My childhood best friend, Ethan, broke up with his girlfriend again and came straight to my place. Afterward, he casually grabbed his clothes and pulled them on, his face suddenly darkening. “Chloe, whose shirt is this?” I tiredly opened my eyes and glanced over. “My boyfriend’s.” “Oh, I forgot to mention. Don’t come over anymore. My boyfriend gets jealous.” 1 Ethan froze for a second, then stared at me with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Playing this game again?” My sleepiness vanished as I realized Ethan had completely misunderstood. He thought I was making up a boyfriend just to test if he would get jealous over me. I wanted to argue, but then I remembered that I had actually pulled that stupid stunt in the past. Ethan pulled off the shirt, tossed it into the trash can, picked his own shirt off the floor, and put it on. Before leaving, he let out a mocking scoff. “Chloe, next time, why don’t you bring this ‘boyfriend’ out so I can meet him?” He deliberately emphasized the word boyfriend. Not even twenty-four hours later, Ethan and his girlfriend were back together. In the VIP booth of the club, Ethan and his girlfriend were practically glued to each other. I had been dragged here at the last minute by some mutual friends. The moment I walked through the door, I met Ethan’s pitch-black eyes. A second later, his gaze shifted, looking past me toward the empty space behind my back. The corners of his lips curled up in an amused, playful smirk. It was as if he was asking: Where’s the boyfriend? I pretended I didn’t see his mocking stare. The drinking games started quickly. In the first round, Ethan lost. But the “punishment” was basically a reward. Ethan and his girlfriend had to make out passionately in front of everyone for a full ten minutes. It was enough to make everyone in the room thirsty and restless. “Ethan, man, save it for the bedroom! Stop rubbing it in our faces.” “Seriously, give the single people a break…” The two of them were so lost in each other they couldn’t even hear the crowd. When they finally pulled apart, the woman’s eyes were hazy, her lips slightly swollen and glistening. My gaze drifted upward, meeting the man’s perfectly clear, sober dark eyes. It was as if he wasn’t the one who had just been passionately making out. I instantly felt a flush of embarrassment, like a peeping tom caught in the act, and quickly looked away. As the game neared its end, the empty beer bottle spun and landed pointing directly at me. The punishment: Choose any guy in the room to kiss. I hesitated, unable to make a choice while everyone whistled and urged me on. Ethan’s confident voice cut through the noise. “Chloe, if you want to pick me, just say it. What’s there to be embarrassed about…” But the exact moment the words left his mouth, I turned and chose another guy sitting next to me. Instantly, the color drained from Ethan’s face. He let out a cold, sharp “Hah,” as if condemning my lack of appreciation for his offer. The atmosphere froze for a split second before the cheering resumed. Just as my lips touched the other guy’s, a loud crash of shattering glass echoed through the room, followed by a woman’s panicked voice. “Ethan, your hand is bleeding…” The guy and I quickly pulled apart. While everyone’s attention was focused on Ethan, I discreetly pulled the thin piece of clear plastic wrap from my lips. When I looked over, Ethan was staring at me with a freezing, deadly glare. He was probably blaming me for not picking him, making him lose face in front of the group. I quietly looked away. When the party broke up and we were leaving. I was standing on the curb waiting for an Uber when Ethan’s car pulled up right in front of me. His girlfriend, Mia, leaned out the window. “Chloe, we’re heading the same way. Hop in, we’ll give you a ride…” Before Mia could even finish her sentence, she was coldly cut off by the expressionless man behind the wheel. “It’s out of our way.” The sports car peeled off with a loud screech, kicking up a cloud of dust in my face. 2 That night. I had just finished showering and was getting ready for bed when I heard the front door unlock. Just as I was about to go check, my bedroom door was pushed open. The next second, I was pinned against the door, a familiar scent overwhelming my senses. My lips were kissed roughly, almost bitten, as if he was venting some deep rage. I shoved and struggled, finally biting down hard on the person’s lip. The man pulled back with a hiss of pain, panting heavily. “Chloe, you’re just trying to piss me off, aren’t you?! Kissing another guy right in front of my face.” “Ethan, you aren’t my dad. What gives you the right to control me?” Ethan’s voice went ice-cold. “Chloe, say that one more time.” “I’ll say it as many times as I want. You’re just my—” Before I could finish the sentence, my lips were brutally sealed again. Later, I don’t know how, but it turned into: “Be a good girl. Call me Daddy.” I bit my lip, absolutely refusing to satisfy his twisted bedroom power trip. “No—” Suddenly, the man’s lips curled into a smirk. The next second, he drove himself downward heavily. Caught completely off guard, I couldn’t stop a sharp scream from escaping my lips. If I didn’t say it, he was determined to make me surrender, relentlessly tormenting me. “Be a good girl. Say it.” …… By the end, my eyes were squeezed shut and I couldn’t even speak. In my dizzy, exhausted haze, I felt Ethan get out of bed, pour a glass of water, and help me drink it. Afterward, he pinched my cheek and threatened me: “Are you ever going to kiss another guy again?” I had absolutely no idea what he was saying and fell into a deep, heavy sleep. Early the next morning, I was woken up by frantic, aggressive pounding on my front door. I threw on a thin cardigan and walked out. The moment I unlocked the door, the person outside shoved her way in, looking furious. “Was Ethan here last night?” The woman’s eyes locked onto my neck, her expression changing drastically. She lunged forward and forcefully yanked my cardigan open. Before I could even react, a burning, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. “Chloe, are you a fucking whore?! You know perfectly well that Ethan is my boyfriend! Why do you keep throwing yourself at him?!” My exposed skin was covered in a dense map of hickeys left by the man last night. Mia looked at me like she wanted to eat me alive. She raised her hand to deliver another slap. But her wrist was caught by the man who had, at some point, walked out of my bedroom. “Mia, are you out of your fucking mind?” “You were the one who dumped me last night. What’s the point of running over here to throw a tantrum now?” “Ethan, you always told me you just saw her as a little sister! What is this then?! Is sleeping with her incest?!” “You two are—you’re fucking disgusting!” Mia shoved Ethan away and ran out, sobbing hysterically. Ethan didn’t make a single move to chase after her. Instead, he looked down at my red, swollen cheek. “Does it hurt a lot? Don’t take what she said to heart…” I gently pushed his hand away. “Ethan, leave. Don’t come back here anymore.” The man’s hand froze in mid-air, his temper flaring up again. “Chloe, that is enough. How much longer are you going to be mad? I literally broke up with her for you. Isn’t that enough?” “So what exactly is our relationship now?” My question made him pause. Then, he softened his tone. “Can’t we just be like we were before? Whether I have a girlfriend or not, it won’t change our relationship.” “Ethan, we are done.” I turned my head away. Ethan stared at me for a moment, then left without another word. Except for the fact that he slammed my front door so hard the walls shook. 3 The next day at noon. I texted Ethan, telling him to sign for a package. I had boxed up every single thing he had ever left at my place and shipped it to him. A few minutes later, my phone rang. “Chloe, what the hell is the meaning of this?” His voice was gritted through his teeth, heavy with nasal congestion, like he had caught a bad cold. “I’m moving.” “Chloe, you’ve really pissed me off this time.” “If I ever speak to you again, I’m a fucking dog!” He abruptly hung up. Right before the line went dead, I heard the sound of something shattering violently against the floor. The phone rang again. This time, it was my mom. “Sweetie, Arthur is already on his way to pick you up. Are you ready?” Arthur Hayes is the son of my mom’s best friend, and the man I’m currently dating. My mom, terrified that I was wasting my youth waiting around for Ethan, constantly texted me photos of Arthur—pictures that looked suspiciously like they were taken secretly. She couldn’t go three sentences without bringing up Arthur, talking about how handsome and successful he was. I couldn’t deny that the guy in the photos was an absolute ten, honestly even better-looking than Ethan. But who knew how heavily photoshopped they were? Seeing my skepticism, my mom immediately initiated a FaceTime call. Before I could hit decline, the other side answered, and a polite, deep voice offered a greeting. I was completely captivated by that low, magnetic voice. I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the man on the screen. I was completely stunned. He was even better looking in real life than in the photos. He had a strong brow bone, eyes so dark you couldn’t see the bottom, with a slight, elegant tilt at the corners, and a perfectly straight nose. The faint smile on his thin lips softened his otherwise aloof and unapproachable aura. In that split second, I could hear my own heart pounding loudly in my chest. Is it possible that my only real type is just “ridiculously handsome”? It wasn’t until my mom nudged me with her elbow that I snapped back to reality. “Sweetie, what are you doing? I’ve called your name three times. Say hi to Arthur!” “Did you forget? You totally kissed him when you were little! You even said you were going to marry Arthur when you grew up and move into his house.” Through a series of fortunate events, we had our first official date. Then a second… until I honestly lost count of how many times we’d seen each other. It wasn’t until Arthur recently went on an overseas business trip… And Ethan showed up at my door after fighting with his girlfriend again, that I realized how long it had been since I’d even thought about Ethan. But at the time, my hormones were a mess, and I’d been single for a while. Faced with a man I used to have feelings for—and someone I had great physical chemistry with—showing up at my door, I made the mistake every woman makes at least once. Now, Arthur was back in the States. And I had drawn a permanent, hard line with Ethan. Everything was perfect. But I never in a million years expected to run into Ethan at the restaurant where we were having dinner. The man who swore he was a dog if he ever spoke to me again shamelessly pulled up a chair and sat right next to me, acting like he owned the place. He deliberately leaned in close and whispered: “Aren’t you going to introduce me to… this older gentleman?” “My boyfriend, Arthur Hayes.” I introduced Ethan to Arthur: “Just an acquaintance.” I shifted away to create some distance, but Ethan leaned in again, forcing himself into the narrative. “She means we grew up together. Childhood sweethearts.” I immediately shot back: “But we aren’t close.” Arthur offered a faint smile, his gaze landing softly on my face. “What a coincidence. I actually held Chloe when she was a newborn.” Instantly, Arthur flipped the script. “I assume Mr. Wright was probably just a toddler in diapers back then, too.” After a few rounds of verbal sparring, Ethan’s face cycled through shades of green and white. The other man calmly sipped his tea, acting nonchalant as he asked: “Chloe, is this green tea?” I nodded. Arthur smiled, seemingly in a great mood, and complimented it: “This really is… excellent tea.” (Note: “Green tea” is slang for someone who acts innocent but is actually manipulative and trying to steal someone’s partner). Ethan finally couldn’t take the humiliation anymore. He slammed his cup down and stormed off. Halfway through the meal, I went to the restroom. I had been slightly worried that Ethan might blurt out something completely inappropriate and ruin the dinner. But it seemed that worry was unfounded. However, the second I stepped out of the restroom, someone violently grabbed my wrist and yanked me into an alcove. Before I could even process what was happening, Ethan started hurling mocking insults at me. “Heh. Boyfriend?” “Chloe? Only a creepy old man would use a pet name like that so casually.” “Held you when you were a baby? Please.” “He might look like he has his shit together, but he only knows how to prey on naive, brainless girls like you.” “Your mom must be going blind in her old age to set you up with an old guy like that.” I frowned. “He’s only six years older than me. How does that make him an old man?” “A three-year age gap is a generational divide. What could you two possibly have in common?” “That doesn’t matter. My mom says older men know how to treat a woman right.” “Older men can’t get it up.” Every time I said a sentence, he let out a cold, sarcastic snort, acting like a bitter heckler. “Chloe, do you honestly think I’m going to believe you just found some random guy to play your boyfriend? Blocking my number? Throwing out all my stuff? Do you know what that proves? The harder you try to push me away, the more it proves that you—can’t let me go!” After finishing his delusional rant, the man leaned close to my ear as he was leaving and whispered: “But I am curious. What do you think would happen if he found out about what we did?” “And we’re not close? Chloe, tell me, which part of your body am I not intimately familiar with?” “Are we not close in bed?” My face flushed bright red. I glared fiercely at this utterly shameless bastard. Seeing my reaction, Ethan finally looked satisfied and smiled. He walked away with a noticeable bounce in his step, even offering a friendly nod to a stranger walking past. His back looked like a proud, arrogant peacock. 4 A few days later, Ethan somehow managed to get Arthur’s phone number. He invited him out for drinks behind my back. By the time I rushed to the bar, Arthur was already surrounded by a group of guys, acting incredibly friendly, having drank God knows how much. Soon after, they started playing a drinking game. The loser had to answer a truth question. After a few rounds, Ethan got annoyed that there were too many people. He told everyone else to get lost and insisted on playing one-on-one with Arthur. In the first round, Ethan won. “How many women have you slept with?” I glared at Ethan. He pretended not to see me. Assuming Arthur might be hesitant to answer, he offered a fake-helpful suggestion: “If Mr. Hayes isn’t comfortable answering, we can skip it. Or maybe I can ask a different—” Arthur answered immediately: “Chloe is my first girlfriend.” I don’t know if it was my imagination, but when this usually mature, composed man said those words, a brief flash of shyness crossed his face, and his ears actually turned a bit red. Ethan clearly didn’t believe him. “There’s no point in lying, man.” I was also a little skeptical. Arthur explained that he had spent his twenties entirely focused on his education. During grad school, he and some friends launched a tech startup. He literally never had the time to consider a personal life, which was why he had been single until now. Ethan let out a harsh “Heh,” and started the next round. “Does Mr. Hayes really like Chloe?” “Yes.” “And does Chloe like you?” “She is my girlfriend. If she stops liking me in the future, it will absolutely be because I failed to be a good enough partner to her.” …… After a few more rounds, Ethan got frustrated again and changed the rules to just straight drinking. The group of guys started relentlessly pouring shots. Or to be more accurate, they all teamed up to aggressively try and drink Arthur under the table. Arthur didn’t refuse a single glass, tossing them back smoothly. Ethan picked up another glass and raised it toward Arthur. I grabbed Arthur’s glass and hissed at Ethan in a low voice: “Are you crazy? He’s already had way too much.” “I’ll drink this one for him, and then we’re leaving.” Ethan’s voice was dripping with cold, bitter sarcasm: “It hasn’t even been a week, and you’re already desperately protecting him?” “Did you forget your own name?” Arthur gently took the glass from my hand. “Chloe, it’s fine. I’ll drink it.” “You guys grew up together. I don’t want to ruin your friendship over me.” I watched him drain the glass with deep concern. I didn’t notice the way Ethan was staring at Arthur, grinding his back teeth so hard they could shatter. It was a look that screamed murder. After finishing the drink, Arthur suddenly grabbed his stomach, looking like he was in immense pain. The veins on the back of his hand bulged. I quickly asked him: “Arthur, what’s wrong?” “I’m fine.” “We’re done drinking. We’re going home.” Terrified that something serious was wrong with Arthur, I helped him stand up to leave. As we reached the door, Ethan marched over, practically radiating dark, violent energy. I instinctively stepped in front of Arthur to shield him. “Ethan, what the hell do you want now?” Ethan stopped in his tracks. A flash of genuine hurt crossed his eyes before he swept a freezing glare over me. Finally, he leaned in and whispered something into Arthur’s ear that I couldn’t hear. Then, he stood there and watched us leave. The voices behind us slowly faded away. “Ethan, is Chloe really dating that older guy?” “No way. Everyone knows Chloe has been in love with Ethan since they were kids.” “This is definitely just a girl playing games. She’s not doing this for the first time. She just wants to make Ethan jealous.” “But what if she actually falls for that guy?” “Wanna bet on it?” “I’ll put my money on Ethan, obviously.” “But that guy doesn’t look like a downgrade from Ethan. What if he actually wins…”

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Chapter 1 In our fifth year of marriage, Liam Davies, a District Attorney known for his stoic restraint, spoke the longest sentence he had ever said to me in his entire life. “Stella, are you done causing trouble out of nowhere? If you are, then stop annoying me.” What he considered “causing trouble out of nowhere” included: Me being hospitalized for a bleeding ulcer, to which he replied, “I’m sequestered for a major case and can’t be contacted. Be more careful next time.” On the night of my birthday, his female intern had an acute appendicitis attack, and he stayed by her side at the hospital all night. When I found out I was pregnant, he had his female intern specifically deliver prenatal vitamins. I ended up hospitalized with a severe allergic reaction after taking them. Only after checking the ingredients did I find mango extract listed on the label. Unable to tolerate it any longer, I called him. He just sighed helplessly. “All this over a bottle of vitamins?” “Mia was just playing a joke on you. She was trying to help you build up a tolerance.” Then came the day my father was framed for murder. It was a case that should have resulted in a life sentence at worst, but Liam personally pushed for the death penalty. “It is exactly because he is my father-in-law that I must recuse myself to ensure absolute impartiality. I will absolutely not show favoritism or bend the rules.” Yet, his intern Mia posted on her Instagram: [Thank God my mentor was here, otherwise my brother would be going back to prison again. He got off completely clean!] [It’s true what they say, a man’s greatest charm is his ability to solve problems. It’s not my fault I fell in love with him~] After reading that, I took the miscarried, four-month-old fetus and placed it right in front of him. “Liam, let’s get a divorce.” “This isn’t me causing trouble out of nowhere. It’s a notification.” … “Sign it. Since you refuse to care, I’ll overturn the verdict myself.” The divorce agreement and the gift box containing our child sat on his desk. Liam didn’t even glance at them. His tone was placating. “It’s not that I don’t care. If your father walks free, what will people think of me? I have to put justice before family. The harsher the sentence, the better.” “Stella, once some time passes and you forget about this, things will go back to the way they were.” A sharp, agonizing pain ripped through my chest. “How am I supposed to forget? It’s my father who’s going to die, not yours! Is that why you can say it so easily?!” “In your heart, is your reputation really more important than my father’s life?!” Liam looked exhausted, staring at me as if I were an unreasonable, hysterical relative of a defendant. “Stop letting your emotions cloud your judgment. Do you know how many people are already gossiping about a District Attorney marrying the daughter of a murderer? My reputation has already been dragged through the mud because of—” Before he could finish, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Five years ago, it was his unwavering commitment to his principles that made me fall for him. I stood by his side as he climbed from a junior prosecutor to the youngest, most promising District Attorney in the city. I thought our life would always be this peaceful. Until I saw Mia’s Instagram posts. Only then did I realize that someone else could be important enough for him to shatter the principles he had always rigidly defended. Back then, my father used every connection he had to pave the way for Liam’s career. But now, Liam was willing to let my father die in vain for another woman, even despising my very existence for dragging him down. A sharp cramp shot through my recently emptied womb. I bent over, clutching my stomach in agony. Liam asked nervously, “What’s wrong?” I ignored him. A knock sounded at the door. Mia pushed the door open and walked in. “Mrs. Davies, please don’t blame him. He just got out of court, he’s exhausted and stressed.” “Instead of fighting with him, you should be convincing your father to plead guilty and hope for leniency…” I raised my hand, and the sound of another slap echoed through the room. Liam grabbed my wrist, his grip shockingly tight. “She was just trying to help! Why are you taking your anger out on her?!” Hearing those words, I laughed so hard tears fell from my eyes. Without wasting another word, I logged directly into his work account on his computer. Then, I dumped every single piece of evidence I had gathered into the main department group chat. To get that evidence, I had been beaten, threatened, and had even sold off all my real estate at bargain-basement prices. All to obtain the proof that exonerated my father and proved that the real killer was Mia’s brother! “Liam, only you could twist covering up for a murderer into ‘trying to help’!” Seeing the “Read” receipts multiplying rapidly in the chat, Mia was the first to speak up, her voice choking with tears. “I know you’re desperate to save your father, Mrs. Davies, but you can’t just forge evidence…” “My mentor even recused himself and demanded the maximum penalty for his own father-in-law. Why would he destroy his own career to cover for me?” The prosecutors in the group chat immediately exploded. “Stella, we are so disappointed in you.” “You’re trying to use Liam’s career as a stepping stone to save your dad’s life.” I stared at the screen in disbelief, trembling with rage. “She sheds a few tears and you all just blindly believe her?” Mia stood up straight, her voice ringing with feigned righteousness: “I am formally requesting immediate suspension pending a full investigation!” After sending that message in the chat, she flashed a quick, provocative smirk and whispered to me: “Mad? Don’t worry, I’m about to make you truly despair.” Just as she finished, my phone rang. [Family of Robert Smith: Your father’s execution has been moved up. It will be carried out in one hour. Please arrive on time to collect the remains.] My brain exploded with a deafening roar. I shoved Mia aside and turned to run. She let out a piercing shriek, collapsing and curling into a ball on the floor, clutching her stomach tightly. “Mrs. Davies, you know I just had appendix surgery! How could you hit me right on my incision?!” Liam’s face changed drastically. He immediately scooped her up in his arms. “Stella, that is enough!” He called for security, and they roughly pinned my arms behind my back. “Take her to a holding cell to cool off! She doesn’t come out until she admits she was wrong!” Chapter 2 “Get your hands off me!” I fought with everything I had, grabbed my car keys, and sprinted downstairs. I blew through every red light, racing toward the state penitentiary. Watching the executioner’s rifle already aimed at my father, I held up the evidence and opened my mouth to scream. The next second, Liam suddenly grabbed me from behind, clamping his hand tightly over my mouth. “Stop making a scene! Will you only be satisfied when Mia is put under criminal investigation? Besides, forging evidence is a felony!” I struggled wildly. But just as I broke free, Bang. The gunshot echoed. I froze, only one thought remaining in my mind. My father was dead. Killed by the man I loved most in the world. A mouthful of blood surged up my throat. My vision went black, and I lost consciousness completely. As if trapped in an endless nightmare, I saw my father donating his life savings to the local elementary school. I saw his bloodshot eyes as the charges were read against him. I saw the utter despair on his face as he sat in the defendant’s chair, wrongfully sentenced to death by his own son-in-law. “Dad!” I screamed and jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. I grabbed my phone and dialed the number for a major news outlet. “I am officially filing a public whistleblower complaint against District Attorney Liam Davies. He covered for his intern, Mia, and forced my father to take the fall for a murder committed by her brother.” Right after the evidence was sent, Liam walked in carrying a bowl of hot soup, his voice thick with guilt. “Stella, don’t be sad. I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you from now on.” I almost laughed out loud. Who cared about his compensation? All I demanded was justice for my father. His assistant rushed in from the hallway, looking panicked. “Liam, it’s bad! Mia is surrounded by reporters downstairs!” He snapped his head toward me, his face darkening instantly. “Did you do this? The dead can’t come back to life! Your endless crusade is only going to destroy Mia’s career! Go down there right now and tell the reporters you made it all up!” I met his gaze head-on. “Keep dreaming. I will never let my father die carrying the stigma of a murderer.” He was silent for a moment, then spoke with chilling detachment: “What about your mother? Do you want to see her locked up in a psychiatric ward until she dies? Psychiatric patients tend to get agitated in the spring. It wouldn’t be unusual for fights or even fatal accidents to happen.” My heart violently seized. I never imagined that after killing my father, he would actually use my mother’s life to threaten me! For Mia, he had completely abandoned all his principles, all sense of the law. My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms they drew blood, but I couldn’t feel the pain. I could only walk toward the cameras in utter despair. “I’m sorry. I fabricated everything to frame them. I want to thank DA Davies and Mia for upholding justice for the victim…” With every word I spoke, it felt like my heart was bleeding. As the reporters dispersed, Liam took my trembling hand. “Stella, thank you for doing that. Let’s go, we’ll go pick up your mother and take her home together.” Home? Liam, thanks to you, I don’t have a home anymore. Just as I was about to pull my hand away, Mia spoke up, her voice fragile. “Mentor, my incision still hurts so much. Could you take me to a different hospital to get it redressed? I’m scared to go alone.” So, he only came to this hospital to get her bandages changed. Visiting me, and bringing the soup, were just things he did because he was already here. He didn’t hesitate for a single second. “Okay. Stella, you go pick up your mother by yourself. Drive safely.” Mia handed me my mother’s discharge papers. As I reached for them, her hand “slipped,” and the papers fell into the decorative fountain next to us. “Pick them up.” Mia pretended to act timid and leaned down to pick them up, but he frowned and stopped her. “She didn’t do it on purpose. Besides, your wound needs to be redressed. What if it gets infected from the water? This wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you.” “Pick them up yourself. Your pregnancy is stable now, stop acting so delicate.” Looking at his self-righteous, supposedly just demeanor, I spoke as if to exact some small measure of revenge. “Liam, the baby is already—” Before I could finish, he had already walked away with Mia. The water in the fountain was bone-chillingly cold. I was soaked from head to toe, shivering uncontrollably. When I finally fished the discharge papers out, my fingertips were numb from the cold. Suddenly, a group of the victim’s family members surrounded me. “There she is! The rabid dog born from a murderer and a psycho! Stella Smith!” “You still trying to overturn the verdict? Smash this heartless bitch!” Countless objects were hurled at me. A dull, throbbing pain exploded across my face, and blood trickled down from my eyebrow. I gripped the discharge papers tightly, my face deathly pale. I remembered telling Liam that when I was a kid, other children used to throw rocks at me and call me a “little psycho.” He had held me tightly and said earnestly, “Your mother’s illness is not your fault. As long as I’m here, no one will ever dare treat you like that again.” I used to think he was my armor. But now, he was the one tearing open my scars, indulging others as they beat and cursed me. My heart felt like it was submerged in a block of ice; it no longer beat for him. Another sharp cramp seized my lower abdomen, and fresh blood gushed down my legs. Unable to hold on any longer, I collapsed heavily into the fountain. When I woke up again, Liam was sitting beside my hospital bed. His voice was laced with lingering fear. “You’re awake? How do you feel?” “Doctor, my wife lost so much blood. Is the baby okay?” The doctor looked confused. “Your wife didn’t have a—” Before he could finish, my phone suddenly rang. “Ms. Smith, your mother suffered a massive heart attack ten minutes ago and passed away. My deepest condolences.” Chapter 3 My ears were ringing. …It had to be a lie. I had the discharge papers right here in my hand. I was supposed to take her home today. Why did this happen? I threw off the covers and bolted out the door, colliding head-on with Mia in the stairwell. Her feigned concern couldn’t hide the smug triumph in her eyes. “Mrs. Davies, why do you look so pale? What happened?” I screamed at her: “Did you kill my mother?!” She looked entirely unbothered. “So what if I did? I just kindly informed her that your dad was a murderer. Who knew she’d be so fragile that she’d just drop dead on the spot?” “Your whole family of useless losers was nothing but a stumbling block between me and my mentor. It’s best if you go die, too… Ah!” I lunged forward, locking my hands around her throat, and shoved her fiercely toward the open window! Just as she was about halfway out, the stairwell door was kicked open. Liam yanked me away with brutal force. He pulled Mia, who was coughing violently, tightly into his arms. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” I was thrown to the floor, my back slamming hard against the wall. Watching him comfort Mia, my internal organs felt like they were being crushed by an invisible hand. I curled up in agony. He glared at me coldly, his eyes filled with pure disgust. “Stella, are you trying to become a murderer just like your father?!” The taste of blood filled my mouth. “She killed my father, and now she’s killed my mother! I want her to pay with her life!” He cut me off sharply: “Enough! Mia had already sent someone to pack up your mother’s things and take her home because you were taking too long. She was perfectly fine.” “I think you’ve lost your mind from grief. Apologize to Mia!” Apologize? The hatred was practically bursting out of my chest. “I’d rather die with her than ever apologize!” As soon as the words left my mouth, a wave of intense dizziness washed over me, and my body swayed uncontrollably. Only then did Liam notice the gash on my head. He instinctively reached out to touch it, then paused mid-air. He glared at the victim’s family members who had gathered around to watch the spectacle. “Who did this?” Intimidated by his glare, the family members defensively argued: “Don’t talk nonsense! She was in the water, our clothes are totally dry. How could we have hurt her?” “Exactly! She’s crazy enough to try and kill someone, who’s to say she didn’t do this to herself to put on a show?” Mia let out a delicate sob. “It’s okay, Mentor. Mrs. Davies just wanted you to feel sorry for her, that’s why she told a little lie. I won’t hold it against her.” Liam rubbed his temples wearily. “Stella, you have disappointed me immensely. I am going to make sure you cool down today and realize exactly what you’ve done wrong.” With that, ignoring my injuries, he dragged me to the police firing range. The deafening, continuous crack of gunfire echoed around us, instantly dragging me back to the day my father died. Every single shot felt like it was ripping right through my heart. He knew perfectly well how agonizing my father’s death was for me. He knew that the sound of gunfire was my absolute worst nightmare. Yet, while spouting words of debt and compensation, he chose this exact method to punish me, just to vent his anger on Mia’s behalf. I covered my head, unable to suppress my hysterical screams. It wasn’t until my heart had been repeatedly shredded into numbness that the gunfire finally stopped. Liam looked down at me from above. “Are you thinking clearly now? No matter how much trouble you cause Mia, your father isn’t coming back.” I slowly pushed myself up from the ground, my body completely numb. I handed him the divorce agreement, disguised as a property transfer deed. “Fine. Sign this and give me all the money, and I’ll stop causing trouble.” He seemed surprised, but signed his name without hesitation. “Be a good girl. Once the baby is born, our family of three will live a good life together.” I let out a soft laugh. Liam, the baby is already gone. And there will never be a “future” for us. I never brought up my parents again. Even he believed I had genuinely let it go. What he didn’t know was that I had secretly hired private investigators and lawyers, pouring everything into tracking down Mia’s brother’s hideout and gathering the evidence that proved she killed my mother. The day I secured the final piece of evidence, I received a notice to collect my father’s ashes. But when I arrived, I was told the ashes had already been picked up. My heart sank. The next second, a text from Mia came through. [If you want to see your dad, come to the charity gala~] I stared at the attached photo showing my father’s urn sitting on the auction block, my heart stopping cold. Chapter 4 When I rushed into the gala, the victim’s families were already in a frenzy in front of the stage. “I want to grind this animal’s bones into dust!” “Thank goodness Mr. Davies and the woman beside him are righteous enough to hand this monster over to us.” “Let me throw a bucket of dog blood on it first! I want to make sure he never finds peace, even in death!” The moment the bucket of blood was thrown, I leaped onto the stage and shielded the urn with my body. The overwhelming stench of blood and feces sent my stomach into violent spasms. The guests whispered amongst themselves. “Oh my god, is that the murderer’s daughter? What is she doing here?” “Just being in the same room as her makes me feel dirty.” Liam spoke up, his voice firm and commanding: “She is she, and the one who committed the crime was her father. Please watch your words, or I will take legal action.” Mia chimed in, feigning innocence: “Yes, I’ve known Mrs. Davies for a long time. She’s a very good person.” Watching them play off each other, I felt nothing but pure nausea. If it weren’t for the two of them, my father and I wouldn’t be subjected to this kind of contempt and spit. I tried to pick up the urn, but Mia stopped me. “Mrs. Davies, you can’t take this. My mentor said this is his way of making amends.” I found her words incredibly absurd. My father had been wrongfully put to death because of the crimes they forced onto him, and now he was supposed to make amends to the real killer? I held on tightly. She yanked hard, and the urn crashed to the floor. “Dad!” I screamed. As the lid rolled away, I saw that the ashes inside were covered in thick, yellow spit! Mia quickly explained, “The families were too angry. I had to let them open it and spit on it to vent their frustration. Now that their anger is appeased, Mr. Smith can rest in peace.” With trembling hands, I placed the lid back on the urn, tears streaming down my face. It was my fault. I couldn’t save him while he was alive, and I couldn’t even protect his ashes from being desecrated after he was gone! I let out an agonized scream, grabbed a champagne bottle, and moved to smash it over her head. But Liam intercepted me just in time. “Have you had enough? This was just to give the families some psychological closure.” “This is not the place for your tantrums. Lock her in the basement until the auction is over.” With that, the event staff wrenched the urn from my hands and roughly tied me up, tossing me into the basement. I huddled in the corner. My phone buzzed. It was a text from the private investigator. [Her brother has been scared out of his mind. He’s heading to the banquet hall now. Everything is in place.] I wiped the desolate look off my face. After setting everything up in the basement, I used a small knife I had hidden away to cut the ropes and walked out. Then, without looking back, I pressed the detonator. The banquet hall shuddered violently as flames erupted from the basement, shooting toward the ceiling. Liam’s face went white. He sprinted into the thick smoke almost instantly. But the very next second, he locked eyes with my corpse. And lying next to my body was our four-month-old child. He collapsed to his knees, as if all the strength had been drained from his body. “…How could this happen?” Even as Mia and his bodyguards desperately dragged him out, he remained in sheer denial, his face the color of ash. Until a crazed, raving man charged in, throwing his arms around Mia’s legs and sobbing wildly. “Sis, didn’t you tell me it was fine that I killed someone? I hid from the cops, so why am I being haunted by ghosts?!” Everyone’s gaze shot toward Mia like poisoned darts. All the color drained from her face instantly. The next second, the man turned, saw the portrait of the victim, and began kowtowing frantically in terror. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have killed you! Please let me go! The ghosts… they’re following me!”

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Chapter 1 When Arthur took me to the courthouse to file for divorce for the ninth time… He expected me to break down crying, begging him to stay, completely shattered like the previous eight times. Instead, I was completely calm as I signed my name on the dotted line. After all, this was our ninth divorce. Arthur’s adopted sister, Chloe, suffered from severe bipolar disorder. And the only “cure” that worked during her manic episodes… Was seeing our divorce certificate. The very first time Chloe demanded we get a divorce, I flat-out refused. In response, she immediately pushed my one-year-old son down a flight of stairs. I went completely insane, calling the police and demanding Chloe pay for my son’s life with her own. But Arthur submitted a stack of psychiatric evaluations to the judge, completely absolving her of any criminal liability. The second time, when I refused to sign the papers, Arthur drove my car off a pier into the ocean. As the water filled the cabin, he asked me: “Divorce, or we die together?” Looking at my calm expression now, Arthur seemed a little guilty. “You know the drill. Once Chloe’s treatment cycle is over this year, we’ll remarry.” He reached out, trying to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, but I took a step back, dodging his touch. Looking up at the invisible progress bar hovering above Arthur’s head—which had finally hit 100%—I offered him a radiant smile: “There’s no need. I’m going home.” My mission was finally complete. In seven days, I would leave this world forever. …… Arthur let out a soft, mocking laugh and lit a cigarette. “Evelyn, you’re an orphan. Besides being by my side, where exactly is ‘home’ for you?” I didn’t answer. I just looked at him quietly. Time didn’t seem to have left a single mark on his devastatingly handsome face. He looked exactly the same as he did ten years ago, when we first met. It was true, I was an orphan. When I was eighteen, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Just as I was hovering on the brink of death, the System found me and offered me a deal. If I could travel to this world, successfully capture the male lead’s heart, and reach a 100% “Heartbreak Metric”… Not only would my cancer be cured, but I would also receive a ten-million-dollar cash prize. When I first arrived in this world, I followed the System’s instructions and rescued Arthur from a violent kidnapping. From that moment on, he fell madly, obsessively in love with me. He paved pathways with thousands of Ecuadorian roses. He showered me with mountains of haute couture jewelry. He sent his private helicopter to pick me up just for dinner dates. He made me the most envied woman in New York high society. Until the day I was abducted by Arthur’s business rivals in a revenge plot. They tortured me for three days and three nights. Arthur, despite taking several bullets, carved a bloody path through their compound just to carry me out on his back. In the hospital, he smiled weakly as he wiped my tears away: “Seeing you cry for me… it makes it all worth it.” That single sentence made me fall completely, irreversibly in love with him. In our first year of marriage, we had a beautiful baby boy. Arthur loved me so deeply that completing the “Heartbreak Metric” seemed absolutely impossible. But I didn’t care. As long as I could grow old with Arthur, I was more than willing to give up my old life and stay in this System world forever. Until Chloe appeared. She was the daughter of the man who had once saved Arthur’s life. After being found, she was formally adopted as his sister and moved into the Sterling family estate. She made my life a living hell at every possible turn. When I complained to Arthur, he would only say: “She’s still young, Evelyn. Just be the bigger person and let it go.” Then, Chloe was suddenly diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She claimed that if she didn’t see Arthur and me get a divorce, she was going to kill herself. When I refused, she grabbed my son and threw him down the grand staircase. Right before my baby died, he was crying out, screaming for me. “Mama!” I watched him die in my arms, his tiny body growing cold and stiff. After that, I fell into severe clinical depression. Arthur dropped to his knees in front of me, sobbing, swearing he would get me justice. But a month later, Chloe showed up at my baby’s funeral. Like a deranged lunatic, she grabbed a hammer and smashed my baby’s headstone to pieces. “You cheap bitch! You think you and your little bastard can steal my place in this family?!” I lunged at her to fight back, but Arthur grabbed me and locked me in the basement. He kissed me desperately while trying to coax me: “Evelyn, I owe her father my life.” “Please, for me… just endure it a little longer…” The second time she forced us to divorce, Arthur tied me to the passenger seat of his car and drove us off a pier into the freezing ocean. He said: “Divorce, or we drown together.” After that day, every single time we got a divorce, the System’s task progress bar would jump. And just now, as I held my ninth divorce certificate, I heard the long-absent voice of the System: [Congratulations, Host. Task complete. The portal to your original world will open in seven days.] Ten long years. I could finally go home. Snapping back to the present, I pulled my gaze away from Arthur: “Arthur, actually I…” Chapter 2 Before I could finish, Arthur suddenly shoved me backward. “Chloe!” I tumbled down the concrete steps of the courthouse, crashing onto the pavement. A dull, sickening pain instantly flooded my entire body. “Happy Divorce Day, Arthur!” Blowing a bubble with her chewing gum, Chloe threw herself into Arthur’s arms, and he caught her perfectly. I tried to stand up, but a sudden, violent cramp ripped through my lower abdomen, draining all the strength from my legs. Instinctively, I reached my hand out toward Arthur. But his eyes were filled with frantic anxiety as he cupped Chloe’s face in his hands: “Chloe, how did you get hurt?!” Following his gaze, I saw a tiny, one-centimeter scratch near Chloe’s hairline. She pouted, acting like a wronged child, “I was just trying to learn how to cook for you, and I accidentally bumped my head.” Arthur pulled her into a fiercely protective hug, his voice aching with sympathy. “You don’t need to do things like that. That’s what Evelyn is for.” My breath hitched in my throat. A sharp, piercing pain stabbed my heart. Just because Chloe once casually mentioned that she “didn’t like other women getting too close to Arthur”… He fired every single maid in the massive Sterling estate. The workload of dozens of staff members was forced entirely onto my shoulders. Scrubbing floors, buying groceries, cooking three different gourmet meals a day… To the outside world, I was the glamorous, untouchable Mrs. Sterling. Behind closed doors, I was an unpaid, 24/7 live-in maid. After coaxing Chloe for several minutes, Arthur finally remembered I was there. He walked over and pulled me up by the arm, his eyes filled with intense irritation: “You can’t even stand up straight? Stop embarrassing me in public.” I let out a low gasp of pain, leaning heavily against the brick wall just to stay upright. Arthur caught sight of my massively swollen ankle. A brief flash of concern crossed his face: “Why is it swelling so fast? Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.” “Arthur~” Chloe immediately clung to his arm, whining. “You guys are divorced now! How can you let her ride in your car?” “But…” “She’s right. I’ll just call an Uber and go to the hospital myself.” Standing behind Arthur, Chloe stuck her tongue out at me and pulled a mocking face. I limped heavily, stumbling my way to the curb. Arthur called out to me: “Evelyn, what were you trying to tell me earlier?” The agonizing, churning pain in my abdomen had me breaking out in a cold sweat. “It’s nothing.” I turned and got into the back of a taxi. “Mount Sinai Hospital, please.” The moment the window rolled up, the tears I had been holding back finally slid down my cheeks. I slowly placed my hands over my lower stomach. I had wanted to tell him that I was pregnant. But I never, ever had any intention of keeping this baby. By the time I reached the ER, the fetal heartbeat was already gone. I was wheeled into the operating room for a D&C procedure. As the cold metal instruments moved inside my body, my heart physically ached with the memory of what used to be. The very first time I got pregnant, Arthur was so happy he cried like a little kid. He didn’t just buy out the entire inventory of the most expensive baby boutique in Manhattan; he personally flew to a monastery in Tibet to pray for the baby’s safe delivery. He held me and said: “Evelyn, I am going to make you and our baby the happiest people in the entire world.” But in the end… not a single one of our children survived. I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. In my mind, I called out to the System. “Those three wishes you promised me… are they still valid?” [Of course. However, they are only effective within the parameters of this specific reality.] I nodded. Since that was the case, I was going to leave Arthur three massive, unforgettable parting gifts. …… After the surgery was over and my injuries were bandaged, I dragged my exhausted body to the billing counter on the first floor. The cashier took my debit card, ran it, and frowned. “Ma’am, this card is declining. Insufficient funds.” “That’s impossible. Every cent I own is in that account.” Panic set in. I pulled out every single credit and debit card from my wallet and handed them over. Every single one declined. Insufficient funds. The line of people behind me began to grumble impatiently. I had no choice but to step aside into a quiet corner and call Arthur: “Arthur, something is wrong with my cards. They’re all frozen. Can you please just wire me three thousand dollars for the hospital bill…” “Evelyn, are you completely shameless?” Chloe’s venomous, mocking voice echoed through the speaker. “I told my brother to freeze all your cards! You’re divorced! Do you seriously think you still have the right to spend the Sterling family’s money?” Arthur’s voice chimed in right after hers: “Chloe is right.” “For the time being, you need to figure out how to make your own money.” I froze. My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles cracked. I ground the words out through my teeth: “Arthur. Are you seriously telling me I have to find a way to pay for my own abortion?!” My weak, trembling voice was entirely drowned out by the background noise on his end. “Congratulations to Mr. Sterling for winning the emerald necklace for thirty million dollars!” Arthur’s voice was softer than velvet. “It’s a gift for Chloe.” He refused to give me three thousand dollars for a medical emergency. Yet he turned around and dropped thirty million on a necklace for Chloe. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and hung up the phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glint of the diamond on my left ring finger. I limped to a nearby pawn shop, sold my wedding ring, and paid my medical bill. Looking at my bare ring finger… I remembered our wedding day. Arthur’s eyes had been filled with oceans of devotion as he slid it onto my hand. “Evelyn, I will love you for the rest of my life.” “Promise me you will never, ever leave me, okay?” But Arthur… you broke your promise first. Chapter 3 I limped all the way back to the Sterling estate. The moment I walked through the front gates, I saw all my belongings thrown carelessly onto the driveway. A few of the landscapers were looking at me with sheer disgust and contempt: “Every year she gets kicked out of the house like a stray dog. Have you ever seen a billionaire’s wife look so pathetic?” I had heard these kinds of vicious, kick-them-while-they’re-down comments for years. I was too exhausted to argue. I crouched down and started gathering my scattered clothes. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. I looked up and saw Arthur’s anxious face: “Evelyn, perfect timing.” Completely ignoring the thick white bandages wrapped around my ankle, he grabbed my arm and dragged me into the massive chef’s kitchen. “Chloe really wants her favorite seafood bisque, but I don’t know how to make it. You have to teach me.” The pain from my ankle shot up my leg, making me break out in a cold sweat. I had to grab the doorframe just to keep from collapsing. Watching Arthur—a man who had never set foot in a kitchen in his life—clumsily trying to chop ribs… My heart gave a violent, painful throb. I remembered when my endometriosis was so bad I couldn’t even get out of bed. I begged Arthur to just boil some water with ginger and brown sugar for me. He had looked at me coldly and said: “Evelyn, I’m not your servant. I have actual work to do.” I remained dead silent, tied an apron around my waist, and cooked the bisque for him. As he was taking notes on his phone, he suddenly froze. He grabbed my left hand, his voice trembling: “Evelyn… where is your wedding ring?” I pulled my hand out of his grip. “We’re divorced. If I keep wearing the ring, Chloe will get upset when she sees it.” Arthur frowned deeply, but he didn’t push the issue. Yet, a creeping, inexplicable sense of dread began to pool in his chest. “Evelyn… you seem different than before.” I offered a mocking, empty smile. I didn’t say a word. I just used the wall for support and limped out of the kitchen. “Evelyn! Stop right there!” Chloe was standing at the top of the grand spiral staircase, her arms crossed. She had a group of her wealthy, mean-girl friends standing behind her. She slowly sauntered down the stairs, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at my clothes. “Take it off.” I was in no mood to entertain her psychotic tantrums. I turned to walk out the front door. But her friends instantly rushed forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Are you deaf, bitch? Didn’t you hear what Chloe said?” “Chloe.” Arthur’s voice carried a hint of displeasure as he walked out of the kitchen. Chloe immediately whimpered, clinging to his arm and whining: “Arthur~ didn’t you promise you would listen to whatever I wanted?” “She was kicked out of the house with nothing! She isn’t allowed to take a single thing that belongs to the Sterling family. That includes the clothes on her back!” Arthur’s gaze drifted between me and Chloe. Chloe’s eyes were full of eager anticipation. While I stood there perfectly calm, not even bothering to look at him. For some reason, my utter indifference made him angry. “Fine.” That single word of permission was all the green light those girls needed. They grew incredibly excited. They swarmed me, viciously grabbing and tearing at my clothes. During the violent struggle, my surgical stitches tore open. Dark red blood slowly began soaking through the fabric. It wasn’t until I was stripped down to nothing but my bra and underwear that I forced myself to stand up straight. I reached behind my back and rested my fingers on the clasp of my bra: “Mr. Sterling. Do you need me to take the rest off, too?” Chloe reacted as if someone had stepped on her tail. She exploded. “Evelyn, stop playing the pathetic victim!” She lunged at me, trying to physically rip my bra off. But Arthur suddenly clamped his hand around her wrist. For the first time in years, he actually raised his voice at her: “Is this enough?!” The air pressure in the room plummeted to freezing. “Arthur… are you yelling at me?” Chloe stiffened her neck, tears welling up in her eyes. She burst into dramatic sobs and ran out the front door. Her group of friends immediately chased after her. “Chloe, wait!” Arthur hesitated for a split second, then sprinted out the door after her. I swayed dangerously on my feet. Step by step, leaving bloody footprints on the pristine marble floor, I walked out of the Sterling estate. Tears completely blurred my vision. My mind flashed back to eight years ago. Arthur was holding our baby son, kissing my cheek: “Buddy, when you grow up, you and I are going to protect Mommy together, okay?” But now… Arthur had become the person who hurt me the most. Chapter 4 I rented a tiny, cheap studio apartment. And I quietly waited for the day I could finally go home. Arthur’s efforts to coax Chloe back this time were more extravagant than ever before. Not only did he rent out ten luxury shopping malls so she could shop in private, but he also bought a massive plot of land and began constructing a custom theme park just for her. He even transferred 50% of his shares in the Sterling Corporation directly into her name. At the press conference, Arthur looked like a knight in shining armor, holding Chloe’s hand with eyes overflowing with adoration: “Our Chloe was born to be pampered and spoiled.” I silently turned off the television. I picked up the bouquet of white lilies and a small plush toy I had bought earlier. Today was my son’s death anniversary. I still remember the day of his funeral. Chloe had screamed at my face, calling him a bastard: “Your son was destined to die young! He was too fragile to handle a little fall! How is it my fault that he died?!” Pure, venomous hatred churned in the pit of my stomach, but I forced the tears back down. “Chloe… I hope you’re still smiling after today…” I took an Uber to the private cemetery. But when I arrived at my son’s plot… the marble headstone had been smashed to pieces with sledgehammers. The dirt from his grave had been dug up and scattered everywhere. Chloe was sitting comfortably in a lawn chair, barking orders at a crew of workers: “Smash it into smaller pieces! Dig out the urn and throw the ashes to the stray dogs!” “CHLOE!” My emotions completely shattered. I threw myself forward, desperately trying to block the workers from the grave. “What gives you the right to touch my son’s grave?!” Chloe stood up, walked over, and slapped me viciously across the face. “Because this land belongs to the Sterling family.” “You and your little bastard son don’t deserve to use a single square inch of Sterling property.” A tidal wave of grief and fury completely consumed me. I lunged forward and locked my hands around Chloe’s throat. But within seconds, I was violently pulled off and pinned to the ground by her massive bodyguards. Her face was flushed red from my grip. She walked over and delivered several brutal slaps to my face. “You crazy bitch! I’ll kill you!” She ordered her bodyguards to drag me out of the cemetery, hauling me directly to Arthur’s office. Chloe pouted, crying a river of perfect, fragile tears: “Arthur, I went to the cemetery today to pay my respects to little Leo, but Evelyn called me a murderer and tried to strangle me to death…” She grabbed Arthur’s hand and placed his fingers over the red marks on her neck. Arthur’s face turned terrifyingly dark. He stared at me, his eyes filled with a hatred so intense it looked like he wanted to skin me alive. “Evelyn. Explain yourself.” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my mouth and glared right back at him: “She’s right. I absolutely wanted to strangle her to death.” Arthur grabbed me violently by the jaw, his voice as cold as liquid nitrogen: “Evelyn. I told you. Anyone who dares to hurt Chloe will pay the price.” He casually adjusted his expensive cufflinks and gave an order to his security detail: “Take my wi— take Evelyn out to the yacht. Tie her up and drop her in the ocean. Let her cool off.” Pure, primal terror instantly paralyzed my entire body. Every drop of blood drained from my face. I stared at Arthur in absolute, horrified disbelief. During the kidnapping years ago, I had been locked in a specialized water torture cell by his enemies. I was repeatedly submerged and nearly drowned until I was half-dead. Arthur knew perfectly well… that was my deepest, most traumatizing nightmare! I thrashed violently against the guards, screaming at him with everything I had: “ARTHUR! I FUCKING HATE YOU!” Arthur’s footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. But he didn’t turn around.

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On the seventh day of our kidnapping, the captor made my sister and me draw from a blind box. Draw a red ball, you live. Draw a black ball, you die. My sister pulled a black ball and broke down sobbing. Without a moment’s hesitation, I told the kidnapper, “I’ll trade with her.” Eventually, our parents paid the ransom, and we both made it back alive. From that day on, I became the golden child of the family. My mom would always say, “Chloe was willing to die for her sister. We owe her a debt we can never repay in this lifetime.” They gave me the best room, sent me to the best private school, and even let me manage the family’s finances. Meanwhile, my sister was expected to defer to me at every turn. I always got the first pick of everything. Over the past three years, the look in my sister’s eyes grew colder and colder. Until yesterday, when my parents bought those blind-box style New Year’s gifts. My mom casually told me to pick first. Suddenly, my sister smiled. She pulled out her phone and played an audio recording from the kidnapping three years ago. The kidnapper’s voice echoed: “So, who’s it going to be? Does she die, or do you?” The recording played my voice: “Let her die. If she dies, all the family’s money will be mine.” “It’s her own bad luck that she drew the black ball. It’s not my fault.” Upon hearing this, my mom slapped me hard across the face. My dad grabbed me by the hair and dragged me down to the basement: “Three years! We’ve spent three years raising a pathological, evil liar!” The basement door slammed shut behind me. In the darkness, I finally laughed out loud. The recording was real. But I was out of time to explain the truth. Because I could already smell it filling the basement. Gas. … Through the heavy solid wood door, I could hear my mother’s muffled sobs in the living room, and my sister’s fragile, comforting voice: “Don’t cry, Mom. Chloe probably just had a moment of confusion… I don’t blame her, really. As long as she admits she was wrong, I’ll still let her have the best of everything.” “Should we let her out? It’s dark in the basement, she’ll be scared.” Immediately following was my dad’s furious roar: “Scared?! A heartless monster like her knows what it means to be scared?!” “Mia, stop pleading for her. We treated her like a princess for three years, and we ended up raising an animal who wished her own sister dead!” “Let her stay locked in there! When she finally figures out what she did wrong, then we’ll let her out!” Their footsteps faded away. In that moment, the blood in my veins turned to ice. Not just because of the basement’s damp chill, but because they didn’t even give me a chance to explain. I slid down the door panel and sat on the floor. The basement was crammed with junk, the air stale and suffocating. This space used to be for storing old furniture. There were no windows, and the only ventilation vent in the corner was mostly blocked by unknown debris. A while back, we had contractors in to fix the gas lines. To save time, they left a capped-off spare valve down here. I sniffed the air. A faint smell of rotten eggs permeated the room. The smell was coming from behind an old cabinet. It must have been when my dad dragged me in; I accidentally knocked over a shelf back there, damaging the valve or the pipe. Normally, I would scream immediately and tell them to shut off the main valve. But right now, I didn’t want to scream. That slap had hit me so hard my left ear was still ringing. That recording was from three years ago. It was also in an enclosed space, also reeking of death. I curled into a tight ball, hugging my knees. The smell of gas was growing stronger. My consciousness was starting to blur. I thought back to those seven days we were kidnapped. That dark, damp, abandoned warehouse. I thought of the kidnapper in the mask, casually spinning that black handgun in his hand. It was just as cold that day. I began hallucinating, seeing little red and black dots floating before my eyes. The colors of the blind box. Red for life, black for death. The truth is, I never told anyone, but I was terrified that day. I was only twelve. I wanted to live, too. But I wanted my sister to live even more. Before my mind slipped completely into darkness, a bitter smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. Dad, Mom, Mia. I’m done fighting this time. The family’s money, the best room, the best school. I don’t want any of it anymore. You only need one perfect, obedient daughter, and Mia is enough. And finally, I don’t have to carry the crushing weight of this three-year ‘debt of gratitude’ anymore. My breathing stopped. This time, there was no blind box to draw from. I chose black for myself. Chapter 2 My body felt light. I floated in mid-air, looking down at the body curled up behind the door. Her face was cyanotic, white foam crusted at the corners of her mouth, but her eyes were still half-open, staring fixedly at the crack under the door. It looked so ugly. If my mom saw it, she’d definitely frown in disgust and say I lacked the poise of a proper young lady. My vision passed through the floorboards, and I saw the scene in the living room above. The room was brightly lit, the heat cranked up high. On the dining table sat the half-eaten, blind-box style New Year’s gifts, beautifully wrapped. My sister, Mia, sat on the sofa, holding a mug of warm milk. Her eyes were red, but behind the mug, the corners of her lips were curling slightly upward. My parents sat on either side of her, gingerly comforting her. “Mia, don’t be afraid. Dad’s here.” My dad peeled a mandarin orange and handed it to her: “That ungrateful wretch will never be able to bully you again.” My mom gently wiped Mia’s face with a warm washcloth, her voice soft as water: “We were blind, mistaking a fish eye for a pearl. We let you suffer so much these past three years.” Mia put down the milk, blinking her innocent, wide eyes: “I didn’t suffer. As long as Chloe can change for the better, I don’t mind taking a little mistreatment.” “Actually, I wanted to delete that recording a long time ago. But I was afraid Chloe would make mistakes again, so I kept it to remind her… I didn’t expect it to make you both so sad.” What an incredibly understanding daughter. Floating near the ceiling, watching this heartwarming family scene, I felt absolutely nothing. That recording was real. But I wasn’t the one who said it. Three years ago, in the abandoned warehouse. The kidnapper placed two boxes on the table. “Let’s play a game. I have two boxes here. One has a red ball, one has a black ball.” “Whoever draws the red ball walks. Whoever draws the black ball stays and eats a bullet.” Mia rushed forward eagerly: “I want to draw first! Chloe, you’ll let me go first, right?” I nodded. With trembling hands, she opened a box. Inside lay a black ball. Mia broke down crying instantly, screaming as she threw the ball at me: “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! You’re the older sister, you’re supposed to let me have the good stuff!” “You die instead, okay?! Please, Chloe!” The kidnapper raised his gun, pointing the dark muzzle right between Mia’s eyes. Terrified, Mia wet herself. She hid behind me, pushing me forward, and screamed: “She has the black ball! Look at her!” “Let her die! If she dies, all the family’s money will be mine!” “It’s her own bad luck that she drew the black ball. It’s not my fault!” I looked at my sister, who had peed her pants in terror, and only one thought crossed my mind: I am the older sister. I have to protect her. “I’ll trade with her.” I said. The kidnapper looked at me with amused interest: “Why trade? She literally just said she wants you dead.” “Because she’s my sister. An older sister is supposed to protect her younger sister, isn’t she?” The kidnapper froze for a second, then lowered his gun, giving me a deeply meaningful look. Later, when the kidnapper was caught, he told the police that I was the one who saved my sister. But now, she sat in a warm living room, soaking up my parents’ love. While the person who truly saved the entire family lay on the freezing concrete floor of the basement, her body slowly growing stiff. Chapter 3 Early the next morning. Sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, illuminating the living room. My mom woke up very early and was busy in the kitchen. A pot of pork and century egg congee was simmering on the stove, the savory aroma filling the house. That used to be my favorite breakfast. Because I had a weak stomach, my mom used to make me a bowl every single morning. She scooped a bowl out and set it on the table, habitually glancing toward the basement. “She’s been starving all night. She should know she was wrong by now.” She picked up the bowl and walked to the basement door. I stood right beside her, watching her raise her hand to knock. “Chloe, breakfast is ready.” No response. My mom frowned, raising her voice: “Stop playing dead. Don’t tell me you aren’t starving.” “Your dad and I are still angry about yesterday. You better be smart, come out here, and apologize to your sister.” The basement remained deathly silent. Except for a faint, strange odor leaking out from under the door gap. Just as my mom wrinkled her nose, about to open the door, a sharp cry came from Mia upstairs. “Ah!” My mom’s face changed. She slammed the bowl down on the floor, the scalding congee splashing everywhere. “Mia! What’s wrong?” She spun around and sprinted upstairs, completely forgetting about her “unrepentant” eldest daughter in the basement. I floated up the stairs behind her. Mia was sitting on the edge of her bed, clutching her ankle, her eyes welling with tears: “Mom, I twisted my ankle getting out of bed.” My mom was heartbroken. She immediately crouched down to examine it: “Why weren’t you more careful? Does it hurt? Mom will rub it for you.” Mia sniffled, looking pitiful: “I had a nightmare. I dreamt Chloe was stabbing me with a knife… I was so scared, I tried to run, and I fell.” My mom’s hands stopped moving. The pity in her eyes instantly morphed into pure disgust for me: “That little monster. She won’t even leave you alone in your dreams.” My dad had been woken up by the commotion. He walked in, pulling on a robe: “What’s going on?” My mom angrily recounted Mia’s nightmare. My dad’s face turned livid: “I told you we shouldn’t let her off easy! We lock her up for one night and she’s already terrifying you like this. What will she do next?” “Just leave her in there! Starve her for three days! Let’s see if she still has the energy to hurt anyone!” Mia nestled into my dad’s chest, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips: “But… what if something happens to Chloe? It’s so cold down there.” My dad scoffed coldly: “If she freezes to death, she deserves it! She brought it on herself!” I wanted to lunge forward and rip Mia’s mouth open. I wanted to scream at my parents that I was already dead. But I couldn’t do a single thing. I could only watch helplessly as the three of them happily headed to the hospital to check on an ankle injury that didn’t even exist. Before leaving, my dad walked past the basement door. The congee on the floor had gone completely cold, congealing into a disgusting, gelatinous lump. He kicked the bowl in disgust: “Waste of food.” He stopped, seemingly catching a whiff of something. “What is that smell?” He sniffed the air, looking confusedly at the basement door. In that split second, my heart leapt into my throat. Find me. Please, find me. Even if it’s just to drag my body out and throw it away. My dad reached for the doorknob. Just as his fingertips were about to brush the metal, a car horn honked from outside. My mom was yelling: “Honey, hurry up! Mia’s ankle is swelling!” My dad pulled his hand back, shooting a look of pure revulsion at the door: “That damn girl is definitely shitting on the floor just to spite us. I’m going to deal with you when I get back!” He turned and strode away. The front door slammed shut with a heavy thud. Chapter 4 The evening of the third day. The smell in the house was impossible to ignore anymore. At the dinner table, my mom had just set down a plate of braised short ribs when she caught a whiff of the odor and suddenly gagged. “What on earth is that smell?! It’s disgusting!” She covered her chest, looking sick. My dad slammed his chopsticks down onto the table with a sharp smack. “What else could it be? It has to be that little bastard, Chloe!” “I smelled it two days ago! She’s literally defecating on the basement floor as a form of protest!” Mia was just picking up a rib. Hearing this, the rib dropped back onto her plate. She put on a perfectly horrified expression: “How could Chloe do something like that… It’s true there’s no bathroom down there, but if she just knocked, we would have let her out.” “Does she hate us so much that she’s intentionally making the house smell this bad so we can’t even eat?” My mom’s fury ignited instantly. She abruptly stood up, her chair screeching harshly against the hardwood floor. “That’s it! She’s pushing her luck!” “We’ve spent the last three days waiting on Mia hand and foot, and instead of reflecting on what she did, she’s finding new ways to torture us from down there?!” “You know what? Mrs. Miller from next door saw me today and asked if a sewer pipe had burst, saying our house smelled like a dead rat!” “I have never been so humiliated in my life!” My dad stood up too, a muscle in his jaw twitching with rage. “Let’s go! We’re going down there!” “If I don’t break her legs today, my name isn’t Robert!” They marched aggressively toward the basement. Mia followed closely behind, holding her phone, seemingly ready to record my pathetic, begging form. “Mom, Dad, don’t hit her. Just try talking to her…” She was pleading with them verbally, but she didn’t slow her pace one bit. As they reached the basement door, the stench was overwhelmingly suffocating. My mom covered her nose and mouth in disgust: “Chloe! Get your ass out here! Clean up this mess right now!” “Look at what you’ve done! Are you an adult or an animal? Do you have no shame?” Dead silence from behind the door. My dad’s patience snapped. “Stop wasting your breath on her!” He raised his foot and violently kicked the door lock. Chapter 5 One kick. Two kicks. CRASH! The heavy, solid wood door burst open, slamming against the wall and bouncing back slightly. A visible cloud of grayish-yellow gas, thick with a putrid stench, washed over them instantly. My mom was hit so hard by the smell she stumbled backward, bracing herself against the wall and gagging violently. Mia covered her nose and shrieked: “It smells so bad! What the hell did Chloe do in here?!” My dad held his breath, blindly feeling for the light switch by the door. Click. The light flickered on. The harsh, pale fluorescent bulb buzzed twice before illuminating the dim basement. The tirade my dad was about to unleash died instantly in his throat. His eyes widened drastically, as if he had just witnessed the most horrifying scene imaginable. My mom, catching her breath, looked up and started scolding: “Stop playing games…” But as her gaze moved past my dad’s shoulder and landed on the center of the basement, every sound abruptly ceased. Mia’s hand, holding up her phone, froze in mid-air. The screen’s glow illuminated her deathly pale face. My dad’s legs gave out entirely, and he collapsed onto the floor, pointing a trembling finger forward. In the direction he was pointing. Amidst the chaotic pile of old furniture. I lay there, completely still. My body curled into a tiny, tight ball. My exposed skin was a horrifying shade of cyan-purple, mottled with dark red livor mortis. The white foam that had once bubbled at my mouth was now dried and crusted on my cheek, looking grotesque and absurd. I hovered in mid-air, watching them with absolute detachment. Watching my dad completely paralyzed on the floor. He tried to crawl forward, but his limbs refused to obey. He could only drag himself across the dusty concrete. My mom finally snapped out of her stupor. She rushed toward me like a madwoman, completely ignoring the filth on the floor and the nauseating stench. “Chloe… Chloe, what’s wrong with you?” She reached out to shake my shoulder. The moment she touched me, she yanked her hand back as if she’d been electrocuted. Hard. Cold. It was the unmistakable feel of a corpse, like a slab of frozen pork straight out of a freezer. My mom froze. She looked at her hand, then down at my lifeless body. Suddenly, she let out a forced laugh. “You’re a good actor, kid.” “Stop pretending, okay? Mom isn’t angry anymore. Get up, the floor is cold.” She reached out again, this time to touch my cheek. That same icy, rigid sensation greeted her fingers. She slapped my cheek firmly, her voice beginning to tremble: “Chloe, stop trying to scare me.” “It’s not funny, it’s not funny at all! Open your eyes and look at me!” No response. Those half-open eyes continued to stare blankly ahead. My pupils had dilated and were now clouded with a hazy, gray film. Mia, cowering by the doorframe, stumbled backward in terror. Her phone slipped from her hand, the screen cracking against the concrete. “Is… is she dead?” My mom whipped her head around, glaring at Mia with feral intensity: “Shut up! Your sister isn’t dead! She’s just sleeping!” “You know she’s always been a heavy sleeper!” My mom turned back, frantically trying to scoop me up into her arms. “Come on, let’s go sleep in your bed. It smells awful down here. The sewer pipe must have broken and the fumes knocked you out, right?” She grabbed my arm, trying to force it straight. But rigor mortis had set in. My joints were locked tight, rigid as welded iron. Snap. A sickening crack echoed as bone and stiffened muscle were forcibly bent. My mom froze completely. She stared at my arm, bent at a grotesque, unnatural angle, and finally broke. “AHHHHHH!” A blood-curdling scream tore out of her throat, echoing off the basement walls and making the lightbulb overhead tremble. She buried her face against my chest, mottled with livor mortis, and wailed hysterically. “Help! Somebody help! Somebody save my daughter!” My dad finally managed to drag himself over to us. With trembling fingers, he checked for breath under my nose, then felt for a pulse at my neck. Dead silence. He slumped onto his backside and viciously slapped himself across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the cramped space. “Three days…” He muttered to himself, snot and tears smearing across his face. “We were upstairs eating braised short ribs… and she was down here rotting for three days…” “I called her a monster. I said she made the house smell…” He suddenly grabbed my mom by the shoulders and shook her violently, like a man possessed: “Susan, what did we do? What the hell did we do?!” My mom just clung to my corpse and sobbed until she could barely breathe. The stench of death clung to her expensive cashmere sweater and seeped into her hair. But the woman who was notoriously obsessed with cleanliness, who would throw a fit over the slightest unpleasant odor, now held me in a death grip, refusing to let go. “Chloe, Mom was wrong. Mom will buy you a strawberry cake, the biggest one they have…” “Just get up and take one bite, please? I’m begging you. Just get up and yell at me…” I watched them weep and wail, but my heart was surprisingly calm. No thrill of revenge, not even a sliver of emotion. Because I knew that when you’re dead, you’re dead. No amount of tears can warm up a corpse. No depth of regret can buy back a life. This belated embrace was simply too cold.

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“Charlotte Parker, the company has decided to negotiate the termination of your employment contract.” HR Director Rebecca Hayes’s voice was calm. “What’s the reason?” I asked. “Department restructuring,” she replied. I laughed. Three months ago, when my colleague Jessica Morgan got pregnant, the company gave her a year of paid leave. The day after I got pregnant, I was laid off. “Don’t worry, the company will give you $20,000 in severance.” I’d worked at this company for six years, and she was only offering $20,000?! “Fine,” I stood up. “But I should remind you—Stellar Group is renewing their contract next week, and I haven’t handed over the files yet.” Rebecca’s face froze. I turned and walked out. An $18 million annual contract—how were they going to close that deal without me? 0 The conference room door closed behind me. I leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. My palms were sweaty. At the end of the hallway, Miranda stood at the break room entrance. When she saw me come out, she walked over slowly, cup in hand. “Charlotte, all done?” Her tone was casual, like she was asking what I had for lunch. “Miranda,” I looked at her, “I want to know why.” “Why what?” “Three months ago, when Jessica got pregnant, you gave her paid leave.” I stared into her eyes. “But the day after I got pregnant, I got called in for termination talks.” Miranda smiled. “Charlotte, you make it sound like the company is targeting you.” She took a sip of coffee, then continued: “Jessica’s situation is different from yours.” “How is it different?” “She had a high-risk pregnancy and needed rest. You don’t.” “That still doesn’t justify calling me in for termination the very next day, does it?” I suppressed my anger. “I’ve been here for six years. I’ve handled the Stellar Group project from start to finish, all by myself.” A flicker passed through Miranda’s eyes. “So?” She put down her cup and leaned closer. “Charlotte, let me be honest with you. The company can’t afford dead weight.” “If you’re pregnant, you’ll need at least six months off, right? Who’s going to handle the project?” “I can work remotely while on leave—” “Will the client agree to that?” She cut me off. “Don’t get emotional. This is the company’s decision, not something I can control alone.” I clenched my fists. “What about Jessica? She’s taking leave too. Why does she get to stay?” Miranda’s expression changed—something subtle, an uncomfortable look of being called out. “Her situation…” “How is her situation different?” I pressed. “She’s only been here a year, hasn’t run a single project. Why does she get leave when she’s pregnant, while I get fired?” Miranda was silent for a few seconds, then smiled. “Charlotte Parker, you’re competent, but you think too highly of yourself.” She turned to leave, leaving me with one sentence: “The company can function without anyone.” I stood in the hallway, watching her walk away. My phone vibrated. A message from my husband: 【How did it go?】 I didn’t reply, because I saw someone else. Jessica emerged from Miranda’s office, holding a document. When she saw me, she hesitated, then walked over with a smile. “Charlotte, I heard you’re not feeling well and need to take some time off?” Her belly was already slightly rounded. And the document in her hand—I could see the header: 【Stellar Group 2024 Annual Contract Renewal Proposal】. That was my proposal. I’d worked on it for three months and just finalized it last week. Except my name had been crossed out and replaced with hers. 0

I said nothing. Seeing me stare at the document, Jessica instinctively hid it behind her back. “Charlotte, what’s wrong?” “That’s my proposal.” I pointed behind her. “I worked on it for three months. Just finalized it last week.” She blinked. “Oh, this.” “Miranda said you were leaving, so she asked me to familiarize myself with the project.” “When did I say I was leaving?” Jessica’s expression stiffened for a moment, then she smiled again. “Charlotte, you’ll have to ask Miranda about that. I’m just following management’s instructions.” She tried to step around me. I blocked her path. “Jessica, tell me the truth. How much do you know about this?” She looked up at me, her eyes evasive. “Charlotte, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just taking over the work normally.” She went around me and walked away quickly. I stood there as pieces started connecting in my mind. Three months ago, Jessica joined the company. Miranda said she was a distant cousin and asked me to “mentor her.” I did. Client data, coordination processes, email correspondence—I taught her everything hands-on. I thought I was training a successor. Now I realized—I was training my replacement. My phone vibrated again. My husband sent three messages in a row: 【How’s the baby?】 【What did the company say?】 【Don’t worry, come home and we’ll talk about it.】 I shoved the phone in my pocket and headed to my desk. When I pushed open the department’s glass door, twenty pairs of eyes looked up at me, then quickly looked away. The office was eerily quiet. Lisa, who usually loved gossip, kept her head down, staring motionless at her screen. When intern Amy saw me, her lips moved but she said nothing. I walked to my desk. A cardboard box sat on top, with a document beside it—【Resignation Handover Checklist】. They’d even prepared the box. I picked up the checklist. First item: Stellar Group project materials and client contact information. Second item: Shared department folder access permissions. Third item: Company-issued computer and access card. The last line had a space for my signature, dated today. I set down the checklist and opened my computer. Before I could enter my password, a line appeared on screen: 【Your account has been disabled. For questions, please contact IT.】 They’d already locked my account. They weren’t even giving me time to react. “Charlotte.” A soft voice came from behind me. I turned. It was intern Amy. “What is it?” She bit her lip, glancing toward Miranda’s office. “During this morning’s meeting…” “What meeting?” “The morning meeting. Before you went into the conference room, Miranda already told us.” Her voice grew quieter. “Told you what?” “That you’d voluntarily resigned because of… family reasons.” “She also said we should understand and not pressure you.” I froze. “I voluntarily resigned?” Amy nodded. “She also said Jessica would temporarily take over the Stellar project. Her exact words were… ‘Charlotte’s recommendation.’” She glanced at me. “Charlotte, I just thought…” “Thought what?” “It seemed strange. You always work so hard, why would you suddenly quit?” I didn’t answer. Miranda’s office door opened. She stood in the doorway and beckoned to me. “Charlotte, come in for a moment.” 0

I walked in. Miranda sat behind her desk and gestured for me to close the door. “Sit.” I didn’t sit. “Miranda, I have a few questions.” “Go ahead.” “First, what grounds is the company using to fire me?” “Restructuring. Didn’t HR tell you?” She flipped through documents on her desk without looking up. “Second, why tell my colleagues I resigned voluntarily?” Miranda’s hand paused. “Charlotte, you’re a veteran employee. Can’t we leave each other some dignity?” “I don’t need dignity.” I stared at her. “I need a reasonable explanation.” She finally looked up. “What explanation do you want?” “Is there a problem with my work performance?” “No.” “Have I caused the company any losses?” “No.” “Then why fire me?” Miranda sighed. “Charlotte, you’re a smart person. I don’t want to be too blunt.” “I’m not afraid of blunt.” She looked at me with a complicated expression. “Fine, I’ll be direct. You’re pregnant, right?” “Yes.” “Pregnancy leave plus maternity leave plus nursing leave—that’s at least a year. Can you work normally during that time?” “I can—” “You can what? Work remotely? Part-time?” She smiled—not kindly. “Charlotte, clients aren’t stupid.” “Stellar Group pays us $18 million a year. Why would they wait for you to have your baby before discussing business?” “Then let me finish the handover before I leave—” “There’s no time.” She cut me off. “Next week is the renewal window.” “And…” She paused. “And what?” “And Francis Reed at Stellar already knows you’re leaving.” I froze. “What?” “I spoke with him on the phone this morning.” Miranda’s expression was calm. “I told him you were resigning for family reasons and that Jessica would handle coordination going forward. He said okay.” My head was buzzing. She’d notified the client before my termination meeting. This wasn’t negotiation—it was notification. “So,” Miranda stood up, walked around her desk to face me, “you sign, and we part on good terms.” “If you don’t sign…” Her voice lowered. “Charlotte, after six years, you should know my style.” “If you don’t sign, I have a hundred ways to make you sign.” She patted my shoulder. “Don’t burn your bridges.” I stood motionless. She walked past me and opened the door. “Oh, right.” She turned back. “Finish the handover before end of day. Don’t come in tomorrow. I’ll have reception mail your things home.” The door closed. I stood alone in the office. Outside the window was the city’s business district—towering buildings, flowing traffic. I’d worked here for six years, from a fresh graduate assistant to Marketing Department Manager. I’d secured the Stellar Group partnership single-handedly. Now they were kicking me out, not even giving me 24 hours. My phone rang. I pulled it out. Francis Reed—Stellar Group’s Marketing Director, and my college classmate. He’d introduced me to this project, because he was my contact. I answered. “Charlotte, what’s going on?” Francis sounded urgent. “Your Miranda called and said you’re leaving?” “I didn’t agree to it,” I said. “What do you mean you didn’t agree?” “Francis, I’ll explain everything. But right now I just need to ask you one thing.” “What?” “Can you delay next week’s renewal a bit?” Silence on the other end for two seconds. “Charlotte, what are you planning?” “What am I planning?” I looked at the 【Stellar Group Renewal Proposal】 on Miranda’s desk. Three months of my hard work, with the cover now bearing Jessica’s name instead of mine. “Francis,” I said, “I want certain people to know—they can’t swallow this $18 million.” 0

At 3 PM, I ran into Jessica in the break room. She was making coffee. When she saw me enter, her hand shook. “Charlotte.” “Mm.” I walked to the water dispenser and filled a cup. She stood there, looking uncomfortable. “Charlotte, Miranda asked me to coordinate with you this afternoon about the Stellar project materials. Is that convenient?” “Convenient.” I turned to look at her. “Jessica, can I ask you something? When you got pregnant, what did Miranda tell you?” She hesitated. “Tell me what?” “How she arranged your leave.” Jessica looked down, stirring the coffee in her cup. “Miranda said I should focus on the pregnancy, not worry about work, and that when I came back after giving birth, she’d give me a raise.” “How much?” “Twenty percent.” I laughed. I’d been here six years and only got a 5% raise last year. She’d been here one year, was pregnant, and was getting 20%. “Charlotte, what are you laughing at?” “Nothing.” I set down my water cup. “Come on, let’s go to my desk. I’ll transfer everything to you.” She followed me, her steps hesitant. At my desk, I pulled a USB drive from the drawer. “All the Stellar project materials are on here. Client contacts, email correspondence, quotes, contract drafts—everything packaged.” She took it, looking surprised. “That fast?” “I always keep backups.” I looked at her. “There are some other things I need to tell you verbally.” “Okay.” She opened her phone’s notepad, ready to take notes. “Francis Reed is the main project contact. He’s pretty casual, prefers discussing business in informal settings. Last time we signed the contract at a dinner meeting.” Jessica nodded seriously. “Also, he doesn’t like corporate speak. The more direct, the better.” “Got it.” “Last thing.” I paused. “Francis values relationships. He’s worked with me for three years because we’ve known each other since college.” Jessica’s note-taking hand stopped. She looked up. “Charlotte, you and Francis are classmates?” “Yeah.” I looked into her eyes. “He introduced this project to me.” The break room suddenly went quiet. I could see it in her eyes—panic, calculation, and a trace of barely concealed guilt. “Charlotte…” “I don’t mean anything by it.” I smiled. “Just reminding you—some things can’t be handled just by swapping people.” I picked up my bag. “The materials are yours. I’m leaving.” “Charlotte!” She called after me. “What?” “Are you… really resigning?” I didn’t answer. I just turned and left. As I reached the elevator, I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Miranda’s voice: “Jessica, how did it go? Did she hand everything over?” “She did.” “Are the materials complete?” “Complete, but…” “But what?” “Miranda, Charlotte is Francis’s college classmate.” Silence for a few seconds. “I know.” “Then…” “It’s fine.” Miranda’s voice remained composed. “Francis is a businessman. He cares about profit, not personal relationships. As long as the contract terms are good enough, it doesn’t matter who handles coordination.” The elevator arrived. I stepped in and pressed the button for the first floor. Miranda was right—Francis was a businessman. But she’d miscalculated one thing: what businessmen value most isn’t contract terms. It’s trust.

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After I beat his mistress into a vegetative state, my husband coldly tossed their illegitimate son at me. “Chloe, you can either raise this child to atone for your sins, or you can go rot in a prison cell for the rest of your life.” I took the screaming, crying infant from his arms and nodded without changing my expression. Everyone in Manhattan high society laughed at me, saying I deserved to be treated like a glorified nanny for my husband’s mistress. Until New Year’s Eve, exactly five years later. I went to the hospital to deliver my standard, obligatory apology to the comatose Mia, just like I did every year. But as I stood outside the VIP suite, I heard my husband, Liam, groan softly from inside the room. “Mia… why are you so tight today?” Mia, who had supposedly been a vegetable for five years, whined coquettishly. “What’s wrong? Are you in a rush to go spend New Year’s Eve with Chloe, or are you just terrified she’s going to catch you in my bed?” Liam gripped her waist fiercely, his tone dripping with absolute indulgence. “Relax, you jealous little thing. My body and my heart belong entirely to you.” The sounds of explicit, unfiltered intimacy echoed through the heavy door of the luxury hospital room. I stood in the hallway, took a deep breath, and felt an immense, overwhelming sense of relief. We had been married for six years, and Liam still didn’t love me. But thankfully… Our five-year agreement was officially over. It was time for me to go find the man I actually loved. …… Honestly, I wasn’t entirely surprised to find out Mia was faking her coma. After all, the “weapon” I used to put her in that state five years ago… was a feather pillow. On my drive back to the estate, Liam called me. “I’m staying at the hospital to ring in the New Year with Mia. Make sure you take good care of Leo tonight.” Today was our sixth wedding anniversary. It was also the sixth year of his infidelity. And Leo was Mia’s son. He was turning six this year. Leo. Liam even named the kid after the constellation he and Mia used to stargaze at together. He was constantly pining for her. Truthfully, I was pregnant once, too. But when I was eight months along, Mia insisted on taking me for a test drive in her new sports car. She purposely slammed the gas pedal and drove us straight into a tree. I needed eight stitches in my leg. My baby didn’t survive. At the time, Liam dropped to his knees in front of me and swore on his life that he would never speak to Mia again. But on the exact day of my baby’s funeral, they were back in bed together. Liam tried to comfort me with empty words. “Chloe, we lost this one, but we can always have another.” But the one who ended up having another child was Mia. She hid her pregnancy from everyone, secretly gave birth to Leo, and prepared to use the child to usurp my position as the legal wife. Liam’s mother was furious at his sheer stupidity. Gritting her teeth, she forced me into a five-year contract. As long as I helped the Sterling family save face and avoid a catastrophic public scandal, she promised to grant me one single, unconditional request at the end of the five years. Listening to Liam endlessly barking orders at me over the phone, I smiled and played along. “Mhm. I’ll make sure Leo goes to bed early.” For some reason, the man on the other end of the line suddenly went silent. Then, he let out a harsh, mocking scoff. “Don’t think playing the perfect, submissive wife is going to make me forgive you!” “When you beat Mia into a coma, did you ever stop to think that karma would come for you?!” “Leo gets bullied at his private school every single day because the other kids call him motherless! This is entirely your fault!” Faced with Liam’s vicious reprimand… Normally, I would immediately swallow my pride, agree with him, and apologize. But our five-year contract was up. I was completely done playing my part in his delusional theatrical production. I replied with a light, almost cheerful tone. “Yeah, you know what? If I could do it all over again, I really wish I hadn’t used a pillow to hit Mia. A cinderblock would have been much better.” Before Liam could even process what I said, I hung up the phone. Looking at the birthday and New Year’s texts pouring in from my former colleagues… I was in a fantastic mood. I spun the wedding ring on my left ring finger—the one engraved with a tiny ‘A’—and walked into a bakery to buy myself a small cake before heading home. I unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Just as I put my foot down, an agonizing, piercing pain shot through the sole of my foot. I screamed. The cake slipped from my hands, smashing into pieces on the hardwood floor. Enduring the blinding pain, I lifted my bleeding foot. I realized that Leo had hidden a handful of metal thumbtacks inside my house slippers. The five-year-old boy was hiding in the corner, clapping his hands and laughing hysterically. “Hahaha! Serves you right, you evil witch! Just you wait, one day I’m going to smash your head in and get revenge for my mommy!” His high-pitched, childish voice was dripping with pure, concentrated hatred. When I first took this boy from Liam’s hands… I knew the child was innocent in all of this, so I raised him personally, with my own two hands. Leo had a weak immune system. He was constantly catching colds and fevers. Every single time, I was the one sitting by his bed, staying awake all night to take care of him. When he got a little older, I taught him how to speak, how to read, and spent every day playing with him. No matter how badly he misbehaved, I never raised my voice at him. But when Leo finally learned how to speak in full sentences, the very first thing he said to me was— “No matter how hard you pretend, you will never be my real mommy!” After bandaging my foot, Leo quietly snuck up behind me, his hands hidden behind his back. Before I could even turn around, he suddenly pulled out a raw egg and smashed it violently against my back. My years of endless tolerance and spoiling… Had only fueled this child’s absolute, sociopathic entitlement. His loud, mocking laughter echoed in my ears. “Die, you evil witch! Ha…” Before the little monster could even finish his laugh. I snatched the second egg from his hand and smashed it directly, forcefully against his forehead! Chapter 2 The egg cracked, the slimy yolk and whites smearing all over his face. Leo’s eyes widened in absolute shock. He froze, completely paralyzed. I stared him down, my voice cold and hard as iron. “Now that you know how much it hurts, you are never allowed to hit people again. I’ve tried to teach you this a hundred times.” The exact second Leo started wailing at the top of his lungs… Liam’s furious, explosive roar echoed from the foyer. “No wonder Leo fucking hates you! The second I’m not home, this is how you abuse my son?!” Over the years, Leo had constantly complained and made up lies about me to Liam. Liam genuinely believed that if he could just find a reason to kick me out of the Sterling estate, Mia would miraculously wake up from her coma. But he had absolutely no idea. In Mia’s mind, torturing me mentally was far more important than raising her own son. Faced with Liam’s furious interrogation… I was eerily, perfectly calm. Ignoring the venomous glares from both father and son, I turned around and pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser. Leo instinctively leaned his little, egg-covered face toward me. He actually assumed I was going to clean him up. Instead, I completely ignored him and methodically wiped the egg yolk off my own clothes. The shock in his eyes… Actually looked a little bit like genuine grievance. Liam saw the heavy bandages wrapped around my foot. He knew perfectly well it was Leo’s doing, but he didn’t ask a single question. Only after I finished cleaning myself did I slowly look up. “Mr. Sterling. Since you’re so worried about him, why don’t you have his actual mother come here and educate him herself?” That single sentence… Instantly ignited the man’s explosive rage. He grabbed the smashed cake box from the floor and hurled it violently onto the dining table. “Chloe, you have absolutely no right to be jealous of Mia!” “I told you a long time ago. The legal title is yours, but my love belongs entirely to her!” It seemed he actually did know it was my birthday today. Except, written in sloppy, uneven icing across the ruined cake were the words: Happy New Year, Mia. Jealous? Hearing those words, I almost laughed out loud. If it wasn’t for the fact that I desperately needed to access the Sterling family’s private corporate vault to retrieve a crucial piece of evidence… I wouldn’t even look twice at a filthy, cheating piece of trash like Liam. Years ago, I had tried absolutely everything to get into that vault. But to my utter dismay… The biometric lock on the Sterling family vault was permanently coded to only grant access to the legal Lady of the House. At a corporate gala, I—the top engine design engineer for the Sterling family’s Formula 1 racing team—was hand-picked by Mrs. Sterling to be her daughter-in-law. On the day of our wedding. In front of hundreds of elite guests. Liam took the diamond wedding band… and slipped it directly onto Mia’s finger. I was publicly humiliated, instantly becoming the laughingstock of the entire city. But facing the shocked, pitying stares of the crowd… I didn’t panic. I simply reached into my purse and pulled out a different wedding band—one engraved with a tiny ‘A’. I slipped it onto my own finger. The guests exchanged bewildered glances. They couldn’t believe how calm and magnanimous I was being. But no one could have possibly guessed the truth. That ‘A’ didn’t stand for Liam’s middle name, Alexander. It stood for Arthur. I was finally wearing the wedding ring that my Arthur had personally designed for me. Before I could even say a word. Liam scooped his son up and stormed toward the door, throwing one last insult over his shoulder. “I don’t care how well you play the part of the gentle, submissive wife. I will never, ever fall in love with a greedy, gold-digging opportunist like you!” Looking at the lavish New Year’s Eve dinner I had cooked, I suddenly lost my appetite entirely. I walked into the guest bedroom. I pulled out my phone and dialed Liam’s mother. “Mrs. Sterling. The five years are up. It’s time for you to give me access to the vault.” Mrs. Sterling let out a cold, cynical laugh through the speaker. “Fine. But according to our agreement, you are only allowed to remove one single item from that vault.” She paused, her voice softening into something that almost sounded like a sigh. “Chloe. If you weren’t so desperately obsessed with money, you truly would have made a far better daughter-in-law than that cheap flower girl.” I smiled, but I didn’t argue with her. I went to the Sterling ancestral estate. Surrounded by mountains of gold, diamonds, and priceless antiques… I picked up a tiny, insignificant-looking metal seal. Mrs. Sterling stared at me in absolute disbelief. “You… you’re actually only taking that piece of scrap metal?” “Do you have any idea that literally any other item in this room could guarantee you a life of unimaginable luxury?!” It was true. The Sterling family’s wealth was astronomical. But she didn’t know. The tiny, lead engine seal in my hand… Held the key to proving my fiancé’s innocence and restoring his dignity on the professional racing circuit. To me, that piece of metal was the true priceless treasure. Before leaving the estate, I handed Mrs. Sterling a signed divorce agreement. “Mrs. Sterling, my flight leaves early tomorrow morning. Before I go, please make sure Liam signs this.” Chapter 3 Mrs. Sterling fell silent for a long moment, then spoke with a heavy, muffled tone. “Fine. You and Liam are officially done. But as for that flower girl… I need you to go and put her in her place for me.” She slid her iPad across the table to me. The screen was plastered with breaking news alerts announcing Mia’s miraculous awakening. It was massive. It was everywhere. On the live broadcast feed. Liam had rented out the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel to celebrate Mia waking up. The three of them—Liam, Mia, and Leo—looked like the absolute picture of a warm, perfect family. The media was eating it up. They claimed it was the CEO’s unwavering love that brought Mia back from the brink of death. They were calling it a medical miracle. It was a narrative that was moving millions to tears online. And naturally, I—the “attempted murderer”—was dragged right back into the spotlight. The live chat was flooded with brutal, vitriolic attacks against me. “Chloe is a shameless, psychotic shrew! All she cares about is extorting money from the Sterling family! She’s nowhere near as sweet and understanding as the ‘mistress’!” “I can’t even imagine how much suffering Mia endured in that house as a former flower shop girl. If their roles were reversed, let’s see if Chloe would still act so arrogant!” “I hope the CEO divorces that violent bitch immediately and brings his true love home where she belongs!” When I walked into the grand ballroom, Mia was the first to spot me. She practically skipped over and linked her arm through mine. “Sister! I was just thinking, since we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on, why don’t we use tonight to bury the hatchet and make peace?” Her face was glowing with health. She didn’t look like someone who had just woken up from a five-year coma. But no one in the room dared to question the narrative. Someone in the crowd snickered loudly. “Chloe, look at how forgiving and magnanimous Mia is being. If you have any sense at all, you’ll pack your bags and get the hell out.” Amidst the mocking laughter of the elite crowd. Mia leaned in and lowered her voice to a venomous whisper in my ear. “See that? Even though I was ‘asleep’ for five years, I still hold vastly more power in this room than you, the legal wife.” “You… from now on, you’re going to be nothing more than a highly-qualified nanny for me and my son…” I didn’t even flinch. I just smiled back at her. “Your son? Are you absolutely certain Leo is actually Liam’s biological child?” The color instantly drained from Mia’s face, leaving her chalk-white. I turned my head, staring dead into her eyes, my voice dripping with profound implication. “Liam might be willing to play along with your fake coma and your pathetic victim act… but do you really think the internet will?” “Oh, wait, I almost forgot. Miss Mia wasn’t just selling flowers back in the day… she was selling a lot of other things, wasn’t she?” The arrogant, triumphant expression on Mia’s face shattered into a million pieces. The thing she hated most in the entire world was people bringing up her time as an escort. Because years ago, her parents had sold her to an elderly sugar daddy in the countryside to pay off their debts. The humiliation of her past surged violently to the surface. Mia suddenly threw her body backward, slamming herself heavily against the sharp edge of a banquet table. A glass of red wine tipped over, instantly staining her white designer gown like a fresh blood splatter. From the angle of the crowd, it looked exactly as if I had violently shoved her. Leo immediately charged forward, throwing his little body in front of her like an angry lion cub. “You evil witch! Don’t you dare bully my mommy!” Hearing the commotion, Liam rushed over. “What happened?!” Mia immediately used the tablecloth to cover her chest, her voice trembling, her eyes brimming with fragile tears. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing…” Seeing her covered in red wine and looking absolutely miserable, Liam spun around and glared furiously at me. “She just got out of the hospital, and this is how you treat her?!” Mia immediately slipped into her soft, pitiful victim persona. “It has nothing to do with my sister… I was just clumsy and fell…” Leo, his eyes red and teary, chimed in perfectly on cue. “Daddy, the bad witch said I’m a bastard! She said I don’t deserve to be your son…” Facing Liam’s explosive, murderous glare. I knew any attempt to explain myself was completely useless. The past five years had proven that fact over and over again. The more I tolerated them, the more psychotic and arrogant they became. So, I raised my head, met Liam’s furious stare head-on, and spoke with absolute, freezing calm. “First of all, I didn’t push her.” “Secondly, I came here today to inform you that I am officially resigning from the position of your personal punching bag.” The moment the words left my mouth. Mia suddenly opened her hand, revealing a palm covered in dark red blood. Before I could even process what was happening. SMACK! Liam, entirely consumed by blind rage, delivered a brutal, full-force slap across my face. “You don’t get to decide when you quit! I told you, the moment Mia woke up, you were going to personally apologize to her on your knees!” “Chloe, if you want to keep your title as Mrs. Sterling, drop to your knees right now, in front of everyone! If you do, I might consider the sacrifices you’ve made for this family and…” Before he could finish his sentence. I raised my hand and slapped him back with everything I had. I wiped the trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth, straightened my spine, and let out a chilling sneer. “Liam Sterling. Who the hell actually wants to be Mrs. Sterling?” Chapter 4 Liam’s fury skyrocketed to astronomical heights. The submissive, obedient, passive woman he had controlled for five years had seemingly vanished into thin air. Mia’s eyes were completely red. She looked at me timidly and whispered: “Sister, playing hard to get isn’t going to work on Liam…” “I know you look down on me, but Liam and I are truly, deeply in love. I’m begging you, please just step aside and let us be together, okay?” I was far too exhausted to watch her perform her cheap soap opera routine. Just as I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of a shiny, metallic object near Liam’s feet. I instinctively reached into the pocket where I had secured the engine seal. It was completely empty. I immediately changed direction, walking straight toward him. But right as I stepped forward… The massive crystal chandelier suspended directly above Liam’s head suddenly detached from the ceiling without any warning! Acting on pure, unfiltered adrenaline, I lunged forward, diving for the metal seal near Liam’s expensive leather shoes. CRASH! The massive chandelier smashed into a thousand pieces on the marble floor, just inches away from Liam and me. I clutched the seal tightly in my fist, but razor-sharp shards of crystal had sliced deep into my cheek, leaving several bleeding gashes. Liam was completely unharmed. Our eyes met. He stared at me in absolute, utter shock. It took him several seconds to force a few words through his tightly clenched jaw. “Are you fucking insane? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” “You just said you didn’t care about being Mrs. Sterling, but now you’re literally throwing your life away to save me?” “Chloe… if you would just stop pushing me away and admit how you really feel… I could love you the exact same way I love Mia…” Before he could finish his delusional, narcissistic monologue, I simply turned on my heel and walked out of the ballroom. I never expected Liam to personally drive me to the emergency room. Before the doctor even finished stitching my cheek, his phone had rung a dozen times. It was Mia. But he didn’t answer a single one. Catching a glimpse of the wedding ring on my left hand, Liam looked as if he wanted to say something, but swallowed it back. Finally, he forced out a stiff, awkward sentence. “Chloe, the diamond on that ring is too small. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Harry Winston and buy you a new one.” I was looking down at my phone, confirming my flight itinerary. I replied casually: “Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” The man frowned slightly, instinctively walking over to the window and answering the call. But the voice blaring through the speaker wasn’t Mia’s. It was Leo’s, crying hysterically, completely out of breath. I couldn’t hear exactly what the little terror said, but Liam suddenly charged across the room and clamped his hands violently around my throat. “Chloe! Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Twenty minutes later, Liam dragged me out of his sports car at an abandoned industrial warehouse on the edge of the city. Kneeling by the entrance were several men, their faces beaten to a bloody pulp by the Sterling family security team. And lying on the concrete floor, looking like a discarded rag doll, was Mia. Her clothes were torn, and her eyes were blank and vacant. But the exact second she saw me, she struggled to her feet and screamed at me hysterically: “Chloe, are you satisfied now?! You made my son watch me get assaulted?!” “He’s just a little boy! If you have a problem, take it out on me! If my son suffers any lasting trauma from this, I swear to God I will kill you!” Leo was clinging tightly to Liam’s leg, sobbing brokenly. “Daddy… daddy… those bad men said the evil witch paid them to kidnap me and sell me.” “They said… they said that as long as Mommy was dirty and ruined… no one would ever fight the evil witch for Daddy…” Liam was shaking with pure, volcanic rage. “Chloe. So the only reason you lured me to the hospital… was so you could send men to destroy Mia and my son?!” “You can’t have a child of your own, so you decided to destroy someone else’s?!” Based on the physical evidence at the scene, it was glaringly obvious that Mia hadn’t actually been assaulted. I couldn’t even be bothered to explain myself. I turned around to walk away. But the man’s voice echoed behind me, colder and more terrifying than the winter wind. “This time… you brought this on yourself!” A sharp, agonizing pain slammed into the back of my knees. Forced to my knees on the concrete, two massive bodyguards pinned my shoulders down, forcing my body lower and lower. They slammed my forehead brutally against the freezing, filthy concrete floor. Over and over again. Agonizing pain instantly exploded through my skull and radiated through my entire body. Blood rapidly began to pool on the concrete beneath me. Seeing my face contorted in agony, Liam’s rage seemed to slowly dissipate, replaced by a dark, complex, deeply conflicted expression. But just as he was about to order the guards to stop, Mia suddenly threw her arms around him, crying and screaming hysterically. “Arthur, I’m filthy now! I’m ruined! I don’t deserve you anymore! I don’t want to live…” She violently thrashed, trying to throw herself headfirst into the cinderblock wall. Seeing this, the little monster immediately copied her, attempting to slam his own head into the wall. “If Mommy dies, Leo doesn’t want to live either!” Liam panicked, instantly wrapping his arms tightly around both of them, his face filled with agonizing heartbreak. While I lay broken in a pool of my own blood, gasping for air. He didn’t spare me a single backward glance. After securing Mia and Leo safely in his SUV, Liam turned to his security detail and issued a cold, merciless order. “Lock her in here for three days. Let her sit in the dark and reflect on what she did.” The moment his taillights disappeared… The men who had been kneeling on the ground suddenly stood up and began advancing toward me like a pack of starving wolves. “Mrs. Sterling… we heard the CEO hasn’t touched you in five years. You must be absolutely starving, right? Come on… let the boys feed you…” The moment one of them reached out and violently ripped the collar of my blouse… The heavy, rusted steel doors of the warehouse were completely obliterated! A modified, matte-black rally car crashed through the corrugated metal, tires screaming against the concrete! The heavy front bumper slammed directly into the greasy thug standing over me, launching him a dozen feet into the air. Through the harsh, blinding glare of the headlights, a familiar, towering silhouette stepped out of the driver’s side door, walking steadily toward me. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

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The golden boy claimed I stole his Rolex, and my sister, Becca, didn’t just believe him—she went scorched earth. She didn’t just call the police; she hired the most ruthless prosecutor she knew to ensure the charges stuck. I was sentenced to three years. I walked into that correctional facility a younger brother and came out a convicted felon. Before the sentencing, even her own lawyer had tried to talk sense into her. “Just give him a scare, Becca. If he actually goes to prison, his life is over.” Becca hadn’t even blinked. “Stealing isn’t a lapse in judgment; it’s a character flaw. He needs to learn that actions have consequences. As for his future? I’m rich enough to be his safety net for the rest of his life once he’s learned his lesson.” Three years later, I walked through the gates. She was standing there, her eyes rimmed with red, reaching out to me. “You’ve learned your lesson now, right?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Come on. Let’s go home.” I didn’t say a word. I just took a step back, letting her hand hang in the empty air. I didn’t need her home. I’d found a new sister inside. And she was the only person who actually believed me.

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On my wedding day, my fiancé left me at the altar, announcing to a room full of Seattle’s elite that he had already eloped with Isabelle. As the whispers and pitying smirks of the crowd began to swallow me whole, my lifelong best friend, Silas, stepped onto the stage. He knelt before me, pulled out a diamond ring, and gave a confession so raw and soulful that it brought the room to a standstill. He asked me to marry him right then and there. Through tears of shock and gratitude, I nodded. Seven months into my pregnancy, a black SUV slammed into my car. Silas, a renowned trauma surgeon, performed the emergency operation himself. When I woke up, the world was sterile and gray. He held my hand, his eyes bloodshot, and told me the baby hadn’t made it. He told me the damage was too severe—that I would never be able to conceive again. I was shattered, a hollowed-out version of a woman. Silas sobbed against my chest, blaming himself for not protecting me, swearing he would never leave my side. But six years later, a voice recording on his phone accidentally played through my Bluetooth headset while he was in the shower. It was a conversation between him and a colleague from the hospital. “Silas, man, you went deep for Isabelle. Faking pregnancy records? Orchestrating a ‘controlled’ accident to force Natalie into premature labor just so you could hand your own child over to Isabelle? Do you have any regrets?” “Isabelle is biologically infertile,” Silas’s voice replied, devoid of the warmth he usually reserved for me. “Am I supposed to watch her get bullied by her in-laws for not providing an heir? My only regret is that the baby was a girl. If it had been a boy, Isabelle’s position in that family would be ironclad.” The devotion I had worshipped for six years was nothing but a calculated, blood-soaked lie. 1 The sound of the shower hissed against the tile, a steady, rhythmic thrum. Silas was in there, washing away the day’s surgeries. In my ears, the audio continued to loop. “But it was reckless,” the colleague’s voice said, sounding almost breathless. “What if that crash hadn’t just triggered labor? What if you’d killed them both?” “It wouldn’t have happened,” Silas replied. “Isabelle and I spent months running impact tests with a stunt driver. We knew the angle.” There was a pause, a sigh of pity from the other man. “But Natalie lost her uterus because of that ‘angle.’ She can’t have children now, Silas. She wanted that baby more than anything, and she loves you… Couldn’t you have just suggested adoption for Isabelle?” “No. It had to be my blood. I wouldn’t trust a stranger’s child to love Isabelle the way a part of me would.” “What if she finds out? What do you do then?” A long silence followed. I could almost picture Silas’s thoughtful, surgical expression. “She won’t. But if that day ever comes… I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.” The recording clicked off. Silence rushed back into the room, deafening and cold. I clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob, but the tears were already a deluge. A sickening chill spread from my scalp to the soles of my feet. While I had been decorating a nursery and picking out names, the man I called my husband had been plotting with his “muse” on how to steal the life growing inside me. The proposal at the wedding? It wasn’t about saving me. It was about keeping me away from the man Isabelle had stolen, ensuring I wouldn’t interfere with her “happily ever after.” I remembered the day Silas brought a small, cold bundle wrapped in a white blanket to my hospital bed. He had cried so convincingly, whispering how sorry he was that he couldn’t save her. I thought we were sharing the same grief. I didn’t know he had already spirited my daughter away to Isabelle, a gift to secure her status in her new marriage. What were my years of mourning worth? What was my pain to him? Just a necessary byproduct of his devotion to another woman. “Natalie?” Silas’s voice broke through the fog. I looked up. He was standing there, a towel low on his hips, steam curling off his skin. When he saw the streaks on my face, he dropped everything. He lunged toward me so fast his knee caught the sharp corner of the mahogany bedframe. Blood blossomed instantly on his skin, but he didn’t even flinch. He pulled me into his arms, his touch urgent and frantic. “Baby, what happened? Did I do something? Tell me how to fix it.” I pulled away, my movements stiff, mechanical. “It’s nothing,” I whispered, my voice sounding like it belonged to a ghost. “I just… I watched a movie. A tragedy. The ending was just so cruel.” Silas pulled me back into his chest, letting out a long, shaky breath of relief. He laughed, the sound warm and comforting—the sound of a predator in sheep’s clothing. “You scared me to death. Honey, stop watching those depressing stories. That’s not us. I’m going to make sure you’re happy for the rest of your life.” I used to find those words sweet. Now, they felt like a death sentence. “Your knee is bleeding,” I said, standing up. “I’ll get the ointment. And I’ll warm up some milk for you.” Silas had trouble sleeping. I’d read once that warm milk helped. No matter how late he worked, I always made sure a warm mug was waiting for him. It was my little ritual of love. Tonight, it would be my ritual of reckoning. 2 “You’re the best, Natalie,” he murmured, leaning back against the pillows. “Seriously, stick to comedies from now on. Hearing you laugh is the only thing that makes this life feel real.” As I turned my back, a fresh tear traced a hot line down my cheek. I never knew love could be a performance. I had been his most captivated audience member for half a decade, never once seeing through the mask. In the kitchen, I pulled a bottle of his prescription sleep aids from the back of the cabinet. I crushed a small dose into the milk. Not enough to hurt him, just enough to ensure he wouldn’t wake up while I went through his life with a fine-toothed comb. He drank it all, smiling at me over the rim of the mug. Within twenty minutes, his breathing went heavy and deep. I reached for his phone. It began to vibrate and flash—a “High Priority” notification on his messaging app. He always told me those were from the surgical residents, that he had to stay reachable to save lives. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I pressed his limp thumb against the sensor. The screen bloomed to life. A message from Isabelle. It wasn’t a text; it was a voice note. I hit play. A high-pitched, toddler’s voice filled the quiet room. “Daddy! Mommy told me to tell you she loves the diamond necklace you got her. It’s so sparkly!” I gripped the phone so hard the glass dug into my palm. My body shook with a violent, uncontrollable tremor. That voice… that was my child. I scrolled. I went back years. The deeper I went, the colder the world became. After Isabelle and Harrison humiliated me at the wedding, I had cut them off entirely. I had heard rumors, of course. That Isabelle had a “miracle” pregnancy, that Harrison had sent her to a private villa in Northern California for the duration to “avoid the stress of the city.” I remembered seeing the social media posts—Isabelle glowing, Harrison the doting father. During those months when I was a walking skeleton, drowning in the grief of my “dead” baby, Silas had been taking “business trips” to the coast. I never let Silas do housework. I thought his hands were sacred, meant only for the scalpel and healing. But the photos on his phone told a different story. There he was in a domestic apron, clumsily but lovingly stirring a pot of soup for Isabelle. There was a photo of his finger with a blister from a burn he’d gotten while cooking for her—a mark he’d told me was a “surgical mishap.” I saw videos of them walking on a sun-drenched beach at sunset, Silas carrying a little girl on his shoulders. Isabelle’s head was resting on his arm. They looked like the perfect American family. Five years of messages. Not a single day went by without them speaking. He replied to her within seconds, every time. No wonder he never let the phone out of his sight. No wonder he took it into the shower. It wasn’t about work. It was about her. I had dreamed of watching my child grow. I just never realized I’d be doing it through the digital window of the man who stole her. Then, I found the message from the day of my accident. Silas: “Isabelle, Natalie just delivered. I’m bringing her to you now. You’re finally a mother.” And what about me? I was the sacrificial lamb on the altar of their happiness. I wiped the salt from my lips and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years—an old friend from college who specialized in high-stakes family law. “I need a divorce agreement,” I whispered into the phone. “I need it by tomorrow morning.” “Natalie? Is everything okay?” “And that translation contract in Paris? The one I turned down? Call them back. Tell them I’ll be there in five days.” If Silas loved Isabelle so much, I was going to give him exactly what he wanted. I was going to leave him with the wreckage of his secrets. The next morning, Silas groaned as he woke up, rubbing his eyes. He nuzzled into the crook of my neck, his breath warm. “God, I went out like a light. Sorry, Natalie. I must be more burnt out than I thought.” He kissed my shoulder. “I’ve got a long shift, but it’s your mom’s birthday dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at six. And when we get home… I’m going to make up for falling asleep on you.” In the past, I would have blushed and teased him. Now, looking at him was like looking at a pile of medical waste. “Your knee looks better,” I said blankly. “Go to work, Silas.” The moment his car pulled out of the driveway, I headed to my lawyer’s office. 3 As I walked out of the firm with the papers in my bag, my lawyer’s words echoed in my head: “Getting her back won’t be easy, Natalie. On paper, she’s Harrison and Isabelle’s daughter. They are her legal guardians. Unless you or Silas admit to the fraud—and get a DNA test—the law sees her as theirs.” I had nothing. No hair samples, no pacifiers. I had never even seen her face in person. I drove to the hospital. I needed to see him, to find a way to get what I needed. But when I reached his floor, the head nurse gave me a confused look. “Dr. Sterling isn’t in his office. He’s downstairs at the playground with his wife and daughter.” “His… wife?” “Oh, yeah,” she said, leaning in with a gossipy smile. “We’ve all seen her. She’s stunning. Total class. They’re like the ‘it’ couple of the hospital.” Another nurse chimed in, eyes shimmering with envy. “Did you see that pink diamond he gave her? It was the size of a postage stamp. He’s so obsessed with her, it’s almost sickening. And their little girl? She looks like a literal porcelain doll.” They looked at me then, taking in my faded jeans and the dark circles under my eyes. “Anyway, can I help you with something, ma’am? Or are you just another patient with a crush on the doctor? Because trust me, honey, he only has eyes for one woman.” Their disdain was a physical weight. I smoothed my coat, my heart aching. Silas had always told me not to come to the hospital. He said the staff was catty, that he didn’t want me to be the subject of their bored rumors. He never bought me diamonds, either. He said they were “ostentatious” and that my “natural purity” didn’t need such things. Liars are so good at making poverty feel like a compliment. I found them at the hospital’s private park. Silas and Isabelle were standing by the swings, watching the children. Isabelle had her hand looped through his arm. “Does Harrison suspect anything?” Silas asked, his voice low. “No,” Isabelle laughed, a light, melodic sound. “Ever since Daisy arrived, he’s been wrapped around my finger. He buys me everything I want, he won’t let me go a night without holding me. He thinks I gave him a miracle, Silas. Thank you for making me untouchable.” Silas was silent for a moment. “As long as you’re happy,” he said, the bitterness in his voice barely masked by his devotion. “That’s all that ever mattered.” A little girl in a white lace dress ran toward them, slamming into Silas’s legs. “Daddy! Mommy! Daisy’s hungry!” She turned her head, catching sight of me. “Who’s that lady?” Silas froze. His eyes met mine, and for a split second, the mask shattered. He quickly disentangled himself from Isabelle and stepped toward me, his face a mask of awkward concern. “Natalie? What are you doing here?” He glanced back at Isabelle, then back at me. “Don’t get the wrong idea. This is Isabelle’s daughter. I’m her godfather, but she… she calls me Daddy sometimes. You know how kids are.” Isabelle walked up, a smirk playing on her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hi, Natalie. Long time. Don’t be mad at Silas—Daisy just gets confused. She’s so attached to him.” It was the same move she’d pulled at the wedding. “Don’t be mad at Harrison, Natalie. He just loves me too much.” I felt my hand twitch, an impulse to slap the smug look off her face. But before I could move, both Silas and a arriving Harrison—who had just walked up—stepped in front of her. That was the day Silas had “saved” me. But he hadn’t saved me from humiliation. He had saved Isabelle from me. 4 Silas pulled me a few dozen yards away, ensuring we were out of earshot of his “real” family. “Natalie, is something wrong? Why are you here?” My eyes were locked on Daisy. My daughter. She had my chin. She had the same slight curl in her hair that I had as a girl. “Nothing,” I lied, my voice trembling. “I just wanted to ask about the gift for your mother’s birthday tonight.” “Oh, for God’s sake, Natalie. You have great taste, just pick something. I trust you.” He noticed the envelope in my hand. “What’s that?” I hesitated. “Silas, I need to talk to you about Da—” “Silas! My stomach hurts!” Isabelle called out, interrupting me. “Come hold her, I need to sit down.” Silas didn’t even wait for me to finish my sentence. He turned and ran to her. “I told you not to drink that iced coffee! It’s your cycle, you need to stay warm. You’re like a child sometimes.” He looked back at me over his shoulder. “Natalie, go home. I need to take care of this. Isabelle shouldn’t be lifting the kid when she’s in pain. I’ll see you at the restaurant tonight.” He remembered her cycle. He remembered her coffee preferences. He remembered everything about her. That evening, I arrived at the restaurant. I had barely sat down when Silas walked in with Isabelle and Daisy in tow. My mother-in-law’s birthday dinner. A private family affair. And he brought his mistress. “What is she doing here?” I asked, my voice cold. Silas looked uncomfortable but stubborn. “Isabelle hasn’t eaten. Her stomach is sensitive, and Harrison is at a board meeting. It’s just one extra chair, Natalie. Don’t be difficult.” Isabelle was wearing a gown that cost more than my car, and around her neck sat the pink diamond. She sat right next to Silas’s mother, Beatrice. “Daisy, say hi to Grandma,” Isabelle cooed. Beatrice, who had spent six years making snide comments about my “failed” body, beamed at the child. “Oh, look at her! What a precious angel. You’re such a blessing, Isabelle. Not like some people who just take up space and can’t even produce an heir.” Silas’s sister, Tiffany, stared at the necklace. “Isabelle, that is stunning! I saw that at the Sotheby’s preview. Two million, right? Harrison really outdid himself.” Isabelle shot me a look of pure, unadulterated triumph. “Actually, it was a gift from the man who loves me most.” Tiffany turned her nose up at me. “Some people don’t just fail at motherhood; they fail at being a wife. Look at you, Natalie. You look like you shop at a thrift store. You’re an embarrassment to Silas.” Beatrice’s face hardened. She picked up her tea and flung the contents at me. The scalding liquid splashed across my hand, turning the skin a violent red. “Get out,” Beatrice hissed. “You’re a curse on this family. I can’t even look at you. Isabelle, sit on my left. Silas, you’re on my right.” Those were the seats for the son and his wife. Isabelle sighed dramatically. “Oh, Beatrice, don’t be too hard on Natalie. It’s not her fault she’s broken.” “It’s karma,” Beatrice snapped. “She must have been a monster in a past life to be punished like this. My poor Silas, stuck with a woman who can’t give him a legacy. He’ll divorce her soon enough.” Usually, Silas would offer a half-hearted defense. Tonight, he didn’t even hear them. He was too busy cutting Isabelle’s steak into bite-sized pieces. I stood up and walked out. Silas started to rise, but Isabelle grabbed his arm to toast his mother, and he sank back down. I sat in the cold concrete of the parking garage, trembling. I had forgotten that Silas had the car keys. “You know, don’t you?” Isabelle stood there, holding a half-empty cup of soda, looking down at me like I was something she’d stepped in. “I took it all, Natalie. Your fiancé, your husband, your child, your dignity. Even his family. Everything you thought was yours belongs to me.” 5 “Daisy is my daughter,” I said, standing up, my voice shaking with a rage so hot it felt like ice. “You stole her from me.” Isabelle laughed. “Your daughter? Daisy doesn’t even like you. Want to see?” She took the soda and poured the sticky, red liquid over her own head. She dropped the cup at my feet and let out a blood-curdling scream. Before I could blink, a heavy hand shoved me hard against a concrete pillar. Silas was there. He didn’t care about the mess; he pulled Isabelle into his arms, his eyes burning with fury as he looked at me. “Natalie! Are you insane?!” “She was just trying to be nice!” Isabelle sobbed into his chest. “She’s so jealous… she just snapped!” “She’s on her period, Natalie! She’s vulnerable and you attack her?!” Silas roared. I tried to speak, but a small force slammed into my legs. Daisy was there, kicking my shins with her little patent-leather shoes. “Bad lady! Leave my mommy alone!” she screamed, her face contorted in a mask of hate. “I hate you! You’re the broken lady who can’t have babies! You don’t deserve a baby!” I looked down at her. My eyes, my nose, my blood… and she was wishing me dead. I knelt down, reaching out. “Daisy, baby, I’m your—” Isabelle snatched her away. “Don’t touch her! Silas, she’s trying to kidnap my child!” Silas pinned my shoulders back. “Natalie, have you lost your mind?!” “Silas, look at me!” I screamed. “Tell me the truth! Whose baby is she?!” Silas’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second. Fear. Guilt. Then, the mask slid back on. “She’s Isabelle’s. Our baby died six years ago. I showed you the body. You’re having a psychotic break, Natalie. Apologize to Isabelle. Now.” Daisy stuck her tongue out at me. “I don’t want you to be my mommy. I hate you! If you touch my mommy again, I’ll kill you!” The world went silent. My husband loved another woman. My child wanted me dead. I looked at Silas, and for the first time, I didn’t see the man who saved me. I saw a monster. “You’re right,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I am insane for staying this long. I won’t bother you again.” I turned and walked away. “Wait, Natalie!” Silas called out, a sudden note of panic in his voice. “I’ll drive you home.” Isabelle whimpered, clutching his arm. “Silas, I’m cold… my stomach…” Silas hesitated for a second, watching my retreating back, then turned to lead Isabelle to the car. I went home, signed the divorce papers, and moved my flight to tomorrow morning. I called my lawyer. “Change of plans. I’m not doing the DNA test.” “What? Natalie, why?”

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My cousin came home for the holidays, and during a lull in the conversation, I asked the most standard, filler question imaginable: “So, Taylor, seeing anyone special lately?” Taylor didn’t even blink. She just rolled her eyes and snapped, “Why? You looking to hand yours over?” I froze, the air leaving my lungs. I had no idea how to respond to that kind of vitriol. My mom, bless her heart, walked over right then, totally missing the tension. “So, honey, when are we going to see you walk down the aisle?” Taylor’s expression went flat. “I’m broke. Unless you’re planning on funding the whole thing? How much you got for me, Aunt Beth?” “Oh, you silly girl,” Mom laughed, reaching out to pat her arm. “You should have said something. How much do you need? I’ll help you out.” “Let’s start with a cool fifteen million,” Taylor said, holding up a single finger, her lips curling into a mocking sliver of a smile. The smile on my mother’s face didn’t just fade; it calcified. My dad, completely out of the loop, looked up from his drink. “Wait, fifteen hundred? Taylor, you’ve been working in the city for years. You haven’t even saved fifteen hundred bucks?” Taylor let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “And you’ve been working for forty years, Uncle Jim. You got a hundred million in the bank?” Silence swallowed the room. It wasn’t just quiet; it was heavy, the kind of silence that rings in your ears. That night, lying in bed, I was scrolling through my feed when I stumbled across her account. She’d posted a new video. The caption read: The internet really is a goldmine. Finally found the perfect way to make these toxic relatives shut the hell up. 1 It was New Year’s Day, and as per tradition, we headed over to my Uncle Bill’s place. The moment we walked in, there was Taylor, sprawled on the velvet sofa, her face illuminated by the cold blue light of her iPhone. My dad and Uncle Bill immediately disappeared into the den to look at some vintage bourbon Bill had been bragging about. That left me and my mom on the sofa with Aunt Diane, sipping tea and exchanging the usual pleasantries. After a while, the older women retreated to the kitchen to check on the roast, leaving me alone with Taylor. She hadn’t looked up once. Trying to bridge the gap—and honestly, just trying to be a decent cousin—I tried a bit of lighthearted teasing. “So, Taylor,” I said, “seeing anyone special?” She didn’t even tilt her head. “Why? You looking to hand yours over?” I felt like I’d been slapped. I sat there, mouth agape, searching for a comeback that wasn’t there. My mom walked back in just then, caught in the crossfire of a conversation she hadn’t heard the start of. “So, Taylor, when are you getting married? Any plans?” Taylor’s tone remained icy. “I’m broke. You want to lend me some cash for a wedding?” Mom clapped her hands together, her maternal instincts kicking into high gear. “Sweetie, don’t be shy. If you’re short on cash, I’m your aunt. Just tell me what you need.” Taylor’s lips twitched. “A small target,” she said, echoing a viral meme about wealth. “Fifteen million.” She held up one finger. My mom spends enough time on Facebook to recognize a “rich person joke” when she hears one, but the sheer audacity of it left her speechless. Her face went stiff. Right then, my dad and Uncle Bill walked back into the living room. Dad caught the tail end and Taylor’s finger in the air. He took her literally. “Fifteen hundred?” Dad asked, his voice thick with genuine concern. “Taylor, you’ve been in the city all this time… you really haven’t saved fifteen hundred dollars?” The room turned into a pressurized chamber. “Uncle Jim,” Taylor said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness, “you’ve been working for decades. Do you have a hundred million in your savings?” My parents traded a look of pure bewilderment. They didn’t know how to handle someone who treated social graces like a blood sport. “Hey,” Uncle Bill barked, his face reddening. “Watch your mouth. That’s your uncle.” “He asked first,” she shrugged, sliding her eyes back to her phone. My mom, the eternal peacemaker, stepped in. “Alright, alright. It’s the holidays. Just a joke. Let’s have a nice dinner, okay?” But the damage was done. For the rest of the night, no one dared to speak to her. We finished our meal in a hurry and made our excuses to leave as soon as the coffee was served. Back home, as I was decompressing in bed, I saw Taylor’s TikTok update. It was a flashy, upbeat video with “Celebration” playing in the background. The text overlay read: The internet really is a goldmine. Finally found the perfect way to make these toxic relatives shut the hell up. My heart sank. She couldn’t possibly be talking about us, I thought. But as I clicked into the comments, a cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. She wasn’t just talking about us. She was making us the villains of her story. 2 Taylor had taken every interaction from that afternoon, twisted it, and fed it to the internet. My aunt and her family came over today and immediately started the marriage interrogation. I shut down my cousin, then my aunt, then my uncle. Didn’t miss a single one lol… Seeing their faces was priceless. Finally, some peace and quiet. Block your toxic relatives. (PS: DM me if you want the scripts I used!) I scrolled through the comments. It was a bloodbath of “Yass queen” and “I need this energy for my family dinner tomorrow.” You’re a legend. I’m literally taking notes. Relatives are arriving in an hour and I feel powerful now. This is the best thing I’ve seen all year! In just three hours, she had over sixty thousand likes. Watching her reply to people—acting like some kind of social justice warrior for the “oppressed” single woman—made my blood boil. Taylor is only a year younger than me. We grew up like sisters. At least, I thought we did. As we got older, life pulled us in different directions—different schools, different cities. We only see each other a few times a year now. She’s thirty-three, living in the city, and has been single as long as I can remember. My Aunt Diane had called me several times over the last year, sounding frantic, asking if I knew anyone “nice” I could set Taylor up with. I asked that question out of genuine interest. I had a coworker, a guy named Mark, who I thought would be perfect for her. I was trying to help. And my parents? They weren’t “interrogating” her. They were doing what people in our family have done for a hundred years: they were checking in. They were showing they cared. But to Taylor, we were monsters. We were “toxic” intruders, poking at her privacy just to entertain ourselves. I sat there, staring at my phone, the betrayal stinging. I had kept her in my heart, and she had hung me out to dry for views. Finally, I couldn’t take it. I commented: Not every question from a relative comes from a place of malice. Sometimes it’s just love. Let’s not demonize family for trying to connect. My husband walked in, noticing my white-knuckled grip on the phone. I explained everything to him, and he spent the next hour trying to talk me down, telling me it wasn’t worth the energy. I fell asleep eventually, but when I woke up the next morning, my phone was a graveyard of notifications. My comment had been picked up by the mob. I was being shredded. People were “wishing” me a life full of relatives exactly like the ones Taylor described. I went to type a rebuttal, only to find the “User Not Found” screen. Taylor had blocked me. I wanted to call her, but my husband stopped me. “It’s the holidays, Riley. Don’t blow up the whole family over a TikTok. Just let it go. We just won’t see her as much. She’s just a ‘distant relative’ now.” I tried to listen. For the next few days, we avoided Bill’s house. We took the kids to the movies, went ice skating, and tried to ignore the digital world. Then, my phone started vibrating incessantly. It wasn’t a call. It was the family group chat. 99+ notifications. I tapped in, and my jaw hit the floor. 3 Aunt Margaret: What the hell is this? Delete it right now! Tyler: @Taylor, this is seriously messing with our lives. Delete the video and apologize. Now. Aunt Margaret: We were only looking out for you. No stranger on the internet cares if you live or die. How can you be so ungrateful? Brooke: @Taylor, you went too far. My friends are sending me this video. I’m embarrassed to leave my house. Brooke: The video is edited to make us look like monsters. This is a total distortion of what happened. Take it down before this gets worse. Tyler: @Taylor PICK UP THE PHONE!!!! Tyler: Otherwise, I am suing you for defamation and unauthorized use of our likeness. You have three minutes. My head was spinning. I scrolled back to the top of the unread messages and found the link. The thumbnail hit me like a physical blow. It was Brooke, Tyler’s wife. The headline: Toxic Relatives Part 2: Using Magic to Defeat the Dark Arts. The video started with Tyler’s family walking through the door. Then, a hidden camera shot of Aunt Margaret sitting on the sofa, minding her own business, eating some sunflower seeds. “So, how much did you make this year?” Margaret’s voice asked. Taylor’s voice: “Not much. I was actually hoping to borrow some from you.” “Oh, Taylor. You went to school for all those years and you don’t even make six figures? You should just move back home and work for the county. At least you’d be close.” “Aunt Margaret, is your pension six figures? No? Maybe you should go back to work. Sixty is the new forty, right? Keep that hustle alive.” Then, Brooke entered the frame. The camera was pointed directly at her. Brooke is nearly forty. She and Taylor have never had much in common, so Brooke led with the same question my mom had. “You’re not getting any younger, Taylor. Why aren’t you married? Do you want me to set you up? I know a few guys.” Then, Taylor’s voice, sharp as a razor, came from behind the camera: “Why don’t you have a kid yet? My friend was married for five years without one, went to that clinic downtown, and boom—twins. Want me to give you the number, Brooke? Maybe they can fix whatever’s wrong.” In the video, Brooke’s face didn’t just fall—it shattered. Everyone in the family knows that Brooke’s inability to conceive is her deepest wound. Five years ago, she was pregnant with twins, but it was ectopic. She almost died on the operating table, and she hasn’t been able to get pregnant since. Aunt Margaret had been incredibly supportive, never once pressuring her, just telling her to heal. And Taylor had just weaponized that trauma on a holiday, right to Brooke’s face, while secretly filming it. In the video, Brooke grabbed her purse and walked out without a word. Margaret followed, pausing only to say, “I am never coming back to this house.” Taylor’s voice trailed after them: “Fine. Leave. Just take your opinions with you.” The video ended there. It was less than a minute long, but it perfectly captured Brooke’s devastation. It already had 400,000 likes and ten thousand comments. Taylor hadn’t just made a video. She had burned the family down for content. 4 The group chat was a war zone. Finally, Uncle Bill chimed in. Uncle Bill: Look, it’s the holidays. We’re family. She just made a little video, she didn’t realize it would go viral. Tyler responded instantly. Tyler: A little video? She’s humilitating us for clout. She’s thirty-three years old. She needs to face the consequences. Tyler: Delete it and apologize, or we’re going to court. Uncle Bill sent three voice notes in a row, his voice sounding small and desperate. “Tyler, don’t get worked up. We’re talking to her. She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know better. Don’t make a big deal out of this.” “It’s New Year’s! Let’s just move on.” “Tyler, do me a favor. I’m handling it. The video will be gone in an hour. Don’t do anything rash.” We all took a collective breath. Tyler seemed to settle down, saying that as long as it was gone, he’d drop it. But Taylor wasn’t done. That evening, the video wasn’t deleted. Instead, she posted a third one. It reached 100,000 likes in an hour. This one was a “hidden” recording of Brooke and Aunt Diane talking in the kitchen. Brooke was venting about a difficult client at her boutique—nothing scandalous, just normal small business stress—but Taylor had framed it as Brooke “badmouthing her customers.” The comments were a bonfire. People were already identifying Brooke’s boutique. Her actual clients were commenting, saying they felt “betrayed.” There were calls to boycott the shop. The group chat exploded. Brooke posted screenshots of clients asking for refunds and canceling their appointments. Tyler: @Taylor Is this what a human being does? What did Brooke ever do to you? Tyler: @Taylor Stop hiding. Talk to us! Even my parents couldn’t stay quiet anymore. Everyone was begging her to stop. The group chat had fifty people in it—aunts, uncles, cousins—all of them taking turns calling Taylor. Finally, she replied. Taylor: I’m just a ‘creator’ documenting my life. Is that a crime? Taylor: What did I do wrong? Everyone is attacking me. I didn’t make Brooke say those things. The words came out of her mouth, not mine. Taylor: Also, stop harassing me. Anyone who calls me again is going in the next video. Tyler lost it. He typed out a string of curses I’d never seen him use. Tyler: Taylor, I am saying this one last time. Delete the videos or I will sue you for everything you’re worth. Privacy, likeness, defamation—I’m a lawyer, remember? Don’t test me. The chat went silent. My mom called me, frantic, saying Uncle Bill wasn’t picking up. She wanted to go over there with Aunt Margaret to stage an intervention. I was about to tell her to stay away when a new message popped up in the chat. It was a photo. A police report filing. Tyler had followed through.

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To pay off my father’s eight-million-dollar gambling debt, I married Buck Miller—a rough-edged industrialist who could barely read a balance sheet, let alone a menu in French. He wanted the prestige of a Ivy League trophy wife; I wanted the bottomless pit of his bank account. I loathed his lack of culture. I hated the way he smacked his lips when he ate. I treated his black card like a weapon, wielding it to reign over our estate like a bored, vengeful queen. He never complained. Whenever I’d max out a limit, he’d just offer a rugged, dimpled smile. “You look beautiful, Callie,” he’d say, his voice a gravelly rumble. “The mine just moved another shipment. Spend whatever you want. There’s plenty more where that came from.” On New Year’s Eve, Buck went back to the site to hand out the holiday bonuses. There was a collapse. He didn’t make it out. That January was the most peaceful month of my life. The house finally stopped smelling like coal dust and cheap tobacco. I spent my days in full glam, planning a trip to the Mediterranean where I intended to spend his fortune on designer clothes and a revolving door of handsome, well-built men. But on the seventh day after his death—the traditional day of mourning I’d planned to ignore—his lawyer arrived with a key to a private safe. Inside was a single bank card loaded with fifty million dollars. Resting on top of it was a scrap of paper, the handwriting shaky and uneven: [For my girl. This money is clean. Take it and go live the life you’ve always wanted.] 1 The lawyer placed the key on my marble coffee table. Next to it sat the sleek, titanium card. “Mr. Miller gave me very specific instructions before he passed,” the lawyer said, his voice measured. “The fifty million in this account has been through a rigorous, independent audit. It wasn’t touched by any high-risk private loans, nor did it come from any of the unregulated surplus profits from the deeper veins.” He paused, looking me in the eye. “He wanted me to tell you that this money is ‘clean.’” I picked up the card. It was cold to the touch. Even in death, Buck remembered my obsession. I had always acted like his money was tainted by the soot of the mines, like the cash he carried was stained by the spit and sweat of the workers. So, he had laundered it through the purest channels possible, just for me. I tucked the card into my designer clutch and looked up. “Is that all?” The lawyer blinked, seemingly unsettled by the fact that my eyes were perfectly dry. “That’s it for the cash. The real estate and mining rights are caught up in a more complex probate. Mr. Miller’s advice was that if the ‘dirty’ assets became too much of a headache to manage, you should simply walk away. Just take the fifty million and go.” I nodded. “Fine. See yourself out.” Suddenly, the front door was kicked open with a violent thud. The heavy bronze doors shuddered against the wall. A group of people surged into the foyer. Buck’s relatives. Leading the pack was his Uncle Silas, wearing a suit that looked two sizes too small and was splattered with dried mud. His boots, heavy and caked with grime, marched across my hand-woven Persian rug, leaving a trail of black filth. Behind him were half a dozen men and women, some carrying duffel bags, others clutching heavy tools as if they were going to dismantle the house right then and there. Silas pointed a thick, calloused finger at my face. “Hand it over, Callie! Buck is dead, and Miller money isn’t staying with some gold-digging outsider!” A woman behind him spat on the floor. “The little princess is finally showing her true colors! If Buck hadn’t paid off your daddy’s debts, you’d be rotting in some basement right now! You think you’re just gonna run off with the loot? Not a chance!” I didn’t move from the sofa. I just stared at the glob of phlegm on the cream-colored wool rug. It was a sickening yellowish-green, a direct assault on my senses. I felt a wave of visceral nausea. When Buck was alive, he was loud and unrefined, but he never dared to spit in this house. He knew I was a germaphobe. He’d go out to the courtyard even if he had a hacking cough. Now that he was gone, these vultures were turning my sanctuary into a pigsty. Silas took my silence for fear. He lunged for the bag on the table. “I’ll take that!” I grabbed the cup of scalding Earl Grey from the tray and threw it. The tea splashed across Silas’s hand. He let out a guttural howl, clutching his wrist as he stumbled back. “You bitch! You burned me! Break it! Break everything! I want to see where she’s hiding the rest of it!” The group raised their wrenches and clubs. I pulled out my phone and hit the speakerphone button. “911, what is your emergency?” the operator’s voice filled the room. I spoke clearly, my voice cold as ice. “I am at 101 Highland Drive. I have a group of armed individuals committing a home invasion and attempted robbery. My name is Callie Mercer. I have high-definition security footage of the entire event.” The room went dead silent. Silas’s eyes widened. “Robbery? I’m his uncle! Taking what belongs to the family isn’t robbery!” I hung up and tossed a folder of documents onto the table. “Buck’s will is on file with the probate court. I am the sole beneficiary. You have no legal claim to his estate. Forcing your way into a private residence with weapons is a felony. In this state, armed robbery carries a minimum of ten years.” I stood up, smoothing the silk of my skirt. “And that tea? That was self-defense against an attempted assault.” I looked at the head of my security detail, who had finally appeared at the door. “Block the exits. No one leaves until the police arrive.” The security team moved in. The relatives, who had been so emboldened moments ago, began to panic. Silas, clutching his red, blistered hand, hissed at me. “You’re cold, Callie. Buck’s body isn’t even cold yet, and you’re treating his blood like criminals!” I looked at him with nothing but contempt. “Is he cold, Silas? Or are you just hungry? You sucked his blood while he was breathing, and now you want to pick his bones clean before he’s even in the ground.” The police arrived minutes later. Silas and his crew were hauled away, still screaming obscenities. When the house was finally quiet, I pointed at the stain on the rug. I looked at the maid. “Burn the rug. And sanitize every inch of the floor they stepped on. Three times.” She nodded, trembling as she started to work. I sat back down in the empty living room. Buck was gone. The man who smacked his lips, snored like a freight train, and smelled of cheap Marlboros had vanished. There would be no more rough, sandpaper-calloused hands trying to brush my cheek. No more soot-stained jackets hanging next to my cashmere coats. The air was finally free of that heavy, industrial scent I’d hated for five years. I felt the cold card in my purse. [Buck, you lived a dirty life, but you certainly washed this money clean.] It was probably the most sophisticated thing he’d ever done. 2 Ten o’clock at night. The villa was so quiet I could hear the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. I’d sent the staff home early. I walked to the wine cellar and reached for the top shelf. There was a bottle of Romanee-Conti that Buck had bought two years ago. He didn’t know a thing about wine; he just knew it was the most expensive thing in the shop. He’d brought it home like a puppy bringing a trophy to its master, only for me to mock him. I remembered saying, “A man who drinks beer out of a can shouldn’t touch a bottle like this. You’d just be wasting it. Don’t touch my collection. Your hands will smudge the labels.” He never touched that cabinet again. I uncorked the bottle now, pouring the dark, ruby liquid into a decanter. I walked through the house, glass in hand, savoring the silence. It was peaceful. Usually, at this hour, I’d hear his heavy boots in the foyer. He’d always try to be quiet, which made it worse—the sound of a two-hundred-pound man trying to tiptoe. He’d leave his mud-caked work boots outside the door and walk in his socks, terrified of marking the floors. “Callie! I’m home!” he’d bellow. “The mess hall had steak tonight, but I skipped the garlic so I wouldn’t bother you.” Then he’d disappear into the guest bathroom, scrubbing his skin raw with lye soap, washing himself three times before he’d even think about coming near me. Then he’d poke his head into the bedroom and ask, “Hey, Callie? Is it okay if I sleep on the floor in here tonight?” Now, the foyer was spotless. The shower was dry. The voice was gone. I took a sip of the wine. It was silky, with notes of black cherry and earth. This was the life I had wanted. No coal dust. No noise. I pushed open the door to his study. It was the one room I had rarely entered while he was alive. There was a locked drawer in his desk. I’d always assumed it held his “private” stash—cash he didn’t want the auditors to see, or maybe photos of some girl he kept on the side in the mining town. That’s what men like him did, wasn’t it? Now that he was dead, there was no point in secrets. I grabbed a letter opener and pried the lock. The drawer slid open. There was no money. No photos of mistresses. Just a chaotic mess of junk. Broken pencil stubs—hundreds of them, in varying lengths, piled in a corner. And a thick stack of crumpled paper. It was cheap, yellowed ledger paper from the mines. The pages were covered in black, smudged marks. Charcoal and graphite. I frowned, pinching a page between two fingers. My skin was immediately coated in a layer of black dust. I shook my hand in disgust. The drawing on the page was a messy, dark blur. I couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be. Buck, the man who could barely sign his own name, was trying to be an artist? The drawer smelled of raw carbon and sweat. It figured. You could take the man out of the mine, but you couldn’t take the coal out of the man. Even in a multi-million dollar mansion, he was still playing with dirt. I grabbed the whole stack of papers and the pencil nubs and shoved them into the trash can. A cloud of black dust rose into the air. I held my breath and backed away, scrubbing my fingers with a silk handkerchief. The soot had settled into the fine lines of my fingerprints, stubborn and dark. I felt a sudden, sharp spike of irritation. I pulled out my phone. I wanted to talk to someone—someone sophisticated. I thought of a young painter I’d met at a gallery opening last month. He was pale, soft-spoken, and smelled of expensive cologne. I scrolled through my contacts, stopping just above the name I had saved as “The Ogre.” Buck’s contact photo was just a picture of a mine entrance. Whenever I wouldn’t pick up his calls, he’d send these pathetic texts: Callie, I’m at the surface now. Got a signal. You eat yet? I locked the screen and tossed the phone onto the sofa. The wine in my glass suddenly tasted flat. I looked at the empty room and whispered, “You’re so annoying, Buck. Even dead, you’re leaving me a mess to clean up.” 3 On the third day, the morgue called for a formal identification. I did my full routine. The whitest foundation, a bold red lip. I wore a vintage Chanel black dress and ten-inch Louboutins. To mask the stench of a place like that, I practically bathed in perfume. The waiting room was packed with families—other victims of the collapse. They wore drab, dusty coats, huddled on the plastic chairs, sobbing and wiping their faces with dirty tissues. I stood in the center of the room like a peacock in a graveyard. An attendant approached me, holding out a surgical mask. “Mrs. Miller, just a warning. In a mining accident… the remains aren’t always… whole.” I took the mask, glancing at the cheap blue fabric with disdain, but I didn’t put it on. “I’ll be fine. Lead the way.” He pushed open the heavy steel doors. The smell hit me instantly—formalin mixed with a metallic, sweet rot. I pressed my lace handkerchief to my nose. The attendant pulled out a tray and unzipped a yellow body bag. “This is Buck Miller.” I looked down. My pupils contracted. There was no trace of the boisterous, rugged man I knew. It was just a mangled mass of flesh. His face was encrusted with coal dust—a blackness so deep it had become part of his skin, something no amount of scrubbing could ever remove. Part of his skull had collapsed. His lips were pulled back, revealing teeth stained with grit. The suit he’d been wearing—the one he always put on just to see me—was now just shredded rags matted with black blood. Dirty. He was so incredibly dirty. It was the foulest thing I had ever seen. My stomach did a violent somersault. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t heartbreak. It was pure, physiological revulsion. I pushed the attendant aside and doubled over. “Ugh.” I retched. The espresso I’d had for breakfast splattered across my eight-hundred-dollar shoes. The grieving families in the hallway went silent, staring at me in shock. I heard a whisper from the corner. “Look at her. Her husband is lying there and she’s not even crying. She’s just disgusted.” “Rich people,” another muttered. “No soul.” I heard them. I didn’t care. I straightened up, wiping the corner of my mouth with the handkerchief Buck used to say was “pretty as a cloud.” Then I tossed the silk into the trash. I looked at the hand sticking out of the bag. Two fingers were missing. The fingernails were caked in black mud. I remembered that hand reaching out to help me with my dress once, only for me to kick it away. Don’t touch me. You’re filthy. Buck had just pulled his hand back, wiped it on his jeans, and smiled sheepishly. Right. Sorry, Callie. I’m a mess. I won’t touch. Now, he was just a pile of unwanted refuse. I looked at the attendant. “It’s him. Burn it.” “You want the cremation now? No viewing? No service?” “No. He wasn’t a dignified man in life, and he’s a horror show in death. Don’t scare people with this. Just burn it and send me the urn.” I turned and walked out. My heels clicked sharply against the concrete. [See, Buck? I thought. You never learned how to be clean. You died a mess. How am I supposed to cry for something so foul?] 4 The first thing I did when I got home was kick off those stained shoes and throw them in the outdoor bin. I walked barefoot into the living room. My phone was buzzing. Dad. I picked up. My father’s voice was high-pitched, a mix of frantic anxiety and greed. “Callie! I saw the news! That coal-monkey finally kicked it? What’s the word on the payout? What did the lawyers say?” I sat on the sofa, staring at the black urn sitting on the coffee table. “It’s done.” “How much? Is it a hundred million? Your brother needs a place in the city, and his fiancée is demanding a half-million-dollar ring. Send me twenty million. No, thirty!” I didn’t say a word. My mind flashed back five years. I was the “Golden Girl” of my university, on a full scholarship, standing in front of the library in a white sundress. Then my father showed up with a group of debt collectors, grabbing me by the hair and dragging me toward a car. “Forget school!” he’d screamed. “I owe eight million, and I’m selling you to that mine owner to square the debt!” I had screamed, struggled, begged for help. No one moved. Until a mud-splattered Range Rover roared onto the curb, cutting off the collectors. Buck Miller jumped out, carrying a heavy canvas bag. He slammed it onto the hood of their car. The zipper burst, revealing stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He pointed at me and roared at the collectors, “Take the money! The girl stays with me!” That first night in the “marriage” suite, I held a pair of sewing scissors to my own throat. I yelled at him, “Don’t come near me! You’re a rapist! I’ll die before I let you touch me!” Buck, looking ridiculous in a tuxedo that was too tight for his frame, stood in the doorway, hands raised. “I… I didn’t mean for it to be like that. Your dad said you wanted to marry me.” “I was forced! You’re a stupid, uneducated grunt! You make me sick!” Buck rubbed the back of his neck, his face turning a deep, embarrassed red. “Then… then I won’t touch you. You’re a college girl. You’re smart. I’m just a guy who digs holes. I’ll just keep you in the house… like a lucky charm. Just seeing you makes me happy.” That night, he actually took a blanket and slept on the sofa. He was six-foot-three and the leather couch was tiny; he looked like a giant, clumsy bear trying to hide in a shoe box. On the phone, my father was still ranting. “Answer me, you brat! The coal-monkey is dead, we’re finally free! Get the money and bring it home. Don’t you dare keep it all for yourself!” “Free?” I repeated the word. I looked at the cold urn. My chest felt suddenly, inexplicably tight. For the first time in my life, I screamed at my father. “His name wasn’t coal-monkey! His name was Buck!” My father went quiet for a second, then hissed, “Why are you defending a dead man? He was a low-life pit-digger! He wasn’t worth your brother’s pinky finger!” “He was cleaner in his little finger than this whole family combined!” I slammed the phone down and blocked his number. I threw the device across the room and suddenly, without warning, I was sobbing. Why was I crying? Was it the relief of being free from my family? Or was it because the only shield I ever had against those vampires had finally crumbled? The doorbell rang. It was the lawyer again. He was holding a different envelope. “Mrs. Mercer, this is the second set of documents Mr. Miller left for you. He said I should only give these to you once the ‘family business’ was handled and you’d had time to settle.” I wiped my eyes and took the folder. “What is it? More money?” The lawyer shook his head, his expression grim. “No. It’s Mr. Miller’s medical records.” “Medical records?” I pulled out the papers. On top was a CT scan of a pair of lungs. They were pitch black, covered in a spiderweb of shadows and nodules. Underneath was the diagnosis: Stage IV Silicosis. Black Lung. Chronic respiratory failure.

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