In my past life, my name was Claire Vance. I donated over $10 million and sponsored 101 underprivileged kids through school. When I died of stomach cancer at 37, not a single one of those 101 kids came to visit me. In this life, the very first thing I did after waking up was throw that densely packed list of sponsored students straight into the trash. Taking the money I had prepared to donate, I took advantage of the pre-boom housing market and bought ten rental properties in one go. Soon after, I saw familiar faces flashing across my screen. The boys and girls who had once sworn to repay my kindness in my past life were now wiping away tears during a local news interview: “Ms. Claire promised she would pay for my entire college tuition, but now she’s disappeared. I heard she bought 10 houses instead.” “Now, we have no choice but to drop out and work fast-food jobs.” “I don’t hate her… it just hurts…” “We just want to ask one thing: Ms. Claire, we looked up to you like a mother. How could you be so cruel?” I turned off the TV with a blank expression. The moment I unlocked my phone, a tidal wave of notifications flooded in. The first text: “Ms. Vance, I’m a reporter from Metro News Tonight. May I ask why you suddenly cut off funding for 101 disadvantaged students? Are you available for an interview?” The second: “Ms. Claire! It’s Lily! Why aren’t you answering my calls? You promised you’d put me through college!” The third: “Claire Vance, as a well-known local philanthropist, you suddenly have ten new properties under your name while leaving children to drop out and work minimum wage. How do you sleep at night?” The fourth, the fifth, the sixth… My phone was vibrating so hard it felt like it was going to explode. At the same time, chaotic footsteps echoed from the hallway outside. Judging by the sound, there were at least a few dozen people gathered outside my door. Through the heavy wood, their impatient voices drilled in: “Ms. Vance! Come out and give us a statement!” “Why did you stop the funding?” “Do you know the kids are staging a sit-in outside the news station?!” I closed my eyes. In my past life, I was a selfless, dedicated “good person” who only knew how to give. My husband, Arthur, and I ran a wholesale building materials supply store. We worked from dawn to dusk, pinching every penny. We spent very little on ourselves; the vast majority of our profits went straight to charity. Over ten years, we donated over $10 million, sponsoring 101 kids from impoverished rural counties in the state. We sponsored many of them from the time they were in elementary school. I promised them that if they just focused on studying, I would cover everything through their college graduation. They wrote letters, calling us “Mama Claire” and “Papa Art,” promising they would repay us when they grew up. We saved every single letter. On nights when we couldn’t sleep, we’d take them out to read, often shedding tears of joy and comfort. Arthur and I didn’t have children of our own. We didn’t want the kids to “repay” us; we just didn’t want poverty to limit their potential in life. Then, Arthur died. His supply truck flipped on the highway. His last words were, “Make sure you take care of the kids.” Then, he was gone. I cried until I thought I would die. Before I could even recover from the grief, I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer. During the year I was hospitalized, I lay in that bed, waiting for those kids to come see me. Not a single one came. I told myself they were busy, their coursework was heavy, and bus tickets were expensive. I didn’t blame them. Later, when my medical funds ran dry, I had no choice but to suspend the scholarship payments. That’s when my phone started ringing. “Aunt Claire, why hasn’t this month’s living stipend arrived yet?” “Aunt Claire, you promised to pay through college, and you’re cutting me off in my freshman year of high school? Isn’t this practically a scam?” “Ms. Vance, I’m [Redacted]’s parent. You made a promise. You can’t just stop paying now! What is our kid supposed to do?” The very last phone call came from a girl named Mia. Back when I was selecting students to sponsor, she had knelt in front of me, crying her eyes out, calling me “Mom.” On the phone, she said, “Mama Claire, how long is your treatment going to take? Hurry up and get better so you can get back to work. We have so many kids depending on you.” I hung up the phone and burned every single letter I had kept under my pillow. Later, a reporter dug up my story and went to interview the kids. Reporter: “Claire is very sick. Are you going to visit her?” Student A: “She promised to pay for my college. Now she’s just lying in a hospital and the money’s gone. What good would it do if I went?” Student B: “She’s so rich, it’s just a medical bill. Besides, how much is our tuition really costing her?” Student C—Mia—smiled innocently at the camera: “Nobody does anything without a motive. I won’t say what she was really after, but I think everyone can guess, right?” I turned off the TV. Without enough money to cover the final medical bills, I was discharged. I went home, lay in the bed Arthur used to sleep in, and suffered day by day. The night I died was New Year’s Eve. People were setting off fireworks outside my window. Staring at the ceiling, I whispered, “God, if I could do it all over again…” “I would absolutely put myself first.” Heaven had eyes. I truly was reborn. I woke up back when I was 33. Arthur wasn’t dead yet, and our family was still relatively wealthy. Changing fate wasn’t easy. That afternoon, I almost couldn’t make it out of my own neighborhood. A massive crowd was gathered downstairs. Nearly a hundred kids, wearing their school uniforms, holding up banners. “Mama Claire, we need you.” “Mama Claire, don’t abandon us.” Kneeling at the very front was Mia. Holding a megaphone, crying hysterically, she shouted: “Mama Claire! You said you’d put me through college! Did you forget?!” Countless reporters stood nearby, all their cameras aimed directly at my building’s entrance. The moment I stepped out of the lobby, I heard a wailing cry—”Mama Claire!” Mia crawled forward on her knees, lunging to wrap her arms tightly around my legs. “Mama Claire, please don’t abandon us! You said we were your children! You said you would always provide for us!” Her tears smeared against my pant leg, icy cold. Behind her, the other 100 kids started crying in unison. The sound was deafening. Security guards tried to step in but were blocked by the reporters. From every direction, telephoto lenses and cell phone cameras were pointed at me. People were livestreaming on TikTok and Instagram. Some bystanders were wiping away tears, whispering, “They’re so pitiful. How can this woman be so heartless?” I looked down at Mia. This face was exactly the same as in my past life. In my past life, she had knelt before me, crying exactly like this, promising she would take care of me when I grew old. Then, when I was dying, she looked into a camera and said, “Nobody does anything without a motive.” I reached down and peeled her fingers off my pant leg, one by one. “Mama Claire!” she shrieked, gripping tighter. I pried her last finger loose. I crouched down and looked her dead in the eye. “Mia, how old are you this year?” She froze for a second. “S-seventeen.” “Seventeen,” I nodded. “That’s not so young anymore.” I paused, enunciating every word clearly: “Nobody does anything without a motive. I won’t say what you’re really after right now, but I think I can guess.” Her face stiffened entirely. I stood up, stepped around her, and kept walking. Behind me, Mia suddenly burst into dramatic wails. “Mama Claire! You can’t do this! You promised us! You can’t go back on your word!” The other kids followed her lead, crying even louder than before. Someone started chanting: “Bring Mama Claire back! Bring Mama Claire back!” Cell phone cameras followed me relentlessly. The livestream chats were scrolling wildly. “What kind of person is this? So many kids are begging on their knees and she doesn’t even look back?” “So cold-blooded! I can’t believe I used to like her posts!” “Ten houses, and she won’t even donate one? I always knew her charity was a fake tax write-off!” “Claire Vance, how do you sleep at night?” The reporters practically shoved their microphones into my face, their mouths opening and closing, all asking variations of why I stopped the funding. Seeing that I couldn’t avoid them, I simply stopped and gave the reporters a polite wave. “That’s right, I have decided to permanently terminate the sponsorships.” “As for the reason, it is a private, personal matter, and it wouldn’t be appropriate to discuss it here.” “However, I believe there are mostly good people in this world. Like all of you, for example. You are more than welcome to take over sponsoring these children.” “Everyone here is so kind and righteous. I’m sure that even without me, they will successfully finish their education, right?” I smiled, scanning the faces of these seemingly “kind and righteous” people. Seeing me steer the conversation in this direction, the reporters instantly shut their mouths, not daring to pester me with more questions. Taking advantage of their silence, I pushed through the crowd and quickly walked to the neighborhood gate. A pickup truck was parked by the curb. The window rolled down; it was Arthur. He looked at me, his eyes red. “Honey, I saw everything,” his voice choked up. “Those kids… they’re so pitiful. Haven’t we always sponsored them? Why the sudden…” I opened the door and got in. Arthur turned to me. “Didn’t we always say we didn’t want them to repay us, we just wanted them to do well…” “I changed the PIN on the savings accounts,” I said. He froze. “What?” “The two main savings accounts. I changed the PINs,” I repeated, looking straight ahead. “If you need to withdraw money, you have to ask me.” “Honey, you—” I sighed. “Arthur, I had a dream. It was so real, I believe it’s a premonition.” “In the dream, you died in a crash. I got stomach cancer. I lay in a hospital bed for over a year, and out of those 101 kids, not a single one came to see me. When I stopped the funding, they called to harass me, telling me to hurry up, get cured, and get back to making money for them. They even went on TV to say I had an ulterior motive. In the end, I died alone in our house on New Year’s Eve while fireworks went off outside.” He was stunned silent. “Arthur,” I said, utterly exhausted. “In this life, let’s put ourselves first.” He sat there with his mouth open, looking at me in confusion, unable to speak for a long time. Outside the window, a massive digital billboard was playing the local news. “Well-known philanthropist Claire Vance abandons 101 disadvantaged children. Students kneel in the street begging her to return…” Many pedestrians were looking up at the screen. Someone shouted, “Claire Vance, go to hell!” A chorus of voices immediately agreed. I sneered. Give a man a fish, he’ll thank you. Give a man a fish every day, he’ll hate you when you stop. The ancients were right. Cyberbullying spreads like wildfire. For days, the area downstairs was completely packed with angry mobs. “Claire Vance! Get out here!” “Heartless bitch!” “Stop pretending to be a philanthropist, you’re just a scammer!” People threw eggs at my windows; the yolk dripped down the glass. Someone spray-painted the lobby doors with red paint: “Fake Charity, Real Bloodsucker.” They even hung banners: “Punish the corrupt businesswoman, get justice for the kids!” Peeking through the curtains, I saw Mia still standing at the very front of the crowd, accepting interviews with a tear-streaked face. “We never wanted to ask her for much money. We just want to know why she suddenly threw us away?” Next to her, a teenage boy cried hysterically: “She buys ten houses, but forces us to drop out! My little sister is only in seventh grade, and now she has to go work in a sweatshop!” The crowd exploded. “Call the cops! Arrest her!” “Cancel her! Ruin her life!” “Smash her house!” Suddenly, a fairly large rock shattered my living room window, sending glass shards flying dangerously close to my eyes. Arthur shielded me, his face pale. “Honey, let’s call the police.” I shook my head. What good would the police do? To the public, they were just a group of “pitiful,” “helpless,” “betrayed” children. The next day, things got worse. Someone doxxed my home address and the location of Arthur’s supply store online. By the time I rushed over to the store, I heard someone in the mob yell: “Smash it!” Before the words even faded, baseball bats shattered the glass storefront. The mob surged in like a tidal wave. Shelves were toppled, ceramic tiles were smashed, and the cash register was flipped over. Someone even lit the store’s sign on fire; thick black smoke billowed into the air. Honest, hardworking Arthur, his eyes completely red, rushed in to try and stop them, but was violently shoved to the ground. People spat on him; people kicked him. In that moment, the blood rushed to my head. But I didn’t charge in. Instead, I took a step back to the edge of the crowd and started a TikTok live stream. I pointed the camera at the fire, at the store being trashed, and at Arthur being trampled on the floor. The chat went wild: “What’s going on here?” “Holy shit, this is a full-on riot!” “Did someone call 911?” “That’s Claire Vance’s store!” “Good job! Make that fake philanthropist go bankrupt!” I stared at the screen, my voice calm but laced with a slight tremble: “Hello everyone, I am Claire Vance. What you are seeing right now is my husband being attacked by a mob.” “For the past three days, my home has been vandalized, my store has been besieged, and my husband is currently being stomped on the ground. And all of this is simply because I stopped funding 101 students.” “Up until now, I have sponsored them for over 3 years, totaling roughly $300,000. Every single transaction has bank records.” “As for why I suddenly stopped the funding, I originally didn’t want to say this today—” I pulled a few pieces of paper from my pocket and unfolded them in front of the camera. It was a medical pathology report. The date was from 5 days ago. Under the diagnosis section, in black and white, it read: Gastric Adenocarcinoma, Stage II. In my past life, by the time I found out I had stomach cancer, it was already late-stage. After being reborn, the very first thing I did was go to the hospital for a full screening. “I stopped the funding because I need the money for my own medical treatment. I didn’t want to make it public because I didn’t want people to worry. But now, I have no choice but to tell you all.” “I also wish I could keep paying for these kids to go to school, but my health won’t allow it. My husband’s health isn’t great either. Our medical bills are going to be massive, and potentially never-ending.” By the time I finished, I was openly sobbing. The live chat started scrolling frantically: “Wait… Stomach cancer?” “She didn’t say that before!” “Of course she needs her money for medical bills if she’s sick!” “Did the mob just force a cancer patient into this?” “Why didn’t she just say she was sick? No one would have bullied her!” “Are you stupid? If she said it, people would have accused her of playing the victim card!” “So she was cyberbullied for three days straight and just took it?”

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My sister and I were the last surviving twin Empaths in the world. She was born with a curse, her words bringing only harm; I was born with a blessing, capable of saving lives, but at a cost. Those I saved would suffer a corresponding backlash. In my previous life, a man named Vincent lavishly spent a fortune, pleading with me to save his son, Noah, who clung to life in the ICU. The boy awoke, but as a consequence, his eyes were permanently blinded. I thought Vincent would understand, having been forewarned of the repercussions. Instead, he crushed my toe bones and gouged out my eyes with a knife. “Why did you lie to me! It was your sister, Stella, who was the true bringer of blessings, you’re nothing but a walking curse!” he roared, his voice thick with fury. “You coveted the millions I promised, impersonated your sister, and caused my son’s eternal blindness!” Vincent ignored my desperate explanations. He pried open my jaw, ripped out my tongue by the roots, ensuring I could never speak again. Then, he imprisoned me in his basement, subjecting me to a year of unimaginable torment. On the day of his extravagant wedding to Stella, they deemed my cursed presence an ill omen and burned me alive. I died consumed by hatred. But then, I opened my eyes again. I was back. Back to the very day Vincent first showed up at my doorstep. This time, a sweet smile played on my lips as I stepped aside. “I’m a born curse. For saving lives, you should really go see my sister.” 1 Vincent froze for a moment, his brows furrowing tightly. His narrow eyes drilled into me, an unsettling intensity in their depths. He suddenly strode towards me, seizing my wrist in a crushing grip that sent a jolt of pain through me. “Skylar Bellweather, what game are you playing now! Don’t tell me you’re also…” Just then, my sister, Stella Bellweather, emerged slowly from behind me, taking her place behind Vincent. She lowered her head slightly, leaning intimately against his shoulder, a soft whine escaping her lips. “Oh, Vincent, I’ve missed you so much.” In my last life, Vincent had been a picture of agony, kneeling and weeping, begging me to save his son. My heart had softened, and I’d agreed. Stella, too, had always presented herself as fragile and helpless in front of me. If not for their combined cruelty, I would have died without ever knowing that the sister I’d worked so hard to support would betray me for the Arends family’s wealth! One glance was all it took. I understood. Vincent, Stella, and I… we had all been reborn. I remembered how Vincent, in his twisted punishment for my supposed curse blinding his son, had used pliers to rip out my tongue. Afterwards, fearing a new one might grow, he and Stella would take turns pouring scalding hot water down my throat every single day! The agonizing, soul-shattering pain was etched into my memory, clear as day, even after rebirth. Seeing their callous faces again, I yearned to tear them apart then and there. But before I could even react, Vincent’s face twisted into a snarl. He grabbed my arm, yanking me hard, and flung me onto the concrete in front of our shop. Vincent wrinkled his nose in disgust, his voice a cold blade. “Last life, it was my fault for believing your deceitful words, leading to Noah’s lifelong blindness. This time, I absolutely forbid you from uttering another cursed word!” Then, with a sickeningly sweet gesture, he gently took Stella’s hand. “This life, Noah will be saved by his new mother, the true bringer of blessings.” Stella showed not an ounce of guilt. Instead, she hugged Vincent, nodding vigorously, as if she truly were the gifted one. A shadow of sorrow flickered in my eyes. In my previous life, Vincent’s staunch belief that I was a curse, besides Stella’s manipulations, stemmed largely from the lead doctor’s statement: “Noah Arends has a very high chance of survival.” Because of that, Vincent was convinced Noah would have been perfectly fine without my intervention! That’s why he resented my “meddling” for causing his son’s permanent blindness! But on the day he begged me, I had explicitly told him that those saved would suffer a backlash. Now, Stella, a born curse herself, dared to stand beside Vincent with such an unblinking gaze, also convinced that the doctors would save Noah. I let out a humorless, chilling laugh. How foolish they were. Without my words, Noah would indeed live. But he would spend his entire life confined to a hospital bed, a living corpse, unable to speak or move. I remembered the boy I had saved in the last life, who, under Vincent and Stella’s insidious influence, believed I had deliberately harmed him. He, too, had joined in their torment. I took a deep breath. Let it go. The karma of villains wasn’t mine to interfere with. I was eager to see how Stella, without my intervention this time, would manage to awaken Vincent’s son! 2 My reputation as a life-saver, the “Skylar the Blessed,” spread far and wide in this town. Every day, people flocked to my door. Now, seeing me battered and bruised on the ground, they swarmed around, their faces etched with curiosity. Vincent loomed over me, then sharply stomped his foot down, grinding it onto my fingers. A searing, bone-deep pain shot through me, and I let out a cry of agony. Vincent pressed down harder, waiting until my screams grew louder, then curled his lips into a cold smirk. “That’s more like it. Since you’re a born curse, you should be making these unpleasant, wretched sounds!” “Why be so greedy, resorting to murder for wealth?!” he declared, righteous as a judge. Suddenly, he lifted his foot. I gasped for breath, but before I could even pull back my bloodied hand, Vincent kicked me hard in the chest. The blow was delivered with full force. I flew through the air like a ragdoll, my insides burning with fiery pain. A metallic taste of blood welled up in my throat. Some of the onlookers were my former clients, and they quickly rallied to my defense. “Who are you?! Why are you treating Skylar the Blessed like this? She’s helped so many of us!” “Exactly! Last month, my grandpa was at death’s door, but thanks to Miss Skylar, he not only recovered but is now lively enough to walk around!” “So who the hell are you, and why are you doing this to Skylar the Blessed? Explain yourselves, or we won’t let you get away with it!” Hearing their voices rise in my defense, a faint warmth bloomed in my chest. But Vincent just pointed at me, spewing venom. “You’ve all been deceived by this Skylar Bellweather! She’s no bringer of blessings; on the contrary, she’s a born curse, bringing nothing but harm!” The crowd erupted in murmurs, instinctively refuting him. “You’re talking nonsense! Everyone has seen Miss Skylar’s blessings with their own eyes, and we’ve personally experienced her good fortune! How could she be a curse?!” At that moment, Stella stepped forward, her voice laced with feigned hurt. “That’s me! I am the true bringer of blessings. All those things you prayed for, I was the one who made them happen!” She cast a sorrowful glance at me. “Sister, please stop this! I can’t bear to hide your secret any longer, nor can I let you continue down this path of mistakes!” Her eyes welled up, tears flowing at just the right moment, painting her as the perfect caring sister. She turned to the crowd. “If Skylar Bellweather truly brings blessings and can save lives, then why do those she saves often develop other physical ailments?” Stella’s words were like a stone dropped into calm water, sending ripples through the crowd. “Yeah, my grandpa, though he recovered, his speech isn’t as clear as before.” “Come to think of it, you’re right. Last year, my mom, with late-stage cancer, was saved by Miss Skylar’s words, but she’s been wheelchair-bound ever since.” “My dad also experienced a negative effect, but Miss Skylar did tell us beforehand, didn’t she, that those saved would pay a price?” Stella’s voice rang out, clear and forceful. “That’s because I am the true bringer of blessings; I’ve been praying for all of you behind the scenes!” She pointed a finger at me, her voice dripping with accusation. “But Skylar Bellweather has been usurping my place, basking in all your adoration!” “Your family members’ physical defects? Those are entirely due to her cursed words!” Vincent stepped forward then, embracing Stella, his voice firm. “I can vouch for it. Stella is the true bringer of blessings, the one who can intercede. Skylar Bellweather only curses. That’s why I’m treating her this way!” The crowd exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whom to believe, but the looks directed at me were now tinged with resentment. Just then, several stones whizzed through the air towards me. I couldn’t dodge them all, and one struck my forehead, immediately gushing blood. A shrill, piercing scream cut through the air. “Curse! You killed my grandfather! I demand retribution!” 3 A figure lunged at me, landing a punch on my body. I trembled with pain, collapsing onto the ground in agony. “It was her! She said she could cure my grandpa’s leg ailment, took a huge sum of money from him, and then, shortly after her ‘blessing,’ my grandpa died, bleeding from all seven orifices!” The man shrieked, tears streaming down his face. “It’s all this black-hearted curse’s fault for killing Grandpa, leaving him without even a coffin, still lying at home!” I snapped my head up, staring at the man who was furiously cursing me. A face utterly, completely unfamiliar! I had never seen him before. Why was he lying?! This question lingered for barely a second before Stella’s voice provided the answer. It was Stella’s doing! She feigned a look of shock and dismay. “Skylar, why didn’t you tell me about this?” she cried, her voice trembling. “Without my blessings, didn’t you know your cursed words would kill someone?!” I struggled to my feet, my body weak, and shouted back at the man, “I didn’t! I’m the true bringer of blessings, and I’ve never seen you before!” But my voice was instantly drowned out by the clamor of the crowd’s whispers and shouts. Vincent shot me a look of pure loathing. “Skylar Bellweather, you truly are disgusting. I was too lenient with you in the last life!” If before, the crowd had only been suspicious, this staged performance instantly solidified their belief that I was a born curse. They completely forgot how they had once begged me, now turning into ungrateful ingrates, hurling accusations and insults. “Bah! You black-hearted curse! Why didn’t your mother just strangle you at birth! To bring you into the world just to harm people!” “Exactly, exactly! And you still want to enjoy the reputation of a bringer of blessings? Do you even deserve it?!” “This makes me so angry! No wonder you always warned us about the price before saving anyone—it was your cursed words at work all along! And I actually thought you were kindly reminding us!” Saving a life, plucking someone from the grasp of death, going against fate itself—how could there be no backlash?! But they wouldn’t listen to my explanations, instead starting to hurl objects at me. Eggs, beer bottles, stones, rotten vegetables… I curled up on the ground, shielding my head, my body throbbing with pain from the impacts. I forced my eyes open, only to see Vincent and Stella’s triumphant, gloating smiles. Stella’s voice was loud and clear, full of arrogant mirth. “Skylar Bellweather, your cursed nature has been exposed! Let’s see who dares to ask you for help now!” As Stella’s confident words faded, another clear, pleasant voice rang out. “I will!” The next second, a slender, handsome young man stepped in front of me, shielding me from the barrage of objects. The crowd momentarily froze, their hands instinctively halting. I looked at this unexpected stranger. He was tall and carried an air of nobility, yet his clothes screamed only one word: humble. What was strange was that he bore a slight resemblance to Vincent. He turned to me, his gaze earnest. “Miss Bellweather, please, I beg you, save my mother!” He pulled a savings passbook from his pocket, pleading. “This is all the money I have. Please, pray for my mother. She was in a car accident and has been in a coma for months!” But before I could react, Vincent roared, “Atticus Arends, what the hell are you doing here, you bastard?!” Atticus? The name clicked in my mind. Vincent’s father, a notorious womanizer in his youth, had cheated on Vincent’s mother during her pregnancy, fathering a son with another woman. That son was Atticus Arends! Atticus’s gaze didn’t waver, fixed intently on me, his voice resolute. “Please, I beg you!” I swallowed the rising bitterness in my throat and asked him, my voice cold, “Did you hear everything that just happened?” Atticus nodded. I was a little surprised. “And you still come to me? Didn’t you hear them say I’m a curse, that I’ll bring harm?” Atticus’s face was stone-cold, but his eyes held an unwavering resolve. “You won’t. Grandpa said you’re a good person, and to only come to you in the direst of circumstances. You must be the Empath he spoke of.” Stella couldn’t resist sneering from the side. “Typical bastard! Can’t even understand common sense. If you want to kill your mom, go right ahead and find her!” Vincent, too, wore an expression of smug amusement. “I was just wondering how to get rid of your mother, that bitch. Perfect! I’d love to see how this curse kills your mom; it’ll bring me great joy!” To be honest, seeing the ungrateful faces of those I had once saved filled me with a profound chill. But Atticus, despite the mockery and scorn from everyone else, stood firm, unwavering in his belief in me. I took a deep breath, then nodded. “Alright, I agree to help you, but…”

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My father went bankrupt, my mother was gravely ill, my brother got into a car accident delivering food and was paralyzed from the waist down, and my stepsister, a false princess, had to eat radish soup with rice every day to pursue her dreams. The entire family depended on me. Gritting my teeth, I was about to use the money from today’s blood donation to treat everyone to a nice meal when countless bullet comments suddenly appeared before my eyes. “Don’t give it to them! These old folks are loaded; they’re just pretending to be poor to test you!” “Don’t spoil it, upstairs! This is a regret-of-the-dead story. Once they realize the real heir wasn’t after their money, they’ll regret it naturally!” “Oh, so the real heir has to die from illness before they feel any remorse? What’s the point of a story like that?” My mind exploded in a deafening buzz as a flood of unfamiliar memories, yet unmistakably mine, surged forth. 1 It turned out I was the true heir in a “real versus fake heir” story, and my biological parents were billionaires. Fearing I would covet their money, after acknowledging me, they collectively feigned illness and poverty. And I, to support the family, had to drop out of school to earn money, selling research projects, start-up companies, even resorting to selling my blood and participating in drug trials. Yet, I couldn’t bear to spend anything on myself, ultimately developing stomach cancer. After my death, the whole family went mad with regret, blaming and tearing each other apart. I looked up again to see my family staring intently at the money in my hand. My heart clear as crystal, I immediately tucked the cash back into my bag. My parents, brimming with suspicion, immediately asked what I meant. I put on a hesitant expression. “This money… I earned it by selling my blood.” The entire family was stunned. I lowered my gaze, placed the money on the coffee table, and spoke in a deliberately weak voice. “If you… cough, then take it. Don’t worry about me. For you, I’d even die willingly.” My family stared, dumbfounded. My parents, especially, were overcome with intense guilt. “This money isn’t absolutely…” Mom struggled to speak, her eyes filled with heartache as she looked at me. My stepsister, Daphne Hayes, scowled. My brother, Oliver Bellweather, noticing the abnormality, immediately frowned and chided me. “That’s enough, Amelia Thorne. Are you deliberately trying to play the victim? Is anyone in this family having an easy time?” He patted his paralyzed leg forcefully. “If I hadn’t broken my leg delivering food, I wouldn’t care for your money.” “Where did you learn such a self-pitying trick? You’re far too manipulative!” Daphne echoed him. “Yes, sister, does anyone even sell blood these days? How did you just ‘happen’ to find such a place? Nowadays, it’s all voluntary donations; there are many kind people, especially college students. No one would be foolish enough to buy blood.” Hearing this, my parents’ expressions subtly shifted, their gazes at me now filled with scrutiny. Before my biological parents took me home, I was working odd jobs, selling things at a street stall, constantly squabbling over space with vendors next to me. They initially felt a little sorry for me, but then Daphne chimed in, calling me black-hearted and greedy. With Oliver’s constant encouragement, they became wary of me, fearing I was a mercenary opportunist, so they decided to test me by feigning poverty. I looked up, opening my lips as if to defend myself. But as soon as I opened my mouth, I broke into a fit of coughing, my body swaying precariously. Finally, my eyes rolled back, and I simply fainted. Just before losing consciousness, a blood donation certificate conveniently fluttered from my hand. The date on it was today. My mother glared unhappily at the two siblings, then immediately rushed me to the hospital. 2 At the hospital, I finally got a good night’s sleep. Bullet comments scrolled rapidly before my eyes. “What’s going on? Why isn’t it following the plot? Where’s the regret-of-the-dead story? How can they regret it if she doesn’t die?” “I actually think the protagonist is doing the right thing. She just struggles to express herself, clearly giving so much, but because she doesn’t want her family to worry, her parents only learn the truth after she dies.” “Exactly, exactly! So what if the protagonist plays the victim? Her parents started playing the victim first, why isn’t anyone saying anything about that?” I lay there, eyes tightly shut, seemingly calm and peaceful. But deep down, my heart ached. I had been sent to an orphanage from a young age, always envying children who had both parents and grew up in loving families. I constantly fantasized about having parents, imagining that one day, they would come to take me home. I fantasized so often, only for it to fall through, that I slowly came to accept reality. When my biological parents appeared before me, I felt my heart pound. I was happy, yet also deeply wronged. I wanted to give everything to my parents, to this family, but I never expected them to lie to me, to be wary of me, to test me. They watched me suffer, not only ignoring it but actively contriving to appear poor and ill, forcing me to give, testing my sincerity. Twenty years ago, they abandoned me with their own hands. Twenty years later, they were pushing me to my death again, all because of ridiculous prejudices. This kind of family bond? I didn’t want it. When I woke again, it was to the sound of weeping. Daphne was at my bedside, wiping away tears, while Oliver gently comforted her from his wheelchair. “Don’t worry, Amelia sold you the spot, didn’t she?” I thought I’d misheard. Earlier, to support the family, I had sold my opportunity to study under my professor to a classmate. Was that also part of their scheme? “But Mom seems to like her a little now. What if Mom doesn’t like me anymore?” “What foolishness are you talking about? With me around, she’ll never get into the Sterling family as a young lady. You’re my only sister. Besides, have you forgotten?” He lowered his voice, “It was you who constantly donated blood and acted as a guinea pig, which led to the development of Mom’s special medicine!” “You mean… I understand. Big brother is the best!” I couldn’t help but curl my lips into a mocking smile. My mother suffered from a rare blood disease. In my past life, to cure her, I went to great lengths to raise money, even resorting to selling my blood and participating in drug trials to earn cash. The buyer, no one else, was my own brother. Then he turned around and credited all that effort to Daphne, proclaiming it was the result of her filial piety moving heaven itself! It wasn’t until after my death, when the truth was revealed, that Mom was filled with remorse. Now, I naturally wouldn’t be foolish enough to work tirelessly, only to have my achievements stolen. I coughed twice, then slowly lifted my head, meeting the hostile gazes of the siblings. Seeing I was awake, before I could even speak, Oliver, completely self-righteous, ordered me to be discharged immediately. “The doctor said you’re perfectly fine! You know you’re faking it, right? All the burdens of life are falling on your sister’s shoulders! She doesn’t even have time to write her thesis to support the family! Go back and write it for her right away!” I couldn’t hold back. I opened my mouth and snapped, “Whose dog isn’t leashed and barking everywhere?” 3 Oliver froze, and Daphne shrieked, covering her mouth dramatically. “You’re too much! How can you curse brother?! I won’t allow you to curse the best brother in the world!” I retorted, “Two dogs.” I jumped out of bed and walked away. Oliver tried to stop me, but I was too fast. I couldn’t care less about his barking behind me. I jogged all the way to the university, found my homeroom teacher, and withdrew my withdrawal application. Then, I jogged again to find my advisor, Professor Eleanor Vance, to apologize and request to resume my studies with her. Professor Vance was furious, her face cold as she told me to get lost. I knew her anger stemmed from her high expectations of me. She had repeatedly warned me not to be swayed by emotions, not to jeopardize my future. She had even reminded me that if my parents and siblings truly loved me, they wouldn’t constantly demand sacrifice and contribution from me. But I had vehemently argued, wasn’t sacrificing and contributing to family a matter of course? I had failed Professor Vance’s expectations, not only withdrawing from school but also selling my research spot, quitting the project team, and continuously contributing my intellect to Daphne, helping her climb the ladder by stepping on me. Now, Professor Vance’s refusal was my deserved retribution. I humbly apologized to her, and as I turned to leave, she suddenly called out to me. Her eyes, magnified by thick glasses, glistened with unshed tears. “Are you truly capable of genuine repentance?” My heart soared with delight. I nodded vigorously. “I swear! I’m willing to give everything to my profession! I will never do anything foolish again!” After a long moment, the pen in Professor Vance’s hand finally stopped sketching. She softly uttered a sentence. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get to the lab!” I was overjoyed, like a drowning person clutching a lifeline at the bottom of a lake. I couldn’t help but exclaim excitedly, then joyfully put on a lab coat and dove into the laboratory. Me, writing Daphne’s thesis? Me, doing her experiments, publishing her data, entering competitions for her? In your dreams! This time, I’m living only for myself! Family ties? Bullshit parental love? I want none of it! 4 Before I found my biological family, I took perfectly good care of myself and even had a stray dog, a little yellow mongrel. After being reunited, my brother claimed that the single room I rented had bad feng shui, which was detrimental to Mom’s recovery. So, with a grand gesture, he rented a spacious four-bedroom, two-living-room apartment. This meant I had to pay eight hundred a month in rent. The result? The house was overflowing with their belongings, while I was relegated to sleeping on the balcony. Even my dog was thrown out of the house by my brother multiple times. Later, my little yellow dog, like me, developed a tumor. Despite being in constant pain, she would still wag her tail whenever she saw me. My brother, in my absence, drove her deep into the mountains and abandoned her. When I was grieving, he coldly questioned me, “In your heart, which is more important: your family, or a dirty dog?” I thought he just disliked dogs, but my memories showed that Daphne’s villa housed three expensive pedigree dogs. He didn’t dislike dogs; he disliked me. He thought I was lowly, and that my dog was worthless. So, I didn’t go home. I took my little yellow dog directly to my and my friend’s studio. Without the burden of “family,” my life immediately soared, and my happiness index couldn’t be higher. However, as I became happy, they became unhappy. Because I had blocked my entire family, Mom couldn’t reach me and asked Daphne to find me. One day, as I entered the large lecture hall, I saw Daphne. She was petite, dressed in a light pink puff-sleeve dress, looking like a little princess. It was laughable that I had once been brainwashed by Oliver: “Even though she’s not truly a Sterling, she’s been part of the family for so many years. I treat her as my sister, so naturally, she’s your sister too. As her older sister, you have an obligation to fulfill all her needs.” So, while I was scrambling to find ways to make money, looking utterly disheveled, Daphne was able to brazenly enjoy all my efforts without lifting a finger. At this moment, she was surrounded by three or four girls—their little clique. As soon as I walked in, they eyed me with harsh, critical stares that were hard to ignore. But I tried my best to ignore them, focusing on reviewing my notes, waiting for the professor to arrive so I could ask some valuable questions. Daphne couldn’t hold back. She dabbed her eyes. Immediately, her sycophant number one couldn’t contain herself. “Amelia Thorne, don’t you see Daphne is crying? How can you still have the nerve to show your face after harming someone so terribly?” I frowned, annoyed. “None of your business!” Sycophant number two spoke up. “What kind of attitude is that? Didn’t you drop out? Why are you back? If it weren’t for you, how would Daphne have been kicked out by Professor Vance?” “Exactly.” Sycophant number three crossed her arms in agreement. “I heard you didn’t pay rent, causing your family to be thrown out by the landlord on a rainy day, worsening your mom’s condition. And you’re just sitting here in class like nothing happened? Where’s your conscience?” With the three sycophants fanning the flames, I became a disloyal, unfilial bane. Daphne, with tears streaming down her face like pear blossoms in the rain, pleaded, “Don’t talk about my sister like that. Whatever choices she makes, she’s still my sister… I, I’m fine, as long as sister is happy…” This trick again? Daphne was already delicate and pretty, and with her vivid acting, she successfully garnered everyone’s sympathy. Some even started stirring, chanting for me to get out. Even the renowned, stern Professor Vance looked at me with a dark, deathly gaze. Before, I would have been consumed by shame and anger. But now, I had found my voice. Playing the victim? Who couldn’t do that? She was faking it; I was genuinely miserable! I immediately fell silent, tears silently flowing, gazing at Daphne with a mournful expression, as if the whole world contained only the two of us. “Daphne, the dress you’re wearing, I bought it with the money from my fourteenth blood donation. You said you liked it, so I gritted my teeth and bought it.” “But this white T-shirt I’m wearing? I’ve had it for three years!” “We’re the same age, born on the same day, so why do you get to be the little princess of the family, while I’m constantly scrambling to cover all the family expenses?” “Dad’s cigarettes and alcohol, brother’s gaming gear, Mom’s medicine, your princess dresses and high heels, the entire family’s rent and living expenses.” “Daphne, I know you love me, but… but this love is truly too heavy. I genuinely can’t afford it!” “I have to get up at 5 AM every day to work, and I don’t get home until midnight. I’ve tried so hard to find ways to earn money, but my abilities are limited. I can only sell my coursework, my projects, even my start-up company, even my own body, my flesh and blood, to afford your luxurious lifestyle.” “I… cough cough, I really… can’t keep going. Please, please, just let me go!” I clutched my fists in anguish, leaning on the table, my slender body swaying precariously. The vast classroom fell into dead silence, then, like a clap of thunder, it erupted into a cacophony of buzzing voices.

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The moment Dad and I walked into the children’s home, a stream of text floated past my eyes. [Oh no, it’s happening! The villainess is about to pick the heroine. I can’t watch. Why can’t she just get lost? Our precious girl was supposed to stay here and struggle alongside the male lead.] [If it weren’t for this wicked side character, the main couple would’ve gotten together ages ago. The hero wouldn’t have developed that inferiority complex or been so insecure later on. If the villainess just disappeared, the heroine could’ve toughed it out with him. With his brains, they’d have ended up way better off than her!] I froze. Wait, what? Struggle together? Who in their right mind wants to suffer? My gaze fell on a frail-looking girl standing nearby. I pointed. “Daddy, I want her to be my sister!” Hearing me, a boy from across the yard, his eyes burning with resentment, rushed over. He grabbed the girl and pulled her behind him. “Naomi is not going with you.” The floating comments instantly erupted with excitement. [He’s been reborn! The male lead is back! Our girl is saved!] [Yes! As long as the heroine doesn’t leave with the villainess, this will be a fluffy romance! Not one of those toxic, angsty dramas!] 1 I stared at the defiant boy in front of me and pursed my lips, unimpressed. Toxic drama? Suffering together? Had the world gone completely mad? I stepped forward and took the girl’s hand. “Naomi,” I said, using the name I’d heard the boy shout, “do you want to come home with us? My house is really big, and we have tons of delicious food.” The girl, Naomi, looked at me timidly, a flicker of light finally returning to her eyes. But before she could answer, the little boy shoved me aside. “Stay away from Naomi! Don’t think you can just force people to do what you want because your family has a little money!” The director hurried over to intervene. “Shawn! What do you think you’re doing?” Shawn’s face was a mask of disgust. “If she goes with you, she’ll become just as spoiled and arrogant as you! She promised she’d stay here with me!” My father frowned, then looked at me. “Ivy, are you sure you want this young lady?” I rubbed my shoulder where the boy had pushed me. It stung. Still, I nodded. Naomi was actually one of the children the director had recommended. When I first saw her photo, I’d felt an instant connection. There was something about her, an air of vulnerability that made me want to protect her. But ever since I’d set foot in this place, both the floating comments and this so-called male lead, Shawn, had been trying to stop me. I just didn’t get it. Did people really prefer a life of hardship over a life of comfort? I held out my hand again, offering Naomi my sweetest smile. “Naomi, would you like to come home with me? If you do, just come over here, okay?” Naomi wrung her hands. She took a half-step forward, but Shawn yanked her back again. “Naomi, don’t go with her! Rich people like them will just corrupt you.” I stomped my foot in frustration. “What is wrong with you? I’m trying to give my new sister a better life! You just keep getting in the way. Are you just jealous?” Shawn’s body went rigid. He shot me a venomous glare. “Like I’d want any of it!” The director, clearly thinking Shawn was being unreasonable, tried to have a caregiver lead him away, but he dodged her. He pulled Naomi aside and started whispering furiously in her ear. The director sighed. “Shawn used to be such a well-behaved boy. I don’t know what’s gotten into him the last few days. He’s been acting so strange.” Hearing this, my dad glanced at Naomi, who was still being held captive by Shawn. “Ivy, maybe we should choose someone else? There are lots of other boys and girls here.” I pouted and turned my head away. “No! I only want her!” 2 As soon as I said it, the comments started scrolling frantically again. [She’s so malicious! Is she doing this on purpose just to break them up?] [If the heroine goes with her, the hero will be left to suffer all alone in the orphanage! He’s so awkward, no one else wanted to adopt him. That’s why he didn’t meet our girl again until college. It’s all this villainess’s fault!] I shot a cool glance at the text. What a bunch of jerks. Why should she have to suffer with him? And what’s so bad about coming with me? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I was the one trying to help her! Why was everyone treating me like the bad guy? I huffed and kicked a loose pebble on the ground. After a few moments, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I followed the gaze. A boy with strikingly handsome features was sitting on a nearby bench. I blinked, then slowly walked over to him. “Why are you sitting here all by yourself?” He shifted uncomfortably and turned away, holding up a book. “Reading.” “No, you weren’t.” I leaned in, my head tilted. “You were totally staring at me.” I turned to the director. “Ma’am, is this boy from the home, too?” The director’s smile was a little tight. “Yes. His name is Jasper.” I smiled at Jasper. “Do you want to come home with me?” The comments went wild again. [Wait, how did the villain and the villainess meet this early?] [She didn’t even see him when she visited the orphanage in the original story!] [If these two troublemakers team up, our hero and heroine are going to have a miserable time, aren’t they?] My eyes lit up as I read the comments. So, this boy and I were supposed to know each other later on. I reached out and tugged on his sleeve. “What do you say? You can be my brother.” Jasper pretended to be absorbed in his book. “Whatever.” That was all the confirmation I needed. I grabbed his hand and marched him over to my dad. “Daddy, I’ve made up my mind! I want Jasper to be my brother and Naomi to be my sister. If you say yes, I’ll promise to listen to everything you say from now on, okay?” My dad just shook his head, a helpless smile on his face. “You and your whims. What am I going to do with you?” I giggled, then looked over at Naomi, who was still talking with Shawn. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. “Naomi! We’re going home now! Come on!” 3 Naomi’s head snapped up, her face filled with surprised delight. I gave her a radiant smile and held out my hand again. “Hurry! Let’s go home together!” A huge grin spread across Naomi’s face as she ran over and took my hand. Just as we were about to leave, she turned back to Shawn. “I don’t think Ivy is the kind of person you say she is. So please, don’t talk about her like that anymore.” The comments were furious. [Is the heroine brainwashed? How can she talk to the male lead like that?] [She’s already been corrupted by the villainess. Daring to talk back to him now… she deserves it when he cheats on her later. I wouldn’t want a woman like that either.] [But… she didn’t do anything wrong. A guy was grabbing her in public. It’s only natural for a girl to defend herself.] I pouted. What was their problem? A bunch of biased comments that only cared about the male lead. What did my new sister do to deserve this? Once the paperwork was done and we were in the car, I held onto my new brother and sister, one in each hand. Now Ivy Croft has a brother and a sister. Let’s see who dares to make fun of me now! In the car, I noticed Naomi looked a little tense, so I scooted closer to her. “Don’t be scared, Naomi. It’s just me and Daddy at home. Tonight, I’ll have our cook, Mrs. Gable, make you Coca-Cola glazed ribs. They’re the best!” Naomi nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Ivy, I think you’re really nice. Nothing like what Shawn said. He even told me you didn’t really like me and wouldn’t pick me. I’m so happy… thank you for bringing me with you.” “See? I’m a super-duper good person! I’m taking you home to give you a wonderful life.” I sniffed. “I’d never even met him before, and he was already bad-mouthing me. He’s the mean one!” Naomi gently tucked a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. “You know, the first time I saw you, I liked you right away. You looked so sweet and cuddly. Shawn is usually a nice person, but he was acting so weird today.” Thinking about what the comments said about him being “reborn,” I decided to just ignore it. “Forget about him. You’re coming home with me! I, Ivy Croft, finally have a brother and a sister! From now on, I’ll protect you both!” I glanced at Jasper, who was still sitting silently beside me, and nudged him with my elbow. “Jasper, why are you so quiet?” Jasper cleared his throat. “Sore throat.” My eyes widened. I leaned over the front seat. “Dad! Call Dr. Peterson to the house, quick! My brother has a sore throat!” Dad patted my arm. “Sit down, sit down. We’ll have him looked at when we get home. It’s okay.” 4 I nodded and took Jasper’s hand, patting it reassuringly. “Don’t worry, brother. Dr. Peterson gives shots that don’t hurt at all. If you’re scared, I can cover your eyes for you, and you won’t feel a thing.” Jasper’s face turned beet red. “I’m not scared,” he muttered. My eyes grew wide. “You’re not? You’re not even scared of shots?” Naomi quietly raised her hand. “I’m not scared either.” I was even more astonished. “What? Neither of you are scared?” Jasper just grunted in affirmation. I pouted, feeling a little challenged. “Well, I’m not scared either.” Besides, Dad said you stop being scared when you grow up. They were already grown up. When I was their age, I wouldn’t be scared either. When we got home, Mrs. Gable had a feast waiting for us. I pulled my new siblings to the dining table. “Coca-Cola glazed ribs! Slow-cooked brisket! Honey-garlic chicken wings! These are all my favorites! You have to try them! Mrs. Gable is the best cook in the world!” Dad shook his head with a fond smile and ruffled my hair. “What do we do before we eat?” “Wash our hands!” I shouted. With that, I dragged them both to the sink. At the table, Dad piled food onto their plates. “Don’t be shy here. This is your home now. If you want anything, just tell Mrs. Gable. We’re a family.” Naomi’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded. Jasper didn’t say anything, but I saw him trying to hide by burying his face in his bowl of rice. I quickly put a piece of brisket on his plate. “Eat up, Jasper. There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry.” After dinner, the clothes Dad had ordered for them arrived. I pointed to the boxes on the floor. “Go on, try them on! My brother and sister deserve to wear the very best!” Naomi’s hands trembled as she touched a soft dress. “Is all of this for me?” I nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! It’s all for you guys!” Dad smiled and took out two debit cards, handing one to Jasper and one to Naomi. “I’m not always home, so if you need to buy anything, you can do it yourselves or just ask Mrs. Gable. I’ll put a monthly allowance on these cards. If it’s not enough, just send me a message. Don’t feel like you have to save it.” Seeing their hesitation, I snatched the cards from Dad and pressed them into their hands. “Don’t be polite! We’re family, remember?” Jasper nodded firmly. “Right. Family.” Suddenly, Naomi wrapped me in a hug. “Ivy, thank you so much.” I scratched my head, feeling a little embarrassed. “It’s nothing, really.” 5 That night, because it was my first time having a sister, I begged Naomi to sleep in my room with me. Lying in my big, soft bed, Naomi let out a long sigh. “Ivy, did you know? I never even had my own bed before.” “What?” I turned to face her. “Why not?” Naomi bit her lip, as if recalling something painful. “My birth parents… they didn’t like me. They only wanted my little brother. They sent me to live with my grandparents, but they didn’t like me either because I was a girl. Then… my brother accidentally started a fire. He… and my parents… they didn’t make it. My grandparents couldn’t handle the grief, and they passed away soon after. None of my other relatives wanted me, so they just… left me at the orphanage gates.” I gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “It’s okay. It’s okay now. I like you.” “When I heard you choose Jasper today, I really thought I had lost my chance.” Naomi sniffled. “So when you called my name, I was so surprised. I couldn’t believe someone would choose me, and be so determined about it.” I threw my arms around her and held her tight. “Of course I chose you! I wanted you from the very beginning! Don’t cry, don’t cry.” When she kept crying, I started making silly faces at her until I finally coaxed a smile out of her. Naomi let out a little laugh. “From now on, I’ll always be good to you.” I grinned and nodded. When I woke up, Naomi was already gone. I rushed downstairs to find Jasper up too, already reading a book. It seemed I was the only one who slept in. I flopped down next to Jasper. “Brother, why are you always reading? I have a game console, you know. Wanna play?” “After I finish this. I need to study hard.” Jasper ruffled my hair. “That way, I can take care of you and Naomi in the future.” I nodded seriously and even brought him a few more books. “You better study really, really hard then.” Seeing me, Naomi hurried over with a plate of freshly made sandwiches. “Ivy, come try this! It’s my first time making them, but Mrs. Gable showed me how. I tasted one, and it’s not bad!” I hugged her with delight. “See! Having a sister is the best.” “Jasper, you have one too! I made three,” Naomi said, offering him the plate. Jasper raised an eyebrow, took one, and bit into it decisively. “Not bad.” I beamed, happily munching on my own sandwich. 6 I thought our lives would continue on this peaceful, happy path forever. But one day at school, I saw Shawn. And with him, those annoying comments reappeared. [You have no idea how hard the hero worked to get into this A-list academy.] [It breaks my heart thinking about him studying every single night. I wonder where our girl is now? If she knew how hard he was working for her, she’d probably cry her eyes out.] [Our hero is one of the few who got into this school on pure academic merit. Thank goodness he was reborn. He can use his knowledge from his past life to meet our girl early.]

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I was out shopping for shoes with my best friends. “You know that rumor about… well-endowed guys?” “You mean, like, eight inches?” “Who could even handle that!” I was bent over, fumbling with the strap of a high heel, only half-listening. “Definitely not me,” I chimed in. “Three inches is my absolute max. Usually, one to two is perfect.” My friends went dead silent. My boyfriend, who had apparently walked up behind me, was also silent. What? Is it embarrassing that I can’t walk in stilettos? 1. It was the weekend, and I’d dragged my two best friends, Sarah and Beth, to the mall to hunt for clothes. We were in the middle of trying on heels when their conversation drifted over to me. “You know that thing they say about some guys?” “Of course!” “Is it true? Like, eight inches?” “Totally. I heard it can be as long as your forearm!” “Damn. Who could possibly handle that!” I was bent over, trying to buckle a delicate strap, only catching bits and pieces. I added my two cents without thinking. “No one, right? Three inches is my absolute max. Usually, one to two is perfect for me.” The two of them suddenly stopped talking. I looked up, confused. “What’s wrong?” They exchanged a look. “Joey, are you serious?” Sarah asked. “Yeah.” I’ve barely worn heels my whole life. The super-high ones are a total non-starter. They stared at me in disbelief. “Uh, honey, I think you misheard,” Beth said, leaning in. “We’re talking about that.” “What ‘that’?” “You know,” she waggled her eyebrows, “the other kind of inches.” I nodded. “Right. So am I.” Heel inches. What else would I be talking about? They just gaped at me. “Your standards are… remarkably low,” Sarah finally managed. It’s just a pair of shoes. Why do they have to be so judgy? Remembering some of the hideous styles that used to be popular, I kept complaining. “And I absolutely hate those super thick, chunky ones. They’re just so ugly.” A blush crept up both of their necks. “Well, ugly or not, they all kind of feel the same, right?” “Yeah,” Beth giggled. “As long as it gets the job done, who cares what it looks like?” I shook my head vehemently. “No way. It has to look good and feel good!” They both froze. “Hold on. How good can a one-inch-er possibly look? Or feel?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What do you mean? A nice, slender one in a pale pink can be gorgeous. And it’s practical and comfortable.” “Forget it,” Sarah sighed dramatically. “There’s no explaining good taste to you.” Their expressions were a colorful mix of pity and confusion. I was about to laugh at them when I caught a reflection in the mirror. My boyfriend, Liam, was standing right behind me. His face was a thundercloud. What’s his problem? Is being unable to wear high heels really that big of a deal? 2. Liam had come to pick me up. Today was our third anniversary. We had plans to see a movie and… well, we’d booked a hotel room. After all this time, our physical contact had been limited to holding hands, hugging, and kissing. I hadn’t gotten much further than that. I was first drawn to him because he was such a gentleman. In a world of greasy pick-up artists, he was a breath of fresh, clean air. I just hadn’t realized he was too much of a gentleman. Three years, and I was still a virgin in this relationship, left to drool over his rock-hard abs from a distance. It was, frankly, boring. I’d almost broken up with him over it a while back. Luckily, he’d pulled back from the brink at the last second, saw the error of his ways, and promised we could finally move on to the next level. After saying goodbye to my friends, I’d lost all interest in shopping. I grabbed Liam’s hand to lead him out of the store, but he didn’t budge. His expression was dead serious. “Joey, do you really not like anything in the six or seven-inch range?” Do guys care about women’s shoes now? “Yeah, I don’t. Not every girl does. It’s normal.” “But why not?” “It’s uncomfortable.” “You’ve tried it?” “Of course I have. I’ve tried four-inch, even five-inch ones. It’s absolute torture. My limit is my limit. One inch is the most comfortable.” His face instantly darkened. His voice went cold. “When was this?” What was happening? Why did he care so much about this? I thought for a moment. “I don’t know, since I started working, I guess. I’ve tried them on and off.” “In the three years we’ve been together, you’ve tried them?” “Yes.” His fists clenched at his sides. He looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and pure, unadulterated rage. “Joey, how could you… behind my back? How could you do this to me?” Wait, what? I can’t even try on high heels by myself now? What century is this? Do I need his permission to decide how high my shoes are? Now I was getting angry, too. “What I do is my own business!” I retorted. “This is who I am! If you can’t handle it, then maybe we shouldn’t be together!” Talk about ruining the mood. My anniversary excitement had completely evaporated. I stormed off, leaving him there. He just stood, frozen, his shoulders slumped as if he’d been dealt a fatal blow. Was he for real? I wasn’t being unreasonable, was I? This was clearly his problem. He needed to take a long, hard look at himself. 3. What a boring, rigid man! Maybe breaking up was for the best. This was all so pointless. The next morning, I woke up to a barrage of missed calls and over a hundred texts from Liam. [Why aren’t you answering?] [You’ve decided to break up with me, haven’t you?] [You’re the one who did something wrong, so why am I the one being punished?] [Do you have any idea how much this hurts?] [Does this kind of thing mean nothing to you?] [How can you talk about it so casually?] [Why would you do this to me?] [You know how much I love you.] [Open the door.] [I’m outside your apartment.] [Okay, you’re right. It was my fault.] [Just please don’t ignore me.] [I’m begging you.] [Please open the door.] [I’m losing my mind. The pain is unbearable.] [I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you.] [I’m the one who’s wrong. It’s my fault for being so boring.] [I asked around. Everyone said I’m too old-fashioned and conservative, and that’s why you did it.] [I don’t blame you anymore. I don’t have the right to.] [I’m useless.] [I’ve thought it over. From now on, you can do whatever you want. Try as many as you want. I can accept it.] [Just please… don’t leave me.] … Well, he certainly processed that quickly. And his apology seemed sincere. Good. I was satisfied. Alright, we don’t have to break up. But wait, was he still outside my door? I opened it and gasped. Liam was sitting slumped against the wall, reeking of alcohol. The floor around him was littered with empty beer cans. At the sound of the door, he slowly lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he was about to shatter into a million pieces. “Joey… you’re finally talking to me?” Oh my god. Had he been sitting there all night? I quickly pulled him to his feet. He was limp, practically hanging off me, but his hands pressed me tightly against his chest. His voice was a raw, broken whisper. “Joey… do you not love me anymore?” I’d never seen him this vulnerable. My heart felt like a fistful of wet cotton—heavy and suffocating. Damn it. Why did I fight with him over something so stupid? Look what it did to him. And we’d wasted a perfectly good anniversary night. A wave of guilt washed over me. I hugged him back. “I still love you. Don’t think crazy things.” “Are you still mad at me?” “No, I’m not mad.” He held me even tighter, his voice catching. “So we’re not breaking up?” A man who was normally so cool and composed, now begging me so humbly… who could resist that? My heart melted into a puddle. I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Right. We’re not breaking up.” He let out a shaky breath, then asked meekly, “Do I smell awful? Can I… use your shower?” Seeing him like a little broken puppy, I wanted to eat him alive. And he was asking permission? He could join me in the shower if he wanted. 4. By the time he came out of the shower, I had a bowl of noodles ready for him. They must have been terrible, because he just kept his head down and ate in silence. “Is it that bad?” He shook his head, a weak smile twitching at his lips. “No. I was just thinking… I didn’t realize you were so experienced.” He must be talking about the high heels again. I waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’s nothing. A few pairs here and there, it’s no big deal.” His smile became a little stiffer. “And the experience was… good?” “Some were okay, some not so much. If they’re too hard, they really hurt. But I think the most important thing is the size.” His knuckles whitened around his chopsticks. His voice dropped. “So I guess you wouldn’t like seven inches, then.” “Definitely not. That goes without saying. I’d run a mile at the sight of one. Terrifying.” His face went pale, and he ducked his head even lower. Is he okay? Maybe he’s hungover. I told him to go rest in my bedroom for a bit. After I cleaned up, I climbed into bed and snuggled into his arms, and we watched TV together. I loved these quiet moments with him. I could turn my head and see the sharp line of his jaw, his sexy Adam’s apple. So handsome. My heart began to flutter. I couldn’t help myself. I pulled his head down and kissed him. His eyelashes trembled, and he slowly closed his eyes. The kiss started with me, but he quickly took control. My body grew softer, his breathing more ragged. I suddenly remembered what was supposed to happen last night, and my mind started to wander. My fingers slyly slipped under his shirt, squeezing his firm abs. “Babe,” I whispered, “want to try now?” His whole body went rigid. He pushed me away in a panic. “I—I just remembered I have a work report I haven’t finished. I should go.” The click of the front door closing echoed in the room. It took me a second to process. Did I just get rejected? What the hell? He was clearly turned on. He was totally into it. This made no sense. Was he worried he wouldn’t be at his best after not sleeping all night? Okay, fine. I can understand that. A man’s pride and all. I was just being impatient. There’s always next time. 5. We both got busy with work after that. Soon, it was the holidays. We’d already agreed to spend it with my family so he could finally meet my parents and relatives. Everyone loved him. They thought he was a great guy—good character, good personality, a successful career. They felt I was in good hands. So, a few days into the new year, my parents left for a three-day trip to visit relatives in the countryside, leaving the two of us alone in the house. This was a golden opportunity. It had been a while since Liam and I had done more than a quick kiss or hug. With the house to ourselves, I made a point of crawling into his bed every night. The excuse was to watch movies and play games together. The reality was that I had ulterior motives. I would deliberately press against him, trying to make him lose control. But he would just grit his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead, and refuse to cross the line. I had no idea what he was holding out for. He’d already promised we could take the next step! On the last night before my parents were due back, I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. I opened a bottle of my dad’s special herbal liqueur and challenged Liam to a drinking contest. My real goal was to get him drunk. The problem was, he didn’t get drunk. I did. After just two glasses, I was dizzy and talking nonsense. He ended up carrying me to bed. The second my head hit the pillow, I was out. My heart was full of regret, but I was too far gone to get up. I had a series of wild dreams. In them, Liam and I were tangled together, lost in passion. He held my head in his hands, kissing me so hard I couldn’t breathe. My lips were sealed, my lungs burning for air. It felt so real that it was like I actually couldn’t breathe. I groggily opened my eyes and was instantly wide awake. Liam was actually kissing me. His body was scorching hot. His warm breath traveled from my lips down to my neck. His hand trembled as it traced the skin at my waist, his touch a mixture of restraint and desperation. It suddenly clicked. The drink we had tonight… it was my dad’s “special” liqueur. Was it… an aphrodisiac? This was the first time I’d ever seen him this out of control. A thrill shot through me. I dropped the act. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, my body responding to his. He froze. His dark eyes locked onto mine, swirling with raw desire. I gently kissed his eyelids. “Liam…” That was all it took. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He captured my head again and crushed his lips to mine. Tangled breaths, burning skin, two people lost in chaos. As we kissed, my hand started to explore downwards.

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I’m a coward, through and through, but the System tasked me with drugging my older brother. I didn’t have the guts. So instead, I handed him a glass of hot water. My brother took a sip, a flush creeping up his neck. “What did you put in this? It’s hot.” My knees went weak with fear. “Corbin, I swear, it’s just hot water.” At my words, he leaned in, pressing me against the wall. “Such a naughty girl,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Weren’t you supposed to drug me?” 1 I’m just a cannon fodder side character, but my brother, Corbin, is the main villain. He finally saw the female lead, Isabelle, when he showed up for my parent-teacher conference. Corbin narrowed his eyes in their direction, a predatory gleam he didn’t bother to hide. That’s when the System in my head finally came online. [Host, welcome. Your current mission is to eliminate the villain.] I nearly gasped out loud. “Are you insane?” I hissed under my breath. “Corbin could kill me with one finger.” As I argued with the System, I glanced at Corbin’s hand on my exam paper. His fingers were long and pale, tapping impatiently on the page. He turned his head and smiled at me. I immediately clamped my hand over my mouth, terrified he might have heard me. “What is it, brother?” He chuckled softly, and one of those elegant fingers pointed to a name I’d scribbled on my scratch paper. “Asher. Who’s that?” My heart stuttered. That was the male lead, a name the System had given me earlier. I’d just jotted it down without thinking. For some reason, even though Corbin was smiling, he didn’t look happy at all. I swallowed hard. “He’s our class president. Uh, he’s a nice guy.” My brother just nodded, saying nothing. The teacher announced that this was our last parent-teacher conference, with the college entrance exams just two weeks away. Corbin told me to study hard. Then his gaze drifted past me to Isabelle and Asher. “But it doesn’t matter if you do poorly,” he murmured, his voice dropping low. “I’ll just send you abroad.” His warm breath ghosted over my skin, and a fresh wave of fear washed over me. Corbin never spoke to me this closely. And that wasn’t the reassuring tone of a brother offering a safety net. It was a warning. If I didn’t study, he would send me away. Cut me off from everyone here. 2 My legs felt like jelly. The System had to mentally prop me up. [What are you scared of? You’re a cannon fodder character with the all-powerful System backing you up!] The moment it finished, Corbin turned back, his gaze sharp. “Your scratch paper. I’m confiscating it.” Under his direct, unnerving stare, both the System and I felt our courage crumble. [Why do I get the feeling he can see right through us?] the System muttered. Only when Corbin was a good distance away did the System find its voice again. [How dare he snatch our girl’s scratch paper! That villain! He’s got what’s coming to him! Pull yourself together, Lily! From this day forward, he’s going to start targeting the main characters.] I wiped a bead of cold sweat from my brow. I’d seen what Corbin was capable of. Once, I’d made plans with a friend to go on a trip to the coast. Corbin had forbidden it. I went anyway, sneaking out behind his back. But the moment I stepped onto the deck of the boat, he was there, one step behind me. In the end, not a single captain in the harbor would take me. I trailed home behind him like a scolded puppy. He didn’t yell. He even bought me a new dress and asked what I wanted for dinner. But the next day, he had me transferred to a new school. I always thought it was because our adoptive parents had been so harsh on him growing up, giving him a strange need to control me. If he’d set his sights on Isabelle today, I couldn’t imagine what he would do to get her. The System, sensing my thoughts, also broke into a sweat. [Come on, Lils, chin up!] It patted my shoulder. [Ace this mission, and I’ll get you a first-class, happily-ever-after ending.] I’d have to be alive to enjoy it. After the transfer, Corbin wouldn’t let me live in the dorms. But the suburban mansion was too far from the new school. His perfect solution? He bought me an apartment right next to campus. Bodyguards followed me home after class every day. A hot meal was always waiting for me. Each time I walked through the door, my heart pounded. The first thing I always did was check for a pair of men’s dress shoes by the entrance. Today, there were none. The System and I both breathed a massive sigh of relief. I hummed a little tune as I ate. “Honestly,” I chattered to the System, “I’m just a throwaway character. How am I supposed to eliminate him?” “You’re so tough, why don’t you do it yourself? Admit it, System, you’re scared of him too, aren’t you?” “It’s not that I’m not trying. I’m just… terrified.” [Once your exams are over,] the System declared, [I have a death-and-destruction trio planned for him.] It said it with such grim, villainous certainty that I dropped my chicken wing. I turned to grab a napkin and found myself staring into a pair of dark, bottomless eyes. 3 Corbin had just stepped out of the bathroom, a single towel knotted around his waist. His torso was lean and powerful, and droplets of water clung to his skin. Like the chicken wing, I felt my world spin. My mouth opened and closed, but I couldn’t figure out how to explain my nonsensical rambling. In the end, Corbin spoke first. “Is the chicken good?” I nodded dumbly. He walked past me, grabbed his phone from the counter, and headed upstairs. “Don’t eat the one that fell on the floor,” was all he said. [Aaaaaah!] the System shrieked in my ear. [How is he so hot even when he’s half-naked?!] I was a complete mess, my nerves shot. [No, really, I don’t want him to die! This villain’s character design is my absolute favorite.] The System was still swooning. It poked me mentally. [Hello? Earth to Lily? Did he scare you speechless?] I burst into tears, clinging to the System for comfort. “Boohoo, do you think he heard me?” The System rubbed its hands together. [Probably not. Besides, all of Corbin’s attention is on the female lead right now. He won’t notice a minor character like you.] After the exams, Isabelle planned to get a part-time job. Coincidentally, the hotel she applied to was owned by Corbin’s company. The System told me to follow her, observe Corbin’s every move, and stop him from carrying out his “evil plans.” What? Me? Who was I? I was supposed to spy on Corbin? And stop him? The System explained that in the original plot, Corbin gets drunk and drags Isabelle into a hotel room. What a trashy, tasteless plot point. Isabelle got the front desk job, while I was still at home doing nothing. Finally, after the System threatened to self-destruct, I went to Corbin. “Brother, I want to get a job.” Corbin was reading. He set down his gold-rimmed glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s wrong? Is your allowance not enough?” His features were sharp, and when he looked at me, I couldn’t tell if it was me or the System that was shaking more. 4 The System, which had been cheering me on moments ago, had already logged off in a panic. “Brother,” I stammered, “I want to gain some experience. I could even work at one of your companies. Please, brother.” I felt like I was about to drop to my knees. Corbin didn’t speak. He just lifted his gaze and watched me, a lazy, calculating look in his eyes. I couldn’t meet his stare, so I just bowed my head and repeated, “Please, brother.” The System popped back up. [I think the villain likes it when you call him ‘brother.’ Try it a few more times, maybe he’ll agree.] I bit my lip and forced myself to look him in the eye. “Can I? Corbin… brother.” A sudden cough escaped him, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Finally, he grunted a quiet “mm.” Back in my room, the System and I clung to each other for support. We both agreed that the look in Corbin’s eyes could have devoured a person whole. Silent, direct, and unnervingly dark. In the end, Corbin arranged a position for me as an assistant lobby manager at the hotel. Isabelle was working the front desk. I felt a little awkward about my cushy job, so I often helped out at the desk, always on high alert for the moment Corbin would appear and drag someone away. That plot point was just so awful. But to be fair, Corbin really was going after the male lead’s family business. He’d been swamped lately. The recent harbor acquisition that was all over the news was a power struggle between him and Asher’s family. Isabelle, meanwhile, was living her peaceful life at the front desk. Both Corbin and I were so busy that we hadn’t seen each other in two weeks. Today was the weekend, and I was off. But Isabelle had to work. I was sound asleep when Asher called me. It was Isabelle’s birthday. He wanted to surprise her. And he wanted me to cover her shift? I almost laughed in his face. I told him no. But the System kicked me out of bed, insisting that today was a crucial plot point. I was so done. Did the main characters’ key moments always have to ruin our sleep? And to top it off, as fate would have it, my birthday was the same day as hers. 5 Fine, fine. What’s a cannon fodder’s birthday compared to the female lead’s? I propped my chin in my hand, covering Isabelle’s shift late into the night. Seriously, I was the assistant manager. The front door slid open, and a tall, slender figure cast a long shadow. Without looking up, I called out in a tired voice, “Welcome, how can I help you?” A smirk played on Corbin’s lips. “I need a room.” Huh? After a moment of silence, the long-unseen Corbin repeated, his voice serious this time. “I said, I need a room.” But I could hear the rasp in his voice, the tell-tale sign of too much alcohol. I tilted my head and looked behind him. No one. I handed him the keycard and said softly, “Brother? Did you come all this way just to sleep?” He ignored me. His eyes were hazy, his breathing shallow, and he swayed as he walked. I escorted him to the elevator. He stood silently behind me, his gaze fixed on me. Like a predator watching its prey. The System wasn’t with me. It had gone off to “join the fun,” to watch Asher’s big confession to Isabelle. Great. My cowardly advisor was gone. At the hotel room door, I held out my hand. “Mr. Reed, this is your room. I’ll just be—” Before I could finish, a wave of warmth washed over the back of my neck. Corbin yanked me into the room. His large hand closed around my throat. I was scared to death. “Brother! It’s me,” I squeaked. He just shook his head. “That’s the wrong name for me. We’re not brother and sister.” While I was still processing that, he fastened a magnificent necklace around my neck. “I gave you a gift,” he said, his voice deep. “What are you going to give me in return?” Corbin’s dark eyes swept over the desk: the bottled water, the tea bags, and the condoms. It suddenly hit me. This matched the plot the System had told me about. Corbin had mistaken me for Isabelle. His intense presence was overwhelming, our faces so close I could feel his breath on my lips. “Brother!” I yelped in terror. “I’m Lily! Don’t do anything stupid! “You’ve got the wrong person!” 6 Corbin blinked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Then he smiled. “If you’re not Lily, then who are you? I’m thirsty. Be a good girl and make your brother a cup of tea.” He loosened his tie, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced at me one last time before sauntering toward the bed. So that’s what he wanted. Tea. I was a horrible person. How could I have thought… that? My face burned. I risked a peek at Corbin. And caught him just as he was shrugging into a silk robe. The System had been right. This character design was a masterpiece. The most skilled sculptor must have spent a lifetime carving the exquisite lines of his body, a perfect blend of beauty and raw, worldly desire. As if sensing my gaze, Corbin leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow. “Do you like what you see?” The alcohol seemed to have softened his sharp edges, replacing them with something much harder to define. I stammered, “Mr. Reed, your tea is ready.” Corbin took the cup and made a “tsk” sound. “What’s wrong?” I asked timidly. “Is it too hot?” He grunted. “This doesn’t make sense.” I was lost. “What doesn’t make sense?” Corbin: “Why is it that I came all this way to celebrate Miss Lily’s birthday, and she won’t even call me ‘brother’ once?” He came to celebrate my birthday? Not for Isabelle? Or did he come for Isabelle, find her gone, and decide to celebrate with me instead? My face, betraying me, flushed again. I mumbled a quiet “brother.” Corbin’s smile widened, his voice a husky, intimate drawl. “Good girl.” For a moment, I thought, maybe a person like this wasn’t the irredeemable villain the System made him out to be. Just then, the System’s voice shrieked in my ear. [Aaaaaah! Corbin killed someone!]

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Three years into our marriage, my successful entrepreneur wife cheated. When I found out and asked for a divorce, she brought me to my parents’ house. She gathered my parents, my brother, my uncle, and his family, then calmly declared: “I cheated, and Adrian wants a divorce. You all need to talk some sense into him!” Her brazen shamelessness utterly shocked me. But in the next moment, my shock doubled. 1 My dad laughed, looking at my wife, Amy. “No, Amy, there’s no way you could cheat. You’re such a sweet person. No way, absolutely not!” He then turned to me, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with you, as a husband, making jokes like that about your wife? Apologize to her at once, go home with her, and stop messing around!” My mom and brother chimed in, echoing his sentiments. “Exactly! Amy’s not that kind of person, how can you just make things up?” “Adrian, stop it. Apologize to Amy. This isn’t funny!” I was momentarily stunned. “I’m not messing around. This isn’t a joke.” My voice was tight with suppressed fury. “Amy Vance cheated. I have the chat logs, the pictures…” Amy had left her laptop open, logged into her messaging app. When I went to close it for her, I saw her messages. At the top of her chat list were two men. One called her “Wife,” the other called her “Baby.” Their conversations dated back half a year. The content was explicit, with many graphic photos. Most damning were the hotel records. Both men, mentioned in the chats, had met her no less than fifteen times each. As I scrolled through and saved them, I felt a wave of nausea, my hands shaking with rage. This was no joke! I was about to pull out my phone to prove it. But my uncle’s son, my cousin, stepped forward. 2 He grabbed my hand, fixing me with a steady gaze. After a brief pause, he snatched my phone away. “No… no, that’s impossible. You’re just talking nonsense!” He gave me a stern look. “Cousin, just focus on your marriage, okay? Don’t be like those overbearing men you see online!” My mind immediately filled with questions. Amy was the one who cheated, she was the one who wronged me. I was simply stating the facts, trying to prove them. Yet, my family members, one by one, were looking at me with cold eyes. Not only did they disbelieve me, they blamed me, and they stopped me? Why? Before I could even voice my confusion, Amy spoke. “You don’t have to defend me. I did cheat.” Her voice was calm, almost detached. “I brought Adrian here so you could talk some sense into him. He’s set on a divorce, but I don’t want one. I still have feelings for him.” A wave of nausea hit me. Forgetting my bewilderment, I immediately erupted. “Feelings? What a load of crap!” I snarled, my voice raw. “If you had feelings, would you have started cheating over half a year ago, with two men at the same time? If you had feelings, would you be playing the ‘new bride’ role out there every other day, calling them ‘husband’ with such glee?” I practically spat the words. “Cut the deep affection act, you despicable wretch. Aren’t you afraid of being struck by lightning, or hit by a car the moment you step outside?!” I cursed venomously. But midway through my tirade, my dad stepped forward. He raised his hand and smacked me hard on the shoulder. “Adrian Hayes! What’s wrong with you? Can’t you speak properly? You just started yelling curses and hexes!” He glared at me, his face red with anger. “You’re not acting like a man at all! Shut your mouth and stand back!” He roared, yanking me roughly behind him. Beside him, my mom and brother, in perfect sync with my dad, also tried to pull at me. A deeper surge of confusion washed over me. In a fit of anger, I broke free, glaring at them. “Are you all out of your minds?!” I demanded, my voice shaking. “I’m your son! I’m your family! You’re not helping me; instead, you’re helping this rotten person! You’re truly insane!” 3 My dad looked uneasy. He forced a placating smile at Amy, seemingly afraid of upsetting her. At the same time, he quickly raised a hand, trying to cover my mouth. I struggled, pushing him away. Seeing he couldn’t silence me, and my face etched with uncooperative fury, my dad grew more agitated. Grimly, he motioned to my mom, my brother, and my cousin. They grabbed me, dragging me forcefully aside. He then gave a meaningful look to my uncle and aunt, signaling them to lead Amy away. Once they were a safe distance, out of Amy’s earshot, they spoke through gritted teeth, their voices hushed. “Adrian Hayes! Don’t you dare make a scene here! If you upset your wife and mess up your brother’s job, I swear I won’t forgive you!” My cousin’s face was equally grim, his jaw clenched even tighter. “And my job too! Don’t you dare mess that up!” Looking at their angry faces, I finally understood their strange behavior. My cousin and my brother worked at the company Amy and I had built. They dared not offend Amy; they were afraid of losing their jobs. Amy brought me back here, confidently expecting them to talk sense into me, precisely because she knew this. A deep sadness welled up in my heart. Everyone was gathered. Amy announced her infidelity. Less than thirty seconds passed. My family members exchanged no words. But in that brief time, they instinctively thought of their jobs. Silently, implicitly, they chose to belittle me. To demand that I admit my mistake, that I swallow my pride and endure. Amy saw this, and she exploited it. Family. This was my family. To hell with family! My voice trembled. “For the sake of your jobs, you’re twisting black into white, ganging up on me like this? Do you even have a conscience anymore? Don’t forget, when you were unemployed, sitting at home, I was the one who brought you into the company!” 4 “I’m the one who gave you jobs, I’m the one you’re related to by blood, not that garbage woman!” The economy had been tough; my brother graduated straight into unemployment, couldn’t even get an interview. My cousin was laid off when his company downsized, and he was driven to despair sending out resumes. At the time, Amy and I had successfully started our own company. We had opened it, even built a small factory. We happened to need manpower, and my brother and cousin’s specializations fit, so I brought them into the company. What was originally a good deed had now become a knife aimed at me! I spoke faster, growing more and more furious, eventually almost roaring the words. But instead of feeling even an ounce of wrongdoing, they merely sneered at me. “You brought us into the company, and that’s your accomplishment? Aren’t you thinking a little too highly of yourself?” “The company belongs to Amy, the factory belongs to Amy, and Amy pays our salaries!” “The one who truly calls the shots, the one with the credit, is Amy, not you!” “Exactly. We’re already being generous by not calling you a sugar baby. You’re just her appendage, enjoying the good life thanks to her.” “Still haven’t figured yourself out, huh? Truly believe you’re something special now!” “Alright, stop losing your mind! Don’t you know what the economic climate is like right now? Don’t you know how hard it is to find a job?” “For your brother’s and cousin’s jobs, what’s wrong with you compromising a little? Besides, you’re not really suffering. She’s beautiful and she earns good money; you’re living a comfortable life!” “You’re a sugar baby and you’re still not satisfied? Always wanting more, wanting this and that. I don’t know how you were raised to be so greedy!” My voice suddenly grew hoarse, as I gritted my teeth and spoke. “I didn’t rely on her!” I insisted. “We built the company together! In fact, my contributions were even greater than hers…” My dad scoffed, cutting me off. “You’re my son. I know what you’re like. A good-for-nothing man, no talent whatsoever!” 5 Watching the sneer on my dad’s face, my heart clenched. Right out of college, I’d landed an eight-thousand-dollar salary during the worst economic downturn, all by my own ability. After that, it only climbed higher. Ten thousand, fifteen thousand, twenty thousand, thirty thousand… I spent a significant portion of that money on my family. My brother’s computer, phone, bicycle… My dad’s teapot, tea leaves, fishing rods… My mom’s necklace, gold bracelet, cosmetics… At that time, I didn’t even know Amy Vance! My abilities were evident to them! But now, I was talentless. I was a good-for-nothing, a sugar baby, dependent on a woman… My dad paused, then softened his tone. “Alright, alright, don’t be angry. Whether you love her or not, whether she cheated or not, it doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping your life together! She didn’t even try to hide it from you; she’s already been very good.” My dad nudged my cousin’s shoulder, and they exchanged a glance before my cousin left. My dad continued, “…You cannot get this divorce. And your brother’s and cousin’s jobs absolutely cannot be lost. Go back and sweet-talk your wife. Make her give you a son! That way, even if she goes out to ‘play’ again later, you can tie her down with the child, and you won’t have to worry about your life falling apart.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve already sent your cousin to bring her back. Just lower your head, admit your mistake, and we’ll consider this matter settled…” As he spoke, footsteps approached, and a smile spread across my dad’s face. He shifted his gaze, then pushed my back. “Amy, we’ve talked to him. He knows he was just confused for a moment. This divorce is off. Remember to live a good life from now on, okay?” My dad’s hand pressed harder into my back. He even winked at me, the meaning clear: What are you waiting for? Hurry up and bow your head, admit your mistake! 6 Amy stepped closer, nodded to my dad, and reached out to take my hand. “Alright, let’s go home. I’ll try to control myself…” I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth, twisted away, and slapped my dad’s hand off me. Family? They didn’t deserve me. And that rotten woman? Even less so! No one could bully me! No one! As my dad stared at me in disbelief, I raised my hand and smacked Amy hard across the face. Crack! The crisp sound of the slap made both Amy and my dad freeze. Amy clutched her cheek, staring at me blankly. “You… you dared to hit me?” I didn’t answer, nor did I stop. I brought my knee up, delivering a vicious kick to Amy’s body. The Amy who had just questioned me let out a gasp of pain, immediately doubling over like a cooked shrimp, sent sprawling to the ground by the force of the kick. I then stomped my foot onto her face, causing blood to gush from her nose and mouth. I pressed down, grinding my heel into her face as she wailed, one hand clutching her face, the other her stomach. “Control yourself? You think you can control me?!” My voice was a low snarl. “Anyone who wrongs me, not one of them will get away with it!” I had barely finished speaking when my dad’s roar suddenly erupted. He lunged at me, grabbing my hair and yanking with all his might. “Ah! Adrian Hayes, you’re really asking for it! How dare you lay a hand on her, and with such brutal force…” My dad yelled, delivering a smack to my face. He’d always been a physically active man. Instantly, blood appeared on his rough, dry palm. He’d scratched my face. But perhaps caught up in the fury, I felt no pain. Yet, the blood on his fingertips and the coppery taste in my mouth told me it wasn’t a light blow. Without a moment’s hesitation, I twisted, raised my hand, and smacked my dad squarely across the face. 7 In my dad’s stunned expression, I grabbed his hair in turn. With a pull and a yank, I slammed his head against Amy’s. Thud! The sound echoed, and both of them tumbled to the ground, their faces contorted in agony. I watched them coldly. “Anyone who wrongs me, not one of them will get away with it!” My brother and mom were startled. Their steps, which had been moving forward, hesitated, then retreated. Beyond their fear, their faces were etched with anger. Glaring at me, my mom instinctively ordered my brother, “Call the police! Call the police!” The precinct was nearby; the officers arrived quickly. They surveyed my blood-streaked face, my dad’s swollen forehead, and Amy, whose forehead was swollen, her nose and mouth bleeding. An officer gestured. “Alright, everyone, let’s go down to the station!” My dad had recovered somewhat. One hand clutched his forehead, the other held back the officer. “You take this bastard, lock him up. My wife isn’t going! My wife needs to go to the hospital first…” The officer glanced at Amy, then grunted, “Alright.” He then surveyed the faces of everyone else, his gaze finally settling on me. “One man against a whole family, huh? What kind of person are you, with such nerve? Let’s go!” I followed the officer’s gaze, sweeping over the faces of my dad, my brother, my aunt and uncle, and my cousin. Every single one of them looked at me with seething resentment. No wonder the officer immediately recognized them as a family unit and saw me as the outsider. But… “I’m that man’s son. His biological son.” All the way there, my thoughts drifted. I remembered a colleague from a previous job. I recalled a conversation I’d had with him. He had just finished a phone call, and on the other end was his father.

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At 11:00 AM, while my husband was slowly suffocating to death in our bathtub, I was chatting with the neighborhood moms by the playground slide. The slide was located directly beneath my bathroom window, a straight line of no more than twenty feet. If I had stuck to my usual routine and gone home at eleven sharp, I would have been in time to save his life. But as fate would have it, Jessica had just bought a new designer dress and enthusiastically invited a few of us over to admire it. By the time my daughter and I walked through our front door at 11:10 AM, my husband had already drawn his last breath. At the funeral, I was consumed by a grief so absolute it tore me apart. I fainted several times. The attendees watched with profound sympathy, murmuring their condolences. Then came my mother-in-law, Martha. A retired elementary school principal, she had traveled all the way from the remote windswept plains of Wyoming. In front of everyone, she marched straight up to me. Her expression was made of stone. She articulated every single syllable. “You are the murderer who killed my son.” 1 It had been an entirely ordinary Saturday in late summer. Arthur had stayed up late working the night before, so he woke up a bit sluggish, not making it to the breakfast table until ten. By 10:05 AM, our daughter, Lily, was urging me to take her downstairs for the eighth time. As I crouched by the door to tie Lily’s sneakers, she wiggled her head and made a funny face at her father. “Daddy is a big lazy bug! The sun is already cooking your butt and you just woke up. Shame on you, Daddy!” Arthur let out a muffled chuckle, scrunching up his face to mimic hers. “Lily is a little troublemaker. Always forcing Mommy to take her out to play. Shame on you too, Lily.” I hurriedly grabbed my water bottle and a pack of tissues. Just as I opened the door, a thought struck me, and I turned back. “Honey, Lily is going to be drenched in sweat again today. Remember to start the bathwater early so she can jump right in when we get back.” Our tub had terrible water pressure. It always took a solid twenty minutes to fill up. Arthur held a piece of toast in one hand and brought two fingers of the other to his temple in a mock salute. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Mission accepted.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “Let’s go!” The playground slide was just below our apartment building, easily the most bustling spot in the entire estate. Kids ran wild while parents clustered together in little gossip circles. After sitting with a few moms I knew well, I patted my pockets and realized in my rush, I had left my phone upstairs. I turned to Jessica sitting next to me. “What time is it? I left my phone at home.” Jessica whipped out her brand-new, ultra-expensive folding phone like it was a trophy and announced loudly. “Ten forty.” Just as the words left her mouth, our second-floor bathroom window creaked open. Arthur poked his head out, smiling as he called down to me. “Honey, the water is running. Stay out and play a bit longer!” I glanced over at Lily, who was currently sweating bullets on the monkey bars, and flashed him an OK sign. “Got it!” Arthur gave a polite wave to the group of moms before pulling the window shut. The women immediately began to swoon. “Your man is seriously the perfect husband. Handsome, great personality. I heard he made partner this year, right? That has to be mid-six figures easily.” “Mid-six? Try seven. A corporate attorney at Arthur’s level brings in millions. You can just kick back and enjoy the stay-at-home mom life without a single worry!” “He’s a high earner, comes home on time every day, cooks and cleans on the weekends, always smiling, no bad habits… Look at my husband. It’s like comparing dirt to the sky.” “I don’t care about the money. I just envy how deeply he loves you. I mean, look at that car crash. The man literally threw his own life away for yours!” The moms nodded in unison, their sighs thick with envy. Six months ago, Arthur and I were driving to pick up some potted plants when a semi-truck rear-ended us. Our SUV flipped and the front end instantly burst into flames. The driver’s side ended up facing the sky, so Arthur was pulled out by bystanders almost immediately. I was pinned underneath, completely trapped. As the flames grew wilder, the crowd began to back away in terror. Only Arthur rushed back. He pulled and tore at the twisted metal like a madman, his hands shredded and dripping with blood, his voice tearing as he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Save my wife! Please, God, somebody help her!” Less than five seconds after he managed, by sheer willpower, to drag me out of the wreckage, the car exploded in a deafening roar. Someone had caught the rescue on camera and posted it online. It went incredibly viral. The internet unanimously decided I must have saved the world in a past life to deserve a husband who loved me that much. Just thinking about that day made my eyes well up. Arthur always looked so refined and intellectual. I never imagined he could be so fearless, so primal, when it truly mattered. The accident left two fingers on his right hand permanently damaged, the tendons severed. He could no longer perform fine motor tasks. I cried until my heart ached over it. He just patted my head, offering a warm smile to comfort me. “It’s fine. I make my living with my brain anyway. I could lose two more fingers and it wouldn’t stop me from taking care of you.” Right now, amidst the envious sighs of the neighborhood moms, I nodded honestly. “Yeah. He really is the perfect husband.” 2 “My husband isn’t too shabby either, you know!” Jessica raised her voice to reclaim the spotlight. “He just got back from Paris and brought me a bunch of gorgeous designer dresses. Come on, let’s go to my place. I have to show you guys!” Jessica was in a classic May-December marriage. She spent every waking hour trying to prove how much her older husband loved her, desperate to show she married for romance and not for his bank account. I smiled and shook my head. “I’ll pass. I need to take Lily up for her bath. You guys go ahead.” Jessica, who loved comparing herself to me more than anything, immediately frowned. “Didn’t your husband just tell you to stay out a bit longer? Popping up to my place won’t take much time. You can’t even give me this little bit of face?” At 11:00 AM, I walked out of Jessica’s house. At 11:05 AM, I finally caught Lily, who was running wild by the slide, and tugged her arm to head home. She resisted at first. She begged for ‘just five more minutes’. I sternly refused, telling her the bathwater was going to get cold. Defeated, she went around saying pitiful goodbyes to every single one of her little friends. The circle of parents watched with fond amusement, sharing knowing smiles with me. At 11:08 AM, Lily and I reached the second floor. We bumped into Oliver, the bachelor living across the hall, who was just stepping out to take out the trash. His face flushed slightly as he greeted me. Lily grabbed his hand, asking in her sweet voice when he was going to help her build her new Lego set. As they spoke, I pulled out my keys and unlocked our door. At 11:09 AM, while Lily was still waving goodbye to Oliver in the hallway, I called out “Honey!” Nobody answered. I walked toward the bathroom. At 11:10 AM, a piercing scream ripped from my throat. Arthur’s pale face was submerged just beneath the surface of the water, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. He was already gone. 3 A lot of people came to the funeral. There were Arthur’s colleagues, his friends, neighbors from our estate, and even representatives from a charity organization holding a memorial wreath. That was when everyone found out Arthur had been quietly donating to an organization for underprivileged kids. Twenty thousand dollars a year. Over the years, his donations had exceeded a hundred grand. People whispered, their voices heavy with sorrow. “Such a good man. Heaven is blind. How could such a freak accident happen to someone like him? The good die young while the wicked live forever.” “He did so much pro bono work these past few years. He just made partner. He was telling everyone how he was going to build an amazing life for his wife and daughter. And now…” “Those two loved each other so much. How is Rachel going to survive this? She’s passed out a handful of times in just the last few days. Thank God the neighborhood committee ladies are keeping an eye on her.” “She doesn’t have an income, and they still have a mortgage. If Arthur had lived, they would have paid it off in a year or two. Things are going to be so hard for her now.” “The whole thing is just a tragic fluke. The cops said he knocked himself out, and the tub took twenty minutes to fill up enough to cover his nose and mouth. If he had just woken up, or if Rachel had come home earlier, he’d be fine. It was just awful timing.” Amidst the rustling whispers, I sat off to the side, my face ashen, staring vacantly at Arthur’s portrait. Over the past few days, I had been drowning in absolute agony. I had wept until my insides felt hollow, collapsing from exhaustion. Anyone who looked at me couldn’t help but pity the broken shell of a woman I had become. A lady from the neighborhood committee sat beside me, offering gentle words of comfort every now and then. Jessica walked over, her face painted with guilt. “Rachel, I am so sorry. If I hadn’t dragged you to my house and wasted your time, maybe… maybe Arthur wouldn’t have died.” By the end of her sentence, she was covering her mouth, sobbing aloud. I shook my head, my voice steeped in despair. “No. It has nothing to do with you. It’s my fault. I’m the one who told him to run the water early. I forgot my phone, which meant he had to open the window to call down to me. He slipped because of me. I promised I’d be home at eleven, but I dragged my feet and was ten minutes late. It’s all my fault. I killed him.” The committee lady quickly intervened. “Rachel, you absolutely cannot think like that! It was just a terrible alignment of the stars. Nobody could have stopped it. The police even said so themselves. It was an accident. A one-in-a-million tragedy.” That day, when I screamed, Oliver was the first one to rush inside. Realizing what had happened, he immediately blocked Lily from entering the apartment and helped me dial 911. After inspecting the scene and taking our statements, the police pieced together a rough timeline of the accident. 10:40. Arthur turned on the faucet and simultaneously opened the window to speak to me. Because the window was located right next to the tub and swung inward, he had to lean his body out at an awkward angle. When he pulled back to close it, he lost his balance, tumbling into the cast-iron tub and knocking himself unconscious. 10:40 to 11:00. The water slowly rose, inch by inch, until it submerged his head. 11:00 to 11:05. After five minutes under the water, Arthur suffocated to death. He never woke up. There were no signs of a struggle, no water splashed wildly on the tiles. 11:10. I came home and discovered the scene. During that window of time, from the moment Arthur showed his face at the window to the moment I arrived, no outsiders entered our building. There were no suspicious traces. The ruling was accidental death. Someone nearby shook their head and sighed. “When Death knocks on your door, you don’t get a minute to spare… Wait, who is that at the entrance? Why is she wearing such a heavy coat in this heat?” “Yeah, isn’t she sweating?” I sat there like a walking corpse, my head bowed, completely numb to my surroundings. “She’s walking straight toward Rachel.” “Is she one of those scammers asking for a handout? That’s crossing a line. This is a funeral, for God’s sake.” A pair of worn-out, gray women’s sneakers entered my field of vision. The style was ancient. There was a small, color-matched patch on the toe. They were coated in a fine layer of dust, whispering a silent story of how far they had walked. “Rachel. Do you know who I am?” A weather-beaten voice spoke. It was close. Right next to my ear. I slowly raised my head. Before me was the face of an elderly woman. Her skin was dry and deeply lined, her temples fading into white. Yet beneath her drooping eyelids, her gaze burned like a torch. In the sweltering heat of late summer, she wore an inappropriately thick wool-blend coat. One hand gripped a faded black handbag; the other held an old, battered metal thermos. “I am Martha. The mother-in-law you have never met.” I stared at her, my eyes hollow. My exhausted neurons slowly began to stretch, connect, and fire. My eyes suddenly widened. “Mom?” Martha gave a slow, deliberate nod. “I’m glad you recognize me.” The crowd immediately gathered around. “So this is Arthur’s mother. Oh, God, a parent burying their child. Please accept our deepest condolences.” “It’s good that you’re here. You can lean on each other. Now Rachel and Lily won’t be entirely alone.” Someone kindly offered to take Martha’s bag and thermos. She slowly shook her head, rejecting the help. She turned to look at Arthur’s portrait, then locked her piercing gaze directly onto me. “From the day I learned of my son’s death, I traveled without rest from Wyoming to get here, all to tell the police one single sentence.” She stared me down, her expression carved from stone. She articulated every single syllable. “You are the murderer who killed my son.” 4 After Martha delivered that line, she turned on her heel and walked away. Nobody could stop her. She appeared out of thin air. And vanished just as quickly. It was as if she had traveled across the country solely to spit those words in my face. The guests exchanged bewildered glances before clustering around to comfort me. “Rachel, the poor woman is just delirious with grief. Please don’t take it to heart. You can’t afford to let this upset you right now.” “Exactly. She’s an old lady from the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t know the facts. She probably heard some malicious gossip and took it as gospel. A good conversation will clear everything up.” “I’ve never even seen Arthur’s mother before. He dies, and suddenly she shows up? You don’t think she’s here to fight for custody or the inheritance, do you?” “I’ve never even heard of her! Rachel, that lady just said you two had never met. Are you absolutely sure that was Arthur’s mother?” I didn’t speak. My body felt so weak I was on the verge of collapsing. The committee lady handed me a cup of hot tea. “Alright, everyone, that’s enough questions. The most important thing right now is getting through the service and letting Rachel rest. Everything else will sort itself out.” I lowered my head and took a few sips of the warm tea. The fog in my brain began to lift slightly. Yes. Martha was indeed Arthur’s biological mother. Eight years ago, when Arthur and I got married, I met her for the first time through a video call. She had divorced Arthur’s father when Arthur was fifteen. She left everything behind to take a teaching job on a remote reservation out West. Mother and son were separated, going years without contact. After Arthur’s father passed away, Arthur had finally built a stable career. He tracked her down, wanting to bring her back to the city to care for her in her old age. She refused. She told him that when she chose to move to the mountains, she swore an oath never to leave that land. Over the years, Arthur made the long trek out to Wyoming twice to visit her. As for me, my only contact with her was a brief video call once a year on Lily’s birthday. In this moment, I was swallowed by a deep sense of confusion and bewilderment. I couldn’t understand why this woman, who had vowed never to step foot outside the rural West, had suddenly made this exhausting journey. Why would she hurl such a vicious accusation at me? Lost in my grief, I couldn’t make sense of it. After the funeral, Martha didn’t leave the city. She stayed. Naturally, she didn’t stay at my apartment. She rented a room in a run-down motel next to the train station. Late that night, a bright moon hung in the sky, looking down on the joys and sorrows of the mortal world. I sat alone, wiping tears from my face as I looked at a photo of Arthur. I made a decision. It didn’t matter why she had come. Whether it was for the child. The money. Or simply a terrible misunderstanding. She was still my husband’s mother. My daughter’s grandmother. I couldn’t just leave her to fend for herself. 5 The next day, I packed some daily necessities, fresh bedsheets, and a comforter. I knocked on Oliver’s door across the hall. When he saw me, his eyes flickered. He frantically tried to smooth his hair and adjust his shirt. I gently explained that I needed a favor, asking if he was free to give me a ride. “Of course.” “I’m free whenever you need me,” he said, looking earnestly into my eyes. Oliver drove Lily and me to the cheap motel by the train station. It was a dim, dilapidated building with a flickering neon sign by the door. Rooms: $30 a night. “Mommy, does Grandma live here? It’s so yucky. Let’s bring Grandma to our house.” Lily’s innocent voice chimed in. I let out a heavy sigh. “Grandma is a little bit stubborn, sweetie. She won’t agree to it.” Oliver walked over, carrying the heavy bags of supplies. “Rachel, this is too heavy. Let me help you carry it up.” I hesitated. “No, it’s okay. I’ve troubled you enough. Just wait for us down here.” A flicker of worry crossed Oliver’s face. He spoke softly. “After the things she said to you the other day, I don’t want you two getting into a fight while you’re alone. If I’m there, I can help keep the peace. Most importantly, we shouldn’t let Lily get scared.” I offered a bitter smile and nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” When I saw Martha again, she was sitting in the dingy room, fiddling with a smartphone. Seeing me standing in the doorway, she froze for a split second before standing up. Her eyes were completely unreadable. I took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “Mom. I know you definitely wouldn’t want to come stay at the house, so I brought you some things. Whatever misunderstandings you have about me, please, for Arthur and Lily’s sake, don’t reject this.” I glanced over my shoulder at Oliver. He carried the bags inside, set them down gently, and silently stepped back out into the corridor. Martha remained standing, totally silent. She neither accepted nor rejected the gesture, simply watching me with a face devoid of emotion. Lily walked up to her timidly and spoke in a small voice. “Grandma, why won’t you come live with us? Mommy says Daddy went on a really far business trip and won’t be back for a long time. Will you come live at our house and wait for Daddy with us?” Martha’s eyes softened instantly. Her calloused hand gently stroked Lily’s hair. The deeply wrinkled skin around her eyes turned red. “Be a good girl, Lily. Grandma has something very important she needs to do. For now, I can’t go home with you.” “Grandma, I miss Daddy. Do you miss Daddy too?” “Yes. Grandma… misses him very much.” She looked calm and composed, but the tremor in her voice betrayed the emotions she was desperately trying to bury. I turned my head and whispered something to Oliver. He immediately stepped in, coaxed Lily with a gentle voice, and led her downstairs. Only Martha and I remained in the room. This little motel was sandwiched between towering skyscrapers. Only the faintest sliver of daylight managed to filter through the grimy window. The roaring noise of the city outside only magnified the suffocating silence inside this cramped space. “I’ve reported it to the police.” Martha stared at me calmly. I paused, leaning against the dim doorway, and let out a soft sigh. “As for my involvement, the police cleared me a long time ago. I had no time to commit a crime, no method, and absolutely no motive. Arthur’s death brings nothing but ruin to my life. Why would I ever hurt him? Mom, I genuinely don’t understand why you are so convinced I wanted my husband dead.” “So that’s why you came today?” Martha’s voice was remarkably steady. “You’re curious. You want to know how I, living thousands of miles away, know that you are the true culprit who murdered Arthur. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” A wave of sorrow and exhaustion washed over me. I wanted to speak, but it felt entirely pointless. “Since you are so stubbornly convinced that I am a murderer, we will just let the police give you their final conclusion.” I spoke in a hollow voice, turning to leave. I had barely taken two steps into the corridor when Martha’s voice boomed from behind me. “Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure before.” “But you came today, and you brought that young man with you. You wanted to trick me into thinking you and that man were having an affair, didn’t you? You wanted to bait me into sending the police down that rabbit hole so they would find absolutely nothing.” “Now, I am completely certain you are the killer.” The moment the last syllable dropped, the corridor plunged into a dead silence. I slowly turned around. There, in the narrow, shadow-draped hallway. I met her eyes in absolute silence.

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1. I snagged my boyfriend, Elias, after relentlessly pursuing him. He was like an unattainable wildflower, plucked from a high perch, and I wanted to put him on a pedestal. Elias never met my parents, looked down on my friends, and mostly regarded everything about me with disdain. My best friend, Quinn, would scold me, her voice laced with frustration, “Why do you act like you can’t feel hurt, can’t feel wronged?” I’d just grin foolishly, “Because I love him, you know?” “Besides, he’s incredible. A golden boy. I’m the one who got lucky.” I genuinely believed Elias Thorne was just naturally aloof. That was, until the fourth day of our silent treatment, when he publicly announced his new girlfriend. When we eventually ran into each other again, I offered a polite greeting. But as I was leaving, he suddenly asked, “How did you do it? Just stopped loving me?” I didn’t answer directly. Instead, I simply said, “Excuse me, my boyfriend’s waiting.” … Elias was wrong. Nobody just “stops” loving someone. It’s more like, through a thousand tiny disappointments, you finally accumulate enough heartache to walk away. The reason Elias and I had our last fight was, in hindsight, pretty laughable. I’d been out with friends, and naturally, had a few too many drinks. They started chanting, egging me on, “It’s so late, so unsafe. Get your boyfriend to pick you up.” Tentatively, I called Elias. The phone rang several times, unanswered. He was always so busy, his time for me minimal. Once, because I kept texting him, he’d snapped at me, his face cold, “I’m running an experiment. Don’t distract me.” One by one, my friends were picked up by their boyfriends. They’d walk away hand in hand into the night. A few patted my back before leaving, a word lingering on their lips, but they never said it. Soon, only Quinn and I, the single one, remained. Just as I was about to give up, Elias’s low, detached voice came through. I asked if he could pick me up. A beat of heavy silence stretched. I thought the signal was bad, pulled the phone away, and saw that Elias had already hung up. I couldn’t even get into our apartment. Elias had changed the password, and through the crack in the door, he sneered, his voice dripping with ice. “You reek.” “Come back when you’ve cleaned yourself up. Only then are you welcome in my home.” It was a rare moment when I actually got angry. I stubbornly held out for three days, refusing to contact Elias. It was our first real fight. Usually, when he was upset, I’d rush to apologize, no matter what it was about. I was always the one to back down first, and then I’d patch up my own feelings. But if I didn’t contact him, he’d never reach out. A sudden exhaustion washed over me. But I didn’t last past the fourth day. I found myself standing at our doorstep, thinking about how we were close to getting married. Why let such a small thing cause discord? Besides, one more apology wouldn’t hurt. Quinn had pointed to her forehead, calling me an idiot. I’d sheepishly retorted, “Well, after drinking, I do smell a bit, you know?” But after I said that, she suddenly went quiet, staring at me intently for a long moment. It took her a while to speak again, her voice choked with tears, “You’re so incredibly dense.” Elias leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head as he looked at me. “What are you doing here?” “Elias, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come home so late that night, and certainly not after so many drinks.” It was my habitual admission of guilt. Elias seemed to just remember the incident. “Oh. We’re broken up. You don’t need to apologize to me.” “What…?” “Didn’t you say it yourself when you were chasing me? That you’d cling to me relentlessly unless we broke up?” “You’ve given me peace and quiet for days. I just assumed we were done.” A striking girl emerged from inside the apartment. Elias put an arm around her waist. “Let me introduce you. My new girlfriend, Celeste.” All the color drained from my face. “I thought we were just… having a fight.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. 2. The sharp click of the door closing jolted me awake. Quinn had just dropped me off and was already insistent on taking me away again. “She’s experienced significant trauma, so she’s temporarily lost her voice.” The doctor’s words hung in the air. I sat there, picking at my fingers, only able to produce raspy breaths. My phone was flooded with messages, all asking about the nine-panel photo Elias had posted on social media with another girl. The last time I’d seen Elias smile so brightly, so openly, was when I proposed to him. “You always say you’re busy.” “You can spare five minutes to propose, right, Elias? Marry me?” His scolding about me delaying his experiment progress had abruptly stopped. His stern face had melted away like ice in the sun. I’d laughed with him then, genuinely believing he loved me too. Elias’s call came at that moment. “Stella Brooks, there’s a lot of your stuff left here. Come get it tomorrow.” Five years together, and he was always like that. “Stella, be quiet.” “Stella, stop hanging out with those friends of yours. They’re getting increasingly low-class.” “Stella, my time isn’t meant to be wasted on these silly anniversaries.” But Elias, the busy man, was actually home on a weekday, wearing loungewear, making coffee at the counter for his new girlfriend. When I’d been sick with a fever, Elias had only poured me a glass of hot water before telling me, “Something’s come up at the lab. I’m leaving.” My heart felt encased in a shell. Since yesterday, it was as if I’d lost all sensation of the world around me. I numbly repeated the motion of picking things up and putting them into boxes. Elias reached out to help me with a box, but I instinctively flinched away, sending everything crashing to the floor. His face immediately darkened. “Breaking up was your choice, wasn’t it? Who are you playing mute for?” He didn’t know I genuinely couldn’t speak. Elias was handsome, came from a good family, and was a rising star in biology. His enrollment had caused a sensation. Even though he himself was an emotionless iceberg, it didn’t stop people from flocking to him. I fell for him at first sight and pursued him all the way through college and graduation. When I graduated, I was heartbroken, thinking I’d never cross paths with him again. “I won’t bother you anymore.” But when a gossipy person raised a camera to snap a photo of us, Elias suddenly took my hand. “Let’s try being together.” “Don’t look at me, look at the camera.” I still remember the thrilling tremor in my heart. When I first snagged Elias, I thought I’d hit the jackpot. I even declared, “Being cold and distant is good. No need to worry about him cheating.” It turned out to be an empty promise. The first time I saw Celeste’s name was when I accidentally picked up Elias’s phone. It was filled with endless chat logs between him and Celeste. They talked about everything, from experiment progress to daily trivialities. I saw Celeste ask Elias, “Professor Thorne, why have you never posted about your girlfriend on social media?” Elias replied, “Nothing worth posting.” It still stung deeply. Elias, his eyes cold, demanded, “Are you going through my phone?” “Who is Celeste?” He sounded annoyed. “A new intern at the lab.” “You never told me, and do you two really have that much to talk about?” Elias seemed to realize I was jealous, and his expression softened slightly. “She’s a new hire, what’s there to say?” “Besides, we only talk about lab stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” “You could share it with me,” I said, feeling a little hurt. He maintained his poker face. “Like I said, you wouldn’t understand. Just like I’m not interested in those plants you’re always fussing over.” I owned a flower shop. I still remembered the excitement of showing Elias my first big sale. He’d turned away dismissively. “Childish. What’s the point?” His career was noble, my dreams insignificant. After that day, Elias’s never-locked phone was protected by a password. Quinn’s voice pulled me back. “Stella, don’t be naive. To move on so quickly with someone else, it only proves he was already emotionally detached.” Yet, four days later, was the dinner arranged by both families to discuss Elias and my wedding. 3. When I arrived, the scene was already chaotic. Elias’s grandmother was gasping for air, clutching her chest, while Elias knelt directly in front of her. “Grandma, Stella and I have broken up.” “This wedding, it can’t happen.” As soon as she saw me, Celeste also dropped to her knees, her eyes red and teary. “Miss Brooks, I know you and Professor Thorne have been together for a long time, but love doesn’t follow a timetable.” “And I heard that since graduation, Miss Brooks, you’ve done nothing but hang out with friends and potter around your little flower shop. You can’t offer Professor Thorne any help in his career or family life!” “None of us new lab members have ever seen you. Other interns’ partners have visited the lab at least once, haven’t they? And you? You actually expected Professor Thorne to drop an important project to pick you up from a bar?” “Miss Brooks, please, I beg you, let Professor Thorne go.” She listed off accusations, her voice full of indignant passion for Elias. Some relatives, who weren’t often in touch with either family, started looking at me differently. My heart, shredded by Elias’s silence, ached. I forced myself to speak, my voice raw. “I’ll return the engagement gifts tomorrow.” Days of disuse had made my throat hoarse, making my words sound like a sob. But my answer didn’t satisfy them. Celeste pressed on, aggressive. “Then write a statement, and send it to everyone.” “Professor Thorne’s undergraduate roommate told us, everyone in the lab knows, that he only agreed to be with you because you hounded him relentlessly and he felt sorry for you back then.” “Don’t try the same tricks again!” “I won’t allow it!” Grandma’s finger trembled as she pointed at Elias, scolding him. “You insolent boy! Stella is the granddaughter-in-law I chose!” But Elias’s face was filled with mockery. “Grandma, I know you’re grateful because Stella saved you back then.” “But at that time, she was just following me. She only knew you were my grandmother and happened to find you when you had a medical emergency, sending you to the hospital. It wasn’t because she was as innocent and kind as you think!” “She had ulterior motives to get close to me.” I stared at Elias blankly. I had only been waiting for him on that street. I wasn’t following him. And when I helped the old lady, I had no idea she was Elias’s grandmother. No wonder when Elias arrived at the hospital, he had only frowned, said “thank you,” and then irritably warned me. “Don’t try these tactics again.” Something inside me finally shattered. I smiled faintly. “So that’s what you truly believed.” I looked at Celeste, enunciating each word carefully. “I never came to the lab because Elias didn’t want me to.” “You say I never did anything for him? He got stomach issues from irregular meals during experiments. I found a nutritionist and worked with them repeatedly to create a stomach-friendly meal plan, making him portable, nourishing meals.” “I loved him for nine years. Can you even count how much I did for him?” All those moments, one after another – the person involved didn’t care, so why bother repeating them? For these nine years, I had made my gamble and now accepted the loss. “Forget it.” “This is the end.” Tears, uncontrollable, welled in my eyes. “Elias Thorne, we are officially over.” Elias’s eyebrows flickered, a faint, almost mocking smile playing on his lips. “Stella Brooks, you better mean that.” “Yes, you won’t have to worry about me bothering you ever again.” He seemed unconvinced. “Last time we fought, you added me on a dozen different fake accounts. I’ll delete them all today. Don’t try anything else.” I nodded, my posture earnest. “Don’t worry.” “Never again.”

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For twenty years, I was the daughter my parents adopted. The day the real heir, the “Golden Child,” was brought back by my adoptive father’s former flame, he pointed to her, draped in designer labels, and declared: “This is the golden phoenix of our family.” Then, he gestured to the woman I’d called “Mom” for two decades, saying: “It’s thanks to Delilah that our daughter is back. She’s like our daughter’s second mother. You should be very grateful to her.” “From now on, the three of us will live together. All the family money will go to our true daughter. None for outsiders.” My mother, Eleanor, nodded with a forced smile, then ushered me into the guest room. Later, she personally cooked a lavish feast, a “Full Imperial Banquet,” to thank Delilah for her kindness. But that very night, Mom quietly slipped into my room, clutching two high-speed train tickets. “Quickly, pack your things. Mom took all the cash from your father’s safe. We’re leaving this house together.” 1. Just a few hours earlier, my adoptive father, Adam King, had returned with the true heir and his old flame. At that so-called “reunion dinner,” I felt like my world was collapsing. The true heir, Jasmine King, wearing the latest season’s haute couture, sat at the head of the table, picking at the dishes with a look of distaste. “I suffered so much out there. And I come back to these cheap meals?” She turned to my mother, Eleanor, her eyes full of contempt. “Dad said I got lost because you weren’t watching me properly? Was that intentional? Afraid I’d get a share of the inheritance?” At this, Adam shot Eleanor a scathing look, his tone filled with disgust. “Always just a housewife at home, can’t even cook a decent meal. Useless.” He dotingly placed food on Jasmine’s plate. “Just bear with it today. Tomorrow, Dad will hire a Michelin chef for you.” “Don’t worry, all the family money is yours. Those irrelevant outsiders won’t get a penny.” As he spoke, his gaze sliced through Eleanor and me like a knife. Seeing this, Delilah, the so-called “old flame,” sitting beside Adam, gently poured Eleanor some tea. “Eleanor, don’t take it to heart. Jasmine is just straightforward. From now on, let’s be like sisters, serving Adam and Jasmine together. It’s a blessing.” This wasn’t sisterhood; it was a brazen takeover, a mistress asserting her dominance. I looked at my mother. She was wearing faded loungewear, her face etched with that ingratiating smile I detested yet pitied most. “Delilah is right. I’m not fortunate enough. I’ll have to trouble you for more help in the future, sister.” She even looked at me directly. “Nia, you’re grown now. The master bedroom has the best light; let Jasmine have it. You can squeeze into the guest room.” In that moment, my heart felt like it was submerged in ice water. I remembered when I was first adopted, I wouldn’t even lift my head, terrified that one wrong move would get me sent away. It was Mom who gently held my cold little hand and led me into the room she had personally decorated. She had whispered to me: “Nia, don’t be scared. This will always be your home, and Mom will always be with you. No one will ever bully you again.” But now, the mother who promised me a home, who said she’d always protect me, was kicking me out. Twenty years of mother-daughter bond – was it truly so fragile against the ties of blood? My eyes red, I tried to speak, but Mom’s gaze cut me off. Swallowing my anger, I went back to my room to pack. Looking at the walls covered with murals Mom had painted for me, and the dolls she had picked out, I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. I wouldn’t give up. Through my blurry tears, my gaze inadvertently fell upon the sparkling engagement ring on my ring finger. Liam Shakman had placed it there himself three years ago when we got engaged. He had promised, holding me close, “Nia, no matter what, no matter when, I will always be on your side.” Like grasping at a final straw before drowning, I shakily dialed his number. The call connected. Before I could even speak, his impatient voice came through. “What do you want?” “Liam, I’m so upset…” “Upset about what?” Liam scoffed. “Isn’t it what’s supposed to happen, things returning to their rightful place? Jasmine is the rightful King heiress. You’ve occupied her spot for twenty years. Are you feeling wronged now?” In the background, I faintly heard a woman’s soft giggle. “Liam, who is it? So annoying.” 2. It was Jasmine’s voice. A chill ran through me, and my phone almost slipped from my grasp. “Liam, where are you?” “At the King estate, of course. Jasmine just got back; naturally, I should be here with her. Actually, come down. We need to discuss canceling the engagement. It was always an alliance between the King and Shakman families. Now that the true heiress is back, you, the impostor, are useless.” He hung up. The next second, my door was unceremoniously pushed open. The housekeeper stood in the doorway, her eyes glinting with schadenfreude. “Mr. King wants you downstairs immediately.” No matter how unwilling I was, in this house, Adam’s word was law. I wiped away my tears and descended the stairs. In the living room, Liam had his arm around Jasmine’s waist, their bodies pressed close. Adam and Delilah watched them, faces full of doting affection. When I came down, Liam didn’t even lift an eyelid. “Nia King, give me back the ring. It’s a limited edition Cartier. You don’t deserve to wear it.” Jasmine covered her mouth, giggling. “Oh, Liam, don’t be so mean. Even if she’s adopted, she did call you brother for a few years. Besides, I still need her to be my personal assistant, carry my bags later.” Liam playfully tapped her nose. “Anything for you. Nia, did you hear that? As long as you know your place, you’ll still have a bite to eat. I’ll even still consider you like a sister.” The humiliation was blatant, naked. I looked at Mom, standing in the corner. She remained meek and submissive, as if none of this concerned her. In that moment, I completely gave up hope. I took off the ring, tossed it onto the coffee table, and turned to rush out of this suffocating house. “Stop right there.” My adoptive father Adam’s voice cut through the air, cold and imbued with an undeniable authority. “Where are you going? I raised you for twenty years, and now you think you can fly off?” He leisurely wiped his mouth, his eyes looking at me as if I were an ungrateful dog. “Know your place now. Since you’re not the King heiress, don’t put on airs. This house doesn’t keep freeloaders. You’ll handle all the housework from now on. Consider it repayment for these twenty years.” Jasmine covered her mouth, her laugh sharp and piercing. “Did you hear that? Hurry up and get to work! Don’t flatter yourself.” Liam watched, his eyes cold, as if enjoying a joke. I bit my lip hard, rage churning violently in my chest, but I could only swallow it down. Just as Adam said, everything I had now was from the King family. Graduation was only a month away. If I didn’t comply, given Adam’s nature, he’d ensure I didn’t even get my college diploma. Finally, I lowered my head and, under their smug gazes, silently walked towards the kitchen. I washed dishes for three grueling hours, then knelt and scrubbed every inch of the living room floor. Just as I finished taking out the trash and turned, I was yanked into the shadows by the wall. It was Liam, reeking of alcohol. His eyes were hazy, with a condescending air of benevolence. “Nia, you’re too stubborn.” “We’ve been together for so many years, and my feelings for you are genuine. But with your current status, I really can’t marry you…” His fingers lightly brushed my cheek, but I turned my head, dodging his touch. He was unfazed, chuckling softly. “As long as you’re obedient, I’ll rent you an apartment outside and still take care of you. Besides the title of Mrs. Shakman, I can give you anything.” With that, he leaned in, trying to kiss me. My stomach churned, and I instinctively slapped him. Smack! The crisp sound of the slap echoed loudly in the silent night. “Liam Shakman, in your dreams!” I glared at him, seeing his face clearly for the first time, and it struck me as utterly foreign and repulsive. Liam clutched his face, the tender affection in his eyes instantly twisting into humiliated fury. “Nia Brooks! Don’t you dare be so ungrateful! You’re a stray dog now, who’s going to protect you?” He pointed to the brightly lit master bedroom on the second floor of the villa, where Adam and Delilah were celebrating, then gestured to the room that had once belonged to my mother. “Even the woman you called ‘Mom’ for twenty years, to please that mistress and her illegitimate daughter and secure her place as Mrs. King, didn’t she throw you out like trash?” His words were like a poisoned dagger, tearing my heart to shreds. I pushed him away and fled back to the guest room, burying myself in the musty blankets, wishing I could die from the pain. I don’t know how long passed when the door suddenly opened. It was Mom! She locked the door and drew the curtains tightly. The moment she turned around, all traces of her previous humility, obedience, and fawning were gone. Ignoring my astonished gaze, she pressed two high-speed train tickets and a bank card into my hand. “Quickly, pack your things. Mom took all the cash from your father’s safe. We’re leaving this house together.” I was stunned. “Mom, where? Why are we leaving?” “Silly child.” Mom wiped away the lingering tears from my eyes, her voice still gentle, but every word forceful. “This house is rotten to the core. Are we to stay and be their servants? To watch them degrade you?” 3. I was completely bewildered, clutching the two thin train tickets as if they were scorching hot irons. “Mom, you…” Mom was now deftly stuffing a few changes of clothes into an unassuming black travel bag. Her movements were shockingly quick, showing no trace of the timid, subservient housewife she usually was. She spoke rapidly as she packed. “Don’t bring any useless junk – no designer bags, no clothes the Kings bought. Take your ID, passport, and your drawing tools. You have five minutes.” My mind was still a jumble. I subconsciously asked. “But Dad… Adam will find out, and what will we do once we’re gone?” “And my diploma…” Mom finally stopped what she was doing and turned to look at me. Her eyes were startlingly clear, a hint of a sarcastic smile playing on her lips. “Find out? By the time that old fool sobers up, we’ll be halfway across the country.” She walked up to me and patted my shoulder. “The diploma? Mom already arranged everything. I’ve spoken to your thesis advisor and department head beforehand. As for later?” She pulled out a black USB drive from her pocket and dangled it in front of me. “Nia, do you really think Mom has been his housekeeper for twenty years?” She slipped the USB drive into my hand, her voice serious. “Adam’s company has long been hollowed out by his cronies. If I hadn’t been using my pre-marital assets to plug the holes, he’d have been in jail a hundred times over.” “This USB drive contains all the evidence of his tax evasion, commercial bribery, and the financial records of him transferring assets to Delilah.” My eyes widened. My worldview felt like it was crumbling. The seemingly meek woman who always bowed to Adam King actually held such devastating power. “Don’t just stare!” Mom tapped me on the forehead. “Get moving! Tonight is our last chance.” That tap jolted me awake. Yes, why should I stay here and suffer humiliation? Why should I watch Liam and Jasmine flaunt their affection in front of me? I quickly turned and pulled my old backpack from under the bed. Five minutes later, we stood at the villa’s back gate. The night was thick and inky black. The master bedroom on the second floor was brightly lit. I could faintly hear Jasmine’s spoiled laughter and Adam’s boastful exclamations. Hearing Jasmine’s laughter, I looked at Mom. “Mom… what about Jasmine? She is your biological daughter after all.” Mom’s body stiffened imperceptibly. Her gaze drifted to the brightly lit window on the second floor. After a few seconds of silence, she pulled her gaze back and looked at me. “I only recognize you as my daughter.” Then, Mom tugged my sleeve, pointing to an unassuming ride-share car parked not far away. “Let’s go.” Before we got in the car, Mom told me to remove my phone’s SIM card. “Throw it away,” she said coldly. I looked at the small card, holding thousands of sweet nothings Liam had sent me over three years, and the contact information for the man I’d called “Dad” for two decades. With a flick of my wrist. The card traced an arc, disappearing into the roadside grass. The car started, and in the dead of night, it carried two “fugitives,” silently into the darkness.

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