On April Fools’ Day, I received a promotion email. I thought my five years of hard work had finally paid off—I was finally being promoted to Sales Director. Full of joy, I moved my belongings to the door of my new private office. But when I pushed open the door, there wasn’t even an office chair inside—just a pile of stinking garbage. That’s when I heard loud mocking laughter from my colleagues behind me. “Sasha, you actually fell for it? How pathetically shameless!” My boss also chimed in, “It’s just an April Fools’ prank. You can take a joke, right?” I became the laughingstock of the entire company, a complete fool. But they forgot—this afternoon, I was scheduled to sign a one-billion-dollar contract that would determine the company’s fate. Since my boss loved April Fools’ jokes so much, I’d give him a special April Fools’ gift of my own. “What’s wrong, Sasha? It’s just an April Fools’ prank. You can take a joke, can’t you?” My boss, Mr. Richards, looked down at me with unconcealed smugness. Faced with his mockery, the entire office area erupted in piercing laughter. “Exactly, Ms. Turner! Did you really think you could become Sales Director?” Lily from reception covered her mouth, laughing so hard she was shaking. “She should look at her own credentials—a community college graduate thinking she can become a phoenix? As if.” I didn’t lose my temper. I just stiffly crouched down and began picking up the personal belongings I’d just joyfully packed into the large cardboard box, one by one. I was like a clown being paraded through the streets. Under everyone’s unrestrained pointing and whispering, I walked step by step back to my cramped old desk in the main hall. “She usually acts so high and mighty just because she’s the top salesperson, bossing us around. Now she’s been put back in her place.” Behind me, I could hear my colleagues’ shameless gossip. Mr. Richards followed me over, tapping my desk with the bottom of his coffee mug. “Sasha, don’t take it to heart. Young people need to face some setbacks—it’s good for you. I’m just trying to build your stress tolerance.” He adopted the tone of a caring elder. “You’ve been with this company for five years. Even if you haven’t achieved great things, you’ve worked hard. But the director position isn’t something you can get just by working yourself to the bone. You need big-picture thinking, you need to understand office politics. Understand?” I looked at him coldly. “Mr. Richards, last week you personally told me that if I secured Mr. Wilson’s one-billion-dollar contract, the director position would be mine.” Mr. Richards scoffed. “That was motivational rhetoric. You couldn’t even tell? Besides, we could land Mr. Wilson’s deal even without you, just based on our company’s reputation. Don’t think too highly of yourself.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms. Five years of my youth, countless days and nights of struggle. In his eyes, it was all just a cheap game he could trample on at will. I felt utterly humiliated and degraded. But I forced myself to swallow this bitter pill. Because this afternoon, I still had to represent the company to sign that one-billion-dollar contract. It was the most important credential in my professional career. I couldn’t flip the table at this critical moment. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Richards.” I forced out a smile completely devoid of warmth. Mr. Richards nodded with satisfaction. “That’s more like it. Girls shouldn’t always be fighting for power.” He turned to the other employees who were watching the spectacle. “What are you all standing around for? Don’t you have work to do? Even though it’s April Fools’ Day, performance reviews are no joke!” Everyone immediately scattered, but the looks they gave me were still full of undisguised contempt. Derek Shaw from the next desk leaned over. “Well, well, Ms. Turner, giving up so easily?” Derek usually got chewed out by me for his bottom-of-the-barrel sales numbers. Now seeing my misfortune, he was happier than on Christmas. “I’ve always said women in sales are just trading on their youth. You’re getting older now, you’ve lost your looks—how can you compete with those young girls?” He picked his teeth while giving me an extremely sleazy up-and-down look. “You should just find yourself an honest man to marry and be a housewife.” I whipped my head around, staring at him with icy eyes. “Derek Shaw, your sales this month are zero, and you still have time to worry about my marriage prospects?” His face stiffened, then flushed with embarrassed anger. “Who are you to act so superior! You’re not even a manager anymore—what right do you have to boss me around?” I didn’t bother with him. I needed to go over the final contract details one more time. No matter what, this contract was my personal achievement, and I wouldn’t allow any mistakes. Just then, someone gently tapped my shoulder. I turned around.

“Ms. Turner, are you okay?” Marcus, a subordinate who’d only been with us for two months, stood behind me. I shook my head. “I’m fine. Go back to your work.” I stood up, heading toward the break room to get some water. The corridor was narrow. Derek saw me coming and deliberately stretched his leg into the aisle. I tripped over it and fell hard to the floor. My knee hit the hard surface, sending a sharp, drilling pain through me instantly. “Oh my! Why is our great Director Turner bowing so low?” Not only did Derek not apologize, he mocked me loudly with heavy sarcasm. The surrounding colleagues burst into laughter again. “Sasha, are you blind or something?” I endured the searing pain in my hand and knee, struggling to get up from the floor awkwardly. I looked coldly at Derek. “Get your dog leg out of the way.” Derek slammed his hand on the desk and stood up. “You walk without watching where you’re going and blame others? You think you’re still that high-and-mighty top salesperson? You’re nothing but a joke now!” Marcus walked over, his eyes red. “Ms. Turner, ignore them.” He helped me to my chair, his voice choked with tears. “Ms. Turner, what am I going to do?” I frowned, looking at the paper in his hand. It was a demotion notice. It stated that due to Marcus’s failure to meet performance standards during his probation period, he would be demoted to reception assistant with his salary cut in half. “What’s this about?” I asked. Marcus wiped away tears. “Mr. Richards said I’m too stupid and can’t do anything right. Ms. Turner, I really need this job. I have a sick grandmother back home to support.” Seeing him like this, the anger in my heart subsided slightly. In this cold company, perhaps only this fresh graduate still retained some human warmth. Remembering how I’d trained him hands-on these past two months, I softened. I patted his shoulder consolingly. “Sales is tough for everyone. You just started—not having resources is normal.” I thought for a moment and pulled out a client list from my desk. “Tell you what—I have some repeat orders from old clients here. The profit margins aren’t high, but they’re enough to get you through probation. Take these and follow up on them. They’ll count as your sales numbers, give you a cushion.” Marcus’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Really? Ms. Turner, you’re really willing to share clients with me?” I nodded. “Everyone’s struggling. We should help each other out.” Marcus clutched the list tightly, breaking into a smile through his tears. “Thank you, Ms. Turner! You’re like a second parent to me!” Watching his joyful retreating figure, I sighed helplessly. The wounds on my hand were still bleeding. I went to the restroom to clean them up. Otherwise, meeting Mr. Wilson this afternoon looking like this would be far too unprofessional. I limped toward the restroom. I firmly believed that as long as I held that one-billion-dollar contract in my hands, I’d have the capital to turn things around. But I never imagined that what I thought was kindness was just another carefully crafted joke. A party popper went off in the office area. Immediately followed by everyone’s cheering and celebration. “Come on, everyone! Let’s congratulate Mr. Richards on his promotion to Sales Director!”

I froze in place. What should have been a quiet workspace now looked like a wild party. I stood at the office entrance. I saw Marcus, who’d just been crying to me moments ago, now sitting brazenly on my desk. He held a glass of freshly opened champagne, laughing his head off. “Did you all see how stupid Sasha looked just now? She actually believed I was getting demoted and condescendingly offered me some trashy clients! Those moldy resources of hers—I wouldn’t even use them as coasters!” Lily from reception approached with a wine glass, looking obsequious. “Exactly, Marcus! She doesn’t know her place. Just because she landed a few big clients, her tail’s pointing to the sky. She doesn’t even know whose name is on this company.” Derek circled around Marcus like a lapdog. “Marcus is Mr. Richards’s own nephew, an elite returnee from a prestigious university! The Sales Director position was always meant for Marcus. That nobody Sasha isn’t even worthy of carrying Mr. Richards’s shoes!” I stood in the corridor’s shadows, feeling all the blood in my body freeze instantly. His own nephew? I stared at Marcus sitting on my desk. So all of this was fake. The promotion email was fake. The demotion notice was fake. Only I was the fool, manipulated and mocked by the entire company in a conspiracy. Mr. Richards emerged from the private office, holding a wine glass. He looked at Marcus with a smile. “Marcus, how was my April Fools’ production? Pretty good, right? Did it help you vent?” Marcus jumped off the desk and threw his arm around Mr. Richards’s shoulder. “It was awesome, Uncle! You don’t know—these past two months she’s been making me memorize product materials every day and forcing me to run sales calls in the blazing sun. I’ve never been treated like this in my entire life—not even by my own mother! Seeing her today like a stray dog moving her stuff—I can’t tell you how satisfying that was!” Mr. Richards laughed heartily. “She’s just meant for grunt work. This afternoon, after she signs Mr. Wilson’s one-billion-dollar contract, I’ll just find some excuse to fire her. Then that massive achievement will be yours! I’m good to you, aren’t I?” I stood there watching their ugly faces, suddenly feeling my stomach churn. Five years. For this company, I’d given up all my vacation days. I’d pulled a nearly bankrupt workshop up by its bootstraps into a well-known industry player. I thought if I just worked hard enough, I’d earn the respect and rewards I deserved. But reality had slapped me hard across the face. I pushed open the door and walked in expressionlessly. The cheering stopped abruptly. Everyone looked at me like I was some kind of monster. The smile on Marcus’s face froze for a moment, then returned to that same arrogant expression. “Oh, Ms. Turner’s back? That demotion notice earlier was a misunderstanding. My uncle said for April Fools’ fun, all decisions and responses today had to be reversed!” He boasted, “So I actually got promoted!” I laughed coldly inside. Reversed. So that’s how I got that ridiculous promotion notice. Just then, Mr. Richards walked over with a cold expression. He slammed a thick stack of documents against my chest. “Sasha, you still have the nerve to chat here? Get your ass to the conference room right now!”

Mr. Richards pointed at my nose and cursed. “Mr. Wilson’s already here with his legal team—go sign that contract immediately!” I looked down at the contract that had fallen to the floor. Just flipping to the first page, my brow furrowed tightly. This contract was full of holes. Not only were the profit margins completely wrong, even the breach of contract clauses were reversed. “Mr. Richards, this contract is unusable.” “Shut up!” Mr. Richards rudely cut me off. “This is the proposal Marcus personally revised. He’s an elite returnee who understands advanced management concepts far better than you!” Marcus chimed in smugly from the side. “Exactly. Your outdated negotiation tactics are ancient history.” I looked at this ridiculous uncle-nephew pair, hardly believing my ears. Signing this hole-riddled contract would destroy my industry reputation and lose all client trust. Mr. Richards and Marcus could easily deflect all blame, but I’d be finished in the industry. Mr. Richards glared at me viciously. “Sasha, stop being alarmist! I’m ordering you to go to the conference room and handle this right now, or you’ll bear all the losses and get out immediately!” He shoved me, pushing me straight through the conference room door. Inside the conference room, the atmosphere was oppressively tense. Mr. Wilson sat across the long table with his elite legal team, their expressions dark. I looked at the wound on my knee from Derek’s trip, then at the disgusting faces of this uncle-nephew duo. Then at Mr. Wilson’s extremely displeased expression across from me. Five years of grievances, humiliation, and resentment reached their peak in this moment. Mr. Wilson pushed the contract toward me. I took a deep breath and picked up that contract. Then I announced loudly to Mr. Wilson: “On behalf of the company, I reject this partnership!” As soon as the words left my mouth, I gripped the contract with both hands. With a loud rip— In front of everyone, I tore that billion-dollar contract to shreds. Paper fragments floated down like snowflakes in the conference room. The smile on Mr. Richards’s face instantly froze. “Sasha, have you lost your mind!”

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At the hospital’s annual Christmas gala, the intern, Hailey, collapsed at my feet in tears, accusing me of bullying her. Beside me, Liam, the hospital administrator and my fiancé, didn’t hesitate. He grabbed my hair, slamming my forehead against the edge of the table. “Brianna, you’re sick,” he snarled. “You don’t deserve to be a doctor.” The pain was blinding. Tears welled up in my eyes. “You believe her over me? She’s lying, Liam!” Instead of listening, Liam pulled a small paring knife from the fruit platter and drove it through the palm of my right hand, pinning it to the table. “Hailey would never be as malicious as you. I’m ensuring you never pick up a scalpel again. Let’s see you abuse your status as a ‘hotshot surgeon’ when you can’t even hold a pen.” I spat blood and saliva right into his face. “You’re dead, Liam. Without me, this hospital will be bankrupt by the end of the fiscal year!” 1 Preston was beyond furious, the veins bulging in his temples. He yanked me up by my arm, dragging me off the floor. Ignoring the stunned stares of the entire hospital staff, he hauled me straight out of the banquet hall and up to the penthouse suite he kept at the hotel. As soon as we burst through the door, he turned and grabbed his metal baseball bat from the umbrella stand near the entryway. He charged at me. “Preston, don’t be insane,” I gasped. Before the words were out, the bat swung. It connected solidly with the back of my right hand. A white-hot flash of agony shot through my limbs, and my vision swam with black spots. I didn’t need an X-ray to know. Every bone in my right hand was shattered. I had spent fifteen years building my career as a cardiothoracic surgeon. I protected these hands more than I protected my own life. Preston knew that better than anyone. I stared at him, my eyes burning with rage and grief. Swallowing the scream tearing at my throat, I fumbled for my phone in my pocket with my left hand to call 911. Every second counted. If I didn’t get into surgery immediately, I would never operate again. Preston saw me, the hand he had just stabbed trembling as I tried to unlock the screen. Before I could dial, he slapped the phone out of my hand, sending it smashing against the wall. “You have the audacity to call an ambulance after what you did to Hailey? Get this straight, Brianna: I made you. I gave you everything. How dare you act like you run the show in my hospital?” This private hospital only had its prestigious reputation because of me. I was the renowned specialist anchoring the cardiac department. Wealthy donors and high-profile patients lined up, offering seven-figure figures for me to lead their surgeries. I had turned down dozens of lucrative offers just to practice at his facility. Because of my renown, the hospital’s VIP wing was fully booked, with beds going for ten thousand dollars a night, driving an annual revenue of over two hundred million. “Brianna, apologize to Hailey. Right now. Or I’m taking these bullying allegations straight to the Medical Board.” “I’ll ensure you lose your license permanently. And don’t think you’re leaving this room to treat that hand until I get what I want.” I looked at the man I had built up with my own two hands, barely able to speak through the shock. “Preston, this hand… it’s my life. You know that.” Preston glanced at my mangled, bloody hand and let out a cold, mocking chuckle. “Of course I know. That’s why, if you want to save it—and save your medical career—you’re going to grovel and apologize.” A few colleagues who had followed us up to watch the drama began chiming in from the doorway. “I always thought Dr. Vance was a bit cold, but I never pegged her for a bully. What a waste of talent.” “Talent doesn’t mean anything. Without the hospital’s resources and platform, her skills aren’t worth dime. She deserves a lesson. Serves her right.” “Honestly, Hailey seems like a sweetheart. She’s been a great intern all year, never makes a mistake. Preston already planned to promote her to Administrative Assistant. It’ll be nice for her not to have to work night shifts anymore.” “Absolutely. Preston has an eye for real quality.” Their words were like ice picks stabbing at my heart. It made my skin crawl. These were people I had either recruited myself from prestigious public hospitals or hand-trained from residency. A few were retired specialists I had practically begged to come join us. Back in the public sector, they were stuck in bureaucracy, waiting for tenure and getting paid peanuts. I offered them high salaries, massive research grants, and help applying for national grants. I gave them the chance to make clean money based on their skills, not their seniority. I could still vividly remember them bowing in gratitude when they signed their contracts. Now, they were stepping on me to curry favor with the boss. I was brought back to reality when Hailey suddenly pushed through from behind Preston. She kicked me hard right behind the knee, making me buckle and fall. She grabbed my shoulders, her voice shrill. “Dr. Vance, the CEO is giving you a chance. Don’t be ungrateful.” “If you really piss him off and he goes to the Board, you’re done in the medical field!” I violently shook off her grip and slapped her across the face with my good hand. She shrieked, clutching her cheek. Seeing her hurt, Preston immediately pulled Hailey into his arms, murmuring softly to soothe her. “It’s okay, Hailey. I’ve got you.” Then, he turned around and marched toward me. I looked at him, dead inside. “Preston, we’re done. I’m leaving you.” 2 Preston paused, looking stunned for a split second. But I couldn’t waste time on him. My hand was dying. While he was frozen, I grabbed the arm of a hotel waitress who was passing by the open door, stealing the work phone from her tray. “Preston, I doubt you pay this waitress’s phone bill.” Ignoring the blinding stabs of pain in my palm, I dialed a hospital two towns over. While waiting for the connection, the smartwatch on my good left wrist vibrated. It was a duplicate message from my work phone. [Dr. Vance, we are the Investment Department for Vanguard Health, the national premium hospital network. We are incredibly impressed by your patent on minimally invasive surgical techniques. We have decided to invest $400 million in your team to build a new cardiac center. We are arriving at your hospital today for a face-to-face meeting.] I had completely forgotten. Today was the day the investors were giving their final answer. I wanted to message them to reschedule, but my fingers were too swollend and trembling to even swipe the screen. They were going to make a wasted trip. Preston was close friends with the hotel owner; he had already instructed security not to let me leave the penthouse. He had also used his connections to block local ambulance calls to the hotel. But he couldn’t control the surrounding county’s emergency services. Eventually, the faint wail of a siren grew closer. I let out a breath. They were finally here. The lead paramedic came up via the elevator. When he saw my hand, he paled. “What in God’s name happened? It’s a good thing you called when you did. Another thirty minutes and you would have lost the hand entirely.” He reached for gauze to stabilize the bleeding, but Preston stepped forward, blocking him. He aggressively slapped the emergency kit out of the paramedic’s hands, sending supplies scattering. I pushed myself up against the wall, using my shoulder to shove Preston back against the penthouse entryway door. I was seeing red. “Preston, what the hell is wrong with you?!” “You guys are out of your jurisdiction,” Preston snapped at the paramedics. “This is a compliance issue. One phone call to the State Health Department and your hospital is facing a seven-figure fine for ignoring zoning regulations.” The nurse who had accompanied them was flushed with anger. “Sir, this woman’s hand is about to become non-viable! Saving lives comes first. Whatever your personal drama is can wait until she’s treated!” She moved to help me up, but Hailey rushed forward and shoved her back. Preston’s security detail surrounded us, physically blocking the medical personnel. Hailey held her phone up to my face, recording. Her cheek was still red from my slap, but she was grinning like a maniac. “Brianna Vance, all you have to do is look into this camera, admit you bullied me, and publicly apologize. We will release you immediately. We will even arrange a private car to take you to the best orthopedic surgeon in New York.” “Otherwise, get used to being a cripple. You’ll be blacklisted by the Medical Board, facing a misconduct charge, and kicked out of the profession forever.” I turned to look at Preston. My voice was trembling. “Preston…” Preston just smirked, casually rubbing his shoulder where I had shoved him. “Why are you looking at me? A golden path is right in front of you. If you choose not to take it, that’s your problem.” The paramedic was sweating profusely. “Dr. Vance, just give in for now! Save the hand! If you lose the hand, you lose everything!” I thought about my career, the only thing I had ever loved. I remembered my mother gripping my hand on her deathbed, begging me to be a good doctor. A sob broke from my throat. Tears streamed down my face. I looked into Hailey’s camera lens, my jaw tight. “I admit… that I bullied Hailey. I am truly sorry.” After I recited the script she had written, the paramedic grabbed Hailey’s arm. “You said you were arranging a car. Where is it?” “Oh,” Preston interjected, his voice light and unbothered. He didn’t even look at me. “The driver’s mother passed away. He can’t make it today.” But I had already planned a backup. When I made the initial call, I had used the waitress’s phone to text a former student of mine. He was now the Associate Chief of Orthopedics at the county hospital two towns over. He had already arranged for a second ambulance to be waiting at the hotel’s loading dock, bypassing Preston’s people at the front entrance. As soon as Preston retreated into the bedroom, the paramedics hurried me down the fire stairs to the back exit. I was loaded into the waiting ambulance and we sped away. The surgery to salvage my hand took eighteen excruciating hours. When they finally wheeled me out of the OR, the lead surgeon—my former student—stood over me, a somber look on his face. “Dr. Vance, we did everything we could. But the nerve and tendon damage is catastrophic. You’re looking at at least a year of intensive physical therapy. As for ever holding a scalpel again… that is entirely up to your own will and persistence.” Salt tears slid into the corners of my mouth. I forced a weak smile and grabbed his arm, whispering. “I need you to maximize the dosage on my pain pump. I’m discharging myself now. I have things to handle.” “Absolutely not! You just got out of major reconstructive surgery. You can’t just leave!” I ripped the blanket off myself, struggling to climb down from the hospital bed. I dropped to my knees in front of him. “I’m begging you. If I wait, it will be too late.” Two hours later, once the high-strength painkillers kicked in, I wrapped myself in a heavy overcoat and discharged myself, escorted by security personnel Vanguard Health had sent for my protection. 3 I found out later that Julian Vanguard, the head of Vanguard Health, had just returned from an international inspection. His very first order was to find me. When he heard what happened, he immediately sent a security detail to watch the hospital perimeter. If they won’t let me live my life, then I’m bringing their entire world down with me. My first stop was the convention hall hosting the National Cardiology Conference, currently in session. I walked straight onto the floor. I grabbed the master drafts for my presentation on ‘Modified Minimally Invasive Bypass Techniques’ and the hard copies of my unpublished clinical follow-up data. Before the shocked gaze of every cardiologist in attendance, I threw the entire stack into an industrial paper shredder. These were the crucial, central materials required to secure national research grants. I hadn’t made a digital backup; I wanted total control of the hard copies. Now that they were confetti, the presentation couldn’t happen. Preston had spent nearly a year negotiating for tens of millions in research funding for that specific presentation. It was gone. Next, I went to his hospital. I logged into the system and formatted every single one of the custom treatment plans for the complex cases I was heading. I had anticipated this day. The complete versions of all core data were stored on my private, encrypted hard drives. The hospital servers only held truncated versions. Without the raw data, those high-profile projects would ground to an absolute halt. I was in the middle of scrubbing the case analyses I had stored on his personal computer in his office when Preston burst in, Hailey at his heels. When he saw the floor covered in shredded paper and the formatted screen showing the empty server interface, his face went beet red. “Brianna, are you out of your mind?! You shredded the conference materials. What about the millions in grants?! You formatted the server. What happens to the projects?!” He charged at me, grabbing my right hand—the one that had just come out of major surgery. His nails dug through the heavy bandages, driving right into the fresh incision points. A cold sweat instantly broke out over my back from the agony. I gritted my teeth, slamming my weight against him to shove him off me. Watching him fly into a blind rage made me smile. “Grants can be re-negotiated, and servers can be restored… if you have the data. But you ruined my hand, so I ruined the only thing you actually care about: your hospital. Seems like a fair trade to me.” Preston trembled with rage. Then, he threw his head back and laughed. “Ruined me? Brianna, don’t be naive. Every single patent you applied for… I had them legally transferred to the hospital’s name six months ago. Those aren’t yours anymore!” “Do you know how much that ‘confetti’ is worth? I’ve tallied it up. Eighty-five million dollars in guaranteed revenue. Do you have that kind of cash to pay for the breach of contract?” His words hit me like a physical blow. The blood rushed out of my face. Everything he said after that was just static noise. With trembling left fingers, I pulled out my phone to check the patent registry. When I saw the owner was indeed listed as the hospital, my blood turned to ice. He had planned this from the start. Six months ago, he was already laying the groundwork to kick me out and take full ownership of my life’s work. Hailey was just a convenient pawn that fell into his lap. The bullying allegations were just a tool to get rid of me without paying out my share of the equity. Hailey smirked from the side, looking absolutely delighted with herself. “You hear that, Brianna? Eighty-five million. When are you paying up?” “Once you settle that debt, Preston and I are getting married. I’ll be the Administrator’s wife. I’ll be running this place.” I hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours, and I had lost massive amounts of blood. The emotional shock combined with the trauma was too much. The room swam, and I collapsed onto the floor. Preston stood over me, his voice icy cold. “Scared now? Look, we were together for eight years. I’ll give you a chance.” He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out an antique jade pendant carved with a dragon. It was my mother’s final legacy to me before she died—half of a dragon-and-phoenix set. When we got engaged, I had given it to him as a token of my love and commitment. I always wore the matching phoenix pendant. “Hand over the phoenix pendant, and I’ll send it to Hailey as her promotion gift.” “Announce publicly that you only gave me the dragon pendant because you were desperate to climb the social ladder through me, and I’ll wipe that eighty-five million dollar debt off the books.” I used every last ounce of my strength to push myself off the floor, lunging at him with a snarl. “Preston, in your dreams! That is my mother’s legacy! You think you have the right to give it away?!” Before I could grab his hand, he casually opened his fingers. The jade dragon fell onto the polished marble floor, shattering into dozens of tiny pieces. I stared at the broken jade. The only tangible connection I had left to my mother was gone. Because I had trusted him. I had given my most precious possession to him, and he had destroyed it. 4 Hailey kicked me hard in the stomach. My center of gravity was already off, and I fell backward, the back of my head slamming against the sharp edge of the coffee table. Warm blood immediately began soaking into my collar from the cut. I was still reeling when Preston pressed his heel down onto my bandaged right hand, grinding his weight into it. “Brianna, I’m asking you one last time. Do I get the phoenix pendant or not?” “No! You can kill me before you get it!” I spit blood into his face, glaring at him through the pain. “Preston, don’t think you’ve won. Without me, this hospital will be bankrupt in six months.” “All the dirty deals you’ve made? They’re going to come to light. Karma is going to haunt you.” “Shut the hell up!” Preston snapped, slapping me across the face. He stomped his heel down onto the incision point on my hand, putting all his weight behind it. The gauze was instantly soaked in blood. The agony was so intense I nearly passed out. Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. I ignored the pain, scrambling to pick up the broken pieces of jade. I had barely moved before Preston grabbed my collar, hauling me up. He grinned, the expression twisted and cruel. He reached for the red cord around my neck, intent on ripping the phoenix pendant away. I fought back wildly, thrashing in his grip, but I was too weak to stop him from breaking the cord and taking the stone. He laughed as he watched me sob, broken and defeated. “You’re pathetic. This is going to the police as evidence. I’m posting your ‘apology’ video to every medical professional forum and local news outlet.” “The whole world is going to know you’re a bully. I’m ensuring you are utterly destroyed. You’ll never operate again.” “Preston, you animal!” I tried to lunge at him one last time, with the last shred of my dignity. But as soon as I stood up, my legs gave out. I collapsed to the floor, unable to move. Preston stood over me, looking smug and triumphant. “Brianna, you were naive to think you could beat me. Without you, this hospital is only going to grow faster. Get used to watching me succeed from the gutters where you belong.” He kicked me one last time, turning to leave. Just then, the receptionist burst through the door, looking frantic. Preston snapped, “What the hell? Do you know how to knock?” The receptionist looked down at me on the floor, my hand a bloody mess. She turned pale. “Mr. Sterling, it’s a disaster! The investors from Vanguard Health? The team you’ve been courting for a year? They’re in the main conference room right now, and they… they…” “They what? Out with it!” “They explicitly demanded to see Dr. Vance. They said that if Dr. Vance is willing to join Vanguard Health, they will take the $400 million they were going to invest here and double it to $800 million for her new team instead.”

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Three months after giving birth, I suffered a severe bone fracture. My husband, heartbroken to see me in pain, spent a fortune to hire the most highly-rated, impossible-to-book maternity nurse in the city. He even paid a five-thousand-dollar deposit upfront. My mother was raving about the nurse’s resume and was just about to call her to confirm she was starting tomorrow. I reached out and pressed the end-call button on her phone. “Don’t bother,” I said. “Aunt Sarah is going to be here any minute to steal her.” For as long as I can remember, my mother has played the role of the neighborhood “Mother Teresa.” Whenever Aunt Sarah’s family cried poverty or played the victim, my family’s best resources were immediately handed over to them. My mom prided herself on being “helpful and generous,” completely oblivious to the fact that Aunt Sarah secretly laughed at her behind her back, calling her a “gullible idiot.” But my mom always thought I was just being cynical. She insisted Aunt Sarah wasn’t like that and picked up her phone to redial. Right at that moment, the front door swung open. Aunt Sarah walked in, grabbed my mother’s hand, and immediately started wiping away fake tears. She sobbed about how her daughter-in-law wasn’t producing enough breastmilk and begged her sister-in-law to let them have the maternity nurse. My mom stood there, phone in hand, her face a mask of utter embarrassment. I crossed my arms and let out a cold laugh. “Well, Mom? Are you going to say yes this time, or no?” 1 Aunt Sarah kept wiping her non-existent tears while shooting sideways glances at my mother’s face. “Liz, you know my new grandson was born premature. He’s so frail, and my daughter-in-law’s milk hasn’t come in. If we don’t have a professional looking after him, I’m terrified the baby might…” She trailed off, swallowing the word “die,” expertly tossing the panic straight into my mother’s lap. My mother, predictably, took the bait. She glanced at my leg, suspended high in a heavy cast, and then at my newborn daughter sleeping soundly in the bassinet next to me. My mom gritted her teeth, turned to me, and said: “Harper, you heard her. Your aunt is talking about a life-or-death situation.” “Your leg is already broken anyway. You just need to rest. If that baby doesn’t make it, it would be a sin.” I laughed, a sharp, angry sound. I pointed to my casted leg, then to the bassinet. “Mom, I am your biological daughter. I also just gave birth. My leg is broken, and I literally cannot take care of myself.” “Mark paid a five-thousand-dollar deposit specifically for this nurse because she has physical rehabilitation certification to help me heal while taking care of the baby.” “And you want me to just give her away? What am I supposed to do? What is your granddaughter supposed to do?” My mother frowned, looking at me as if I were being completely unreasonable. “Why are you being so selfish?” “You guys have money. Worst case, you just hire someone else. Your aunt’s family is struggling; they can’t afford this.” “Saving a life is the greatest good deed you can do. Don’t you understand that?” Seeing my mother cave, Aunt Sarah immediately seized the opportunity. “Exactly, Harper. Auntie knows you’re successful, not dirt poor like us.” “As for the nurse’s salary… we can chip in a few hundred bucks as a token of appreciation, and you can cover the rest…” Wow. Not only did she want to steal the nurse, but she also expected me to subsidize her salary. She expected me to pay out of my own pocket for someone to go serve her grandson? And my mother was actually standing there nodding. “A few hundred is a nice gesture. Harper doesn’t care about the money.” The anger in my chest ignited into a blazing inferno. This wasn’t a mother. This was an unpaid employee of Aunt Sarah’s family. I grabbed the ceramic mug off my nightstand and hurled it violently at the floor. CRASH! Hot tea splattered everywhere, and jagged shards of ceramic exploded right at Aunt Sarah’s feet. Aunt Sarah shrieked, jumping backward in terror. “Oh my god! Are you trying to kill someone?!” My mom jumped too, her face instantly darkening. “Harper Evans! What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have no manners?!” “You want to talk about manners? Fine.” “This nurse is under an exclusive contract. The cancellation fee is ten thousand dollars.” “Whoever wants to take her can slap ten thousand dollars down on this table right now.” “Also, this nurse was arranged through a corporate wellness program at Mark’s company. Transferring her privately is considered fraud. Let’s call the cops right now and see what the judge has to say.” The moment Aunt Sarah heard “ten thousand dollars” and “call the cops,” all the color drained from her face. People like her are terrified of spending money, and even more terrified of going to jail. Her eyes darted around shiftily before she resorted to her usual tactic of throwing a tantrum. “Oh, listen to this, Liz! Look at your Harper. The richer she gets, the cheaper she gets. Who is she trying to scare…” “If you won’t lend her to us, just say so! Don’t act like a psycho! Get a little money and suddenly you’re too good for your poor relatives!” Aunt Sarah stomped toward the door, cursing loudly. Right before she left, she turned and spat venomously on the floor. I thought my mom might check on me, ask if I was okay, or if the anger had hurt my injury. Instead, she stood there with a face like thunder, pointing her finger at my nose, and started lecturing me. “You chased your aunt away over something so petty! How am I supposed to face the rest of the family now?” “Everyone praises me for being a saint, and here you are, completely humiliating me!” 2 My mother lectured me for a solid thirty minutes. She only stopped when Mark walked in. He looked exhausted from his commute, but he was carrying a box with my favorite strawberry shortcake from the bakery downtown. As soon as he stepped inside, he sensed the toxic atmosphere. The shattered ceramic was still on the floor, my mom was sitting on the sofa wiping away fake tears, and I was lying in bed, my face expressionless. Mark’s face changed instantly. He didn’t even take his shoes off properly before rushing to my bedside. “Honey, what’s wrong? Is your leg hurting?” He anxiously checked my cast, then checked on our sleeping daughter. Only when he confirmed we were both physically unharmed did he let out a breath. Seeing Mark, my mom immediately found a new audience for her grievances. “Mark, you need to talk some sense into her.” “Harper is getting more and more selfish. What’s wrong with helping out family when they’re in a tough spot?” “Her aunt was practically begging on her knees, and Harper actually threatened to call the cops on her!” Mark listened to the whole story. The gentle warmth completely vanished from his face. He stood up, positioning himself defensively in front of my bed, his tone hard and cold: “Liz, that nurse was hired to take care of Harper and the baby.” “Harper has a broken bone and desperately needs professional care right now. If we give the nurse away and Harper suffers long-term complications, who’s going to take responsibility?” “You are Harper’s mother. Is saving face with an outsider really more important to you than your own daughter’s leg?” My mom choked on her words. She clearly hadn’t expected her usually polite and mild-mannered son-in-law to shut her down so directly. She stood frozen for a few seconds before her embarrassment morphed into anger. She immediately started playing the victim. “Fine! You two are ganging up to bully an old woman!” “Do you think it’s been easy for me to help our relatives all these years? Everyone calls me a saint. Is that a crime?” “Who do you think I do it for? I do it to build good karma for Harper!” “Karma?” I finally lost it. I told Mark to go to the study and grab the old ledger from my desk drawer. It was the “Book of Blood and Tears” I had kept since childhood. I had Mark open it and read the entries out loud to my mother, one by one. “Sophomore year of college. My eight-thousand-dollar academic scholarship. You stole it to buy my cousin a new gaming console, telling me it was a ‘loan.’ It was never repaid.” “My first year working. My company gave me a premium imported seafood gift basket. Before I even opened the box, you took it to Aunt Sarah’s house. I didn’t even get to see a shrimp shell.” “When we got married, I had that small starter condo. You forced me to let Aunt Sarah’s family use it rent-free as my cousin’s ‘temporary’ bridal suite. They lived there for three years. Never paid a dime in rent, and the utility bills were automatically deducted from my account!” Mark’s face grew darker with every word he read. “Mom, your ‘good reputation’ is entirely built on bleeding me dry.” “I am your daughter, not your personal ATM!” Having her ugly history exposed, my mother couldn’t maintain her saintly facade anymore. She sprang up, snatched the ledger from Mark’s hands, and slammed it onto the floor. “I raised you! What’s wrong with spending some of your money? You’re exactly like your deadbeat father—ungrateful!” With that, she stormed into the guest room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. Mark held me gently, rubbing my back. “Don’t let her get to you. It’s bad for your recovery. You have me now. I won’t let them leech off you anymore.” His embrace was warm, but it couldn’t chase away the bone-deep chill inside me. Late that night. My phone vibrated. It was a voice memo from Aunt Sarah. Her tone held absolutely no trace of the afternoon’s hostility. Instead, it was dripping with her usual, entitled greed. “Harper, honey, never mind about the nurse. But I heard you have some fancy imported physical therapy machine? Your cousin’s wife is feeling weak postpartum. Can we borrow it?” “Your leg is already messed up anyway, so missing a couple of days won’t kill you.” These people were literal leeches. Once they latched on, they never let go. 3 Bright and early the next morning, right after Mark left for work, Aunt Sarah and my cousin, Jake, showed up at our door. They played it smart this time. They didn’t come empty-handed; they brought a basket of bruised, overripe apples. “Oh, Harper, Auntie was just too stressed yesterday. I was out of line. Don’t take it to heart.” Aunt Sarah slammed the apples onto the table, her eyes immediately darting around the room, hunting for her prize. Finally, her gaze locked onto the physical therapy machine actively humming near my leg. Mark had pulled strings to get that machine flown in from Germany. It cost eight thousand dollars and was specifically designed to prevent muscle atrophy after orthopedic surgery. My surgeon had strictly ordered me to use it for four hours every single day. “That’s the therapy machine, right? Looks fancy.” Aunt Sarah marched over, reaching out to yank the plug from the wall. “Perfect. My husband’s back is acting up, and my daughter-in-law is complaining of aches. I’ll take it back so the whole family can get some use out of it.” I slammed my hand down hard on the machine. “No.” “This is medical equipment, not a toy. If you use it wrong, you can get hurt. Plus, I’m actively doing my rehab. I can’t stop.” Aunt Sarah’s face instantly soured. “Harper, why are you so selfish? Letting us borrow it for a few days isn’t going to break it!” My cousin Jake, who had been standing silently, suddenly lunged forward and violently shoved my hand away. “Mom, why are you wasting breath on her! Aunt Liz already said we could take it!” He grabbed the sides of the heavy machine and started lifting. Panic seized me. Forgetting the heavy cast on my leg, I lunged forward, trying to stop him. “That is mine! I’m not lending it to you! You’re literally robbing me!” Right at that moment, my mom walked out of the kitchen. She was still holding a spatula. Without even glancing at me, she barked: “Harper! Let go!” “It’s just a stupid machine! Let your cousin use it for a few days! What’s the big deal?!” “His wife has postpartum complications! You missing a couple of days won’t kill you!” I stared at my mother in utter disbelief. “Mom, this is my lifeline for recovery! The doctor said if I stop using it for even one day, my muscles could atrophy!” My mom rolled her eyes impatiently and marched over. “Stop listening to doctors trying to scare you! You’re just being dramatic!” Determined to help Jake steal the machine, she actually reached out and shoved me hard. “Let go of it right now! Why do you have to be such a brat?!” I was sitting in a wheelchair. Her violent shove hit me right in the shoulder. The wheelchair tipped backward. I crashed heavily onto the hard tile floor. The newly set bone in my leg slammed brutally against the solid marble. CRACK! Blinding, agonizing pain ripped through my entire body like a surge of electricity. I let out a bloodcurdling scream, cold sweat instantly soaking through my clothes. Aunt Sarah and Jake jumped back in shock, nearly dropping the heavy machine. But they didn’t put it down. Instead, they seized the opportunity, hoisted the machine, and bolted for the door. Jake yelled over his shoulder, “She fell on her own! We didn’t touch her!” Aunt Sarah sprinted faster than a rabbit. “Exactly! You saw it, Liz! We didn’t lay a finger on her!” Clutching my lifeline of a medical device, they sprinted out the front door. And my own mother stood frozen in place. She looked down at me writhing on the floor. A flash of panic crossed her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by resentment. “Stop screaming! You’re fine!” “If you hadn’t fought your own family for it, you wouldn’t have fallen! It’s your own fault!” 4 The sheer agony made my vision swim with black spots. I felt a warm, thick liquid seeping out from under my cast, rapidly soaking into the fabric of my pajama pants, turning them a dark, horrifying red. The bone had displaced again. It had likely punctured an artery. My daughter, startled awake by my screaming, began wailing from her bassinet. I forced my heavy head up and looked at my mother. “Mom… help me…” “There’s so much blood… take me to the hospital…” My mom saw the expanding pool of blood on the floor. The color drained from her face. She instinctively took a step toward me, reaching out her hands to help. Just then, Aunt Sarah’s frantic voice echoed from the hallway: “Liz! Get down here and help! This machine is too heavy, we can’t get it in the trunk!” My mom’s footsteps halted. She looked down at me, drenched in cold sweat, hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. Then, she looked toward the open door. Aunt Sarah yelled again, “Liz! Hurry up! Don’t let that brat Harper change her mind and chase us down!” My mom hesitated for exactly one second. She turned her back to me, pointing a finger in my direction, and scolded: “Stop faking it! A little blood isn’t going to kill you!” “I’m going to help your aunt load the car. I’ll deal with you when I get back!” With that, she turned and walked out. I watched in absolute despair as she pulled the heavy front door shut behind her. This was my biological mother. In a life-or-death moment, she chose to go help robbers load stolen goods into a getaway car rather than call an ambulance for her bleeding daughter. The excruciating pain was dragging me into darkness. But I couldn’t die. My baby was crying. I bit down on my lip until I tasted copper, using my elbows to drag my heavy, broken body across the floor, inching my way toward the coffee table. A long, thick trail of blood smeared across the pristine marble behind me. It was a horrifying sight. Finally, my shaking fingers brushed against my phone. It took three tries for the fingerprint scanner to read through the blood on my thumb. I dialed Mark’s number. “Hey, honey?” The moment the call connected, I used the very last ounce of breath in my lungs to force out a single word: “Help…” The phone slipped from my grasp. Absolute darkness swallowed me whole. I don’t know how much time passed. I heard the violent, splintering sound of the front door being kicked in. “HARPER!!!” It was Mark’s voice, tearing with raw, primal panic. Followed by the sound of frantic footsteps and the horrified gasps of the building’s security guards. And right then, another voice drifted in from the hallway, humming a cheerful little tune. It was my mom. She had finished loading the stolen goods and was leisurely strolling back upstairs. “What is all this noise? Are you trying to tear my door down?!” “She just took a little tumble! Do you really need to make such a massive scene…” Her voice died in her throat the moment she saw the room full of people and the massive pool of blood I was lying in. Mark was kneeling on the floor, holding my blood-soaked body. He looked up at her, his eyes blazing with a feral, murderous rage. I wasn’t “faking it.” I was actually, truly, dying.

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Three months postpartum, I fractured my leg. My husband, Liam, was so worried about me that he spent a fortune booking the most sought-after postpartum doula in the city. He even put down a $7,000 deposit. My mom was looking at the doula’s impressive resume, singing her praises, and was just about to call and tell her to start tomorrow. I reached out and pressed the end-call button on her phone. “Don’t bother,” I said. “Aunt Susan is about to come over and hijack her.” Ever since I could remember, my mother had been a “bleeding heart.” Whenever Aunt Susan’s family cried poor or played the victim, my mom would make sure they got the best of whatever our family had to offer. My mom always touted herself as a “saint who loved helping others,” completely oblivious to the fact that Aunt Susan laughed behind her back, calling her a gullible sucker. But my mom thought I was just being cynical. She insisted Aunt Susan wasn’t like that, raised her phone, and prepared to dial again. Right at that moment, Aunt Susan burst through the front door. She grabbed my mom’s hands and immediately started squeezing out fake tears, whining about how her daughter-in-law wasn’t producing breastmilk and begging my mom to let them have the doula. My mom stood there, phone in hand, looking incredibly awkward. I crossed my arms and sneered. “Well, Mom. Are you going to say yes or no this time?” Chapter 1 Aunt Susan wiped away her non-existent tears while using her peripheral vision to gauge my mother’s reaction. “Brenda, you know my new grandson was born premature. He’s got a weak constitution, and my daughter-in-law’s milk hasn’t come in. If we don’t have a professional looking after him, the poor boy might…” She trailed off, swallowing the word “die,” expertly tossing the panic squarely onto my mother’s shoulders. My mom fell for it hook, line, and sinker. She glanced at my leg, hoisted up in a heavy plaster cast, and then at my newborn daughter, sleeping soundly in the bassinet nearby. My mom gritted her teeth and turned to me. “Chloe, you heard her. Your aunt’s situation is a matter of life and death.” “Your leg is already broken anyway, you just need to rest. But if that baby doesn’t make it, it would be an absolute tragedy.” I laughed out of pure disbelief. I pointed at my cast, then at the bassinet. “Mom, I am your biological daughter. I also just gave birth, I have a broken leg, and I literally cannot care for myself right now.” “Liam put down a seven-thousand-dollar deposit for this doula specifically to take care of me and the baby because she has specialized rehabilitation credentials.” “And you want me to just give her away? Then what am I supposed to do? What is your granddaughter supposed to do?” My mom furrowed her brow, looking at me like I was being entirely unreasonable. “How can you be so selfish?” “You guys have money, just hire another one. Your aunt’s family is struggling; they can’t afford this.” “Doing a good deed saves lives, don’t you understand that?” Seeing my mom cave, Aunt Susan immediately seized the opportunity. “Exactly, Chloe! Auntie knows you’re successful, unlike us, who are scraping the bottom of the barrel.” “As for the doula’s salary… we can chip in a hundred bucks as a token of appreciation, and you guys can cover the rest…” Unbelievable. Not only did she want to steal my nurse, but she also wanted me to subsidize her salary. She expected me to pay out of my own pocket for someone to serve her grandson? And my mom was actually nodding along. “A hundred bucks is still a nice gesture. Chloe doesn’t care about the money anyway.” The anger in my chest exploded into a raging inferno. Was this really my biological mother? She acted more like an unpaid employee of Aunt Susan’s household. I grabbed the ceramic teacup next to me and hurled it at the floor. Smash! The sharp crack echoed through the room. Hot tea splattered everywhere, and porcelain shards skittered right to Aunt Susan’s feet. Aunt Susan shrieked and jumped back. “Oh my god! Are you trying to kill someone?!” My mom flinched, her face instantly darkening. “Chloe! What on earth are you doing?! Do you have any manners at all?!” “You want to talk about manners? Fine.” “This doula signed an exclusive contract with us. The breach of contract fee is fifteen thousand dollars.” “Whoever wants to take her away needs to slap fifteen grand on this table right now.” “Also, this doula was hired using a specialized corporate benefit through Liam’s company. Transferring her privately constitutes corporate fraud. Let’s call the cops right now and see what the judge has to say.” Hearing “fifteen thousand” and “cops,” Aunt Susan’s face instantly went pale. People like her were terrified of spending money, and even more terrified of going to jail. Her eyes darted around shiftily before she started throwing a tantrum. “Oh, Brenda, look at your daughter! The richer she gets, the cheaper she acts! Who is she trying to scare…” “If you won’t lend her to us, fine! You don’t have to act like a psycho! So typical—you get a little money and suddenly you don’t recognize your poor relatives!” Aunt Susan cursed all the way out the door, spitting aggressively on our welcome mat before leaving. I thought my mom might check if I had aggravated my injury during the outburst. Instead, she stood there with a black expression, pointing a finger at my nose and scolding me. “You chased your aunt away over something so trivial! How am I supposed to face our relatives now?” “Everyone always praises me for having a saint’s heart, but you! You completely humiliated me!” My mom berated me for a solid half hour. Until Liam walked through the door. He was holding a box of my favorite strawberry shortcake, looking exhausted from his commute. The moment he stepped inside, he sensed the toxic atmosphere. The broken porcelain was still on the floor, my mom was sitting on the sofa wiping away dramatic tears, and I was lying in bed with a freezing expression. Liam’s face changed. Before he even took off his shoes, he rushed to my bedside. “Honey, what’s wrong? Is your leg hurting?” He anxiously checked my cast, then checked our sleeping daughter, only breathing a sigh of relief when he confirmed we were physically okay. Seeing Liam return, my mom immediately found a new target to vent to. “Liam, please, talk some sense into her.” “Chloe is getting more and more selfish. Her own flesh and blood hit a rough patch, what’s the big deal with helping them out?” “Her aunt was practically on her knees begging, and Chloe threatened to call the cops on her!” Hearing the full story, the usual gentle warmth vanished from Liam’s face. He stood up, blocking me from her view, his tone turning hard and icy: “Mom, that doula was hired to take care of Chloe and the baby.” “Chloe has a fractured leg. She is precisely the one who needs professional care right now. If we give the nurse away and Chloe suffers permanent nerve damage, who is going to take responsibility?” “You are Chloe’s biological mother. Is an outsider’s pride really more important than your daughter’s leg?” My mom choked on her words. She clearly didn’t expect her usually mild-mannered son-in-law to confront her so directly. She froze for a few seconds before turning her embarrassment into anger, immediately playing the victim card. “Fine! So you two are ganging up to bully an old woman!” “Do you think it’s been easy for me to support our relatives all these years? Everyone praises me for being a generous soul, is that a crime?!” “Who do you think I do it for? I do it to build good karma for Chloe!” “Good karma?” I finally lost it. I asked Liam to go into the study and bring out an old ledger I kept in my desk. It was the “record of blood and tears” I had been documenting since I was a teenager. I told Liam to open it and read it out loud, line by line, so my mother could hear. “Sophomore year of college. I worked three jobs and earned a $1,200 scholarship. You stole it to buy my cousin Tyler the newest gaming console. You told me it was a ‘loan.’ It has never been repaid.” “My first year working. My company gave me a premium imported seafood gift basket. Before I even opened the box, you hauled it over to Aunt Susan’s house. I never even saw a shrimp shell.” “The two-bedroom condo I bought before my wedding. You guilt-tripped me into letting Aunt Susan use it as Tyler’s marital home, saying it was just temporary. They lived there for three years. I never saw a dime in rent, and I was the one paying their utility bills!” The more Liam read, the darker his face became. “Mom, your ‘good reputation’ was bought entirely by slicing pieces of meat off my bones.” “I am your daughter, not your personal blood bank!” Having all her dirty laundry aired out, my mom’s pride was entirely shattered. She shot up from the sofa, snatched the ledger from Liam’s hands, and threw it violently onto the floor. “I raised you! What’s wrong with spending some of your money?! You’re exactly like your deadbeat father—ungrateful and heartless!” With that, she stormed into the guest room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. Liam hugged me gently, patting my back. “Don’t be angry, it’s bad for your recovery. You have me now. I won’t let them leech off you ever again.” His embrace was warm, but the chilling cold in my heart refused to dissipate. Late that night. My phone buzzed. It was a voice memo from Aunt Susan. Her tone held zero trace of the afternoon’s hostility. Instead, it was dripping with an entitled, greedy sweetness. “Chloe, sweetheart! Don’t worry about the doula, I don’t need her anymore. But I heard you guys have some fancy imported physical therapy machine? Your sister-in-law is recovering from childbirth and feeling very weak. Can we borrow it?” “Your leg is already messed up anyway, so skipping it for a couple of days won’t hurt.” This family were literal leeches. Once they latched on, they never let go. Early the next morning, right after Liam left for the office, Aunt Susan showed up at our door with my cousin, Tyler. This time they played it smart. They didn’t come empty-handed; they brought a basket of bruised, rotting apples. “Oh, Chloe, I was just too anxious yesterday, I spoke out of turn. Don’t take it to heart.” Aunt Susan dropped the apples on the table and immediately started scanning the room. Finally, her eyes locked onto the physical therapy machine running next to my leg. It was a medical-grade CPM (Continuous Passive Motion) machine that Liam had specially flown in from Germany for $12,000. It was designed specifically to prevent muscle atrophy after my type of surgery. The doctor had given strict orders: I had to use it for at least four hours every single day. “Is this that therapy machine? Looks fancy.” Aunt Susan marched over and reached for the power plug. “Perfect timing. My husband’s back has been acting up, and my daughter-in-law is in pain too. We’ll take it back so the whole family can get some use out of it.” I slammed my hand down on the machine. “No.” “This is medical equipment, not a toy. If you use it wrong, you could seriously injure someone. And I am in the middle of my rehabilitation. I cannot stop using it.” Aunt Susan’s face instantly dropped. “Chloe, why do you have to be so stingy? Lending it out for a bit isn’t going to break it!” Tyler, who had been silent until now, suddenly lunged forward and forcefully shoved my hand away. “Mom, why are you wasting your breath on her?! Aunt Brenda already promised we could take it!” Saying that, he moved to lift the heavy machine. I panicked. Ignoring the heavy cast on my leg, I struggled forward to block them. “This is my property! I am not lending it to you! This is robbery!” Right at that moment, my mom walked out of the kitchen. She was still holding a spatula. Without even looking at me, she barked: “Chloe! Let go of it!” “It’s just a stupid machine! Let your cousin use it for a couple of days, what’s the big deal?!” “Your sister-in-law is recovering from a hard labor! You skipping your little leg massage for two days isn’t going to kill you!” I stared at my mother in utter disbelief. “Mom, this is my lifeline! The doctor said if I stop for even a day, my muscles could permanently atrophy!” My mom walked over, rolling her eyes impatiently. “Stop listening to doctors trying to scare you! You’re just being a drama queen!” In her desperation to help Tyler wrestle the machine away from me, she reached out and shoved me hard. “I said let go! Why are you being such a brat?!” I was sitting in a wheelchair. Her shove hit me squarely in the shoulder. The wheelchair tipped over. I crashed heavily onto the marble floor. The freshly set bone in my leg slammed violently against the hard stone. CRACK! An agonizing pain, like thousands of volts of electricity, shot through my entire body. I let out a blood-curdling scream. Cold sweat instantly soaked my clothes. Aunt Susan and Tyler jumped, almost dropping the machine. But they didn’t stop. Instead, they took the opportunity to grab the heavy device and sprint toward the door. Tyler yelled over his shoulder, “She fell on her own! It has nothing to do with us!” Aunt Susan ran faster than a rabbit. “Exactly! Brenda, you saw it! We didn’t even touch her!” They grabbed my medical lifeline and bolted out the front door. And my own biological mother stood frozen in place, looking down at me collapsed on the floor. A flash of panic crossed her eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by irritation. “Stop screaming! You’re perfectly fine!” “You just had to fight with your own family! If you fell, you brought it on yourself!” The excruciating pain made my vision go black in waves. I felt a warm, thick liquid slide down inside the cast, quickly soaking through the fabric of my pajama pants, blooming into a dark red stain. The bone had displaced. It had likely punctured an artery. My screams terrified my baby daughter in the bassinet, and she began wailing at the top of her lungs. I weakly lifted my head and looked at my mother. “Mom… help me…” “There’s so much blood… take me to the hospital…” My mom saw the blood pooling on the floor, and her face changed. She instinctively took a step toward me, reaching her hands out to help. But at that exact moment, Aunt Susan’s frantic voice echoed from the hallway outside: “Brenda! Hurry up and come help us! This machine is too heavy, we can’t fit it in the trunk!” My mom’s footsteps halted. She looked down at me, drenched in cold sweat and hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. Then she looked toward the door. Aunt Susan urged her again: “Brenda! Hurry up! Don’t let that brat Chloe change her mind and chase after us!” My mom hesitated for exactly one second. She turned around, pointed her finger at me, and spat: “Stop faking it! A little blood isn’t going to kill you!” “I’m going to help your aunt load this downstairs, then I’ll come back and deal with you!” With that, she turned her back and walked out. I watched in total despair as the front door clicked shut. This was my biological mother. As I lay there fighting for my life, she chose to go help robbers load their stolen goods. The agony was making my consciousness fade. But I couldn’t die. My daughter was still crying. I bit down on my lip until it bled, using my elbows to drag my body across the floor, inch by agonizing inch, toward the coffee table. Behind me, a long, horrific trail of blood painted the marble floor. Finally, my trembling fingers brushed against my phone. I tried to unlock it, my blood-slicked thumb slipping against the sensor several times before it worked. I dialed Liam’s number. “Hello? Honey?” The moment the call connected, I used my last breath to force out a single word: “Help…” The phone slipped from my grasp. Darkness swallowed me whole. I don’t know how much time passed. I vaguely heard the deafening sound of the front door being violently smashed open. “CHLOE!!!” It was Liam’s voice, tearing out of his throat in pure agony. That was followed by chaotic, rushing footsteps and the horrified shouts of the building’s security guards. Right then, a voice humming a light, cheerful tune drifted from the hallway. It was my mom. She had finished loading the stolen goods and was returning at her leisure. “What’s all this racket? You’re going to tear the door off its hinges!” “She just fell down, is a huge scene really necessary…” Her voice abruptly died in her throat the moment she saw the crowd of people and the massive pool of blood covering the living room floor. Liam, holding my blood-soaked body in his arms, slowly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot and feral as he locked onto her. I wasn’t “faking it.” I was actually dying.

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At 11:59 PM, fighting down the annoyance of being woken up by my phone, I pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the VIP lounge. “Excuse me, everyone. So sorry to interrupt. I’m just here to pick up my husband.” The next second, the entire room’s New Year’s countdown died in their throats. Dozens of eyes belonging to the city’s corporate elite snapped toward me, pinning me to the spot. Sitting dead center in the VIP booth was a man in a razor-sharp bespoke suit, his features striking and cold, slowly turning a crystal whiskey glass in his hand. “…Maya Evans?” Someone finally broke the dead silence. “Tonight is an Ivy League alumni New Year’s mixer, not a shelter for community college dropouts.” The room erupted in mocking laughter. “Wait, isn’t she the girl from the ‘Manifest Destiny’ scandal? The one where the valedictorian intentionally tanked his entire AP History final just to prove a point to the teacher and make her smile?” “I heard she spent years manipulating her way into her stepbrother’s bed and trapped him into marriage. Why else would he marry an academic failure like her? Now that he’s with Chloe, who actually has a Ph.D. from Oxford, they’re a true power couple. How does she even have the nerve to show her face here?” The stares from across the table felt like thousands of tiny needles. They would never know the truth. Julian Vance used to be dead last in our high school class. He worked himself to the bone, grinding his way to the top of the academic ladder, entirely for me. But the past didn’t matter anymore. Meeting their hostile gazes, I didn’t show the humiliation they were expecting. I just offered a slight, tight smile and said calmly: “I’m not here to ring in the New Year with you elites. I’m here to pick up my husband and take him home.” Julian finally lifted his eyes, his gaze dark and heavy. “Maya, we’ve been divorced for three years.” I let the corners of my mouth curve up into a perfectly polite, practiced smile. “I know.” “Which is why I never said I was here to pick you up, Mr. Vance.” 1 “Have you no shame? You’re divorced, and you’re still trying to leech off Julian.” A few suppressed snickers echoed through the lounge. Carter struck a match, lit his cigarette, and looked at me with lazy disdain. “This is the first time I’ve seen someone actually volunteer to be the other woman.” Carter was Julian and I’s best friend in high school. He used to be the second-best person to me in the entire world. But when Julian and I were going through our vicious divorce, he didn’t hesitate for a second to take Julian’s side. Because the girl Carter had been in love with for years was the exact same woman who had destroyed my marriage. And he had been helping Julian hide their affair the entire time. I was the only one kept in the dark, playing the fool from start to finish. “Carter, enough,” Julian snapped, his lips pressed into a thin line. Carter refused to back down, aggressively putting out his cigarette. “Why shouldn’t I say it? An idiot like Maya Evans can’t even begin to compare to a brilliant woman like Chloe.” “You were the only one blind enough to look twice at a moron like her, letting her drag you down for all those years.” Julian met my eyes, his voice low. “Maya isn’t a moron.” Maya isn’t a moron. Hearing that from a certified genius like Julian. It actually sounded completely ridiculous. But back when I was sixteen, I believed those words with my whole heart. The summer before freshman year of high school, my mom married Julian’s dad. Julian and I were the same age, so we ended up at the same public high school. We were even placed in the same homeroom. He was ranked dead last; I was comfortably in the middle. Julian hated me, so he completely ignored my existence. I constantly saw him getting into fights and ending up in the principal’s office. Immediately following those fights, my mom would be called in, forced to bow her head and swallow insults from furious parents and administrators. One night, I got up to get a glass of water and saw my mom sitting alone in the dark living room, wiping away tears. “Maya, what do I have to do to make Julian accept me?” I didn’t know the answer. I only knew that after that night. The fragile, distant peace between Julian and me evaporated into open warfare. I put hot sauce in his Gatorade, dumped muddy water into his backpack, and spiked his lunch with laxatives. Julian laid down the law, his voice dripping with venom. “Is that all you’ve got? Let me tell you something, Maya. If you don’t break me, I’m going to break your mother!” We stayed locked in that toxic standoff for half a year. I thought I would hate Julian Vance for the rest of my life. But in the end, he became the only person in this world who still loved me. 2 Julian and I’s war ended abruptly after a brutal incident of domestic violence. Julian’s dad beat my mom so badly she had to be hospitalized. When they were loading her into the ambulance, his dad was still screaming abuse. “I chased you for two years! You’re nothing but a pretty face! You’re completely useless!” My mom was almost forty. She had been spoiled rotten by my biological father for the first half of her life, so naturally, she lacked basic survival skills. When Julian heard his dad screaming those words, his cold, hostile demeanor completely shattered. He looked at me in shock, muttering to himself. “It wasn’t your mom who seduced my dad…” Julian hated my mom because he always believed she was the homewrecker who had driven his own mother away. None of that mattered anymore. Because after that day. I didn’t have a mother, either. When I carried my mom’s favorite white gerbera daisies to the hospital, I found out she had bolted. She didn’t take a single thing with her. And she didn’t take me. Maya Evans no longer had a home. I had nowhere to go. I was wandering the freezing streets in the middle of the night when Julian finally found me. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked incredibly angry. Terrified he was going to hit me, I curled myself into a tight ball on the sidewalk. Amidst my panic, his warm arms wrapped tightly around me. It was the first time I had ever heard him speak so gently. “Maya, come home with me.” “From now on, I’ll be your whole world.” I took his outstretched hand and held on tight. So, starting from the year I was sixteen. Maya Evans’s entire world consisted solely of Julian Vance. 3 After my mom left, Julian’s dad’s temper grew even more violent. Terrified that I would get hurt, Julian took me and moved us out into a tiny, rundown apartment. Our lives continued, but everything was different. I stopped playing practical jokes, and Julian’s harsh edges softened. He started spending more and more time reading and studying. I couldn’t help but ask him one day. “You used to hate reading. You hated going to class.” He looked at me with intense seriousness, then helplessly pinched my cheek, his voice soft. “Maya, I want to give you a better life.” Looking at the tips of his ears turning red, I nodded emphatically. Maya Evans absolutely refused to drag Julian down. So I threw myself into my studies with everything I had. But when Julian skyrocketed from dead last to valedictorian… I was still barely hovering in the middle of the pack. Julian would stay up until midnight tutoring me. I stared at the calculus problems on the page and just shook my head. He said, “Maya, you really are a bit of an idiot.” “But, I love it when you’re a little dumb. It’s incredibly cute.” Exhaustion crashed over me, and the pen slipped from my limp fingers. I mumbled sleepily. “Julian, can you please slow down? I’m not going to be able to catch up to you.” Julian said: I would never have to chase him. He would wait for me, forever. He didn’t keep that promise. Because later, he absolutely despised how “dumb” I was. I became a nuisance. 4 “She’s not dumb? You busted your ass tutoring her, and she still only managed to scrape into some no-name state school.” Carter flicked his lighter, keeping the insults coming. I scanned the lounge but didn’t see my husband, Liam Thorne, anywhere. Liam had gone to the same university as Julian, but he was in the business school. They wouldn’t naturally run in the same circles. I figured he must have texted me the wrong address. I was too exhausted to dredge up the past. “Excuse me,” I said, turning on my heel to leave. I texted Liam, but he didn’t reply. My calls went straight to voicemail. I decided to just head home. Just as I reached for the handle of the lounge door, a hand shot out and gripped my wrist tight. “Maya, please forgive me.” Julian stared down at me, his eyes swirling with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. Hearing him use my name like that… It used to make me blush. It used to be the perfect, intimate way to flirt with someone as rigid as Julian. But later, those exact same words were the ones that destroyed me. “Julian, are you addicted to acting?” I shook off his hand, my face blank. “I don’t know you.” As the tension in the room thickened, a soft scoff broke the awkward silence. “Maya Evans. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Chloe walked over in her designer heels, as arrogant and aggressive as ever. In the past, I would have been intimidated by her presence. I would have been envious, looking up to her, and inevitably feeling a deep sense of inferiority. But now, after agonizing over that toxic past a million times, all that was left was a dead, flat calm. “Maya, why don’t you come home with Julian and me? Your mother misses you so much.” Even I was surprised by how calmly I could respond to that after three years. “I don’t have a mother.” My supposed family. They had all chosen Chloe. And I… had long since decided I didn’t need them either. Chloe grabbed my wrist, “accidentally” displaying the vintage emerald bracelet on her arm. It was the heirloom Julian’s mother had left him. I had worn that bracelet for ten years. My relationship with Julian had only lasted ten years. 5 Carter was right. I really was an idiot. Even with Julian pouring every ounce of his energy into tutoring me, I still only managed to get into a mediocre state college. Julian, however, secured the highest SAT score in the state and went straight to the Ivy League. We were both in the Northeast, so the distance wasn’t terrible. Even though we couldn’t be together every day, our time was sweet and intensely close. It was the simplest kind of happiness, and it remains a memory I will never be able to fully erase. Julian was handsome, brilliant, and constantly pursued. But he gave me absolute, unwavering security. During college, I often visited him on his campus. He was too famous. Every little thing he did drew everyone’s attention. Gradually, rumors started spreading on the campus forums that I wasn’t good enough for him. They said I had nothing but a pretty face. No skills, no background, just a total idiot who didn’t deserve to stand next to a god like him. Julian had already made our relationship completely public. When he saw the comments, he was furious. He said they just didn’t understand how wonderful I was. So, on his final exam for AP European History. He intentionally answered every single question about “Manifest Destiny” incorrectly, twisting the historical facts into a bizarre, romanticized essay dedicated to me. He nearly failed the class and was officially reprimanded by the department head for being “obsessed with a high school romance.” The incident sent shockwaves through the entire campus. Julian wanted to make absolutely certain that everyone knew I was his girlfriend. But when it came time to get married, he said: “Maya, let’s keep the marriage quiet for now.” “Just give me a few more years. When I’ve made it to the top, I’ll give you the grandest wedding imaginable.” I agreed. By our fourth anniversary, Julian had already built a highly successful tech firm. I never got the grand wedding I was dreaming of. Instead, I got his infidelity. 6 On our fourth anniversary, Julian exploded in a terrifying rage. Because I had lost the emerald bracelet he gave me. He stormed out of the house, furious. It was the first time in his life he had ever spoken to me so cruelly. It was pouring rain that night. I searched every single place we had been to. I suddenly remembered the tiny, rundown apartment we had shared during high school. Julian had bought that apartment years ago. Because the walls inside were covered with thousands of photos of us from those three years. The moment I pushed the door open. I saw Julian pinning another woman to the bed. Thrusting into her with primal intensity. In that exact moment, my scalp went numb, and I lost the ability to scream. I knew who she was. Chloe. Julian had mentioned her to me, but rarely. At first, he told me Chloe’s dad had forced her onto his corporate board, and he thought she was just going to be a massive headache. But later, he said Chloe was actually incredibly competent. Brilliant, even. And it was right around that time that Julian started treating me like I was stupid. Our shared interests dwindled to nothing, and Julian would constantly say: “Can you just stop asking? Even if I explain it, you won’t understand.” “Maya, you really are an idiot.” But I was genuinely happy that he had found a business partner who matched his intellect. Yet now, Chloe was wearing that emerald bracelet, her eyes filled with blatant, triumphant mockery. I had been tortured by guilt, crawling on my hands and knees like a dog, searching everywhere for that bracelet. It turned out I hadn’t lost it. Julian had simply taken it and placed it on someone else’s wrist. She slowly, elegantly sat up, leaning back against Julian’s chest. “What are you so shocked about?” “In your bed at the penthouse, in the shower, against the floor-to-ceiling windows… we’ve done it everywhere.” “Tonight, we just wanted to see what it felt like to do it in the place where you two had your first time.” A deafening roar filled my ears, and all the strength instantly drained from my body. Operating on pure, visceral instinct, I grabbed a framed photo from the nightstand and hurled it at them. Julian shielded her with his body, his eyes blazing with fury. “Maya, have you lost your fucking mind?!” The man who had once promised to be my entire world. Shoved me violently to the floor. My hands were covered in bloody shards of glass from the shattered photo frame. It was the very first photo Julian and I had ever taken together. He had his arms wrapped around me, looking incredibly smug, like he was showing off a prize. But now, it was shattered. And the eyes of the man standing in front of me held nothing but absolute disgust. Before I could even process what was happening, another bombshell detonated in my ears. “Maya, can you stop throwing a tantrum? You are completely suffocating. No wonder your own mother abandoned you!” It turned out my mother had remarried years ago. She had married Chloe’s father. For ten years, she had showered Chloe with all the love and affection I had desperately craved. My decade of fantasies… had officially become a living nightmare. Later, when Julian demanded a divorce. I refused to give them what they wanted, but I was completely powerless against them. Every single person I loved had turned their weapons on me. My husband. My best friend. And my mother.

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A year ago, he threw out a casual, “I don’t think we’re a good fit,” and walked away without looking back. There were two coffees on the table. He hadn’t touched his. He left me the bill. A year later, he was standing at my office door. His face was ghost-white. His hands were shaking. “Ms…. Ms. Miller?” I looked at him and smiled. “Come in. And close the door.” Chapter 1 The story has to start with a blind date a year ago. My mom had been nagging me on the phone for three months straight. “You’re twenty-seven, Chloe! If you don’t start dating seriously now, all the good ones will be taken!” “Mom, I’m busy with work—” “Busy, busy, busy. You’ll know what ‘busy’ really means when you’re thirty and dying alone!” I couldn’t win against her. So, I went. His name was Brad Hudson, twenty-eight, a sales supervisor at a tech firm. My mom’s exact words were: “He’s a top-tier university grad, makes over six figures, and he’s sharp-looking. Put your best foot forward.” I arrived five minutes early. Ordered two coffees and sat waiting. I waited ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Forty minutes. Just as I was about to get up and leave, he walked in. Suit, dress shoes, a Longines watch on his wrist. He scanned the restaurant upon entering, then spotted me. I noticed his expression. It was brief, maybe half a second. But I saw it clearly. Disappointment. That “you don’t look like your profile picture” kind of disappointment. Actually, the photo was me. Five-foot-two, slightly chubby, wearing glasses, average skin. But on dating apps, who doesn’t touch up their photos a bit? He obviously felt I had touched mine up too much. He sat down, offering no apology for being late. “Are you Chloe Miller?” “Yes, hi.” “Hmm.” He picked up the menu, flipped through it twice, then put it back down. “What do you do?” “Project management.” “Which company?” “A tech firm, Nexus Digital.” He thought about it. “Never heard of it. Big company?” “It’s alright.” “What’s your salary?” I paused, stunned. Seriously? This direct? “It’s enough to get by.” “I mean a specific number.” He leaned back in his chair. “Don’t mind me, I just want to understand the situation. We’re both adults; discussing terms is normal.” “A little over fifty thousand.” I was talking about my base salary. I didn’t count bonuses, project dividends, and stock options. But he didn’t need to know that. “A little over fifty…” He nodded, a look I was all too familiar with. That’s it? “Education?” “Bachelor’s.” “Where from?” “State University.” “Just a state school?” “Yes.” He nodded again. A silence stretched for about five seconds. Then his phone rang. He picked up. “Hey? Oh, right. Okay, I’m on my way.” He hung up, looking at me. “Sorry, some urgent business came up at the office.” He stood up. “I don’t think we’re a very good fit. Don’t take it personally.” He grabbed his car keys off the table. “You can have the coffee. I didn’t touch mine.” And then he left. From the time he sat down to the time he left was a total of eight minutes. I sat there, watching his back disappear through the doorway. Two coffees on the table. The bill was twelve dollars. He didn’t pay. I called the waiter over. “Check, please.” Walking out of the coffee shop, I wasn’t actually that sad. It was a setup; it’s normal not to click. But one thing happened that made me truly angry. It was three days later. My mom called me. Her voice was trembling. “Chloe… that guy you met… did you offend him somehow?” “What’s wrong?” “Aunt Sarah sent me a screenshot…” My mom forwarded the screenshot to me. It was an iMessage group chat. The group was named “The Boys’ Night Out.” Brad had posted a photo. It was my photo. A sneaky picture he took the moment he walked in, while I was sitting in the coffee shop waiting for him. Below the photo was a paragraph of text: “Look at who my mom set me up with, I’m dying laughing. Barely five-foot-two, fat, wearing glasses like a high schooler, state school grad, making fifty grand. With these conditions, she still comes out on dates? I sat for eight minutes and ran, Hahahahaha.” A row of replies followed: “Hahahahaha, your mom really isn’t picky.” “Bro, you suffered.” “If this photo gets out, she won’t come looking for you, will she?” “What’s there to be afraid of? She doesn’t know us.” I stared at the screen. My fingers went cold. Not out of sadness. But out of rage. He could dislike me. But he had no right to take my photo to amuse a bunch of guys. My mom was crying on the other end of the phone. “Chloe, Mom is so sorry, I shouldn’t have made you go…” “Mom, it’s fine.” My voice was flat. “What was his name again? Brad? Brad what?” “Brad Hudson…” “Which company?” “He said something called… Apex or something…” “Got it.” I hung up the phone. I opened my laptop and searched for “Brad Hudson.” He was on LinkedIn. Apex Technology, Midwest Regional Sales Supervisor. I searched for Apex Technology. I saw a piece of information. And smiled. Apex Technology is a subsidiary under the Sterling Group umbrella. And Sterling Group’s fully-owned technology subsidiary is called Nexus Digital. The exact “never heard of it” little company I worked for. I shut down my laptop. No rush. We will meet eventually. Chapter 2 A year later. I stood at the entrance of Apex Technology’s Midwest branch. My reflection showed on the glass doors. Still five-foot-two. But I’d lost fifteen pounds. Contacts replaced the glasses. My hair was cut short, just reaching my shoulders. I was wearing a black blazer over a crisp white shirt. Carrying a laptop bag in my hand. My corporate badge read: Sterling Group · Project Management Department · Director · Chloe Miller. A year ago, Brad Hudson asked me my salary, and I said a little over fifty thousand. That was the base salary. Adding bonuses, project dividends, and year-end payouts, I took home nearly two hundred thousand last year. Earlier this year, the corporate group underwent an organizational restructuring. I was promoted to Director of Project Management, responsible for overseeing project operations for all subsidiaries in the Midwest region. Including Apex Technology. The transfer order came down last month. Signed personally by the Group VP. “Several Midwest subsidiaries have anomalies in their business data. Go investigate. Clean house if you need to, replace people if you need to.” I said okay. Then I looked at Apex Technology’s Midwest branch employee roster. Sales Team 2 Supervisor: Brad Hudson. I stared at the computer screen for three seconds. Then I closed it and moved on to the next file. No rush. See you on Monday. Monday morning, 9:00 AM. Apex Technology Midwest branch, third-floor conference room. The Regional Director, Gary Vance, led me in. He was in his early fifties, with a beer belly and a loud, booming voice. “Everyone, let me introduce someone. This is Ms. Chloe Miller sent from corporate headquarters. She will be responsible for our project management and operational oversight here in the Midwest from now on.” He glanced at me, a look I was all too familiar with. Skepticism. What could a twenty-eight-year-old girl manage? I didn’t care. “Everyone cooperate fully with Ms. Miller. If you need anything, just speak up.” Gary finished and smiled at me. “Ms. Miller, want to say a few words to everyone?” I stood up, scanning the conference room. Over twenty people. When my gaze swept to the third row by the window, it paused for a moment. Brad Hudson. He was also looking at me. But he obviously hadn’t recognized me yet. A year apart, I had changed quite a bit. He, on the other hand, hadn’t changed much at all. Still that arrogant, confident look, dressed sharply in a suit, that Longines watch still on his wrist. “Hi everyone, I’m Chloe Miller.” My voice wasn’t loud, but the conference room was dead silent. “For the next little while, I will be based here in the Midwest, primarily responsible for analyzing and optimizing project operations. I look forward to your cooperation.” Brief. I don’t like wasting words. After the meeting adjourned, Brad walked right past me. He took an extra look at me. Walked two steps, then turned his head to look again. I didn’t look at him. He probably felt I looked a bit familiar. But he couldn’t remember where he’d seen me. It didn’t matter. He would remember. In the afternoon. I was in my office organizing the project reports for the Midwest from the last six months. There was a knock on the door. “Ms. Miller, I’m Brad Hudson from Sales Team 2.” He pushed the door open and entered, wearing a standard corporate smile. “Mr. Vance asked me to come coordinate Team 2’s business data with you.” He placed the file on my desk. I took it, flipping through two pages. “Sit.” He sat down. I continued looking at the file, not speaking. He waited for a while. “Ms. Miller, you look… quite familiar.” I flipped a page. “Oh?” “Have we met somewhere before?” I lifted my head, looking at him. He studied me carefully for a few seconds. Then his expression changed. From “social curiosity” to “I might have seen her somewhere.” Then to “She looks a bit like—” And finally froze on “No way.” “You…” His voice got stuck in his throat. “Are you…” “Supervisor Hudson, the Q3 collections data in this report doesn’t match the system.” I lowered my head, pointing at a number on the document. “Verify this for me.” He was stunned for two seconds. “O… Okay.” He stood up, taking the document. When he reached the door, he looked back at me. I didn’t lift my head. He went out. The door closed. I heard him standing in the hallway for a long time. Before his footsteps finally walked away. Chapter 3 That night. I guessed Brad was definitely scrolling through his phone. Scrolling through his blind date history from a year ago. Scrolling through the chat logs in “The Boys’ Night Out” group. Scrolling to that photo he secretly took of me. And then comparing it to the person sitting in the director’s office today. Sure enough. First thing the next morning, he came to find me. His face didn’t look good. “Ms. Miller…” He stood at the door, hesitating. “Are you… last year… did we…” “What?” I looked at him. He swallowed hard. “Nothing, I verified the report. The data was entered incorrectly. I’ve already fixed it.” He put the file down and almost fled from the room. I watched his retreating back. Exactly the same as a year ago. Never looking back. Except a year ago, he walked away in disgust. Today, he ran away in fear. After Brad recognized me, his attitude completely shifted. He became exceptionally attentive. Every morning, he was the first in the office, brewing tea for me. At noon, he proactively asked if I wanted him to pick up lunch for me. When reporting his work, he was deferential and respectful. But I noticed something else. While he was being attentive to me, he was doing something else too. For example—getting much closer to Gary Vance. On my third day at Apex, Brad took Gary out for a fancy dinner. I knew, because the next day Gary said something to me. “Ms. Miller, Brad is a good kid. Very capable. He’s our sales benchmark in the Midwest. If you have any questions looking at the data, don’t jump to conclusions. You can always ask me first.” I smiled. “Understood, Mr. Vance.” He still didn’t know why I was really here. During the first week, I didn’t make any big moves. I just looked at data. Reviewing it file by file. Apex Technology Midwest branch: four sales teams, totaling over forty people. The first thing I looked at was Brad’s Sales Team 2. Not because of a personal grudge. But because Team 2’s data was indeed the “prettiest.” Ranked number one in performance for three consecutive quarters. Brad personally held the title of top sales rep for two years running. It was too pretty. Pretty to the point of being abnormal. I pulled up Team 2’s client ledgers for the past year and reviewed them one by one. I saw some very interesting things. There was a girl on Team 2 named Mia Jenkins. She’d been here two years, and her performance was always at the bottom. But three clients she followed up on last year were all “transferred” to Brad right before the contracts were signed. The system record showed: “Client proactively requested a change of representative.” Three clients, all with the exact same reason. Too coincidental. I checked others. Another Team 2 member, Tom Weaver, a veteran who had been here for five years and had a lot of legacy clients. Last year, eight of his legacy clients renewed their contracts. For three of those renewals, the “Sales Representative” on the contract had changed to Brad Hudson. Notes: Resource consolidation. I flipped through Brad’s performance evaluation forms. Gary Vance’s signature was on them. “Brad Hudson exhibits outstanding business capabilities and excels at resource consolidation. He is an exemplary sales representative for the Midwest region.” Resource consolidation. What a nice way to phrase it.

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The notification from the Van Cleef & Arpels customer service app popped up on my phone. “Your Alhambra jewelry set has been serviced and is ready for pickup at our South Lake Avenue boutique.” I read the message three times. The Alhambra set was a family heirloom left to me by my mother. It was currently locked inside the safe in my house. I certainly hadn’t sent it in for servicing. And I had never set foot in the South Lake Avenue boutique in my life. I picked up my phone and called the store. “Hello, could you tell me who dropped off this set for servicing?” The associate checked the system. “Ma’am, it was dropped off by a Ms. Chloe Davis last Thursday.” Chloe Davis. I didn’t know anyone named Chloe Davis. But my jewelry was in her possession. 1. I didn’t rush home to check the safe. Instead, I drove straight to the South Lake Avenue boutique. The Van Cleef & Arpels sales associate was very polite and pulled up the service record for me. “This is the client,” she said, showing me the registration details. Chloe Davis. I didn’t recognize the phone number. The last four digits of her Social Security Number were listed on the intake form. “She mentioned her boyfriend gifted it to her and asked us to do a deep clean,” the associate added with a smile. “Boyfriend?” “Yes, she said her boyfriend spoils her rotten, buying her the entire matching set.” I nodded slowly. “Is the set currently here in the store?” “Yes, it’s all polished and ready for pickup anytime.” I stared into the display case where they kept serviced items. There it was—the Alhambra set I knew intimately: the necklace, earrings, bracelet, and ring. My mother had bought it at their flagship store in New York back in 2015. The original receipt was sitting in a drawer at my house. “I won’t pick it up today,” I told her. “I’ll let Ms. Davis come get it.” After leaving the boutique, I sat in my car for ten minutes. Then, I opened my phone and started scrolling through my husband’s Instagram and Facebook feeds. Mark’s social media had always looked perfectly clean. But he utilized custom friend lists and privacy settings. In the posts hidden from my view, was there a woman named Chloe Davis? I didn’t snoop through his phone. I did something much more effective. I opened the Chase banking app to check the statement for his secondary credit card. He had voluntarily given me this authorized user card years ago to help me track household expenses. He had probably forgotten that as an authorized user, I could also view the transaction history of the primary cardholder. I started scrolling back. One month ago. Two months ago. Three months ago. Line by line. Florist—Every Friday, the exact same shop, $188. Hotels—At least twice a month, always the same luxury boutique hotel, always on the weekends he claimed he was traveling for “business.” Women’s Apparel—Max Mara, Sandro, Self-Portrait. None of them were my size. I wore a Medium. Every purchase on the statement was a Size Small. Then, the most glaring transaction hit me: Three months ago, at a custom jewelry atelier: $6,800. The memo read: Engraving service. He had never gotten anything engraved for me. In our ten years of marriage, the most expensive gift he ever bought me was a two-thousand-dollar handbag. His exact words had been: “You’re not really into dressing up anyway, why spend so much on luxury stuff?” I closed the app. My hands weren’t shaking. My heart was racing, but my mind was terrifyingly clear. Mark, how long have you been lying to me? I reopened the statement and scrolled further back. Six months. A year. A year and a half. The weekly florist charges started exactly a year and a half ago. Every single Friday. Like clockwork. For eighteen months. I took a deep breath. Okay. Now I knew. 2. I didn’t confront Mark. Instead, I did something else—I started investigating Chloe Davis. The method was simple. Every Friday night, Mark “worked late.” This Friday, I took the afternoon off. At 5:30 PM, I parked across the street from his office building. At 5:50 PM, he walked out. He was holding a bouquet of flowers. Pink roses. He got into his car and headed toward the South Lake district. I tailed him from a safe distance. He pulled up to the gated entrance of a luxury condo complex. South Lake Gardens. A woman in a white sundress hurried out to meet him. She was young. Maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. She smiled brightly, took the flowers, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. Mark wrapped his arm around her waist, and the two of them walked through the lobby doors together. I sat in my car, watching them disappear into the building. Around the woman’s neck hung a necklace. From sixty feet away, I couldn’t make out the exact design. But I recognized the distinct luster of the chain. It was the unmistakable gleam of platinum. I waited for an hour. They didn’t come back out. I pulled out my phone and took a photo of the complex entrance. South Lake Gardens, Building B. Then, I looked up the phone number for the property management office. The next day, under the guise of a “misdelivered package,” I tried to fish for resident information in Building B. Property management refused to give me any details. So, I tried a different approach—I staked out the front gate for two days. On the afternoon of the second day, I saw the woman come out to pick up a package from a delivery driver. I managed to catch a glimpse of the shipping label: Chloe Davis. The address: South Lake Gardens, Building B, Unit 1502. Chloe Davis. The woman who had taken my jewelry to Van Cleef & Arpels for servicing. I got back into my car and searched her name online. I didn’t find much. But I did run a public property records search for Unit 1502 in Building B of South Lake Gardens. The registered owner: Mark Sterling. Date of purchase: 2023. We got married in 2014. He had bought this condo during our marriage. Where did the money come from? I checked the credit card statements again. There were no massive withdrawals or down payment charges. He hadn’t used his credit cards to buy the condo. So where did the cash come from? I opened another app—our joint high-yield savings account. I scrolled back. Late 2022, a massive outbound transfer: $120,000. Transfer destination: Mark Sterling’s personal checking account. Memo: Investment. I had asked him about it at the time. He had told me, “It’s a buddy’s startup project. Very low risk. We’ll see a return in six months.” Six months later, I asked about the ROI. He said, “It’s still scaling up. Needs more time.” I hadn’t brought it up again. $120,000. Combined with a standard mortgage, it was more than enough for a down payment on a two-bedroom condo at South Lake Gardens. I sat in the driver’s seat and let out a dark laugh. Mark. You used our money to buy a condo for your mistress. You stole my jewelry to let your mistress flaunt it around town. And you had the nerve to tell me, “You’re not into dressing up.” Alright. Perfect. I started the engine. I didn’t go home. I drove straight to the law firm of my best friend, Rachel. 3. Rachel was my college roommate. She had been a high-powered divorce and family law attorney for eight years. I laid all the evidence out on her desk. The credit card statements. The property records. The joint account transfer logs. The screenshots from the Van Cleef & Arpels app. She reviewed the documents in silence for ten minutes. Then, she looked up at me. “The jewelry from your dowry—do you have an itemized inventory?” “Yes.” “What about proof of purchase?” “It’s all in my mother’s safe deposit box. Original receipts, certificates of authenticity, everything.” “Did your mother ever have it legally notarized as a gift?” I paused, stunned for a second. “She did.” It suddenly came rushing back to me. My mother was an incredibly meticulous woman. Before she got sick, she had a lawyer draft a notarized deed of gift—explicitly stating that these pieces of jewelry were gifted to me as my sole and separate property prior to marriage, completely exempt from any future marital or community property claims. At the time, I thought she was being overly paranoid. Now, I understood. She saw much further down the road than I ever could. Rachel nodded approvingly. “Do you have the notarized documents?” “Yes. They are filed with the receipts.” “Then this just became very straightforward,” Rachel said, her eyes sharp. “That jewelry is your premarital, separate property. You have the notarized deed, the receipts, and the certificates of authenticity. Mark took them without your consent and gave them to a third party. Under the law, this isn’t ‘mismanagement of marital assets.’ This is grand larceny.” “Grand larceny?” “Exactly.” Rachel leaned forward. “The value exceeds half a million dollars. That’s a massive felony. He’s looking at three to ten years in state prison.” I stared at her, processing the weight of it. “I’m not calling the cops just yet.” Rachel raised an eyebrow. “I need to confirm one thing first.” “What is it?” “Whether the rest of the jewelry is still in the safe at home.” Rachel instantly understood. “You think he swapped them out?” I nodded. “My mother left me twelve pieces in total. We know the four-piece Alhambra set is currently in that woman’s possession. As for the other eight…” I trailed off. Rachel slid a business card across the desk. “David Chen. Certified master gemologist and appraiser. Take whatever is left in your safe to him. He’ll tell you if they’re authentic.” I pocketed the card. “One more thing,” Rachel warned me. “When you go home tonight, act completely normal. Don’t say a word. Don’t ask any questions.” “I know.” “Make him believe you are completely oblivious.” “I know.” “Once we have all the evidence secured, we drop the hammer.” Drop the hammer. Those words gave me a profound sense of grim satisfaction. 4. When I got home, Mark was lounging on the sofa, watching TV. “Working late today?” he asked casually. “Yeah, pulling extra hours.” I walked into the master bedroom and locked the door behind me. I stood in front of the heavy steel safe in the closet. We had bought this safe during our second year of marriage. My mother had told me, “Your jewelry is highly valuable. You need to keep it secure.” The original passcode was my birthday. Later, Mark insisted that wasn’t secure enough and changed it to his birthday. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Looking back, he was already plotting his heist the day he changed that code. I punched in his birthday and pulled the heavy door open. The velvet jewelry boxes were all there. Not a single one was missing. The jade bangle. The diamond tennis necklace. The ruby drop earrings. The Mikimoto pearl set. … At first glance, everything was accounted for. But I didn’t touch them. I took out my phone and meticulously photographed every single piece in its box. The next day, while Mark was at work, I packed every piece from the safe into a discreet tote bag and drove to David Chen’s office. David was a man in his late fifties. Wearing a jeweler’s loupe, he examined each piece, one by one. The first item: the jade bangle. He examined it under harsh lighting for two minutes. He set it down. He looked up at me. “This is a replica.” My stomach dropped. “It’s Grade A treated jade, very well-crafted, but it’s not natural untreated jadeite. The color distribution on an authentic piece of this caliber wouldn’t be this unnaturally uniform.” The second item: the diamond necklace. He examined it for barely a minute. “Moissanite. Not diamonds.” The third item. The fourth. The fifth. Every single time he set a piece down, he shook his head. Out of the twelve pieces of jewelry, subtracting the four Alhambra pieces currently held by Chloe Davis… Eight pieces remained. All eight were counterfeits. Not a single genuine piece was left in the safe. I sat in the appraisal office, staring at the row of worthless fakes lined up on the velvet tray. David drafted the official appraisal reports for me. Eight separate reports. Every single one concluded: Non-natural / Replica / Counterfeit. My mother’s jade bangle. She had sold her childhood home in the suburbs to buy it for me. It had cost fifty-eight thousand dollars. She had told me, “This is your safety net. No matter what happens in your marriage, as long as you have this bangle, you have a way out.” She wore it for twenty years before taking it off her wrist and placing it on mine right before she passed away. Now, I had no idea where the real one was. Sitting in my safe was a cheap, mass-produced fake worth maybe a few hundred bucks. I carefully folded the appraisal reports and placed them in my bag. I didn’t shed a single tear. When I walked out of the appraisal office, the afternoon sun was blindingly bright. I stood on the sidewalk and texted Rachel: “Eight pieces. All fake.” Rachel replied instantly: “We have enough evidence. Next step: audit his company.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “396451”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For eight long years, I loved Wyatt Hayes. Yet, we never wed. Our Western Frontier has a sacred tradition: a couple wishing to marry must climb the snowy peaks to seek a blessing from the Mountain Oracle. Usually, it takes a couple only a try or two before the Oracle grants them a Winter Rose, a rare bloom symbolizing divine favor. But for eight years straight, Wyatt came back empty-handed. I became the laughingstock of the Frontier’s ruling family, but Wyatt never left my side, treating me with doubled devotion. This time, I secretly followed him up the mountain. I decided that if the Oracle refused to bless us again, I would give up my title as the Governor’s daughter and elope with him. When I saw a Winter Rose finally placed into his hands, I was so ecstatic I nearly fainted. But Wyatt’s expression was agonizingly cold and indifferent. “It is you I love,” he whispered, “but I cannot betray Hazel after her eight years of companionship.” Then, the man who had looked at me with tender devotion only this morning took the sacred flower and forced himself upon the Oracle! The petals were crushed under his rough movements, the crimson juice of the rose staining the Oracle’s snow-white skin. “This is our last time…” he groaned. “Once you are sent to the Eastern Coalition as a treaty bride, I will cut my ties and marry her.” It turned out, he hadn’t delayed marrying me for eight years because of a curse. He was simply addicted to his once-a-year tryst with the Oracle. Numb and hollow, I stumbled back to the grand estate and knelt before my father. “The Frontier cannot survive a day without its Oracle. I will take her place as the treaty bride. Let me marry the Eastern Heir.” 1. Beatrice, the sister who always hated me, was the first to laugh out loud. “Have you lost your mind, sister? Your engagement to General Hayes is already the biggest joke in the family!” “If we send an unwanted old maid to the East, aren’t you afraid they’ll see it as an insult?” A bitter, humiliating emotion rushed up my chest, suffocating me so much I couldn’t speak. Once, I was hailed as the brightest pearl of the Western Frontier. But after Wyatt failed to get the Oracle’s blessing for eight consecutive years, I became the embodiment of bad luck and disaster. Thinking of how Wyatt had unhesitatingly crushed that Winter Rose—the flower I had dreamed of—against the Oracle’s skin, I bowed my head deeply to my father again. “I am not destined for General Hayes. Let me serve our land through this marriage and secure peace for the Frontier.” My aging father looked toward my older brother, Arthur, the man slated to be the next Governor. “Arthur, what do you think?” My heart clenched tightly. Arthur had always doted on me. If he refused to let me go… “I think this is an excellent idea, Father.” The moment my brother spoke, the blood in my veins froze. Before I could recover from the massive wave of shock, my brother continued, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. “The Oracle is the guiding star of our Frontier. How could my sister ever compare to her?” “Besides, she is a jinx who couldn’t secure a marriage for eight years. Sending her to the Easterners might just bring a curse upon them!” Large tears rolled from my eyes. I trembled so violently I could barely sit up straight. Was this still the brother who protected me at every turn, who never allowed anyone to mock me? First Wyatt, then Arthur. Why was all this happening? My father’s eyes grew dark. He dismissed everyone else, leaving only me in the room. “Although you are a more suitable bride for the East than the Oracle, I do not feel safe leaving her here in the West.” I looked up, stunned, as my father brought up a chilly early spring from eight years ago. Wyatt and I had privately pledged ourselves to each other. Arthur, who had always been close friends with him, was furious and attacked him. In Arthur’s eyes, the best man in the world wasn’t good enough for me. The two men brawled on the plains, fists striking flesh. Just then, the Oracle came down from the mountain. Dressed in her pure white ceremonial robes, she used her fragile body to stand between them. Without saying a word, her expression calm and merciful, she bandaged their wounds. Then she drifted away, returning to the untouched snows to be the immaculate Oracle. But that beautiful silhouette had permanently rooted itself in the hearts of both my brother and Wyatt. It turned out, the signs were always there. Since that was the case, I would ride alone to the East and let them have exactly what they wanted. 2. Seeing me emerge from my father’s study, Arthur quickly came to meet me. “Did Father agree to let you go…” I interrupted him coldly, “Arthur, did you really want me to leave that badly?” Or was it just that he couldn’t bear to part with the snow lily in his heart? A flash of panic crossed Arthur’s eyes before he regained his composure. “Didn’t you want to go? I only said those things to Father to help you get your wish.” Ridiculous. He threw me to the wolves to shield his sweetheart, and he had the nerve to say he was helping me. If that was how he wanted to play it, I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. I shook my head. “Father said no.” Right then, Wyatt came galloping toward us from a distance, unconcealable guilt plastered across his face. “I’m sorry… I still couldn’t get the Winter Rose.” “Next year…” I stared blankly at the blue sky and the circling falcons. “There’s no need.” By this time next year, I would probably already be living in the Eastern Capital. Wyatt let his hand drop in a daze, a fleeting look of deep regret in his eyes. “Don’t say such foolish things. Next year… I will definitely get it.” The Winter Rose was granted every single year. It was just my weight in his heart that grew lighter with each passing season. This double betrayal was like a raging fire, burning all the hope and expectation in my heart to ashes. That night, I was helping Arthur prepare the ceremonial items for the annual Harvest Moon Festival. I watched him stare vacantly at the Oracle’s ceremonial robes. I finally couldn’t hold back my mockery. “Arthur, the Oracle you’re so obsessed with has already been claimed by Wyatt.” “I saw it with my own eyes today. He crushed the Winter Rose against her thigh…” Before I could finish, a powerful arrow whistled past my cheek. After a sharp pain, bright red blood flowed down my neck and into my collar. “You can’t get the blessing because of your own lacking morals, and yet you dare invent such filthy lies to defile the Oracle!” “If there is a next time, I will shoot your head clean off.” Arthur’s eyes held a furious, boiling hatred I had never seen before. He slung his bow over his shoulder and left, dropping one final sentence. “Why couldn’t the one being sent to the East be a useless waste like you!” I covered my bleeding face and laughed at myself, laughing until the tears streamed down. I finally understood completely. In the hearts of Wyatt and Arthur, the Oracle would always be holy and beautiful. She was their faith, and their deepest, darkest desire. And compared to her, I was just the most insignificant grain of sand. Wyatt found me and brought me back to my tent. He touched my arrow-grazed cheek, looking utterly heartbroken. “Who did this!?” Looking at his seemingly genuine distress and deep affection, my heart felt like it was being pierced by thousands of needles. Everything today was his fault. What was he pretending to be so deeply in love for now? Years ago, he saved me from the jaws of a wild wolf, and I fell in love with him at first sight. From then on, the proud daughter who never bowed to anyone began to chase him relentlessly. He was the bravest general on the Frontier, so I learned martial arts from scratch. My palms bled, my skin tore from falling, but I never backed down. But now, looking at his hypocritical face, I suddenly realized I couldn’t love him anymore. I looked quietly into his eyes. “Wyatt, let’s call off the engagement.” 3. Wyatt’s face instantly froze. He stared intensely into my eyes, as if trying to find a shred of reluctance on my face. I looked back at him calmly. “The Oracle hasn’t granted us a flower in eight years. I suppose we truly aren’t meant to be.” Since that was the case, it was better to part ways and find our own happiness. Wyatt grabbed my hand, his tone tinged with guilt. “Hazel, don’t worry. Next year, I promise I’ll get the Oracle’s blessing.” I closed my eyes wearily. Marrying him had once been my biggest dream. And now, if I just pretended nothing had happened, he could smoothly marry me once the Oracle was sent away to the East. I opened my mouth. “I…” From outside the tent came the shout of Wyatt’s lieutenant. “General, the sacred artifacts for the Harvest Moon Festival have arrived!” Wyatt’s expression hardened. Without sparing me another glance, he ran out. I gave a self-deprecating smile, which instantly turned into tears. He was willing to ruin my reputation just to indulge in his taboo, once-a-year affair. How could he ever truly settle down and spend the rest of his life peacefully with me? It wasn’t that we didn’t get the Oracle’s blessing; it was just that I had bet on the wrong man’s heart. That was all. Wyatt returned quickly, gripping my hand tightly. “Hazel, the Harvest Moon is almost here. Let’s do the bloodletting quickly this year.” “The heavens will be moved by our sincerity, and next year we can marry!” To pray for good fortune, I would donate my blood every time he failed to get the flower. But now that the truth was out, doubts sprouted wildly in my mind. If seeking the blessing was a lie, why was he in such a rush to get my blood? I drew my dagger and unhesitatingly slashed my left wrist. Bright red blood dripped steadily into a white porcelain bowl. The guilt on Wyatt’s face deepened. “Thank you for this… Just wait one more year, and we can be together forever.” The very last ounce of affection I had for him drained away with that blood. I desperately wanted to tell him that there would be no ‘forever’ for us. After Wyatt left, I quietly followed him. And then I watched helplessly as he submerged the sacred artifacts into my blood! I remembered the legend: only the blood of a virgin could nourish the holy relics. The Oracle had lost her purity to him long ago. So, his refusal to touch me all these years wasn’t out of chivalry—he just needed me as a blood bank for the Oracle! The world spun around me. My riddled heart was pierced by a sharp blade once again. The night wind of the plains chilled me to the bone, much like these past eight years that had turned me from a vibrant girl into a lifeless shadow. I returned to my quarters like a wandering ghost and packed my bags for the East. Aside from my clothes, I only took the silver locket my mother left me. Then, I gathered everything related to Wyatt from all these years and threw it into the fire. The flames illuminated my tear-streaked face, burning away the absolute last trace of hesitation in my heart. I turned and walked out toward the plains. The old woman who helped raise my hunting falcon ran toward me. “Miss Hazel… Young Master Arthur is trying to take your falcon!” I frowned and rushed to the mews, arriving just in time to see the Oracle, dressed in her pure white robes, bowing gracefully to my brother. “I have nothing left tying me here as I leave for the East. I simply cannot bear to see my own falcon sacrificed tomorrow.” “Thank you, Young Master, for swapping the birds… I will remember this kindness.” My falcon had been hunting and riding with me since I was eight. I absolutely refused to lose it. Storming into the mews, ignoring the shocked looks of everyone around, I drew my bow and shot an arrow right through the chains holding my falcon! The bird circled me reluctantly, then let out a piercing cry and bolted into the dark night sky. As Arthur pinned me to the ground in a rage, I looked up at the sky and laughed until I cried. “Every single one of you hurts me just for the Oracle. But why can’t you win a single war?” “If you hadn’t been beaten back by the Easterners time and time again, you wouldn’t need to send the Oracle away as a bride!” This decaying, absurdly rotten Frontier was no longer my beautiful homeland. Then I would go over the mountains and find a way to save this country myself! 4. Arthur locked me in an empty barn. In the distance, the sound of war drums echoed. The current Oracle was completing her final sacrifice. Servants walked past me in twos and threes, making no effort to hide their contempt and hatred. “Why wasn’t this useless girl the one sent to the East? The heavens are blind!” “The Oracle ruined her health praying for the Frontier. What if she dies on the journey…” I closed my eyes, blocking out the tidal wave of malice. After a shrill, agonizing scream, the Oracle’s falcon was sacrificed. Wyatt rushed to the front of the barn, his eyes full of disappointment and fury. “Why did you purposely release your falcon last night!? The Oracle is about to leave, she just wanted to preserve a memory, and you couldn’t even grant her that?” Looking at his face, twisted with anger, I suddenly looked forward to seeing his expression when he realized I was the one going to the East. “What about me? She wanted to keep a memory, but do my feelings not matter?” His beloved was about to leave, and he couldn’t even bother pretending anymore. Wyatt’s chest heaved violently. “You haven’t hunted in years. What use do you have for a falcon?” He must have forgotten that I used to be the greatest huntress on the Frontier. I only stopped killing because our marriage was never blessed, and I thought sparing lives would earn us favor. I looked at the complete stranger standing before me and suddenly smiled softly. “Wyatt, you all will get your wish very soon.” Wyatt looked confused, but was suddenly pulled away by one of Arthur’s men. “The ritual failed! Something happened to the Oracle!” The Oracle had to be a pure virgin. Since she had slept with Wyatt just that morning, how could the heavens not punish them? It was getting late, and the guards were distracted. It was time to leave. After Wyatt left, I easily climbed out of the barn and snuck back to my tent to grab my luggage. But my most important possession, the silver locket, was gone! That was my mother’s heirloom, meant to keep me safe! My hands shook with panic, until I overheard the servants whispering. “The Young Master really cares for the Oracle. For this trip, he prepared seven or eight protective amulets for her.” By the time I snapped out of it, my face was covered in tears. I knew the Oracle was precious to him, but I never imagined he would strip me of my mother’s only heirloom! He felt my selfishness had killed the Oracle’s falcon, so he took half my life to compensate her. But from start to finish, I was the only one losing everything! The guards had discovered my escape. I had no time left. I threw on a red riding cloak and let out a sharp whistle. My falcon dove down from the sky and landed on my shoulder. My warhorse broke its tether, jumped the fence, and lowered its head to me. Dressed in crimson, a falcon on my left shoulder, I grabbed the reins with my right hand and galloped furiously toward the Capital! If there was no road left for me here, I would forge my own path in the wider world! This time, I didn’t look back. Meanwhile, on the Frontier, crowds fell to their knees around the altar, surrounding the Oracle, who was spitting blood with an agonized expression. “The heavens are furious! This is a disaster!” “Tens of thousands of cattle froze last winter, we are losing the war with the East…” “The Oracle represents the Frontier… Could it be the Oracle… Ah!” Arthur shot an arrow straight through the throat of the man who spoke. For a moment, everyone was dead silent. Wyatt’s face was so dark it looked like it could drip ink. “For centuries, the West has been protected by generations of Oracles.” “Anyone who dares slander her purity will be killed on the spot!” But the crowd wasn’t suppressed; they boiled over even more violently. “Then who angered the gods? We must cut them to pieces and burn them alive to calm the spirits’ wrath!” “Exactly! Give us peace!” Arthur and Wyatt knew better than anyone that they needed a scapegoat to bear the people’s fury. They looked at each other simultaneously and closed their eyes in pain. “Go bring Hazel.” Less than fifteen minutes later, my aging father, draped in a heavy coat, stood in the center of the crowd. “Hazel volunteered to go to the East as the treaty bride. She left the Frontier thirty miles ago.” 5. As soon as my father’s words fell, Wyatt lunged forward, his handsome face twisted in pure disbelief. “Impossible! Why would Hazel actually go? She explicitly promised she would only ever marry me.” Arthur’s fists clenched tightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His voice was frantic yet insistent. “Father must be lying to us. No matter how angry she is, she wouldn’t joke about the rest of her life.” They exchanged a look, both finding the same stubborn denial in each other’s eyes. They practically ran off the altar, Wyatt still muttering to himself. “She’s just punishing me. She’s saying this to scare us.” Arthur nodded in agreement, though his feet moved faster and faster. “Let’s check her room. She’s probably hiding inside, crying.” But when they burst into my quarters, they found only an empty bed and cold ashes in the hearth. Everything related to Wyatt had been burned to dust, scattered across the floor. Arthur’s heart plummeted. He turned and sprinted toward the grassy ridge I loved. “She loves watching the falcons from there. She has to be there!” Wyatt followed closely, clinging to a thread of hope. He remembered how I used to rest on his shoulder, my eyes shining as I said: “Wyatt, when we get the Winter Rose next year, we’ll have the grandest wedding.” Those words were still echoing in his ears. How could I just leave? They ran to every place I frequented. The valley of bluebells where I taught him to weave crowns; the clear stream where we sailed paper boats; the old oak tree where I hid my love letters to him. But at every spot, there was only the wind. No sign of me. “Where is she? Where did she go!?” Arthur’s voice started to shake, his composed facade entirely shattered. Wyatt’s face grew paler and paler. His fists were clenched so tight his fingertips were freezing. “Impossible. She couldn’t have left. We’re getting married next year.” This was his obsession, his unwavering certainty. Why would I suddenly give up? Just then, my father’s personal guard hurried over, carrying a wooden lockbox. “General, Young Master. This is the letter breaking the engagement that Hazel left behind, along with the silver ring the General gave her years ago.” The box was opened. The handwriting on the letter was neat but absolute. The ring still gleamed, carrying the faint warmth of having been worn by me for years. Wyatt shuddered violently, as if struck by lightning, and stumbled backward. “Breaking the engagement? She really wants to break it off?” He muttered to himself, his heart feeling as though it was being crushed by an invisible hand, hurting so much he couldn’t breathe. Arthur snatched the letter. After one glance, his eyes went entirely red: “She really left… She really went to the East…” Father stood behind them without them noticing, his eyes deep and unreadable. “The bridal escort left early. They will meet up with her tomorrow and head straight for the Capital.” “She prepared for this long ago. You two… simply hurt her too deeply.” Arthur suddenly spun around, staring at Wyatt with bloodshot eyes, his suppressed emotions exploding. “This is your fault! If you hadn’t failed to get that flower for eight years, she wouldn’t have been mocked! If you hadn’t treated her terribly, she wouldn’t have been so determined to leave!” 6. He grabbed Wyatt by the collar, pulling his fist back to strike. “We depended on each other since we were kids. How could she leave on such a massive journey without telling me? She must hate you!” Wyatt was stunned by the yelling, a flash of panic crossing his face before he, too, grew furious. “Blame me? How are you any better? For the Oracle, you said those vicious things to her, and you shot an arrow at her face!” He shoved Arthur away, his voice dripping with accusation. “You’re her actual brother, yet you were crueler than a stranger!” With weapons almost drawn, right as they were about to tear into each other, a figure in pure white quietly appeared. The Oracle stood between them, maintaining her sorrowful, merciful expression, and gently pulled at their sleeves. “Please, do not fight because of me. I bandaged your wounds years ago, and I don’t want to see you turn on each other today.” Her voice was soft, as if their fierce argument was entirely about her. Arthur and Wyatt both froze. Looking at the Oracle’s holy face, their expressions grew incredibly complicated. Wyatt took a deep breath, his tone freezing over: “Our fight has nothing to do with you.” Arthur shook off the Oracle’s hand, his eyes filled with exhaustion and deep regret. “We are talking about Hazel. We are talking about my sister.” The Oracle’s face stiffened. She clearly hadn’t expected this response. She stood frozen, looking at the suffocating anxiety and remorse rolling between the two men, suddenly at a loss for words. Arthur turned back to Wyatt, his gaze sharp as a knife. “Hazel loved you since she was a girl. For you, she learned to fight, and never complained no matter how much she suffered.” “She wouldn’t inexplicably abandon you and go to the East.” He stared intensely into Wyatt’s eyes. “Did you do something unforgivable to her?” All the color drained from Wyatt’s face. His eyes darted away, afraid to meet Arthur’s gaze. On the snowy mountain that morning, he had crushed the flower and told the Oracle that I was just a temporary companion. He used my virgin blood to nourish the artifacts. When I asked to cancel the engagement, he had just brushed me off. All these memories collided, leaving him entirely unable to defend himself. Seeing him like this, Arthur knew the answer, and his rage ignited once more. “I knew it! You bastard! What exactly did you do to her?” He drove his fist into Wyatt’s face, knocking him into the dirt. “She loved you so much, how could you bear to hurt her?” Wyatt didn’t fight back. He let Arthur’s fists rain down on his body. The physical pain was a fraction of the agony tearing apart his chest. He covered his face, letting out a stifled sob from his throat as the tears finally broke free. “I was wrong… I shouldn’t have lied to her… I shouldn’t have used her…” He regretted it. He truly, deeply regretted it. The two men brawled in the dirt, kicking up dust, until all their energy was spent and they collapsed on the ground. Arthur gasped for air, looking into the distance, his voice hoarse: “We can’t let her go to the East. Absolutely not!” Wyatt pushed himself up, his eyes hardening with resolve: “We’ll ride after her. We’ll bring her back.” The Oracle walked over and spoke softly. “This was originally my duty. Since this happened because of me, I am willing to go with you to take her place and bring Hazel back.” Her tone was incredibly righteous, as if she were saving the world. Arthur and Wyatt exchanged a look and didn’t refuse. Right now, as long as they could bring me back, they would do anything. The three immediately mounted their horses, took a squad of elite cavalry, and galloped frantically toward the Capital.

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I watched my husband’s award ceremony on a tablet propped up in the kitchen, chopping pork ribs with a heavy cleaver. The host asked him who he wanted to thank the most at this pinnacle of his career. He pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his voice smooth and gentle: “I want to thank my late wife, Evelyn. She was the one who taught me the true soul of literature.” The cleaver slipped in my hand, nearly taking off my finger. A splash of bloody water from the cutting board hit my apron, blooming like a rotting red flower. Eight years. I am his legally wedded wife. I am the 24/7, live-in caregiver for his paralyzed mother. But in his acceptance speech, I am nothing but thin air. Chapter 1 At seven o’clock that evening, Arthur Sterling returned home with his star students and a few colleagues. The heat in the house was turned up high. They took off their heavy winter coats, revealing elegant suits and sleek cocktail dresses. Arthur’s mother was in good spirits today. She sat in her wheelchair in the center of the living room, graciously accepting the students’ greetings. “Your mother looks wonderful, Professor Sterling. You take such meticulous care of her.” “Seriously. Your first wife passed away so young, and you’ve had to balance academia with caring for your elderly mother all by yourself. It’s truly inspiring.” Everyone was marveling at Arthur’s deep devotion and resilience. I walked out of the kitchen carrying a heavy pot of slow-simmered beef bourguignon that had been on the stove for three hours. The steam billowed up, the rich aroma drifting into everyone’s noses. A young female student turned her head and flashed me a sweet smile: “Excuse me, ma’am? Could you grab two more sets of silverware and some extra napkins?” The living room fell dead silent for two seconds. No one corrected her. Arthur was pouring tea for another student and didn’t even lift his eyelids. “Go get them. And be quick about it.” In that exact moment, I felt like an unevolved primate that had accidentally stumbled into a gathering of civilized humans. I looked down at the faded, oversized sweatpants I was wearing, and the cheap plastic slippers stained with cooking grease. I really did look like the hired help. Worse than the hired help, actually. A housekeeper gets paid by the hour. I only got a fixed monthly “allowance” of five hundred dollars to cover groceries. I turned back to the kitchen. The bitterness rising in my throat tasted like sour dishwater. When I came back out with the silverware, Arthur was standing in the doorway of his study, lighting a memorial candle in front of Evelyn’s portrait. In the photograph, Evelyn wore a black evening gown, sitting gracefully at a Steinway piano like a beautiful swan. I walked over to set the plates down on the adjacent table. When Arthur turned around, he bumped right into me. Crash. A bowl of scalding hot stew tipped over, spilling perfectly onto the edge of the memorial table. I knew how fiercely he guarded this space, so my first instinct was to block the spill with my bare hands. The hot liquid splattered everywhere, but a few drops still managed to hit the bottom edge of Evelyn’s picture frame. “What the hell are you doing?!” Arthur reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. He violently shoved me back. I stumbled, my shoulder slamming hard into the doorframe. The back of my hand was searing red, blistered from the boiling stew. But Arthur didn’t spare me a single glance. Looking panicked, he pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and began carefully wiping the picture frame, his movements as tender as if he were caressing a lover’s face. “You’re so incredibly clumsy. Can you do anything right?” He shot me a vicious glare over his shoulder, his eyes looking like they wanted to swallow me alive. “Today is a huge milestone for me. Did you purposely decide to ruin it?” My scalded hand was burning in agony, but my heart turned entirely to ice. The students exchanged awkward glances. The girl who had called me ‘ma’am’ whispered, “The Professor loved his first wife so much. He can’t even bear to see her photograph get dirty.” “Yeah. It’s true, undying love.” The room once again erupted into quiet murmurs praising his earth-shattering romance. I stood in the shadows of the corner, clutching my red, swollen hand. I looked at the man I had served hand and foot for eight years, pouring all his devotion into a photograph of a dead woman. I looked at the highly educated elites who treated a living, breathing human being like an invisible piece of furniture. Suddenly, I realized that my life for the past eight years had been nothing but a pathetic joke. I was the Sterling family’s live-in maid. I was his mother’s personal nurse. I was everything except Arthur Sterling’s wife. The string that I had kept pulled taut for eight years finally snapped. I’m done serving them. Chapter 2 I didn’t eat dinner. I went straight to my bedroom. I call it a bedroom, but it was actually a storage closet that had been converted into a guest room. Arthur slept in the master bedroom alone—or rather, he slept there with his “memories” of Evelyn. He only came to my room when he had physical needs. When he required me to fulfill my obligations as a wife. I looked at myself in the mirror. My complexion was sallow, the corners of my eyes were lined with wrinkles, and my hair was as dry and brittle as straw. I didn’t look thirty-five. If someone said I was fifty, they’d believe it. The girl who used to be the prettiest in her small hometown had withered into a dying weed. I remembered the first time I came to the Sterling house. It was messy, smelled awful, and Arthur was standing there, handsome but utterly helpless. After his mother had a stroke and became paralyzed, her temper turned vicious. She verbally and physically abused the nurses; no one lasted more than three days. Then I arrived. I became the exception. Because I felt sorry for him. Because when I tried to quit, his face was full of desperate pleading. And because, when I finally agreed to stay, the unmistakable joy in his eyes hooked me. Later, my family called, demanding I come back to my hometown to settle down and marry a local guy. I handed in my resignation again. Arthur said, “Marrying a stranger off some app is a gamble with your life. You know this house, and you know me. I’ll marry you.” Thinking of the deep, devoted way he looked at his late wife, something possessed me to say yes. Because I wanted him to look at me that way, too. I thought if I waited long enough, I would get it. The noise outside slowly died down. The guests had left. Arthur pushed my door open, holding a plastic package in his hand. “Here.” He casually tossed the item onto my bed. It was a pair of compression knee sleeves. Thick, wool-lined ones. My heart did a sudden leap. Was it because he saw me scald my hand and felt guilty? Or was it because today was our wedding anniversary? He had never remembered it before, but maybe, subconsciously, he wanted to do something nice for me? For a split second, that pathetic, desperate, feminine delusion bubbled up again. I reached out to touch the knee sleeves, opening my mouth to say something soft. Arthur loosened his tie, his tone deadpan: “Mom’s arthritis flares up whenever the weather gets like this. These sleeves are good quality. Put them on her before she goes to sleep.” “Also, get up more often during the night. Don’t let her wet the bedsheets again, the house is starting to smell.” My outstretched hand froze in mid-air. I felt like a clown who had just been publicly slapped across the face. It wasn’t for me. It was a tool for his mother. And I was just the tool responsible for applying it. “One more thing,” Arthur said, turning toward the door without even looking at me. “That stew spilled earlier. Make sure you mop the hardwood floors again first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t leave a lingering smell. And from now on, you are strictly forbidden from touching Evelyn’s memorial table.” I wanted to laugh, but all I could manage was an expression far uglier than crying. “Arthur.” I called out to him. He stopped, looking back with a frown. “What now?” “I want a divorce.” Four words. I said them quietly, but with absolute clarity. Arthur paused for a second, then let out a cynical scoff. Looking at me like I was a child throwing an unreasonable tantrum, he pulled a stack of cash from his wallet. It was about two or three hundred dollars. Smack. He slapped it onto the nightstand. “Are you throwing a fit because the students embarrassed you earlier? Fine. Take this, go buy yourself a couple of new dresses. I’m exhausted. Don’t start drama over nothing.” With that, he walked out without looking back. I followed him out into the hall. He didn’t go to the master bedroom. He went to his study. The study door was left slightly ajar. I never went in there alone. Even when I cleaned it, I had to watch his mood carefully. Through the crack in the door, I saw Arthur sitting at that Steinway piano. It was Evelyn’s favorite instrument when she was alive. His long, elegant fingers gently traced the keys. His eyes were so tender they looked like they were melting, as if he were caressing the skin of the woman he loved. In eight years, I had never received a look like that. Not even for a single second. He spoke to the empty air, murmuring softly: “Evelyn… I won the award today. If you were here, it would be perfect…” I pushed the door open and walked in. Arthur snapped his head around. The tenderness instantly shattered into jagged ice. “Who told you you could come in here? Get out!” I looked at the gleaming black piano, and then at the man who was supposed to be my husband. “I’m serious. I want a divorce.” This time, Arthur couldn’t even be bothered to turn his head. He pressed down on a single piano key. A crisp ding echoed through the room. “Clara, I transferred your monthly allowance to you yesterday. If you need a raise, just say so. Don’t use these cheap manipulation tactics. It’s beneath you.” In his eyes, every emotion I ever felt could ultimately be converted into a dollar amount. I looked at his handsome, refined face. A wave of intense nausea rolled over me. It was more repulsive than looking at his mother’s soiled bedsheets. “I’m deadly serious. The divorce is happening tomorrow.” I turned, walked out, and closed the door, locking the man drowning in the memories of his dead wife inside his own personal graveyard. Chapter 3 At 2:00 AM. A dull thud echoed from his mother’s bedroom. I shot out of bed purely on muscle memory and sprinted into the room next door. I yelled for Arthur. His bedroom was completely empty. He had probably driven out to the cemetery in the middle of the night to visit his beloved ex-wife again. His mother was having a seizure. Her entire body convulsed like a fish out of water, white foam bubbling at the corners of her mouth, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Turn her on her side. Clear her airway. Prevent her from biting her tongue. Apply pressure to her philtrum. I had performed this exact routine for eight years. It was carved into my bones. Once she stabilized slightly, I hoisted the 130-pound elderly woman onto my back. I weigh 95 pounds. But I gritted my teeth and carried her down three flights of stairs, even as my calves shook violently with the effort. I hailed a cab and rushed straight to the ER. I tried calling Arthur from the backseat. No answer. I had to settle for sending him a text. At the ER, I handled the registration, tracked down the attending doctor, and wheeled her in for a CT scan. I was still in my pajamas. My feet were crammed into my plastic slippers. My hair was a tangled mess, and my shirt was stained with the vomit his mother had coughed up earlier. This was my everyday reality. “Where is the family? Someone needs to pay the cashier,” the doctor said, eyeing my disheveled appearance with hesitation. “Are you… the hired nurse? Can you contact her immediate family?” “I am…” “I’m her son!” Rushed footsteps echoed behind me. Arthur had finally arrived. He was wearing a perfectly tailored wool overcoat, his hair styled immaculately. I could even smell his cologne. It was a scent called “Chance.” Reportedly, it was Evelyn’s absolute favorite. Noble, elegant Arthur, and pathetic, filthy me. We looked like two entirely different species. The doctor immediately switched to a bright, respectful smile: “Ah, Professor Sterling! You’re such a devoted son, rushing over in the middle of the night.” Arthur offered a humble, modest smile. He played the part of the refined intellectual flawlessly. As soon as the doctor walked away, Arthur turned his head and finally noticed me. His smile vanished instantly, replaced by his habitual look of reprimand. “What happened? Why did she have a seizure? Did you feed her something wrong at dinner? How are you watching her?!” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried perfectly through the quiet ER hallway. This was his logic. If she got sick, it was my fault. If she got better, it was because of his filial devotion. I didn’t say a word. I just silently lifted his mother from the gurney onto the hospital bed, adjusted her pillows, and tucked her in. Arthur just stood there, watching. Since the day I moved in, he hadn’t lifted a single finger to do a chore. He had never even poured his own mother a glass of water. Because, as he said, that was my job. A middle-aged woman in the neighboring bed couldn’t help but chime in: “Oh my, this lady is so capable. Her hands are so quick! You must be the family’s hired maid, right? You’re so professional. I wish I could hire someone like you.” My hands, which had been wiping his mother’s mouth, froze. Arthur stiffened slightly. I just looked at him. All he had to do was say, “This is my wife,” or even just mumble a vague agreement to brush it off. But instead, after three seconds of agonizing silence. Arthur nodded and said flatly: “Yes. She is very professional.” Boom. The very last thread of sanity holding my mind together completely snapped. Those three seconds of silence were ten thousand times more venomous than him actively screaming at me. It murdered the absolute last shred of delusional hope I had left for him. It murdered every single sacrifice I had made over the last eight years. I took the wet towel in my hand and threw it directly at his chest. “I officially resign. You can serve her yourself!” I turned around and walked out. Arthur hissed furiously behind me: “Clara! Are you insane?! We are in a hospital!” I didn’t look back. My pace only got faster. When I walked out the hospital doors, the freezing night wind hit my face, and I realized my cheeks were soaked with tears. But inside, my heart felt an unprecedented, absolute thrill of liberation. Chapter 4 I went back to that so-called “home” and started packing my things. There wasn’t much to pack. Aside from a few changes of cheap clothes, there was almost nothing in this house that truly belonged to me. In his study, hidden at the very bottom of a locked drawer, I found our original “marriage agreement.” It wasn’t a prenuptial agreement; it was a literal employment contract. It was written in black and white: Party B (me) is responsible for all daily care and living requirements of Party A (Arthur’s mother). Party A (Arthur) will pay Party B a monthly living stipend. During the duration of the marriage, Party B shall not interfere with Party A’s private personal space… I ripped it into a hundred pieces. Next to it was a small leather ledger. It was a meticulous accounting of his expenses over the last eight years. He was a man of habit; he recorded every single transaction. I had never paid attention to it before, but opening it now was like taking a knife to my own chest. April 2018. Landscaping for Evelyn’s grave. Memo: Dedicated fund for my beloved wife. $500. June 2018. Clara’s dental appointment. Memo: Labor maintenance expenses. $80. … So that was it. In his eyes, I was no different than a washing machine that occasionally needed a repairman. Staring at those entries, one by one. My blood ran completely cold. My stomach churned violently, and I rushed to the bathroom, dry-heaving over the toilet for ten minutes. I took off the heavy winter coat I was wearing, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it twice. Because embroidered on the inner lining of the coat was the letter E. Evelyn. I took everything he had designated in his ledger as “Labor Supplies” and left them behind. Including the paper-thin, two-gram gold wedding band. When we got married, he bought it, claiming he didn’t like ostentatious displays of wealth and preferred things simple. It turned out he didn’t dislike ostentatious displays; he just disliked spending money on me. When I finished packing, all I had was a single, battered canvas duffel bag. This was the sum total of my eight years. The front door unlocked. Arthur was back. Seeing the chaotic mess in the apartment, he furrowed his brow, his eyes filled with extreme displeasure. “Clara, are you done throwing your tantrum? Mom is still lying in a hospital bed! What are you doing running back here? Pack a bag and get back to the hospital!” I was still wearing my cheap thrift-store clothes, but this time, my spine was ramrod straight. I took the slightly warped gold ring and placed it on the glass coffee table with a sharp clink. And then, I smiled. It was the first time in eight years I had smiled so freely, so recklessly in this house. “Professor Sterling, your unpaid maid, Clara Hayes, is officially off the clock.” “Oh, and I threw that coat in the trash. Wearing a dead woman’s clothes is bad luck. It was making me sick.” Arthur’s face changed drastically, as if he had just been slapped brutally across the face. “What did you just say?” “I said, I’ll see you at the county courthouse at 8:00 AM tomorrow for the divorce papers. Also, since I am a professional maid, remember to wire my eight years of back wages to my bank account. Don’t try to stiff me, or I’ll really look down on you.” With that, I ignored him, picked up my duffel bag, and stepped over the dried stain of the spilled stew, walking out the door.

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After my maternity leave ended, my mother-in-law proposed we split childcare 50/50. But she was only covering the man’s share. Out of 24 hours a day, she would take the day shift, and I would take the night shift. She made lunch, I made dinner, and we took turns with breakfast. To keep things “fair,” she strictly forbade my husband from helping me. Later, my daughter spiked a terrible fever in the middle of the night. My mother-in-law physically blocked my husband from grabbing his car keys. “You’re not going!” she snapped. “I already covered your shift today. The night shift is her responsibility.” I had no choice but to order an Uber to the hospital. I never expected the exhausted driver to crash on the way there. My baby girl and I were trapped in the wreckage and burned alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very last day of my maternity leave. “Chloe, sweetie, I need to talk to you about something.” My mother-in-law Brenda’s voice rang in my ears. I opened my eyes and saw her fake, sugary-sweet smile. Without waiting for my answer, she just kept talking: “You young people are all about going 50/50 these days. “Talking about money ruins relationships, so we won’t talk about money. “We’re just going to talk about how we split taking care of the baby.” Before I could get a word in, she continued, “Here’s what I’m thinking. “Out of 24 hours, I take the day, you take the night. “We set the hours, so nobody gets taken advantage of. “You leave for work at 7 AM, so I’ll watch her from 7 AM to 7 PM. “From 7 PM to 7 AM the next morning, she’s all yours. “I’ll cook lunch, you cook dinner, and we alternate breakfast. “How does that sound?” Her words were exactly the same as I remembered. At first glance, it almost sounded fair. But in my past life, Brenda genuinely believed she was stepping in to cover her son Mark’s half of the parenting. “I already did Mark’s share,” she would say. “He doesn’t help me during the day either. “So to keep it fair, he can’t help you at night.” From then on, Mark practically vanished when it came to chores and childcare. I worked from 8:30 AM to 5:30 PM. But the office was far, and my one-way commute took an hour and a half. Whether I had an early morning meeting or had to work late, Brenda didn’t care. She would physically block the door in the morning so I couldn’t leave a minute early. If I wasn’t walking through the door right at 7 PM, she would blow up my phone with back-to-back calls. It made my managers despise me. My performance reviews tanked every month. If I hadn’t still been pumping, I would have been fired immediately. Meanwhile, Mark didn’t lift a finger. In the mornings, while Brenda was holding me hostage at the front door, he was snoring in bed like a pig. In the evenings, while I was rushing to cook dinner in the kitchen, my daughter Lily would sit on the floor, clinging to my leg and crying. Mark and Brenda would be out in the living room, watching TV and chatting. I could hear their laughter from the kitchen. But somehow, they were entirely deaf to Lily’s screaming. One night, I just wanted to take a quick shower and asked Mark to watch Lily for five minutes. Brenda practically leaped off the couch. “You’re cheating!” “How am I cheating, Brenda?” I asked, furious. “I even take Lily to the bathroom with me during the day.” Brenda wiped away fake tears. “Well, nobody helps me during the day either!” “Mark isn’t home during the day,” I explained. “But he’s home right now.” “Doesn’t matter. We agreed on 50/50, and nobody is breaking the rules,” she said, crossing her arms. “Besides, Mark worked hard all day at his job. “I already covered his shift for him. “Stop trying to exploit him.” Mark pretended he was too scared to help me, lounging on the couch and playing video games. Brenda even sat there feeding him little pieces of cut-up fruit. I had to wait until Lily finally fell asleep to rush into the shower. I never dared to shower for more than ten minutes. I was terrified she would choke in her sleep, roll off the bed, or wake up crying for me. After weeks of this, I was on the verge of a total breakdown. I tried reasoning with Mark. “Can I ask my mom to come stay with us and help?” “Where is your mom going to sleep?” he asked, clearly annoyed. We only had a two-bedroom apartment. I offered a solution: “My mom can share a room with your mom. “If she doesn’t want that, I’ll buy bunk beds. “Your mom can have the top or bottom, whatever she wants. My mom is fine with it.” “Absolutely not!” Brenda suddenly burst into our bedroom. She had been eavesdropping at the door the entire time. I sighed. “Then maybe you should go back to your hometown, Brenda. “My mom can take over entirely. “She doesn’t care about going 50/50, and she definitely won’t overwork your precious son.” “No way.” Brenda’s face hardened, her jowls shaking. “If I go back without my granddaughter, the whole church congregation will laugh at me.” I was an only child, and both my parents were retired. When I got pregnant, they immediately offered to help raise the baby. But Brenda fought it tooth and nail: “Her paternal grandmother is still alive and well! “Why on earth would the maternal grandparents raise the child?” Mark and I weren’t from this city. We met in college. After graduation, we found jobs, bought a house, and settled down here. Mark’s father had passed away in a car accident a few years prior. Brenda used his life insurance payout to cover the down payment on our place. When we were buying it, my parents offered to split the cost. That way, our monthly mortgage would be much lower. But Brenda refused. “The man’s family provides the house. “If word gets out that the bride’s family paid for half, we’ll be the laughingstock of our hometown.” So, my family didn’t contribute to the house. The deed only had Mark’s name on it. It was legally considered his pre-marital asset. There was no diamond ring, no fancy wedding paid for by his family. Instead, my parents gave me their entire life savings as a nest egg. They told me to use it however I saw fit. Mark and I had been together since freshman year. Back then, he treated me better than anyone else. We were inseparable. He was attentive, caring, and sweet. He worked odd jobs during summer breaks just to buy me gifts and take me on road trips. He remembered every little thing I said. Once, I casually mentioned I wanted to see a beluga whale. The very first day the local aquarium opened, Mark took me. Those two tickets cost him his entire food budget for the month. When we got there, we found out the belugas hadn’t arrived yet. Six months later, when they finally got them, he saved up and took me again. The whales were beautiful. Mark loved me. After six years together, I truly believed we were going to grow old together. So I didn’t care about whose name was on the deed. I used a huge chunk of my parents’ money to fully renovate and furnish our bare-bones house. I used the rest to buy a reliable commuter car. Because Mark’s office wasn’t near a bus route, I let him take the car. I squeezed onto the subway every single day. Because he only put down the bare minimum for the house, Mark’s entire paycheck went strictly to the mortgage. Every single household expense fell on my shoulders. That was exactly why I couldn’t afford to quit my job after having the baby. My parents lived several states away. Their pensions were modest, and they couldn’t afford the high rent and cost of living in our city. My salary wasn’t enough to hire a nanny, nor was it enough to rent my parents an apartment nearby. And since Brenda refused to let my mother stay with her, we were stuck. Under Brenda’s protective wing, Mark rapidly regressed into a massive mama’s boy. The man who was so wonderful before the wedding vanished entirely. When I was sobbing in the middle of the night from sheer exhaustion, his “comforting” words sounded exactly like Brenda’s: “This is just what being a mom is like. Deal with it. “It gets easier when they’re older. “Lily only wants you anyway, there’s nothing I can do to help.” Of course she didn’t want him—he never held her! Sometimes she would even cry just looking at him. Afraid of worrying my parents, I kept my nightmare a secret from them. They would even send Brenda gift baskets and call her, saying, “Thank you for working so hard for our daughter.” Brenda would immediately use the opportunity to play the martyr. “Oh, babies this small are just so difficult. “I’m all alone in the house during the day. “When she cries, I get so anxious I break out in a sweat. “I’m so busy I barely even have time to eat!” Then my mom would call me: “Your mother-in-law is working so hard taking care of the baby alone all day. “You need to be patient and treat her well.” It wasn’t just my parents. Brenda complained to anyone who would listen. The neighbors in our complex, her relatives back home—everyone thought she was a saint. They all thought I should be on my knees thanking her. I won’t deny she kept Lily alive during the day. But her hygiene was appalling, and she point-blank refused to do a single household chore. She believed that watching the baby was her absolute limit. She never cleaned up the kitchen after using it all day. Pots, pans, and dishes were piled high in the sink, waiting for me to wash them at night. Forget about sweeping, mopping, doing laundry, or organizing. The floors would be coated in dust, and she’d act like she couldn’t see it. When I mopped on the weekends, she complained I was blocking the TV. She never put Lily’s dirty clothes in the wash. But the second I started a load of laundry, she would hit pause and sneak her own dirty clothes in. I even found the muddy shoes she wore outside tossed into Lily’s toy bin. When I politely asked her to be more hygienic, she immediately went crying to Mark about how hard she worked and how ungrateful I was. Mark would tell me, “Chloe, my mom works hard enough during the day. “Older people just aren’t as clean as you are. “She can’t change her habits overnight. “Just let it go. You need to be more grateful.” “Grateful for what?” I shot back. “Is she just my child? “Your mom works hard during the day. “Do you think I don’t work hard going to the office all day, and then doing all the chores and taking care of the baby all night?” “You work hard too, honey,” Mark would say, giving me a half-hearted hug. But it was all lip service. He never actually did anything. Before Brenda moved in, I cooked, and Mark washed the dishes. I washed the clothes, and Mark folded them. Objectively, Mark used to do his half of the chores. But once Brenda arrived, she couldn’t bear to see her precious son lifting a finger. Whenever I asked him to do something, she shielded him with her 50/50 rule. “I already did Mark’s half today! He doesn’t have to do anything tonight.” So I just had to grit my teeth and bear it alone. Months later, Lily spiked a terrifying fever in the middle of the night. Her little body felt like a furnace. I shook Mark awake. “Get up, Lily is burning up.” Mark felt her forehead. “Pack a bag, we’re going to the ER.” I dressed Lily and grabbed the diaper bag. Mark threw on his clothes. “I’ll go warm up the car.” It was December. We parked in an outdoor lot. The windshield was entirely iced over and needed to be scraped. I put on my backpack and carried Lily toward the front door. Brenda heard the noise and came out of her room. “Where are you going at this hour?” “Lily has a fever, we’re taking her to the hospital,” I explained. Brenda peered into our bedroom and yelled, “Where’s Mark?!” “He went down to warm up the car.” “Wait for me,” Brenda said, retreating to her room to grab her coat. I assumed she was coming with us to help. But when we got downstairs, Brenda reached into the ignition and yanked the keys out. “Mom, what are you doing?” Mark asked, confused. Brenda glared at us. “You’re not going! “I already covered your shift. The night shift is hers.” Holding Lily, I stared at her in total shock. “Brenda, the baby is sick!” Brenda gripped the keys tightly, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. “Kids get sick all the time. “When Mark was little, I carried him to the doctor all by myself.” Mark got out of the car. “Mom, stop causing a scene.” “A scene?!” Brenda screamed. “I’m doing this for you! “You have to work tomorrow! What about your health? “Besides, it’s Chloe’s turn to watch her. “You’re not a doctor, going to the hospital won’t do anything anyway. “She can take her by herself.” Lily, already miserable from the fever, started shrieking from Brenda’s yelling. I rocked her, begging, “Brenda, please just let Mark come with me. “I can’t do this alone.” “You’re a mother now. You have to,” Brenda sneered, grabbing Mark by the arm and dragging him toward the apartment building. Mark gave me an apologetic look but let himself be pulled inside. I had a spare car key in my bag. But Lily was thrashing and crying so hard she couldn’t sit safely in her car seat alone. My only option was to call an Uber. It was a freezing December night. There were barely any cars out. The app just kept spinning, searching for a driver. I tried calling Mark, but his phone was turned off. Standing at the entrance of our complex, holding my burning child, I broke down and sobbed. I eventually offered a huge cash tip on the app, and a driver finally accepted. After another 15 minutes, we got in. But I never could have guessed the driver was exhausted from driving a double shift. He crashed on the highway. The car was crushed, and the EV battery caught fire. Lily and I were trapped in the backseat and burned alive. My mind snapped back to the present. I could still feel the phantom, agonizing pain of the flames on my skin. Brenda was still standing in front of me, running her mouth. I picked up my phone and checked the calendar. It really was the last day of my maternity leave. “I’m tired,” I said, standing up and walking to my room. “You think about it! I’m doing you a favor! “You need to learn to be grateful!” Brenda yelled after me. I slammed the door, shutting her out. Lily was sleeping soundly in her crib, sweet and quiet. She looked like a little angel. But the sound of her agonizing screams from the fire still echoed in my head. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I leaned over, trembling, and picked her up. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy’s here. “We don’t need Daddy anymore, okay?” That evening, Mark came home from work. At the dinner table, Brenda brought it up again. “Mark, I talked to Chloe today about splitting the parenting 50/50. “She didn’t seem to like the idea.”

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