Nathan Lynch fell in love with a scholarship student. Someone even more broken, more pitiful, than I had been. And the love he gave her was grander, more dazzling, than anything he had ever given me. So I gave birth to our child, took enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life, and walked away. Seven years later. A small boy, caked in mud and with a bloody scratch on his cheek, knocked on my door. “They said I’m a bastard,” he whispered. “Can you tell them I’m not?” 1 Just one look. That’s all it took to recognize him as my son, mine and Nathan’s. His face was a perfect, sculpted blend of our features. Seven years. It had been exactly seven years since I had given birth to him, taken the money, and left. We should have been strangers. I knelt to his level. “Do you know who I am?” He nodded slightly, his voice as soft as a whisper. “Mom.” I froze. Nathan had actually told him about me? After a moment of silence, I stood up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with that.” I had no interest in helping a stranger prove he wasn’t a bastard. He looked at me, no tears, no tantrums. He just nodded again, his small fists clenching the hem of his shirt. I closed the door. Through the security camera, I saw him curl into a ball in the corner of the hallway, hugging his knees. He looked so small, like a crumpled-up piece of paper. Footsteps echoed down the hall. He shrank further into the corner, burying his face in his knees. I stared at the screen for three minutes. Then I opened the door. “Come in.” 2 I didn’t have any children’s clothes. After I washed him up, I wrapped him in a blanket and set him on the sofa. I placed a pink cartoon band-aid over the scratch on his clean face. “Elliot.” I had learned his name while I was bathing him. “How did you get hurt?” He looked down. “They said I don’t have a mom. That I’m a bastard. I got angry, so I fought them.” “You lost?” He nodded. Of course, he lost. That’s why he had come crying to me. “When did you find out where I live?” “A long time ago,” he mumbled. “But Dad told me not to come find you.” The Lynch family had connections all over the city. Finding my address would have been easy. But Nathan, at least, had the decency to know he shouldn’t disturb me. I gave a noncommittal “hmm.” “He was right. You shouldn’t have come.” His head snapped up, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Are you going to send me away?” I nodded and picked up my phone. “Yes. Call your father. Tell him to come get you.” Elliot didn’t say anything. He just buried his head in the blanket. I poked his shoulder. “Hey.” He didn’t move. I poked him again. Still nothing. That stubborn streak… he got that from me. I dialed the number I had tried so hard to forget. Seven years, eleven digits, and I hadn’t forgotten a single one. Ring… Ring… Ring… I tried three times. No answer. Elliot lifted his head, his voice muffled. “Dad’s sick right now. A lot of doctors tied him up. They’re giving him shots and medicine. He can’t answer the phone.” I paused. “Sick?” The moment the word left my lips, I felt like a fool for prying. What did I care if Nathan Lynch was sick? The boy nodded. “Dad gets sick a lot. He gets really scary.” “Then what about your mother? Have her come get you.” “You are my mother.” “You know who I’m talking about,” I said, exasperated. He looked down again. “Dad won’t let me call her Mom.” I frowned. What was Nathan playing at? If he had married Amelia, why wouldn’t he let Elliot call her Mom? And why would he let Elliot come looking for me? Just then, a loud rumbling sound broke the silence. Elliot was hungry. I sighed and went to the kitchen. 3 I had shrimp and beef from yesterday’s grocery run. I quickly threw together a couple of simple dishes and set them on the table. The meal was quiet. I couldn’t help myself. I placed a piece of meat on his plate. “Eat up. It’ll help you grow.” He was seven, but he was small for his age. Was it because I had given birth to him prematurely? Was that why he was so frail? When it was time for bed, he just stood there, staring at me with those big, hopeful eyes. I sighed and pulled back a corner of the covers. He scrambled in, whispering, “Thanks, Mom.” I let out another sigh. I was probably becoming desensitized to the word “Mom.” Whatever. If the kid wanted to call me that, let him. “Mom, I’m scared of the dark. When it gets dark, Dad changes.” I held him close. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Soon, his breathing evened out. Kids fall asleep so quickly, like flipping a switch. But I couldn’t sleep. Suddenly, there was this small, milk-scented child in my bed, a child who shared my blood. My mind was a chaotic mess. Time ticked by. Just as I was about to drift off, I heard a choked sob. It was Elliot. Tears were streaming down his face. “Dad… I’ll remember Mom… I won’t forget her…” “Don’t cry, Dad… I can remember Mom…” He hiccupped a few more times, then snuggled closer and fell back asleep. I stared at the ceiling, wide awake for the rest of the night. 4 The next morning, I was making breakfast with dark circles under my eyes. His sleepy murmurs from the night before echoed in my head. Nathan crying? Telling him to remember me? What did it all mean? The bowl in my hand slipped and shattered on the floor. I quickly knelt to pick up the pieces, and a sharp edge sliced my finger. Blood welled up. “Mom, you need a band-aid.” A small, sweet voice piped up. Before I could react, a pink cartoon band-aid was pressed over the cut. It was the one from his face yesterday. I looked at the band-aid, then at him. He was carefully smoothing it down, making sure every edge was secure. A strange feeling washed over me, a bittersweet ache I couldn’t name. After breakfast, I went to the convenience store downstairs and bought him a new set of clothes. Once he was dressed, he stood by the door, as if he knew what was coming. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home.” He froze, then latched onto the doorframe with all his might. “I don’t want to go back.” “If I don’t take you back soon and they call the police, I’ll be charged with kidnapping.” “They won’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Dad’s sick. Everyone’s too busy with him to care about me.” “That doesn’t matter. You’re going.” I reached for him, but he shrank back. “Elliot.” I was starting to get angry. Why would he want to stay with me when he had the Lynch family to go back to? Did he think they would mistreat him? His small hands were still clamped onto the doorframe, his knuckles white. Looking at him, I was suddenly reminded of myself, seven years ago. I had stood at the entrance to the Lynch mansion just like this, clinging to the doorframe, not wanting to go in. Not wanting to see Nathan and Amelia together. But in the end, I went in. Because it was the only home I had. 5 The route was still so clear in my mind. It didn’t take long to drive to the Lynch estate. Coincidentally, as I was dropping Elliot off, the whole family was in a frenzy, searching for him. And leading the charge were Nathan and Amelia. I hadn’t seen them in seven years. Nathan looked… haggard. Was it because of his illness? Amelia saw Elliot and rushed forward, throwing her arms around him. “Elliot, where have you been? Mommy was so worried!” Elliot pushed her away. “You’re not my mom.” Amelia froze. She looked up, her gaze shifting past Elliot to me. A flicker of hatred crossed her eyes. She stood up, her face transformed into a mask of polite cordiality. “Jessica. It’s been a long time. How have you been?” I didn’t answer. I had always treated her as if she were invisible. My silence seemed to infuriate Nathan. He stepped forward, placing himself between me and Amelia. “Please, show my wife some respect.” I suddenly felt a tightness in my chest. It was just like before. I was five months pregnant with Elliot. He had taken Amelia’s hand and said to me, “I’m sorry. This is my wife.” When I had tried to slap her, he had stopped me, using those exact same words. “Please, show my wife some respect.” Seven years, and not a single word had changed. I couldn’t be bothered with Nathan. My eyes went past him to Elliot. I gave him a little wave. “Bye-bye.” I turned to leave. A hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. It was Nathan. “You’re…” He frowned, as if trying to place me. “You look so familiar.” I almost laughed. How convenient. He was a very important person with a very short memory. Seven years, and he had forgotten me completely? I pulled my hand away. My sleeve slid up, revealing a small section of my forearm. It was covered in a dense network of scars. I froze. “Honey.” Amelia came over and took Nathan’s arm. “Let’s go check on Elliot.” She pulled him away. After a few steps, he glanced back at me. I stood there, watching them disappear through the door. 6 My mind was still a mess as I left the gated community. I felt like something significant had happened in those seven years. “Jessica?” A cheerful voice called my name. I turned to see a familiar face. Maya. We had become friends when I was still Mrs. Lynch, one of the few genuine friendships I had made in that circle of wealthy wives. “What are you doing here? I thought you would never…” She trailed off, but I knew what she meant. If it hadn’t been for Elliot, I probably would have never set foot in this place again. I forced a smile. “Just passing through.” “Perfect timing. Come over for some tea. We need to catch up.” 7 Back in my own apartment, I stood in the entryway, not turning on the lights. My head was spinning. Maya’s words replayed in my mind, overlapping with Elliot’s. It seemed Nathan really was sick. Ever since I left. He had started drinking heavily, trying to drink himself to death. When he was drunk, he would lock himself in a room and smash things. Once, he nearly died from alcohol poisoning. An ambulance had to be called. After that, the Lynch family, fearing gossip, had a full set of medical equipment installed in the house and hired a private doctor to be on call 24/7. But how could something like that be kept a secret? It had become an open secret in the community. Everyone knew what it meant when an ambulance pulled up to the Lynch mansion. So everyone assumed that Nathan didn’t love Amelia at all. But during the day, they were as affectionate as ever. When the other wives talked about Amelia, it was always with a tone of contempt. “She’s poor and has no skills. I don’t know what Nathan sees in her.” “Do you think he has some kind of charity complex? He only seems to go for poor girls.” When I was with Nathan, I had been a scholarship student, too. Many people had mocked him behind his back for his “charity case.” But I had proven them all wrong. I had transformed myself from a poor student into a woman worthy of the Lynch name. Amelia, it seemed, lacked that ability. But love is irrational. I could be the better woman, but I wasn’t Amelia. And that was all that mattered. I shook my head, trying to clear it. What did I care if Nathan was sick? If he was unhappy, I should be happy. 8 After that, my life returned to its usual quiet rhythm. But sometimes, when I saw children playing in the park, I would get an urge. I wanted to go up to them and ask, “Have you ever bullied a boy named Elliot Lynch? Have you ever called him a bastard with no mom?” Elliot’s visit had been like a pebble tossed into a still lake, creating a few ripples that quickly faded. I thought that was the end of it. Until one night. My phone rang. An unknown number. I answered. “Mom.” It was Elliot’s voice. Young, and choked with tears. “Mom, come quick! Dad’s sick again!” A loud crash echoed through the phone, like something had been smashed. Then, a cacophony of voices, shouting and crying. My body moved before my brain could catch up. I grabbed my car keys and ran out the door. When I reached the Lynch mansion, it was lit up like a Christmas tree. The neighboring houses were also lit, with shadowy figures visible in the windows, watching the commotion. Elliot was already waiting for me at the gate. With him there, the security guards didn’t dare stop me. I followed him through the grand entryway and into the elevator. The elevator reached the third floor and the doors slid open. A vase came flying straight at us. I instinctively pulled Elliot behind me and dodged. The vase smashed against the elevator door, shattering into a thousand pieces. The living room was in ruins. Nathan stood in the center of the chaos. His eyes held a ferocity I had never seen before. Amelia was huddled in a corner, her face streaked with tears. “You drugged me!” Nathan roared, pointing at her, his voice hoarse. “Who are you? Why are you torturing me?!” “Why did you tear me and Jessica apart?!” I was completely stunned. But Elliot, he let go of my hand and, trembling, walked over to Nathan, taking his hand. “Dad.” His voice shook, but he tried to keep it steady. “Dad, I brought Mom back.” “See? I didn’t forget what she looks like.” Nathan looked down at him. The fierce look in his eyes softened. He slowly looked up at me. The madness in his eyes faded, replaced by confusion, by a desperate struggle to recognize me. Then, a flicker of light. “Jessica…” He staggered toward me, not even noticing the broken glass he was stepping on. “Jessica, I don’t want to forget you.” “Don’t go.” I was frozen, my mind still reeling. Before he could finish, a sound, half-laugh, half-sob, echoed through the room. Amelia, still in the corner, her face a mess of tears, was staring at Nathan. “Why?” Her voice was raw, as if it took all her strength to speak. “Why do I have the System, and I still can’t make you love me?” “You torture yourself, you bring yourself to the brink of death, just to break free from its control.” “I’ve tried so hard! I’ve tried everything!” She suddenly started laughing, tears streaming down her face. “Why can’t I have the one thing I want?!” “Why?!”

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In the black market, I fell for twin male incubi but could afford only one. I chose the younger brother, who had the better build. He hated me—resisted in bed, kept running back to the market to complain to his twin. “Brother, I can’t stand her. She’s plain, poor, and life with her is misery.” His brother, collared and chained in a steel cage, would soothe him gently: “She is kind. She won’t hurt you. Go back—don’t worry her.” I stood listening silently. When my eyes met his gentle gaze, my heart jumped. I sold my house and bought the older brother too. We moved into a basement with one bedroom. The older brother, Caelus, offered to sleep in the closet. “Master, this is fine. I was only bought because of my brother.” I stopped him, pulled out a contract, and handed it to the one who despised me. “It’s crowded here,” I said. “Why don’t you leave? Then you won’t suffer with me anymore.” He stared, eyes slowly reddening. “You… you only want my brother now? Not me?” 1 The incubus I had taken in was disobedient. He had bitten me again. This morning, as I was getting ready, I saw the bite mark on my neck had turned a deep, angry purple. It hurt to the touch. I tried to tell myself it was nothing, that it would fade in a few days. But as I looked at my plain, ordinary face in the bathroom mirror, I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. Kael, he despised me. He despised everything about me. My looks, my voice. Even the old house I lived in, he found it utterly repulsive. We had argued last night. In his rage, the truth had come out. “Seraphina,” he had spat, “you were the one who spent all your savings to buy me. I didn’t choose to come with you. If I had a choice, I would never have chosen you as my master, to be crammed into this shithole!” “So in the year you’ve been with me,” I had asked, a desperate hope clinging to my voice, “have you felt nothing for me at all?” “Nothing,” he had answered, his voice firm, his gaze sharp and unwavering, even as he was tied to the headboard. “Not a single thing.” The last sliver of hope I had been holding onto shattered. I splashed my face with water, took a deep breath, and wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. Then I took the foundation from the counter and carefully dabbed it over the mark on my neck. 2 Kael was still tied up in the bedroom. I had planned to untie him before I left for work. When I opened the door, he was curled up on the rug, his head down, long lashes trembling. He was probably pretending to be asleep. I knelt beside him and began to loosen the knot around his wrists. “Kael.” My voice was soft. He didn’t respond, his eyes still tightly shut. “I’m leaving for work. I’ll untie you, but can you promise me you’ll stay here and wait for me to come home?” “Heh. If you don’t want to untie me, just say so.” Kael finally opened his eyes, his expression impatient. I managed a weary smile and untied him. He seemed surprised, his sharp, almond-shaped eyes staring at me in disbelief. “You’re really letting me go? I didn’t promise to wait for you.” He used to run away all the time. But with his contract in my possession, he could never get far. It was just a hassle to track him down every time, which was why I had started tying him up. I nodded, too tired to argue. “I know. Just remember to take the keys.” 3 I had bought Kael at the black market last winter. There was no special reason. I just thought he was beautiful. Tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. A perfect body. At the time, I had also been interested in his brother, Caelus. They were twins, and they looked almost identical. The only difference was that Kael was perfectly healthy, while Caelus had a slight limp. But my savings were only enough for one of them. I had thought, an incubus is a companion for life, so I didn’t try to save a few bucks. I bought the most expensive one. But a year later, my quiet life was anything but happy. In fact, it was filled with more trouble than ever. Looking back, I regretted it. Would things have been different if I had chosen Caelus? But that shady shop had a strict no-returns policy. I sat at my desk, staring into space for a long time, then I checked my bank account on my phone. Only a few thousand left. I sighed. It was pointless to think about it. 4 “Hey, Sera, the boss is taking us out for dinner tonight. You in?” As the workday was ending, my colleague, Lena, came over and tapped me on the shoulder. I shook my head. She let out a knowing “oh.” “Right,” she said with a grin, “I forgot. You’ve got that handsome pet at home. He’s probably already made you dinner.” Kael, make me dinner? I’d be lucky if he hadn’t torn the place apart. I forced a smile, about to explain, but Lena was already off on another tangent. “It’s so great! Now I’m even more motivated to make money. I’m going to buy myself a beautiful man to take care of me, too.” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything more, just a word of caution. “When you do, make sure you buy from a reputable place that allows returns. Don’t ever go to the black market.” “Got it!” Usually, I was the first one out the door. But today, half an hour after closing time, I was still at my desk, tidying up, scrolling through my phone, checking the security camera feed from my apartment. Of course. Kael was gone again. Frustrated, I decided not to rush home. I walked down the street, turned into an alley, and after a few more turns, I found myself, almost unconsciously, back at the black market. 5 This place was a chaotic mix of the desperate and the depraved. It was filthy and disorganized. Small-time vendors selling beast-kin were everywhere. Some, sickly and weak, were crammed into small iron cages by the side of the road, their horns sawed in half. It was a pitiful sight. “Hey, miss! Take a look! A rare male deer-kin! Name your price!” I had only glanced at him for a second, but a burly merchant was already calling out to me. I was broke, and as much as my heart ached for the poor creature, I could do nothing but hurry on. Following the faint trail of memory, I found the shady shop from last year. It was still in business. The owner was dozing in a chair by the entrance and didn’t stir as I walked in. I slowed my steps and tiptoed to the back courtyard. Just as I stepped inside, I heard a familiar voice. “Brother, has anyone tried to buy you recently?” It was Kael. So this was where he ran off to. To see his brother. 6 I stayed hidden behind the door, listening. “A customer came last week. Looked at me twice, but he never paid. I’m a cripple. No one wants me.” “Brother, if it wasn’t for you saving me when we were kids, your leg wouldn’t have been injured by the traders. I was the one who was playing around and ran off. I’m the one who got you into this mess.” “Brother, I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay, Kael. It’s not your fault.” Caelus was locked in a large iron cage, a metal collar around his neck. He gripped the bars, and even though it was a struggle to breathe, he still managed a gentle, reassuring smile for his brother. “I’ve never blamed you. I just want you to be happy. You’re free now, not a piece of merchandise. Forget about the past.” Kael squatted outside the cage, his arms resting on his knees. He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not really free. The woman who bought me is so paranoid I’ll run away, she’s always watching me.” Hearing him mention me, my hand clenched into a fist, my heart pounding in my chest. “She’s so annoying. I’d rather be here than with her.” Kael’s brow furrowed. “She’s not pretty, and she’s poor. The clothes she buys me are cheap rags. They’re so uncomfortable.” “It’s only been a year. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with her. It’s going to be miserable…” Before he could finish, Caelus cut him off. “It won’t be. It’s normal for things to be a little tight at the beginning. The woman who bought you, she seems like a kind person. She won’t mistreat you in the future.” “Kind? What’s kind about her? She ties me up all the time. Look, I still have marks on my wrists.” Kael pulled up his sleeve to show the faint red lines around his wrist. “I’ve had enough. You don’t know what my life is like. If I could, I’d trade places with you. You can deal with that ugly woman.” “She’s your master. It’s her right to discipline you. And she’s not ugly. Don’t talk nonsense.” “It’s the truth. I’m not talking nonsense.” 7 His words were like daggers, piercing my ears and lodging in my throat, a painful, bitter lump. I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned to leave. My foot hit an empty can, and it clattered across the pavement. Their heads snapped in my direction. Caelus saw me first. A small smile touched his lips, a gentle, almost submissive gesture. Kael’s face paled. He stood up, looking awkward and flustered. “You… what are you doing here?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “I came to take you home.” But before he could answer, I turned and fled. 8 “Hey, Seraphina.” Kael caught up to me, grabbing the corner of my shirt. “What’s the rush?” I ignored him, prying his fingers off my shirt and continuing to walk. But my mind was filled with the image of Caelus’s small, placating smile. He was different from Kael, after all. He had a small beauty mark under his left eye, and when he smiled, it would dance upwards. “Were you standing there the whole time?” “Did you hear what I said to my brother?” And Caelus’s leg… he wasn’t born with it. It was an injury he had gotten while saving his brother. My heart ached for him. He was so much more pitiful than Kael. “Hey, I’m talking to you! Are you deaf?” The man’s voice behind me rose in pitch, shattering my thoughts. I couldn’t help but frown. “Yes, I heard. I heard everything.” Kael’s breath hitched. A flicker of unease crossed his face, and his voice dropped. “I was telling the truth… you do tie me up all the time.” “Yes, it’s the truth. I’m ugly, I’m poor, I abuse you. In your eyes, I’m a monster.” For once, I didn’t argue. I just agreed with him. Kael fell silent. Maybe he was angry. He lowered his eyes and didn’t speak again. On the way home, I kept glancing up at the tall, young man beside me. He had handsome features, sharp and well-defined. Even among the incubi, a race known for their beauty, he was stunning. But the black hoodie he was wearing was cheap and worn, just like mine, pilling from too many washes. It was true. If he hadn’t been bought by a poor woman like me, his life would have been much better. If he resented me for it, then so be it. 9 Back at the old, dilapidated house, I didn’t tie Kael up as I usually did, or lecture him about running away. I just took a quick shower and locked myself in my bedroom. My mind was a mess. But not because of Kael. Knock, knock, knock. In the middle of the night, someone knocked on my door. “Seraphina, are you still awake?” It was Kael, his voice muffled by the door. “What is it?” “Open the door, and I’ll tell you.” I stayed in bed, my eyes closed. When I woke up again, a shadow was looming over me. Kael had found the spare key and let himself in. He was just standing there, by my bed, watching me. I don’t know how long he had been there. I sat up, pulling the covers with me, and huddled against the wall. “What do you want?” His throat moved. His lips parted. His tail twitched nervously behind him. “Um…” “I’m sorry.” The words came out in a rush, as if they were burning his tongue. I yawned and waved a hand. “It’s fine. I forgive you. Now get out.” He didn’t move. I patted the pillow beside me. “You want to sleep here?” For the past year, even though he hated physical contact with me, we had always slept in the same room. We had never slept apart, not even when we fought. Maybe my sudden coldness had thrown him off. As I said it, Kael lifted the corner of the covers and took off his pajama top. Then, a firm pressure on my waist. He wrapped himself around me, his tail pressing against me in a placating gesture. “I’m tired. Just lie still and sleep.” I shifted away from him. Kael immediately got annoyed. “Fine. It’s not like I wanted to touch you anyway.” I scooted closer to the edge of the bed, putting more distance between us. He got even more agitated. “And you’re so fake.” He tugged at the covers and turned his back to me. 10 On Saturday morning, I went to a real estate agency. The old house was in a good location. It was run-down, but it was convenient for commuting and close to a school. It was probably worth a lot of money now. Last year, my plan had been to use all my savings to buy the most beautiful incubus I could find, then sell the old house and get a smaller, nicer apartment. A comfortable life. But Kael was so disobedient, so restless, and I was so busy with work, that I had put it off. “Ms. Lin, your house is in a prime school district. We estimate it’s worth around six hundred thousand. Are you looking to sell quickly?” The agent greeted me with a warm smile. I shook my head. “I’m not in a hurry. I’m still thinking about it.” “Of course. Take your time. We’re always here if you need us.” I took the hot tea she offered and sat on a nearby bench. Just then, a young woman walked in, a handsome beast-kin boy trailing behind her. She was looking to rent. The woman had a loud, boisterous voice and was haggling with the agent. Her beast-kin companion stood quietly by her side, occasionally tugging on her sleeve and whispering. “Sister, the rent here is so expensive. Let’s not.” “The place we have now is fine, really. I’m strong. I can walk a little further after work. It’s good exercise.” He was so considerate. I was filled with a mixture of envy and a familiar, bitter ache. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Kael. [Hey, where are you? I’m hungry.] No greeting, no concern. Just a demand. [If you’re hungry, eat some ramen. I’m out taking care of something.] I had no expectations of him anymore. [That’s not the kind of hungry I mean… It’s a physical hunger. You ignored me last night! Did you forget?] [I’m really busy. Can’t you just hold on for a bit?] [Why should I have to hold on? What did you buy me for, then?] His tone was sharp and accusatory. I hesitated for a moment, then swiped to turn on “do not disturb.”

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I was at the community clinic with Leo and Lily for their vaccinations, and while we waited, I idly flipped through their health records. Leo, blood type A. Lily, blood type B. I thumbed back a page, double-checking my brother Owen’s blood type. Type O. His wife, Sarah, was Type A. Father Type O, Mother Type A – a child could only be Type A or Type O. Type B? Impossible. Unless… Lily’s biological father was someone else entirely. I snapped the health record shut. The nurse’s voice calling out numbers buzzed in my ears, distant and muffled. Sarah was squatting nearby, wiping drool from Lily’s chin. She looked up and smiled at me. “Skylar, what are you spacing out about with that book?” I offered a smile in return. “Oh, nothing. Just checking how much weight they’ve gained.” That secret, I kept to myself. For three years, it remained hidden. 01 Back home after the shots, the whole family was gathered in the living room, doting on the kids. My mom lifted Leo high, laughing delightedly. “Look at Leo’s eyebrows! Exactly like Owen’s when he was little!” My dad chimed in, “Lily takes after Sarah, with those big eyes. She’ll be a real beauty someday.” Sarah leaned back on the sofa, a perfectly poised smile playing on her lips. “They each take after one of us, Mom and Dad. It’s perfect, isn’t it?” I sat in a corner, nursing a glass of water, saying nothing. They each take after one of us. She’d uttered that phrase a hundred times. Whenever a relative or friend remarked that “the two children don’t look very much alike,” she’d just wave it away with that line, light as air. Everyone would just smile, no one thinking much of it. My brother, Owen, emerged from the kitchen, bringing out a dish. His apron was stained with grease, and sweat beaded on his forehead. “Sarah, try this sweet and sour ribs. I added the cherries you love.” Sarah didn’t even glance at it. “Ribs again? Can’t you ever make something different?” Owen paused, his smile faltering slightly. “How about I make fish tomorrow?” “Whatever.” She picked up her phone, dismissing him. My mom quickly intervened. “Sarah’s busy with work, and her appetite isn’t great, Owen. Don’t take it to heart.” Owen nodded, silently placing the ribs near Sarah’s hand. I’d witnessed this scene countless times over the past three years. Owen cooked, washed dishes, took care of the children, fixed leaky pipes – he did everything. And Sarah? She’d come home from work, sprawl on the sofa, scrolling on her phone. She’d occasionally hold Leo, but she was exceptionally attentive to Lily. The clothes she bought for Lily were all designer brands. Leo wore Lily’s hand-me-downs. “Boys are sturdy, they can wear anything,” she’d explain. I never said anything. But I remembered clearly: Leo was the older brother, Lily the younger. He was born a full four minutes before her. What kind of logic was it for the older brother to wear his younger sister’s cast-offs? After dinner, I helped clear the dishes. Owen was in the kitchen washing a pot, his voice low as he spoke to me. “Skylar, Sarah hasn’t been in a great mood lately. Don’t pay it any mind.” I looked at the red marks on his hands, splattered by hot oil. “Owen, is she good to you?” He paused, then laughed. “We’re a couple, right? Just a long adjustment period.” Three years, and still adjusting. I put the last bowl in the cupboard, asking no more questions. As I was leaving, changing my shoes by the door, Lily toddled over and hugged my leg, looking up and calling for “Auntie.” I knelt down to look at her face. Big eyes, a delicate nose, a pointed chin. She certainly resembled Sarah. But her earlobes… They were completely attached to her face, small and fused. Owen, had detached earlobes. Sarah, also had detached earlobes. Two people with detached earlobes, having a child with attached earlobes? Genetically speaking, the probability was close to zero. I stroked Lily’s head and stood up. “Auntie’s leaving now, be a good girl.” I stood in the hallway for a long time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to speak. I couldn’t. What if I was wrong? What if there was another explanation? But I’d studied genetics for seven years, and I couldn’t find any “other explanation” that could simultaneously account for both the blood type and the earlobes. The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside, pressing the ground floor button. For three years, I had been waiting for the right moment. 02 I remembered everything clearly from three years ago. Sarah was Owen’s college classmate; they dated for five years, and she became pregnant in their second year of marriage. The whole family was overjoyed when she was expecting, especially my mom. “It’s twins! Our family lineage must have some good karma!” Owen practically worshipped Sarah. He quit a high-paying project team with long hours, coming home on time every day to cook. Sarah suffered severe morning sickness during her pregnancy, and Owen would hold a basin by her bedside at night. She craved dumplings at three in the morning, and he’d ride his electric scooter across four neighborhoods just to find them. The day the children were born, Owen cried like a baby outside the delivery room. Two boys, seven pounds two ounces and six pounds eight ounces, mother and sons healthy. The whole family was radiant with joy. No one noticed the fleeting moment of panic in Sarah’s eyes in the delivery room. I did. Back then, I hadn’t considered the blood types, but I remembered her expression freezing for a second when she saw Lily. Then she quickly smiled. “They both look just like you,” she told Owen. During her confinement period, I went home to help with the babies. Sarah’s mother also came – an impeccably dressed, sharp-tongued woman. She called Owen “young Owen,” her tone imbued with an undeniable sense of superiority. “Young Owen, Sarah has never known hardship since childhood. You’ll have to take good care of her.” Owen smiled and agreed. Sarah’s mother only held Lily, barely touching Leo. I asked her about it once. “Auntie, Leo’s fussy too, could you help soothe him?” She gave me a dismissive glance. “The older one takes after your family, you soothe him. The younger one is like our Sarah, I feel for her.” Even then, I felt something was off. They were just twins; did they need to be so distinctly separated? But what truly made me suspicious was the first month celebration. One of Sarah’s female friends arrived, dressed elegantly, driving a white BMW. When she picked up Lily, she froze for a full three seconds. Then she quickly walked to the hallway, grabbed Sarah’s arm, and whispered something. I only caught the last few words as I passed by. “…Are you out of your mind?” Sarah yanked her hand away, her face pale. “Stay out of it.” I never forgot that incident. I remembered it for three years. That friend never appeared at Owen’s house again. Sarah said she had moved abroad. But I’d seen her checking in at a local Japanese restaurant on Sarah’s social media just a month before. She hadn’t moved abroad. She’d been blocked by Sarah. I collected these fragmented pieces, like a puzzle, fitting them together towards a conclusion I didn’t want to believe. Until that day at the clinic, when I saw the blood types in the health records. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. The picture was complete. And it was ugly. 03 After the children turned two, Sarah changed. Or rather, she stopped pretending. Owen’s construction business had been going for six years; he’d made some money in the early years and bought a two-bedroom apartment in the city center, titled in both their names. There was still a $32,000 car loan outstanding. Sarah worked as an administrator at a real estate company, earning just over seven thousand dollars a month, but her spending speed was three times her salary. First, she upgraded her phone to the latest iPhone model. Then came the bags; a $1,200 Coach was replaced by a $3,600 Celine. My mom would occasionally grumble, and Sarah would shoot back with a smile. “Mom, if a woman doesn’t treat herself well, who will?” My mom would fall silent. Owen, meanwhile, still woke up at six every morning, left for the construction site at seven, and returned home around eight in the evening, still needing to cook and put the kids to bed. One weekend, I visited their house and found him asleep on the kitchen floor, leaning against the cabinets. The soup in the pot was still bubbling. Sarah was in the bedroom, watching TV with a face mask on, the volume cranked up. I turned off the stove and woke Owen. He rubbed his eyes, his first words being: “Is the soup ready? Sarah’s waiting for it.” My nose stung, and I couldn’t hold it back. “Owen, aren’t you tired?” “No.” He got up and stirred the soup. “A man just has to shoulder it, right?” He wasn’t tired, but my heart ached for him. Three months later, on a Saturday, I went to see my nephews as usual. Opening the door, the sight inside stunned me. The wedding photo on the living room wall had been taken down. In its place was a solo artistic photo of Sarah – in a long white dress, by the beach, smiling brightly. “Sarah said the wedding photo was ugly, so she changed it,” Owen explained. On the coffee table, Leo was gnawing on a teething biscuit. Lily sat in Sarah’s lap, wearing a navy blue children’s suit jacket with a small gold emblem on the collar. I recognized that emblem. Burberry Kids. One piece, at least two thousand. And Leo? He wore a faded cotton t-shirt with a thumb-sized hole at the elbow. I knelt down and picked Leo up. “Sarah, Leo’s clothes need changing.” Sarah didn’t even look up. “Boys wear out clothes quickly; it’s a waste to buy anything too good.” “Lily’s a boy too.” She finally looked up at me, her gaze momentarily cold. “Lily is delicate. Better fabrics are less likely to cause allergies.” I didn’t say anything more. But as I left that day, I passed by the spare bedroom door and saw a partially opened delivery box. A corner of something was visible inside – a pair of children’s shoes, with the New Balance logo on the box. The size was Lily’s. Next to it was a shopping bag from “Rainbow Heights Baby & Toddler.” I knew that store. The one downtown, specializing in imported baby products; a single pair of socks cost ninety dollars. There was a receipt in the bag; I glanced at it while pretending to tidy up. Total amount: $4,312. The memo section read: For Lily only. Four thousand three hundred. Owen had borrowed five thousand dollars from me last month, saying he needed to pay Leo’s preschool tuition. One month’s tuition was eighteen hundred. He had to borrow even eighteen hundred. She spent four thousand three hundred on Lily in one go. I pushed the corner of the delivery box back in and gently closed the door. Walking out of the apartment complex gate, the wind was strong. I stood by the roadside for a long time before I managed to flag down a taxi. The driver asked where I was going. I gave the address, then turned to stare out the window. The taxi driver probably saw my face in the rearview mirror and said nothing more. 04 The turning point came on the children’s third birthday. Owen had decorated the house with balloons and streamers, and ordered a two-tiered buttercream cake with a “3” candle. The whole family was there: my parents, my aunt and uncle’s family, and Sarah’s mother. The two children, dressed in new clothes, ran around the living room. Leo’s new clothes were bought by Owen online: a pure cotton plaid shirt, tag price $89. Lily’s new clothes were bought by Sarah, and you could tell at a glance they weren’t cheap. When it was time for cake, Sarah’s mother held Lily on her lap, feeding her bite by bite. Leo reached for the cake, but Sarah’s mother blocked him. “Wait, let your brother eat first.” Leo’s hand retracted, watching longingly. I cut a piece of cake and handed it to Leo. Sarah’s mother glared at me. “This child is too impatient, no manners at all.” My mom quickly interjected, “My dear relative, they’re just kids, they’re all greedy.” Sarah’s mother huffed, saying nothing more. But what happened next made me completely unable to sit still. When it was time to blow out the candles, Sarah pulled out her phone to take pictures. “Lily, sit here, yes, turn your face this way.” She took seven or eight shots, changing angles three or four times. Then she put her phone away. Leo was still standing by the cake, his face smeared with frosting, smiling and showing his two little canine teeth. “Mommy, take my picture.” Sarah looked down at her phone, as if she hadn’t heard. “Mommy, please take my picture.” Leo tugged at her sleeve. Sarah impatiently pushed his hand away. “Your face is all covered in frosting, it won’t look good. Don’t fuss.” Leo’s smile slowly faded. The three-year-old’s eyes slowly welled up, but he didn’t cry. He just quietly took two steps back and stood in the corner of the table. My fork in my hand was twisted out of shape. My aunt leaned over and whispered, “Skylar, isn’t Sarah treating the two children too differently?” I didn’t answer. But that night, after I got home, I sat at my desk for a full hour. In the drawer lay the blood type data I had copied from Leo’s health record a year ago. A and B. My brother, Owen, Type O. Sarah, Type A. Father O, Mother A – a child could not be Type B. Unless Lily’s father carried the Type B blood gene. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Three years. The moment I had been waiting for, perhaps I shouldn’t wait any longer.

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It was my third rebirth, and Jake had died again at 28. Unwilling to accept it, I started over, as always. We met, fell in love, and then something shifted. He began using his “poor mental state” as an excuse to frequently see his therapist. Until one day I walked in on them kissing in her office. Jake sneered: “You might think I’m crazy if I told you, but I’ve actually died three times, and each time was right next to Serena. I originally wanted to see how she would save me, but now I think she’s just bad luck. I’ll keep my distance, and look, I’m perfectly fine.” I quietly retreated. In this fourth life, whether he lived or died, it had nothing to do with me. I was going to live my own life. 1 I can’t describe how I felt hearing those words. Jake was leaning into Dr. Evelyn Woodeson’s neck, sniffing her long hair. Dr. Woodeson was his therapist. Jake had recently been complaining about feeling mentally chaotic and needing to see a doctor. I never imagined this was the kind of “seeing a doctor” he meant. Their intimacy was a blinding sight. The rage of betrayal instantly consumed all my reason. I wanted to storm in and demand an explanation for his actions. Across three lifetimes, Jake’s heart had, from beginning to end, belonged to me. I had held this belief firmly, yet the reality of this fourth life struck me like a physical blow. I was incredulous, wondering if I had misunderstood something. Then, the Jake I believed loved me most deeply, most passionately, and most faithfully, spoke. He squinted, playfully twirling Dr. Woodeson’s long hair as she sat on his lap, then scoffed: “Dr. Woodeson, do you think there’s really something wrong with my head? But I don’t think those first three deaths were fake; the pain still sends shivers down my spine just thinking about it.” Dr. Woodeson clutched her chest, her concern affected. “Oh dear, what if you die again this time?” Jake curled his lips into a smile. “How could I? Each life I spent with Serena, and each time I died right beside her. I originally wanted to see how she’d save me, but now I realize she must just be cursed. I keep my distance, and look, I’m perfectly fine. This life, I have you, Dr. Evelyn.” His voice hitched slightly on the last words, making Dr. Woodeson blush and playfully complain: “Well then, you’ve found the right person. Dr. Woodeson will fix you this lifetime.” In that moment, the muffled laughter of the man and woman inside the room reached my ears, distorted as if through a membrane. Jake’s words replayed and amplified in my mind, making my heart clench, a suffocating feeling washing over me. I leaned against the wall, gasping for air. I couldn’t remember how I got home that day. I only recalled collapsing onto the sofa, my body drained of all strength. It felt as though my spine had been removed, leaving me limp. This was no exaggeration. What had sustained me through each rebirth was the obsession to save Jake at 28. In the first life, he died when we were most in love. We had just gotten our marriage license. He was driving us on a road trip, and I was admiring my ring, saying I wanted to design a matching pair of earrings. His “That sounds lovely” hadn’t even fully left his lips when a runaway truck crashed into us with a sickening crunch. In that instant, time seemed to slow. In my widened eyes, dilated with horror, I clearly saw him lunge towards me, half his body shielding mine. Finally, I saw his bloodshot eyes, unwilling to close, filled with love and pain. I screamed, sobbing uncontrollably. My mind had only one thought: No, no, Jake can’t die, we have so much left to do… I want to start over, I want to save him! Then, suddenly, a voice in my head asked: Are you sure? Sure you want to give up your future, and go back to do something that might fail, repeating it again and again? I said yes. So I tried for one lifetime, two lifetimes… And this lifetime tells me he knew everything. He watched me, so pathetic and desperate, begging him to live. He even said I was bad luck, that I was the reason he died. 2 It was late when Jake returned home. I was still sitting on the sofa, replaying every step, trying to figure out where I went wrong, when his heart had changed. “Why are the lights off? What are you staring at?” His voice was as gentle as ever. He sat beside me, naturally reaching out to put an arm around my waist, acting so normal it was as if what I’d just witnessed had been a dream. I reflexively recoiled. The atmosphere grew stiff. A hint of coolness flickered in Jake’s eyes; he clearly sensed my abnormality. But, as if annoyed, he didn’t ask. “I’m going to bed. You should get some rest too.” I slept terribly that night. Even with Jake beside me, my mind replayed the scenes of his death over and over. In the first life, he died instantly in the car crash. Blood seeped from his body, soaking my shirt. In the second life, we were married, but we didn’t go on a honeymoon, so that car accident never happened. Then, something absurdly unexpected occurred. He came to pick me up from work, and a billboard above us came crashing down. It landed squarely on him. I watched, helpless, as the tall man was crushed without a trace. It was as if fate demanded his death. I refused to believe it, so we started the third life. This time, I quit my job. After we married, I stayed by his side almost constantly, terrified that something might happen if I looked away. We made it, against all odds, to his 28th birthday. As he blew out the candles, the light illuminated his sparkling eyes. In the glow, he confessed his love to me, his eyes misty: “Serena, it’s so good to have you.” My heart raced. I noticed his smile fading, his face blurring. A powerful sense of dread threatened to overwhelm me. Then Jake coughed up a mouthful of blood. Perhaps it was the passage of time, or perhaps my panic was too overwhelming to hold other memories. I couldn’t recall the name of his illness. It was some rare condition, and his life ended abruptly, almost absurdly quickly. My last memory was of a pristine white hospital room. In the deathly silence, only the faintly flashing monitor persistently beeped, as if severing his last thread of life. I couldn’t accept it. How could I? Jake and I met when we were young. I was a country bumpkin from a rural town, but because I was pretty and had an enviable talent for dance, a few girls in my class began to subtly target me. I endured it, and endured it, until the day they overturned my grandmother’s pancake stall. Amidst the chaos, I held back tears, helping my grandmother up. The girls, bright and polished, laughed condescendingly, their voices sharp. They called me “pancake girl,” telling me to go home and flip pancakes. My grandmother was mute; she mumbled and gestured, wiping the grease from my clothes. They laughed even harder. And then Jake appeared. He held a camera, and a quick phone call brought the school administrators. He was a good student, and his family had some money, making him a formidable presence in our small town. It was an evening, and though the daytime sky had been gloomy, somehow, at that moment, the sun broke through the layers of haze and poured directly onto Jake. He extended his hand, and in his palm was a clean, neatly folded handkerchief. His first words were: “I’m sorry, I wanted to capture the evidence first, so I didn’t help you right away.” Even now, I remember how my heart pounded that day. Violent and strong, it had sustained me through countless worlds where I cycled alone through his deaths. 3 Even on the second morning, I was still somewhat disoriented. Jake was awake by then. He put on the clothes I’d ironed for him, glancing at me as I arranged breakfast on the table. “Aren’t you going to the dance company? Just going to stay home? There’s nothing for you to do here, is there…” His voice trailed off on the last few words, tinged with bewilderment. My hand paused as I wiped the table. I looked up at him, but he immediately averted his gaze. “You eat breakfast here. I won’t. Don’t see me off, and don’t pick me up tonight. I’m going to see Dr. Woodeson.” He rubbed his temple at the appropriate moment, his tone casual. If it were before, I would have worried about his state. But now, I only felt a chill in my heart. He was almost 28, and we were about to get our marriage license. In previous lives, at this point, I had completely lost the desire to work, consumed by fear and anxiety. So I simply resigned from the dance company and truly became a housewife. At the time, he thought I was too tired and said with a smile: “Then don’t go. From now on, you’ll only dance for me. With me around, what do you have to worry about?” I accompanied him to and from work, and he proudly introduced me to his colleagues, showing off our matching rings. But now, he looked at me warily and coldly, telling me: “Don’t keep an eye on me all day. Find something to do for yourself. Don’t stare at me and let your imagination run wild; now you’re saying all sorts of things.” He was about to say more, but then he froze. My tone was very flat and cold: “No, we won’t.” Just three words, but they were a struggle to say. Jake was momentarily taken aback, a hint of confusion in his eyes. “What did you say?” His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, sounding as if he was suppressing some joy. I suddenly remembered what he’d said to Dr. Woodeson: “She’s always clinging to me, like bad luck. How could I not have something happen to me?” My tears welled up, but I held them back. Instead, a surge of indignation rushed to my head, and my cold blood felt like it was set ablaze. I smiled silently: “What? You’re happy I said no to marriage? Jake, you haven’t actually fallen for someone else, have you? Impatient to get rid of me?” Realizing I might be joking and teasing him, his face immediately changed, darkening frighteningly: “Serena, I think you’re the one with mental issues. Is this fun? No wonder I haven’t been feeling well lately; it turns out you’re affecting me.” He looked down at me, indignantly threw off his jacket, and went to sleep in the guest bedroom. The living room returned to silence, but the oppressive feeling lingered. I tilted my head back, looking at the ceiling, and the tears I’d held back for so long didn’t retreat, but streamed out, vying for release. After that day, Jake and my relationship became even colder. He began openly seeing Dr. Woodeson. When I confronted him, heartbroken, he just looked at me blandly, his expression mocking: “Then just give up on me. Don’t get married. Your world isn’t just me.” He was so calm, it made me feel like the crazy one. I was speechless.

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1 The fourth time it happened, my mom floored the gas and exploded the car. My dad and my childhood sweetheart’s mom were locked in a passionate embrace inside. When the rescue team pulled their bodies out, they were charred, but still fused together. After that day, Finn and I, once inseparable lovers, became bitter enemies. He brought people to trash my dad’s wake and desecrate his grave. Not to be outdone, I dumped his mom’s ashes down the toilet. He shattered my head with a liquor bottle; I nearly blinded him with a knife. Just when I thought we were destined to be lifelong foes, he threatened my mother’s life and forced me to marry him. He said, “Scarlett, the debt your parents owe, I want you to pay it.” “The Nicholas family is ruined because of me. Your mom’s pathetic life is in my hands now.” “If you don’t want her to die, you’ll quietly endure my revenge for them.” Three years into our marriage, he used every means to torment me, including in bed. Yet, he despised those who kept mistresses and shamed their wives. He always said he hated infidelity more than anything. Until his adopted sister showed up, claiming she was pregnant with his child. … “Serena, that night was really an accident. Both Finn and I were drunk, that’s why…” Hope’s eyes were teary, one hand gently cradling her slightly protruding belly. Even at five months pregnant, she exuded an innocent, pitiful aura. If this were before, I might have mercilessly exposed her pretense. But now, I no longer cared. The people he sent had already arrived at the sanatorium, ready to take Mom and me away. “You don’t need to explain to me. What Finn does is none of my business, and I have no interest in making it so.” “I have things to do. Please leave.” I picked up my bag, slipped on my shoes, and tried to walk around her to open the door. The next second, she grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh, making me wince. “No, it is your business.” Her gaze suddenly turned obsessive and wild. She whispered in my ear: “Because only you can make him keep this baby.” “What?” I turned to look at her. The next second, the door opened from the outside. Hope suddenly let go of me and dramatically fell backward. “Ah!” Her head hit the wooden edge of the sunken entryway with a thud, and blood immediately gushed out. I froze, instinctively reaching out to help her. A figure suddenly burst in, slamming into me. I was thrown uncontrollably into the sharp corner of the shoe cabinet behind me, a searing pain shooting through my lower back. It made my knees buckle, and I involuntarily collapsed to the floor. Finn, however, didn’t even glance at me, only cradling Hope tenderly. Hope, curled in his arms, sobbed, struggling to breathe, blood dripping from her pale neck onto his arm. “Brother, please don’t blame Scarlett. She was just angry, that’s why she treated me this way.” “My stomach hurts so much. Please save our baby, please…” Finn hooked his foot under my chin, his eyes blazing with fury, yet containing a hint of undetectable scrutiny. “Scarlett, why are you so wicked? How dare you touch my child?” I suppressed the pain, repeatedly slamming my head against the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Again and again, until warm blood seeped from my forehead. I couldn’t be bothered to explain. I only remembered that six months ago, Hope jumped into the heated pool and accused me of pushing her. My explanation resulted in him ordering his men to strip me and throw me into a winter lake. Looking at my blood-streaked face, he spoke coldly: “Alright, you better pray this child is fine. Otherwise, I’ll make sure both you and your mom are buried with it.” With that, he carried Hope away, striding quickly. I struggled to my feet, grabbing my bag, intending to rush to the sanatorium. However, as soon as I stepped out of the villa’s main gate, two bodyguards suddenly appeared, forcibly pushing me into a car. 2 At the hospital, I lay on a gurney, held down. A nurse plunged a needle into my arm. Blood was drawn, bag after bag. It didn’t hurt, but I felt cold. Outside the door, a doctor’s voice drifted in. “Mr. Hayes, Mrs. Nicholas’s body is already severely depleted from her two previous miscarriages. Drawing too much blood will be dangerous. Perhaps we could use blood from the blood bank…” “No. How can we be sure a stranger’s blood is clean? Just draw it. She’s stubborn; she won’t die.” After 500cc of blood was drawn, my vision blurred, and my lips had turned purple. The nurse urgently stopped, running out to say that should be enough. Finn pushed the door open and came in, instinctively reaching out to touch my forehead. I turned my head away, speaking hoarsely. “I’m fine. I won’t die.” He scoffed, withdrawing his hand curtly. “This is what you owe Hope. Don’t pretend.” “Didn’t you say you didn’t care? What, knowing she’s pregnant with my child, you can’t keep up the act?” So, he thought I was jealous, which was why I attacked Hope. I forced a pale smile, looking at him mockingly. “You’re overthinking it. Even if you have a litter of children with her, I have no right to object, do I?” His gaze was furious. He gripped my wrist tightly. “Then why are you laughing?” “I’m just laughing at how worthless all those vows you made truly are.” Three years ago, my dad and his mom’s affair became a public scandal. His dad, seeing the news in the hospital, suffered a heart attack and passed away. On the day of the burial, Finn threatened my mom’s life, dragging me to kneel before his dad’s tombstone. He swore he would bind himself to me forever, to torment me, this wicked woman, relentlessly. He also bowed to his dad, saying, “Dad, forgive me, I can’t bury Mom’s ashes with yours… No, she doesn’t deserve to be my mother! All who are unfaithful to their marriage and partner deserve to die!” But three years later, he became the one unfaithful to his marriage. “Hope and I… that day was an accident.” He released my hand, his gaze unusually remorseful. “It was the third anniversary of our dad’s death. Hope and I both drank too much, that’s why… it wasn’t my intention. You know, I’ve only ever seen her as a sister since we were kids.” In three years, it was the first time he had explained himself so patiently. “I originally wanted her to get rid of the baby and go abroad, but the doctor said she has a unique constitution; if she miscarries, she might be infertile for life. Scarlett, you’ve miscarried twice already and it will be difficult for you to get pregnant again. Hope said she’s willing to give birth to this child for us to raise.” He held my cold hand, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “When the child is born, you will be its mother, the only one.” “Scarlett, we’ve hated each other long enough. I’m tired. After this child is born, can we live a good life, please?” His eyes were hopeful yet cautious, instantly reminding me of the past. When he first saw me at six years old, he had mumbled to the adults that he would marry me. For the next eighteen years, he would do anything for me, saying I was his whole world. Until three years ago, he found out that before my mom drove off to catch my dad, I was the only one who had spoken to her. He hated me fiercely, saying: “Even if your dad and my mom did something wrong, they didn’t deserve to die, did they? Why were you so cruel as to instigate your mom to kill them!” I endured the pain and tried to explain, it wasn’t me. He was about to believe me, when another piece of bad news arrived. His dad, recuperating in the hospital, suddenly suffered a heart attack from shock and died. Before he died, he had also only seen me. Finn completely lost his mind. He grabbed my throat and roared: “What did my dad ever do to you that you would hurt him like this!” In that moment, all love turned into hatred and venom. Just like the look in my eyes when I stared at him now. “No need. I don’t make a habit of being cuckolded and raising other people’s children.” “Finn, if you feel your hatred for me is satisfied, please set me free.” His expression suddenly changed, and he was about to speak when Hope’s crying voice came from outside the door. “Brother, does Scarlett really not accept our baby?” “If that’s the case, I’ll just get rid of it!” She cried and ran outside. Finn quickly got up and chased after her. My phone rang again. When I answered, the person on the other end spoke anxiously: “Scarlett, why haven’t you gone to the sanatorium yet? Don’t you want to come see me?” “No, there have been some unexpected issues. Give me a few more days.” After hanging up, I could no longer support myself. My eyes rolled back, and I completely fainted. 3 I had a very long dream. In the dream, I found myself back five years ago, to the first time I was pregnant with Finn’s child. The baby was also five months old then. Both families were overjoyed, discussing our engagement. But on the way to a prenatal check-up, we had a severe car accident. Finn, his head bleeding, desperately shielded me. The deformed car door trapped his leg. Rescue workers said the car was at risk of exploding at any moment and wanted to saw off the door to pull him out, but he roared: “Don’t worry about me, save my wife first!” I was rushed to the hospital and underwent surgery for three days, but the baby didn’t make it. When I woke up, I learned that when the rescuers sawed open the car door, his leg had been crushed and mangled by the twisted metal. The doctor said he would have needed an amputation if they’d been half an hour later. Learning I was awake, he ignored everyone’s advice, dragging his injured leg to hold me, sobbing uncontrollably. “Scarlett, I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault for not protecting you and our baby! Thank God you’re okay, otherwise I wouldn’t want to live either!” I cried, calling him silly, secretly vowing in my heart that he was the one for me, always. The next second, the dream shifted. I was submerged in the icy lake water of winter, my lower body wracked with pain, as if being slowly tortured by countless sharp knives. On the shore, Finn held Hope’s shoulder, his eyes cold and full of resentment. “You like pushing people into the water so much, why don’t you get a good feel for it yourself!” With that, he ignored my pleas and cries of pain, turning and leaving. By the time I was dragged ashore, the water beneath me was stained red. My second child was lost that way. “No!” I woke with a start from the dream, finding myself still lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. The nurse said I had been unconscious for three full days. “Mr. Hayes came every day, holding your hand for a long time. You’re truly blessed, Mrs. Nicholas.” I gave a self-deprecating laugh. Am I? He’s hurt me like this; am I supposed to be grateful? Finn arrived quickly after learning I was awake. His collar was half-open, and he still carried the scent of magnolia, which Hope loved. “Awake? Hope is threatening to abort the baby because of your words. Come back with me and apologize to her.” He roughly pulled out my IV, dragging me from the bed. “I told her you’d personally take care of her until the baby is born, so she shouldn’t overthink it.” “When we get home, remember to do as I say.” I shook off his hand and sneered, “Why should I?” He didn’t get angry. He simply pulled out his phone and showed me a video of my mom’s monitoring at the sanatorium. “Scarlett, do you have no idea how much your mom’s medical and nursing care has cost me these past three years?” “If you refuse, then I’ll have no choice but to have her medical equipment and care withdrawn.” I stared at his phone screen, my nails digging into my palms. After a moment, I lowered my eyes in compromise. “Fine, I promise.” “That’s better. I told you, as soon as the child is born, I’ll send Hope away. You’ll still be the only Mrs. Hayes, the child’s mother.” I said nothing more, my head bowed, following him out. Yesterday, the sanatorium doctor had called to say Mom’s condition was improving, and she could wake up at any time. If she could just wake up, the truth of what happened that year would finally come to light. When that person called again, I pleaded: “Can you wait a little longer?” After hearing the reason, he firmly said: “Alright, I’ll finish things up here as quickly as possible and come back to the States to be with you!” Over the next few days, I became Hope’s personal caretaker. She used every method to torment me, deliberately making me prepare complex seafood porridge without gloves. When my hands swelled red from the seafood allergy, she then ordered me to handwash her underwear, scrubbing them with scalding hot water. Until my hands were swollen and throbbing, she then made me kneel and scrub the entire villa’s floor. My back injury flared up repeatedly, and my knees were bruised from kneeling. Every day, from five in the morning until ten at night, I would stew soups, cook meals, clean, and massage her swollen legs and feet. One night, she said she couldn’t sleep and ordered me to pick a hundred roses from the garden for her bath. I refused. She then slapped herself and cried, falsely accusing me: “Sister Scarlett, it’s all my fault. You can hit me all you want, I just beg you not to hurt me and Brother’s baby…” Finn, who had just returned, put his arm around her and coldly said to me: “Is this how you take care of Hope?” He punished me by making me kneel in the rose bushes all night. I wanted to explain, wanted him to check the security cameras. But I discovered that Hope had had all the villa’s surveillance systems removed the very first day she moved in. She sneered triumphantly: “Scarlett, I didn’t think you could endure this much.” “You’ve been humiliated in your own home for so long, yet you still cling on, refusing to leave.” “And why not? Your wretched mother needs to leech off Brother to survive. The Nicholas family is ruined. Without him, you’re nothing. You can’t bear to give up this life of luxury, can you?” I ignored her. Because I knew that if I retorted, only Mom and I would suffer. Seeing my submission, Finn ultimately didn’t have the heart to make me kneel all night. After Hope fell asleep, he told me to get up and run his bath. I mechanically returned to the room. He suddenly forcefully pressed me onto the sofa, breathing heavily, and kissed me.

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My online boyfriend was incredibly clingy. His most hated person, without exception, was my boss. Because our boss was old-fashioned, rigid, and unsympathetic, I often had to work overtime. Then, one day, we were finally going to meet in person. The person sitting at our agreed-upon table number 13 was, to my horror, my boss. 1 “Babe, it’s been half an hour since we chatted, and I miss you already. Wanna game tonight?” My online boyfriend sent this message just as my boss walked into the office, both hands cupping his phone, typing furiously. My boss’s hair was meticulously combed, his suit jacket buttoned all the way to the top. He wore expensive, yet extremely old-fashioned, leather shoes and clutched a square briefcase under his arm. How to describe it? He dressed even more conservatively than my own father. All the department colleagues sat stiffly, pretending to be utterly swamped with work. I didn’t have time to check my phone, and my online boyfriend must have gotten impatient, as my phone chimed several times in quick succession. My boss’s long fingers clattered on his phone, and without even looking up, he called the manager into his office. He left us with the image of a busy, corporate elite. The manager frantically called out to me, “Hazel, the proposal! Hand it over, quickly, quickly!” “Please put in a good word for me,” I said, hands clasped together, watching devoutly as the manager entered that ominous door. A moment later, a roar erupted from within the office, “Whose garbage proposal is this? Redo it!” I pulled out my phone expressionlessly and replied to my online boyfriend. “Overtime tonight, can’t game with you. Boss is deliberately being difficult.” Soon after, the manager emerged from the office, his face a picture of misery. Simultaneously, my phone rang. “Your boss is completely insane, isn’t he?” “Making employees work overtime only shows his incompetence! I curse him to go bald eventually!” “I’m so mad.jpg” My fingers flew, a blur of motion as I quickly typed to appease him. “Don’t be mad, sweetie.” “Good boy?” “Don’t be angry, please.” I wanted to keep coaxing him, but a colleague next to me suddenly nudged my side. I belatedly realized the office atmosphere had gone quiet. I quickly put down my phone and looked up, meeting my boss’s stern face. “Your name is… Hazel…? You’re quite pretty.” My face flushed, but then he adjusted his antique black-rimmed glasses, and his tone shifted, cold and harsh, as he roared: “Pretty face, but no brains, huh? The proposal is that bad, are you a pig? And you dare to slack off and play on your phone during work hours?” …So, you playing on your phone is work, but me playing on my phone is slacking off, right? “Revise it and bring it to me yourself. I’ll personally review it!” Once my boss left, my face crumpled. The world where my colleagues left freely, and I stayed to work overtime, had come to pass. Oh no, and that workaholic boss inside. My online boyfriend sent a voice message: “Babe, I’ll wait up for you while you work overtime. I can’t sleep without hearing your voice, you know~” Me: “Though I hate for you to stay up, if you sleep, you’re a dog. You must stay with me.” Online boyfriend: “Understood. Your boss is truly despicable. The forecast says rain tonight. I’m so worried, Babe, should I come pick you up?” Me: “How can the meeting date chosen by fate be changed so casually? Don’t worry, I’ll crawl home even if it’s raining knives to coax you to sleep.” Online boyfriend: “Love you so much, Babe. Tomorrow, when we meet, I’m going to kiss you to death.” My face turned crimson, and even working overtime felt energized. 2 Finally, I finished my work. Outside, as predicted, it was pouring rain. I grabbed my umbrella and was about to head downstairs when, of all the cursed luck, I ran into my boss, also leaving. “Your name is…? Why are you only just leaving? I’ll give you a ride.” Damn it, weren’t you the one who made me work overtime? Don’t act so innocent! I forced a laugh: “Sir, my name is Hazel. You don’t need to bother; I can go by myself.” “Get in. I’m in a hurry.” My face fell as I followed him. The atmosphere in the car was dead. My boss brought up the proposal, and I sat stiffly, reporting on it the whole way, feeling utterly miserable. What a terrible nightmare. I swore I would never get in his car again. Not even if it killed me. After my shower, I called my online boyfriend. His soft, drawn-out voice immediately came through. “Babe~ I missed you so much.” “Just got home. Are you outside? I hear rain.” “It’s because you’re working overtime, can’t chat with you. I don’t want to go home, so lonely~” I chuckled, “Good boy.” He cautiously asked, “Babe, are you in a bad mood?” I huffed with annoyance, “My boss called me a pig.” He suppressed a laugh and said, “Bosses often like to insult, don’t they? My little piggy~” I was instantly cured by that “little piggy.” In my boyfriend’s words, I was a soft, bouncy, pink-bubbled cute little pig, unlike the hard-nosed wild boar my boss’s cold, harsh words made me out to be. I giggled, “Oh, darling, what would I do without you!” My boyfriend was very excited: “I wouldn’t leave you for anything, Babe. We’ll be together forever! We’re meeting tomorrow, I’m so nervous. How do you want me to dress?” I blurted out, “Just don’t be old-fashioned.” Boyfriend: “Understood.” 3 The next day, before noon, I whispered a word to my manager and snuck out to meet my online boyfriend. Thirteen was my lucky number, so we agreed to meet on the 13th of this month, at 1 PM, at Table 13 of the Cafe 13 on Lucky Lane. I arrived early and went to the restroom to reapply lipstick. I happened to encounter a man styling his hair. Our eyes met in the mirror, and we both froze. I was shocked to realize that this handsome man, dressed in trendy clothes, with a stylish haircut and no glasses, was my rigid boss! He gave his familiar scowl, glanced at his wristwatch, and his voice, as stiff and sharp as ever, spoke: “Your name is…? Leaving during work hours? That’s double pay deduction!” You bastard… My name is Hazel! My good mood for meeting my online boyfriend immediately vanished by half. So much so that when I arrived at Table 13 for our date, I didn’t notice that my boyfriend’s back was exactly like my boss’s. I just walked over, and when I saw my boss’s face, the shock was so immense that my head buzzed, and I nearly lost my footing. Unwilling to give up, I saw the red rose, our secret signal, on his right. That’s when the last shred of hope died. He, too, showed a surprised expression. My mouth moved faster than my brain, and I smoothed over the situation flawlessly. “Sir, I just wanted to let you know that the reason I’m here during work hours is because a colleague asked me to help buy coffee beans. I was simply being helpful.” My boss kept looking at his wristwatch, curtly dismissing me: “Salary still deducted. Say one more word, and it’s another hundred off.” I shut up and turned to leave. Walking out of the cafe, my mind was in turmoil. All I could think was: My online boyfriend is actually that old-fashioned, rigid Mu Baldry, who stares and scolds me?! Utterly absurd. I tried to find common ground between the two, but found none. My online boyfriend spoke softly, was clingy and playful, and always smiled. Whereas Rory Baldry was rigid, old-fashioned, never smiled, and spoke harshly like a stone from a latrine, with his unchanging middle-parted hairstyle and traditional suit. It was hard to imagine him saying things like “Babe, I’m going to kiss you to death” with that demeanor. The funniest part was that I’d taken a double pay deduction to come meet him! Even funnier, my original leave request was rejected by Rory Baldry because he was picky about my proposal. Just as I felt like spitting blood, a terrifying thought suddenly struck me: Did he recognize me? In my anxiety, Rory Baldry suddenly sent me a voice chat request. I quickly hung up, but he sent another message. “Babe, where are you? I’ve been waiting so hard for you, but don’t rush. Take your time. I’ll wait for however long it takes.” “Waiting patiently for you.jpg” “Opponent is typing—” The word “Babe” burned me, and faster than my mind could react, I instantly clicked “delete friend.” Then I regretted it. I should have at least said goodbye, since we had been so genuine for so long. The street was bustling with traffic, but as I walked through it, the world felt too quiet. Staring at my darkened phone screen, I really wanted to cry. I was heartbroken. 4 The heartbroken feeling intensified when I returned to the office to work on the proposal. My mind was consumed by him calling me a useless pig who couldn’t even make a decent proposal, yet had the nerve to play on my phone – but he wasn’t even working at the time, was he? Now, in hindsight, I was certain he had been bombarding me, and only me, with messages from the moment he entered the office building. It was infuriating. Yet, a wave of longing still washed over me. After all, when we were dating, he had eyes only for me; I could feel it through the phone line. We met in a game. He was terrible but loved to play. Once, I saved him, and the next day, we were paired up again, and I carried him to victory. He worshipped me, following me everywhere, shamelessly becoming my apprentice. Later, when I learned he had grown up an orphan, I felt even more pity for him, always trying to cheer him up. One of the reasons I worked so hard was to help him save money to marry me. My imagined online boyfriend: grew up in an orphanage, struggled alone, unloved. The reality: after his father passed away, he inherited several companies and a large fortune. He was adopted by his father’s comrade, the wealthiest man in our city. I quit! Whoever wants to do this garbage proposal can do it. The next day, I arrived at work with dark circles under my eyes. As soon as I arrived, I heard a thunderbolt of news: “Snap to it, he’s here.” I instinctively shivered, wide awake: “Doesn’t he only come once a week?” As I said it, I slid back to my desk, pretending to be busy on my computer. Rory Baldry’s black-rimmed glasses flashed, and he seemed to glance in my direction. A daring thought suddenly struck me. He couldn’t have figured me out, could he? I should have deleted him earlier. Isn’t this just giving myself away? No, no, he’s so old-fashioned, he’s not that smart about these things, I tried to comfort myself. Turns out I was wrong. The manager tapped my shoulder: “He’s calling for you.” Then he gave me a look that said, good luck. I clutched the new proposal, nervously knocking on the door. I hoped he really just wanted to talk about the proposal. 5 After a terse “Come in,” I pushed open the door, bravely offering the document: “This is according to your feedback…” He cut me off, a shrewd glint behind his glasses: “Tell me again, why were you there yesterday?” “Huh?” What did I say yesterday? “Oh, I went to buy coffee beans, for a colleague.” “Which colleague?” “Alice.” I’ll have to warn Alice later, even if it means buying her breakfast for two weeks. His long fingers tapped his thigh, “I told you to work on the proposal. You had spare time to buy coffee beans for the materials department, which you have nothing to do with?” I was caught off guard. “Do you play games?” The topic changed too quickly. I answered loudly, “No.” “Not even Candy Crush? I heard all the company employees play it.” Damn it. “Candy Crush, occasionally.” He suddenly revealed a playful smile on his perpetually expressionless face: “Did I ask what game it was just now? You answered so readily.” I gasped and leaned back a little, loudly declaring my loyalty: “Good employees who work diligently don’t waste time on boring things like games.” “Call that person in.” I whispered, “Alice.” He nodded: “Right, and you stay.” Okay. The same question. Alice glanced at me, then began to recite our pre-arranged story: “I’m new to the company, and I sprained my ankle, didn’t dare tell department colleagues. Hazel is kind, so she helped me buy it.” “Do you play games?” “Huh? What games? Poker, Candy Crush — those I play.” “What about shooter games?” “No, I don’t play those. Mr. Baldry, why do you ask?” “Are you in an online relationship?” Pfft— I couldn’t hold back a mouthful of tea, spitting it onto my boss’s suit pants. I quickly grabbed some tissues and knelt down to wipe it. “I’m so sorry, I have a loose tongue.” Then both of us paused simultaneously. “Loose tongue” was almost my catchphrase, which I politely added after mocking an opposing team in-game. I’m so used to talking smack, what do I do? He must have figured it out, right? Maybe I should just resign. “Did you learn that phrase from a colleague?” Rory Baldry gave me an out. I pecked like a chicken: “Yes, yes, yes, colleagues say it all the time, I picked it up.” Rory Baldry said to Alice: “You can go out now.” Alice left, utterly confused, just as she arrived. “I haven’t finished answering the questions. What does it all mean?” Rory Baldry pulled out his phone: “For Candy Crush lives, add me.” 6 I confidently and openly displayed my main account’s QR code. He opened my main account’s profile picture and looked at it for a while, his expression unreadable. I also opened his, and saw the familiar blank avatar with a tiny period in the middle. For a moment, I was shocked that he was using his main account for an online relationship. Didn’t he even bother with an alias? “Leave the proposal, you can go now.” Rory Baldry returned to his businesslike tone, looking down at the documents, exuding an air of aloofness. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking I should keep my distance from him from now on, lest I expose myself. I even planned to transfer to a department on the farthest floor from him. But when I got back to my cubicle, my butt hadn’t even settled into the chair before the manager tapped my shoulder. “He said the proposal is no good. He wants you to pack your things and move to his office to work. He’ll supervise you personally. You can come down when it’s done.” Me: ????? The manager gravely clasped my hand and said, “Take care.” My other colleagues collectively pulled candles from their drawers and silently lit one for me. Well, they were true colleagues; they actively helped me pack my things, swiftly dismantling my computer and moving it to my boss’s office. …If it weren’t for your desperately suppressed laughter, I might have actually been touched. When I returned to my boss’s office, I nearly gasped at the sight inside. Rory Baldry was emerging from the lounge, and in that short time, he had changed into an outfit eight hundred miles away from his usual attire: this year’s most fashionable leather shoes, a perfectly tailored silver-gray slim-fit suit, the top three buttons of his shirt undone revealing his sexy, long neck, even his hair had changed from a middle part to a charming slick-back, and his glasses had vanished. He was incredibly handsome, wasn’t he? Just as handsome as he was on our meeting day! At that moment, he was struggling to untie a knot in his necktie, his face flushed red. Our eyes met. His ears visibly reddened. “Hazel, do I look alright dressed like this?” Faced with such a handsome man’s shy question, my first reaction was that he actually remembered my name. My second reaction was, old dog, new tricks – he actually cares about his appearance? Was there anything more startling than this? I cautiously asked, “Are you…?” “Don’t… don’t you all dislike how I usually dress, saying I look like a headmaster? I want to make some changes. Can you give me your opinion? Is this okay?” I gave him a thumbs up. “We like whatever you wear, sir. But of course, this look is even better.” He seemed rather dissatisfied with my answer, his lips pursed into a thin line: “Hazel, come over here and help me with my tie.” “Coming right up!” I quickly put down my documents and trotted over. The knot was tight, and we had our heads close together, working on it for a while. I hadn’t noticed before, but his Adam’s apple was so sensual, and the clean scent of him was incredibly pleasant. I was dizzy from the strong, mature masculine scent, and his solid chest, half-exposed, was simply captivating. Damn it, this man should button his shirt all the way to the top. “Finally, it’s done.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I looked up slightly and met his intense gaze, and my heart immediately skipped a beat. “Hazel, you’ll temporarily be my secretary.” Our company was just one of his many companies; he only came once a week, and didn’t bring his executive assistant or secretary. I asked cautiously, “Why?” “Because of you.”

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Our research team set out for the Sunstone Desert, known as the Sea of Death. While crouching down to measure the sand temperature, the ground beneath my feet gave way. I sank into quicksand. Struggling only made me sink deeper. When I realized what was happening, I immediately shouted to my boyfriend, Ethan: “Quick! Throw me the rescue rope!” Ethan stood on the sand slope but turned to look at our junior teammate, Aria. “What’s she saying? I didn’t hear her.” Aria raised her hand to brush back her hair. She moved closer to him, whining coquettishly: “Ethan, look at my face—did I get any darker from the sun?” By now I’d sunk up to my chest. Breathing was becoming difficult. Ethan stared at her face, examining it carefully. “No, you’re not darker. Actually, you look even more fair.” He glanced back at me and said to Aria with a smile: “Look at Quinn, still over there playing in the sand.” Aria followed his gaze toward me. “Ethan, she’s being so reckless. She needs to be careful or she’ll really sink in.”

The moment Aria finished speaking, Ethan put away his phone, his brow furrowed as he looked at me. “Quinn, what are you doing fooling around in the desert?” His voice was laced with impatience. “Don’t scare Aria. This is her first time in the desert.” I shook my head desperately, forcing out a hoarse gasp from my throat. I raised my hand, pointing to the sky, making gestures for the helicopter rescue call. I’d sunk too deep now—only a professional rescue team could save me. Ethan misunderstood my gesture, his expression darkening. “What the hell are you trying to do? You’re stuck in the sand and still won’t stay still, just waving your arms around.” A few team members close to Ethan gradually gathered around, pointing and whispering about me. “Look, what’s wrong with Quinn?” “She’s sinking deeper and deeper. We might need to call in a helicopter!” “Only a professional rescue team in the desert can bring equipment to save someone!” Amid the murmuring, Aria suddenly burst into tears. She threw herself into Ethan’s arms, her shoulders shaking. “Ethan, did I do something wrong? Am I relying on you too much? Is that why Quinn is upset? Does she think I deliberately didn’t save her when she first sank in?” Ethan immediately held her tightly, patting her back. “This has nothing to do with you, Aria. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He turned his head, glaring at me with reproachful eyes. “She’s just wild, not at all stable, trying to waste resources to get attention. Ignore her. We won’t bother with her.” My vision began to darken in waves, consciousness rapidly slipping away. I used my last bit of strength to struggle and point toward the sky again. Just as my arm was about to give out, a hiking boot covered in sand stomped hard on the back of my hand. Pain shot through my hand, but I couldn’t even scream. He looked down at me from above. “Quinn, haven’t you had enough? Do you need the whole team to call in a helicopter so everyone revolves around you before you’re satisfied?” Aria peeked out from behind him, tears on her face but triumph and malice in her eyes. She leaned in closer, speaking in a voice only we could hear, soft and gentle. “Quinn, how does the quicksand feel? I discovered that area was dangerous yesterday. I didn’t report it—I led you there on purpose today.” My pupils contracted sharply. I used all my strength to raise my other hand, pointing at the innocent-looking Aria, trying to tell Ethan the truth. Seeing my movement, Ethan’s face darkened, and instead he pushed me away forcefully. “You want to hit her now? Quinn, don’t you dare bully Aria! She’s timid, this is her first time in the desert—she can’t handle being scared!” The few team members who sucked up to Ethan immediately chimed in, condemning me. “Yeah, Quinn, that’s way too much.” “Calling a helicopter is such a hassle. If you can save yourself, don’t waste resources.” “Ethan, your girlfriend is way too demanding. You really need to control her.” My breathing grew weaker and weaker, my vision completely blurring. I’d been with Ethan for three years. He’d always thought I was just an ordinary research team member. This desert expedition was supposed to be my final test before deciding to marry him. In the last fragments of light and shadow, I saw Ethan supporting the tearful Aria, gently wiping the sand from her cheeks. Finally, someone in the crowd noticed something was wrong. “She’s sunk to her chest! Her face is turning blue! We have to call a helicopter!” “Quick! Activate the emergency satellite phone! Contact the rescue helicopter!” In the chaos, someone finally thought to dial the rescue hotline. I sank down heavily another level, my body beginning to shake uncontrollably. While everyone’s attention was on me, Aria quietly circled around to the communications equipment. She discreetly unplugged the satellite phone connection cable and shoved it into a pile of sand. No one noticed this detail. Ethan crouched down, making a show of reaching out his hand, his tone impatient. “Quinn, stop pretending, enough already. Everyone’s already calling the helicopter for you. What more do you want?” My consciousness sank into endless darkness. Around me, the team members’ anxious shouts gradually blurred. Ethan was still talking to Aria in his arms, his voice full of indulgence. “Don’t be scared. She’s fine, she just likes to make a big deal out of everything.”

“She’s been in the quicksand too long—severe dehydration and oxygen deprivation! If the helicopter doesn’t come soon, it’ll be too late!” “Quick! Check the communications equipment! Make contact again! We need the helicopter here as soon as possible!” “Who’s coordinating with the rescue team when they arrive?” Team members’ shouts rang in my ears. I felt multiple hands trying to pull me up, but my body sank even deeper instead. Ethan raised his hand. “I’m her boyfriend and the expedition team leader. I’ll sign when the rescue team gets here.” But as soon as he walked into the temporary tent, he immediately sat down next to Aria, not even bothering to spare me a glance. He pulled the still-sobbing Aria into his arms, letting her lean against his chest. Aria trembled in his embrace. “Ethan, I’m so scared. Quinn… will she make it until the helicopter arrives? If something happens to her, will it be my fault? Will the team punish me?” Ethan patted her back sympathetically, brow furrowed. “Don’t talk nonsense. This has nothing to do with you. It’s her own carelessness. She knows the desert is dangerous but runs around everywhere, always trying to show off.” A team member, while fitting me with a simple oxygen mask, turned to ask Ethan: “Does she have any medical history? Can she hold on until the helicopter arrives?” Ethan didn’t even look up, his eyes still fixed on Aria in his arms. “I don’t know, I’m not really sure. She’s usually perfectly healthy. She never had problems like this on previous polar expeditions.” I desperately tried to open my mouth to tell the team member that Aria did it on purpose. He’d always known I had trauma about soft sand. That year on our first expedition together, I accidentally sank into shallow quicksand. He’d used all his strength to pull me out, holding me and saying: “From now on, I’ll always watch over you. I’ll never let you face this kind of danger again.” A careful team member finally discovered the communications anomaly and dug out the connection cable from the sand pile. “Something’s wrong! Someone unplugged the satellite phone!” He looked up, questioning Ethan and Aria. “Who was near the communications equipment just now? Who did this?” Only then did Ethan look over, his face blank and innocent. “What cable? I don’t know. We didn’t go near there.” Aria immediately lifted her head from his arms, jumping to explain. “I was with Ethan the whole time. I didn’t go over there. Could it have been blown loose by the wind? The weather in the desert is so harsh.” As she spoke, tears fell from her eyes again. “It’s all my fault. If I’d paid more attention earlier, maybe I would have noticed in time.” Ethan immediately defended her. “How could this be your fault? This kind of thing is common in the desert. Stop crying, Aria, or your face will get all blotchy.” The team members urgently repaired communications and dialed the rescue number again. I felt my life slipping away. And my boyfriend was less than two meters away from me. He pulled out his phone, browsing through desert landscape photos he’d taken earlier, showing them to Aria. “Look at this one I just took of the sand dunes. Isn’t it beautiful?” A team member was administering saline and monitoring my breathing and pulse. And my boyfriend was fussing over another woman. Just then, Aria suddenly sat up straight, gently tugging on Ethan’s sleeve. “Ethan, the desert sun is so intense. My arms are getting sunburned.” She pulled out sunscreen from her bag and held it out to Ethan. “Can you help me apply it? I can’t spread it evenly by myself.” Ethan immediately took the sunscreen, expertly squeezing an appropriate amount into his palm. “Sure, I’ll help you. I guarantee it’ll be even and you won’t get burned.” He carefully applied it to Aria’s neck, his tone so gentle it could drip honey. “Is this enough? Should I put on a thicker layer?” Aria smiled and leaned on his shoulder. “Ethan, you apply it so well. It feels so good.” Several team members who were close to me clenched their fists in anger at his attitude but could only glare at them fiercely before turning back to care for me. “Could you show some consideration for others? Quinn isn’t out of danger yet!” Ethan looked up indifferently. “We’re not interfering with you saving her. What’s wrong with applying sunscreen?” In the distance, the roar of helicopter rotors finally sounded, rapidly approaching. Team members quickly sent out signals, waiting for the helicopter to land. The rotor wash kicked up a sandstorm, and I heard Aria say sweetly to Ethan: “Ethan, the helicopter is blowing sand everywhere. Can you shield me from it?” Ethan immediately nodded in agreement. “Sure, no problem. I’ll shield you the whole time, won’t let any sand blow on you. Don’t worry.”

“The quicksand has reached her neck! We must initiate professional rescue immediately!” “Ten more minutes and she’ll suffocate to death! Family member, sign quickly!” The rescue team leader, holding the rescue agreement and payment form, shouted urgently at Ethan. Ethan slowly took the documents but refused to sign. He looked through the paperwork repeatedly, then raised his head to ask the leader: “Excuse me, can we get a discount on this rescue? Is there a reimbursement process afterward?” The leader looked at him in disbelief. “Sir! She’s hanging by a thread right now! Saving her life is what matters! You’re still worried about costs and reimbursement? If we delay any longer, it’ll be too late!” Aria, standing nearby, tugged on Ethan’s sleeve and said quietly: “Ethan, this rescue fee looks pretty expensive. What if we spend the money and still can’t save her? Wouldn’t that be a waste? It might even affect our future expedition budget.” Ethan’s expression immediately became even more hesitant. He kept turning the documents in his hands, just wouldn’t sign. “So… isn’t there a cheaper option? Like, using simple tools to pull her out, or we rescue her ourselves? Don’t jump straight to professional rescue. It’s too expensive.” The rescue leader’s temples throbbed with anger. “You think this is haggling at a farmers market? Bargaining back and forth! I’m telling you, every second is counting down right now! Every second wasted means less chance of survival! Hurry up and sign!” The rescue team had already deployed the rescue airbag, preparing to release the traction equipment. I could see Ethan’s hesitant figure, unable to make a sound from my throat. Several accompanying team members couldn’t stand it anymore and surrounded him, condemning him: “What’s wrong with you? Have you no conscience? Your girlfriend is about to be swallowed by quicksand and you’re calculating costs?” “Exactly! Which is more important—a human life or money? Can’t you tell?” Faced with everyone’s accusations, Aria spread her arms to shield Ethan. With red-rimmed eyes, she said to the team members: “Please don’t blame Ethan anymore, I’m begging you. He’s just being responsible for our research project by asking a few more questions. He just doesn’t want to affect our future project expeditions.” She turned to look at Ethan, tears in her eyes. “Ethan, I believe all your decisions are for the good of the project. Don’t worry about what they say. Just do what you think is right.” These words gave Ethan enormous validation and strength. He immediately straightened his back. Then he said firmly to the rescue leader: “I need to think about it more. You have to guarantee the rescue will succeed, and the cost can be paid in installments! Otherwise, I absolutely won’t sign!” The rescue leader was too angry to waste another word on him. He directly shouted to his team members: “No more time! Activate emergency rescue protocol! We’ll deal with costs later! Quick! Quick! Quick!” The rescue team immediately activated equipment, rapidly deploying ropes toward me. Ethan loudly defended himself from the side: “I’m thinking about the future! I’m being financially responsible!” Aria patted his back, soothing him: “Ethan, don’t be angry. They don’t understand your careful budgeting, but I do. You’re the most considerate person for the expedition team.” Ethan nodded, deeply moved. “You’re the only one who understands me.” He took out his phone and set it up, adjusting the lens to capture the desert scenery. “Let’s film a vlog to document this. We might gain followers.”

“Patient’s breathing is getting weaker! The quicksand is still sinking!” “Rope is secured! Prepare to pull upward!” “Everyone pull! Maintain balance!” The rescue team’s shouts echoed across the desert. I could feel the rope wrapped tightly around my body, slowly being pulled upward. On the sand nearby, Aria leaned against Ethan, acting cute for the camera: “Ethan, make sure you film me looking good. Adjust the filter to something soft. Add a desert adventure background music—it’ll definitely go viral.” Ethan didn’t hesitate. He immediately adjusted the phone settings, specifically choosing sand dunes as the background. “Don’t worry, I guarantee you’ll look like a desert princess. The views will be amazing.” While the rescue was underway, he even had the mind to discuss video captions with Aria. They were planning how to describe their “expedition adventure” to attract more likes. A rescue team member saw this scene, frowned, and walked over to remind them: “Sir, there’s an emergency rescue happening here. Please keep quiet. The patient isn’t out of danger yet. Please be mindful of the situation.” Ethan looked up with displeasure. “What’s wrong with filming a video? We’re not interfering with your rescue!” The team member was left speechless and could only shake his head and walk away. The rescue made quick progress. I was successfully pulled from the quicksand and lifted onto a rescue stretcher. Aria made a heart gesture at the camera, then pouted: “Ethan, the rescue fee is so expensive. I don’t think it should come from our research budget. Shouldn’t she pay for it herself? I don’t want to spend extra money for no reason.” Ethan immediately turned off the camera and held her hand. “You’re right. It has nothing to do with us. She’s the one who carelessly sank in. If anyone should split the cost, it should be her. We’re not paying.” Aria smiled and leaned on his shoulder. “Ethan thinks of everything!” This scene was witnessed clearly by Director Zimmerman from the Research Institute, who had rushed over after receiving the satellite call. Several core researchers and medical personnel hurriedly descended from the helicopter he’d arrived on. His presence made the noisy desert instantly quiet. Director Zimmerman walked straight up to Ethan. He stopped, his voice ice-cold: “You’re Quinn’s boyfriend?” Ethan was editing vlog footage, looking up in confusion: “Yeah, why?” Director Zimmerman glanced at me lying weak on the stretcher, his face livid. Without a word, he signaled to the security personnel behind him. Several guards immediately stepped forward and grabbed Ethan by the collar. Ethan’s face turned pale with fright as he struggled and shouted: “What are you doing? Trying to assault someone in broad daylight?” Director Zimmerman’s eyes were practically shooting flames. “Quinn is a national key postdoctoral researcher! She holds core data for a national-level desert ecology research project! Her safety directly impacts the project’s success, yet when her life hung by a thread, you haggled over prices and focused on filming vlogs for followers?” “I’ve already had the institute pay the full rescue fee and deployed a professional medical team! And you, as her boyfriend and the expedition team leader, sabotaged a national key research project out of selfish interests?” He kicked Ethan’s leg with all his strength. Ethan stumbled and fell to the ground, his phone flying out of his hand. Aria screamed, trying to dodge, but was blocked by another guard. Director Zimmerman pointed at Ethan and roared: “Restrain this man! Immediately file a case for sabotaging a national key research project! All project losses and data risks caused by his delayed rescue will be legally compensated! I’m telling you, his life is over!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “372753”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #重生Reborn

To save five hundred bucks on rent, I moved into a four-bedroom, one-bathroom shared apartment. The property agent said my roommates were all high-level professionals working nearby—early risers who came home late, extremely well-mannered. I’d been living here for half a month and hadn’t seen a single soul. Until that night when I was scrolling through my phone and came across a trending post: “Property Agent Uses Copied Keys to Murder Tenant.” Suddenly, the ventilation window above my head was pushed open, and a withered hand reached down to strangle my neck. Only in my dying moments did I realize it wasn’t some property agent at all. It was a homeless man who’d been living in the crawlspace above my ceiling this whole time. One of my “invisible” roommates. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my first night moving in. 1 The searing pain in my neck shot through my entire body like an electric current. I gasped and bolted upright in bed. Before me wasn’t that gaunt, twisted face, nor that pitch-black ventilation window. It was the ghostly blue glow of my phone screen. The time displayed: July 15, 2023, 8:00 PM. I touched my neck. No ligature marks, but I could still feel the burning sensation of rough nylon rope scraping against skin. I was breathing heavily, my heart pounding against my ribcage, the sound echoing in this cramped room. I was alive. Or rather, I had come back to life. Half an hour from now—or three days from now in my previous life—I would die in this room. Cause of death: strangled by a homeless man hiding in the crawlspace above my ceiling. I looked around. This was a partitioned room, barely sixty square feet. A single bed, a cheap fabric wardrobe, walls painted a sickly white with bargain paint applied recently to cover the mold underneath. The air reeked of dampness mixed with the acrid smell of cheap formaldehyde. To save five hundred dollars, I’d stuffed myself into this coffin-like box. My banking app was still open to that soul-crushing screen: Balance $342.50. That was everything I had to my name. Not even enough for next month’s rent. What had the landlord said again? “Six hundred bucks in this neighborhood—where else are you gonna find that? This is a four-bedroom apartment. The other three rooms have high-level finance professionals living in them. Quality people. They leave early, come home late. You probably won’t even see them.” Indeed, I wouldn’t see them. In my previous life, I’d lived here for half a month. Even when I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, I never heard a sound from those other three rooms. But I’d heard other sounds. Late at night, there would be this scratching noise from above the ceiling—fingernails scraping against wood. And sounds like marbles dropping. I thought it was rats, so I bought sticky traps. Even in the moment of my death, that trap still lay pristine on top of the wardrobe, completely clean. The real “rat” wasn’t anywhere near there. He was directly above my head. I looked up, staring hard at that small ventilation window high on the wall. It had been installed to provide airflow to this windowless room, connecting to the hallway’s ceiling space. In my previous life, that skeletal hand with fingernails caked in black grime had reached out from exactly there. The terror receded like a tide, replaced by the sharp clarity of someone who’d narrowly escaped death. I knew that monster was up there right now. Separated only by a thin ceiling, crouched like a giant cockroach, listening to my every move. Perhaps even watching me through some crack I hadn’t noticed. I had to leave. Even if it meant sleeping on the street or in a KFC, I couldn’t stay here. I jumped off the bed as quietly as possible, stuffing my ID, bank card, and the fruit knife I kept for protection into my bag. As for the bedding and clothes—forget them. My life was worth more than those rags. I reached for the doorknob and gently turned it. Click. The lock opened. I pulled the door open a crack. The living room outside was pitch black. Not normal darkness, but the kind that seemed sealed in thick ink. Heavy blackout curtains covered the windows completely. Silent. Dead silent. The three other bedroom doors were shut tight, not a sliver of light beneath any of them. I held my breath and tiptoed out. With each step, the floor groaned softly. In the stillness of night, these sounds were like thunder. I didn’t dare look back, but I felt a chill down my spine, as if something in that darkness was watching me. Finally, I reached the front door handle. One of those old-fashioned security doors that needed two full turns to open. My palms were slick with sweat as I twisted hard. It didn’t budge. I tried again. Still nothing. My heart sank. The door was deadbolted. Locked from the outside. With these old security doors, if someone deadbolts them from outside with a key, you can’t open them from inside without that key. The agent had only given me a door key, not the deadbolt key. Who locked it? Whoever it was, I was now trapped in this giant coffin. Just then, I heard a sound. Very light, very faint. Like someone rubbing their fingertips against wallpaper. The sound came from behind me. From above the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I stiffly turned around. In the darkness, I could just make out the ceiling access panel at the end of the hallway shifting slightly. 2 That access panel definitely moved. Like something had nudged it from above, revealing a pitch-black crack. An indescribable stench wafted out from the gap. Sour, reeking of urine, and that smell of unwashed bodies caked in grime. The smell of a homeless person. He was watching me. He knew I’d discovered the door wouldn’t open. He was waiting for me to panic, waiting for me to scream, then savoring my fear like a cat toying with a mouse. Every hair on my body stood on end. My fingers dug into my palms, forcing myself to stay calm. I couldn’t scream. In this godforsaken place where no one would hear me, screaming would only hasten my death. I took a deep breath, pretending I just needed to use the bathroom. I turned toward the bathroom, deliberately making my footsteps heavier. “This damn door, I’ll have to get the agent to fix it tomorrow.” I muttered to myself—not loudly, but loud enough for the thing above to hear. I entered the bathroom and quickly locked the door. The window here faced the hallway, but it had security bars—no way to squeeze through. The only exit was still the front door. Since I couldn’t open it from inside, I’d have to wait for someone to open it from outside. Or… lure someone here. I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and opened SnapChat to message that seemingly helpful agent—let’s call him Mike. This guy’s eyes always drifted to my chest when we talked, and he spoke like a creep, but at least he worked for a legitimate agency. He probably wouldn’t dare murder someone openly. “Hey, the front door won’t open. I need to go out for something urgent.” I sent the message. No reply. I tried a FaceTime call. It rang twice, then was declined. Immediately, a text message popped up. “Girl, why go out so late? Door’s broken, I’ll get someone to fix it tomorrow. Just sleep tight. The building’s security is great.” Great security? This run-down place didn’t even have working streetlights. What security? And how did he know I wanted to go out just now? How did he reply so fast? Unless… he was nearby. A deeper chill ran down my spine. I remembered a detail from my previous life. When that homeless man was strangling me, I’d heard sounds near the front door. Like keys turning. Could this whole thing be a setup? The agent bringing in tenants, the property manager collecting rent, and the homeless man… handling the cleanup? No, impossible. If it were that organized, this criminal operation would’ve been busted long ago. More likely, the agent knew something was off here but turned a blind eye to collect his commission. He might even be using this homeless man to scare off tenants, keeping their security deposits. I gripped my phone, knuckles white. If you’re going to be ruthless, don’t blame me for fighting back. I opened the dial pad and pressed 91

Before I could make the call, the bathroom light flickered twice. It went out. The world plunged into darkness. Then I heard that familiar scratching sound from overhead. Not in the hallway—in the bathroom ceiling. Those aluminum panel ceilings couldn’t support a person’s full weight. But he didn’t need to support his full weight. He only needed to push those panels aside. Click. The sound of the first panel being lifted. In that moment, I could almost feel hot breath on my scalp. I didn’t dare look up. I yanked the bathroom door open and rushed out. Better to take my chances in the living room than be trapped like a rat in that tiny bathroom. I ran back to my room and slammed the door shut, pressing my body against it with all my weight. I was already gripping that fruit knife, blade pointed at the door. But I knew this door wouldn’t stop him. That cheap ball lock could be popped open with a credit card from outside. Besides, he didn’t even need to use the door. That ventilation window. I whipped my head around. The ventilation window looked the same—a black void. But I knew he was crawling through the ceiling crawlspace, like a giant gecko, heading toward my room. I had to find a way to save myself. Besides this door, there was no other exit from this room. The window faced the air shaft—jumping down meant certain death or crippling injury. Wait. This apartment had partition walls. To squeeze out more rooms, all the walls were just steel studs covered with drywall. These walls had terrible soundproofing, but that also meant… they were fragile. My room was right next to Room B. If I could smash through this wall and escape into the adjacent room… As long as there was someone in that room, I could call for help. Even though I hadn’t seen anyone in half a month, the agent said those rooms housed professionals who left early and came home late. Even one person would be better than facing this monster alone. I looked at the cheap wardrobe. Behind it was that partition wall. I didn’t care if I’d alert the thing above anymore. I shoved the wardrobe aside. Facing that sickly white wall, I raised my leg and kicked with all my strength. Bang. A dull thud. The wall shook but didn’t break. The crawling sounds overhead suddenly stopped. Right above me. He was listening. Judging what I was trying to do. Gritting my teeth, I stepped back and kicked again, even harder. Bang. This time the drywall made a brittle cracking sound, forming a dent. It was working! Like a madwoman, I kicked that dent again and again. Fear transformed into adrenaline. I couldn’t feel the pain in my foot anymore. Only one thought filled my mind: Break through it! Crack. Finally, I’d kicked a hole through the drywall. Ignoring the sharp edges, I reached in and tore at the insulation, widening the opening. A cloud of dust made me cough. Through that hole, I could see into the adjacent room. In the faint light spilling from my room, I saw a bed. Someone was sitting on it. Long hair, back to me, completely motionless. “Help! Someone’s trying to kill me! Please help!” I shouted at that silhouette, my voice trembling. The person didn’t move. Didn’t even turn their head. Panic rising, I didn’t care that the hole was barely big enough for a dog. I forced my head and half my body through. “Ma’am! Wake up! Call the police!” I reached out and grabbed the woman’s shoulder, yanking hard. That body was surprisingly light, turning easily with my pull. In that instant, I felt all the blood in my veins freeze. It was a stiff, pale plastic face. Painted with garish red lips, eyes just dots of black paint. This was… a store mannequin. Wearing a business suit, wig slightly disheveled, staring at me with those dead painted eyes. Only then did I see clearly—besides this bed and this mannequin, the room was completely empty. A thick layer of dust covered the floor. There were no high-level professionals. There never had been. From directly overhead came an extremely soft laugh. That laugh didn’t sound human—like someone with phlegm stuck in their throat, raspy and shrill. A hand reached out from the ventilation window in my room. Holding a nylon rope. Dangling it toward me, stuck helplessly in the wall, and gave it a little shake. 3 Extreme terror becomes numbness. I was stuck in that hole in the wall, half my body on one side, half on the other. Ahead was the lifeless plastic mannequin. Behind was the killer homeless man. That nylon rope swayed in the air like a venomous snake. I jerked myself back, ignoring the sharp drywall edges tearing the skin at my waist. The pain brought some clarity. I scrambled back to the corner of my room, clutching that fruit knife with a death grip. The hand withdrew. But that didn’t mean he’d given up. He was enjoying this. Just like a cat always plays with a mouse before eating it. He knew I couldn’t escape. The adjacent room had a mannequin. What about the others? Were all those “early-rising, late-returning, high-quality” roommates the agent mentioned just these things? Creating the illusion of a fully-rented apartment to trick girls like me—fresh graduates, broke and scared of living alone—into this trap. This was basically an elaborately designed hunting ground. I had to verify this. Even if verification wouldn’t save me, I didn’t want to die in ignorance. I burst out of my room. The living room was still deathly silent. I didn’t care anymore. I ran straight to Room C’s door, the closest one, and twisted the handle hard. Locked. I kicked it. These cheap wooden doors couldn’t withstand much abuse. After a few kicks, the lock area splintered. I rammed through and charged in. By my phone’s flashlight, I saw the same scene. An empty room. One bed. One “man” sitting in a chair. Wearing a suit, glasses perched on his nose, that plastic face frozen in an eternal smile. A male mannequin. Room D. The door wasn’t locked. I pushed it open. This one was even more absurd. Two “people” lay in bed together, one male and one female, covered with blankets, two plastic heads poking out. These were the so-called “couple tenants”? All fake. In this entire four-bedroom apartment, besides me, there wasn’t a second living person. No, there was one more. Overhead. I stood in the center of the living room, holding up my phone’s flashlight, the beam sweeping across those tightly closed bedroom doors. This place was like some grotesque wax museum. In that moment, I didn’t feel scared anymore—just disgusted. Disgusted enough to vomit. They’d treated people like complete idiots. For a few hundred bucks in monthly rent, they’d created this tomb of the living dead. A drop of liquid fell on the floor in front of me. I looked down. It was a drop of murky yellow fluid, reeking of urine. Slowly, I raised my head. The flashlight beam illuminated the living room ceiling. That access panel had been completely removed at some point. A skull-like withered head was hanging upside down there. Matted hair dangling like weeds, those cloudy yellow eyes squinting in the bright light. He grinned, revealing a mouthful of half-rotten black teeth. In his hand was a water bottle, dripping urine downward. He was mocking me. Marking his territory. This was the “roommate” who’d been living above my head all along. Every night I’d heard those sounds, thinking they were rats. They were rats, all right. One giant human-sized rat. “Come down here!” I screamed at him, my voice so hoarse it scared even me. “If you’ve got guts, come down! What kind of man hides up there!” I raised the fruit knife, waving it at him. That withered face twitched, apparently surprised I’d challenge him. He retreated. Then came urgent crawling sounds. Heading toward my room. I knew what he was going to do. That ventilation window. His favorite hunting entrance. I couldn’t go back to my room. But I had to use that room. My mind raced, adrenaline surging. If he liked playing dirty, I’d play along to the end. I rushed to the kitchen. No gas here, just an old-style electric hotplate. But I remembered—in the corner of the kitchen was a bucket of paint thinner left over from previous renovations. Highly flammable. I grabbed the metal bucket and shook it. Still half full. Enough. I hauled the bucket back to my room. The ventilation window had already been pushed open, that skeletal hand about to reach down. Seeing me rush in, the movement paused. Probably wondering why this prey dared walk into the trap. I let out a cold laugh, unscrewed the bucket lid, and aimed at the bed beneath the ventilation window and the wall directly below it, splashing it everywhere. The acrid chemical smell instantly filled the cramped space. “You want to come down? Then come down!” I pulled out a lighter. Click. The flame sparked to life. The eyes behind that ventilation window widened suddenly. The animal’s instinctive fear of fire. He tried to retreat. But I didn’t give him the chance. I tossed the lighter onto the thinner-soaked sheets. The flames erupted instantly, like a fire dragon roaring toward the ceiling. That ventilation window was a wind tunnel—the flames rushed straight up with the airflow. A piercing shriek erupted from the ceiling crawlspace. That sound made your scalp crawl, like a pig being slaughtered. I stepped back, watching flames lick at the edges of the ventilation window. But I knew this wasn’t enough. This fire wouldn’t kill him—at most it would burn him. And if this old building really caught fire, I’d die too. I didn’t want mutual destruction. I wanted to force him down. Force him out of his dark fortress, down to ground level, where we could fight to the death. Sure enough, overhead came frantic crashing and rolling sounds. The crawlspace filled with smoke and fire—he couldn’t stay. A massive crash from the hallway. The access panel had been completely kicked out. A flaming black mass tumbled down from above, hitting the floor hard. He’d landed. It was a scrawny man, barely five feet tall, draped in tattered quilting, hair still smoking. He screamed and rolled on the floor, beating at the flames on his body. I gripped the fruit knife tightly and strode out of my room. Now he was no longer that superior hunter. Just a cornered dog. Strike while the enemy’s down—finish him off. I rushed over and stabbed down hard at his thigh. The sound of blade entering flesh. He screamed again, those cloudy eyes finally showing fear. He tried to get up, but I kicked him hard in that revolting face. “This is for the me you strangled to death!” I yanked out the knife. Blood sprayed everywhere. I wanted to stab again. But just then, keys turning sounded at the front door. Click. The door opened. The landlord Mike’s bulky figure appeared in the doorway. He held a baseball bat, panting heavily—clearly he’d rushed up after hearing the commotion. But when he saw the scene before him, he froze. I froze too. I’d expected him to come, but not with a weapon in hand. What I hadn’t expected was that when he saw the homeless man covered in blood on the floor, his eyes showed no surprise—only… fury. The fury of someone whose property had been damaged. “Damn it, useless piece of trash!” He cursed, turned around to close the door, and deadbolted it again. He turned back around. Those little eyes that usually squinted to slits were now wide open, gleaming with murderous intent. “Girl, you’re pretty vicious, aren’t you?” He hefted the baseball bat, advancing toward me step by step. “This idiot may be brain-dead, but at least he’s been watching this place for me for six months, saving me plenty of trouble. You crippled him—how am I supposed to do business now?” His tone was casual, like he was discussing some minor property damage. But I understood. This homeless man wasn’t some illegal squatter. He was a dog the agent kept. Specifically to frighten tenants, drive away those who wanted their deposits back, or even… dispose of troublesome people. I gripped the still-dripping knife, backing away step by step. Wolf ahead, tiger behind. And this tiger was bigger, meaner, and harder to handle than that wolf. “Don’t come closer! I called the police!” I shouted, raising the knife. “Police?” Mike sneered. “I installed a signal jammer in this dump. Who could you possibly call?” No wonder the call wouldn’t go through. “Wasn’t planning to touch you, but you had to make trouble.” The fat on Mike’s face quivered as he showed a savage grin. “Since you know everything now, might as well stay and keep them company. I’m sick of these mannequins anyway—perfect time to replace one with the real thing.” He swung the baseball bat viciously at my head. 4 I instinctively dodged sideways, but the bat still caught my shoulder. Intense pain struck. I thought my bone might have fractured. The fruit knife flew from my hand, sliding into a corner of the living room. The massive force knocked me to the floor. My vision went dark. Mike didn’t pause—another swing came down. I rolled desperately across the floor, barely avoiding it. The baseball bat smashed into the floor, making a dull crash. Floor tiles shattered. “Run? Where can you run?” Mike sneered, bearing down on me like a mountain of flesh. The homeless man I’d stabbed had also recovered by now. Clutching his thigh, he limped to his feet, making that weird clicking laugh, picking up a broken wooden stick from the floor and blocking my path to the bedroom. Two against one. With me injured and weaponless. Despair rose like a black tide, slowly covering my head. Had I been reborn just to die again? Even more horribly this time? My back against the cold wall, I gasped for breath. Past Mike’s bulky body, I could see the front door. Deadbolted. Even if I had the key, unlocking it would take time. And they’d never give me that time. “Stop struggling, girl.” Mike stepped on my ankle and ground down hard. I screamed in pain. He squatted down, that greasy fat face inches from mine, reeking breath washing over me. “Originally I planned to let you stay a month, keep your deposit and kick you out. But you just had to make trouble.” He reached out his fat hand to grab my hair. I suddenly lunged and bit down hard on his palm. Clamped down with every ounce of strength. I tasted blood—the rancid flavor of pork fat. Mike screamed and flung his hand, throwing me six feet away. My head slammed into the wall. The impact made me see stars, my consciousness fading. But I couldn’t pass out. Unconscious meant dead. Mike looked at the deep tooth marks on his hand, going to bone, and flew into a complete rage. “Ungrateful bitch!” He raised the baseball bat, this time aimed at my skull. He meant to kill me outright. I watched that bat descending closer and closer. Time seemed to slow in that moment. I wasn’t willing to accept this. I really wasn’t willing. I was only 23. My life had just begun. Why should I die at the hands of these two pieces of garbage? My hand groped wildly across the floor, hoping to grab something. My fingertips touched something cold and hard. A piece of broken floor tile with a sharp edge. Only palm-sized, but the edge was sharp as a knife. The instant the baseball bat fell, I exploded with my last reserves of strength. Not to dodge—to attack. I shot forward, not retreating but advancing, ramming into Mike’s bulk. The tile fragment in my hand stabbed viciously toward the carotid artery in his neck. The sound of a sharp object piercing a blood vessel. Scalding liquid instantly sprayed across my face. Mike’s movement froze. The baseball bat slipped powerlessly from his hand. Those beady eyes bulged like they’d pop out. He clutched his neck, making gurgling sounds, blood foam gushing between his fingers. The homeless man saw this scene and was stunned stupid. He probably never imagined his usually vicious master could be counter-killed by a “little rabbit.” I shoved aside Mike’s heavy corpse and stood up, face covered in blood. Like a demon crawling out of hell. I turned toward the homeless man. “Your turn.” The homeless man shrieked and turned to scramble toward the access panel. But how could I let him escape? I picked up the baseball bat, dragging it with my uninjured arm, walking toward him step by step. “Don’t… don’t…” The homeless man cowered in the corner, trembling. Now he seemed human—now he knew fear. I raised the baseball bat. Without the slightest hesitation. Thud. The world went quiet. I dropped the bat and slumped weakly against the wall. The whole room reeked of blood mixed with burnt smell. I looked at the two corpses on the floor and suddenly wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Was it over? Had I survived? Trembling, I fished the keys from Mike’s pocket. The front door key. I staggered to the door, my hand shaking so badly I couldn’t insert it properly several times. Finally, it went in. I turned it. Click. The lock opened. I pushed the door. Outside in the hallway, the motion sensor light flickered on. That sudden brightness was somewhat blinding. I squinted, wanting to breathe some fresh air. But I saw someone. Someone in a police uniform. Standing at the hallway entrance, gun in hand, pointed at me. I froze. A cop? Had someone called the police? Was I saved? I was about to raise my hands, about to shout “I’m the victim.” But the next second, I saw that cop’s face clearly. It was a familiar face. Though wearing a police uniform, those sinister eyes, that hooked nose… It was the property manager! The property manager who’d been at the contract signing, always with a gloomy expression, never speaking! Why was he wearing a police uniform? No, that uniform didn’t fit right. The shoulder patches were crooked. It was fake. Cosplay? No. He looked at me, then at the carnage inside the apartment, his face showing not a trace of surprise. Instead, he wore a strange smile—like someone who’d just watched their game finally reach completion. “Not bad, little girl.” He slowly lowered the gun—a black imitation pistol. “Thought Mike would win this round. Didn’t expect you to turn the tables.” He pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket and pressed the button. “Hey, the house lost this round. Calculate the payout.” The walkie-talkie erupted with chaotic cheering and betting talk. “Holy shit! This chick actually pulled off a double kill!” “I told you betting on this girl to survive the night would pay off!” “I’m ruined—I bet on the homeless guy!” My mind exploded with a thunderous roar. This wasn’t robbery, wasn’t murder to silence a witness. This was… a gambling ring? This entire shared apartment was their arena? Me, the previous tenants, even the homeless man and Mike—we were all just pieces in their game? The property manager put away the walkie-talkie and raised the gun again, aiming at the center of my forehead. “You won, but the rules of the game are simple: there can only be one winner.” “And that winner is always the house.” Bang. A flash of fire erupted from the gun barrel. I felt a chill between my eyebrows. My consciousness rapidly faded. With my last glimpse, I saw the property manager step over my corpse, speaking into the walkie-talkie: “Clean it up. Prepare for the next round.” … I gasped and bolted upright in bed. No searing pain in my neck, no chill between my eyebrows. Before me was that familiar phone screen. Time: July 15, 2023, 8:00 PM.

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Fiona and I had been childhood sweethearts, and when we came of age, our families arranged our engagement. From that day on, I started counting down to our wedding. But Fiona thought it was unfair. “Everyone else gets to date multiple people in their lifetime. Why should I only be with you?” “You should go date a few others too. Don’t shortchange yourself.” She meant what she said. In just one year after our engagement, Fiona went through seven boyfriends. Each time she switched, I calmly said it didn’t matter—she’d come back to me eventually anyway. Until she brought her eighth boyfriend to her family’s Christmas party. I set down my fork and pushed the engagement contract to the middle of the table. “Fiona, you’re free now.” I took the hand of a girl at the party and stood before Fiona. Fiona threw her glass right there and then, her eyes reddening for the first time. “Johnson, what the hell do you mean?!” I smiled. “Didn’t you tell me to date a few others? She’s quite suitable.”

I’d been to Fiona’s family Christmas party many times before. But today was the first time I walked through that door not as Fiona’s fiancé. “Is that Johnson? How did he…” “Who’s he holding hands with? Someone from the John family?” “And who’s that guy next to Fiona? What’s going on here…” Fiona stood up abruptly. The movement was so sudden that her chair legs scraped across the floor with a piercing screech. Her eyes were rimmed with red as she pointed at Susan. “Do you know he’s my fiancé?” Susan turned her head to glance at me, as if checking whether I needed her to speak. I shook my head slightly. Fiona’s mother, Mary, smiled and tried to smooth things over. “Johnson, there must be some misunderstanding here. Fiona’s just young and playful, but she still cares about you…” I looked at Mary and smiled too. “She’s been playing for a year, gone through seven guys, and today she brought number eight.” Fiona’s father, Tony, turned iron-faced and shot Fiona a fierce glare. Fiona tried to speak, but I raised my hand to cut her off. “Fiona’s right—staying faithful to one person really is a loss. So I’m calling off this engagement first.” I pushed the engagement contract forward again and turned to look at my father, Anderson. His expression was unreadable as he locked eyes with me for three seconds, then stood up. “Tony, this is the kids’ business. We adults should stay out of it.” “But as for this engagement, if Johnson wants to call it off, I support him.” Tony’s face darkened as he yelled at Fiona, “Get out of here!” Fiona was banished to the study. Even through the door, you could hear things being thrown. Mary said nothing in the end and followed her into the study. Bob stood there alone, pinned by stares from all directions. Uncomfortable and hunched, he quickly left the main hall. The Christmas dinner ended hastily. I walked Susan to the door and released her hand. “Thank you for tonight, Susan.” She looked up at me, her gaze gentle, with no unnecessary words: “It was my honor to play along with your performance.” Then she got into her car and disappeared into the night. I stood at Fiona’s family’s doorway. The wind blew past, slightly chilly. My white shirt had gotten wine stains on it earlier. They’d dried now, leaving dark red marks. Back home, I threw myself onto the couch and lay there with my eyes closed for a long time. My mind kept replaying that year when Fiona first held my hand and said, “Johnson is my man.” At eighteen, when our families arranged the engagement, she said in front of everyone, “He’s the only one for me in this lifetime.” Yet at twenty-two, she showed up in front of me with her eighth boyfriend. The person I once protected was no longer mine. I opened my eyes, took out my phone, and pulled up Fiona’s chat. The last message was from three days ago—a photo of her and Bob. “New boyfriend. Handsome, right?” I hadn’t replied then, and I wouldn’t reply now. I clicked on her profile picture and deleted her contact.

A week after calling off the engagement, I went to a tea house on the city outskirts to discuss business. Walking through the courtyard toward the interior, I unexpectedly saw Bob. He sat at a garden table with refreshments and tea in front of him, smiling as he said something. And sitting across from him was Fiona. Bob saw me first. His eyes lit up, then he quickly composed himself and continued talking as if nothing had happened. A server came up to ask how many were in my party. I said I had an appointment and was led to a corner table. This spot wasn’t far from Fiona’s table—close enough to overhear their conversation. I’d just sat down when I heard Bob say: “Fiona, about Johnson calling off the engagement that day—how did you handle it afterward?” My hand paused as I lifted my teacup. Fiona’s voice came through: “What’s there to handle? He called it off. Am I supposed to beg him?” Bob laughed. “But he did that in public. Where does that leave your dignity?” Fiona laughed too. “He thinks calling off the engagement will scare me? The engagement was arranged by both families. He doesn’t get to decide alone.” I held my teacup and slowly took a sip. The tea was good. Bob asked again, “So will you still see him in the future?” “See him for what?” Fiona’s tone was casual. “I have you now.” Bob lowered his voice and asked, “So when will you marry me?” Silence for two seconds. Then Fiona’s voice rang out. “Soon. Once I finish dealing with this current mess, I’ll marry you.” I swallowed that sip of tea and poured myself another cup. The tea was hot. Steam rose to my face, slightly damp. Bob was saying something else over there, but I could barely hear it anymore. One sentence kept spinning in my mind—her words “once I finish dealing with this current mess, I’ll marry you.” Once she finished this current mess. I suddenly wanted to laugh. I’d waited a year for her to come back to me, and here she was, planning to marry someone else once she finished her current mess. I drained the tea in one gulp and called the server over to settle the bill. As I got up to leave, I passed their table without stopping, even wearing a faint smile on my face. Bob’s expression flickered—probably surprised I could be so composed. Fiona watched me walk past, her gaze following me until I walked out the courtyard gate. Outside the tea house, I got in my car and only then did I grip the steering wheel tight. My nails dug into my palms. It hurt. I sent a message to the project manager, changing the location for our business discussion. Three seconds later, I started the car and drove away. Inside the tea house, Fiona pushed away the refreshments Bob offered her. “Let’s go.” Bob froze. “Where to?” “You go home first. I still have things to do.” Bob’s face changed, but he didn’t dare say more. That evening, the project lead was decided—Tony Group. The next day, I received word that the project liaison would be Bob. I stared at that message for a long time. Did Fiona get him into Tony Group? Or was he already part of Tony Group? Whatever. None of it mattered anymore. I put down my phone and continued revising the proposal.

On the day of the project kickoff meeting, I sat across from Fiona for the first time as a client. Fiona wore a professional suit with an all-business demeanor. Bob sat beside her in a suit. I opened my laptop and began presenting the proposal. Five minutes in, Bob raised his hand to interrupt me. “Manager Johnson, there’s a problem with this positioning, isn’t there?” I stopped and looked at him. “The positioning report was confirmed through preliminary research. Your side signed off on it at the time.” Bob smiled slightly. “That was before. Now that I’m in charge of the project, if I think it’s not suitable, it needs to be changed.” Fiona nodded beside him. “Bob’s right. Go back and revise it.” I paused for a second, then said, “Alright.” I continued. Ten minutes later, Bob interrupted again. “This circulation design won’t work either. It’s too convoluted. When you made this proposal, did you actually visit the site?” I said, “We visited the site three times. The circulation design is based on…” Bob cut me off. “I looked at your analysis report. The data sources are all wrong. Redo it.” Fiona nodded again. “Revise it according to what he said.” Her gaze fell on my face but quickly moved away as she looked down at her phone. I took a deep breath. “Alright.” After that, Bob interrupted every five minutes, his criticisms becoming increasingly absurd. People in the conference room exchanged glances, but no one dared speak up. When the presentation ended, I closed my laptop. Bob smiled and said, “Manager Johnson, thanks for your hard work. Take the proposal back and revise it properly. We’ll meet again next time.” After the meeting, he stopped me in the hallway, smiling with a sinister edge. “Manager Johnson, I’ll be handling project coordination from now on. Let’s communicate often.” He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “Fiona said whether this project goes well or not affects your family’s future cooperation with Tony Group.” “Don’t worry, I’ll ‘cooperate’ with you properly.” Looking at his face, I suddenly wanted to ask him: Do you know the woman beside you went through seven boyfriends in one year? But I didn’t ask. I only said, “Then let’s go by the rules.” He smiled even more deeply. “Of course I’ll go by the rules. I’m just afraid Manager Johnson won’t be used to it.” He turned to leave, then looked back and added: “Oh, by the way, Manager Johnson, Fiona said once this project ends, we’ll officially announce our engagement.” I stood in place, watching his figure disappear at the end of the hallway. For a week straight, I worked overtime until late every night. I revised the proposal eight times. Each time I submitted it, Bob sent it back. Colleagues complained privately that Bob was doing it on purpose. But I only said, “Keep revising.” Because I knew he was doing it on purpose, so saying anything was useless. At eleven p.m., I was alone at the office revising the proposal. Someone knocked on the door. I looked up to see the security guard standing there, saying someone was looking for me. I went downstairs and saw Susan standing in the lobby, holding a plastic bag.

Susan walked over and handed me the bag. “I was passing by and picked up some food.” I opened the bag to find a steaming plate of pasta and a cup of coffee. I looked up at her. “Susan, did you put a tracker on me or something?” She thought seriously for a moment. “Installing trackers is illegal.” “Then how did you know I hadn’t eaten?” She smiled slightly without answering. I lowered my head and ate the pasta. The hot soup warmed me from the inside out. She stood beside me, saying nothing, just standing there. I suddenly laughed. She looked at me. “What’s funny?” I said, “Nothing. Just feels like it’s been a long time since I laughed like this.” She looked into my eyes, her gaze light. I didn’t continue. That night when I got home, I revised the ninth version of the proposal. At 2 a.m., I submitted it. At 8 a.m. the next morning, I received a reply: [Approved.] At the project’s milestone celebration, held in a five-star hotel ballroom in the city center. As soon as I entered, I heard murmurs around me. “That Johnson guy—doesn’t he have an engagement with Fiona’s family? Why is he being treated so harshly now?” “I heard the engagement was called off, but I don’t know the details.” “That Bob guy next to Fiona seems pretty favored. Probably won’t be long now.” These words drifted into my ears one by one, but my face showed no expression. At eight o’clock sharp, Bob entered with Fiona on his arm. Bob wore a white suit today, looking quite dashing. Fiona’s gown was elegant, her face wearing a proper smile. Someone gathered the courage to ask, “Miss Fiona, we heard you and Johnson called off your engagement. Is that true?” Everyone looked at Fiona, then at me. Fiona was about to speak when I set down my wine glass. “It’s true. The engagement between our families has been canceled.” The whole room erupted. Fiona’s face changed as she stared at me. I met her gaze without any expression. She suddenly smiled and reached up to wrap her arms around Bob’s neck. Then, in front of everyone, she stood on her toes and kissed him. Bob froze at first, then showed delight, wrapping his arms around her waist in response. Gasps and whispers rose around us. When the kiss ended, Fiona lifted her head and looked at me: “Mr. Johnson is quite right. The engagement between our families has been canceled.” “The person I’m marrying now is him.” The whole room buzzed with excitement. Bob was so moved his eyes turned red as he held her waist tightly. But Fiona wasn’t looking at him. She kept staring at me, waiting to see my reaction. Waiting to see even a crack appear on my face, but my expression remained unchanged. Just as I was about to say something, a voice came from behind me. “What a coincidence.” I turned around. Susan emerged from the crowd, elegant in her gown, walking toward me step by step. Her gaze cut through everyone and landed on my face. Then she walked up to me, extended her hand, and took mine. She lifted her head, looking at Fiona, looking at everyone present. “I’m the one marrying him.”

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I was the real daughter who had just been found and brought back to my wealthy family. But the moment I stepped through the door, the fake daughter Barbara threw herself into my parents’ arms, sobbing. “Dad, Mom, forgive me—I really can’t accept her.” “She’s that transfer student who spread rumors about me at school and gave me depression!” Mom Lucy held the fake daughter close, comforting her with heartache in her voice. Dad Patterson’s face was full of anger, his eyes looking at me with utter disappointment. “I never imagined that just a few years of being lost would make you pick up so many bad habits!” “Butler, throw her out! We don’t have a daughter who bullies others at school!” I looked confused and quickly signed: “I spread rumors about her? But I’m mute!” I stood at the doorway, my fingertips still cold from the chill outside. Barbara was in my parents’ arms, crying so hard she could barely breathe. She buried her face in Lucy’s neck, her shoulders shaking violently. When she lifted her head, the corners of her eyes were bright red. “Dad, Mom, you don’t know.” “Last monthly exam, I came in second in our grade, and she went around telling everyone I cheated, that my dad bribed the teachers with money, and that I did things with the grade director in his office to secure my recommendation spot…” With each sentence she spoke, Lucy’s hand patting her back grew heavier, and Patterson’s brow furrowed tighter. I opened my mouth but could only produce fragmented breath sounds. I hadn’t been able to speak since I could remember. The doctors said it was damaged vocal cords. Over the years, I’d grown used to communicating with people through sign language and pen and paper. I raised my hand, my fingers just about to form the sign for “it wasn’t me,” when my brother Pierre suddenly jumped up from the sofa. He strode over to me in a few steps, looking down at me from above, the contempt in his eyes almost overflowing. “Alice, how long are you going to keep up this act? Barbara’s been driven to depression because of you, and you still want to make excuses?” I froze for a moment, my fingertips suspended in midair. Pierre was Patterson’s only son. From the moment I entered the house, he’d been protecting Barbara, his gaze full of tenderness toward her. But when he looked at me, it was like he was looking at something filthy. “Pierre, don’t say that about Alice…” Barbara tugged at Pierre’s sleeve, her voice as soft as water, yet every word stabbed into my heart. “Maybe Alice just wants to fit into this family so badly that she’s trying to get attention this way. I don’t blame her, I really don’t…” “You’re just too kind!” Lucy immediately held her tighter, then turned to look at me with eyes as cold as ice. “Alice, we brought you back to feel the warmth of family, not to bully people! Can you stop with those underhanded tactics you learned out there?” Patterson let out a heavy snort, his knuckles rapping on the coffee table with dull thuds. “My daughter, even if she was lost outside, should still carry herself like a proper young lady. But look at you—the moment you walk through the door, you’re spreading rumors and bullying Barbara. You’ve completely disgraced our family!” The servants nearby huddled together whispering, their eyes full of undisguised contempt. “I heard she was just a wild girl from the countryside. Never thought she’d be so malicious.” “Barbara’s so gentle—how could anyone bear to bully her?” “Look at her doing sign language. She’s acting like it’s real. Maybe she’s just faking it to get sympathy.” Those words were like fine needles piercing my eardrums. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, and reached for the side pocket of my backpack. Inside was the notebook I’d brought back from school. I could write down what had really happened. But the moment my hand touched the zipper, Pierre pressed down on my wrist. His grip was strong, his knuckles almost digging into my flesh. “What else are you trying to pull out to deceive people?” I struggled briefly, using my other hand to reach into my bag, finally pulling out that stack of white paper. But before I could unfold it, Pierre snatched it away and tore it in half with both hands. The stack of paper instantly became confetti dancing through the air. The pieces landed in my hair. I stared at him blankly, the last bit of warmth in my heart freezing over. Barbara let out a timely sob, burying her head even deeper. “Pierre, don’t be like this. Alice is just…” Pierre cut her off, the fury in his eyes almost catching fire. “She’s driven you to this state, and you’re still defending her? This kind of malicious person doesn’t deserve to stay in our home!” Patterson’s expression darkened completely. He waved at the butler by the door, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Butler, throw her out. We don’t have a daughter like this!”

I curled up on the hard dorm bed at school all night. The morning study session hadn’t started yet. I’d just opened my textbook when the homeroom teacher called me to the office. When I pushed open the door, Barbara was sitting in the chair across from the teacher. Her shoulders were heaving, a tissue clutched in her hand, her eyes swollen like walnuts. When she saw me enter, she immediately looked up, her eyes showing just the right amount of grievance and fear as she shrank behind the teacher. “Alice, you’re here.” The teacher’s voice was cold as ice. “Come here and tell me what you did to Barbara yesterday.” I stood at the door without moving. Barbara began sobbing at just the right moment: “Please don’t force Alice. Yesterday she cornered me in the hallway and said I was a cuckoo in the nest, a bastard. She said she’d make sure I couldn’t stay at this school. I… I was so scared.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word was clear, like small knives stabbing into me with precision. The teacher’s expression darkened further. He picked up his phone from the desk and made a call. “I’ve already called your parents. They’ll be here soon.” Before long, the office door was pushed open. My parents walked in. My dad’s face was ashen. My mom was holding Barbara’s hand, her eyes full of heartache. Patterson’s voice was filled with suppressed fury. “What happened? Did Alice bully Barbara again?” The teacher pushed up his glasses, his tone serious. “According to Barbara’s statement, Alice has repeatedly verbally abused and spread rumors about her on campus, even threatening to make her drop out.” “This kind of school bullying is absolutely intolerable at our school.” Patterson whipped his head toward me, the disappointment in his eyes almost drowning me. “How could I have a daughter like you! Are you only satisfied when you’ve completely disgraced our family?” I opened my mouth but could only produce fragmented breath sounds. I raised my hand, my fingertips just about to form the gesture for “it wasn’t me,” when Patterson slapped me across the face. The sharp crack echoed loudly. My head jerked to the side, my ears ringing, my cheek burning with pain. I stared at him in a daze, tears finally spilling over. “You dare to cry?” Patterson’s voice was full of undisguised disgust. “You did something wrong and you have the nerve to cry? I think you’re deliberately acting pitiful to gain sympathy!” Barbara beside him let out another sob, burying her head in Lucy’s arms. “Don’t scold Alice anymore. I don’t blame her.” Lucy shot me a cold glance. “Born lowly, all you know is how to bully Barbara!” The office door had been pushed open a crack at some point, with several classmates poking their heads in to look. Whispered conversations came through clearly. “So she really did bully Barbara…” “She seems so quiet, never thought she’d be so vicious.” “I heard even her parents don’t want her. No wonder she’s so cruel.” Those words were like fine needles piercing my eardrums. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I raised my hands again, signing “I didn’t” in sign language. But I’d only gotten halfway through the motion when the teacher interrupted me. He frowned, his tone full of impatience. “Alice, can you stop using these tricks to get attention? If you have something to say, say it. Stop playing these games!” I froze, my fingertips suspended in midair. So even my silent defense was just seen as a ploy for attention in their eyes. Just then, the office door was gently pushed open. A girl stood in the doorway, her voice weak as she spoke: “She’s not playing games… That’s sign language.” Everyone turned to look at the girl in the doorway. She kept her head down, her fingers clutching tightly at her clothes, but she still gathered her courage and added softly: “I… I learned a little sign language. What she just said was ‘I didn’t.’ And… she seems to be mute.”

The air seemed frozen. The girl who understood sign language stood in the doorway, her face flushed red, but she still repeated word by word: “I’m not making this up. My little brother is congenitally deaf and mute. I’ve learned some sign language since I was little. What she just signed really was ‘I didn’t.’” The teacher pushed up his glasses, his tone clearly skeptical: “Are you sure? This isn’t something to joke about.” The girl lifted her head, her eyes firm. “The hand gestures in sign language are fixed. I wouldn’t mistake them. And… Alice has never spoken at school. Everyone knows that.” The office fell silent instantly. My parents’ expressions changed. Lucy looked at me, her lips moving as if she wanted to say something, a barely noticeable guilt flashing in her eyes. But just then, Barbara suddenly sobbed a few times. While wiping her tears, she spoke softly. “Alice, even if you don’t dare admit it, you can’t get someone to act with you and pretend to be mute.” Her crying was like a sharp knife, instantly puncturing Lucy’s fragile guilt. Patterson’s expression immediately darkened. He whipped his head toward me, the fury in his eyes almost burning me alive. “Alice, you’re something else! To avoid punishment, you’d even make up this kind of lie! You even found an accomplice to help you act—your heart is rotten to the core!” With trembling hands, I pulled out the neatly folded disability certificate from my school uniform pocket, wanting to show it to them. But the moment my hand touched that paper, Patterson snatched it away. Without even looking at it, he tore it in half. That thin piece of paper instantly became fragments. I stared at him blankly, tears finally spilling over. “Keep acting! Keep it up!” Patterson’s voice was full of undisguised disgust. “I think you need to be taught a lesson! Since you love acting so much, I’ll have someone send you to juvenile detention. Let’s see if you still dare to keep pretending to be mute after you see how tough the people there are!” Lucy’s expression changed immediately too. Holding Barbara, her eyes were full of contempt: “Alice, we really misjudged you. We never thought you’d use such lowdown tactics to avoid responsibility. You’ve disappointed us so much!” Barbara leaned in Lucy’s arms, the corner of her mouth curling into a barely noticeable smile, yet she still cried like a pear blossom in the rain: “Dad, Mom, don’t treat Alice like this. Maybe Alice just had a momentary lapse in judgment. She didn’t mean it…” “A momentary lapse?” Patterson laughed coldly. “This is her true nature! This kind of malicious person will only bring disaster to our family if she stays! I’m calling John from the reform school right now to have him come take her away!” The teacher stood to the side, his expression shifting uncertainly. He looked at me, then at my parents, and finally sighed, waving at the girl in the doorway: “You can go back now. We’ll handle this.” The girl opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something more, but the teacher’s gaze stopped her. She looked at me deeply, her eyes full of sympathy and helplessness, but finally turned and left the office. I stood there, looking at those torn paper fragments on the floor, and suddenly laughed. So the innocence I’d tried so hard to prove was nothing more than a ridiculous performance in their eyes. So I had never had any place in this family. I slowly crouched down, picking up those paper fragments one by one. My fingertips were cut by the sharp paper edges, but I couldn’t feel the pain. Compared to the pain in my heart, what did this little injury matter?

When the reform school van stopped under the academic building, the air on the entire floor of offices seemed to freeze. Two men in uniforms pushed through the door, their faces showing the indifference that came from years of dealing with problem teenagers. Patterson immediately went up to them, his tone familiar. “John, sorry to trouble you to make the trip. This girl is malicious. Keeping her around would only bring disaster. I’m leaving her to you for proper discipline.” The man called John glanced at me, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold, hard smile. “Mr. Patterson, rest assured. No matter how bad a kid is, once they get to our place, they’ll learn to behave.” Barbara leaned in Lucy’s arms, the smugness in her eyes almost overflowing. She gently tugged at Lucy’s sleeve, her voice as soft as cotton, yet every word stabbed into my heart: “Dad, Mom, don’t be too harsh. Alice just had a momentary lapse. Maybe once she gets to the reform school, she’ll realize her mistake.” Patterson laughed coldly. “This is her true nature! People like her need to be taught a lesson!” John walked up to me, looking down from above: “Is it you? Pretending to be mute and bullying people?” I didn’t speak, just clutched at my clothes, my fingertips ice cold. John’s eyes showed clear impatience. “Why aren’t you talking? Still pretending?” He suddenly lifted his foot and kicked hard at the back of my knee. Caught off guard, I fell to my knees with a thud, my kneecaps hitting the cold tile floor. The pain made my vision go black. “Still being stubborn?” John grabbed a handful of my hair and forced my head up. “I’ll teach you to pretend!” His palm slapped hard across my face, the force so great that my head whipped to the side, my ears ringing, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. I was trembling all over from the pain, but could only bite my lip hard to keep from making a sound. But the intense pain still made me unable to suppress some fragmented breath sounds—a few unclear syllables leaked from my throat. “She spoke! She’s definitely faking it!” Barbara’s voice suddenly rang out shrilly, filled with undisguised delight. “I knew she was pretending to be mute to deceive us! She’s a liar!” My parents’ expressions instantly grew even uglier. Patterson pointed at me, so angry his whole body was shaking: “You liar! How could our family produce a daughter like you! You’ve completely disgraced us!” The teacher also shook his head, his tone full of disappointment: “Alice, I really misjudged you. I never thought you’d resort to such methods to avoid punishment.” The classmates around also joined in, their whispered conversations like invisible slaps striking my face painfully. “So she really was faking it!” “She seems so quiet, never thought she’d be so calculating.” “People like this should be locked up!” John slapped me again and grabbed my arm to drag me away. “Come on! Come back with me and see how I’ll deal with you!” I closed my eyes in despair, tears finally spilling over. Just then, the office door was kicked open violently. Everyone froze. A man in a black suit stood in the doorway, tall and upright, his bearing cold and severe, his whole presence radiating a suffocating sense of oppression. His gaze swept over everyone in the office, finally landing on me, the heartache in his eyes almost overflowing. His voice was low and icy, his eyes filled with killing intent. “My daughter simply can’t speak, and you humiliate her like this?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “372750”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #重生Reborn #浪漫Romance