1 Maria’s childhood friend Derek was a popular relationship guru. She believed love wasn’t about instinct, but his strict methodology. Derek said men were like stray cats: starve them to make them cling. So when I pulled an all-nighter, she locked me out in the hallway until sunrise. He claimed security bred complacency, so she vanished on our engagement day to test if I’d break down. Each time I sobbed, she sighed. “Derek said this is low-value emotional manipulation. I’m doing this for our future.” Then Dad had a massive stroke and landed in the ICU. I borrowed from everyone, still three thousand dollars short. Maria refused to send a dime, forwarding my desperate voice notes to Derek instead. That night, I went viral: Her boyfriend begged for money using his dying father. Romance scam? Dad’s blurred critical notice fueled the mockery. Comments hailed Maria as clear-headed, calling me a shameless leech. Bloodshot, I begged her to delete it. She gave a faint, mocking laugh. “Everyone’s helping me cut my losses. Reflect on why you sound like a con artist.” The urge to explain myself died. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I just wanted to drag myself out of this toxic relationship, clean and whole. … The hospital billing counter was closing in ten minutes. I swiped my debit card three times, but the machine kept displaying the same available balance: two thousand and forty dollars. The nurse pushed the receipt back toward me. “You’re still short three thousand dollars for the deposit,” she said coldly. “If it’s not paid by midnight, it will impact his ongoing medication.” I grabbed the slip and sprinted out of the lobby. Rain poured from the night sky. Across the street sat a small pawn shop. “The diamond is tiny, and the band has visible wear,” the jeweler said, squinting through his magnifying glass. “Best I can do is two thousand five hundred.” Maria had spent ten thousand dollars on this ring. The day we picked it out, she held my hand and spent the entire afternoon browsing. I had fallen in love with an eighteen-thousand-dollar band. She squeezed my fingers tightly. “Wait until our tenth anniversary. I’ll buy you a much bigger one.” On the way home, Derek sent her over a dozen voice messages. “Never feed a man until he’s full on the first try,” Derek’s voice had rattled through her phone speaker. “If you satisfy him right away, his demands will only grow bigger next time.” So Maria turned the car around, went back to the mall, and bought the cheaper option. Derek even bragged about her on his livestream later that night. “As long as you make the man choose himself, his sunk-cost fallacy will force him to rationalize your decision for you.” Back then, I really did rationalize it for her. I pushed the ring across the glass counter. “I’ll take it.” My phone buzzed. Maria was finally calling. “Where are you?” she asked. “The pawn shop across from the hospital.” There was a brief pause on the line. “Did you just sell the ring?” “My dad needs the money for his treatment.” “Jesse, why do you always have to take things to such extremes?” I gripped the receipt tightly. “Maria, my father is lying in the ICU!” “I know,” she sighed. “And didn’t I come over already?” She was standing across the street, holding a thermal bag from the porridge shop near the back entrance of the hospital. I ran over to her through the rain. She reached out and gently wiped the water from my forehead. “Why are you wearing so little in this weather?” Inside the bag was a warm container of black sesame porridge. Low sugar, no crushed peanuts, just the way I liked it. Looking at that familiar packaging, my eyes burned. Maria unscrewed the lid and handed me a spoon. “Eat a few bites first.” Just as I reached out, her phone chimed loudly. Derek’s voice filled the air through the speakerphone. “His emotions are running high right now. Don’t rush to comfort him.” “Make him record a clarification video first.” “Otherwise, he’ll think that the louder he throws a tantrum, the more he gets from you.” Maria’s hand froze mid-air. She glanced at me, then slowly put the lid back on the container. “I didn’t lie,” I said, my voice cracking. “You saw the notice with your own eyes.” Maria knitted her brows. “A stroke doesn’t mean he’s going to die instantly. Derek researched it, plenty of patients wake up the very next day.” “You came at me crying for money right off the bat. Anyone would be suspicious.” She held her phone up in front of my face. On the screen was a pre-written statement. [Due to extreme anxiety, I exaggerated my father’s medical condition. Miss Maria never refused to help me. I am deeply grateful to Mr. Derek for his timely reminder.] “Read it out loud,” Maria commanded softly. “Once you do, Derek deletes the post, and I transfer you the money.” I didn’t reach for the phone. Maria’s voice turned cold. “I am willing to give you the money. But you cannot use your family’s illness to cross my boundaries.” In the seven years we had been together, “boundaries” was her favorite word. I wasn’t allowed to check her phone. I wasn’t allowed to ask where she went with Derek. I wasn’t allowed to care when they had late-night heart-to-heart chats. Yet Derek was allowed to read all our private texts. He was allowed to reply to my messages on her behalf. He was allowed to decide when she should hold me, and when she should give me the cold shoulder. A bank notification popped up on my phone: the pawn shop funds had cleared. I turned around without a word and walked back to the billing window. Maria stood in the rain, her face growing pale and stern. “If you don’t record it right now, don’t ever say I didn’t give you a chance!” By the time I finished paying the deposit and made it back to the ICU doors, it was already one in the morning. My phone kept pushing notifications of Derek’s ongoing livestream highlights. He sat in front of a ring light, a sleek new watch gleaming on his wrist. “Special thanks to an anonymous old friend,” he smiled at the camera. “Knowing I just hit ten million followers, she insisted on sending me this surprise.” The camera panned briefly over the luxury box on his desk. The price tag read three thousand dollars. The time of purchase was seventeen minutes after I had begged Maria for help. It wasn’t that Maria didn’t have three thousand dollars. She just didn’t think my father’s life was worth it. The next morning, my boss called me into his office and suspended me indefinitely. “We received hundreds of complaint emails last night,” he sighed. “Upper management doesn’t want clients seeing your face right now.” Shortly after I left the building, the medical crowdfunding platform sent me a notification. My dad’s campaign page had been frozen due to mass reports. The twenty-five hundred dollars already raised was locked and could not be withdrawn. Then the hospital called. Strangers had been posing as relatives, calling the front desk to ask if my dad was a hired actor. Some demanded a livestream to verify his condition. After being harassed for half an hour, the nurses were forced to unplug the landline. When I hurried back to the ward, a funeral wreath was resting against the hallway wall. A bright red message was written across the white ribbon: [May the scammer father and son reunite in hell soon.] I grabbed the wooden frame to throw it away. A splinter pierced deep into my palm, and blood dripped down my fingers. Maria happened to step out of the elevator at that exact moment. Seeing the blood on my hand, she pulled a Band-Aid out of her purse. “Why are you still so clumsy?” she muttered softly. “Give me your hand.” I didn’t move. She reached out, grabbed my wrist, and skillfully wrapped the bandage around the cut. She knew I hated onions. She knew I was terrified of thunder. Yet when my father was lying in the ICU, she had to ask Derek first if my dad was worth three thousand dollars. Her phone vibrated in her palm. It was a text from Derek. [Now that you’ve comforted him enough, pull away. Don’t let him feel that throwing a fit earns him more attention.] The moment Maria finished applying the Band-Aid, she let go of my wrist like I was radioactive. I peeled the bandage off and tossed it straight into the trash can alongside the wreath. “Do you even need his permission to feel sorry for me?” I asked. Her face darkened. “Stop being so cynical. Derek is spending his valuable time analyzing your personality just to help us.” I looked into her eyes. “The wedding is off.” “From now on, he can guide your love life however he wants.” Maria froze for two seconds, then suddenly let out a bitter laugh. “Threatening to break up with me to force a concession again?” she sneered. “Derek called it last night. He said once you realized crying didn’t work, your next step would be bringing up a breakup.” “Jesse, every single reaction of yours is completely within his predictions.” She handed me a duffel bag filled with clothes and chargers. “You’ll be pulling all-nighters here for the next few days.” I pushed the bag back toward her. “I need to go back to the apartment to get my ID and documents.” Maria stepped in front of me. “I’ll have my assistant bring them over.” I looked up at her. “Or what? Do I need Derek’s permission to go back to my own home now?” She didn’t answer. Half an hour later, I used my spare key to open the door to our apartment. My house slippers were still sitting neatly by the entrance. Right next to them was a pair of men’s leather shoes. Derek was sitting casually on the living room sofa, wearing the handmade wool slippers my dad had crafted for me last winter. I stared at his feet. “Take those off.” Derek looked down casually. “They’re just slippers, Jesse. A truly independent man doesn’t project his baggage onto everyday objects.” I bent down to pull them off him. Right then, the study door was pushed open. Maria hurried out and grabbed my arm firmly. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “Derek is just wearing them for a little bit.” Looking at the woman standing in front of me, I suddenly remembered the day we moved in four years ago. She had placed the keys gently in my palm with a radiant smile. “This is our home from now on,” she had whispered. “You can come back whenever you want.” I yanked my arm out of her grip. My lower back slammed against the desk behind me, knocking one of the drawers open a crack. Inside lay a signed equity purchase agreement. Maria had purchased a fifteen percent stake in Derek’s new coaching company for forty thousand dollars. The date of the signature was the exact day my father was admitted to the ICU. Three years ago, Maria’s studio suffered a massive cash flow crisis. My father sold his only property in the old neighborhood and lent her all forty thousand dollars from the sale. The IOU stated the loan would be repaid within two years. But she kept delaying it. Every time my dad gently asked about it, she would hold his hands and smile. “Dad, give me just a little more time,” she would say. “Once Jesse and I get married, my money is your money anyway.” My father waited until a stroke nearly took his life, and she wouldn’t even give him three thousand dollars. Yet that forty thousand dollars had gone straight into Derek’s company without a second thought. “Why is my dad’s money here?” I demanded, picking up the document. Maria snatched it away and shut the drawer. “What do you mean, your dad’s money? That loan was injected into my business, making it a company asset. My company has the right to decide how to invest its capital.” I stared at her, stunned. “Giving it to Derek is an investment? But giving three thousand dollars to save my dad is what?” Derek leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “It’s pouring money into a bottomless pit, Jesse.” “Three thousand today, rehab fees tomorrow, eldercare after that,” Derek continued smoothly. “If Maria doesn’t set hard boundaries now, your family will bleed her dry for the rest of her life.” I pulled the drawer back open. On the memo line of the contract, a single code was written: [Initial payment for Project LG-01.] Maria yanked the contract out of my hands. “These are internal corporate documents. You have no right to look at them!” “You took my dad’s money to fund a project named after him?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Her throat tightened slightly. “LG is just a project code.” Derek stepped up beside her. His new three-thousand-dollar watch caught the sunlight, flashing painfully in my eyes. Suddenly, this apartment I had lived in for four years felt terrifyingly alien. My clothes were hanging in the closet. My mug sat on the counter. My photos were on the wall. Yet standing here, I felt like a complete stranger. My father finally woke up on the afternoon of the third day. The doctor informed me that he had developed temporary aphasia, and the entire right side of his body was paralyzed. When I entered the room, he was struggling desperately with his left hand to grab his phone off the nightstand. The screen was inundated with vile text messages from strangers. [Just die already. Your death will prove your son is a scammer.] [Raising a scumbag son like that, you can’t be a good person either.] I snatched the phone away and shut it off. My father’s lips trembled uncontrollably. The nurse quickly brought over a notepad and a pen. He gripped the pen tightly with his clumsy left hand. Every single stroke was jagged and shaky. After a long struggle, three barely legible words appeared on the paper: [Is money enough?] I squatted down beside his bed. “It’s enough,” I lied softly, forcing a smile. “My company paid my salary early.” He stared into my eyes, clearly not believing me. “It really is enough, Dad.” Tears trickled down his weathered cheeks. Unable to move his right arm, he used his awkward left hand to gently stroke my hair. Just then, the ward door swung open. Maria walked in carrying a boutique bakery bag. “Uncle Hugh is awake?” she asked, her voice bright. She expertly raised the head of the bed and placed a box of chestnut cake on the bedside table. The moment my dad saw her, his eyes lit up. Maria knew he loved chestnuts, but didn’t like things too sweet. Four years ago, when my father was hospitalized for high blood pressure for the first time, I was stuck out of town on a business trip. Maria stayed by his bedside for two straight nights. When I rushed back the next morning, she was fast asleep, leaning against the edge of his mattress. From that day on, my father always said, “Maria is a thoughtful girl, Jesse. You can count on her.” She sat on the edge of the bed and took my father’s left hand into hers. “Uncle Hugh, I’m so sorry you had to go through this,” she said softly. “The people online don’t know the truth. Please don’t take their harsh words to heart.” My father looked at me anxiously. Maria followed his gaze, looking over at me before turning back to him. “Don’t worry,” she reassured him warmly. “I won’t leave Jesse over a little misunderstanding like this.” My father’s tense shoulders visibly relaxed. In that brief second, I felt a terrible pang of hesitation. It was as if she were still the same Maria who had cared for him four years ago. The very next second, however, she pulled an official document out of her briefcase. “The public backlash is too intense right now,” she explained gently to my father. “If you could just help clarify a small detail, Derek can get the trending topics taken down immediately.” Printed on the paper was a single statement: [I, Hugh, hereby confirm that I voluntarily gifted forty thousand dollars to Miss Maria. There is no loan agreement between us.] [My son, Jesse, recently lost emotional control and exaggerated my medical condition to demand funds.] I grabbed the paper and ripped it in half. “You’re shoving this garbage in front of a man who just woke up from a stroke?” I shouted. Maria frowned. “It’s just clarifying the facts!” “There is an IOU for that money!” “That IOU can be voided!” she hissed, lowering her voice. “We are getting married soon! Why are you drawing such a harsh line between your dad’s money and mine?” “Why didn’t you talk about being family when you took his money?” I spat back. “Now that it’s time to pay it back, you’re blaming me for keeping score?” Maria’s expression turned ugly. “Can you stop treating our relationship like a financial ledger?” “My dad was dying, and you still had to consult Derek to see if he was worth three thousand dollars!” Hearing the word married, my father frantically grabbed Maria’s sleeve. He pointed at the torn paper, then pointed at me, his eyes wide with worry. Maria patted his hand gently. “If you sign it, Uncle Hugh, I’ll have Derek take down the posts tonight.” “The wedding will go on as planned.” “I won’t abandon him.” My father stared at me intensely. I stepped in front of the bed, blocking her view. “Get out.” Maria’s face went cold. “Jesse, don’t be ungrateful. Your father knows what’s best for you.” “He just woke up! He can’t even speak!” I yelled, tears brimming in my eyes. “He’s just terrified that you’ll leave me!” My father panicked, trying to push himself up with his left arm. The heart monitor suddenly let out a shrill, piercing alarm. Nurses rushed into the room, shoving all of us out into the hallway. The doctor called me over to sign consent forms for additional emergency tests. When I returned to the floor, Maria was no longer in the corridor. The ward was dead silent. A red stamp pad sat open on the bedside table. The statement I had torn up had been reprinted and laid flat on the mattress. On the bottom right corner was a smudged, crooked red thumbprint. When my father saw me enter, he raised his left hand in a panic. On the notepad beside him were fresh, shaky words he had just managed to write: [She said… if I sign… she marries you.] I stood by the bed, completely frozen. At eight o’clock that evening, Derek posted a teaser for an upcoming emergency livestream. The thumbnail was a close-up photo of the thumbprinted statement. The caption read: [After seven years of being bled dry, she finally received a signed confession from the boyfriend’s father.] In the teaser video, Maria wore a crisp white blouse, offering the camera a tired, long-suffering smile. “I truly cared for them as my own family,” she said softly. “But some people’s greed can never be satisfied.” My father’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. I rushed to silence it, but he had already seen the notification. He stared at me, his left hand still stained with red ink. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He could only shake his head over and over again. The full stream was scheduled for seven o’clock the following evening. Derek released preview clips throughout the day. Footage played of Maria walking through a local market with my dad, carrying his groceries. Another clip showed my dad sitting outside her studio, wrapping homemade dumplings for her staff. There was even a quiet video of his back as he handed his house keys to the real estate agent the day he sold his home. These were videos taken from my personal family archives. Now, they had been edited together into a viral package titled: [The Complete Record of Raising a Leech Father and Son.] I dialed Maria’s number. She picked up almost instantly. “Have you come to your senses?” “Cancel the stream,” I said, my voice shaking. “It’s too late for that.” “My dad just woke up,” I begged. “He can’t handle this.” Maria glanced over at Derek, who was sitting next to her. Derek shook his head firmly. Her tone instantly hardened. “You’re using your dad to guilt-trip me again, Jesse. The stream is just a simple clarification.” “That money was a loan,” I said. “You tricked him into pressing his thumbprint!” “If you have a problem with it, take it to court,” she said coldly. The call went dead. At seven o’clock sharp, the livestream went live. I muted my father’s phone and hid it deep at the bottom of the bedside drawer, begging the nurses not to play any viral videos in the ward. But someone posing as a family member snuck into the floor and dropped the stream link into the patient group chat. While I was at the nurse’s station picking up his prescription, my father pulled open the bottom drawer with his good arm. He sent Maria a single voice message first. Then, he tapped the link. When I rushed back into the room, Maria’s voice was echoing through the phone speaker. “Uncle Hugh used to tell me that as long as I married Jesse, all his money would belong to me anyway,” she was saying to the camera. “I was young back then. I really believed he loved me like a daughter.” The screen displayed the statement bearing my dad’s red thumbprint. Derek sat beside her, leaning in. “So when Mr. Maher demanded three thousand dollars using his father’s medical emergency as an excuse, how did that make you feel?” Maria lowered her eyes sorrowfully. “Disappointed. It wasn’t about the three thousand dollars. It’s just that enabling someone without boundaries only feeds their entitlement.” Comments flooded the screen at lightspeed. My father sat upright in his hospital bed, his face deathly pale. I sprinted across the room and yanked the charging cable out, blacking out the screen. My father grabbed my forearm with incredible strength. Broken, desperate sounds spilled from his throat. “Lo… Loan…” He wanted to tell the world that the forty thousand dollars was a loan. On the screen before it died, Maria had pulled out the original IOU. A massive red ‘X’ had been drawn across the document. “Uncle Hugh personally explained that the IOU was just created for tax bookkeeping purposes,” Maria announced smoothly. “So I won’t be pressing charges for their past actions.” “However, effective today, I will be cutting off all financial support.” My father stared intently at the dark screen. His chest heaved violently. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The heart monitor suddenly screamed a continuous, deadly tone. Doctors and nurses burst through the door. “Possible secondary brain hemorrhage!” the doctor yelled. “Get him to the operating room now!” The bed was unlocked and wheeled out at breakneck speed. I tried to run alongside it, but my knees gave out, and I slammed hard into the hallway wall. Maria’s livestream was still going strong on my phone. Derek was excitedly announcing that sales for his relationship masterclass had just crossed one hundred thousand units. Applaud roared through his studio. I picked up my phone with trembling hands and dialed her number. Once. Twice. I called seventeen times in a row. She never picked up. The red light above the operating room burned for three agonizing hours. When the chief surgeon finally walked out, he looked at me and slowly shook his head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “We did everything we could.” When my father was wheeled out, a white sheet covered his face. His left hand, still faint with red ink, hung limply over the side of the gurney. I knelt beside him, gently lifting his cold hand and placing it back beneath the sheet. My phone vibrated relentlessly in my pocket. Derek’s stream had officially hit the number one spot on the entire platform. On screen, Maria was answering the host’s final question. “If Jesse apologizes to you right now, will you still marry him?” She lowered her head, neatly adjusting her cuffs. The dark gray skirt suit she was wearing was the exact outfit I had bought her for our planned courthouse wedding. “That depends on whether he can truly recognize his mistakes,” she said calmly. “Marriage is not a charity program.” “I will not compromise my principles just because he cries pathetically.” Thunderous applause broke out in the studio. The stream transitioned to the celebration segment. An assistant holding a tablet hurried onto the stage. “Miss Maria, your personal phone has been ringing non-stop.” Maria glanced down. The screen was covered with seventeen missed calls from my number. Before she could process it, an incoming call from an unknown number flashed across the display. Derek reached out, placing his hand over hers. “The stream isn’t over yet.” The ringtone dragged on relentlessly. In the end, Maria pressed answer. “Hello?” The nurse’s voice echoed clearly through her lapel microphone, broadcasted live to hundreds of thousands of viewers. “Is this Miss Maria?” “This is the Central Hospital ICU.” “You are listed as the emergency secondary contact for Mr. Hugh Maher.” “Mr. Maher suffered a massive relapse. Despite emergency resuscitation, he passed away at ten twenty-seven tonight.”

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1 When my little sister Amanda got slapped by a classmate, Dad rushed to school, Mom tore up the parent chat, and Brother Tyler brought friends to trap the boy at the gates. But Amanda pouted that everyone now made fun of her. Mom baked forty-five cupcakes for distribution, while Dad and Brother sent five hundred dollars in apology. Amanda finally stopped crying. The next day, a cupcake appeared on my desk. I gathered courage. “Mom… someone is bullying me…” Mom simmered soup, brushing me off. “Kids make a big deal out of nothing. Maybe they’re just joking.” I turned to Tyler. “They took my allowance and tore my test papers.” Glued to his phone leveling Amanda’s gaming account, he didn’t answer. Dad called from the living room, “If you don’t provoke them, why would they bully you? Reflect on your own behavior.” I reflected all night but couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong. Soon, bullies trapped me in a dark alley. They stripped me, took photos, and beat me until I coughed up blood. I dialed my family dozens of times from my shattered phone. No answer. As they left, one mentioned the last person they beat this way died of internal bleeding. Bruised and bleeding, I dragged myself home. Mom, Dad, and Tyler were gathered around Amanda, helping her try on a new princess dress. They’d forgotten it was my birthday. I said nothing. Using my last spare change, I took a bus to the local crematorium. Standing before the old security guard, I whispered, “Sir, I think I’m dying soon. Can you help me prepare a grave?” … The old security guard, Ben, took me inside his booth. He washed the dirt off my hands and gently sanitized my cuts with iodine. He pulled out his phone, dialing my family while trying to comfort me. “You had a fight with your parents and ran away, didn’t you? Your mom and dad must be worried sick right now.” “I’ll call them to pick you up and take you home, okay?” Worried sick. I caught that phrase in my head. Listening to the dial tone echoing from Ben’s speakerphone, my heart pounded wildly. A few months ago, Mom refused to buy Amanda a toy she wanted. Amanda threw a tantrum and ran away from home. The entire family went out of their minds. Dad called the police three times in less than twenty-four hours. Tyler and his friends searched almost every street and alley in the city. When Amanda was finally found, Mom held her in her arms, sobbing hysterically and agreeing to every single request Amanda had. Dad and Tyler both had bloodshot eyes from crying. Would they be worried sick for me, too? A faint spark of hope flickered in my chest, and my eyes brightened up for a second. Ben’s heart softened seeing my expression, and he gently patted my head. The call finally went through. Ben quickly explained the situation, but Tyler’s impatient voice came blasting through the speaker. “Why is she running around late at night anyway? Amanda is trying to sleep.” “Just let her stay outside for the night. She’s old enough to take care of herself.” I froze in place. Over the phone, Amanda’s spoiled voice echoed in the background. “Mom has to bathe me, Tyler has to brush my teeth, and Dad has to read me a bedtime story! None of you can leave!” Ben tried to say something more, but the call was promptly disconnected. I lowered my eyes. I should have known it would end like this, shouldn’t I? Ever since I was little, I was the most sensible, obedient child in the house. Everyone assumed I could take care of myself and didn’t need an ounce of concern. They naturally poured all their love onto Amanda. It didn’t matter… it really didn’t matter… A violent surge rose in my chest. I couldn’t hold it back and vomited another mouthful of blood onto the floor. “Oh my goodness! What’s wrong with you!” Ben gasped in terror. “Hold on, let me grab my coat and take you to the hospital!” Panicking, I quickly pulled out a napkin to wipe the blood off the tile. While Ben turned his back to grab more paper towels, I ran out of the guardhouse into the dark night. Going to the hospital meant spending money, time, and energy. The last time I had a high fever and went to the hospital, Mom, Dad, and Tyler had a massive argument over who had to stay behind to take care of me. I couldn’t be a burden to them again. Near the crematorium was a public cemetery on a quiet hillside. I picked a small, grassy spot for myself and lay down silently. My body was aching everywhere. The bullies said that coughing up blood meant internal organs were ruptured. Without immediate medical care, a person would die. But if I died, my family would have one less trouble to deal with. The cemetery was dead silent, save for the rustling of leaves in the night wind. Scared of the pitch-black darkness, I used the last one percent of my phone battery to call Mom. After a long wait, Mom finally answered. She let out an exasperated sigh. “You chose to run away yourself, Nora. You can’t blame anyone else. Just stay outside tonight and take the bus back tomorrow morning.” Before I could say anything, the call went dead. Mom misunderstood me. I didn’t want her to pick me up. I just wanted to hear her voice one last time. Today was the day I was going to die. It was also my birthday. “Happy birthday to me… happy birthday to me…” Staring up at the dark, starless sky, I sang the birthday song to myself in a whisper, quietly waiting for death to claim me. The next morning, I opened my eyes. A ray of golden sunlight hit my face. I realized I hadn’t died yet. My body, however, hurt ten times worse than the night before. “She’s over here!” Ben rushed over, accompanied by two police officers. I sat quietly on the stone bench, waiting for the officers to contact my family. Ben stood to the side, sighing heavily. “What kind of parents are they? Their kid goes missing all night, and they don’t even care!” Nearly three hours later, Mom, Dad, and Tyler finally showed up. Dad offered an apologetic smile to the officers. “Our youngest daughter insisted on getting her hair redone this morning, and we had to drop her off at school first. That’s why we’re late.” “Sorry for the trouble.” Mom was busy admiring photos of Amanda on her phone. Tyler was on a call, telling his friends at school to make sure Amanda was well looked after. Not a single one of them paid any attention to me. One of the officers felt sorry for me and slipped a piece of candy into my hand. Ben had to head back to work, but before leaving, he reminded my parents sternly: “This girl was throwing up blood last night. You must take her to the hospital immediately.” Another heavy silence fell over my family. Mom frowned in annoyance. “But I still have to pack a heart-shaped bento for Amanda! She told her classmates she’d show it off today!” Tyler sounded completely indifferent. “She’s so young, what serious illness could she possibly have? No need for a hospital. Just let her rest at home.” Suddenly, Dad’s phone rang. It was Amanda’s homeroom teacher. The moment Dad answered, his expression flipped completely. “Amanda fell down at school and scraped her knee!” Mom and Tyler immediately stood up, rushing toward the car. I was tossed into the backseat like a piece of unwanted luggage and dropped off at home on their way to Amanda’s school. My body was covered in deep scrapes and bruises. It hurt so much. Tyler unlocked the front door and prepared to leave to join Mom and Dad at school. I grabbed his sleeve desperately. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, another mouthful of blood spilled from my lips. “Tyler… it hurts so much…” He merely cast a brief, annoyed glance at the puddle of blood on the floor. “If it hurts, take some painkillers. It’s just a minor ailment, just bear with it.” Amanda was taken to the hospital to have her knee bandaged and brought home in a wheelchair. Mom, Dad, and Tyler took turns waiting on her hand and foot. No one even bothered to check if I was still in my room. The next morning, I had to go to school as usual. Keeping my head down, I walked into the classroom. My desk was a complete disaster once again. My notebooks were shredded, my pencil case was gone, and chalk dust had been dumped into my water bottle. I quietly cleaned up the mess and sat down in the corner. A few girls in the front row leaned together, whispering and shooting mocking glances at me with grins on their faces. Amanda’s seat was right in the middle of the front row. She wore a floral dress Mom had bought her, surrounded by a crowd of eager classmates. The wrappers from Mom’s mini cupcakes were spread across her desk, and several boys were hovering around her. “Your brother bought us milk tea yesterday,” one boy said. “The snacks at your house are awesome!” Amanda smiled sweetly. Amanda never admitted at school that we were related. Tyler also made a point to protect only her, never uttering my name to anyone. Everyone assumed I had no one behind me, that I was weak and timid, making me the easiest target in school. The homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable, walked into the classroom as the bell rang, holding the monthly exam results. “The results for the monthly exams are in,” Mrs. Gable announced. “The top score in our class goes to Nora again. A perfect score.” I stood up and walked down the aisle to the front. I took the test paper, my fingertips turning pale. A perfect score. Just like last time. Just like every single time before. Yet no matter how many top scores I brought home, no one in my family cared. Whenever I brought a test paper home, Dad would give a faint groan, Mom would toss it onto the coffee table, and Tyler wouldn’t even look at it. Eventually, I stopped bringing them out. Why humiliate myself over something they didn’t care about? When Amanda scored dead last in her class, Mom would hug her and say Amanda was still young, and she’d do better next time. Tyler would buy her toys, and Dad would take her out for ice cream. Mrs. Gable looked at me with concern. “Nora, what’s wrong? You look terribly pale.” I opened my mouth to reply, but a metallic, coppery taste suddenly burst in my throat. I couldn’t hold it back, leaning over and vomiting a large puddle of blood onto the floor. This time was different. The blood was dark, almost black. The classroom fell dead silent. Mrs. Gable was terrified. She rushed over to support my shoulders. “Don’t move! I’m calling your parents right now!” She pulled out her phone and dialed quickly, her voice panicked. “Is this Nora’s parent? Your daughter just vomited black blood at school! It looks extremely serious! Please come…” I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end said, but Mrs. Gable’s eyebrows knitted tightly together. “She looks very sick, it’s best if you come to the school… Really? No need? Fine, I’ll let her walk home herself then.” Hanging up the phone, she looked at me with a complicated expression, hesitating before saying: “Your parents said you should walk home and rest by yourself.” I nodded, folded my test paper neatly into my pocket, and packed my backpack. The girls in the front row resumed whispering, while Amanda kept her head down, digging through her desk for snacks. I put on my backpack and walked toward the exit. Just as I pulled open the classroom door, I saw three familiar figures walking down the hallway. Mom was carrying Amanda’s tiny backpack, Dad held a camera, and Tyler carried a bag of treats. They paused for a split second when they saw me. Mom gave me a brief smile. “Nora, go home first. We’re taking Amanda to the amusement park to celebrate her birthday early today.” Swiping past my shoulder, she walked into the classroom, calling out joyfully: “Amanda! Dad and Mom came to give you a surprise!” The entire class let out envious gasps. I looked at Amanda helplessly as she threw herself into Mom’s arms. Walking down to the ground floor of the school building, I gently tugged at Mom’s sleeve. “Mom… I want to go to the amusement park too…” I was dying soon, and I had never been to an amusement park in my entire life. Mom frowned in annoyance. “Nora, you’re looking like this and you still want to go to an amusement park? What if the cold wind makes you worse?” “Exactly,” Tyler interrupted impatiently, looking up from his phone. “Amanda rarely gets a chance to go out and play. If you go and vomit all over the place, how bad is that going to look? How unlucky!” I opened my mouth, wanting to tell them that I would hold it in, that I wouldn’t cause any trouble, that I just wanted to see what it looked like once. Dad had already bypassed me, squatting down to tie Amanda’s shoelaces without looking up. “Nora, go home and rest by yourself. Take your medicine and sleep. In a few days, when it’s Amanda’s actual birthday, we’ll get you a make-up gift.” “I don’t want a gift…” “Alright, that’s enough,” Mom was already urging Amanda toward the gates, waving her hand back at me. “Be good and head home quickly. Don’t dawdle.” She took Dad’s arm and walked away. Amanda was riding on Tyler’s back. She turned her head, her bright eyes fixed on me as she stuck her tongue out playfully. I didn’t start walking until their car drove out of the school gates. Suffocating waves of pain surged in my chest. Every step I took felt like my bones were breaking. The walk from school to home usually took twenty minutes. I lasted only ten minutes before collapsing against a tree by the curb, gasping for air as my vision turned black. In the end, a street cleaner found me and called an ambulance. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room. A white ceiling, the sharp smell of disinfectant, and the steady beep-beep of an EKG monitor filled my senses. A nurse was adjusting my IV line. Seeing me open my eyes, she let out a sigh of relief. “You’re awake? You passed out by the roadside. You have severe internal bleeding, your condition is very critical. You need emergency surgery immediately.” She paused, looking at me with pity. “We couldn’t reach your family. We tried calling the numbers for your mom, dad, and brother stored in your phone, but no one picked up.” I reached under my pillow for my phone. The moment I unlocked the screen, a new social media update popped up. It was posted by Mom. A nine-photo grid: Amanda smiling on a carousel, Tyler holding cotton candy for her, and Dad making a funny face in front of the camera. The caption read: [Our little birthday girl is celebrating her birthday early today! Happiness is all that matters!] There were over twenty likes from relatives and Mom’s friends. I stared at that post for a very long time. Nurse Julie leaned over to take a look, froze for a moment, and quickly took the phone away, forcing a smile. “Your parents must be busy right now and didn’t hear the ring. Don’t worry, I’ll call them again. I’m sure they’ll pick up this time.” I smiled weakly and nodded. “Yeah. They must be busy.” Nurse Julie looked back at me, something glistening in her eyes. She quickly turned around and walked out, saying she would fetch me a glass of warm water. I leaned back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling light. The warm yellow glow bathed the entire ward in a soft light. Suddenly, I felt so tired. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy. The phone beside my hand lit up again. It was a post from Tyler. A photo of Amanda riding on Dad’s shoulders, holding an ice cream cone high in the air. The caption read: [This little princess insisted on having a second one. Guess we have to spoil her.] I let out a faint smile, flipping the phone over onto the pillow. A gentle breeze blew in from the window, making the curtains flutter like a hand waving goodbye. I remembered lying in the cemetery yesterday; the wind had felt just like this. Nurse Julie hadn’t come back yet. It probably takes a long time to get warm water. That was okay. I slowly closed my eyes, the faint smile still lingering on my lips. It didn’t hurt anymore. Early the next morning, Nurse Julie finally got through to my family. When they arrived at the hospital, Mom was still complaining to Dad. “Honestly, I don’t know what Nora is thinking, running to the hospital first thing in the morning.” Tyler looked down at his phone, asking the nurse casually: “What illness does she have anyway? Is it really worth being hospitalized?” Nurse Julie didn’t say a word. She turned around and led them deep into the hallway. Pushing open the heavy door to the morgue, a blast of freezing air hit them. Mom’s complaining stopped abruptly. Dad froze dead in his tracks. Tyler stared at the small, still outline beneath the white sheet, his lips trembling slightly. Nurse Julie spoke softly into the silence: “Before she passed away, she held my hand and asked to be buried somewhere far away so you wouldn’t have to bother visiting her.” “She said… one flower on her grave would be enough.”

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1 For seven years, my captain and boyfriend Hector adhered to a strict rule: no private coaching sessions, no staying out overnight. He broke that rule the very night online trolls photoshopped my obituary photo and demanded my retirement from professional e-sports. Hector was known across the league for his icy self-discipline and stoic personality. He never gave outsiders the time of day, reserving all his warmth for me. Yet, the person he broke his sacred rule for was my own apprentice, Judy. While I sat alone in our dark, empty training room undergoing a mental breakdown, Hector spent the entire night at an e-sports hotel with Judy. They ran private dual-carry scrims together until the scandal on social media finally blew over. I did not throw a fit, nor did I shed a tear. I simply asked for a breakup. For the first time in seven years, Hector turned a cold face toward me. “The summer league starts next week. I am trying to stabilize our roster. Must you pick right now to throw a temper tantrum?” Judy stood beside him, lowering her head in quiet agreement. “Coach Sierra, please do not be so emotional. Making a scene right now destroys the professional future of our entire team.” I fell instantly silent, watching Hector with stinging eyes. That night, after returning home, I dialed the personal number of the captain of our rival team. “Three years ago, you asked if I would ever join your squad,” I said, my voice dead calm. “Does that offer still stand?” … Logan answered without a second of hesitation. “Name the day. My door is open whenever you are ready.” “The transfer must remain strictly confidential,” I continued. “No one can know until it is finalized.” “Understood.” Three years ago, after I led Team LV to our very first national championship, Logan pursued me through five consecutive tournament cycles to sign me. Back then, my eyes were blinded by my loyalty to Team LV and my love for Hector. The moment I hung up, my phone vibrated. A single text from Hector popped up on my screen. Two cold words: Open up. I looked through the window and spotted the sports car parked below. It was the celebratory car we had picked out together after winning our first trophy. For seven years, he and I were the most envied power couple in the e-sports world, celebrated by fans as the unmatchable Dual Carries. Reserved as he was, he had once ripped into toxic stream chatters on my behalf, unable to tolerate a single word of slander directed at me. All his tenderness and devotion belonged exclusively to me. Yet even the deepest devotion could be tossed aside for someone else. After a long struggle, I stood up and unlocked the door, a faint sliver of hope still clinging to my heart. When he walked in, my blood ran cold. Hector maintained his usual detached posture. He sat on the couch, staring intently at his phone as he reviewed the telemetry data from his overnight scrims with Judy. He reached out toward the coffee table for his wristband out of habit. I instinctively picked it up to hand it to him, only to notice a bright pink wristband already wrapped around his forearm. It was not something I had bought him. The moment our fingertips brushed, he seemed to snap out of his trance and pulled his hand back instantly. I stared at the pink wristband, my mind going numb. A moment later, as if trying to break the heavy silence, he pulled a limited-edition gaming plush charm from his coat pocket. “Stop being upset.” A man who never bowed his head to anyone was making a rare effort to appease me. I took the charm without saying a word. It was a character design I had never liked. Then, his offhand remark smashed the last remaining piece of my hope to dust. “I need you to look over Judy’s telemetry data. As long as we keep her performance consistent, we are guaranteed a spot in the finals next week. You are the master shotcaller for Team LV, analyzing this data should be child’s play for you.” The plush charm slipped from my fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a sharp click that sounded painfully loud in the silent apartment. I stared at him, finding the situation absurd. “She plays my position. What am I supposed to play?” Hector’s expression shifted into something unreadable, though his tone remained strictly business. “Your recent form has been shaky. Private scrims with Judy were a necessity. I have already reported to management that you will temporarily step down to the bench.” A necessity? My mind dragged me back through the years. Seven years ago, when I first entered the professional scene and faced harassment from male players, Hector had taken a stand before the team. From this day on, my training room only has room for Sierra. I will protect her. Now, he was shattering his own oath for Judy. “You trained her yourself,” Hector added, frowning in frustration at my silence. “Her playstyle and macro instincts align well with mine. Sierra, this is not the time to act out. You need to look at the bigger picture.” I could not bring myself to smile. “Looking at the bigger picture means kicking me out of it?” He froze, his voice stiffening. “That is not what I meant.” Before he could finish, his phone screen lit up with a barrage of notifications from Judy. obedient, eager, humble text messages. Hector sat right in front of me, replying to every single text with painstaking patience. In seven years, he had never replied to my messages line by line like that. “Sierra, you are being overly narrow-minded,” he murmured, laying his phone down after reading her latest text. A flicker of disappointment touched his eyes. A tight knot squeezed my throat. On the night I was tormented by the entire internet, flooded with photoshopped obituaries and vicious demands for my retirement, he was running private scrims with Judy. While I collapsed alone in a dark facility into the late hours of the night, receiving zero replies to my messages, he was breaking down vods for Judy. He knew everything I was going through. Yet he called it looking at the bigger picture. His bigger picture had always been built on top of my silent breakdown. Seeing my deathly pale face and utter silence, Hector’s heart softened slightly. He walked into the kitchen, warmed a glass of milk, and placed it on the table in front of me. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Be a good girl. Bear with it for now. Once the summer league is over, your starting position will be waiting for you.” The warm touch sent a shudder through my frame. I almost gave in, just like the countless times in the past when a simple gesture from him would make me forgive everything. But then my mind flashed back to the endless stream of hate messages urging me to kill myself, the black-and-white graphics, and the cruel AI photos. I forced the urge to forgive back into the dark. Interpreting my silence as stubbornness, the warmth in Hector’s eyes vanished, replaced by an icy distance. “Do not let your petty grudge ruin Team LV.” I read the unspoken accusation behind his words. A few days ago, after a devastating match loss where I solo-defended our base until the final second while my team was wiped out, the internet had turned on me. Sierra needs to retire already! Stop dragging Captain Hector and Team LV down! How can someone call herself a god-tier shotcaller with plays like that? Go home and play house! Judy and Hector are the real Dual Carries! Sierra does not belong there! No one cared that the loss was caused by Judy recklessly engaging without my call, or that my teammates had ignored my retreat pings. The entire weight of the blame was dropped onto the shoulders of the mid-lane shotcaller. I let out a hollow laugh. Seven years of blood, sweat, and tears could not buy a shred of understanding from them. Why should I keep degrading myself for their sake? My heart sank into a quiet, undisturbed calm. The lingering memories of the past seven years cut through my chest with a dull, throbbing pain, but the fever had finally broken. At the team meeting the following morning, the head coach formally announced the starting lineup for the upcoming season. My starting mid-lane position was assigned to Judy. Judy stood up, looking overwhelmed with gratitude and modesty. “Thank you all for your trust. I will not let the team down, especially my mentor, Coach Sierra.” She bowed her head, playing the part of a humble, grateful pupil to perfection. Hector sat across from me, leading the applause. His eyes swept over my composed face. Seeing no outrage or resistance, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. He thought I had finally come to my senses. I thought I had accepted it, too. But when my gaze landed on the bag sitting beside Judy, my heart twisted into a sharp knot. Hanging from her zipper was a plush charm from the exact same limited-edition brand Hector had given me the night before; only hers was a customized, highly detailed main-character edition. I remembered what he had told me two years ago. Anything I give you will be one of a kind in this world. His devotion had been divided into two shares long ago. I began counting down in my head. Three more days, and I will never have to step foot in this place again. During morning practice, I completely disengaged. I spoke no words, offered no shotcalls, and led no plays. I sat in the furthest corner of the room, completely still. Behind me, my teammates offered no effort to hide their disdainful whispers. “Sierra is clearly just bitter that Judy has more natural talent than her.” “A high-maintenance princess who expects the whole team to pamper her could never compete with someone as sensible as Judy.” “Judy is way more mature.” My face remained expressionless, though a dull ache resonated in my chest. I was the one who had dragged this organization from the brink of collapse to the top of the league. Every draft strategy, every telemetry breakdown, every macro system had been built through my sleepless nights. In the end, I had become nothing more than an eyesore to them. Hector sat at the head of the table, offering not a single word in my defense. He knew better than anyone how much of my life I had poured into this team. After everyone left the room, Judy walked over to my desk, feigning concern. “Coach Sierra, it is all my fault. Please do not be mad at the guys. Once your form recovers, I will happily give the starting spot back to you.” Hector frowned, speaking up immediately. “You do not need to apologize to her, Judy. She is choosing to slack off and throw a fit. The team does not need to waste time accommodating her ego.” I said nothing. The quieter I remained, the colder his face became. Since I refused to bow my head, he was determined to push me until I broke. “Judy, pack your gear,” Hector said in an unyielding tone. “We are going to my private facility at home for specialized training.” My head snapped up, my eyes locking onto his. That private facility was where he and I had spent countless nights grinding through our lowest points. It was our sanctuary, an unwritten promise that only he and I were allowed inside. Every piece of equipment, every bit of data, and every memory of our seven-year career was stored in that room. Now, that space no longer belonged to just the two of us. A bitter wave of nausea rose in my chest. Judy could barely conceal the triumph in her eyes, though she maintained her hesitant act. “Captain Hector, is that really okay? Everyone knows your private room is strictly reserved for Coach Sierra…” Hector ignored her, offering me a cold, bitter smile. His eyes flared with suppressed anger. “Since Sierra clearly does not care about me anymore, I am sure she will not mind you using it.” I knew what he was doing. He was trying to force me to yield, just like every argument we had over the past seven years where I was always the one to apologize first. Suddenly, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. I looked straight into his eyes, forcing down the pain in my chest, and spoke in a flat voice. “Whatever.” Hector froze, entirely unprepared for my indifference. A flicker of panic flashed across his eyes, but it was instantly swallowed by a wave of cold resentment. “Fine,” he said, his tone dripping with retaliation. “In that case, the center spot on the promotional poster, the media interview slots, and the main feature spot for the summer league will all be handed over to Judy.” Judy’s eyes practically sparkled with joy. “Oh, is that really okay?” That center spot was something I had fought for during the playoffs, playing through a high fever to deliver a tournament-topping MVP performance. My dream had always been to stand at the very center of the team, representing our squad on the grandest stage. He remembered every single one of my dreams. And he was handing them to someone else just to hurt me. He knew exactly where to twist the knife to make me cry and beg for his mercy. My hands clenched into tight fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they left dark red crescents. I forced the lump in my throat down into silence. “Okay.” His face went completely pale with anger, and he turned and walked out without another word. The moment the door closed, Judy dropped her gentle mask. She leaned down to my ear, her voice dripping with malice. “Mentor, the movement patterns, macro strategy, and laning concepts you taught me are working wonderfully. I used them to steal your man’s heart and your team’s loyalty. Are you proud of me? After all, you were the one who brought me here.” A strange sense of detachment washed over me. No anger. No hatred. I felt completely drained of energy, left with nothing but an icy numbness. I had thought I was mentoring a promising talent, lifting her up to succeed me. It turned out I had spent years nurturing a snake in my own house. Judy’s smile broadened. She was not afraid of me making a scene, because she knew Hector and the team would always shield the agreeable, sensible girl over me. “Why?” I asked softly. “Do you really think I was just a random rookie you happened to discover?” She leaned in closer, a bitter glint in her eyes. “I have been waiting for this day for seven years. Back when Captain Hector flamed his stream chat to defend you, I was the main hater he publicly humiliated.” She straightened up, adjusted her modest expression, and skipped lightly out of the room. I sat alone on the edge of the desk in the empty facility, swallowed by the silence just like the night I was abandoned. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Let us move up the schedule.” Logan looked exceptionally sharp, his hair styled neatly. “The contract is finalized,” he said, checking his watch before offering a warm smile. “We have plenty of time. Let me buy you dinner before we sign.” I did not decline. I was simply too exhausted. We walked side by side down the brightly lit commercial street, cooled by a gentle evening breeze. For seven years, every day spent beside Hector had been a tightrope walk of high stress, maintaining the team and chasing our dream. I had forgotten how light it felt to simply exist. Turning a corner, two familiar figures stepped into view. Hector walked ahead with a cold expression, lost in thought. Judy followed closely behind him, keeping a respectful yet intimate distance. When our eyes met, my blood felt like it froze in my veins. The suppressed agony flooded back in an instant. Hector’s gaze darted between Logan and me, his eyes frosting over with cold contempt. Judy’s eyes immediately welled with tears as she whimpered quietly beside him. “Captain Hector, is Coach Sierra mad at me for taking her spot? Is that why she brought the captain of Team VT here to make us jealous?” She left the rest unsaid, but the implication was crystal clear. A mocking smirk touched Hector’s lips as he closed the distance between us, his eyes filled with a storm of dark emotions. “You really are something, Sierra. You get upset, so you hire another man to back you up just to get a reaction out of me?” My body went rigid. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I was too tired to explain anything to him anymore. In Hector’s eyes, my silence and resignation were taken as a full confession. “I gave you step after step to back down. I tolerated your drama again and again, only for you to run to another man?” His voice cut through the air. “Well done, Sierra. Truly well done.” Every word was a twisted narrative of self-victimization. Every phrase accused me of failing the team. I bit my lower lip hard, burying the humiliation and heart-wrenching disappointment deep inside, forcing myself to maintain an unbroken composure. Just half a day left. Tomorrow morning, I will be free of all of this. Hector let out a cold laugh, reaching out to pull Judy gently into his arms. “Fine. Have it your way. I will fulfill your wish.” He turned and walked away with Judy, his back rigid and unyielding. Watching him walk away, my feet instinctively took half a step forward before I forced myself to freeze in place. Logan gently stepped beside me, handing me a napkin from his coat. His voice carried a rare edge of suppressed fury. “Are you alright, Sierra? Is this really how they treat you every day?” It was only then that I realized tears had already breached my eyes. I took a deep breath, accepted the napkin, and wiped my eyes carefully. “I am fine. Let us go.” The last lingering warmth of our seven-year relationship burned out completely, leaving behind nothing but cold ash. On the night Hector broke his sacred rule for Judy, allowing her to become the only person besides me to share his private space, the man who once cared for me had been killed by his own hands. This seven-year chapter was officially closed. Inside Team VT’s executive office, I held the pen above the signature line, pausing for a brief second. Logan poured me a hot cup of tea, careful not to rush me. Through the reflection in the glass, I could see his hands tightly clenched, looking far more anxious than I was. I lowered the pen and signed my name. The moment I handed the contract back to Logan, my phone screen lit up with a notification from Hector: Sierra, I miss you. My grip on the paper tightened slightly. Noticing the tension, Logan looked up. “Is something wrong?” His eyes followed my gaze to the notification glowing on the glass table. His shoulders went tense, his voice laced with an unintentional trace of heartbreak. “Are you… having second thoughts?” I shook my head, releasing my grip and letting him take the document. I had never felt more certain about a decision in my life. Logan reviewed the signature once more before letting out a long, relieved sigh. It was truly over. In the secondary bedroom of the Hector estate, Judy sat on the plush sofa with a dark, calculating glint in her eyes. Her fingers moved rapidly across the screen of Hector’s phone, deleting the message she had just sent to my line. She locked the device, placed it back on the nightstand, and quietly glided back to her gaming chair. The bedroom door opened a second later. Her timing was flawless. Hector walked in carrying a plate of fresh fruit, setting it down beside her desk. “Here is the lychee you asked for. I will review this final vod with you, and then you need to head home.” Judy dropped her chin, pouting playfully. “Captain Hector! Didn’t we agree that we were going to spend the night reviewing plays in your private room? I still have so many questions for you!” Looking at her cute, energetic expression, Hector experienced a sudden wave of disorientation, briefly seeing the image of a younger me from seven years ago. Back then, I used to look at him with bright, shining eyes, promising to take him to the national championship. An intense wave of anxiety surged through his chest, but he quickly dismissed it. “No,” Hector said firmly. “Let us finish the vod.”

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1 Nathaniel was a certified genius, admitted to an Ivy League at fifteen, associate professor by twenty-three. Seven years of marriage, and every Valentine’s, Christmas, anniversary, and birthday, he buried himself in thesis papers while I stared at walls. On our seventh anniversary, I cooked a lavish dinner and bought ninety-nine red roses. He sighed. “Charlotte, I know you’re hinting for flowers, but it’s a waste of time. Surely you’re not actually excited by the severed reproductive organs of a plant? Focus on new recipes. The steak was overcooked.” I swallowed my hurt, telling myself geniuses are wired differently. That excuse held until Chloe, a researcher a year younger than him, joined his department. Nathaniel started picking up his phone constantly. The day before my birthday, mopping the floor, he looked up and asked, “What do women nowadays actually like?” Hope flickered. “Roses,” I said softly. That joy died the next morning. Ironing ties in his study, I found a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses on his desk. Tucked in the center was a card in his immaculate handwriting: Chloe, Happy Birthday. … The grandfather clock chimed 7:15 AM. Nathaniel sat at the dining table exactly on schedule, cutting into his breakfast while reading a research paper, precise to the very second. “Don’t wear that tie today,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I stared blankly at the flowers on the counter. “Which one should I wear, then?” “The burgundy striped one. Chloe mentioned the dark ones make me look a bit dated.” Nathaniel was incredibly rigid about his routines. His daily wardrobe was usually planned out weeks in advance. That burgundy tie was the wedding anniversary gift I had given him years ago. He had never worn it once, tossing it into the very back of his closet. But now, simply because another woman made an offhand comment, it was suddenly seeing the light of day. I switched off the iron, pulled out my chair, and sat down to eat. “I don’t have time to look for it. Plus, I don’t even remember where I put it.” For the first time all morning, Nathaniel actually looked up from his paper. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his dark eyes. After a moment of silence, he stood up and walked into the bedroom himself. Ten minutes later, he walked back to the table, holding the burgundy tie out to me. Waiting for me to tie it for him. I kept my head down, stabbing a piece of fruit with my fork. Nathaniel pressed his lips into a thin line and clumsily tied it himself. When he sat back down, the sound of his knife scraping against the plate was a little louder than usual. “The steak is overcooked again today.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s been years, Charlotte. How do you still not know exactly how I like my steak? If you were one of my grad students, I would have expelled you by now.” I slammed my knife and fork down onto the table. I looked up at the crooked, hastily tied burgundy knot resting against his collar. “You can expel me right now. Let’s get a divorce.” Nathaniel’s brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “How old are you, Charlotte? You’re acting like a child. Threatening divorce just to get my attention? Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Do you even know what day it is today?” Nathaniel followed my gaze to the large calendar pinned to the wall, right to the date I had circled in thick red marker. [June 20th – Charlotte’s Birthday] He walked past that calendar dozens of times a day. Nathaniel let out a small, dismissive scoff. “I haven’t celebrated a birthday or holiday since I was five years old. It’s a pointless waste of time and energy.” I didn’t say a word. I just stared intensely at the blindingly red roses sitting on the counter. Nathaniel didn’t look guilty in the slightest. “Oh, is this about the flowers? Are you throwing a tantrum over that?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Chloe is a colleague. She gave me a gift to celebrate my new paper getting published. It’s basic professional courtesy to return the favor for her birthday.” He stood up, walked over to the massive bouquet, precision-picked a single rose that was starting to wilt, and casually tossed it into the trash. “Next time, just say what’s on your mind. My time is extremely valuable. I don’t have the patience to play these passive-aggressive guessing games with you.” He grabbed his briefcase and walked to the entryway mirror. He paused, turned his head, and finally offered me what he considered a generous compromise. “Charlotte, come here and fix my tie.” I didn’t move. I sat there like a broken machine, methodically slicing the beef on my plate into tiny, meaningless pieces. Nathaniel finally lost his temper. He ripped the tie off his neck, threw it onto the floor, and walked out. The sound of the front door slamming echoed loudly through the empty house. I finally stood up, walked over to the entryway, picked up the burgundy tie, and threw it into the trash can right next to the wilted rose. I didn’t start my usual morning routine of cleaning the house. Instead, I walked back into the bedroom, opened my laptop, and typed Nathaniel’s name into the university’s publication database. Sure enough, a new paper had just been published. I clicked it open and scrolled straight to the acknowledgments section at the bottom. A certain Miss Chloe, who prefers to remain unnamed, complained that she has never been published in this journal and demanded I include her name. While I find the behavior incredibly childish, I suppose it’s not entirely impossible to accommodate. Thank you for the pastries you brought to the lab. They were quite good. The text on the screen started to blur. I thought back to the countless times I had begged him—sometimes joking, sometimes entirely serious—just to mention me in one of his acknowledgments. Every single time, I was met with the same icy rejection. “Absolutely not. An academic paper is not a place for your childish jokes.” In that moment, staring at the screen, I didn’t feel angry. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I closed his paper and opened a blank word document. Key by key, I typed out the title. [Divorce Agreement] After drafting a basic framework for the division of assets, I emailed the document to a lawyer friend of mine. I ordered a small cake for myself and ate the entire thing in silence. I wiped my mouth and whispered to the empty room, “Happy thirtieth birthday, Charlotte.” Packing my things was almost pathetically easy. The master closet was completely dominated by Nathaniel’s custom suits and button-downs. My clothes barely took up a single corner. I had quit my job barely a year after college to become a full-time housewife, dedicating every waking moment to taking care of a genius who couldn’t even operate a washing machine. While reaching into the very back of the closet, my hand brushed against a worn notebook. On the cover, written in Nathaniel’s sharp, commanding script, were the words: To my wife—Charlotte. Nathaniel had always been devastatingly handsome and terrifyingly brilliant, but he was famously cold-blooded. On the first day of middle school, a girl had confessed her crush to him. He looked her up and down and flatly said, “You are very ugly.” His reputation was sealed from that day on. One afternoon, he got so engrossed in a math problem that he missed the lunch period entirely. I was sitting in the classroom eating my homemade bento box. Noticing him staring at my food, I asked purely out of politeness, “Do you want some?” He didn’t hesitate. He took my box and ate every last grain of rice. That very same night, Nathaniel marched up to my house alone, knocked on the door, and calmly told my mother he was going to marry me. He nearly gave her a heart attack. His “proposal gift” was a meticulously organized binder of all his study notes. “I’m going to be a professor at the state university. If you study these notes carefully and follow the daily schedule I’ve drafted for you, you should barely be able to get accepted there.” I never could have imagined that in eleven years of knowing him and seven years of marriage, that notebook would be the only gift he ever gave me. My phone rang, shattering my trip down memory lane. My mother-in-law’s piercing shriek blasted through the speaker. “My son is in the emergency room because of you! Where the hell are you?! Get your ass over here right now!” I didn’t have time to process it. I dropped everything and rushed to the hospital. When I arrived at the ER, Nathaniel’s mother spotted me, and her fury finally found its target. “What is wrong with you?! You know my son is deathly allergic to peanuts, and you purposefully bought a cake with peanuts in it?!” She stepped into my space, practically spitting in my face. “What do you get out of poisoning him?! Did you really need to celebrate your stupid little birthday that badly?!” Her screaming drew the attention of half the waiting room. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but before I could get a word out, Chloe stepped out of the patient room and gently took the older woman’s arm. “It’s okay, Mrs. Sterling. I’m sure Charlotte didn’t mean to do it on purpose.” Nathaniel’s mother glared at me with pure hatred. “If I had known you were this incompetent, I would never have let Nathaniel marry a piece of trash like you.” Chloe smiled, her tone soothing and perfectly composed. “Mrs. Sterling, his IV bag is almost empty. Do you mind finding a nurse to swap it out?” As soon as the older woman left, Chloe smoothly grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the private room. “I am so sorry, Charlotte. I had no idea Nathaniel was allergic to peanuts. I was the one who gave him a slice of my peanut butter birthday cake.” She let out a soft sigh. “I wanted to confess to his mother, but he explicitly forbade me from telling her.” Inside the room, Nathaniel was lying in the hospital bed, looking pale. He was casually scrolling through a tablet. I looked at him. “Nathaniel, do you have anything you want to explain?” He didn’t even lift his eyes from the screen. “You know how my mother is. If she finds out, she’ll go to the university and cause a scene, and it will disrupt the entire department.” He flipped to the next page. “Chloe isn’t like you. Her time and reputation are incredibly valuable. This was the most logical solution.” A sickeningly bitter taste flooded the back of my throat. Chloe is valuable. I am worthless. I deserve to be publicly humiliated and screamed at by your mother. I forced my voice to stay quiet. “I thought you prided yourself on being perfectly objective and fair?” When I was a senior in high school, Nathaniel was already in college. I worked myself to the bone just to get accepted into his university. When I got there, he actually became one of my professors. During his lectures, he would purposefully call on me for the hardest questions. When I inevitably struggled, he would ruthlessly humiliate me in front of the entire auditorium. “You can’t even solve a basic equation like this? Has the standard for admissions dropped this low?” He never gave me private tutoring. He never gave me study guides. He never bumped my grade by a single decimal point. Because, according to him, “That would be unfair to the other students.” It took me until today to realize that the heartless, objective Nathaniel Sterling was perfectly capable of showing blatant favoritism. I just wasn’t the one he favored. Nathaniel finally looked up at me, his eyes narrowing. “Did you forget to take your medication today, Charlotte?” Sensing the tension, Chloe immediately stepped in to play the peacemaker. “Nathaniel, don’t be so harsh on her.” She turned to me with an apologetic smile. “It’s entirely my fault. Charlotte, why don’t you tell me exactly what he’s allergic to so I know for next time?” Nathaniel rejected the idea instantly. “No. Don’t waste your time memorizing that. I’ll have her type it up into a spreadsheet and email it to you later.” He turned back to me, his tone shifting into his usual commanding bark. “Go home and pack me a change of clothes. Then make some porridge and bring it back. Bring three portions, not two.” I stared at him with complete, icy calm. I looked him dead in the eye and fed him the exact same line he used to reject me for years. “You need to schedule these requests in advance. I don’t have the time.” Nathaniel’s brow furrowed so deeply it looked like it might permanently crease. Before he could snap at me, his mother walked back into the room with a doctor, aggressively shoving her shoulder into mine to push me out of the way. Chloe gave me a brief, dismissive glance before pasting a bright, sweet smile onto her face to greet the older woman. The doctor was an old family friend. As he swapped the IV bag, he made polite small talk. “Is this lovely young lady your daughter-in-law? She has such a great presence.” “Oh, no,” Nathaniel’s mother said proudly, patting Chloe’s hand. “She is my son’s colleague. Also a brilliant professor at the university.” I purposefully walked as slowly as I could out the door and down the hall. But from the moment I turned my back until the heavy hospital doors swung shut behind me… Nathaniel didn’t utter a single word of correction. Nathaniel stayed in the hospital for two days. He didn’t text or call me a single time. I spent that time finalizing my packing and browsing apartment listings online. I no longer had to mold my life around Nathaniel’s psychotic sleep schedule. I woke up naturally whenever I wanted. I no longer had to rack my brain during dinner just to find a topic he deemed “intellectual enough,” only to be met with a condescending sneer. I no longer had to watch television with the volume on mute, terrified of being called “unproductive trash.” On the evening of his discharge, he finally sent a text. It was characteristically brief. The department’s celebratory dinner for the new publication is at the VIP room in the faculty dining hall. Come. In the past, whenever I begged to visit the campus, he flat-out refused, treating me like some embarrassing plague he needed to hide. My first instinct was to decline. But then I changed my mind. I had spent years making sure his entire life ran perfectly so he could focus on his research. A fraction of the credit for that publication belonged to me. Why shouldn’t I go? When I pushed open the door to the private room, the table was loud with laughter and clinking glasses. “To Professor Sterling and his lovely wife! Cheers!” The second I walked in, the cheering died instantly. One of the grad students lowered his glass, looking utterly confused. “Wait… all the guests are already here, aren’t they?” Chloe smoothly stood up from the seat next to Nathaniel, offering a graceful smile. “Oh, let me introduce everyone. This is Nathaniel’s actual wife, Charlotte.” The students instantly shifted awkwardly in their seats, murmuring embarrassed apologies and greetings. One of them whispered entirely too loudly, “But I saw Professor Sterling and Professor Chloe shopping at the mall together last week… I thought they were…” Chloe smiled gracefully and began to step away from her chair. “Here, Charlotte, take my seat.” Nathaniel spoke up for the first time since I walked into the room. “You stay right there. There’s no need to move.” Chloe immediately sat back down, looking effortlessly obedient. A young male student sitting to Nathaniel’s left hurriedly gave up his chair so I could finally sit down. Chloe reached over and handed me a clean set of silverware. “Please don’t misunderstand, Charlotte. The students were just joking when they called me his wife. Nathaniel and I played a married couple in the faculty theater production for the New Year’s gala last year.” One of the bolder students chimed in, laughing. “Romeo and Juliet! They even had a kissing scene! We watched them rehearse it a million times!” Chloe’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. she glanced shyly at Nathaniel. “It was just a stage kiss. It was fake.” It sounded completely like a guilty conscience trying to cover its tracks. Nathaniel chuckled—a sound I hadn’t heard in years—and offered a casual explanation. “Professor Chloe caught a massive flaw in my data set. I promised her a favor in return. That was it.” I took a slow sip of my hot tea. I remembered last New Year’s Eve perfectly. I had begged and pleaded for weeks until Nathaniel finally agreed to go on a proper date with me. I booked an impossible reservation at a Michelin-star restaurant half a month in advance. The day of, he texted me saying he was “too busy” to make it. For the next two weeks, he came home well past midnight every single night. I had assumed he was buried under the weight of his research. I was too terrified of breaking his concentration to even send a single text asking when he’d be home. It turns out he was busy rehearsing kissing scenes with Chloe. For the rest of the dinner, the table buzzed with intense conversations about laboratory data, curriculum changes, and inside jokes about the faculty. I was completely, utterly isolated. I kept my head down and quietly ate my food. It turns out the highly praised faculty dining hall tasted like absolute cardboard. Halfway through the meal, one of the female grad students suddenly spoke up, her voice ringing clear over the chatter. “Professor Chloe really is the ultimate role model for modern women. Not only is she a genius researcher, but she also acts and paints traditional watercolors.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “Not like those pathetic housewives who spend their entire lives revolving around a man without a shred of dignity. Women like that completely drag down the reputation of our gender.” Chloe shot a panicked glance in my direction. The girl immediately realized what she had said. Her face turned beet red. “Oh my god, Charlotte, I am so sorry. I totally didn’t mean it like that.” Nathaniel took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze sweeping over me with cold indifference. “Why are you apologizing? You were just stating a biological fact, weren’t you?” My fingernails dug so hard into my palms they almost broke the skin. I couldn’t endure another second of this suffocating room. I stood up and pushed my chair back. “You all enjoy yourselves. I have errands to run.” The cool night wind blew across the university track field, brushing against my hot cheeks. I had almost completely forgotten that years ago, Nathaniel—who despised physical exertion—used to sneak onto this exact track with me under the cover of night, holding my hand as we jogged together. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was my lawyer, sending over the finalized, legally binding version of the divorce agreement. A second later, Nathaniel’s name flashed across the screen with an incoming call. I declined it instantly. Deep into the night, a massive crash jolted me out of my sleep. Nathaniel stumbled through the front door, reeking of expensive liquor, his eyes completely unfocused as he collapsed onto the entryway rug. I immediately rushed over to help him up. He staggered to his feet, swaying heavily as he pointed a shaking finger at the large suitcase sitting by the door. “You knew. You knew the whole time.” I blinked, confused. “Knew what?” He fumbled around in his coat pocket and practically shoved two glossy concert tickets into my chest. They were VIP passes to see Taylor Swift. “It’s tomorrow. I took the entire day off work just to take you.” My eyes subconsciously flicked to the calendar on the wall. At the very bottom, written in tiny print, was a note: [If you absolutely can’t think of a gift, here is a hint: Chloe’s favorite artist is Taylor Swift.] Staring at the two tickets, I felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and crushed my lungs. It took me a long time to force three words past my lips. “It’s too late.” Drunk out of his mind, Nathaniel grabbed my wrist, staring at me with the desperate, stubborn eyes of a child. “How is it too late?! The concert is tomorrow!” I slowly shook my head. I reached out and gently took the tickets from his hand. I would treat it as his final goodbye. The next morning, Nathaniel woke up completely sober, reverting back to his usual, freezing demeanor. For once, he didn’t demand I pack his things and dragged his own bag to the door. “Let’s go. We’ll drive there.” It wasn’t until I walked out to the driveway that I realized Chloe was already sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, smiling warmly at me. “Professor Sterling drank a bit too much last night, so I offered to drive.” I wordlessly opened the back door and slid in, leaving the passenger seat entirely open for Nathaniel. Chloe expertly navigated the car onto the highway, her voice dripping with admiration. “Charlotte, you have no idea how brilliant he is. I mentioned casually that Taylor’s tickets were impossible to get.” She laughed lightly. “He spent two hours learning a new coding language, built a bot from scratch, and instantly secured three front-row VIP tickets.” Nathaniel glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “It wasn’t that complicated.” I let out a self-deprecating chuckle, closed my eyes, and pretended to fall asleep. I spent the entire three-hour drive listening to the two of them engage in endless, effortless banter. The stadium was absolutely deafening. Right before the opener started, the massive jumbotron began scanning the crowd for the Kiss Cam. By absolute pure coincidence, the camera swept right past me and locked directly onto Chloe and Nathaniel sitting next to each other. The entire section around us erupted into cheers. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Chloe looked at Nathaniel, her face flushed red with visible embarrassment. Nathaniel’s face darkened. He immediately raised his hand, signaling the camera operator to move on. The operator quickly got the hint and panned over to the next couple. The crowd roared even louder when they saw the new pair. Nathaniel tilted his head, his eyes lingering on the side of Chloe’s face for a second too long. The tips of Chloe’s ears burned bright red. She finally turned to look at me. “I am so sorry, Charlotte. We honestly didn’t plan that.” Nathaniel furrowed his brow, cutting her off. “Stop apologizing to her. She doesn’t care. Just focus on the show.” Right on cue, the stadium lights went completely black, and the opening chords blasted through the speakers. My quiet whisper—”It’s fine, it has nothing to do with me anymore anyway”—was completely swallowed by the music. The concert was breathtaking. The music dug deep into my bones. I closed my eyes, let the bass rattle my ribs, and without even realizing it, tears streamed silently down my face. When the show ended, the crowd surged toward the exits in a terrifying wave. For the very first time in public, Nathaniel reached out and grabbed my hand tightly. “Stay close to me.” But before we could take three steps, a sharp cry echoed from behind us. Chloe had been tripped by the crowd. She was sitting on the concrete, helplessly calling out Nathaniel’s name. He hesitated for barely two seconds before letting go of my hand and fighting his way backward through the massive crush of people. “Don’t move! Stay right there, I’ll be back!” I stood perfectly still, watching Nathaniel desperately grab Chloe’s hand and pull her up. But when he tried to turn back to find me, the surging crowd had already pushed us dozens of yards apart. It was the perfect metaphor for our entire marriage. It was doomed from the start. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had a million things I wanted to scream at him. But I was done wasting Nathaniel’s precious time. I attached the signed divorce agreement to our chat, hit send, and blocked his number. I turned around, walked away from the stadium, dragged my suitcase out of the trunk of his car, and flagged down a passing cab. “Take me to the airport.”

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1 I spent ten years building my top-veterinarian boyfriend into the internet’s most beloved pet doctor. When my five-year-old cat contracted a rare, life-threatening condition, I waited hours for an appointment at his clinic. But when my turn finally arrived, he refused to treat my cat, bumping me to the very end of the line under the guise of maintaining medical impartiality. Immediately afterward, he fast-tracked his childhood friend Amber so her cat could get a routine checkup. By the time my cat finally reached the operating table, she was barely breathing. When we got home, I packed my bags, my heart completely hardened. Tristan, usually the picture of cold composure, turned pale. He knelt before me with a velvet box in hand, blocking the front door. “Valerie, I thought you of all people would understand. My reputation is under constant scrutiny. You are my partner, so I have to avoid any appearance of favoritism.” He gripped my hands, his voice desperate. “Amber’s mother entrusted her to my family on her deathbed. Taking extra care of her is just basic decency.” My heart softened, and I accepted the ring. Until my wedding day. Thirty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin, I accidentally overheard Tristan speaking with the officiant outside the green room. “Amber’s cat threw up a moment ago. Find an excuse to delay the ceremony for a bit while I run over to examine it.” Amber clung tightly to his arm, looking up at him with a sweet, coy pout. “Tristan, you spoil me so much. But what if Valerie gets mad?” Tristan stroked her hair affectionately, his tone dripping with casual indulgence. “I am giving her the wedding of her dreams. Spoiling you a little is only fair.” He paused, his voice utterly relaxed and certain. “Besides, she will not make a scene. A single wedding is enough to keep her satisfied.” I stood frozen in the corridor, an icy chill sweeping through my entire body. Ten years of devotion had earned me nothing more than a arrogant assurance that she will not make a scene. Slowly, I pulled off the diamond ring that had never quite fit my finger. I pushed open the door and looked at them with a completely calm expression. “If her cat is so important, why do we not just cancel the wedding altogether?” Tristan’s smile froze. He turned to me, his brow furrowing in instant irritation. “Stop being ridiculous! It is just a short delay.” It was supposed to be the most important event of our lives, yet in his mouth, it sounded like a casual game that could be delayed whenever he pleased. My gaze drifted over his attire. He wore a crisp, bespoke suit tailored to perfection. I had pulled countless favors six months ago to secure a top Italian designer specifically for this piece. The day the suit arrived, he had spun me around in his arms, swearing he would cherish my love forever. Now, Amber was clinging tightly to his sleeve, her grip crumpling the tailored fabric. He did not care in the least. Instead, he gently patted her hand to comfort her. I pulled my eyes away, my voice barely above a whisper. “Am I really the one being ridiculous, Tristan? You are the groom ditching his bride minutes before the altar to examine a childhood friend’s pet.” A dismissive smirk touched his lips. “Do not make a mountain out of a molehill. You are just jealous of Amber. It is a minor issue that can be solved by pushing the ceremony back an hour.” A minor issue. In Tristan’s eyes, everything concerning me was a minor issue. My cat almost dying from a delayed operation was a minor issue. Missing the sacred hour of our wedding was a minor issue. Yet a single sneeze from Amber’s cat was an urgent emergency. The officiant glanced nervously between us, carefully weighing his words. “Is there any chance another veterinarian at the clinic could examine the pet? That way, neither side is delayed. Missing the scheduled hour for the ceremony is really not ideal.” Amber bit her lip, looking visibly tense. Holding the diamond ring in my palm, I felt a faint, foolish flicker of hope rise in my chest. Tristan rejected the idea without a second thought. “No! I have always managed Cleo’s health personally. Amber does not trust any other doctor.” Amber’s posture relaxed immediately, a triumphant glint flashing beneath her innocent eyes. “But Tristan… what if Valerie really cancels the wedding?” “She is just trying to intimidate me.” Tristan looked at me, letting out a soft, mocking chuckle. “You fought so hard to finally get the title of Mrs. Vance. Do you really have the guts to walk away from this wedding?” So he knew. He knew exactly how much I valued him and this marriage. My love had simply become the weapon he used to trample over my dignity. I offered a self-deprecating smile, no longer hesitating. Dragging the heavy lace train of my bridal gown, I walked forward and set the ring on the table beside him. Tristan’s hand snapped out, clamping around my wrist with enough force to crush my bones. His eyes swept over the ring, then landed on my face. The smirk vanished from his lips, his voice pressed through gritted teeth. “Are you playing for real?” “I am.” Amber looked up at Tristan, her voice soft and fragile. “Forget it, Tristan. I will just take Cleo to the clinic by myself. Do not make Valerie upset.” Her words only darkened Tristan’s temper. His grip on my wrist tightened even further. “I gave you enough face today, Valerie,” he sneered, his tone turning commandingly cold. “Put the ring back on and wait here for me to finish. Otherwise, the imported medication for Butterscotch stops today.” I yanked my hand out of his grip, a sharp, stabbing pain tearing through my chest. “You are threatening me?” Butterscotch was my five-year-old cat suffering from the rare disease. After the previous near-fatal delay, Tristan had offered to keep Butterscotch at his main hospital facility, claiming she would receive top-tier round-the-clock care. Butterscotch had kept me company through countless lonely nights. I had genuinely believed he cared for her out of love for me. I never imagined he would use my cat’s life as leverage to bend me to his will. Tristan smoothed his crumpled sleeve, looking down at me with utter arrogance. “It is not a threat. I am simply teaching you to be compliant. Furthermore, my professional reputation cannot have any stains.” He turned to the officiant, issuing cold instructions. “Announce to the guests that the ceremony is delayed because the bride’s family is running late. After all, you do not have any family coming anyway, right?” I clenched my fists, the cruelty of his words choking the breath out of my lungs. Taking my silence as obedience, he reached out, lifted my chin, and leaned down to whisper near my ear. “That is a good girl. Wait for me to get back.” Without another word, he wrapped an arm around Amber’s waist and walked out the door. The officiant offered me a look of deep pity. “Miss Jiang… should I inform the guests according to Mr. Vance’s instructions?” I nodded mindlessly, my heart entirely numb. My family. Not a single person from my family would attend today. Tristan knew better than anyone why that was, yet he chose to use my deepest wound to strike me down. The air conditioning in the green room was turned up too high, making me shiver violently. I picked up the oversized ring from the table and walked toward the vanity mirror. After I accepted his proposal, I realized the ring was entirely the wrong size. My fingers were slender, and the ring slipped off multiple times every single day. Yet I had refused to take it off, clinging to the pathetic hope that it meant our relationship would last. Looking back now, even the ring size had been bought according to Amber’s measurements. Passing a trash bin near the doorway, I paused. With a gentle flick of my wrist, the diamond ring dropped straight into the garbage. I did not look back. Inside the dressing room, I pulled out my phone and typed a quick message to the hotel’s general manager. Outside, the officiant had already announced the delay to the main hall. My makeup artist stood nervously in the corner, while my two closest friends and bridesmaids looked at me with deep concern. I ripped the heavy veil off my head, offering a bitter laugh as I gave them a brief overview of what had happened. “This is absolutely outrageous!” Zoe paced back and forth across the room, her eyes burning with fury. “What kind of precious cat requires the groom to ditch his own wedding altar?! Are you really going to swallow this disrespect, Valerie?” Phoebe’s face was flushed with anger, her fists tightly clenched. “Absolutely not!” I reached out and took Zoe’s hand. “I need you to do something crucial for me right now. Take my ID and authorization forms, head straight to Tristan’s hospital while he is away with Amber, and discharge Butterscotch immediately.” “Leave it to me!” Zoe agreed instantly. “But what about her treatment? Only his hospital has access to the imported serum!” Phoebe pulled out her phone, her eyes flashing with determination. “Get her out first! We will figure out the medication later!” Zoe turned and rushed out without even changing out of her bridesmaid gown. Phoebe knelt beside me, gently rubbing my cold back. “I still cannot believe Tristan turned into such a monster. Was it really worth sacrificing everything for him back then?” Mentioning the past sent my mind drifting back to the man Tristan used to be. The Tristan who would run across half the city in a snowstorm just to buy me warm chestnuts, holding them inside his coat so they would stay hot for me. The Tristan who was so broke he only had a hundred dollars left, yet borrowed two hundred more just to treat me to a proper hotpot dinner. The Tristan who drove eight hundred miles straight just to watch the sunrise with me, willing to grant my every wish. I had no idea when that man had vanished. I finally accepted the painful truth: the Tristan worth sacrificing everything for had died long ago in the passage of time. I took a deep, steadying breath, stood up, and walked toward the changing room. Before I could reach the door, Tristan’s mother pushed her way inside, flanked by a group of groomsmen who blocked the entrance. Seeing my intent to strip off the wedding dress, Tristan’s mother crossed her arms, offering a sneer. “Tristan merely left to treat an ill animal. He will be back shortly. Valerie, throwing a temper tantrum on your own wedding day shows a severe lack of upbringing.” The groomsmen chimed in behind her. “Come on, bro’s girl, Tristan already said you had to beg for this wedding. Do not make things awkward for everyone.” One of the groomsmen initiated a video call with Tristan. On the screen, Tristan listened quietly to their chatter, a faint smirk touching his lips. On his wrist was the limited-edition luxury watch I had spent six months of my savings to buy for him. I let out a cold, mocking laugh. My eyes swept over the groomsmen, glanced past the phone screen, and finally locked onto Tristan’s mother. “Your son abandoned his bride minutes before the altar to run off with his childhood friend. Is that your definition of proper upbringing?” The old woman’s face flushed crimson with humiliation. “You freeloading orphan! You have no right to speak to me like that!” Tristan’s icy voice echoed through the phone speaker. “Watch your mouth, Valerie! How dare you speak to my mother like that!” He sneered through the screen. “Do you still think you are the wealthy heiress of the Harrison Maritime Group?” My chest tightened painfully. Years ago, after our relationship stabilized, I had confessed my true identity to him as the eldest daughter of the Harrison Shipping Empire and brought him to meet my father. My father had taken one look at him and demanded I break up with him immediately. Valerie, that boy’s heart is not pure. To be with Tristan, I had cut ties with my father and stormed out of the family mansion, refusing all contact for years. After I helped Tristan build his personal brand into a massive veterinary influencer, he never once mentioned visiting my father again. I had assumed he wanted to achieve greater success before seeking my father’s approval. It turned out he had simply harbored a bitter grudge, using my estrangement as a weapon to degrade me. Because I had no family backing me, he believed I deserved to be humiliated on my own wedding day. A tear slipped down my cheek, cold against my skin. I wiped it away casually. Tristan’s mother added her own taunts from beside the screen. “Harrison Maritime? We haven’t heard a peep from them in years! She probably made the whole thing up!” “She is just a lonely orphan clinging to my son,” she continued arrogantly. “Only a soft-hearted man like Tristan would still take in an aging woman like her.” The groomsmen laughed and nodded in agreement. Phoebe rushed forward, shielding me with her body. “Tristan Vance, have some decency! Her social media strategies made your entire career! Valerie gave up a life of luxury to suffer alongside you!” Amber squeezed into the phone frame, offering a sweet, mocking grin. “Following Tristan is never a sacrifice, Phoebe. It is pure sweetness!” Phoebe glared at her, refusing to engage. Seeing that I was still moving toward the changing room, the groomsmen stepped forward, physically grabbing my arms. In the chaos, I was shoved heavily to the floor. A section of my lace dress was crushed under heavy dress shoes, and my knee scraped hard against the tile, leaving a painful, bleeding gash. Two groomsmen pinned Phoebe’s arms behind her back. One of them reached his hand toward the hem of her skirt. My eyes went wide with horror. Sitting on the floor, I let out a frantic, desperate scream. “No! Stop!” “Enough! I will not change my dress!” I wept, shaking violently. “I will wait for the ceremony! Just leave her alone!” Seeing my pathetic state on the floor, a flicker of restraint flashed across Tristan’s face on the screen, but his heart hardened again instantly. “See? If you had been compliant from the beginning, none of this would have happened. Wait quietly for my return.” I shook violently with rage, ignoring his voice entirely. I dragged myself over to Phoebe, helping her up as we held each other in the corner. I apologized to her repeatedly through my tears. She held me back, her hands trembling as she whispered that she was okay. Hearing her comfort only broke my heart further. For the first time in my life, I truly hated someone. He could fall out of love with me, and I would accept my loss gracefully. But how dared he allow his friends to humiliate my loved ones and threaten my pet? How dared he! Leaving two groomsmen behind to guard the room, Tristan’s mother and the rest of the group headed to the main hall. The makeup artist walked over quietly, helping us fix our ruined attire. I squeezed Phoebe’s hand, offering her a subtle look to signal that this was far from over. Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated with an incoming notification. High-definition surveillance footage from both the green room and the dressing room had been successfully delivered to my personal cloud storage. Building Tristan into the top veterinary influencer had required exceptional technical skills, and capturing behind-the-scenes footage was second nature to me. To gather high-quality video material for our wedding to boost his channel’s engagement, I had personally sponsored ultra-high-definition 4K security cameras throughout the hotel venue, securing full administrative access from the general manager. I had never imagined those cameras would become my ultimate proof to expose the truth. An hour passed, and Tristan was still nowhere to be seen. In the main banquet hall, guests were growing restless, murmuring about how disrespectful the bride’s family was for causing such a massive delay. Amber posted an update on her social media feed, tagging my account directly. It was a photo taken from a girlfriend’s perspective, showing Tristan holding her cat gently during an examination. Caption: Cleo is so lucky! The moment her dad heard she was unwell, he put off his wedding to rush to her side. Tristan had commented below: As I should. Otherwise, a certain someone would be crying her eyes out again. A row of comments from the groomsmen sat right underneath: Bro is truly devoted. Looking at the post, I felt a strange sense of detachment. The pain in my chest had evaporated entirely. I even tapped a cold, emotionless like on the post. Two hours passed, and Tristan still had not returned. Many guests began leaving in frustration. The media outlets I had invited to cover the wedding were already recording negative commentary about the event’s organization. In the past, I was the one who meticulously managed his public relations and maintained those media contacts. Now, I sat quietly in the dressing room, watching the slow collapse of his reputation. Tristan’s mother paced outside the dressing room ten times, looking anxious and hesitant, but never stepped inside. Two and a half hours after the scheduled time, Tristan finally returned. Seeing me still wearing the wedding dress and sitting quietly on the sofa, he let out an instinctive sigh of relief. He immediately launched into an accusation. “Why are you sitting here instead of going out to comfort the guests?” I rolled my eyes, offering no response. A sudden wave of panic flared in his chest, as if something was slipping completely out of his control. “Your behavior today has been appalling. As a punishment, you will no longer manage my social media accounts.” “Amber will be taking over all your previous responsibilities. If you perform well during the remainder of the ceremony, I might consider giving you another chance.” I remained entirely silent. Seeing that I was not frantically begging for his forgiveness as I usually did, Tristan narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Amber stood beside him, her face flushed with excitement. “Tristan, I will do a much better job than Valerie!” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss against the corner of Tristan’s lips. Tristan froze, failing to pull away in time. Seeing that I still offered zero reaction, his anger flared again. My phone buzzed in my hand with an incoming text message from a contact number I knew by heart, yet had not dialed in years. Instinct told me that Phoebe had taken matters into her own hands. I stared at the screen for three seconds before opening the message: Stubborn girl! You are even more hard-headed than your old man! Would bowing your head kill you? I am arriving on my private jet right now. I will be at the venue in ten minutes. Reading the familiar words, I could almost picture my father standing in front of me, shouting at me with stern, booming affection. I bit my lip hard, forcing back the sob rising in my throat, but tears spilled over my lashes, cascading down my cheeks like broken pearls. I had not cried when I caught Tristan delaying the wedding for Amber’s cat. I had not cried when he used my cat’s life to threaten me. I had not cried when his mother and friends mocked me for being an orphan. Yet now, I could not stop my tears from falling. Tristan had assumed my father had abandoned me over the years. He never knew that the cold distance between us was the result of a ten-year bet I had made with my father to prove my love. I had agreed not to return home or use family resources until I proved Tristan was worthy. Seeing me weep, the panic in Tristan’s heart subsided. He assumed I was finally surrendering. He stepped forward, reaching out to wipe my tears, offering a condescending gesture of mercy. “It is good that you understand your mistake. When the ceremony starts, make sure to offer a proper apology to the guests.” “Tell them your family arrived late and caused the delay. If you do that, I will let you keep managing my accounts.” I let out a soft laugh, slapping his hand away. I closed my eyes, wiped my own face dry, and opened them with absolute clarity. The officiant’s voice echoed through the hallway speakers, announcing that the groom and bride were entering the main hall. I lifted the heavy skirt of my gown and walked firmly toward the main entrance. Tristan called out for me to wait, but I never turned back. Reaching the grand doors of the hall, I saw a tall, mountain-like man standing by the entrance, looking just as dependable as he had in my childhood memories. Seeing me look over, he offered a stern, reassuring nod. Tristan, who had caught up behind me, took one look at the man’s face, and his complexion turned as ghostly pale as a corpse. A wave of icy terror rushed straight up his spine.

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My boyfriend is the psycho final boss in a horror game. At midnight, his dark, sleek tentacles wrap around me in a needy, possessive embrace. “Stop it,” I murmur, dodging his hungry, unsated kiss. The grand boss lowers his gloomy eyes, pouting like an aggrieved child as he buries his face into the crook of my neck, sucking firmly to leave a bruised hickey. “No kiss? Then no clearing the stage.” 1 “Welcome, players, to the instance: The Shadow Courier.” “Main Objective: Successfully complete three delivery runs.” “Difficulty Rank: SS.” “The trial is about to begin. Prepare yourselves…” The cold electronic chime faded into silence. A dozen players, including me, materialized inside a dimly lit, weathered courtyard. Unlike the sheer panic I felt during my very first horror game, I was surprisingly calm now. Dusk bled into midnight. A thick, eerie fog blanketed the ground, swirling around a gnarled, ancient oak rooted in the center of the yard. Its massive branches curled like jagged talons overhead, looming over us as if ready to impale anyone who moved. My brow twitched. I reached up and touched the cool pendant resting against my collarbone. My boyfriend Gideon’s handsome, composed face immediately flashed in my mind. No matter how terrifying the monsters in this realm were, none of them held a candle to my lover. When Gideon unleashed his true form, those boundless, writhing tentacles were infinitely more suffocating than a creepy old tree. If I wasn’t afraid of the ultimate boss himself, why should I fear some overgrown plant? I squared my shoulders, my gaze hardening. “What the hell?!” a man suddenly screeched. “An SS rank instance?!” “Holy shit, I’ve only cleared one A rank map! I haven’t even unlocked S rank yet, why am I thrown into SS rank?!” “Even top tier leaderboard players can’t guarantee survival in an SS rank game! Why me?! I’m just a casual player who got carried by my team!” “What are you guys talking about? What instance? I was on the beach two seconds ago! Send me back right now!” A complete rookie? I blinked in surprise. To think someone was even unluckier than me, starting off their nightmare in an SS rank map. The other players cast sympathetic glances at the panic-stricken newcomer. If this were a low rank map, someone might have taken pity and given him a quick rundown of the rules. But in an SS rank instance, everyone was fighting for their own survival. Seeing that nobody answered him, the rookie’s confusion quickly turned into blinding rage. “Bringing me here is illegal kidnapping! You won’t answer me? Fine! I’m calling the cops!” He whipped out his phone, only to see ‘No Service’. Panic flickered in his eyes, but he put the phone to his ear anyway, pretending to make a call as he bolted toward the courtyard gates. “Don’t run outside!” someone called out in warning. The man flinched, but it only made him run faster. My pulse quickened. Something felt off. A faint rustling sound echoed in my ears, like wind sweeping dry leaves across pavement. Except there wasn’t a single breath of wind. “It… it’s moving!” someone gasped. The jagged branches overhead groaned like an old man stretching his aching joints. Creak. Crack. The branches sharpened into wooden spears, twisting and stretching toward the man nearing the exit. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, a hand snagged his collar and yanked him back. A massive wooden branch slammed violently into the doorway with a loud thump. One more step, and he would have been skewered through the chest. A suffocating silence fell over the yard. The other players and I backed away, eyeing the ancient oak with deep caution. The rookie, having narrowly escaped death, collapsed onto the pavement, shaking uncontrollably. That’s when a paper puppet ambled out from the shadows of the inner estate, wearing a painted, creepy grin. Its eyes were nothing more than two sloppy ink dots, yet when it stared at us, it felt like hollow eyeballs were rolling in their sockets. “Greetings, couriers. Midnight has arrived. Time to hit the road with your cargo.” The game had officially begun. In this instance, we were couriers tasked with delivering mysterious packages. The roads were fraught with danger, teeming with hungry ghouls waiting in the dark. Frankly, I suspected those monsters were far more interested in eating us than whatever was inside our boxes. Some players quietly grabbed their designated packages; others huddled together, negotiating pairs and groups. I, however, kept my eyes fixed on the paper puppet. It had been facing away from me, but in the next second, its paper head snapped one hundred eighty degrees with a sickening tear. Those two void-like eyes locked directly onto mine. Its face was painted into a wide, unnatural smile, but its voice was bone-chillingly cold. “Why aren’t you moving?” I tilted my head. “Who drew your eyes?” The puppet visibly froze. Clearly, no player had ever asked it such an absurd question before. It glared at me menacingly. “That is none of your business.” I stared back at its face, strangely finding it somewhat endearing. Just as I opened my mouth to ask more, a hand reached out and pulled me back. It was a young woman. She pressed a finger to her lips, shaking her head frantically to tell me to shut up. Once the paper puppet glided away into the dark, she let out a long breath of relief. “Are you crazy? Why are you provoking the NPCs? I heard this map is brutally dangerous, especially that paper guy. It holds grudges like you wouldn’t believe!” I wasn’t trying to seek death. It was just that the atrocious artwork on the puppet’s face looked eerily similar to the bizarre emojis Gideon used to draw for me. Ugly, weird, and bizarrely charming. I used to try and teach him how to draw, but no matter how hard I tried, Gideon stuck to his horrifyingly unique artistic taste. Eventually, I was almost dragged down to his level. Seeing that signature art style after so long actually gave me a weird sense of comfort. Seeing me stay quiet, the girl assumed I was terrified. She patted my shoulder gently. “Don’t be scared. I can tell you’re new here. I’ll cover your back. The name’s Lexi.” 2 My delivery cargo was a small box of face powder. Lexi’s was a pair of antique crimson satin shoes that looked like they were dripping with fresh blood. By a stroke of luck, both our packages were bound for the exact same recipient. Night fell heavily. Clutching our cargo, we crept out of the estate. This time, the massive oak tree didn’t attack us. Lexi was a chatty one. “Face powder and blood red shoes… our client must be some high maintenance beauty.” “Man, these shoes are creeping me out. Look how red they are.” “Do you think we’ll actually make it alive?” “Hey, I didn’t catch your name earlier. How many instances have you cleared? Ever done an SS rank before?” “A top player once told me this map is crawling with abominations hiding in the dark. They could pop out behind you at any second.” To prove her point, Lexi made a goofy monster face to scare me. Without missing a beat, I unsheathed the heavy courier sword at my waist and thrust it straight at her face. She shrieked, “I know I talk a lot, but you don’t have to murder me?!” The blade sliced through the crisp night air with a sharp whoosh. The steel narrowly grazed Lexi’s shoulder, impaling a withered, decaying corpse that had materialized silently right behind her. Lexi blinked, realizing what just happened. “Holy shit! Badass!” My eyebrows twitched. “Draw your weapon! There’s more!” 3 Clouds parted overhead, revealing a sickly green crescent moon hanging in the abyss. Dozens of desiccated corpses sprouted from the muddy earth like grotesque mushrooms. No matter how many we slashed, more crawled out. An hour later, the fog finally swallowed the green moon again, and we stumbled out of the woods, bruised and battered. “Damn, those dead bastards had some grip…” Lexi winced, holding her cheek where a claw had grazed her. I reached over and plucked a rotten tooth out of her tangled hair. Strangely enough, the undead swarm had focused almost all their aggression on Lexi. They barely even looked at me. My messy state was purely from jumping in to save her. Suddenly, my eyes caught something on her feet. “Do you… like vintage shoes?” I asked. “Hell no,” Lexi scoffed. “Those things are bad luck.” “Look down.” The blood red satin shoes we were supposed to deliver were now neatly fitted onto Lexi’s feet. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” she screamed, trying to kick them off, but they were stuck like glue. Before she could process it, her feet began moving on their own, sprinting forward at full speed. “I can’t control my legs!” she wailed. I bolted after her. We ran all the way to a desolate hill, stopping near a ruined shrine where a figure in a vivid red gown sat before a bronze mirror, quietly combing her long black hair. “Finally… you’ve arrived,” the female specter murmured softly. Her silhouette was breathtakingly elegant, but when she turned, her face was a bruised purple, her neck marred by jagged lash marks. Yet, seeing us gasping for air, she let out a melodic, chilling laugh. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced my voice to stay steady. “Are you the recipient of the shoes and rouge?” “I am.” With a wave of her sleeve, the cosmetics box in my pack and the red shoes on Lexi’s feet flew straight into her delicate hands. I checked my system interface: Progress: 1/3 Complete. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. A close call, but we made it. Just as Lexi and I turned to leave, the specter finished applying her makeup, admiring her reflection. “Hmm… it still feels like something is missing,” she whispered. A spike of dread hit me. “Run!” I yelled, grabbing Lexi’s hand. Too late. In the blink of an eye, my vision warped. I was suddenly sitting on four paws, transformed into a fluffy white rabbit trapped in the ghost’s arms. And Lexi? She had been turned into a delicate jade hairpin, stuck firmly in the ghost’s intricate hair bun. The specter stroked my soft rabbit ears, preening in the mirror with a dreamy smile. “Ah, perfect. The Sovereign of the Undead will awaken soon. This look will surely captivate His Majesty.” She carried us into a grand, twisted palace deep beneath the earth. Ornate pillars, vaulted ceilings, magnificent, yet steeped in death. Chilling winds swept through dark corridors where monstrous entities dressed in aristocratic attire whispered to one another, eagerly awaiting the grand spectacle. We had stumbled into something big. Taking advantage of her distraction, I unleashed a stream of rabbit pee right onto her pristine gown. The ghost hissed in rage, but to maintain her regal appearance, she hastily set me down to clean herself. Now! I kicked off her lap and bolted. The palace was a sprawling labyrinth. Several ghastly creatures spotted a juicy live rabbit and gave chase, snapping their jaws. I squeezed through a tiny crevice in the stone wall to throw them off. With no way back, I pushed forward, wriggling deeper into the narrow tunnel. Finally, the space widened. It was pitch black, cold, and heavy with a suffocating, ancient chill. My furry little rabbit paws stepped onto something soft yet firm. I was standing on a human face. 4 The cavern was freezing and dead silent. My mind instantly pictured the rotting, maggot-infested mug of a ghoul, and a surge of nausea hit me. I frantically tried to back out of the hole, but the entrance had vanished. Trap! I padded along the stone walls, completely sealed. It was as if the tunnel I crawled through had never existed. How on earth did I get in here? The frost in the air grew thicker, biting through my thick rabbit fur. Yet, what terrified me more than freezing to death was the corpse beneath me suddenly springing to life and swallowing me whole. Finding no exit on the floor, I decided to test my rabbit hops, leaping upward toward the ceiling. Maybe the way out was above me. I hopped again and again, hopelessly bouncing around the dark room. And every time I came down, I landed right back on top of the corpse. Though he’s dead, his physique is surprisingly good, I couldn’t help thinking. Reminds me of Gideon. Landing on his chest, I could feel the distinct, rock-hard outline of eight-pack abs through the fabric of his robes. Still, the thought of a creepy, mutilated face was enough to keep me jumping. Until I was completely exhausted. Great. Looks like I’m spending the night with a corpse. Silence in a closed space is a breeding ground for terror. Especially when the corpse beside you suddenly twitched. The figure shifted, slowly turning onto his side to face me. Though the darkness obscured everything, I felt an intense, suffocating gaze locking onto my small, furry body. My blood ran cold. The corpse didn’t move again. By late night, the frost became unbearable. Defeated, I curled myself into a tight little ball and squirmed beneath his heavy outer robes. Oddly enough, it wasn’t cold anymore.

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My parents ran a grade-based allowance system every month. I always thought my sister got the money. Until I ended up at Station 2 in the campus dining hall. Interviews were paying seven bucks an hour, hiring only one person, and there she was. Her voice was raspy as she uttered the most shocking words I had ever heard. “Is this a joke to you, Nora?” “Just to humiliate me, you came to steal this job even with an eight-hundred-dollar monthly allowance?” I froze. The words spilled out before I could stop them: “What eight hundred dollars? Didn’t Mom and Dad give all that money to you?” Pathy went dead silent. And right then, something clicked in my head. Unless… that money was never meant for either of us from the start. 01 My twin sister and I were raised by two of the city’s most celebrated educators. They had shelf-loads of state honors, featured constantly in local educational press. Their golden rule was simple: “Pressure drives competition, competition drives effort, and effort brings success.” So, from the moment we were born, Pathy and I were pitted against each other. For other babies, rolling over, sitting up, and crawling were natural milestones. For us, they were points on a scoreboard. Whoever learned first got the point. If you earned five points a day, you got milk. If you failed, you went hungry for twenty-four hours. For over ten years, Pathy and I lived in a relentless warzone. We treated each other like bitter rivals, fighting purely for a plate of food. Until the day our acceptance letters to a top-tier university arrived. Our parents made us a solemn promise: “Once you start college, we will give each of you eight hundred dollars a month for living expenses.” Pathy and I burst into tears right there. We thought our nightmare was finally over. Then came the night before move-in day. They placed two identical exam packets in front of us. “We custom-made these tests covering everything from high school. Finish them, hand them in, and we’ll grade them.” “Take it seriously. This determines who gets the college allowance for the first month.” I couldn’t help asking, “What do you mean, Dad?” They answered with smooth, reasonable composure: “We looked into it. College is when kids ruin themselves most easily. For your own good, we will issue a specialized exam at the end of every month.” “The highest score gets the eight-hundred-dollar monthly allowance. The lower score gets zero.” Pathy and I stared in disbelief. We protested together. “That’s crazy! You promised us! You said eight hundred each once we got into college! How can you go back on your word?” Dad’s face darkened instantly, his voice dripping with intimidation. “Who are you to question us? I am your father. You live under my roof and eat my food, so you follow my rules.” “Besides, isn’t this for your own good? If you’re going to be this ungrateful, neither of you gets a single cent.” Once again, Pathy and I backed down. A college student with zero allowance is like a fish out of water, bound to suffocate. 02 When college started, I had zero dollars. “Nora, you scored two points lower than your sister,” my parents told me. “So, no allowance for your first month.” I begged them not to be so cruel, but they didn’t care. I had to dig out the eighty dollars in birthday money I had hidden under my bed just to survive. To stretch every cent, I lived on cheap stale bagels, only allowing myself a single hard-boiled egg in the morning. Going hungry brought sharp stomach pains, and stomach pains meant needing medicine, which I couldn’t afford. Day by day, my face grew pale and hollow. My roommates quickly noticed. They asked gently, “Nora, are your parents not giving you allowance? Why are you eating so little?” “You’re going to ruin your health like this.” I managed a bitter smile and briefly explained the twisted competition rule at home. My roommates were horrified, looking at me with deep sympathy. “Did you apply for financial hardship aid?” I shook my head. “My parents won’t let me.” If people found out two award-winning educators had a daughter applying for hardship aid, they thought it would bring shame to their reputation. From that day on, my roommates constantly found excuses to feed me. “Nora, this milk expires soon and I hate it, drink it for me.” “Nora, this sandwich has eggs and I’m allergic, take it.” “Nora, these plums from my garden are way too sour, please finish them.” My chest felt warm and aching at the same time. The warmth I had never felt at home, I was receiving here. 03 Eighty dollars, no matter how carefully spent, couldn’t last a whole month. A little over two weeks in, I had ten dollars left in my wallet. I was completely out of options. In desperation, I considered applying for online loans, but legitimate platforms rejected me due to my lack of credit history. Driven into a corner, I called my mother for help. First call, unanswered. Second call, rejected. Third call, she finally picked up. Before I could say a word, her sharp, irritated voice snapped: “Are you out of your mind?” “Don’t you know your father and I are busy at work? Calling nonstop, are you trying to drive me crazy?” I kept my voice as low as possible, pleading with pathetic weakness. “Mom, I don’t have money to buy food.” “Please, just give me a little bit of allowance.” “I really can’t make it through the month.” I thought no matter how cold parents were, hearing their child starve would soften their hearts. I was wrong. Her tone was icy. “If you can’t make it, figure it out yourself. Who told you to score lower than your sister?” “If you want money, beat her at the end of the month. Otherwise, don’t even dream about it.” Click. She hung up. At that moment, all the bottled-up pain surged over me. Standing alone in the stairwell, heavy tears spilled down my cheeks. I had never felt so utterly helpless. I couldn’t understand it. Why did other parents worry about their children going hungry, while mine watched me starve without batting an eye? 04 I walked back to my dorm with red, swollen eyes. Seeing me like that, my roommates immediately gathered around. I told them everything. They instantly offered to lend me money, but I refused. Even though I was broke, I didn’t want to tarnish this pure friendship with financial debts. Helpless, my roommate offered another idea. “Why don’t you try borrowing from your sister? You’re twins, she can’t be completely heartless, right?” “Yeah, your parents gave her eight hundred dollars. Asking to borrow fifty bucks isn’t much.” I hesitated. “But… Pathy and I don’t get along.” Ten years of ruthless competition had made us treat each other like enemies. My roommate encouraged me, “Just try. Maybe she’s not as cold as you think.” I gritted my teeth and dialed my sister’s number. 05 The moment the call went through, Pathy spoke with total impatience. “Spit it out, don’t waste my time.” My roommates were right beside me, hearing every word. My face burned with shame, but I forced myself to whisper, “Pathy, could you lend me fifty dollars?” “I promise I’ll pay you back next month.” The next second, Pathy exploded. “Borrow money from me? Have you lost your mind, Nora?” “You blew through your own cash and now you come begging to me?” “Have some damn pride!” Before I could respond, she slammed the phone down. A stinging sensation filled my nose as I tried to hold back tears. My roommates blew up in rage. “What the hell! Is your sister crazy? If she doesn’t want to lend it, she doesn’t have to be so nasty!” “Unbelievable! She gets eight hundred bucks and won’t even lend fifty to her own twin!” “And calling you a big spender? Is she blind? You’ve been starving on dry crusts for days!” I stayed silent, feeling both furious and deeply hurt. To be honest, Pathy’s reaction didn’t really surprise me. She had been like this since childhood, attacking me before hearing the full story. We were used to treating each other this way. A moment later, my roommate showed me a screenshot of a part-time job. “This local diner needs weekend help. It pays daily, fifteen bucks an hour.” I grabbed onto it like a lifeline, hugging her tightly while whispering endless thanks. She smiled and patted my back. “Just help me with the group projects later.” 06 Two days of grueling work earned me a hundred and twenty dollars. With that money, I dragged myself through another two weeks. It was brutally hard, counting every single penny just to eat. During a break between classes, our advisor posted a list of work-study campus jobs in the group chat. On-campus positions! Long-term! Overjoyed, I registered immediately, grabbing contact details and sending private messages. Every single one turned me down. The higher-paying ones were taken instantly. The flexible ones clashed with my heavy class schedule. Rejection after rejection broke my spirit. Just as I was about to give up, a new posting appeared in the chat. Dining Hall Assistant. Seven dollars an hour. Includes free lunch and free dinner. The only downside: only hiring one person. Seeing the words “includes free meals,” my eyes burned red. This was my only way to survive. Without wasting a single second, I added the manager’s contact, terrified someone else would snatch it. “Hello, I’d like to apply for the Dining Hall Assistant position.” Five minutes later, the reply came: “Sorry, another student just messaged me a step ahead of you.” My throat constricted with panic. I messaged back furiously, pleading: “Please give me a chance! I work really hard and I’m not afraid of tough work. I promise I won’t slack off or cause trouble!” After a long silence, the manager finally replied: “Come to Dining Hall Station 2 tomorrow after class for an interview.” 07 The next day, I waited eagerly for class to end. Right before the final bell, our advisor dropped a message in the chat: “Don’t leave after class. We are having a mandatory class meeting. Class president, organize everyone.” I froze in shock. I wanted to run, but I didn’t dare. Our advisor was notoriously strict. Getting caught skipping meant standing in the office for a week reciting English vocabulary. Throughout the meeting, I sat on pins and needles, checking my phone constantly, my mind in chaos. My roommate kept whispering, “It’s fine, don’t panic, it’ll end soon.” In the end, it dragged on for far too long. The second it ended, I grabbed my books and sprinted toward the dining hall. Twenty minutes late. My heart sank. It was over. The job was gone. I walked up to Station 2, my voice trembling. “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m here for the work-study interview. Who should I speak to?” The cafeteria worker looked me up and down. “Take a seat over there, sweetie. The manager is interviewing someone else right now.” I sat on a chair, my palms soaked in cold sweat. Despair crept over me. A few minutes later, the manager walked out from the kitchen, followed by another student. I looked up, and my eyes widened in total shock. It was my twin sister, Pathy. 08 Our eyes met, both of us frozen in disbelief. The manager looked at me. “Are you the student who messaged me about the interview?” I nodded quickly. He led me into the back kitchen for a quick chat. Because I had rehearsed answers with my roommate, I answered every question smoothly. Finally, he asked, “The pay here is really low. Are you sure you can accept seven dollars an hour?” I nodded aggressively. “As long as meals are included.” The manager looked at me with a complicated expression, sighing softly. “What is wrong with kids these days…” “Working so hard just for a meal. Do your parents not feed you at home?” I didn’t understand what he meant, nor did I have time to ponder it. He led me back outside and spoke to both Pathy and me. “Wait here for a moment while I decide who to hire.” 09 The moment the manager stepped away, the tension exploded. Pathy suddenly shoved me hard. Losing my balance, I slammed into the ground. Furious and confused, I scrambled up. “Are you crazy, Pathy? What did you shove me for?” She stared at me, her eyes brimming with tears. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered drama tropes of girls faking injuries. I took two steps back nervously. “Hey, don’t try to play the victim! You pushed me first, I didn’t touch you!” Instead, her voice broke, raspy and choked with emotions, delivering the most shocking words of my life. “Is this a joke to you, Nora?” “Just to humiliate me, you came to steal this job even with an eight-hundred-dollar monthly allowance?” I froze completely, my mind going blank. I stared at her in utter disbelief and blurted out: “What eight hundred dollars?” “Didn’t Mom and Dad give all that money to you?” Pathy’s rage flared up instantly. “Stop acting! How can you keep lying to my face?” “I know you’re smarter than me. No matter what test Mom and Dad give us, you always score higher.” “But do you have any idea? Because of you, I’ve been starving in this school for almost a month!” “Every day, all I think about is saving money, eating cheap one-dollar bagels from the breakfast cart for every meal!” I was rendered speechless. Pathy grabbed my hands, her voice breaking into a plea. “I’m begging you, Nora. Can’t you just let this go for once, for the sake of being sisters?” “I desperately need this job. I am so, so hungry every single day.” A chill ran down my spine. “But Mom and Dad told me they gave the entire eight hundred dollars to you,” I stammered. Pathy completely lost control, screaming with bloodshot eyes: “How could they have given it all to me? If I had eight hundred dollars, why would I be living like a dog?” “Besides, if I actually had that money, even as much as I hate you, I would have lent you fifty bucks when you asked!” I tried to explain, “But I really didn’t get a cent! I’ve been starving for a month just like you, living on nothing but dry bread!” Pathy shoved my hands away, bordering on hysteria. “Are you trying to trick me again? If Mom and Dad didn’t give the money to you or me, who else could they possibly give it to…” Her voice abruptly cut off. The air turned dead silent. And right then, something clicked in my head. Unless… that money was never meant for either of us from the start.

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My sister had her eyes on my husband. She secretly dug a used condom out of the trash bag by our front door. When I accidentally caught her in the act, she flew into a hysterical rage and shoved me down the staircase. I died in a pool of my own blood. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back on the exact day she was rummaging through the garbage. This time, I quietly walked away. After all, that little latex wrapper belonged to my father-in-law and his boyfriend. 01 The muffled rustling outside the door was what woke me up. That was the moment I realized I had been given a second chance at life. In my previous life, I had opened the front door to take out the trash, only to catch Brittany elbow-deep in our garbage bag. She pulled out a crumpled, used condom. We stared at each other in dead silence. For a split second, she froze, but then a twisted, unhinged smile crept across her face. “Well, Stella, since you saw everything, you can’t blame me for this.” She lunged at me like a feral animal. “Go to hell! Once you’re dead, Preston is going to be all mine!” I instinctively tried to dodge. But Brittany seized the opening and violently shoved me toward the stairs. The back of my head slammed against the sharp edge of the wooden steps. My consciousness began to bleed out along with the agonizing pain. The very last thing I saw was Brittany standing at the top of the landing, looking down at me with absolute disgust. “Preston is a catch. I just wanted to give him a baby! Is that a crime? Blame your own rotten luck for walking out at the wrong time. You deserve to die!” After my funeral, my mother put on a tearful show. Then she provided a rock-solid fake alibi for my sister. I remember my spirit lingering as my mother sighed at my framed memorial photo. “Brittany just wanted a child, Stella. It’s not like she asked you to get a divorce. Why did you have to be so selfish about it? I’ve already lost you. I can’t lose Brittany too. You forgive me, right?” “Stupid bitch! Was she that desperate for a man? Disgusting.” Brittany’s venomous muttering slipped through the crack of the door, pulling me violently back to the present. This time, I kept my hand far away from the doorknob. Peeking through the peephole, I watched Brittany slip the stolen prize into her pocket and walk away with a triumphant smirk. A slow smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. What my sweet little sister didn’t know was that the trash bag didn’t belong to our household. It belonged to our next-door neighbor, Victor. Victor was my father-in-law’s absolute best friend. He walked with a heavy limp from a youth spent doing hard labor. Because of his bad leg, he often left his trash in front of our door, and I would always take it down for him out of sheer pity. In this life, I genuinely wished my sister the absolute best of luck. I hope she gets pregnant on the first try. 02 The moment Brittany’s footsteps faded down the hall, my father-in-law, Arthur, stepped out of the guest bathroom. He had just finished a shower, his thinning hair still dripping wet. He threw a sideways glance at me. Seeing me still standing in the living room, his bushy eyebrows immediately pulled together in a scowl. “Weren’t you supposed to take the trash out? Why are you just standing there like a statue?” “Work emergency. Just replying to an email.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Always an excuse when I ask you to do one simple chore. Hurry up and get that garbage out of here before it attracts rats.” Watching his bizarre sense of urgency, a wild, absurd thought sparked in my brain. Whenever Arthur had free time, he loved going over to Victor’s place to play cards. Every single time he came back from those long card games, he looked completely drained, heavily sweating, and the very first thing he did was hit the shower. I had never thought much of it before. But now, the puzzle pieces were snapping into place. Were they actually playing cards? Who exactly used the latex wrapper in that trash bag? Victor lived entirely alone. He didn’t date, didn’t have female visitors, and kept to himself. The only person who visited him several times a week was Arthur. Could it be? My eyes widened in shock, accidentally meeting Arthur’s impatient glare. His face darkened with anger. “What the hell are you staring at? Move it!” 03 The very next afternoon. The minute my mother-in-law, Martha, grabbed her gym bag and headed out to her senior Zumba class, Arthur grabbed a six-pack of imported craft beer and hurried next door. I quietly slipped out and followed him. Arthur punched in the keypad code to Victor’s apartment with practiced ease. I pressed my ear flat against the heavy oak door for a long time. There was no sound of cards shuffling. No casual banter or laughter. Just faint, muffled groans. It sounded like someone trying desperately to hold back, only to fail miserably. A cold shiver crawled straight down my spine. That night in bed, I cautiously tested the waters with my husband, Preston. “Hey, have you ever thought that… your dad and Victor are a little too close?” He was lying flat on his back, endlessly scrolling through TikTok, not even bothering to look up. “They’ve been best buddies for decades. Grew up in the same dirt-poor town. It’s called loyalty, Stella.” “But every time your dad goes over there, he stays for hours on end. Isn’t that a bit excessive?” Preston finally peeled his eyes away from his glowing screen. His forehead creased with intense annoyance. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I bit the inside of my cheek, taking the plunge. “Victor hasn’t had a woman in his life for as long as I’ve known him. You don’t think he might be into m…” “Stella! What the hell is wrong with your sick mind?” “I saw something in his trash bag today…” “Shut your mouth!” Preston cut me off sharply, his tone dropping to freezing temperatures. “If I ever hear you disrespecting Victor like that again, we are going to have a serious problem.” I swallowed the rest of my words. Preston and Victor had a deep bond. When Preston was a kid and his parents were working double shifts to keep the lights on, he basically lived at Victor’s house. In Preston’s eyes, Victor was practically a second father, maybe even more respected than Arthur himself. Telling him my theories now would only backfire. Whatever. I would wait until I had undeniable proof. 04 Over the next few weeks, I racked my brain trying to gather evidence of Arthur and Victor’s secret affair. But these two old men were incredibly paranoid. The door was always deadbolted. I pressed my ear against the wood several times. Aside from the occasional choked gasp, it was impossible to record anything solid. The trash bags, however, told a different story. Every few days, a fresh batch of used wrappers would magically appear. Brittany was putting in the work, too. Terrified that she wouldn’t catch on the first try, she sneaked over multiple nights a week to raid the garbage. Honestly, I was praying for her success even harder than she was. 05 A month later, we hosted a birthday dinner for Martha. Arthur invited Victor. Martha invited Brittany. The whole cast of characters was gathered under one roof. My gut told me tonight’s dinner was going to be a blockbuster show. Brittany walked in wearing a skin-tight white cocktail dress. Her waistline was visibly thicker, the fabric stretching uncomfortably across her midsection. According to my mother, Brittany had been dealing with terrible nausea lately, throwing up almost everything she ate. My mom had been blowing up the family group chat, demanding I take time off work to escort my sister to a doctor. She threw around lines like, “Your baby sister is sick, and you have a duty to take care of her.” I left her on read. So she sent me a dozen back-to-back voice memos. Every single one was a tearful rant calling me cold-blooded and selfish. I raised an eyebrow as Brittany took a seat. Did she actually hit the jackpot? My gaze naturally drifted over to Arthur and Victor. They were sitting on the living room sofa, a chessboard set up between them. Knee touching knee. Shoulder brushing against shoulder. As Arthur reached out to move a pawn, his fingers delicately grazed the back of Victor’s hand. They shared a brief, loaded look. Both of them wore faint, secretive smiles that spoke volumes. I fell into deep thought, trying not to laugh out loud. Who exactly was the father of Brittany’s miracle baby? 06 Brittany pulled a velvet box from her designer knock-off purse and slid a heavy gold bracelet onto Martha’s wrist. “Happy birthday, Martha! I spent weeks picking this out. Do you love it?” Martha’s wrinkled face bloomed with absolute delight. “Oh, Brittany, sweetheart, you didn’t have to spend so much! This must have cost a fortune. You work so hard for your money, you shouldn’t be spoiling an old woman like me.” Her words were humble, but she immediately held her arm up to catch the living room lighting. I stared at that gold bracelet for exactly two seconds. Wow. That was the exact same bracelet I had bought for my own mother last month. When Mom opened my gift, she had carelessly tossed it onto the coffee table without a second glance. But when Brittany gifted her a cheap, ten-dollar acrylic scarf from a discount bin, my mom wore it around her neck the very next day. In the middle of a sweltering summer heatwave. She paraded it around the neighborhood, bragging to anyone who would listen. “My youngest made this just for me. It’s the thought that counts. Unlike my eldest, who just throws money at problems to shut me up.” One of her friends actually tried to defend me. “Why wear a heavy scarf in July? Gold is a great investment.” My mom’s face had instantly turned sour. “You people don’t understand love! The weather is getting breezy at night anyway.” She did wear it at night. And ended up with a massive heat rash across her collarbone. “As long as you love it, Martha!” Brittany’s sugary voice snapped me back to the present. “So, Martha, what did my big sister buy you?” Martha shot me a side-eye loaded with venom. “I wouldn’t dare expect luxury from her. All I did was ask when she plans on giving me a grandchild, and she’s been giving me attitude all week.” Saying that, Martha playfully squeezed Brittany’s hip. She offered a knowing, calculating smile. “You know, Brittany, you look like you’ve put on a little healthy weight. You’ve got the perfect figure for having babies. If only you were my daughter-in-law.” Brittany immediately shot a hopeful glance at Preston, her cheeks flushing crimson. Too bad Preston wasn’t even looking at her. He was entirely fixated on Arthur and Victor’s chess game. Martha noticed me standing there and her smile vanished. “What are you staring at? Go check on the roast! Do you expect me to serve you on my own birthday?” I gave a tight smile and turned toward the kitchen. Behind me, Martha’s cackling continued. “Brittany, honey, don’t you think this bracelet needs a matching necklace to really pop?” Brittany hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Um… sure! We can go shopping at the mall next week. See if we find something you like.” “Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask that of you.” “It’s nothing, really. Whatever makes you happy.” “Well, thank you in advance, sweetheart.” I grinned wildly to myself as I checked the oven. Brittany was chronically unemployed, living off my mother. Her bank account was emptier than her head. She was going to bleed cash for this little stunt. 07 By the time I carried the final platter of roasted vegetables to the dining table, Brittany had already claimed the seat directly next to Preston. She tilted her head, her eyes flashing with pure arrogance. “Stella, Martha told me to sit here. You don’t mind, do you?” I smiled warmly, saying absolutely nothing. I dragged a spare folding chair from the corner and quietly sat down right next to her. The folding chair was significantly lower than the dining chairs. It felt like I was crouching. But the low angle gave me a crystal-clear view of the real action happening under the tablecloth. Brittany slipped off her high heel and stretched her foot toward Preston’s direction. First, she lightly brushed his calf. When Preston didn’t pull away, she grew bolder. Her toes began to slowly, deliberately trail up the inside of his leg. Suddenly, Preston jolted. His hand, holding a glass of water, froze in mid-air. His ears turned violently red in a matter of seconds. I narrowed my eyes. This reaction was wrong. Preston was notoriously germaphobic and had severe anxiety around women. Aside from me and his mother, if a woman even bumped into him at the grocery store, he would freeze up and break into a cold sweat. But Brittany’s foot was practically in his lap, and not only was he not dodging, he was blushing? Had he been hooking up with Brittany this whole time? But that didn’t make any sense. If they were already sleeping together, why on earth would she need to repeatedly dig through a biohazard trash bag for used condoms? Brittany’s lips curled into a smug smile. She picked up a prime cut of roast beef and placed it on Preston’s plate. “Eat up, Preston. You’ve been looking so overworked lately.” Preston stared blankly at the meat on his plate. His brow furrowed deeply. With a swift flick of his fork, he shoved the beef right off his plate onto the table. The movement was brutal and efficient. Not a single second of hesitation. Brittany’s smile instantly shattered. “Preston, what are you doing?” “Sorry. I don’t eat food other people touch.” Preston’s face was completely devoid of emotion. He didn’t even grant her a glance. Brittany’s lower lip trembled, tears rapidly pooling in her oversized eyes. Martha scrambled to defuse the tension, using her own fork to scoop up the discarded meat and shove it into her mouth. “If he won’t eat it, I will! Anything Brittany serves is delicious!” Brittany bit her lip, desperately trying to keep the tears from falling. But under the table, her foot tensed up with a vengeance. This time, she aimed straight for the prize. “Ugh… ah!” A strangled, breathy gasp tore out of Preston’s throat. It ended on an embarrassingly high note, sounding incredibly fragile and flushed. Every single person at the table dropped their forks. 08 Martha stared at Preston in utter panic. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Preston’s face was the color of a ripe tomato. But his eyes weren’t on Brittany. They were locked onto Victor, who was sitting across the table. The look in Preston’s eyes was chaotic. There was sheer panic, desperate pleading, and a bizarre hint of… shyness. He looked like a blushing bride caught in a scandal. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. No way. There was absolutely no way. Victor stared right back at him, his voice dripping with exaggerated concern. “What is it, kiddo? Are you feeling sick?” Preston rapidly broke eye contact, staring intensely at his empty plate. His voice was muffled. “Nothing. Just bit my tongue.” Brittany’s lips formed a vicious smirk. Under the table, her foot didn’t stop. In fact, she doubled down, moving faster, clearly punishing him for rejecting her roast beef in front of everyone. Preston was squirming in his chair. He bit down brutally on his lower lip. The veins on his forehead popped, and beads of sweat dripped down his temples. Yet, he still didn’t pull away. Instead, his body subconsciously leaned further in. Right at that moment, Victor set down his beer and stood up. He pulled a few napkins from the dispenser and held them out to Preston. “You’re sweating buckets, Preston. Is it too warm in here for you?” Seeing Victor suddenly loom over him, Preston’s pupils dilated in sheer terror. He instinctively glanced down under the table. Brittany’s foot was still working its magic. Preston’s face went from flushed red, to chalk white, to a sickly shade of green. “Jesus! It’s YOU?” He shot up out of his chair like he had been electrocuted. “I need to use the bathroom.” Preston practically sprinted out of the dining room. Brittany sat frozen in her seat, her face burning with utter humiliation. I calmly picked up my wine glass, took a delicate sip, and spoke in a syrupy sweet tone. “Don’t take it personally, Brittany. My husband has terrible germaphobia. He hates being touched by women. Make sure you keep your feet to yourself next time, so you don’t accidentally bump into him again.” I placed heavy emphasis on the word accidentally. Brittany shot me a look of pure, venomous hatred.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “617954”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Right after accepting the proposal from Rio, the city’s elite trust-fund heir, I stumbled across a viral forum thread. “Idiot. She actually thinks I care about her personality. If she weren’t gorgeous, why would I date a mute?” “Once her looks fade, I’m dumping her.” The comment section was bashing him for being a total scumbag. He ignored them completely and kept updating: “She loves me so much, she’ll definitely be heartbroken when we break up. I’ll transfer some cash to compensate her first.” “The Maybach I just bought is pretty nice. I’ll give it to her so she doesn’t have to squeeze onto public buses after the breakup.” “The new luxury villa I bought is nice. I’ll give it to her so she isn’t homeless after the breakup.” The comment section was completely dumbfounded. Two years passed, and I ended up with countless luxury properties and cars under my name. His latest forum post: “Damn it, why is she getting prettier and prettier?” The comment section: “Bro, you two are literally married now, how is your mouth still this stubborn?” 1 Rio, the elite trust-fund heir of the city, had a mouth made of pure battery acid. If anyone annoyed him, he would tear them apart with a few sharp words. Yet, he spent six months pretending to be a sweet, devoted golden retriever just to woo me. He even learned American Sign Language just so he could communicate with me. When he confessed his feelings to me yet again, I built up the courage to sign back: “Why do you like me? I’m mute, and I’m an orphan. With your status, you deserve someone much better.” He smiled gently, his eyes filled with unwavering conviction. “Because you’re sweet and kind. I care about what’s on the inside.” Watching him clumsily move his fingers to sign those words, I was deeply moved and accepted his proposal to date. 2 Shortly after, I stumbled upon a viral forum thread while scrolling on my phone. “Idiot. She actually thinks I care about her personality. If she weren’t gorgeous, why would I date a mute?” “Once her looks fade, I’m dumping her immediately.” My heart skipped a beat. I tapped into the thread. The comment section was calling him out for being toxic. “That’s terrible.” “Holy hell, we found a real-life scumbag.” “Putting myself in the girl’s shoes, this is devastating. She has a disability and thought she found true love, only to end up with a shallow jerk who’s just using her for her looks.” “I’m begging you, dump her already. She deserves better, not a bottom-tier jerk like you.” The original poster skipped past all the insults and replied directly to the comment telling him to break up: “Telling me to dump her so you can steal her, right? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, you filthy home-wrecker.” “I spent months acting like a sweet little puppy in front of her, forcing myself not to utter a single curse word, wearing those ridiculous soft-boy hoodies.” “I don’t get why she likes the sweet puppy type. If she wants a dog, why doesn’t she just buy a real one?” “When she gets mad, she gives me the silent treatment, forcing me to swallow my pride and beg for forgiveness. I’m such an idiot, crawling back even when she ignores me.” “Once I dump her, I’m going back to being my true self.” The poster posted complaint after complaint. It was clear he had been holding in his resentment for a long time. The comment section didn’t hold back either: “Hilarious. You chose to pursue her, nobody forced you. What are you whining about now?” “Seriously, she’s so unlucky to run into a guy like you.” He replied furiously: “How is she unlucky? To chase her, I became her maid, her driver, and I destroyed my hands learning ASL, even though she can hear fine!” “Dammit, ASL is so hard, my fingers are almost broken. I don’t know how she deals with it every day, enduring so much malice from people.” The commenters subtly picked up on something strange. “Wait, is he actually feeling sorry for her?” “Hold on, ladies, something feels off about this guy…” “Bro, why force yourself to learn ASL if she can hear you?” He replied boastfully: “Because it shows sincerity! You have no idea how moved she was when she saw me signing. She even cried!” “She is utterly obsessed with me. When I drop the breakup bomb, she’ll probably pass out crying.” I looked at the familiar avatar and location tag. I smiled. Pass out crying? Not likely. 3 I typed a comment under an alt account. “OP, I support you. Once she isn’t pretty anymore, dump her immediately.” He replied within seconds: “Watch your mouth, you jerk!” I was speechless. Could my comment be any worse than his battery-acid tongue? I continued commenting: “I dated someone similar before. After breaking up, she stalked me relentlessly and even threatened to end her life.” He seemed startled and asked hurriedly: “How did you solve it?” “I gave her a $300,000 breakup payout.” He replied: “Only $300k? You cheapskate. I’m transferring money to her right now.” The next second, my phone buzzed with a $300,000 wire transfer notification. Then came a text from Rio: “Babe, you are my whole world. I’ll love you forever.” Me: “Babe, thank you! You’re so good to me. If you ever dump me, I’ll never recover.” Rio: “Don’t overthink, babe. I’m not that kind of guy.” Then he wired another $300,000. Looking at my bank balance, my shoulders shook with silent laughter. Idiot. Did he really think I was in this for love? I was here for his money, of course. Rio posted a screenshot of the transfer on the thread and made a point to reply to my comment. “Bro, your advice worked.” Suppressing my excitement, I kept prompting him: “Next step, I suggest you dump her fast. Ideally within a month, or it gets harder to break off.” Once I made enough cash, who wanted to keep working as his girlfriend? Unexpectedly, he ignored my comment completely and posted: “The Maybach I bought is nice. I’ll gift it to her so she doesn’t have to take the bus after we split.” “The new mansion is nice too. I’ll give it to her so she isn’t homeless after the breakup.” I covered my mouth in shock. Jackpot! The comment section exploded with question marks. “Are you pulling my leg?” “Did I stumble into a billionaire’s thread?” “Wait, are you for real? Who are you backstabbing?” “Ladies, this twist is hitting my poor nerves.” “I thought he was a shallow jerk, but he’s a billionaire learning ASL and gifting mansions while totally oblivious that he’s whipped!” He replied: “You know nothing. I’m just pretending to be whipped. It’s all part of my master plan.” Comments: “Your mouth is harder than tungsten steel.” “If you fell face first, your stubborn mouth would puncture the Earth.” “Sir, your mouth isn’t soft at all.” “If you told us you were like this earlier, I wouldn’t have insulted you. I’d call you hubby right now.” “Hubby, I’m mute too, and I’m very pretty.” “Me too! I’m not mute, but I’m gorgeous. Check your DMs.” “Hubby, I’m not picky. I don’t want your mansion or Maybach, I just want to get dumped by you.” In an instant, the comment section shifted completely. Women were calling him hubby and posting pretty selfies. Dammit, so many competitors appeared out of nowhere. Rio is a superficial playboy. What if someone steals him away? My Maybach and mansion haven’t even been transferred to my name yet. Can everyone wait until I secure the assets before trying to steal him? I was genuinely worried. 4 To my surprise, Rio blasted them directly: “Back off, all of you! I hate gold-digging home-wreckers the most. Blocked!” The comment section fought back: “You call us gold-diggers, but did you ever think your girlfriend is in it for your money too? Why else did she accept your cash?” “Exactly! Maybe the person telling you to transfer money in the comments IS your girlfriend’s burner account!” I froze. Are netizens really this sharp nowadays? What if Rio actually believes them? While I was panicking… Rio replied with his usual battery acid: “Shut your trash mouth. Your heart is filthy so you see filth everywhere. My babe is nothing like that!” “Say another word and I’ll flame you until you delete your account.” 5 Actually, long before I met Rio, I had heard of his reputation. He was an outright superficial playboy. None of his relationships lasted past two months. Once he broke up with someone, he would hand them a massive breakup payout. A girl from my dorm used to date him, and when they split, he gave her a $100,000 payout. I nearly died of jealousy back then. Unexpectedly, that roommate refused the money, crying and threatening to jump off a roof to win him back. Rio didn’t even show his face. He turned around and flew to Europe with another girl. Eventually, that roommate suffered a breakdown and dropped out of school. Back then, I thought to myself: if it were me, I wouldn’t throw a fit. I’d just ask for a bigger payout. As a poor orphan who was mute, finding a job was extremely difficult. Even if I found one, surviving in the workplace would be tough. If I could somehow get a large sum of money, I’d be set for the rest of my life. So, I spent a bit of money to track down his schedule and the places he frequented. Then, I casually crossed paths with him. To my surprise, he took the bait the very first time we met. Turns out, attracting a shallow guy is easy. As long as you’re gorgeous enough, you don’t have to do anything and he’ll come right over. Now, besides cash, I unexpectedly scored a mansion and a car. I overachieved my goal. Next, all I had to do was behave and wait for him to dump me. 6 Strangely enough, two months passed. I waited every single day for Rio to drop the breakup bomb, but he showed no intention of breaking up. I couldn’t figure out what went wrong. Did I get prettier again? I walked over to the mirror and checked. Not at all. Lately, because of my senior thesis, I had been pulling all-nighters. Dark circles hung down to my cheeks, breakouts popped up everywhere, and my face was puffy. I looked so rough I scared myself. Right on cue, Rio sent a text message. “Babe, let me take you out on the yacht this weekend, okay? I haven’t seen you in two days, I miss you so much.” Here came my chance. If I showed up looking like this, Rio would definitely dump me on the spot. Sure enough, on the yacht… The moment Rio saw me, the smile on his face froze. Without a word, he stood up and left the lounge. He left me standing there awkwardly, feeling at a loss. His friend noticed and walked over to greet me. Fearing the music was too loud for me to read lips, his friend spoke very slowly: “Rio is just tired. Sit here for a bit, I’ll go check on him.” I was slightly dazed. Every time Rio saw me in the past, he acted like an excited puppy seeing its owner, running over to hug and cuddle me. Now… See? Once a man loses interest in you, his disgust is undisguised. I picked a spot to sit down, pulled out my phone, and opened his forum thread. As expected, he updated. He probably wanted to ask netizens how to dump me. Opening it up, I was stunned. He posted: “We didn’t see each other for two days, why did she get even prettier?” “My heart is pounding so fast looking at her. I want to hold her and kiss her senseless, but I’m afraid she’ll get mad.” “Rookie mistake. I shouldn’t have invited other people today.” I was completely baffled. Does he have vision problems?! I looked terrible today! Where did I get prettier?! Comments: “Whipped into an idiot again, bro.” “Happily whipped, bro!” “Whether you’re a scumbag or romance-brained, I can tell.” “To be honest, I preferred your arrogant, rebellious attitude from before.” “Am I the only one curious about how gorgeous his girlfriend actually is? She turned him into a spinning top.” He shot back ruthlessly: “Who says I’m whipped? I’m stating facts! She did get prettier! Once her looks fade, I’m still going to dump her ruthlessly.” “With her temper, I can’t tolerate her for long.” The comments exposed him without mercy: “Then dump her already! Two months passed, you didn’t dump her, and you’re even more obsessed! What should I say about you?” He replied: “I know what I’m doing. Mind your own business.” Comments: “Your mouth is the toughest thing on your body. If you actually split, you’ll be weeping.” “Who understands? I really want to see OP get hit in the face after a breakup.” “He’ll definitely be crying like a boiling kettle while begging for her back, all while claiming he doesn’t care.” “Hahaha, just thinking about it is hilarious.” “By the way, can someone track down his girlfriend and send this thread to her? Then SHE can dump him, hahaha.” Rio snapped: “Is it that funny? Believe it or not, I’ll smash my head against a wall to show you!” What the commenters didn’t know was that guys like Rio, who fell hard and fast, dumped people the hardest. The real victims were the slow-burn types who fell in love right before getting dumped. So I kept reminding myself: I must never fall for him. He approached me with motives, and I was milking his money with a clear conscience. Maybe in another lifetime, if I reincarnate as a billionaire, I’ll repay him. 7 Scrolling down to a comment, I paused. “Stop romanticizing OP. He’s just obsessed because he hasn’t slept with her yet. Once a guy gets what he wants, he loses interest fast. No exceptions.” Is that true? “Babe, what are you looking at?” I didn’t know when Rio had appeared behind me. Startled, I hurriedly hid my phone behind my back. “Want to watch a movie?” I nodded. Inside the dim, private screening room… Rio slowly leaned closer, his voice raspy: “Stella, can I kiss you?” I suddenly remembered that comment. If doing this could make him dump me, it wouldn’t hurt to try. “Can I?” Rio asked again, his ears turning red. I bit my lip and nodded. He immediately leaned in and kissed me. His hot palm pressed against the back of my head, kissing me with urgent intensity. It was as if he had been holding back for a long time. At such close range, Rio’s face looked even more refined. Sharp brows, deep eyes, a high nose bridge. Although he was a shallow guy, he was undeniably handsome. With these looks, even male celebrities would pale in comparison. No wonder my former roommate threatened to jump off a roof instead of breaking up with him. I still remembered the first time I met him, I was completely stunned. My roommate had described him as average-looking, humorous, and great at charming girls. What I saw was a guy with striking looks and a mouth made of pure battery acid. He once took me to meet his friends. One girl mocked me covertly for being a mute on financial assistance, claiming I didn’t deserve Rio, the city’s elite heir. Rio slammed his glass down and flamed her on the spot: “Who gave you permission to judge my girlfriend? What kind of trash are you?” “You act tough around guys every day, but the moment a girl shows up, you reveal your toxic nature?” “Are you going to get lost yourself, or stay and let me finish flaming you?” The girl slunk away in embarrassment. Turning around, meeting my startled eyes, his face instantly softened as he comforted me gently: “Babe, ignore her. She’s a terrible person. You deserve me eight hundred times over.” “You’re way out of my league.” It made me wonder if I had mistaken him for someone else. After all, many people shared the same name. It wasn’t until I found his forum thread that I confirmed I hadn’t mistaken him. It was just playboy tactics. They loved playing the devoted lover, but when the breakup arrived, you could jump off a building and it still wouldn’t win them back. 8 Rio’s kiss deepened, as if trying to swallow me whole. After kissing for ten minutes, he finally released me, his eyes hazy and breath heavy: “Stella, it hurts… can we?” “Don’t worry, I haven’t done this before. I’m clean.” I rolled my eyes internally. He was practically living like a playboy, yet he claimed he hadn’t done it before? He could lie all he wanted, but did he think I’d buy it? Still, this fit my goal. Besides, I had been eyeing his physique for a while too. I feigned bashfulness, lowering my head and signing: “Your friends are outside… they’ll hear…” “It’s fine, I locked the door.” But… My gaze shifted downward… Looking at his impressive build… I furrowed my brows in concern. With our size difference, doing this might actually be the end of me. As if sensing my hesitation, he patted his chest like an obedient puppy, promising firmly: “Don’t be scared, I’ll be gentle. If it’s too much, tap my back and I’ll stop, okay?” 9 I believed his trick. When it became too much and I slammed my hands against his back frantically… He acted like he had lost all feeling. In the end, I had no choice but to kick him off the bed before he finally behaved. Afterward, he knelt on one knee before me, helping me clean up while signing earnestly: “Babe, I’m sorry. When you tapped so fast, I thought you were praising me and telling me to go faster.” My face burned bright red hearing that. I lifted my foot to kick him again. He caught my ankle firmly. Rio’s throat bobbed: “If you don’t believe me, let me show you again. I promise I won’t do that this time.” Get lost! His hidden motives were practically written on his face. Wasn’t he exhausted after so many rounds? Whatever, I couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. I lay on the bed and fell into a heavy sleep. In my half-dazed state, I felt him wrapping his arms around me, dropping his puppy act and speaking in a low, possessive tone: “Stella, you are mine. Mine for the rest of your life.” Where did this possessive ghost come from? Get away! Scared, I sat straight up. Thank goodness it was just a dream. I thought after that night, he would lose interest in me completely. To my absolute dismay, he became even more clingy. I was in despair. Why wasn’t this guy following the playbook?!

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Word was spreading fast through high society that Howard Hargrove’s long-rumored overseas fiancee was finally back in the country. That exact same afternoon, a video of me slapping his face right outside the Hargrove Group headquarters went viral online. In the clip, he stood drenched in the rain, wearing a tailored three-piece suit. My palm hit his cheek with a crisp crack, snapping his head to the side, yet he didn’t utter a single word of protest. The internet tore me apart within minutes. Who does this gold digger think she is? Does she actually think she’s Mrs. Hargrove? Howard’s patience is terrifying. Security should’ve dragged her off the property. By evening, heiress Dianne Crawford posted a photo from a lavish gala. In the picture, Howard’s designer suit jacket was draped over her shoulders. Her caption read: After all these years, right back where I belong. Within ten minutes, the hashtag #FutureMrsHargrove hit the top of the trending page. I tossed my phone onto the mattress, looking down at the man beside me. “Well, Mr. Hargrove,” I murmured, “your fiancee certainly knows how to curate a scene.” He took my hand, resting my palm flat against his jawline. “Babe,” he whispered, “did hitting me hurt your hand?” 1 I looked down at him. Howard was kneeling by the edge of the bed, his crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his silk tie half-loosened. One of his hands gently held my wrist while the other carefully smoothed soothing ointment over my palm. His dark brows were tightly knit. If a passerby walked in right now, they would assume I was the one who had been struck. I tried to pull my hand back, but his grip remained firm yet tender. He lowered his head, continuing to rub the ointment into my skin. “It’s red right here,” he muttered. “That’s from slapping your face.” “Which is why it hurts,” he replied without missing a beat. He looked up, his eyes dead serious. “Next time, don’t do it yourself.” “Who should do it then?” “I’ll do it.” I stared at him for two full seconds. Fearing I hadn’t grasped his meaning, he added quietly, “Tell me where you want it to hit, and I’ll smack myself in front of the mirror.” A sharp laugh escaped my throat despite myself. “Howard Hargrove, do you honestly think you’re being funny right now?” He shut his mouth instantly. My phone was still buzzing relentlessly on the sheets. I didn’t even need to look to know that social media was exploding. Dianne’s photo was a masterclass in subtle manipulation. Under the gala’s golden chandeliers and beside a champagne tower, she sat with Howard’s dark suit jacket draped over her shoulders, her face half-hidden in the lapel. Howard stood beside her, looking down at a stack of documents. From that angle, it looked like he was shielding her from the draft. Her caption was just as clever: After all these years, right back where I belong. Neither confirming nor denying anything, leaving the rest to the internet’s imagination. I casually tapped into the comment section. I knew Mr. Hargrove had a fiancee. High society guys never marry random influencers. Dianne’s elegance screams primary wife energy. Was that girl who slapped him outside the building yesterday just an angry side chick losing her mind? He didn’t even fight back. He probably just gave her a graceful exit out of pity for their past. As I read the last comment out loud, Howard’s thumb froze against my palm. His expression hardened, temperature dropping instantly. “Stop reading it.” “I’m not finished.” “There’s nothing good about watching people trash you.” “I find it entertaining.” Howard pressed his lips into a tight line. I knew him well enough to know he was already itching to scrub the trending topics and file lawsuits against every single commenter. In the three years we had been married, the one thing he could never tolerate was anyone speaking ill of me. He hated it even more than I did. I used my free hand to poke his forehead gently. “Alright, big boss, hold off on the lawyer letters for a second. Explain to me first, how did your suit jacket end up on Dianne’s shoulders?” Howard sat up straight immediately. “I didn’t put it on her.” “It’s your jacket in the picture.” “It is mine, but I didn’t give it to her.” “So it grew legs and walked over to her on its own?” Howard’s throat bobbed. Knowing the explanation sounded thin, he lowered his eyes, carefully capped the ointment tube, and wrapped my hand in a warm, damp towel. He was dragging out the process to buy time. I smiled warmly at him. “Mr. Hargrove, I’ll give you three seconds.” “Three.” He blurted it out instantly. “Reporters blocked me at the gala entrance, so I took off my jacket and handed it to Garrett so he could block the camera lenses.” “Dianne spilled red wine on her dress during a toast. Garrett assumed she was an important guest that the hosts needed catered to, so he handed her the jacket. I had already gone upstairs to the second-floor conference room and didn’t see any of it.” I raised an eyebrow. “Garrett certainly knows how to be helpful.” A faint cough sounded from the bedroom doorway. Garrett stood outside, his face as pale as a man who had just received a life sentence. “Ma’am, I was wrong.” I turned my head. Garrett was Howard’s head assistant, having served him for seven full years. Today was indeed a massive blunder on his part. Glancing nervously at Howard, Garrett forced himself to continue. “The lighting was dim, and Miss Crawford’s assistant mentioned she was cold. I didn’t think much of it. Right after I handed it over, Mr. Hargrove went upstairs. The photo must have been snapped during that window.” Howard’s voice was crisp. “Year-end bonus gone.” “Deserved,” Garrett whispered. I nearly broke out laughing. “You can go, Garrett.” Garrett turned to leave, but at the doorway, he quickly added, “Ma’am, the PR department has a statement ready, and Mr. Hargrove already instructed the legal team to document all libelous posts.” Howard frowned. “I told you to leave.” Fearing further wrath, Garrett vanished in seconds, shutting the door tightly behind him. Silence washed over the bedroom. Howard turned back to me. The man who had just coldly berated his assistant now spoke in a voice lowered by several octaves. “Babe, do you believe me?” I looked into his eyes. Dark circles shadowed his skin. This morning, outside the corporate building, he had stood in the pouring rain while I slapped his cheek. He hadn’t explained, hadn’t dodged, and hadn’t gotten angry. Every camera caught his head turning from the strike. Yet no camera captured the fact that before the slap, his stomach spasms were so severe his hands were trembling. I had told him to go to the hospital. He said he had to wait until the board meeting ended. I told him it was raining outside, and he said it didn’t matter. He had always been like this. Business, the Hargrove empire, my needs, he put everything first. The only thing he relegated to the very back was himself. So I couldn’t stop myself from raising my hand. I wasn’t angry at Dianne Crawford. I was furious at him for treating his own body like trash. I let out a soft sigh. “I believe you.” “You can hit me again if you want.” “Get lost.” “Can’t,” he muttered, pulling me closer. “I just got official status. I can’t get lost.” “Where did you get official status?” “From our marriage license.” 2 Howard and I had been secretly married for three years. Very few people knew about it. So few that high society genuinely assumed Howard was keeping a mysterious fiancee overseas for years. The rumor wasn’t entirely wrong. I had indeed spent a long time abroad, and I had indeed spent a massive amount of his money. However, I wasn’t being kept like a pet. I was managing overseas mergers and acquisitions on his behalf. The green energy sector, which was currently the Hargrove Group’s most lucrative asset, was almost poached by foreign venture capital three years ago. Howard had just taken over the conglomerate back then. Internal chaos and external threats plagued him, with half the board plotting to oust him. He couldn’t leave the country, so I went in his place. We had been married for less than three months at the time. Stepping out of the registry office, Howard held my hand tightly by the car, asking softly, “Can we go public tonight?” “No.” His brows knitted instantly. “Why not?” “I fly to Zurich tomorrow morning.” “And?” “I don’t want to negotiate a multibillion-dollar acquisition under the title of Mrs. Hargrove.” “You are Mrs. Hargrove.” “Still no.” Howard stayed silent the entire ride home. Once inside, he locked both copies of our marriage license into his office safe. That night, he pulled me into his arms from behind. “Nora.” “Yeah?” “Are you trying to hide me forever?” I turned around in his embrace and kissed his jawline gently. “Wait until the acquisition closes.” “How long?” “Six months max.” Howard believed me. Six months later, the acquisition remained locked in intense negotiations. I stayed in Europe, grinding through endless meetings with ruthless investors. A year passed before the clean energy deal finally settled. Then Howard’s scheming uncle targeted me. His uncle believed I was merely a pawn Howard placed overseas. If he discovered we were legally wed, he would use me as leverage to cripple Howard. So I kept our marriage under wraps. Howard endured it, month after month. During the second winter, he flew to London to spend Christmas with me. Snow fell heavily outside the apartment while I prepped a hotpot in the kitchen. Howard sat on the couch watching a live business interview on his phone. On screen, the host asked him with a smile if good news was on the horizon regarding his personal life. Howard looked straight into the camera. “Yes.” I poked my head out from the kitchen. “Howard Hargrove!” “I didn’t say who,” he replied innocently. “How is that any different from telling them?” “I’m almost thirty.” “And?” “I’m married, but nobody knows.” I stuffed a pair of chopsticks into his hand. “Just wait a little longer.” “You said that last time.” “This time it’s for real.” Howard stared at me intently. “Nora, you better not be playing me.” As it turned out, I played him again. In the third year, the Hargrove Group completely stabilized, and I finally returned home for good. Howard had been organizing public announcement ideas for a month prior to my arrival. Every night, he would slide his phone over to me. “How about this picture?” “Too goofy.” The next day he would swap it out. “This one?” “You look like a sappy groom.” “I am a sappy groom.” Before we could finalize an announcement strategy, Dianne Crawford returned to the country. She was the eldest daughter of the Crawford family, Howard’s childhood neighbor, and the exact type of childhood sweetheart the public loved to romanticize. High society quickly matched her with the rumored overseas fiancee. When Howard learned about the gossip, his immediate reaction was to release a formal denial. I stopped him. The Crawfords had recently partnered with the Hargrove Group on a major commercial venture. Dianne’s sudden return and her deliberate fueling of rumors weren’t out of nostalgia. She wanted the leverage and status that came with being viewed as the future Mrs. Hargrove. Since she wanted to put on a show, I wanted to see just how far she could perform. Turns out, by afternoon, her performance had catapulted her straight to number one on the trending topics. 3 The next morning, Howard was kicked awake by me. He had insisted on sleeping in my bed last night, claiming he was being cyberbullied online and needed comfort from his lawful wife. Finding him annoying, I ignored him, so he sat at the foot of the bed wrapped in a blanket, staring at me silently. Eventually, his puppy-dog eyes gave me a headache, and I gave in, letting him slide under the duvet. The result was a night of utter restlessness on his part. One moment he was touching my palm to check if it still hurt, and the next he was wrapping his arms around my waist to ask if I was still mad. At three in the morning, he even snuck out of bed to draft a public statement on his laptop. Exhausted, I grabbed his phone and shut it down. “Go to sleep.” He lay back down, but two minutes later he whispered, “Nora.” “Say one more word and you’re sleeping in the guest room.” “I had a dream you didn’t want me anymore.” With my eyes closed, I reached out and patted his hair. “I want you.” He finally settled down. Now, as dawn broke, his phone was buzzing incessantly again. I nudged his leg with my foot. “Answer the phone.” Howard opened his eyes with a heavy frown. His first instinct wasn’t to grab the phone, but to reach out and check my wrist. “Does it still hurt?” “No.” He checked my palm carefully, making sure there was no swelling before picking up the call. The moment he answered, Garrett’s panicked voice echoed through the speaker. “Mr. Hargrove, Miss Crawford posted again.” Howard’s face darkened instantly. I sat up and grabbed my own phone. In the early hours of the morning, Dianne had shared a throwback photo. In the picture, a teenage Howard in a high school uniform stood beneath a sprawling oak tree, his profile cold and distant. She had cropped the shot so only half his face and her own shadow on the grass were visible. Her caption read: Some people have been standing there since youth. The comment section was going wild. Is this the power of childhood sweethearts? Gosh, Howard was so handsome as a teenager. Who wouldn’t fall for him? Dianne really kept this hidden for so many years. When is that violent girl from yesterday going to apologize? I tapped on the photo to expand it. The teenage boy was indeed Howard. But I recognized the photo instantly. I was right there on the day it was taken. It was our prep academy’s anniversary celebration, and Howard had been dragged into volunteering by the student council. Dianne was secretly taking pictures of him. A second after that frame was taken, I stepped out from behind the tree and pressed an icy bottle of water against his cheek. Howard dodged with a scowl, but naturally reached out to take my heavy backpack off my shoulders. Dianne had simply cropped me out completely. I held my phone screen in front of Howard’s face. “‘Standing there since youth’?” Howard’s heart skipped a beat. “I was waiting for you that day.” “She didn’t capture that part.” “I have the original photo.” He leapt out of bed immediately, not even bothering with slippers, and marched into the home office to boot up his computer. I leaned against the doorway, watching him. In less than a minute, he pulled up an image from an encrypted album. Under the exact same tree, on the exact same afternoon. In the uncropped photo, teenage Howard held my backpack in one hand and my half-empty water bottle in the other. I stood beside him, draping his oversized school jacket over my shoulders. The shadow Dianne claimed as her intimate presence was merely her standing several feet behind us, completely ignored. Looking at the screen, a chuckle escaped my lips. “How do you even still have this?” “I had it taken.” “Who took it?” “Garrett.” “You were bossing Garrett around back in high school?” “He was my desk mate back then.” “You made your desk mate secretly snap photos of me?” “He did it voluntarily.” A faint cough sounded near the doorway. Garrett stood outside the office. “Ma’am, I was not voluntary.” Howard cast him a dark glare. Garrett instantly pivoted. “Though I grew to do it voluntarily over time.” I couldn’t stop laughing. Howard, however, wasn’t smiling. He exported the original high-resolution photo and prepared to forward it directly to the PR department. I pressed my hand over his wrist. “Don’t rush.” “She’s stepping on you.” “She’s stepping on you too.” “Which is why we can’t be hasty.” I saved Dianne’s cropped photo to my phone. “The more elaborate her fantasy is right now, the sweeter her downfall will be later.” Howard looked at me, falling silent for a moment. “You’ve already planned everything, haven’t you?” “Pretty much.” “When did you start planning?” “The moment she posted that gala photo.” He reached out, pulling me into his arms and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Nora.” “What?” “Are you actually going to let us go public?” I looked at him. Howard had been remarkably obedient since last night, refraining from aggressive public statements, avoiding reckless confrontations, and holding back his legal team from suing the entire internet. Yet I knew deep down how desperately long he had waited for this moment. I raised my hand, gently smoothing down his messy morning hair. “I’m giving you your chance.” His eyes lit up instantly. “Tonight is the Crawford family gala. I’m taking you with me to shatter her fantasy.”

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