channel. “So annoying, they play this all day. Did Liam say when he’s getting off work?” “He went on a business trip.” “A business trip? Where to?” “Overseas.” I set the plate down in front of her. Eleanor muttered something about “traveling at a time like this,” lowered her head to eat, and didn’t ask anything else. I stood on the balcony and watched as police tape was strung across the entrance to our gated community. A man carrying a suitcase tried to run out but was stopped by an officer and sent back. The wind was howling, whipping the yellow caution tape with a loud smack, smack, smack. At this exact moment, Liam was likely cruising at thirty thousand feet. Sitting next to him was Chloe. Standing next to me was his mother. My phone buzzed. A text from Liam: Just got to the office. Looks like I’ll be here super late tonight, you should go to bed early. Sent at: 5:14 PM. At that time, he was already sitting in the international departure lounge. I didn’t reply. I took a screenshot of the text and saved it to a newly created photo album. I thought about what to name the album for a second, then typed: Evidence. By the third day of the lockdown, our groceries had dwindled to almost nothing. Eleanor stood in front of the open fridge, rummaging around before slamming the door shut. “This is all we have left? Why didn’t you stock up beforehand?” “Because Liam said there was no need to hoard, that the lockdown would be lifted quickly.” “Can’t you think for yourself? Do you have to rely on other people to plan everything for you?!” I didn’t argue. I opened an app to check the community grocery delivery group. Vegetable bundles had to be pre-ordered a day in advance, arriving tomorrow at the earliest. I placed an order. $80 for a basic bundle: cabbage, potatoes, carrots, and a bunch of green onions. Eleanor leaned over and glanced at the screen. “Eighty dollars?! Are they robbing us?” “Then you’ll have to endure it for one day, Eleanor. We’ll have fresh food tomorrow.” “You want a woman pushing sixty to go hungry?” She pulled out her phone and dialed Liam’s number. It rang. “Liam! Your wife doesn’t even know how to buy groceries, we’re about to run out of food! When are you coming home?” She had it on speakerphone. Liam’s voice came through, sounding slightly echoed, like he was in a large, empty room. “Mom, the lockdown is strict over there. I can’t get back right now. Tell Rylee to figure something out.” “Well, where are you? Can you even sleep at the office?” A brief silence. “Yeah… the company has a breakroom with cots. Don’t worry.” Eleanor hung up and immediately started lecturing me. “Look at you. Liam is sleeping on the floor at the office, and you can’t even manage to put a decent meal on the table.” I didn’t say a word. The office breakroom. He was in Auckland, New Zealand, telling his mother he was sleeping on the floor at the office. I suddenly wondered how much Eleanor actually knew. Dinner was plain oatmeal with some pickled vegetables. Eleanor took two bites and slammed her spoon down. “I can’t eat this garbage. It’s pathetic.” At 2:00 AM, a noise woke me up. The living room light was on. Eleanor was sitting on the sofa, talking on the phone. Her voice was hushed, but through the crack in my door, I heard her perfectly clearly. “…As long as you arrived safely, that’s what matters. How is Chloe? Is she treating you well?” Chloe. She knew. She knew everything. She knew her son went to Auckland. She knew her son was with Chloe. She knew all of this, yet she lived under the same roof as me, ate the food I cooked, used the groceries I bought, and still had the nerve to curse me out for not providing a decent meal. “Don’t worry about the visa issue. Chloe’s family has connections; it’ll definitely get approved.” I leaned against the doorframe, my fingertips turning ice-cold. “Don’t worry about Rylee, I’m keeping an eye on her,” Eleanor’s voice drifted through the quiet house. “Don’t sell the house just yet, wait until the lockdown is lifted. Make sure she keeps paying the mortgage.” Don’t sell the house just yet. Make sure she keeps paying the mortgage. I quietly backed away from the door, not making a sound. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. In this house, I was the only one being played for a fool. Day seven of the lockdown. I crouched on the balcony taking inventory: half a bag of rice, a quarter bottle of cooking oil, enough vegetables in the fridge for two days. I checked my bank account balance three times. Joint Checking Account Balance: $4.63. I remembered that when my paycheck hit last month, this account had nearly $65,000 in it. I pulled up the transaction history and scrolled down, line by line. Jan 15: Transfer Out – $15,000. Recipient: C. Davis. Jan 21: Transfer Out – $12,000. Recipient: C. Davis. Feb 2: Transfer Out – $20,000. Recipient: C. Davis. Feb 8: Transfer Out – $15,000. Recipient: C. Davis. C. Davis. Chloe Davis. Four transfers, totaling $62,000, draining our joint account entirely. Time span: twenty-four days. The last transfer was two days before the lockdown. $65,000. That was three years of my savings. When I quit my job as a researcher at the CDC, Liam told me he made enough money and that I should stay home and take care of his mother with peace of mind. But the mortgage on this condo was still being paid from my pre-marital savings account, costing $3,000 a month. The utilities, Eleanor’s expensive supplements, and daily expenses all came out of the joint account. He deposited $4,000 into it every month, and my personal savings were pooled in there too. Now, it was all gone. My personal account only had $580 left. Not even enough for next month’s mortgage. I sat on a small stool on the balcony. The sun warmed my back, but it couldn’t reach the coldness in my heart. A message from Liam popped up: Honey, how are things over there? Are you and Mom okay? I stared at the word “Honey” for a long time. I typed out a single line: Where is the money from our joint account? Sent. Three minutes later, he replied: What money? The $62,000. The money transferred to C. Davis. Read. No reply. Ten minutes later, he called me. “Rylee, listen to me. That money went into a high-yield investment. Once I get back, we’ll—” “C. Davis is Chloe Davis.” Silence. “…She’s helping me manage some offshore assets. You wouldn’t understand the financial side of it.” “I wouldn’t understand?” I let out a short laugh. “Liam, my Ph.D. is in Epidemiology, but I minored in Statistics during my undergrad. Do you want to guess what else I found when I ran an analysis of your spending habits over the last six months?” He hung up. I didn’t call back. I took a screenshot of the call log and saved it to the “Evidence” folder. Eleanor hobbled out of the bathroom using her cane, looking pale. “Rylee, I feel dizzy.” I helped her sit down and took her blood pressure: 168 over 100. She had a history of hypertension. She hadn’t been eating well the past few days, and her medication was running low. I scoured the medicine cabinet. Only three blood pressure pills left. I called the community health hotline; busy signal. I called 911; placed on hold due to high call volume. I hung up the phone and looked at Eleanor’s pale face. This woman, who had actively helped her son scheme against me, was currently leaning against my shoulder, trembling. “Rylee, I feel awful…” “I know.” I broke one of the last three pills in half and gave it to her. “Take this for now. I’ll go figure something out.” Hating her was one thing. Letting her die on my watch was another. I got the blood pressure medication from my neighbor, Sarah. She lived across the hall, a retired nurse who used to work at the local clinic. When I knocked on her door, she was mixing bleach to sanitize the hallway. “Blood pressure meds? Yeah, I have half a box left. What kind does your mother-in-law take?” “Nifedipine extended-release.” Sarah dug through her medical kit and handed me a blister pack. “This is enough for ten days. By then, the pharmacies should be allowed to deliver again.” “Thank you so much, Sarah.” “Do you have a medical background?” she asked suddenly. I paused for a second. “I used to. Not anymore.” “What field?” “Epidemiology.” The look in Sarah’s eyes changed. “Rylee, do you know our district doesn’t even have a specialist advising us right now? The community clinic only has two doctors, and they’re overwhelmed. A few days ago, someone in Building 3 had symptoms, and everyone was terrified. We didn’t have anyone qualified to assess the risk.” I didn’t reply. Three years. It had been three years since I touched anything related to my field. Liam had said: “A family only needs one breadwinner. You staying home and taking care of Mom is more valuable than any job.” Eleanor had said: “What’s the point of a woman getting all those degrees? She still just ends up staying home to raise kids.” My publication record had flatlined three years ago. My former mentor, Dr. Harrison, texted me every New Year’s Day: “Rylee, the door to the research institute is always open for you.” Every year, I replied, “Thank you, Professor,” and went back to making soup, buying groceries, and sorting Eleanor’s pills. When I got back inside, Eleanor’s color had improved. She had taken the medicine and was leaning back on the sofa, watching TV. “Rylee, look at this news segment.” The TV was broadcasting a report about Liam’s company, highlighting their donation of medical supplies to overseas relief efforts. The screen flashed, and I saw Liam. Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, standing among a group of executives behind a donation banner. The background was the blindingly blue sky of Auckland. Standing right next to him was a woman in a sleek black blazer, her hair pinned up elegantly, a necklace resting against her collarbone. I recognized that necklace. Swarovski, the iconic Swan collection. Liam had given it to me for our anniversary last year. I had only worn it once, feeling it was a bit too flashy, and put it away in my jewelry box. Now, it was draped around Chloe’s neck, catching the light for the cameras. Eleanor didn’t recognize it. She only cared about her son. “Liam looks so thin; his face is drawn. He’s all alone out there, I wonder if anyone is taking proper care of him.” Someone was taking care of him. Taking very good care of him. While wearing my jewelry. I walked into the kitchen and turned the faucet on full blast. The rushing water drowned out everything else. I gripped the edge of the sink for a long time, my nails digging into my palms. The cold water ran through my fingers. When I finally turned the faucet off, my phone rang. Caller ID: Dr. Harrison. “Rylee, you know what the situation is like right now. Our institute is desperately short-staffed, and your expertise in transmission dynamics modeling is exactly what we need.” “Professor, it’s been three years since I—” “Three years is nothing. Your brain hasn’t atrophied, and you haven’t stopped keeping up with the literature. I checked the system logs; you’ve maintained your premium access to the academic databases.” I stayed silent. He knew I had kept reading. Liam didn’t know. Eleanor didn’t know. Only my mentor knew that I had never truly let it go. “Come on as a volunteer first, no pressure. But Rylee, your talent shouldn’t be wasted standing in front of a stove.” I hung up the phone and stepped out onto the balcony. The courtyard of the complex below was completely empty. Dead leaves were tangled in the chains of the swingset. There was no sound of children playing. The entire city felt like it was on pause. But for some things, it was time to hit play again. Day fifteen of the lockdown. Liam started calling frequently. Not me, but his mother. Every evening after dinner, Eleanor would take her phone into her bedroom and shut the door. I didn’t try to eavesdrop anymore. I didn’t need to.

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My boyfriend’s adopted sister claimed to be the ultimate advocate for “loving herself.” During working hours, she flipped the main breaker for the entire office floor, causing everyone to lose half a day’s worth of unsaved work. She just giggled and said, “I was sooo sleepy, but it wasn’t time to clock out yet. So I listened to my body and flipped the breaker for my own mental health!” “Treat yourself! See you guys tomorrow!” To reduce her own workload, she took it upon herself to reply to a VIP client I had been courting for six months: “The price is non-negotiable. Take it or leave it.” The client was so furious they blocked us entirely. The multi-million dollar deal evaporated. When I confronted her, she acted cute and innocent. “I didn’t mean to mess it up!” “I just saw myself getting stressed, so I set my boundaries and went into boss mode! Hehe, I’m so good at prioritizing my peace!” I expressed my frustration to my boyfriend. But he just brushed it off, saying there was nothing wrong with a girl treating herself better, and told me to stop being so petty. That is, until the night of the company’s annual gala. A fire suddenly broke out in the hotel corridor while I was out there checking the venue decorations. His adopted sister blocked the only fire exit door from the other side, looking incredibly smug. “I realized I hadn’t taken any good pictures today, and the lighting right here is absolutely perfect!” “Watch me snap a flawless selfie set!” By the time she finished taking her photos, I had been burned alive in that hallway. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact day she flipped the office breaker. This lifetime, her whole brand is “loving herself,” right? Fine. I’ll let her love herself straight to hell. “I really wanted a matcha latte but I didn’t want to spend my own money, so I listened to my inner child, manifested it, and ordered one as a gift to myself!” “Treat yourself! See you guys tomorrow!” A sickeningly familiar voice suddenly rang in my ears. I snapped my eyes open to find Chloe Brooks swiping on her phone, giggling and muttering to herself. After finishing her little monologue, she leaned in close to my face, pretending to be earnest. “Stella, you really need to prioritize your self-care more. Otherwise, you wouldn’t look like this in your twenties…” She pointed to the corner of her own eye. “You’re already getting crow’s feet! Watch out, or my brother might dump you~” Hearing the exact same dialogue from my past life, I finally dared to confirm it: I had been reborn! After saying her piece, Chloe tilted her head, waiting for my reaction. In my last life, I was shaking with anger but forced a polite smile. This lifetime, I just touched the corner of my eye and smiled warmly at her. “You’re absolutely right.” “I really do need to treat myself better.” Chloe let out a satisfied hum and turned her attention back to her phone. “Exactly! Oh, that new viral boba shop downstairs is doing a buy-one-get-one for the first hundred customers! I’m making a run for it!” She bounced up, grabbed her purse, and dashed toward the door. At the entrance, she turned back and shouted into the bullpen: “Anyone want to jump on a group order? If you order now, you get it instantly!” Nobody answered her. Everyone was glued to their screens, keyboards clattering frantically. Proposals had to be submitted before 3:00 PM. Chloe pouted. “You guys are so boring.” She pulled the door open and skipped out, humming a tune. I sat back in my chair and looked at my computer. The time on the bottom right corner of the screen read: 1:55 PM. There were exactly five minutes left before she flipped the breaker. I turned back to my keyboard, typed a quick command, and hit Enter. The screen flashed: [Cloud Backup Initiated.] Then, I reached down and unplugged my computer’s power cord from the wall. Clean and decisive. Mia, the intern in the next cubicle, peeked over and whispered, “Stella, what are you doing?” I looked at the 3D model rendering halfway on her screen and said, “Save your work. Right now.” Mia blinked, muttered an “okay,” and quickly hit Ctrl+S. But for everyone else, it was too late. Click. A sharp, mechanical snap echoed through the floor. The overhead lights, the glowing monitors, the hum of the servers—everything was instantly severed. Pitch black. Followed by a dead, eerie silence. And then, the entire office lost its mind. “MY DOCUMENT!!!” “I DIDN’T SAVE!!!” “THE CLIENT FILES! I SPENT THREE DAYS ON THIS PITCH!” “THE SERVERS! DID THE SERVERS JUST CRASH?!” “MY RENDER! IT’S BEEN RUNNING FOR EIGHT HOURS!” In the darkness, desperate wails and furious curses exploded simultaneously. By the electrical panel, Chloe’s cheerful voice rang out: “Huh? Why did it go dark?” She held up her phone, using the flashlight to illuminate her own face. “This is great! Since the power is out, does that mean we can clock out early?” Brenda from Accounting was shaking, her voice trembling. “Clock out? Chloe! Did you touch the breaker?! I just lost three hours of financial modeling! Corporate needs this before five o’clock!” Chloe strolled over, shining her phone flashlight right into Brenda’s fury-twisted face. “Brenda, if the spreadsheet is gone, just make it again.” “Treat yourself better. Don’t get so angry, anger gives you wrinkles.” Brenda nearly choked on her own breath, clutching her chest. Mark, the Project Lead, shot up from his desk. “Chlo. E. Brooks.” Every word sounded like it was being ground out between his teeth. “I was on a Zoom call with our European headquarters! Right! Now! Flip that breaker back ON!” Chloe acted startled by his anger, taking a step back and pouting. “Mark, why are you being so toxic… It’s not my fault the power went out, I’m not an electrician.” “YOU FLIPPED IT!!” Mark roared. “I just wanted to see what would happen,” Chloe’s voice took on a layer of grievance. “I was just manifesting clocking out early, and my hand just moved on its own… How can you blame me for that?” She turned, her flashlight sweeping over to me like she’d found her savior. “Stella! Look at them! They’re all blaming me! I was just prioritizing my peace, what did I do wrong?!” Every eye in the room turned to me. I picked up the cup of lukewarm coffee on my desk and took a sip. I smiled and said, “Prioritizing your peace? Nothing wrong with that at all.” Right as I spoke, the office doors were violently pushed open. The executive assistant, holding a heavy-duty emergency lantern, stepped aside. Liam Sterling walked in. His tailored suit was immaculate, but his face was darker than the powerless office. “Who did this.” Those three words suffocated all other noise in the room. Everyone’s gaze immediately shot to Chloe. Her hand trembled, and she shrank toward my direction. “Liam… I-I didn’t mean to… The breaker just…” Liam cut her off, his eyes locking onto my face. “Who is the manager in charge here.” In my last life, this was the moment I stood up, took the blame, said “It was my failure in oversight,” and pulled an all-nighter cleaning up her mess. This lifetime, I met Liam’s gaze and smiled. “Liam,” I said softly. “We really need to thank Chloe for this.” Chloe’s eyes lit up. I raised my lukewarm coffee. “Chloe was just teaching us a valuable lesson. A person needs to prioritize their own peace.” “Look at her. The moment she prioritized her peace and wanted to clock out, her hand just moved on its own and the breaker flipped itself.” “So efficient.” “I think this is a fantastic mindset. So I’m going to learn from her and treat myself better too.” “For example, right now.” I checked my phone. “It’s officially clock-out time. All my work for the day was just wiped out anyway. So I’ve decided…” “I. Am. Not. Working. Overtime.” The entire room fell into a deathly silence. Everyone was absolutely floored by my declaration. Mark was the first to shout: “Mr. Sterling! What kind of attitude is this from Stella?! My international conference call! The damages to the company!” Brenda burst into tears: “The financials… Corporate is breathing down my neck…” Mia the intern gritted her teeth: “Mr. Sterling, I lost an eight-hour render…” Liam stared at me. “Stella, do you have any idea what you’re saying right now?” “I do.” I set my cup down. “I’m just putting the company’s ’employee wellness’ initiatives into practice. Chloe led by example, and I think the whole company should learn from her.” Chloe nodded frantically. “Yes, exactly! Liam, I just wanted everyone to get off work early and decompress! Good vibes only!” A vein throbbed on Liam’s temple. He looked at Chloe. “Chloe, no matter what, you cannot touch the main breaker. The company is taking a massive loss.” Chloe’s lip quivered, and her eyes instantly rimmed with red. “Liam… you’re yelling at me…” “I just had a little slip of the hand…” “They were all attacking me, and Stella was making fun of me… and now even you’re blaming me…” Tears materialized on cue, rolling down her cheeks. “I said I was sorry… stop being mad at me…” “You never used to yell at me…” Liam stood rigidly, looking down at her. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and raised a hand to pat her back. “Enough. Just don’t do it again.” Then, he looked up at me, and the room full of shell-shocked employees. “The incident has already happened.” “The priority now is damage control.” “Everyone, stay back. Mandatory overtime. We recover whatever we can.” “As for accountability…” He paused. “Stella, as the department director, your lack of oversight is unacceptable. Your salary and annual bonus for this month are docked.” “Chloe, a fifty-dollar fine as a formal warning.” Hiding behind Liam’s back, Chloe secretly stuck her tongue out at me. Liam turned to leave. “Mr. Sterling.” I called out to him, grabbing my purse and standing up. “As for overtime, I won’t be participating. Chloe is right, we need to treat ourselves better. If you want to penalize me, go ahead.” I walked to the door and paused. “From now on, whoever wants to clock out early, just go flip the breaker yourself. It saves time and it’s highly efficient.” I pulled the door open and walked out. Behind me, I could faintly hear Liam’s suppressed, furious roar, and Chloe’s tearful, victimized defensive whining. This was just the beginning. Chloe. Your true “rewards” are still on the way. Over the next two weeks, Chloe’s “rewards” began to cash in. On Tuesday, she “felt” the marketing department’s report formatting was ugly, so she “casually” dragged the master files into the recycling bin and emptied it. She blinked at the sobbing marketing coordinator. “Treat yourself better. Stop making such ugly spreadsheets.” On Wednesday, she was “thirsty” but too lazy to walk to the breakroom, so she used the adjacent team’s freshly printed bidding proposal as a coaster. The coffee stain bled through, completely obscuring the crucial pricing figures. “Oh wow, this paper is super absorbent!” she told the livid team lead in feigned surprise. “You guys should totally use this brand next time! Self-care!” On Thursday, she used the administrative department’s commercial color printer to print three hundred high-res selfies. She drained every single color ink cartridge and used up all the premium glossy paper. That afternoon, the finance team desperately needed to print and stamp color audit reports for the bank, but the printer was dead. Chloe munched on potato chips. “Can’t you just use black and white? I think black and white is super aesthetic. People need to break out of the box. Treat yourself.” I walked by during all of this, nodding and smiling. “Chloe makes a great point.” “Very unique aesthetic.” “She’s a visionary.” Chloe’s ego was practically orbiting the moon. She even started actively seeking me out to share her “insights.” “Stella, look at this client. His emails are just endless blocks of text, but the core issue is he just wants to lowball us.” She pointed at my monitor. It was a Fortune 500 tech giant I had been courting for six months. We were supposed to sign the contract next week. “Yeah, it’s pretty annoying,” I said, picking up my tea. “Exactly!” Chloe cheered excitedly. “If I were you, I’d just reply: ‘No money, no talk!’” I smiled. “Why don’t you reply for me, then?” “Really?” Chloe’s eyes sparkled. “Really.” I stood up. “I’m going to the restroom. Treat yourself, don’t hold back.” Five minutes later, I returned. Chloe was humming a pop song, scrolling on her phone at my desk. In my outbox, there was a newly sent email. Recipient: CFO of the Fortune 500 company. Content: [The price is non-negotiable. Take it or leave it. 😊] Word for word, identical to my memory before I died. The project team’s phone lines exploded ten minutes later. The client’s roaring could be heard through the receiver: “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! ARE YOU PLAYING GAMES WITH US?! THE DEAL IS OFF! DO NOT EVER CONTACT US AGAIN!” Mark slammed his phone down and charged over, his eyes bloodshot. “CHLOE! BROOKS! Did you touch the Director’s computer?!” Chloe flinched in fear, but quickly puffed up her chest. “Stella asked me to help her! She said that client was annoying! I was just helping her set boundaries! Is it a crime to practice self-love?!” Everyone looked at me. I organized the files on my desk, not even looking up. “Yeah, I told her to reply.” Mark pointed a trembling finger at me, completely speechless. Liam stormed in at that exact moment, his face thunderous. “Stella. Chloe. My office. Now.” Liam slammed a thick stack of formal complaints onto his desk. “How many times is this going to happen this month?! Marketing! Admin! Finance! And now the Fortune 500 deal is dead!” His glare cut like a knife. “Chloe, explain yourself right now!” Chloe instantly turned on the waterworks, rushing over to hug his arm. “Liam… I just wanted to help Stella, and help everyone else… All that corporate grinding is so meaningless… Why do we have to compromise our mental health…” Liam shook her off. For the first time, he didn’t immediately soften. “Help?! You’re tearing this company apart! Do you have any idea how much that contract was worth?!” Chloe flinched at his yelling, sobbing even harder. “Money, money, money! That’s all you care about! What’s more important, me or the money?! I just wanted to practice self-love, and I wanted you all to love yourselves too! What did I do wrong?!” She gasped for air, crying hysterically. “You’re all bullying me… Even you’re yelling at me…” “I just want to die…” The anger in Liam’s chest visibly heaved up and down. He looked at her tear-streaked, mascara-ruined face for a full minute. And then, once again, his shoulders slumped. “…Stop crying.” His voice had already softened significantly. “Do not let this happen again.” He rubbed his temples and looked at me. “Stella, as a Director, indulging a subordinate makes you even more culpable. Your entire quarterly bonus is revoked. Write a formal incident report.” Chloe peeked at me through her fingers, a smug, victorious smirk flashing across her face. I nodded, maintaining a perfectly professional attitude. Laugh all you want. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when the hammer finally drops. The day of the annual company gala arrived. In the grand ballroom of the luxury hotel, over half of the city’s elite and industry titans were present. At the center of the crowd was Mr. Henderson, a legendary investor. Getting a single word in with him was enough to brag about for three years. Chloe stood next to Liam, offering a toast to Mr. Henderson with surprising elegance. “Mr. Henderson, my brother tells me stories about your early career all the time. I admire you so much. I’ll finish my glass; please, drink at your own pace!” I thought she would embarrass herself again, but her behavior and speech were impeccably appropriate. There was absolutely no trace of the reckless, selfish girl she played at the office. Mr. Henderson smiled approvingly, patting Liam on the shoulder. “Liam, your sister is very bright. She knows how to navigate a room.” Chloe turned around and accurately locked eyes with me. “Stella, why are you standing all by yourself?” “Oh, right,” she tapped her forehead lightly, as if suddenly remembering something. “Silly me, I got so caught up in hosting. Mr. Henderson mentioned that our company’s showcase corridor this year looks very innovative, and he wants to take a tour of it shortly.” “Sister, why don’t you go check the hallway and make sure everything is absolutely perfect? We can’t afford any mistakes in front of Mr. Henderson.” “After all… you are the Director in charge of it.” I looked at the fleeting gleam of triumph in her eyes. In my past life, it was this exact sentence that led me to that burning corridor. I finally understood. She was never stupid. She was venomous. All that “self-care” and “treating herself” nonsense was just an act to cover up her sociopathic, malicious nature. Her goal, from the very beginning, was to get me killed. I swirled the champagne in my glass and smiled at her. “Of course.” “You’re so thoughtful, Chloe. I’ll go right now.” I set my glass down, turned, and walked straight toward the corridor from my memories. Less than ten minutes later, a deafening explosion echoed from the electrical room at the far end of the hallway. BOOM! Immediately, red flames surged outward, and thick, choking smoke instantly swallowed the corridor! “FIRE!!!” Screams erupted from the direction of the ballroom. But the only exit leading back to the banquet hall was firmly blocked by a single figure. Chloe pressed her back against the heavy fire door, holding up her phone, the camera aimed right at her own smiling face. “I realized I hadn’t taken any good pictures today, and the lighting right here is absolutely perfect!” “Watch me snap a flawless selfie set!” Her lines were exactly the same as in my previous life. She giggled, shifting her angles for the camera. Outside the corridor, the terrified screams of my colleagues bled through the door: “Chloe! Why are you blocking the door! Open it!” “Director Stella is still inside!” “Move out of the way! We have to save her!” Chloe rolled her eyes in exaggerated annoyance. “Why is everyone so loud?” “She’s always preaching about self-care, she’ll definitely manifest a way out. Just trust the universe~” “Stop worrying about her~” Mark’s roar was so loud his voice cracked: “CHLOE! THIS IS A FIRE! PEOPLE ARE GOING TO DIE!!” Chloe clicked another photo, speaking with chilling nonchalance: “If they die, they die.” “The life of the person inside…” “Isn’t really worth anything anyway.” The flames had already licked at my heels, but I just smiled. I turned around and looked at the group I had specifically invited into the corridor with me: Mr. Henderson, Mr. Davis, Mr. Patel, Mr. Cohen… Every single one of the ultra-elite VIPs who had been laughing in the center of the ballroom just moments ago. None of them were missing. The face of every single man was frozen in a mask of sheer, unadulterated disbelief and towering fury. I smiled, repeating clearly and calmly: “Did you hear that? Mr. Henderson, Mr. Davis, Mr. Patel, Mr. Cohen.” “She said…” “Your lives… aren’t worth anything.” As the words hung in the air, the expressions of the VIPs darkened until they were practically dripping with malice. Behind the door, Chloe paused for a second. Then, as if she had just heard the funniest joke in the world, she burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Hahahaha! Stella, are you insane?! Has the fear fried your brain?!” Leaning against the heavy fire door, her voice drifted through the cracks. “Mr. Henderson, Mr. Davis… please. They’re all in the ballroom drinking champagne. Who has the time to come watch your pathetic little show?” “You think making up a few names is going to scare me into opening the door?” She leaned closer to the crack, dropping her voice to a low, venomous hiss, ensuring only I could hear her: “Stop dreaming.” “I know exactly what you want. You want to steal my brother? You want to be my sister-in-law?” “Let me tell you: Maybe in your next life!” “Wait, no. You don’t get a next life.” She tilted her head, flashing a smile that was both innocent and deeply sadistic: “In your next life, remember to prioritize your peace, and stop being a desperate bitch trying to steal someone else’s man.” “This lifetime ends right here.” The flames crackled and popped. The smoke grew thicker. Outside the corridor, hurried footsteps and shouts echoed loudly. “Miss Brooks! Please open the door immediately! Mr. Henderson’s tracker shows he is in this sector! He might be inside!” It was the voice of Mr. Henderson’s personal security detail. Chloe didn’t even turn her head, waving her hand dismissively. “Stop yelling! The tracker is glitching! Or she’s spoofing it! You think you can trick me into opening this door? Not a chance!” She pressed her back even harder against the heavy door. “I’ll say it one more time. Nobody is opening this door for that bitch!” “Just ten more minutes! Give it ten minutes!” She stared in my direction, her eyes burning with the undisguised, euphoric thrill of waiting for me to burn to death. Her voice was shrill: “In ten minutes, I promise I’ll open the door!” “I promise I’ll show everyone exactly what happens to a Director who doesn’t practice enough self-love!” “Just wait and see!” Time slipped away in the inferno. The smoke was blinding; the heat was scorching. Outside the door, the sound of bodies slamming against the metal, furious arguments, and Liam’s panicked, furious screaming all blurred together. Chloe acted like she was deaf, guarding the door with her life, humming off-key. Every so often, she raised her phone, trying to capture a few more aesthetic selfies. Nine minutes and thirty seconds later. BANG! A tremendous crash, far more violent than before, shattered the locks! The heavy fire door was violently kicked open from the outside! The immense kinetic force sent Chloe flying. She hit the floor hard. “Oww!” she yelped, but ignoring the pain, she frantically scrambled to her feet. “I told you guys, your precious Mr. Henderson isn’t in here, why won’t you just believe me?” “But fine, whatever. Nine and a half minutes is more than enough…” Wearing a triumphant, radiant, and utterly wicked smile, she eagerly peered into the smoke-filled corridor… “Stella, how does the smell of burning flesh—” Her voice, and her smile, died instantly.

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Five years after our divorce, I crossed paths with Silas Thorne in a tattoo parlor. He was there to touch up the color on his lover’s name, etched across his chest. I was there to mask old scars on my wrist. Years had passed, and for a long moment, we just stared at each other in silence. Silas was finally about to speak when a pair of small hands grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Daddy,” a little boy piped up, looking at me with undisguised curiosity. “Who is she?” A gust of wind off the ocean set the wind chimes on the porch clinking, breaking the heavy quiet. “I’m a customer,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Just like your dad. Here for a tattoo.” The little boy tilted his head. “Do you know my daddy?” “Leo.” Silas’s tone held a sharp edge of warning. The little boy puffed out his cheeks and fell silent. “No, I don’t,” I answered him anyway. “We’re strangers.” Silas’s expression darkened perceptibly. The shop owner tapped the counter, his gaze shifting between us. “Who’s first?” Silas had been leaning casually against the bar, but now he stood up straight, locking eyes with me. “Her.” He was wearing a white linen button-down paired with silver-gray dress pants. The top buttons were undone, revealing a good portion of his fit chest. Over his left pectoral, there was a tattoo in English script. It was partially obscured, but I knew exactly whose name it was. Even though that name hadn’t been written over Silas’s heart when we divorced. “First come, first served,” I said with polite formality. “This gentleman should go first.” Before Silas could reply, his phone vibrated on the counter. In a fleeting second, I saw the screen display “Wife.” He slammed his hand down on the phone to kill the screen, his first instinct to look at me. I simply turned and walked toward the lounge area. Behind me, I heard the boy’s excited query: “Was that Mommy?” Silas had a naturally cool voice, but he tended to lower his register when he was coaxing someone. It was soft and low now, blending with the cello music playing in the shop. I looked down, gently stirring my coffee, when a childish voice right beside my ear chirped, “Excuse me, ma’am.” I turned to find the little boy leaning over the armrest of my chair, watching me. He was fair-skinned and delicate-looking, with a scholarly air about him. He was truly adorable. So adorable that, even knowing whose child he was, I couldn’t bring myself to feel any resentment toward him. “I have to tell you, you look a lot like my mommy,” the boy said, whispering like he was sharing a massive secret. “She’s a super famous, super pretty movie star.” “Then you must look a lot like her.” The boy’s eyes lit up instantly, and he seemed about to climb into the chair with me, but a large hand pressed down on the top of his head. Silas patted the boy’s head. “Go wait in the car with Mr. Miller.” I raised an eyebrow and turned to see the middle-aged man standing behind Silas—someone who had been with him for years. Our eyes met, and he looked utterly shocked, with an undercurrent of awkwardness. “…Ms. Vance.” I nodded calmly, feeling a slight pang of nostalgia at the reunion. “Mr. Miller.” Silas scooped the boy up into his arms. As he stood, a silver gleam flashed from his wrist. It was his watch—a Patek Philippe, a style he never would have chosen in the past. On his ring finger, he wore a simple band—understated luxury. In our two years of marriage, Silas had never worn a wedding ring. True love really is true love. I took a sip of my coffee. All these years later, she still hadn’t become just another scar. Mr. Miller led the boy away, but Silas remained standing in front of my booth. “Chloe,” he said. It was the first time he’d used my first name. “How have you been all these years?” My coffee was half finished. I set the cup down. “Quite well, thank you for asking.” After a long silence, the shadow over me vanished as Silas followed the owner upstairs to the second floor. The cello music faded out, replaced by a slow, calm piano melody—much like my heart in that moment. The studio owner was an internationally renowned tattoo artist. His custom hand-drawn designs were nearly impossible to get, and he only accepted two clients a day. What a striking coincidence this was. My gaze scanned the designs lining the walls, stopping abruptly on the central piece. It depicted a red lip tattoo on the inside of a man’s thigh. The man in the design was sitting on the floor with one leg bent, wearing a black silk robe over black boxer briefs. A light pink lip print was seductively placed in that intimate area. The shape of the lips was beautiful, the lines clean, creating a dark, tension-filled contrast against the bronze skin. It was a mark left by a woman between a man’s legs. “Ms. Vance.” The owner’s voice behind me snapped me back to reality. “Right this way, please.” I turned to see Silas coming down the spiral staircase, the collar of his shirt now buttoned all the way up. I asked, “That fast?” “He’s being erratic. Decided not to get the touch-up after all.” The owner was clearly well-acquainted with Silas. He told me, “You go on upstairs.” Silas walked to the foot of the stairs and stopped. He jammed one hand into his pocket, his face expressionless. He stood over me, his gaze heavy and dark. We stared at each other in silence, but all I could think about was the last time we were intimate. After kissing, we got into bed, and I saw that red lip tattoo on his inner thigh. The clock on the wall chimed. I grabbed my bag and headed for the stairs. As I brushed past Silas, he gripped my wrist. He squeezed hard, his watch pressing painfully into my skin. “Chloe,” Silas said, his voice raspy. “Are you determined to pretend we’re strangers?” I didn’t struggle against his grip. I looked into his eyes, and there was absolutely nothing there. “Being able to pretend we’re strangers is me showing you respect.” He froze, then slowly let go of my hand, rubbing his fingertips together, his emotions seemingly cooling. “I know you still hate me.” Silas always had this knack for holding onto control, for never letting himself be embarrassed, no matter the situation. Just like back then, when the photo of him kissing Maya Sterling became the top trending topic, he faced me with this exact same composure. Except back then, I was hysterical. Faced with my husband’s calm demeanor, I looked like a raving lunatic. “You overestimate yourself.” I took a few steps up the stairs, my tone detached and cold. “Our relationship now isn’t significant enough for hate.” Silas seemed about to say something else, but I didn’t care. I turned and continued upstairs. The studio’s decor was highly unique—post-modern, empty, and quiet. The owner was at his computer confirming my tattoo design, and an assistant was preparing my skin. I took off the leather strap watch on my right wrist, looping it off in three rotations. The fleshy pink, yet gruesome, scar on my wrist was revealed. “This spot on the wrist hurts a lot,” the owner said, unfazed by the sight. “Just so you’re mentally prepared.” I smiled slightly. “It shouldn’t hurt as much as when I first slit it.” Two scars, one deeper than the other. When the numbing agent wore off, the owner confirmed the design with me one last time before transferring the stencil lines. It was a clear, clean-cut image of a blue butterfly with outstretched wings. “Because of the location, you might need a touch-up later on.” The owner put on a face mask. “But I guarantee I can mask the scar perfectly for you.” “Do all tattoos need touch-ups?” “No. In Silas’s case, it’s because of his skin type.” The owner didn’t hide the fact that he knew Silas. “Giving him a tattoo is actually kind of bad for my reputation.” I didn’t say anything. Having been in a real marriage with Silas for two years, I obviously knew he had a sensitive skin type. Back then, Silas didn’t really like me leaving marks on him during intimacy. Now, however, even though it was tedious enough to require frequent touch-ups, he still had Maya’s name tattooed over his heart. And he had Maya’s kiss mark tattooed on his inner thigh. As the first needle pricked my wrist, I inevitably flinched from the sharp pain, knitting my brows. The owner suddenly said, “Tell me the story behind your scar.” I was slightly taken aback, then laughed. “What, do tattoo artists have a hobby of collecting stories now?” In the court of public opinion today, Silas Thorne was seen as having won at life. In business, he had caught the right wind and expanded his territory, rising steadily. In love, he was perfectly matched with a popular starlet, living a picture-perfect, happy family life. “When I met Silas, he was already married to Maya Sterling,” the owner said. “And Maya looks incredibly similar to you.” I smiled, pulling a cigarette case from my bag. “Mind if I smoke?” The owner shook his head. I blew a smoke ring, thought for a moment, and said slowly, “I’m Silas’s ex-wife.” Silas and I met in college. He was a year ahead of me in the same major, and when he started his own company, he recruited me. While Advanced Tech is practically an industry giant now, at the very beginning, there were only two people. Silas had incredibly high standards. He was a prominent figure on campus, and countless people submitted resumes. “But I was the only one who stayed.” I squinted through the smoke. “Silas was extremely arrogant back then, walked around with his nose in the air. I was the very last person he interviewed.” Nobody held out much hope. I thought he was way too full of himself, and he spent the whole day interviewing, thinking everyone was an idiot—including me. “But that day, we talked all night, right until dawn. He stuck his hand out to me and said, ‘Pleasure doing business with you.’” “We shared the same philosophy, the same goals. Silas had massive ambition.” I tapped the ash from my cigarette. “And as it turns out, my ambition wasn’t small either.” For those first two years as Advanced Tech was getting off the ground, Silas and I rented an apartment off-campus. We pounded the pavement for business together, pulled in investments together. Silas was my mentor; he taught me everything about interpersonal skills and professional knowledge, without holding anything back. On the night of my twenty-second birthday, Silas and I pulled an all-nighter writing code. As dawn broke, he leaned against the windowsill and lit a cigarette. “He asked me,” I took a drag, “if I knew how to smoke.” I leaned in, curious, and immediately choked, tears streaming down my face. Silas started laughing, pulled me to him, pressed me against his chest, and kissed me. After the kiss ended, he asked me another question: Did I want to marry him? The vibration on my wrist stopped for a second. The owner said, “That’s an odd way to put it. Shouldn’t he have asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend?” I laughed, too, as if I were telling someone else’s story, watching it with the detached calm of a bystander. “I said yes. And that same day, we secured our very first round of investment.” “Riding the high wave of artificial intelligence, Advanced Tech soared, making a name for itself in the industry within just one short year.” “The day Advanced Tech’s core team was established, I was appointed Chief Operating Officer, and Silas took me home to meet his family.” “That was when I found out that the ‘Thorne’ in his name was that Thorne family—the shipping magnates.” The Thorne family made their fortune in shipping, and with three generations of accumulated wealth, they were a deeply entrenched, top-tier dynasty in the city. Naturally, the marriage was met with opposition, but since Silas had the courage to break away from the family and start his own business, he wasn’t about to be controlled regarding his marriage. “Silas fought them for two years. He was so stubborn his father beat him bad enough to put him in the hospital, and he didn’t cave even under immense pressure from countless relatives.” The ash fell silently from my cigarette. I watched it for a long moment before whispering, “When Advanced Tech got its first major round of financing, we got married.” “The wedding was simple, held on a small island that Silas later bought and put in my name, calling it ‘Haven Isle’.” The owner completely stopped outlining the tattoo. I nodded. “The very island we’re on now.” “Before the wedding, Silas signed an agreement. Putting aside the founding shares I had in Advanced Tech, he transferred every bit of liquid cash he could move into a trust for me.” “He said he wanted Advanced Tech to be my biggest support system.” “Back then, everyone marveled at how deeply Silas loved me. The financial entanglement was so deep that it left absolutely no room for a clean divorce.” “I used to think so, too.” My cigarette had mostly burned down. I extinguished it in the ashtray. “Until the first year of our marriage, when he personally selected Maya Sterling to be the face of Advanced Tech.” I had once asked Silas why he had chosen a completely obscure actress. “Don’t you think,” Silas had said back then, pointing at Maya’s massive billboard, “that she looks exactly like you did back in college?” “She captures eighty percent of your essence,” Silas had said, laughing before I could answer, “but her head is empty—a total airhead.” “Maya shot to fame very quickly.” The owner’s voice pulled me from my memories. “If I recall correctly, she became famous at nineteen.” “Yes.” I remembered something. “Less than a year after becoming the spokesperson, she was famous across the country.” “The day she won the Best Newcomer Award was Silas’s twenty-fifth birthday. We had plans for dinner.” “But I waited two hours, and he never came back. His phone was off, and I couldn’t reach Mr. Miller either.” “Until 8:00 PM, when a trending topic exploded out of nowhere: Maya Sterling caught in a passionate kiss with a mystery man.” “I clicked on it.” I looked up at the owner and smiled. “The mystery man was my husband.” They were kissing so passionately, pressing Maya up against the car front, making the car shake. Silas, usually so calm and arrogant, his first instinct upon spotting the camera was to press the slender Maya into his embrace. The video froze on the moment Silas stared at the camera with chillingly cold eyes. I masochistically watched it over and over again, my tears dripping onto the screen, landing right on Maya’s profile as she buried her face in Silas’s chest. It was almost identical to me in my college days. I found out the whole story. Maya had been harassed at a dinner party, and Silas had stepped in to help. From then on, Maya’s career skyrocketed, with countless top-tier industry resources being handed to her. When I slammed the documentation down in front of Silas, he didn’t offer an explanation, nor did he panic. He lit a cigarette and asked me, “What do you want to do?” “Shares, or a new project?” Silas had said. “We can negotiate anything, as long as we keep Maya out of it. It wasn’t easy for her to get to where she is today.” Silas’s calm attitude turned me into a lunatic. I had grown up without a father figure, so Silas represented a father figure substitute for me. He was my mentor first, and only later became my husband. During those years Advanced Tech was expanding, I was stretched thin and lacked experience; it was Silas who was behind me, teaching me step-by-step. To ensure I was secure in marrying him, he had built a solid wall around me using the most practical financial interests. I never imagined this wall would come crashing down, and in such a repulsive manner. “So you used all the connections you had to get Maya blacklisted,” the owner said. “But you failed.” “And the failure was particularly devastating,” I said, laughing at myself. “Back then, I actually still held onto a shred of hope, thinking it was just a fling, or that Silas had temporarily lost his mind.” “Don’t look at me like that.” I looked at the owner. “I was too young back then.” But Silas’s subsequent counterattack slapped me in the face. He used the most aggressive stance to suppress the trending topic and saved Maya’s career. A week later, the blacklisted Maya was spectacularly announced as the lead actress in a major director’s film. The first pink scar became the outline of the butterfly’s lower wing—so blue. The sharp pain in my wrist turned numb. I watched it for a long moment. “That’s how the first scar came about.” “Maya came to find me, using the exact same face I had in college, begging me to let her and Silas be together.” “You see, being loved can make someone stupid.” I sighed. “She actually said the one who isn’t loved is the real interloper.” So I launched a second wave of retaliation against Maya, hiring countless marketing accounts to expose her true colors as a home-wrecker. The atmosphere grew silent, with only the vibration of the tattoo gun. It had already been five years. All the love and hate had been worn down by the river of time, but this one thing— “Silas used Advanced Tech to threaten me.” My voice went rigid. “He used the blood and sweat we had poured into building it together to control me.” When Advanced Tech was first established, it was because of Silas’s inherent arrogance; he wasn’t willing to rely on his family’s support for everything. Advanced Tech went from nothing to something, and only he and I truly knew the hardships involved. I controlled the core product technical team, yet for Maya, Silas was willing to let Advanced Tech fall apart. “You only have Advanced Tech. But I still have the Thorne family empire.” Silas was still calm even during the ugliest parts of the fight. “Chloe, everything you’ve achieved today was given to you by me. Including Advanced Tech.” “I really was too young back then.” I don’t know how many times I had marveled at this. “When the trending topic about Silas and Maya checking into a hotel exploded, it was exactly on our first wedding anniversary.” “I saw that red lip tattoo on Silas’s inner thigh, and that’s when I got the first scar on my wrist.” When I woke up in the hospital, Silas was at my side, holding me in his arms with red eyes. For the first time, I chose to compromise. Because I was pregnant—three months along. “If that child had been able to be born back then, they would probably be about the same age as that boy just now.” I felt a slight trace of melancholy, laughing at myself, controlling the urge to take out another cigarette. I paused for a small moment before gathering the courage to continue. “Because of the pregnancy, I gave up on the divorce. This child could not only inherit Advanced Tech but would also have the Thorne empire.” “The marriage was already a total mess. Silas had destroyed all my fantasies about love, but this was indeed a safe bet with no chance of loss.” Silas had perfectly achieved a balance between the two women. I became magnanimous, swallowing the grievances and swallowing blood, handling my husband’s scandals with the popular female star over and over again. Maya’s career was going from strength to strength, and a group of crazy ‘shippers’ for her and Silas had even been born. Until the seventh month. On my way home from Advanced Tech, I was rear-ended by a car driven by a fanatical Maya Sterling ‘shipper’. “…The child was born prematurely. When I woke up,” I went silent for a long moment before producing a sound, “only I survived.”

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Victor Sterling drank too much last night. In his drunken stupor, he slipped his family’s vintage heirloom bracelet onto my wrist. His eyes were rimmed red as he held me in a suffocating grip, murmuring her name over and over: “Serena, please don’t go…” I let him hold me. I even patted his back gently, coaxing him to sleep. The next morning, when Victor woke up and sobered, he stared at the bracelet on my wrist with visible annoyance. His voice was ice-cold. “Take it off. That doesn’t belong to you.” I obediently slipped it off and carefully placed it on the nightstand. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. I know my place.” Of course I knew my place. After all, if I just endured this for one more month, my contract would expire. That five-million-dollar payout at the end of the term was exactly what I needed to save my fiancé, who was currently lying in an ICU bed. Victor was the kind of man whose deep-seated, aristocratic superiority bled through even when he was annoyed. He sat on the edge of the bed, massaging his temples. He didn’t even spare me a glance, his eyes locked solely on the bracelet I had just taken off. That bracelet was a ten-million-dollar antique, the engagement gift he had prepared for his first love, Serena. “Forget everything that happened last night.” His voice was hoarse, carrying an undeniable tone of command. I was half-kneeling on the rug, picking up his discarded suit jacket. Hearing this, I looked up and flashed the gentle, graceful smile I had practiced in the mirror a thousand times. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. You went straight to sleep the moment you got back. Nothing happened, and you didn’t say a word.” This was exactly why he was so satisfied with me. I was sensible, obedient. I didn’t listen to things I shouldn’t hear, and I didn’t remember things I shouldn’t remember. Victor’s expression softened slightly. He stood up and walked into the master bathroom. I let out a sigh of relief. I quickly stood up, placed the burning-hot, ten-million-dollar bracelet into its velvet box, and set it dead center on the nightstand where he would see it the second he walked out. Once that was done, I went downstairs to the kitchen to prep a hangover remedy. Just as I set the glass on the dining table, Victor’s executive assistant arrived with fresh clothes—and a piece of news. “Mr. Sterling, Ms. Serena’s flight back to New York is booked. She lands on the 5th of next month.” Victor, who was in the middle of buttoning his cuffs, froze. The usual cold, hard lines of his face instantly melted, replaced by a fleeting, barely detectable panic. “The 5th… That’s less than a month away.” He muttered to himself, then turned to look at me. His gaze suddenly became complex and critical. I knew exactly what he was thinking. The real deal was coming back. It was time for the cheap knockoff to exit the stage. For the past five years, I had followed his instructions to the letter. I wore the plain, pastel dresses Serena liked. I kept my hair long, straight, and black just like hers. I even practiced curving my lips to match the exact angle of her smile. You could say I was Serena’s most flawless shadow. But shadows can never survive in the light. “Harper,” Victor began, his tone dripping with a charitable, condescending chill. “Move out to the condo in Jersey this month. Don’t hover around me unless absolutely necessary.” “Yes, Mr. Sterling.” I agreed without a second of hesitation. My response was so fast and painless that it actually made him frown. “Also. When the contract ends, I never want to see your face in New York again.” “Understood. I will disappear without a trace. I absolutely won’t cause any trouble for you or Ms. Serena.” I pushed the hangover drink toward him, thoughtfully checking the temperature against the glass. “It’s the perfect temperature. Drink this before you head to the office; it’ll settle your stomach.” Victor stared at my submissive demeanor, looking almost uncomfortable. In his mind, I was supposed to cry. I was supposed to throw a fit, demand answers, and beg him not to throw me away. But I didn’t. Not only did I not cry, but I was practically doing mental cartwheels. The 5th of next month. That was the exact day my five-year contract with Victor expired. Once that five-million-dollar final payment hit my bank account, I’d never have to wait on this moody, arrogant billionaire ever again. Victor drank the remedy. Before walking out the door, he tossed a sleek credit card onto the table. “Go buy yourself some decent clothes over the next few days. I’m taking you to a party this weekend. It’ll be your last one.” He paused, his eyes sweeping over me with a hint of mockery. “Don’t embarrass me, and wipe that pathetic, subservient look off your face. Serena never acted like a servant.” I picked up the card with both hands, my eyes curving into a bright smile. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling. I’ll do my best to learn.” As long as the money cleared, forget acting like Serena—I’d put on a Batman suit and fight crime if he paid me enough. The “party” Victor mentioned was a gathering of his elite, trust-fund buddies. The venue was The Apex, Manhattan’s most exclusive, money-burning VIP lounge. When I pushed open the private room doors, arm-in-arm with Victor and wearing my brand-new designer white gown, the room went dead silent for a split second. Then, the raucous cheering erupted. “Whoa, Vic brought the missus?” “What missus? That’s Harper. Our little Harper.” “Gotta admit, dressed up like that, she’s a dead ringer for Serena. A solid nine out of ten. No wonder Vic couldn’t control himself and kept her around for five years.” The one running his mouth was Carter, Victor’s childhood best friend, and the guy who despised me the most. In his eyes, I was a gold digger who sold her dignity for a paycheck. I was just a toy to fill the gap while Victor waited for his true love. Victor didn’t defend me. He just led me to the center booth. I expertly picked up a bottle of vintage liquor and began pouring drinks for the wealthy heirs around the table, keeping my posture as low and submissive as possible. “So, Harper, word on the street is Serena is coming back. What are your plans?” Carter swirled his glass of bourbon, staring at me like he was watching a circus act. All eyes in the VIP room zeroed in on me. These guys lived for this kind of drama—the pathetic stand-in getting forced out by the true love, weeping and begging for scraps. My hand was perfectly steady. The amber liquid flowed into the glass without a single drop spilling. “That is entirely up to Mr. Sterling. I will follow his arrangements.” Carter let out a sharp scoff. “Stop pretending. You’re probably cursing us all out in your head, aren’t you? Five years with Vic, enjoying all this wealth and luxury… you really willing to just walk away?” He suddenly reached out, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger, his tone sleazy. “How about this? When Vic tosses you out, come be with me. I might not be as loaded as him, but I can easily throw you a hundred grand a month for pocket money.” The room erupted in mocking laughter. Victor leaned back against the leather sofa, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. His face was obscured by the smoke, but he made no move to stop Carter. He was enjoying this. He loved the intoxicating feeling of having someone entirely dependent on him, entirely under his control. I sneered internally, but on the outside, I put on a look of sheer panic. I instinctively shrank back, pressing myself closer to Victor’s side. “Please don’t joke like that, Carter.” Victor seemed immensely pleased by my display of dependency. Finally showing some mercy, he swatted Carter’s hand away. “Alright, knock it off. Don’t scare her.” He tapped his cigarette ash into the tray, his voice flat. “She’s been with me for five years, and she’s done her job well. We’ll part on good terms. Let’s not make it ugly.” Carter shrugged. “Whatever you say, man. You’re always too soft on your old flings. But hey, Harper, a little self-awareness goes a long way. Take your payout and disappear. Don’t get any delusional ideas about clinging to him.” I nodded obediently. “I understand perfectly.” Halfway through the night, Victor stepped out to take a phone call. I didn’t even have to guess. It was definitely about Serena. The moment he left, the vibe in the room shifted. Carter ordered me around, making me peel grapes for him, and even purposely ashed his cigar onto the hem of my pristine white dress. I didn’t say a word. I just sat there and took it. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a backbone. It was that Victor bought this dress with his card. If it got ruined, I didn’t have to pay for it. More importantly, every single ounce of humiliation I swallowed right now was fueling my sprint toward that five-million-dollar finish line. Just then, my phone buzzed in my clutch. It was a text from the hospital. [Ms. Harper, Ethan’s condition has become highly unstable. His vitals are dropping. We need to prepare the funds for his second surgery immediately, along with the imported anti-rejection medications. The current deficit is roughly $500,000.] Five hundred thousand dollars. And that was just the current gap. Combine that with the medical debt I already owed, plus the astronomical rehabilitation costs required to guarantee he woke up safely… That five million dollars—I couldn’t afford to lose a single cent. I stared at my phone screen, my fingers tightening their grip. “What are you looking at? Vic’s not even here, and you’re not even trying to entertain us?” Carter kicked me lightly in the calf, looking annoyed. I put my phone away and looked up at Carter. For a split second, I didn’t manage to mask the icy hostility in my eyes. Carter froze. “What the hell is that look for?” But in the blink of an eye, I morphed back into the timid, submissive girl. “It’s nothing. I was just wondering when Mr. Sterling would be back.” Right on cue, the heavy doors pushed open. Victor strode in. His face was dark, carrying an aura of aggressive irritation. “We’re leaving.” He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me up. His grip was so harsh it made my wrist ache. “Mr. Sterling, what’s wrong?” The moment we got into his sports car, Victor slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The car shot down the Manhattan streets like a bullet. “Serena’s flight got moved up. She lands tomorrow.” He gritted his teeth, his voice tight. “You are moving out tonight.” When Victor was in a rush, he had zero patience for anything. He sped all the way back to his Upper East Side penthouse. He didn’t even step inside. He just sat in the driver’s seat, glaring at me coldly. “Go upstairs and pack your things. You are only allowed to take what belongs to you. Do not touch a single thing I bought for you.” “You have one hour.” This kind of heartless, unreasonable demand would have shattered the heart of any woman who had spent five years with him. But to me? It felt like total liberation. “Understood, Mr. Sterling. I’ll be quick.” I stepped out of the car, my footsteps so light I had to physically restrain myself from skipping to the elevator. This penthouse was luxurious, but to me, it was nothing but a suffocating prison. Every corner of this place was meticulously designed to echo Serena’s preferences, and I was just the live-in maid hired to maintain her ghost. I walked into the bedroom and pulled out a battered, cheap suitcase I had brought with me five years ago. I opened the massive walk-in closet. It was stuffed with designer clothes, diamond jewelry, and luxury handbags that Victor had bought me. I didn’t touch a single one of them. I only packed the cheap, faded clothes I had arrived in, a frayed toiletry bag, and from a hidden compartment in the nightstand, a slightly yellowed photograph. In the photo, Ethan was wearing a crisp white button-down. His smile was as warm as a spring breeze, and he was holding two ice cream cones. We had taken it during our college days. Back then, the horrific car crash hadn’t happened yet, and I hadn’t sold my soul to Victor Sterling to pay for his life support. Looking at the photo, the intense nausea that Victor and Carter had stirred up in my stomach finally began to dissipate. “Just a little longer, Ethan. It’s almost over.” I whispered softly, carefully tucking the photo into my worn-out wallet. It took me less than thirty minutes to pack. When I got downstairs, Victor was standing in the living room, smoking a cigarette. Several crushed butts were already scattered by his feet. When he saw the pathetic, battered suitcase in my hand, he froze, his brows knitting tightly together. “That’s it?” “Yes. Everything else was purchased by you. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to take it.” I stood in the entryway and placed the penthouse keys on the console table. My attitude was so flawlessly respectful and professional that he couldn’t pick out a single flaw. Victor seemed inexplicably irritated. My clean, unhesitating departure gave him the frustrating sensation of punching a pillow. “There’s a hundred thousand dollars on this card. Consider it severance.” He tossed another black credit card onto the table. I didn’t reach for it. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Sterling. The contract clearly states I only receive the final tail-end payment upon completion. This hundred thousand isn’t covered by our agreement. I can’t accept it.” I don’t take risks with small change. I was here for the five million dollars written in black and white on my contract. What if I took this hundred grand, and he used it as an excuse to claim I breached the contract and withheld my final five million? When it came to making money, I was as meticulous as a Wall Street auditor. Victor’s face darkened. “I gave it to you, so take it! Stop talking back!” “I really don’t need it, Mr. Sterling. I’m not desperate for money.” I lied smoothly, pushing the card back toward him. Victor let out a cold, angry laugh. “Not desperate for money? If you weren’t desperate for money, would you have sold yourself as a stand-in for five years? Harper, don’t act like a saint when you’re anything but.” I kept my head down, refusing to argue. “Fine. If you want to play the noble martyr, then get the hell out.” He pointed at the front door. I felt like I had just received a gubernatorial pardon. I grabbed my suitcase handle and marched toward the exit. Just as I stepped out the door, Victor’s dark, brooding voice echoed from behind me. “Harper. Once you walk out that door, there’s no turning back. Don’t think I’ll come crawling after you to coax you back like before.” Coax me? When had he ever coaxed me? Oh, right. I remembered. When I first moved in, I was so overwhelmed by his volatile, toxic mood swings that I used to cry secretly in the bathroom. He found my crying annoying. He tossed a designer handbag at me and snapped, “Stop crying. It’s giving me a headache.” That wasn’t coaxing. That was paying for peace and quiet. I stopped walking, but I didn’t turn around. I just straightened my spine. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. I will absolutely never look back.” I dragged my suitcase out of the luxury high-rise, but I didn’t head to the condo in Jersey. Instead, I hailed a cab and went straight to the downtown hospital. Outside the ICU in the dead of night, it was so quiet I could only hear the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitors. I pressed my hands against the glass window, staring greedily at the man lying inside. Five years. Ethan had lost so much weight. His face was deathly pale, and his body was hooked up to countless tubes and machines. But he was still alive. As long as he was alive, there was hope. The Head Nurse walked by, saw me, and let out a soft sigh as she approached. “Ms. Harper, you’re here this late?” “Yeah. Just wanted to see him.” “Mr. Ethan’s condition has been deteriorating over the last two days. The doctors said if we don’t perform the second surgery immediately, I’m afraid…” “I know.” I turned around and looked at the nurse. My eyes had never been more resolute. “I have the money ready. Next month, on the 5th. We operate exactly on schedule.” Life after leaving Victor was incredibly fulfilling. I rented a cheap motel room. Every day, besides visiting Ethan at the hospital, I stared at the calendar, counting down the hours. Just three days left until the contract expired. As long as I survived these three days, and Victor wired the money as agreed, I would be completely, totally free. However, life never goes exactly as planned. On the night before the deadline, I got a call from Victor. “Where are you?” His voice sounded slightly drunk. The background noise was chaotic, like he was at a club. “Mr. Sterling, I’ve already moved out,” I reminded him calmly. “I asked where the hell you are!” he roared. “Serena wants to see you.” My heart plummeted. Serena wanted to see me? The original first love wanting to meet the cheap stand-in? What good could possibly come of that? “Mr. Sterling, this violates our agreement…” “Shut up! Get your ass to The Apex in thirty minutes, or you can kiss your final payout goodbye!” The line went dead. I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning white. He was using my five million dollars to threaten me. That money was Ethan’s life. I took a deep breath, changed into the pale blue dress that Serena supposedly loved most, and took a cab to The Apex. The moment I pushed the VIP room doors open, my eyes landed on the woman sitting next to Victor. She was stunning. She possessed a natural, effortless elegance and confidence that I could never replicate, even after five years of trying. However, she was wearing a fiery, bold red dress. It was completely different from the plain, demure, “pure” aesthetic I had been forced to adopt. It seemed Victor had only forced me into pale colors because that was how he remembered her from their youth. The real Serena had long since outgrown that phase. “So you’re Harper?” Serena looked me up and down, her eyes carrying three parts curiosity and seven parts absolute disdain. “You do look a little bit like the old me.” I stood by the door, neither haughty nor humble. “Good evening, Ms. Serena.” Victor held a glass of whiskey, his gaze shifting back and forth between me and Serena, clearly anticipating a good show. “Vic, I heard she’s been with you for five years?” Serena looped her arm through Victor’s, laughing flirtatiously. “How much did you spend to keep such an obedient little pet?” Victor glanced at me dismissively. “Not much. She was just a plaything to pass the time.” Plaything. The word pierced my ears like a needle. But my face maintained a perfect, polite smile, not showing a single trace of humiliation. “I heard you’re willing to do absolutely anything for money?” Serena suddenly stood up and walked over to me, holding a glass of red wine. “So, if I told you to get on your knees, apologize to me, and admit you’re just a shameless, pathetic knockoff… would you do it?” The VIP room went dead silent. Everyone was staring at me, waiting to see what I would do. Victor frowned. He seemed to think Serena was crossing a line, but he didn’t say a word to stop her. He was waiting. He was waiting for me to beg him for help. I looked at Victor, then down at the glass of red wine teetering dangerously in Serena’s hand. For five million dollars. For Ethan’s life. What was my dignity worth? What were my knees worth? I slowly bent my legs, letting my knees sink toward the carpet, inch by inch. Victor’s pupils contracted violently. He abruptly stood up, looking like he wanted to yell something. Thud. My knees hit the floor with a muffled sound. “I am so sorry, Ms. Serena.” I looked up, meeting Serena’s eyes directly. My tone was as calm as if I were discussing the weather. “I am just a cheap knockoff. I shouldn’t have tried to imitate you and cause you discomfort.” Serena froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to kneel so effortlessly, without a single shred of psychological resistance. The twisted thrill of humiliating me hadn’t even peaked before it was completely suffocated by my robotic, business-like attitude. “You…” Serena was furious. She raised her hand, ready to splash the entire glass of red wine directly into my face. “Enough!” Victor suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Serena’s wrist. The wine sloshed out of the glass, splashing onto the floor and staining the hem of my dress. “Vic?” Serena looked at him in total disbelief. Victor’s face was livid. He stared down at me, his chest heaving with explosive breaths. “Harper, you…” He looked like he wanted to scream at me, but he didn’t even know what to say. Yell at me for having no spine? Yell at me for having no self-respect? “Mr. Sterling, do you have any other instructions?” I remained kneeling, looking up at him. “If not, may I leave now?” “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” Victor roared, violently hurling his whiskey glass against the wall, shattering it into a hundred pieces. I stood up smoothly, brushed the dust off my knees, and gave him and Serena a slight, respectful bow. “I wish Mr. Sterling and Ms. Serena a lifetime of happiness.” With that, I turned on my heel and walked out, without a single ounce of hesitation.

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I am the elite “Separation Specialist” for high-society divorces. I’ve saved thousands of wealthy wives billions of dollars in marital assets by covertly convincing their husbands’ mistresses to walk away. On International Women’s Day, a client walked into my office. She was dripping in diamonds and gold. Without a word, she nodded to her bodyguards. They began stacking bricks of cash from duffel bags onto my desk. They built a mountain of money right in front of me. “One million in cash, plus a one-million-dollar Black Card preload,” she stated flatly. “There’s a ten-million-dollar bonus waiting for you if you succeed.” I had never seen that much raw cash in my entire life. I couldn’t grin wide enough. My eyes were practically burning with dollar signs. “Rest assured, ma’am,” I said, putting on my best professional charm. “I am the undisputed master of dissolving these… ‘complications.’ I will return your husband to you, guaranteed.” She let out a sharp, cold snort. “You misunderstand me,” she said, looking at me like I was an idiot. “I don’t want you to get rid of a mistress.” “I want you to convince the wife to sign the papers.” Chapter 1 I sat there, letting her words sink in. I was stunned into silence. “Mrs. Chen,” I said slowly, trying to maintain composure. “There must be some mistake. I handle anti-mistress mitigation. I don’t initiate divorces for the ‘other woman.’” She buffed her manicured gold nails, an insufferable smirk on her face. “You people run such a small-time operation. You lack vision. A man’s heart is wherever his money is flowing.” “Besides, my husband loves me. The woman in his house is the real interloper ruining our relationship.” “You have no idea how hard my life is. I have to spend my days at bridge clubs and high teas just to keep appearances. Meanwhile, that plain Jane house drudge he’s married to gets to work herself to the bone and hand over her whole paycheck to him.” It was absolutely delusional. My profession might exist in a moral gray area, but I draw a hard line at actively destroying a family from the inside out. “Mrs. Chen, I’m sorry,” I said, standing up. “We cannot accept this case. I recommend you seek services elsewhere.” I started gesturing toward the door to usher her out. I make my living protecting marriages from women like her. I wasn’t about to hand her the matches to burn one down. An expression of utter disbelief crossed her face. She let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “You’re just holding out for more money, aren’t you? Pretty ballsy for a dump like this.” “Just give me a straight answer. Are you taking the job or not?” Even though her tone was turning nasty, I kept a polite smile plastered on my face. “I apologize for the inconvenience, Mrs. Chen, but we are a firm pass. Deeply sorry.” She rolled her eyes violently. “Look at you, standing there in your off-the-rack trash. You look like a stray dog. Stupid bitch, turning down real money.” She grabbed a wad of cash from the table and hurled it directly at my face. Benjamins scattered across the floor like confetti. Not a single staff member in the room dared to move or make a sound. I clenched my fists, my temper flaring. “Get out,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “I have made myself very clear. You are not welcome in this establishment.” She sat back down on the sofa, crossing her legs elegantly. “What? You think you’re better than me?” “Let me tell you something, honey. Being ‘the other woman’ at this level takes real talent and hard work.” “Look at that ‘plain pig’ face of yours. You’re so basic and homely, you couldn’t even make it as an escort, let alone a high-end mistress.” My polite facade shattered completely. I gave her a deadly, fake grin. “Out. Leave. You have three seconds before I call security to drag you out.” Her eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting her lips. A sharp, deafening slap echoed through the room as her palm connected with my cheek. “Who the hell are you to tell me to get out?” “There is more money on that table than you will ever earn in ten lifetimes.” “The customer is God, didn’t you learn that? I’m demanding service today, and you’re going to give it to me.” I glared at her through gritted teeth, clenching my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “I am warning you one last time. Get. Out.” She looked incredibly bored. “Are you thick? I said I’m not leaving until you help me.” “Don’t try to scare me. You wouldn’t dare do a thing. Do you have any idea who my husband is? He’s Gabriel Thorne, the Chairman of Thorne Enterprises.” Gabriel Thorne? Thorne Enterprises? Wasn’t that my brother-in-law’s name? Chapter 2 The news hit me like a physical blow. My brain was temporarily offline. Seeing me frozen in shock, she smirked triumphantly. “If you weren’t reportedly the absolute best at what you do, I never would have set foot in this trashy office.” I swallowed hard, ignoring her insults. “You claim your husband is Gabriel Thorne. Do you have any proof?” She rolled her eyes, radiating impatience. “Are you blind? Look at the millions on the table. Who else but Thorne Enterprises has this kind of loose capital?” I felt a sudden wave of relief wash over me. It had to be a common name. A coincidence. My brother-in-law wasn’t wealthy. In fact, his small startup was barely keeping its head above water, only staying afloat because I secretly funneled my own salary to him through my sister. She pulled out her phone and displayed a photo. It was a picture of them kissing passionately. The breath was knocked right out of me again. I stared at that photo, searching for any inconsistency. It was him. Gabriel Thorne. My sister’s husband. “Believe me now?” “He gives me a two-hundred-thousand-dollar monthly allowance.” “His miserable ‘starter wife’ at home thinks he’s drowning in debt. She actually gives him her entire paycheck every month to ‘help out.’” “Her sister is apparently a bigger idiot, too. Makes tons of money and gives it all to my Gabriel.” The veins in my temples were throbbing violently. My expression went cold as ice. She couldn’t read the room to save her life and kept blabbing, “The woman he lives with hasn’t been able to produce an heir in ten years of marriage. I’ve been with him for one year and I’m already pregnant.” “His wife is the one interloping on our little family of three.” I forced a tight, sickening smile. “It’s just a photo. Anyone with basic Photoshop skills could doctor that. Do you have any real evidence?” The moment the words left my mouth, she slammed her teacup onto the floor. Hot tea and porcelain shards exploded everywhere. “Give you an inch and you take a mile! You are testing my patience.” I needed to be sure. I signaled another consultant to keep her occupied. I ran to the restroom. With shaking hands, I text the photo to a friend who is a forensic image specialist. His reply came back within minutes. The verdict: The photo was completely authentic. Zero signs of digital manipulation. I immediately posted the picture into our family group chat, tagging my sister. Immediately, the notifications started blowing up from aunts, uncles, and cousins. [Gabe would never do this. This has to be a deepfake, right?] [The lighting is all wrong. Sarah must be pranking us with an AI generator.] [Sarah’s always had a streak of malice in her. She’s just being vicious.] [I heard she has a dirty job in the big city. She’s gone bad.] My extended family tore me to shreds, calling me everything but a child of God. I kept typing through the tears, my fingers numb. [It is not Photoshopped. A professional authenticated it.] [The mistress is in my office right now. And apparently, she’s pregnant…] My oldest aunt posted a message that felt like a slap. [Isn’t Sarah supposed to be some ace anti-mistress specialist? Why doesn’t she just do her job and handle it quietly? Unless… are you just trying to blow up their marriage because you’re jealous of how happy they are?] A few moments later, my mother called me. “Sarah, get some therapy. You are sick. Why are you fabricating this disgusting lie against your brother-in-law?” “Are you just envious that your sister married well?” “I wish you were dead. All you do is try to destroy your sister’s happiness.” Rage boiled up inside me. “Gabriel is actually cheating. I am not breaking up his marriage.” “Remember the fifty thousand dollars I gave her for her dowry? And I’ve basically paid off his business debt with my salary every month for years.” My mother let out a cold laugh through the phone. “That was your responsibility as a sister. Aren’t you supposed to be good at getting rid of these women? Go fix it, you liar. You were always lazy in school, now I see you’ve added compulsive liar to your résumé.” “Tomorrow is the day Gabe’s company goes public. Do not ruin this for him with your nonsense.” The line went dead. A deep chill settled in my chest. Gabriel said his company was bleeding money. My mother demanded I help him. I did, without question, for three years. Three years. Over two hundred thousand dollars of my money. 省 money? I woke up before dawn every day. I lived on ramen and canned soup. I lived in a dark, damp basement apartment for years, which messed up my joints from the humidity. And a simple “that was your responsibility” was the total erasure of all my sacrifice. Chapter 3 I didn’t even make it out of the restroom before my mother and sister burst in. They must have rushed over the moment I posted the photo. “Sarah, are you trying to kill us with stress?” my mother screamed. “Your sister finally scored a golden goose, and you’re trying to ruin it. You think everyone is beneath you just because you hang around with rich sluts?” My eyes were burning red with fury. “Mom, what do you mean by that? My reputation as a top-tier specialist is worthless to you?” “I hand over my paycheck to you every month. I live in poverty so you guys can live well, and in your eyes, that’s just my ‘responsibility’?” “When she got married, you guys practically went bankrupt to buy her a condo.” “But when I wanted to go to vocational school to learn a trade, you said I was wasting my time and wouldn’t give me a single dime.” “In all these years, what has she ever given you?” Before I could finish, my mother’s hand connected with my face. She shoved me so hard I hit the tile wall, staggering to keep my footing. “Your sister has a respectable, tenured job. She has a Ph.D. You have no right to compare yourself to her.” “Look at you. You barely finished high school. It’s embarrassing to admit you’re my daughter.” “You give us money because it’s your duty. Why should you get to make more money than her when you have no education, no background, and no looks?” I raised my head and looked at my sister. My mother was old, uneducated, and stubborn. I stopped trying to reason with her long ago. “And you, Rachel? Is this how you think of me, too?” Rachel crossed her arms, looking me up and down with obvious disdain. “Sarah, don’t you think it’s inappropriate to interfere in my marital affairs like this?” “I know you’re an anti-mistress specialist. You’re quick on your feet. Tell me… have you fallen for your own brother-in-law? Is that what this is about?” I clamped my jaw shut so hard my teeth ached. “Is that really what you think of me?” “Rachel, I paid your dowry. Mom, I paid your retirement insurance premiums.” “You both told me his startup was failing, and I immediately turned over my savings and my debit card to you.” “Every holiday, I buy you gifts I can’t afford myself.” I forced the words out, one by one, through hot tears. “And this is the thanks I get? It’s just my ‘duty’?” Rachel shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. “Sarah, aren’t you just obsessed with money? You’ve always been a greedy, materialistic little bitch.” “Our parents worked themselves to the bone to raise you. Honoring them is your responsibility.” “In a few years, you need to quit this embarrassing job, get married, pop out some kids, and stop obsessing over your brother-in-law.” I stared at my mother and sister with total disillusionment. This was the family I had sacrificed half my youth for. I simply told them the truth about Gabriel’s infidelity, and in return, I was subjected to insult after insult. I took a job that wasn’t as ‘respectable’ as Rachel’s, and they used it as a weapon against me. I tried to explain my hurt, and they dismissed it as my ‘duty.’ It was bad enough that they disrespected my work, but they treated my financial support as an entitlement while fabricating lies that I desired my own brother-in-law. “As of today, you are not getting another dime from me.” “Gabriel is cheating. That is a fact. Believe it or not, I don’t care.” Chapter 4 With that, I walked out. They would never receive another cent. My father called just as I stepped onto the main floor. After hesitating, I answered it. “Sarah, your mom… she’s just an old fool. Don’t take it to heart.” “Dad believes you. You wouldn’t make up something like this.” “Dad…………” The dam broke. I was hysterical, pouring out years of suppressed hurt to my father over the phone. Finally, one family member understood. Someone who didn’t look down on my profession, someone who didn’t think I was just fulfilling an obligation. There was a long silence on the other end. “Sarah, just find a decent man and get married. Stop worrying about your brother-in-law.” “That job of yours… it’s a young woman’s game. Who’s going to hire an old anti-mistress specialist?” “I think big Miller at the hardware store in town is a good match. His son is divorced, but he agreed to a fifteen-hundred-dollar bride price.” My throat felt like it was filled with cement. I couldn’t make a sound. “No.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh and hung up. It felt like a giant boulder was crushing my chest, making it difficult to breathe. My father was ready to sell me off for fifteen hundred dollars. I had given this family at least three hundred thousand. Fifteen hundred dollars to buy off the rest of my life’s earning potential, just to ease their minds. At the end of the day, they all just thought I was lying to get closer to Gabriel. I didn’t say another word to anyone. I walked back into the consultation room. Mrs. Chen—or whatever her real name was—marched over to me and poked her finger hard into my chest. “Is this how you treat paying clients? By vanishing?” My expression was absolute granite. I was dead inside. “Why haven’t you left? I said I don’t handle mistresses.” “Get the hell out. Now!” Her eyes flashed with homicidal rage. “Don’t you talk to me like that, you trash.” “If you don’t get on your knees and apologize right now, I will smash this ugly office to the ground.” I clenched my fists. “I have nothing to apologize for. You are an interloper destroying a family.” A loud crack echoed. She slapped me again. Harder this time. Both my cheeks were burning with scarlet handprints. “If I hadn’t given you this opportunity, someone like you wouldn’t even be qualified to look at me.” “Since you’re being so stubborn, I’ll grant your wish.” “Gideon, smash everything.” Over the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood, I dropped to the floor and watched ten years of my life’s work turn into a heap of garbage. I stood up, beyond caring. I grabbed her by the hair and slapped her across the face three times, as hard as I could. “You will never be anything but a pathetic, kept secret.” I know exactly how society treats women like her. If I exposed her online. She would be public enemy number one. She lunged at me, clawing at my hair. We tumbled onto the floor, screaming and tearing at each other. Sharp nails ripped into my flesh. Suddenly, a massive force booted me in the ribs. I tumbled across the floor, my black hair masking my face. She scrambled away, crawling into Gabriel Thorne’s arms, weeping hysterically. “Gabriel, honey, she insulted me and attacked me!” He stroked her hair, his voice soothing but deadly. “It’s okay, babe. I’ll get justice for you.” His expensive dress shoe pressed down hard onto my hand. “This dump is closed permanently. Destroy it all. If it can’t be smashed, douse it in paint.” His assistants worked efficiently. Within minutes, my life’s work was a total ruin. As he turned to leave, he kicked me one last time in the ribs. “Crazy bitch. ‘Elite Specialist’? Please. You’re more pathetic than that plain Jane slob I live with’s sister.” “Trash. Later tonight, I might just sell you to a trafficking ring in Tijuana.” I reached out and grabbed his pant leg, pulling my hair out of my face to look at him. “Gabriel Thorne. Say that again. I dare you.”

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