My mom’s research team created an app that, once installed on a child, could monitor and even control their every move, anytime, anywhere. As my mom’s only daughter, I was forced to beta test this app. From that moment on, my life was no longer my own. Sometimes just spacing out while studying would get me remotely shocked until I wet myself. Watching me in such a pathetic state, my mom would only remark coldly: “The methods I’ve designed are all scientific. You just don’t understand.” Today is my birthday, and also the day of this app’s official launch. She demanded I appear before the world in perfect condition to showcase her achievement. “I’m doing this for your own good. One day, you’ll thank me!” But Mom, yesterday I already starved myself to death. What you’re controlling now is nothing but a corpse. Before dawn even broke, I was jolted awake by an electric current. The next second, I got out of bed and walked mechanically to the balcony. I squeezed out exactly one-third of toothpaste, filled a cup with ice water, brushed each tooth for precisely 30 seconds, then wiped my face with a damp towel—three circles left, three circles right. Then I picked up the French textbook beside me and began reading aloud. At that moment, my mom’s satisfied voice came through my earpiece: “Well done. You really are an obedient child. As a reward, I bought you new clothes!” I looked at my closet filled with identical styles and lengths in different colors, and smiled bitterly without a sound. But the next second, my bitter smile was interrupted by my roommate. “Are you ever going to stop? Every single day you wake up at four and disturb everyone! You might not need sleep, but we do!” My roommate had been woken up countless times. She hadn’t had a single good night’s sleep all semester. I felt deeply guilty and wanted to apologize, but my vocal cords seemed hijacked by someone else, unconsciously cursing at my roommate. “It’s already four o’clock and you’re still sleeping—lazy as a pig! If you want to be a worthless person with no ambition, fine, but don’t try to drag me down with you!” My roommate’s face instantly flushed red with anger, and she furiously plugged her ears. No, those weren’t my words. My heart was bleeding, but my mouth kept reading aloud, word after word. For some reason, my voice sounded like a rusty iron gate creaking back and forth, particularly grating in the silent night. I went on like this for two solid hours before stopping. I wasn’t allowed even a sip of water, and my lips looked bloody and cracked. Then my mom’s voice came through the earpiece. “Aria Sterling, what’s going on? Why am I seeing all your vital signs at zero here? What did you tamper with?” My body didn’t respond. “Say something! Are you mute? When did I teach you to treat your elders this way? Why won’t you listen to me again!” My mom’s voice grew impatient. That’s not it! Seeing my mom angry, I instinctively wanted to explain, but I couldn’t open my mouth. “Ugh!” She sighed, her tone softening. “Aria, today is the most important day of my life. Please don’t throw a tantrum, okay? This isn’t just for me—it’s for your future too!” I tried to speak, but still couldn’t make a sound. The next second, a sharp screaming sound pierced my ears, like nails scraping a blackboard. “Are you just like your black-hearted father, waiting to watch me fail? How did I give birth to such a bastard! All this hard work—who am I doing it for?” “Since you’re determined to go against me today, fine! I’m activating the highest level right now. You asked for this!” When I heard “highest level,” my heart trembled. Because this meant I would become completely puppeteered by the app, forced to follow every planned route. If I had any thought of breaking the rules, even just turning my head during class, I’d receive severe electric shocks. There were even several times I was shocked into losing bladder and bowel control in front of everyone. But I suddenly realized—I didn’t need to fear this anymore. Because Mom, I’m already dead.

For the past while, my mom had been busy with her team preparing for today’s launch, so she’d been less vigilant in controlling me. When I realized I could occasionally break the rules, I stopped eating anything—for seven days and nights straight. Until last night, I finally starved to death in my sleep. Yet I felt this was the most relaxed period of my entire life. Because it meant from now on, I would never be controlled by my mom again. But unexpectedly, when I woke up, I had become a wisp of soul, floating above and watching my corpse move like a puppet show. Without reason, I suddenly felt a trace of the ridiculous and pathetic. Is this how others saw me too? [Activating Electric Shock Level 5 Mode] A mechanical voice sounded in my ears, and electric current instantly spread through my entire body. But now I was just a pile of rotting flesh with no reaction whatsoever. My mom went crazy, screaming hysterically in my ear as if I’d committed some heinous crime. “Why won’t you obey? Do you know how hard it was for me to raise you?” “To nurture you, I went without eating, without decent clothes! I gave you the best of everything—what more could you possibly want? How can there be such a selfish child in this world?” Seeing I still had no reaction, my mom directly controlled me to swing my palm, using all my strength to slap my own face. Then she controlled my vocal cords, making me speak while hitting myself. “Mom, I was wrong. Mom, I’m sorry.” This went on for nearly five minutes before my mom finally calmed down. Looking at my swollen, red face, a trace of heartache flashed in my mom’s eyes. Her tone softened again, like a gentle mother advising her daughter—completely different from her crazed state moments ago. “Good, now you know you were wrong. It hurts me more than it hurts you. Young trees won’t grow straight without pruning! Everything I do is for your own good!” “Alright, now go put some medicine on, then go eat breakfast!” “I specially woke up before dawn today to make the most nutritious breakfast for you and had it delivered to your school cafeteria! You must be in your best condition for the launch today!” Just as she was about to hang up, she added one more thing. “I’m the person who loves you most in this world! Without rules, nothing can be accomplished! Your future self will thank me!” But Mom, there is no future. I’m destined never to become the perfect daughter you imagine. Just like that, following the app’s planned route, I walked step by step to the cafeteria. I got a specially made nutritious breakfast that only I had access to in the entire school, sat in the most remote corner, swallowing food while memorizing vocabulary. Just then, my head was violently shoved into the steaming hot milk. “You bitch! Are you trying to kill us? Do you know my parents are planning to use that app your psycho mom developed!” That’s right—this app had already attracted widespread attention before even launching. Simply because I, as the first volunteer, had used the app and stopped sleeping in, stopped playing games, stopped talking back to my parents. Moreover, my academic performance had jumped from barely passing grades to having my pick of top universities—a bright future ahead. Such a great app—how many parents were eagerly waiting for its release just to install it on their own children? It could be said that all these future victims were harmed because of me. I desperately wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t speak, so I could only let them punch and kick me. I was already a pile of rotting flesh anyway. If they could vent their anger this way, then so be it. But just then, my body suddenly bent 90 degrees out of my control, and I abruptly bowed to them, shouting in a hoarse voice: “I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!”

This was clearly my mom controlling my vocal cords, and it startled everyone present. “So these are the people who’ve been bullying you?” “Hurry up and apologize to them! What have I taught you! You don’t hit someone who’s smiling at you. When something happens, look for the problem in yourself first! Otherwise, why would they only hit you and not others?” “I’ve told you so many times—focus on your studies and don’t cause trouble, but you just won’t listen!” My mom’s voice came through, her accusatory tone making even my soul tremble. A drop of liquid fell from the corner of my eye—I didn’t know if it was blood or tears. My mom spoke with disappointment: “And you still have the nerve to cry? If you hadn’t been going around school every day with that long face, would your classmates be so opposed to this app?” “Now you’re feeling wronged? Who am I making this app for!” My mom waited expectantly for my response, but I answered her only with silence. This completely enraged her. Then she used the app to control me to kneel on the ground, viciously slapping my own face, each strike with full force. “I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! This app is innocent! After I installed it, I’ve been living happily every day! It’s launching today—you should all try it!” My sudden madness thoroughly scared the bullies, and they all fled the scene. “Kids these days are such ungrateful brats! This app of mine is their future savior! Yet they don’t know how to be grateful!” “Hmph! Once they start using it, they’ll understand their parents’ good intentions!” Having said that, my mom issued me a command: “You’ll keep kneeling and slapping yourself until your classmates approve of this app! This is your punishment for not listening to me! I’m going to your school now to prepare for the launch.” Passing students pointed and whispered, their faces full of mockery and contempt. I felt my soul burning with heat, intense discomfort and shame flooding through me. Obey, obey! I had already obeyed her every word to the letter—what more did she want from me! Clearly, all of this was her doing, so why did she get to act like she had nothing to do with it? She made me lose my friends, lose my dignity, lose myself, but in the end it seemed like everything was my own fault. What did I even do wrong… Just then, someone suddenly rushed out from the crowd and grabbed my hand to stop me from continuing to slap myself. “Aria Sterling , enough! Stop degrading yourself!” I froze and looked at the person. It was my class president, Lucas Hartwell. If high school had been three years of living under dark clouds, Lucas could be described as the occasional ray of light I glimpsed. When everyone else distanced themselves from me, he still reached out a hand, encouraging me to resist, encouraging me to escape. I saw him grab my hand with a face full of heartache, saying with great determination: “I’ve made up my mind. I’ll help you report this to the police and tell the public about the torture your mom has put you through all these years! Don’t be afraid—I’ll always stand behind you!” In that moment, I felt wrapped in warmth. So in this world, I wasn’t alone after all. Someone was actually willing to help me unconditionally. But I’m sorry—I was too weak, too cowardly. I killed myself and let down your faith in me. But just then, my mom’s uncontrolled shrill voice rang out again. “Ah! Who is this boy? I heard from the school teachers that you’ve been getting close to a male classmate. Is it him?” “You’re barely old enough and you’re already seducing men?” “I went without eating and decent clothes to raise you, and this is how you repay me? Do you want to make money by serving men when you grow up? You little slut!” My head was buzzing. I never imagined such words would come from a mother’s mouth. But the next second, I suddenly felt my hands moving involuntarily. I saw that I was now undressing in front of everyone in the cafeteria. “My daughter must remain pure and innocent! You slut, I’m going to check down there and see if your hymen is still intact.”

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He pursued me for seven years and doted on me endlessly. He was the perfect husband in everyone’s eyes. On our wedding anniversary, he knelt at my doorstep and begged me. “Renée, I was drugged. Tara is carrying my child.” I smiled and forgave him, then turned around and signed the divorce papers. Before leaving, I took one last look at our marital home. He didn’t know I had long ago overheard his whispered conversations with Tara. “Renée? Just a dead fish in bed. You’re so much hotter.” He also didn’t know that at this very moment, at the London airport, someone who had waited five years for me was opening his arms wide. Damien, may you lose everything you love and have all your dreams come true. Renée’s POV Everyone said Damien Foster loved me more than life itself. When I was fifteen, he saw me for the first time under the plane trees on Old Street. He said that with just one glance, he fell deeply in love with me. For the next seven years, he pursued me, doted on me, and made me the most envied woman in the entire city. Five years of dating, and we never once fought. The way he looked at me was always burning with intensity. But this same Damien betrayed me on our first wedding anniversary. The first time Damien begged me was because someone had drugged him at a business reception, and he slept with Tara Moore. Early next morning, he came to my house and knelt at the door, pleading with me. “Renée, I was wrong. Someone drugged me. I don’t even know how it happened with Tara… You can hit me, yell at me, do whatever you want. Just please, please don’t leave me.” Before I could say anything, my father burst out with a riding crop in his hand. That day, my father whipped him a hundred times. Damien was strung up on the plane tree in the courtyard, his back torn open, blood dripping all over the ground. He didn’t beg for mercy, just kept repeating “I’m sorry” over and over. I came downstairs and knelt before my father. “Let’s set the wedding date for one month from now.” My father was too angry to speak. My mother hit me twice, crying and calling me a “foolish child.” A month later, the wedding took place as scheduled. When we exchanged rings, Damien gripped my hand tightly, his eyes red-rimmed. “Renée, thank you. I will never betray you in this lifetime. If I break this vow, may I lose everything I love!” I smiled but said nothing. After the honeymoon, I planned to start trying for a baby and went to the hospital for a checkup, but in the garden I stumbled upon Tara forcefully kissing Damien. The next second, Damien pushed her away and slapped her across the face. “Tara, I’ve already settled accounts with you for that night. If you keep making trouble, I’ll make sure your family can’t stay in this city!” He turned and left, his retreating figure resolute. I stood behind a tree and didn’t make a sound. That night, he was exceptionally passionate-burning embraces and lingering kisses, as if he couldn’t wait to fuse me into his very bones. I thought, at least he only loves me. But this illusion shattered the very next day. Tara showed up at our door, clutching a pregnancy test result. “Damien, I’m pregnant.” Damien froze as if all the strength had been drained from his body. I watched him take a step forward and pull Tara tightly into his embrace. “I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse, “I’m sorry…” His apologies were truly worthless. I thought. After calming Tara down, Damien knelt before me. “Renée, I need to ask you for something.” His eyes were rimmed with red. “Let Tara have the child. You’ll always be my only wife. I have no future with her. Once the child is born, we’ll send it to the old estate, and she’ll have nothing more to do with us. I’m just asking you-please let this innocent child live.” I looked down at him. He knelt at my feet, his posture as humble as a dog’s. But every word he spoke was asking me to accept another woman’s child-a child she bore for him. Suppressing the sourness welling up inside me, I ignored the panic in his eyes, pulled my hand away, and returned to my room. I opened my laptop and clicked on an email that had arrived three days ago. The sender was a world-class data analysis research institute in London. They had been inviting me to take a position overseas since a month ago. Because I still held out hope for Damien, I had kept refusing. But now… I typed a few words and clicked send. “I accept.” That afternoon, while Damien was at his company, I went to a law firm. The lawyer was my college roommate. Within an hour, she helped me draft a divorce agreement. I tucked it into my bag and took it with me to the Moore residence. Tara was sunbathing in the courtyard. When she saw me arrive, she immediately put on a helpless expression. “Renée, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I-” I cut her off and placed the divorce agreement on the coffee table. “Get Damien to sign this. You should have a way.” Tara froze for a moment, then dropped the innocent look from her face and curled her lips into a malicious smile. She picked up the agreement and flipped through it, all trace of vulnerability vanishing from her eyes. “Renée Sullivan, you should’ve left a long time ago. If you hadn’t swooped in while I was studying abroad, the position of Mrs. Foster would’ve been mine from the start!” I wasn’t angry. “Then hurry up. Seven days. I’m giving you seven days. Get this sorted out, and you’ll be Mrs. Foster.” Without waiting to see Tara’s ugly expression, I turned and went home. When I got back, I started packing. We’d only been married for a month, so I didn’t have much. Important documents and certificates went into one box, everyday essentials into another. I called a courier service and had both boxes shipped to the small apartment I’d bought before the marriage. After that was done, I looked around at the luxury goods in the house. During our five years together, Damien had indeed been generous with me. Dozens of designer bags, a closet full of haute couture, and three full glass display cases of jewelry. I took photos with my phone and contacted a secondhand dealer. Within two hours, they had cataloged everything and said they’d come pick it up tomorrow. “Good,” I replied, “After you sell everything, donate all the proceeds to an orphanage.” The dealer paused but quickly agreed. Just as I was about to rest, a commotion erupted downstairs. I stepped out of my room to see Damien bringing Tara inside, his parents following behind. His mother held Tara’s arm, and when she caught sight of me, she immediately rolled her eyes. “Damien, you and Renée have been together for five years, and you’ve been living together for how long now? And still nothing in her belly.” “Thank God Tara got pregnant, or I’d start to think you were the problem.” Damien’s expression darkened. “Stop talking nonsense!” His father snorted. “What nonsense? I think your mother’s right! Tara was lucky-she only slept with you once and the baby came.” Tara blushed. “Don’t say that…” Damien pressed his lips together and said nothing. Listening to them say I couldn’t conceive, I remained silent. After watching them for a while, I turned and went back to my room, pulled out my phone, and sent Tara a message. “Seven days.” After sending it, I tossed my phone onto the bed and walked to the window. Outside was his family’s garden. When I was fifteen, he had chased me through it, saying he wanted to pick the most beautiful flower for me. I watched for a long time, until the sunset sank below the horizon. Seven days would pass quickly.

Renée’s POV Everyone said Damien loved me more than life itself. But at this moment, the commotion downstairs made me not even want to leave my room. I had the maid bring dinner upstairs. There was a knock at the door. I thought it was the maid, but when I opened it, Damien stood there holding a tray. His eyes were brimming with apology. “Renée, Tara said her emotions have been sensitive since the pregnancy and she doesn’t want to be alone, so she came to the house today… Just for today. I promise I won’t let her come again tomorrow.” I took the tray. “Why don’t you just let her move in?” Damien froze, a flash of panic crossing his face. “Renée, are you angry? I didn’t mean it. I just think the child is innocent, and she’s endured so much being pregnant out of wedlock for my sake. I can’t be completely irresponsible…” “I’m not angry.” I cut him off. “Go on.” I carried the tray back inside. Behind me came a thud. Damien had dropped to his knees, his eyes reddening. “Renée, I’m sorry. At that business reception, I had no idea someone would drug her, let alone that I’d pick up the wrong glass. It was all an accident. The only person Damien will ever love in this lifetime is you.” I looked at him and was about to speak. “Damien!” Tara’s voice came from downstairs. “My stomach feels a bit uncomfortable. Can you come down for a minute?” Damien immediately stood up and rushed outside. He ran quickly, his retreating figure showing no hesitation. I stood there, staring at the door he’d shut behind him, feeling something lightly slash across my heart. It didn’t hurt. It was just cold. After dinner, Damien had the maid inform me that he’d be working late at the office. I hadn’t planned on waiting for him anyway, so I went straight to take a bath. The bathroom was separated from the guest room next door by only a wall. Tara was staying there tonight. I’d just turned on the water when I heard strange sounds coming from next door. I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. The night breeze rushed in, and the sounds from next door became clearer. It was the sound of a man and woman kissing-intimate, sticky, accompanied by muffled panting. “I’m better than Renée, aren’t I?” Tara’s voice was hoarse and cloying. “Yes, you’re so much better.” Damien’s voice carried laughter-a flippant tone I’d never heard from him before. “She’s just a dead fish in bed.” In the bathroom, I gripped the windowsill, motionless. “If she weren’t so boring,” Damien’s voice continued, accompanied by the soft rustle of fabric, “I wouldn’t have had to come up with this plan to be with you…” Tara laughed, her voice even more seductive. “What, you just wanted to sleep with me? But I’m pregnant now.” Damien laughed too. “Then have the baby. I’m not short on children.” That light laughter was like a dull blade, sawing at my heart one cut at a time. Then came more intimate sounds-sounds I should never have heard. I closed the window and submerged myself in the bathtub. Hot water covered my shoulders, my chest, my chin. I closed my eyes and sank completely underwater, and the world instantly went silent. Only my heartbeat remained, muffled and rhythmic. After a long while, I surfaced, gasping for air. I suddenly remembered Damien from our college days. How pure and innocent he’d been back then. Every time he stole a kiss, his ears would turn completely red-red to the tips, red down to his neck. Whenever I teased him on purpose, he’d stand there flustered, looking at me with eyes as bright as an entire galaxy. “Renée, I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.” That’s what he used to say. I believed him. But thinking about it now, those words spoiled so quickly. Only five years. My purity became a “dead fish” in someone else’s mouth. His eyes learned how to lie. His embrace could hold two women at once. I’d thought he was merely calculated against, that he was at least still a decent person. But tonight I finally understood. Damien was even more disgusting than Tara Moore. At least Tara laid her ambitions out in the open, but Damien treated me like a complete fool! I stood up from the bathtub, wrapped myself in a robe, and returned to the bedroom. The sounds from next door still hadn’t stopped. The moonlight outside was cold. I lay down and closed my eyes. I hope Tara doesn’t disappoint me.

Renée’s POV Early the next morning, I got up. As I stepped out of the bedroom, I ran right into Tara coming out of the room next door. She wore a silk robe with a deeply open neckline, the kiss marks on her neck glaringly obvious. “Renée, good morning.” Tara touched her neck, looking at me smugly. “Damien told me you’re the one who let me stay?” I looked at her and said nothing. “You’re really so magnanimous,” Tara took a step forward. “But I guess that makes sense. You married into the Foster family purely on Damien’s affection. Now that he doesn’t love you anymore, you don’t even have the right to speak in this house.” I looked at her. “Six days left.” With that, I turned to go downstairs. Tara, having her face slapped down, immediately looked furious. The next second, she rushed forward and shoved me hard! I stumbled, the world spinning. My hands flailed wildly, trying to grab onto something, but caught only air. My body tumbled down section by section, finally slamming hard onto the floor. My vision went black, and I knew nothing more. When I woke again, my nose was filled with the smell of disinfectant. I opened my eyes. Damien sat at the bedside, holding my hand, his face full of concern. “Renée, you’re finally awake.” He leaned closer, his voice full of relief. “How could you be so careless? If Tara hadn’t found you at the bottom of the stairs and called an ambulance right away, who knows what might have happened!” I looked at him, my voice very soft. “That’s what Tara said?” Damien frowned. “What do you mean? Is there something else?” I looked away. “Nothing.” He kissed my fingers. “The doctor said it’s just minor bruising. You can be discharged this afternoon.” I hummed in acknowledgment and closed my eyes, no longer responding to him. That afternoon after being discharged, Damien suggested taking me out to dinner. He’d made a reservation at a high-end Western restaurant in the city center. Just as we sat down, I heard Tara’s voice. I turned around and saw her walk in, accompanied by a fat man. I recognized him. Levi Bryant, a notorious lecher. The moment he saw me, his gaze stuck to me. Tara came over with a smile, while Lee’s eyes never left me. I frowned. “Let’s go.” “What’s wrong?” Damien poured a glass of water. “These are all your favorite dishes.” “Damien!” Tara suddenly approached and placed her hand on Damien’s shoulder. “I suddenly don’t feel well.” Damien immediately stood up, putting one arm around her and placing his other hand on her lower abdomen. “What’s wrong?” “It’s nothing, just uncomfortable,” Tara bit her lip, looking troubled. “I want you to take me to the hospital, but…” She glanced at me, then at Levi at the next table. Damien paused, then turned to look at me. “Renée, I’m taking her to the hospital.” I stood up, also planning to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. His gaze was heavy. “Renée, you help Tara entertain Mr. Bryant.” My eyes widened. “What?!” Damien’s gaze flickered, but his tone remained firm. “This business deal Tara’s working on is very important-it involves a large investment for her family. If we both leave, she won’t be able to explain to them.” “Damien!” I trembled with anger. “Do you even know what you’re saying!” I couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen Levi’s disgusting gaze! If I stayed tonight, who knew what would happen? Damien gripped my wrist tighter and tighter. “But-” “Damien,” Tara’s face went paler, her voice as weak as cotton. “I don’t feel well.” Just then, Levi also walked over, his gaze lewdly scanning me. “Mr. Foster, Miss Moore, what’s going on here?” Damien’s fingers dug into my hand as he looked at Levi. “Mr. Bryant, Tara isn’t feeling well. I need to take her to see a doctor. But regarding this collaboration, the Moore family is completely sincere. Even though Tara has to leave… I’ll have my wife entertain you.” Then he turned to look at me, his gaze heavy. “Renée, you’re Mrs. Foster. You need to consider the bigger picture.” My whole body went cold, and as I looked at him, it felt like I was truly seeing this man for the first time. Damien walked out with Tara in his arms. After a few steps, he stopped, turned back, and said to me, “Come home as soon as you finish signing. It’ll be quick.” Then he left. Levi immediately laughed loudly. “Mrs. Foster, come, let’s talk business.” He pulled a chair right next to me and put his hand on my leg. “Mr. Foster left you here himself. What are you being coy about?” I stood to leave, but Levi grabbed me and pulled me into his embrace. The pungent smell of alcohol mixed with bad breath hit me full in the face. My stomach churned. His hand was already on my waist, reaching inside my clothes. I panicked, grabbed the wine bottle from the table, and smashed it hard against his head! The bottle shattered. Red wine mixed with blood streamed down his face. He clutched his head and screamed, staggering backward. I threw down the broken bottle neck, shoved the door open, and strode out. Outside the restaurant, the night wind hit my face. I stood by the roadside, my hands still shaking. I pulled out my phone and made a call. After two rings, it was answered. “Mom,” I spoke, my voice surprisingly calm. “Where’s Dad? Tell him that next week, I’m coming home.” On the other end, my mother paused for a moment, then choked up. “Good, good. Mom will be waiting for you.” Only six days left.

Renée’s POV When I returned home, it was nearly midnight. Only a dim floor lamp remained lit in the living room. Damien had just come out of the guest room, gently closing the door behind him. When he saw me, his first words were: “Did you sign the contract?” I stood in the entryway, looking at him. He didn’t ask if I was hurt, didn’t ask if Levi had done anything to me-only asked about the contract. “Renée?” He walked over. “What did Mr. Bryant say?” I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Damien’s head snapped to the side. He froze for two seconds before reacting. “I…” He opened his mouth, seeming to realize he’d said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, Renée. I didn’t mean it that way. I was just worried about the business…” I ignored him, went straight upstairs, and returned to the master bedroom. Damien came to the door and knocked. I didn’t respond. He was silent for a while, then said softly, “I’m sorry.” I stood by the window, letting tears stream down my face. Renée, you’re such a fool. Ten years of acquaintance, five years of dating, one year of marriage. And you couldn’t even tell who was human and who was a demon. The next morning, as soon as I came downstairs, Damien grabbed my wrist. He used considerable force, dragging me toward the living room. On the sofa, Tara was covering her face with a tissue, sobbing. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. “Kneel.” Damien pressed down on my shoulder, forcing me down in front of Tara. I looked up at him. “Look what you did last night!” His face was iron-dark. “Mr. Bryant called this morning to cancel the collaboration. Do you know how long Tara worked on that project? You ruined everything!” I tried to stand, but received a hard slap across the face. My head snapped to the side, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. “Damien!” Tara cried out and stood up. “Don’t blame Renée. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have given her such an important responsibility…” She moved as if to leave, but Damien stopped her. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pressed her back down on the sofa, then looked at me. His expression was complex-apologetic, reluctant, but more than anything, resolute. “When your parents went abroad, they left you three villas.” He spoke, his voice flat. “Transfer the properties to Tara. Consider it compensation for her loss.” I was stunned. “What did you say?” Damien’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked away. “The loss you caused last night was too great. Even if those three villas were sold, they’d only be worth about two hundred million. Not even enough to cover it.” “Fine.” I cut him off. Damien froze and looked back at me. I stood up, wiped the blood from my mouth, and turned to go upstairs. I walked steadily, step by step, my spine perfectly straight. Back in my room, I closed the door, took out my phone, and made a call. It was answered quickly, the voice low. “What’s wrong?” “Hello.” I leaned against the door. “I can’t keep those three properties. Have the lawyer initiate asset protection procedures.” The other end was silent for two seconds. “Did he hit you?” I didn’t answer. “I understand.” The voice on the other end turned cold. “All procedures will be completed within three days. Renée, how many more days until you come home?” “Five days.” “Good.” There was a pause. “I’m waiting for you.” Downstairs, Tara’s crying and Damien’s soft consolations drifted up intermittently-too muffled through the door to hear clearly. I looked out the window at the plane tree. When I first came to the Foster house at fifteen, it was already there. In the year since our marriage, it wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed his changes. I just never imagined a person could turn bad so decisively, so quickly, so thoroughly. I found the transaction contracts for the three properties and placed them on the shelf outside my door, then returned to the bedroom. Soon footsteps came upstairs, pausing outside my door for a few seconds-probably to check the contracts. Then came the sound of footsteps going back down. Five more days. Then I could leave him.

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I always felt like my husband had some kind of condition. Every time we had sex, his rough fingertips would push me to climax over and over, But just as he was about to fully possess me, he’d always pull away abruptly. All night, I listened to the water running in the bathroom and the muffled sound of a man trying to breathe quietly. I figured he must have been forced into this marriage. That was why he was so half-hearted. Then came that night. Divorce papers in hand, I stopped outside the study. The door was half-open. “Kai, you’re clearly addicted to Nora, so why won’t you touch her?” “Human girls can’t resist temptation. You better watch out or some other wolf will steal her away one of these days.” The man being teased took a leisurely sip of his drink, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. “What do you guys know? I dream about absorbing her into my very bones. But what if I lose control and hurt her? What if I scare her away and she doesn’t want me anymore?” His friends all laughed at that. “Then maybe stop taking those ice-cold showers for two hours every night.” That same night, while Kai was in the bathroom taking another cold shower, I unlocked his tablet with trembling hands. Ninety-nine search history entries, all variations of the same question. “I finally married my mate, but I’m a werewolf and she’s just a human. How can I have sex with her without hurting her?”

My fingers flew across the tablet screen, The further down I scrolled, the more my hands shook, until even my breathing trembled. A condition? Forced marriage? Frigid? All lies. He was actually a werewolf! The bathroom water stopped. Before I could process the truth, the bedroom door swung open. Kai’s black hair was still dripping wet. When he saw me holding his tablet, the color drained completely from his face, and he even stopped drying his hair. He froze in the doorway, panic and helplessness flashing in his eyes. We stared at each other silently for a good ten seconds before I finally broke the silence, my voice shaking uncontrollably, “Kai, is all this stuff you posted real?” His Adam’s apple bobbed hard as he walked toward me step by step. “Nora, let me explain…” “Explain what? Explain that you’re a werewolf? A monster?” I looked up at him, my eyes instantly reddening, “You’ve been lying to me this whole time!” “Yes.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were filled with honest humility, “I’m the Alpha of the Karen Pack of werewolves. I’m sorry, Nora. I’ve been hiding this from you for so long.” “What about the arranged marriage?” My voice tightened, “When my sister suddenly called off the engagement and ran to Europe, you had something to do with that, didn’t you? This marriage was your scheme from the very beginning?” “Yes.” He didn’t hide anything, his voice hoarse as he laid out all his secrets, “The day of our college graduation, the first time I saw you, I knew you were my fated mate-my one and only partner for life.” “To switch the arranged marriage to you, I helped your sister arrange everything for Europe so she could pursue the life she wanted without any worries.” At this point, Kai clenched his fists, “It’s not that I didn’t want to touch you-I was afraid I couldn’t control the werewolf possessiveness and would hurt you. Even more, I was afraid that if you found out I wasn’t human, you’d be scared of me. That you’d leave me.” He laid all his restraint, all these years of hidden love, bare before me. My heart felt sour and numb, but more than anything, I was shocked at being deceived and terrified by this truth about werewolves that was beyond my comprehension. For twenty-four years, I’d never imagined that the husband who’d slept beside me for half a year wasn’t human. Looking at this man I’d once thought cold and distant, I only felt he was strange and frightening. I jerked backward, avoiding his outstretched hand. “Don’t touch me!” My voice cracked with tears as my whole body trembled, “Kai, you say you love me, but you couldn’t even give me basic honesty. You lied to me for six whole months!” “Did you ever think about how scared I’d be when I found out?” “Nora, I…” His eyes filled with hurt and regret, “I was just afraid of losing you. I never wanted to hurt you, never.” “Stop talking.” I grabbed my coat and bag from the bed, desperate to escape this suffocating place. Kai’s tall figure blocked my path, his hands covering my shoulders as he looked at me with reddening eyes, “Nora, I won’t force you, just don’t run away, okay?” His voice shook hoarsely, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. You can yell at me, punish me-I’ll take it all. Just don’t go out alone. I’m worried about you.” I wrenched free of his grip. “Kai, I think we both need to calm down.” Ignoring his anxious calls behind me, I slammed the door and drove off, heading straight to my best friend Jade’s house.

When Jade opened the door and saw my tear-stained face, she jumped in alarm and quickly pulled me inside. “Nora? What happened? Didn’t you say you were going to ask Kai for a divorce? Did he fight with you?” All the emotions I’d bottled up that night came crashing down. I buried myself in her arms and told her everything about Kai. Jade’s eyes went wide as saucers, her face full of disbelief. “This is more insane than a movie plot! There are actually werewolves in the real world?” “So he’s not impotent-he’s afraid of losing control and hurting you? And he’s had a crush on you for four or five years?” “Yes.” I sniffled and grabbed the whiskey from the table, taking a large gulp, “But my head’s a complete mess right now, Jade. I don’t know how to face him.” “So what are you going to do? Actually get divorced?” Jade handed me a tissue, asking carefully. My hand holding the glass froze. Divorce? I’d been set on divorce before because I thought this marriage had no love-only half-hearted obligation. But now that I knew about all his restraint and deep feelings, I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “divorce.” Yet I couldn’t immediately accept that he was a werewolf and interact with him without any reservations either. “I don’t know.” I took another gulp of whiskey, my eyes reddening even more, “I just feel so confused. He kept me in the dark for so long. Now when I look at him, he feels like a stranger.” Jade didn’t push me further, just kept me company as I drank glass after glass. My mind was chaotic and stifled. I drank quickly and heavily, and before long, my consciousness grew fuzzy. In my daze, I thought I heard my phone vibrating non-stop, but my eyelids felt glued shut. I simply turned off my phone, rolled over, and passed out. Meanwhile, at the villa, Kai sat in the living room all night, the ashtray piling up with cigarette butts as the bloodshot in his eyes grew heavier. Looking at the messages that remained unanswered, his mood grew increasingly heavy, but he didn’t dare push too hard, afraid I’d become even more resistant. He leaned back, muttering to himself, “Nora, what am I supposed to do with you?” When I woke up the next day, my head felt like it was about to explode, my throat was parched, and my whole body was weak. Rubbing my neck, I picked up my phone. The moment I turned it on, a flood of messages and missed calls poured in. Reading through dozens of messages made my chest ache. Jade woke up too, yawning as she asked me, “Awake? Figured things out yet?” I shook my head, but I knew that no matter how confused I felt, I couldn’t keep hiding here forever. What needed to be faced would eventually have to be faced. After saying goodbye to Jade, I drove back to the villa. As soon as I pushed open the front door, the heavy smell of cigarette smoke hit me. Kai sat on the couch, radiating unmistakable exhaustion. Hearing the door open, he whipped his head around. The moment he saw me, he immediately stood and strode quickly toward me. “Nora, you’re back.” His voice was extremely hoarse, his gaze urgently scanning me, “Are you hungry? I kept some porridge warm for you.” His cautious demeanor made me feel even worse. But thinking about how he’d hidden things from me for six months, I hardened my heart and didn’t respond. Just then, his gaze fell on my neck, and his pupils constricted sharply. In that instant, I clearly felt the surrounding air turn cold. An extremely strong sense of oppression emanated from him, and even his breathing grew several times heavier. He opened his mouth, his Adam’s apple rolling repeatedly. “You… who were you with last night?” “None of your business. I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m going upstairs.” I waved him off and walked straight upstairs without another glance. After I turned to go upstairs, Kai’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white, and he ground his teeth. The werewolf possessiveness over one’s fated mate was an instinct carved into their bloodline. Those overlapping red marks on my neck stabbed into his heart like needles. Jealousy and pain submerged him like a tidal wave, but he didn’t even have the right to question me. He was the one who’d hidden his identity first. He was the one who’d never dared touch her, making her suffer so much grievance. He closed his eyes, forcibly suppressing the metallic taste rising in his throat, left only with overwhelming bitterness.

I collapsed into bed as soon as I got to my room. The hangover hit hard, and by the time I woke up, it was already completely dark outside. As I tried to get up, I felt burning hot all over, without even the strength to kick off the covers. In my daze, the bedroom door was gently pushed open. The moment Kai entered and saw me curled up under the blanket, my cheeks flushed red with fever, he walked quickly over and touched my forehead. His whole body panicked. “Nora?” “How did you get such a high fever?” I frowned and instinctively shrank away, my voice hoarse. “I don’t need you. Go away.” His hand froze in mid-air, his eyes instantly flooding with heartache and self-blame. “Be good, don’t fuss. Let’s take your temperature and you’ll feel better after taking medicine, okay?” He turned and quickly fetched a thermometer and fever medicine. I was too dizzy and weak to argue with him, letting him help me obediently swallow the medicine. When his cool fingertips touched my burning lips, the hand at his side clenched tightly, and his breathing grew heavy. In my foggy consciousness, I seemed to hear the sound of cold water running in the bathroom, continuing for a very long time. When I fully woke up again, it was already morning. As soon as I opened my eyes, I found myself tightly held in Kai’s arms. Seeing me awake, he immediately looked down at me, his fingertips touching my forehead before he let out a heavy sigh of relief. “The fever’s finally broken. Do you feel uncomfortable anywhere? Do you want some water?” Looking at the dense bloodshot in his eyes, most of my anger dissipated, though my words remained stubborn. I struggled out of his embrace, saying ungraciously, “I won’t die. I don’t need your fake kindness.” Kai’s hand froze in mid-air, a flash of hurt crossing his eyes as he said quietly, “It’s my fault for not taking good care of you. I knew you’d been drinking but still let you catch a chill and get a fever.” “What does my fever have to do with you?” I looked at him as two days’ worth of grievance and anger suddenly surged up, “Kai, who are you putting on this devoted act for now? You weren’t honest from the start, and after we got married you wouldn’t even touch me. What exactly do you think I am?” The more I talked, the more wronged I felt, and I continued recklessly. “Jade already found me two male models with eight-pack abs. Being with them would be better than staying with an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud like you!” The moment those words left my mouth, Kai’s expression changed instantly. His pupils contracted sharply, his hand gripping the bedsheet so tightly his knuckles went white. But seeing my reddened eyes, that towering rage was forcibly suppressed. “Nora, I’m sorry.” Seeing him only capable of apologizing made me even angrier. I rolled over with my back to him, not wanting to deal with him anymore. Kai sat behind me for a long time-so long I thought he’d left-before I felt him gently touch my hair, “It’s my fault. All of it is my fault.” His voice was very low, heavy with self-blame, “Don’t be angry, and don’t go to anyone else, okay? Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. I’ll change everything.” I ignored him, keeping my eyes closed and pretending to sleep. He sighed softly and got up to leave. The moment the door closed, I opened my eyes, my heart a tangled mess. Outside the door, Kai leaned against the wall and closed his eyes hard. His friends were right. If he kept being such a coward, he really would lose his fated mate. Kai pulled out his phone and messaged his childhood friends, asking them to come to the house. He needed these brothers to help him figure out how to make his little mate stop being angry, How to make her completely believe that he loved her more than his own life.

The fever completely broke the next afternoon. After sleeping through it, I woke up feeling much lighter, though my stomach growled with hunger. I wanted to go downstairs to find something to eat. Just as I reached the top of the stairs, I heard Kai’s friends’ voices. “Kai, you’re clearly addicted to Nora, so why won’t you touch her?” “Human girls can’t resist temptation. You better watch out or some other wolf will steal her away one of these days.” Kai’s voice carried deep exhaustion, “I’m afraid she hasn’t recovered yet. She’s still angry with me and won’t even talk to me.” “Being angry means she cares! If she really didn’t care, she would’ve asked for a divorce already. Would she even come back to this house?” “You didn’t dare touch her before, and now you don’t dare speak up. Wait until Nora really runs off with someone else-you won’t even have a place to cry!” Listening to their conversation, the last of my stubbornness and anger gradually faded. I took a deep breath, about to walk downstairs and talk everything through with him. Just then, the doorbell suddenly rang. The crisp chime was particularly jarring in the quiet living room. Immediately after, two young men’s voices came from the entrance, loud enough to penetrate right through the door. “Is Nora here? We’re sent by Jade. She said you weren’t feeling well and asked us to come keep you company and cheer you up!” The conversation in the living room stopped abruptly. I froze on the stairs, my mind going blank with a buzzing sound. Oh no. When I’d been venting to Jade earlier, in the heat of the moment I’d agreed to her suggestion about male models, then completely forgot about it. I never thought she’d actually send people over, and at this exact moment! The living room fell deathly silent. The next second, I saw Kai walk to the door. His voice was as cold as ice. “Get lost.” The two male models outside hesitated, trying to say something more, when Kai spoke again, “Say one more word and I’ll make sure you never leave this neighborhood.” Even through a door, a top-tier Alpha’s dominant pressure was enough to make two ordinary human men break out in cold sweat. The voices outside immediately went silent, followed by panicked, fleeing footsteps. He slowly turned around. Looking up, he locked onto me standing on the stairs with pinpoint accuracy. His friends very tactfully moved toward the door. “Kai, we’ll head out now. You and Nora take care.” Kai’s gaze fixed on me as he walked toward me step by step. His eyes were thick with desire that couldn’t be dissolved, and the aura around him was frighteningly cold. He trapped me between himself and the stair railing, his tall figure completely enveloping me. “Nora,” his voice was extremely hoarse, “do you want it that badly?” My heartbeat skipped. I was about to explain that Jade had messed things up. He lowered his head, his lips brushing my neck, his hands restlessly moving downward, “Whatever they can give you, I can give you too. What they can’t give, I’ll give you even more.” His hand stopped between my legs, and my body couldn’t help trembling, “Nora, give me a chance to be your real husband, okay?”

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I was in the middle of negotiating a business deal when my husband Ethan’s newly hired intern, Lily, barged in and demanded I go buy her breakfast. Watching the client’s face darken, I immediately threw her out. Afterward, I apologized repeatedly before finally securing the partnership. Just as I was about to share the good news with Ethan, patent agreement in hand, he slapped me twice across the face in front of the entire company. “You vicious woman! Is money all you ever think about? Do you know you almost got Lily killed?” That’s when I learned Lily had been hospitalized for low blood sugar from skipping breakfast. But there was clearly chocolate on her desk that I’d bought for her earlier. I looked up at Ethan’s furious face. My cheeks burned, but my heart went cold. After a long silence, I finally spoke: “Ethan, let’s get a divorce.” The moment those words left my mouth, Ethan’s expression froze. Then he grabbed a janitor’s mop bucket and dumped the filthy water over my head. Ice-cold, reeking water soaked through my clothes. My white shirt clung to my skin, revealing the color of my bra underneath. The stench spread through the air. I was completely drenched, hair plastered to my face, water dripping down my cheeks. Under everyone’s stares, I’d never felt more humiliated. Ethan pointed at me, his tone violent: “Not thinking clearly? Let me help you wake up.” A deathly silence fell over the room. All the employees kept their heads down. I clutched the patent agreement, now soaked, my fingertips ice cold. A wave of bitterness surged in my chest as I shot back: “Ethan, do you know what this project bonus is for? It’s to save my mother’s life. What could be more important than keeping the company from going bankrupt, more important than keeping my mom alive? Lily had low blood sugar, but her desk was full of soda and chocolate I gave her. Why didn’t she eat any of it? There were so many idle colleagues just now. Why did she specifically barge in to find me while I was negotiating a hundred-million-dollar project? Let me be blunt—I’m the Vice President of this company. Why should I buy breakfast for an intern?” Ethan’s face turned pale. He seemed at a loss for words, then let out a cold snort: “Since you want this money so badly, fine. I’ll tell you right now—I won’t give you a single cent of this project bonus. I’m awarding it all to Lily.” My whole body shook. I couldn’t believe these words were coming from my husband of ten years: “On what grounds?” His tone was cold, looking at me with contempt: “Your mom’s already got one foot in the grave. Does this money even matter? Lily is young with a bright future ahead. This money suits her better. It’ll also knock down that arrogant attitude of yours.” Those words stabbed into my chest like a knife. I steadied my trembling body as tears finally spilled down my face. This company survived until today not because of him, but because of the patent my mother developed by exhausting her life’s work. My mother contracted cancer precisely because developing that patent meant long-term exposure to experimental metal radiation. It was because of my mother’s sacrifice that I threw everything into securing this project. For this project, I pulled every string I could, drank until I had stomach bleeding at business dinners, just to connect with this well-established partner who could provide a hundred-million-dollar collaboration deal. But now… My voice trembled, tears beyond my control: “Ethan, have you forgotten how you begged my mother when you were penniless, begging her to give you the patent? My mom felt sorry for me, pitied you, and let the company use her core patent for over a decade for free—not asking for a single cent. Now you talk about her like this. Doesn’t your own heart ache?” Complete silence fell. My accusation echoed through the office. All the employees looked at me with sympathy, then began discussing in lowered voices. “Ethan went too far. How could he say something like that?” “Right? We were all free at the time. Lily didn’t come to any of us—why did she specifically go find Jordan while she was in the middle of a project meeting?” “So this company exists today because of Jordan’s mother. Ethan’s words are just too…”

The employees’ murmurs died down when they met Ethan’s dark expression. The whispered sympathy and indignation fell on his ears. Ethan’s face alternated between pale and flushed, utterly humiliated. Cornered by the accusations, Ethan’s tone softened for a rare moment: “Jordan, I… I didn’t mean it like that…” Before he could finish, footsteps echoed from the lobby entrance. Lily was being supported by bodyguards, her face pale, stumbling as she rushed in. Her voice dripped with theatrical grievance: “Stop fighting, please! It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have troubled the Vice President to buy me breakfast.” “A poor person like me isn’t worth anything. I don’t deserve to make you angry on my account.” “It’s all my fault. Please don’t fight because of me…” Lily cried while actually starting to kneel before me. “I was so thoughtless! I shouldn’t have asked the Vice President to buy breakfast. The Vice President did nothing wrong—it’s all my fault. Someone like me is worthless anyway. I might as well just jump out a window.” She screamed and rushed toward the window, acting like she wanted to end her life. Ethan’s face changed drastically. He immediately rushed forward and grabbed her tightly, pulling her back with force: “Lily! Don’t be rash! I’m here.” After some struggle, he pulled her back into his embrace. But during the scuffle, the top button of Ethan’s shirt popped open. From his neck down to his chest—covered in fresh and faded red marks. We’d been sleeping in separate beds for nearly a month now. His late nights coming home, the perfume smell on him, the mysterious expenses, how he never let his phone out of his sight. All the signs I’d ignored suddenly connected in that moment. He was having an affair. With this intern he held so precious. My whole body went cold. Even breathing hurt. Seeing me staring at his neck, panic flashed in Ethan’s eyes, quickly replaced by rage: “Jordan, what’s the point of dredging up your mother’s old business? I run this company now, and you need to listen to me.” “Stop trying to fool me. Your mother’s illness isn’t that serious. She said herself it’s nothing major. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” Bitterness surged in my chest again. My mom had pretended she was fine so Ethan could focus on the company without distraction. But if he’d just asked at the hospital even once, he’d know my mom would die soon without surgery. Before I could respond, he continued: “You think being Vice President gives you some kind of superiority? Starting today, you’re demoted. You’ll be Lily’s assistant and learn how to be a decent human being.” That sentence ignited all the humiliation I’d endured today and my fury over Ethan’s affair. I couldn’t control myself anymore. I raised my hand to slap Lily across the face. Ethan moved quickly, immediately shouting: “Security! Hold her down.” Two large bodyguards instantly rushed forward, twisting my arms and pinning me so I couldn’t move. Ethan’s eyes turned vicious. “Still trying to hit people? Beat her. Beat her until she comes to her senses.” Slap after slap landed on my face. At least a dozen. My lip split, my cheeks swelled and burned, my ears rang, darkness crept into my vision. Ethan glared coldly at all the employees: “What happened today—anyone who breathes a word of this gets fired immediately and blacklisted permanently.” The bodyguards shoved me hard to the ground. Covered in filthy water mixed with tears and blood, I looked as pathetic as a drowned rat. I tried to push myself up. Ethan walked over and crouched down in front of me. “Jordan, if you dare call the police, I’ll stop your mother’s medication immediately and let her fend for herself.”

My chest constricted sharply. Sourness rushed straight to my nose. My mom spent her whole life as a professor—frugal and modest. Most of her savings went to Ethan’s startup, the rest to charity. She kept nothing for herself. I bit down hard on my teeth, unable to say a word. I could only swallow the choking bitterness in my throat. I stumbled out of the company and headed straight for the hospital. But just as I reached the inpatient building, the doctor called, his voice urgent: “Ms. Rivers, your mother’s medication has been stopped.” My whole body trembled. With shaking hands, I dialed Ethan’s number. The moment he answered, his cold voice came through: “This is your lesson. Behave yourself. Come to the company tomorrow to be Lily’s assistant, or your mother won’t last another day.” Through the receiver, I heard Lily’s sweet, cloying laugh: “Ethan, let’s go to that Japanese restaurant tonight, okay?” The call ended. I stood in the hospital’s cold corridor, watching patients’ families come and go, finally unable to hold myself up. I slowly sank to the ground and cried. I clutched the salary card I’d saved for ten whole years, my hands shaking as I handed it to the payment window. The nurse swiped it, then looked up at me with a gentle shake of her head, her tone sympathetic: “Ms. Rivers, this card has been frozen. The primary cardholder needs to unfreeze it before it can be used.” In an instant, all the strength drained from my body. Ten years of marriage. I’d stood by him from nothing to the brink of going public. In his eyes, I wasn’t worth a single cent. My mom was still in her hospital room waiting for life-saving medication. I had no choice. I wiped the tears from my face, gritted my teeth, and headed back to the company. By the time I stumbled back to the office, it was long past closing time. Only the top-floor executive office still had its lights on. Just as I reached the elevator, the head of security blocked my path, looking me up and down with disdain: “Ms. Rivers? Oh wait—you’ve been demoted. What are you doing at the company now? Planning to steal something?” I had no energy to argue with him. I shoved him aside and rushed toward the office. The closer I got to the door, the clearer I could hear the indecent sounds coming from inside. A woman’s sultry moans mixed with a man’s heavy grunts, along with the desk creaking under strain. “Ethan, slower… I can’t take it anymore…” “What if that shrew finds out? She’ll beat me…” Ethan’s voice came through between ragged breaths: “Don’t worry. She can only depend on me now. Without me, she’s nothing…” My mother was dying in the hospital, and he was here sleeping with his intern. Overwhelming fury and humiliation instantly clouded my judgment. I raised my foot and kicked the office door hard. “BANG.” The door flew open. The scene inside was obscene. Ethan immediately grabbed his shirt to cover himself, pointing at me and cursing: “Jordan! Have you lost your mind?! Acting like a total psycho—wasn’t the last lesson enough for you?!” My whole body trembled. Tears finally fell uncontrollably. I stared at him hard, my voice hoarse beyond recognition: “Ethan, what will it take for you to give my mother her medication?” He straightened his clothes, pulled a document from his drawer, and threw it on the desk. “Simple. Sign this patent transfer agreement. Transfer the core patent from your mother’s name to mine personally.” “The patent is still in your mother’s hands. I’m not comfortable with that. Sign it, and I’ll renew your mother’s medication immediately.” I stared at the agreement, my whole body shaking with rage. That patent cost my mother half her life’s work. She got cancer from radiation exposure developing it. It was her life. “I’ll never sign. This is my mother’s lifelong work. Don’t even think about it.”

“Then don’t blame me for forcing you.” Ethan’s expression darkened as he advanced toward me. I was about to step back when sudden, sharp pain exploded at the back of my head. My vision went black instantly. The world spun. I struggled to turn my head. The last thing I saw was Lily holding a black iron rod. Ethan’s icy voice reached my ears: “Let you experience what Lily went through. See if you still talk back.” With that, he intimately took Lily’s arm, and they turned to leave. I completely lost consciousness and collapsed heavily to the floor. When I regained consciousness, darkness surrounded me. The air reeked of mildew and dust. I was locked in an abandoned warehouse. Doors and windows sealed tight. I called for help, but no one came. I still wore that filthy water-soaked shirt, cold and stinking against my skin. My stomach growled with hunger. My lips cracked and peeled. Not a drop of water to drink. Cold, hungry, thirsty—I was on the verge of collapse. And all I could think about was my mother in the hospital without her medication. Was she in pain? Was she suffering? Was she… I didn’t dare think further. I curled up in the corner, breaking down. I don’t know how many times I passed out, only watching the sun rise and set through the window. Two full days and nights. I had no chance to call for help. Just as my consciousness was about to fade completely, the warehouse door suddenly opened. A longtime company employee passing by discovered me barely alive and got me out. The first thing I did was take a cab to the hospital, then borrowed the driver’s charging cable to charge my phone. The moment it powered on, a text message popped up. “Is this Professor Quinn’s daughter? I’m Professor Quinn’s former student. I heard Professor Quinn’s patent license to Gray Corporation has expired. Our Sullivan Group is willing to pay ten billion for ten years of usage rights, with 51% profit sharing. Would you be interested?” Before I could reply to that message, the car had already stopped at the hospital entrance. I stumbled inside, running straight into my mother’s attending physician: “Where’s my mom? How is she?” The doctor looked troubled. “Ms. Rivers, your mother was already discharged by someone else and transferred home. All treatment was stopped.” My head buzzed. “Who did it?” “A young woman. She said she was following Mr. Gray’s orders, that home care would be fine.” “I explained Professor Quinn’s serious condition to her. She said the family didn’t have money for hospitalization…” It was Lily. I ran home like a madwoman. The moment I pushed open the door, my entire world collapsed. My mother lay quietly on the cold floor, her face pale, no longer breathing. She was gone. While I was locked in that warehouse crying for help. While Ethan and Lily were enjoying themselves. My mother—who lived her whole life in modest poverty, who gave us everything—died alone. Without medication. Without treatment. Just like that, she was gone. I knelt on the floor, holding my mother’s gradually cooling body, sobbing until my heart shattered. Until I couldn’t make a sound anymore. Only suppressed whimpers remained. I couldn’t understand how everything had turned out this way. I didn’t notify Ethan. During those days handling funeral arrangements, I moved like a walking corpse. Until an elegant, dignified man entered the mourning hall to pay his respects. Afterwards, he turned to look at me. “Ms. Rivers, my deepest condolences. I’m Sebastian Sullivan, Professor Quinn’s former student and the person who sent you that message.” After I told him everything in fragments, his expression darkened bit by bit, the pressure around him becoming frightening: “I never imagined we’d meet under these circumstances. This is my fault. I sent the Professor messages recently that she never replied to. I should have looked for her sooner.” He lowered his head in self-reproach. I shook my head, indicating he shouldn’t blame himself. My mom didn’t want to make a big deal of her illness. She always thought of others first. She knew if her students found out she was sick, they’d visit every day. Sebastian understood my mother’s nature and sighed. I looked up at Sebastian with red eyes: “Mr. Sullivan, I wonder if you’re still willing to sign that licensing agreement?” This was something my mother paid for with her life. I would never let Ethan profit from it by a single cent again. Sebastian nodded firmly. Just as the pen touched paper to sign, my phone vibrated. A message from Ethan: “Have you thought it over? Sign the patent transfer agreement, and I’ll have the hospital give Mom her medication and surgery immediately.” Reading that message, my chest felt like it was being torn open, the pain suffocating. The hatred made my whole body tremble. My mom was already dead, and he was still threatening me with her life. Sebastian pressed his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be impulsive. For evil people to fall the hardest, you have to wait until they’re at their highest point.” He was right. I gripped my phone tightly but ultimately didn’t reply with a single word. On the other side, Ethan waited a long time without receiving my response. An inexplicable panic rose in his heart. He turned to ask Lily, who was nestled in his arms: “When you went to the hospital that day, did the doctor say how serious Mom’s condition really was?” Lily’s eyes flickered. She forced herself to stay calm: “Not serious at all. The doctor said it was just a minor issue that would get better with rest. Jordan was just making a mountain out of a molehill.” Ethan breathed a sigh of relief and sneered: “I knew it. She was just using her mother to manipulate me.” “But it doesn’t matter if she won’t budge. At the company’s IPO launch the day after tomorrow, I’ll publicly announce that the patent belongs to the company. Done deal. Anyway, my mother-in-law has always been fond of me. When the time comes, I’ll sweet-talk her a bit and she definitely won’t make a fuss.” Lily immediately smiled, her eyes crinkling: “Ethan, you’re so clever! Once we go public, we’ll be the envy of everyone.” The two embraced, fantasizing about their glorious success. Soon, Gray Corporation’s IPO launch event arrived as scheduled. The venue was brilliantly lit, packed with reporters. Ethan stood on stage, full of confidence, about to announce the company’s core patent and IPO news. Just then, his secretary rushed in, face deathly pale, voice trembling: “Mr. Gray! This is bad! Something terrible has happened.” Ethan frowned and snapped: “What are you panicking about?!” “Professor Quinn—your mother-in-law’s patent license to the company has expired! And also…” Before the secretary could finish, the venue erupted into chaos. Investors and partners’ faces instantly changed. Ethan waved his hand impatiently: “What’s there to worry about?! That’s my mother-in-law’s patent. One phone call from me and it’s settled. What’s the big deal?!” The secretary closed their eyes in despair. “Mr. Gray, Professor Quinn has passed away from illness.”

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“I’m sorry, this flight is overbooked. We’re compensating you two hundred dollars. Please deplane immediately!” The head flight attendant gripped my suitcase tightly. I looked at her coldly, then at the man beside her who had just boarded late, dressed head to toe in designer labels. “Why does he get to board when he’s late, but I have a ticket and I’m being kicked off?” The flight attendant sneered: “Because he’s the heir to Houston’s top medical group! He needs to rush to Houston to see a renowned physician! Could your emergency possibly be more urgent than a life-or-death matter? Now get off!” Several security guards forcibly dragged me off the plane. I watched as the cabin door closed. I laughed bitterly. That heir was dying from a terminal illness. And I was the miracle doctor his entire family had been begging on their knees for three months, who had finally agreed today to fly to Houston to perform his surgery. Since they threw me off the plane, I won’t be doing this surgery anymore.

I dragged my suitcase step by step to the ticket change counter. “I want a refund.” I slapped my passport on the counter, my voice filled with resentment. The counter staff glanced at the screen, looked me up and down, and rolled her eyes. “Sorry, but since you didn’t board for personal reasons, you can only get a two-hundred-dollar refund, not the full amount.” I laughed in fury. “Personal reasons? Your flight was overbooked and you threw me off. That’s my personal reason?” The counter staff’s fingers clattered on the keyboard, her face full of impatience. “Who told you to make a scene in the cabin and disturb the order? You’re lucky to get two hundred dollars back. Don’t be ungrateful!” Just then, the sound of high heels approached. The flight attendant from earlier strutted over arrogantly, holding up her phone that was still recording. “A broke loser desperately trying to extort money from the airline—truly desperate for cash!” “Isn’t she just trying to get more compensation? What’s with the high and mighty act?” The flight attendant crossed her arms, her face full of mockery. “Two hundred not enough? I’ll post this online so everyone can see how pathetic you look. Maybe some kind soul will crowdfund three hundred for you!” I looked at her extremely arrogant face and suppressed my anger. “You’ll regret what you did today.” The flight attendant laughed as if she’d heard a joke, nearly tearing up. “Regret? Coming from someone too poor to afford first class, who can only squeeze into economy?” “Mr. Thompson booked the entire first-class cabin. Even his bodyguards are in business class!” “Who do you think you are to make me regret anything?” She spun around and shouted at the passengers coming and going in the departure hall. “Everyone, come look!” “This is the person who not only refused to cooperate when the flight was overbooked, but tried to extort our airline!” “Now she’s making a scene at the counter, seriously disrupting everyone’s travel. She’s a menace to society!” Surrounding passengers were instantly drawn over, their pointing and gossiping rising in waves. “She’s dressed so well, how can she be so classless?” “Exactly! The airline already compensated her and she’s still making trouble. She must be crazy for money!” “Just get out of here and stop embarrassing yourself!” I ignored the onlookers and turned to the ground staff. “I’ll take the refund.” “But you must write in black and white on the refund form that this is due to your airline’s overbooking and forcible denial of boarding.” I didn’t want the Thompson family tracking me down later and thinking I’d deliberately broken the contract. I absolutely wouldn’t take the blame for this. The flight attendant’s face darkened. She slammed her hand on the counter. “Dream on!” “We gave you a solution and you refused it. Now you want to smear our airline?” “Security! Get this crazy woman out of here!” Several airport security guards immediately rushed over and grabbed my arms from both sides. “Let go!” I struggled desperately, but the security guards wouldn’t listen. They dragged me toward the airport exit. As I passed the flight attendant, I couldn’t help warning her. “You’d better remember my face today, and every word you just said.” “Soon you’ll be on your knees begging me.” But instead of being intimidated, she kicked over my suitcase. My already damaged suitcase completely burst open. The clothes and specially prepared medications inside spilled all over the floor. The flight attendant stepped on a medicine bottle, crushing it. The custom medicine inside instantly turned to powder. This was bad! That was the special medicine I’d prepared specifically for Thompson—one of a kind! Without this medicine, Thompson wouldn’t survive the post-surgery recovery period! “Oops, I’m so sorry.” The flight attendant mocked from behind with fake sympathy. Countless phone cameras instantly focused on me. Various mocking voices completely drowned me out. I was thrown out of the departure hall and landed heavily on the concrete floor. The flight attendant tossed my luggage at me like garbage. “Take your junk and get lost! If you make any more trouble, we’ll call the police and report you for disturbing public order!” Just then, my phone suddenly vibrated frantically. The moment I answered, a barrage of questions came through. “What’s going on with you!” “The plane took off ages ago. I just checked the passenger manifest and your name isn’t on it!” The caller was the Thompson family’s butler, his tone full of reproach and arrogance. “Our family spent so much effort inviting you. We even sent the deposit. And now at this critical moment you’re pulling a diva act?” “Who do you think you are to make our family wait for you?” “If it weren’t for your surgical skills, you think you’d be qualified to treat Mr. Thompson?” I was about to explain it was the airline’s fault, but he wouldn’t listen at all. “I’m warning you, Mr. Thompson’s terminal illness can’t be delayed. If you’re not at Houston First Hospital’s operating room before dark today, don’t blame our family for being ruthless!” “You took our money and dare not do the job? Believe me, I’ll make sure you can’t work in the entire national medical field!” The call was abruptly hung up. The busy tone echoed in my ear.

Holding back my anger, I called him back. The moment he answered, the butler’s impatient voice came through. “What else do you have to say? Just figure out how to charter a plane and get here!” “No need to fly anymore.” My tone was cold. “If you want to know why I didn’t board, go ask the flight attendant on Mr. Thompson’s flight.” With that, I hung up directly. I opened my mobile banking, found the three-million-dollar deposit the Thompson family had sent earlier, and transferred it straight back. The note only had four words: Find someone else. Three million was a fortune to others. To me, it couldn’t buy back the humiliation I suffered today. After doing all this, I blocked all the Thompson family’s contact information, completely cutting ties with them. Looking at the crushed special medicine powder all over the floor, I laughed coldly. Thompson, I won’t be responsible for your life anymore. I hailed a taxi and went straight back to the hospital. The moment I sat down in my office, my phone vibrated frantically again. I pressed answer, and Director Tony’s roar came through. “Mary! What the hell are you doing!” “The Thompson family called me directly! They said you caused trouble at the airport and tried to assault Mr. Thompson!” “Their flight attendant had no choice but to remove you from the plane to protect Mr. Thompson. Not only do you not repent, you dared to refund their deposit?” I froze for a moment, then couldn’t help laughing when I realized. The flight attendant’s ability to twist the truth was truly first-rate. To shirk responsibility for the overbooked flight, she could even fabricate such lies. Even more ridiculous was that the Thompson family believed this nonsense without even checking. “Old Mr. Thompson has spoken. You will immediately get to Houston to apologize to Mr. Thompson and arrange the surgery!” “If you dare not go, I’ll fire you immediately!” I ignored the shouting on the phone, took out a blank sheet of paper, and quickly wrote a resignation letter. Then I went upstairs and pushed open the director’s office door. Director Tony was holding his phone. He froze when he saw me enter. “Smack!” I slammed the resignation letter heavily on his desk. “No need to fire me. I quit.” Director Tony looked at the resignation letter on the desk, eyes wide. “Are you crazy? You think resigning will help you escape?” I placed both hands on the desk, looking down at him from above. “Director, I’ve been too tired lately. I’m planning to take a long vacation out of town.” “My medical license—if the Thompson family can revoke it, let them try. As for them wanting to blacklist me, let them.” With that, I turned and walked away. “Stop!” “Get back here!” Director Tony raged impotently behind me. But I didn’t look back. I walked straight out of the office. Calculating the time, it was about right. Thompson’s terminal illness was being kept alive by my specially prepared medicine. Now that the medicine was gone, it was time for the illness to flare up.

When I got home, I turned off my phone, drew the curtains, and went straight to bed. The next morning, the moment I turned on my phone, it was full of missed calls from the Thompson family. Then a strange number with a local area code called. The moment I answered, a familiar voice came through. “Dr. Mary! Please come back to the airport immediately! Mr. Thompson vomited blood and passed out on the plane!” “The airline has approved a free business class seat for you—a private charter to Houston!” It was yesterday’s flight attendant. I scoffed coldly and exposed her without mercy. “Free business class? Just now weren’t you saying I was poor and only deserved to be thrown off the plane?” “Stop your nonsense!” She panicked, her tone still imperious. “The Thompson family is pressuring the airline right now. If I lose my job because of you, I won’t let you off! Get over here now!” I hung up directly and blocked this number too. But less than half an hour later, there was pounding on my door. “BANG BANG BANG!” Accompanied by a strong, pungent smell. “Mary! You murderous quack! Get out here!” I yanked the door open. A bucket of red paint splashed across my security door, dripping down through the crack. The flight attendant, with several security guards in airline uniforms, blocked my doorway menacingly. The hallway was already filled with neighbors peeking out, their gossiping voices rising. “What a sin. She usually seems like such a quiet girl, but she’s actually a black-hearted doctor.” “Exactly! Someone came to her door and threw paint. She must have done something terrible!” The flight attendant heard the surrounding discussion and became even more pleased. “Everyone look! This is the quack doctor!” “She took the patient’s money but didn’t do her job, deliberately delaying treatment until the patient’s life was in danger!” “Now she’s hiding at home playing dead. This kind of black-hearted doctor should be arrested and sentenced!” Her face was twisted. She’d obviously been pushed to the edge by the Thompson family and wanted to use me as a scapegoat to earn favor. “You think hiding will work? Today you’ll crawl to Houston even if you have to!” I looked at the red paint all over the floor. Just as I was about to call the police, heavy footsteps came from the stairwell. Several bodyguards in black roughly pushed aside the onlooking neighbors. Butler John came upstairs, looking down at me from above. The flight attendant immediately rushed to greet him when she saw him. “Mr. John, look! I found this woman! She definitely won’t delay Mr. Thompson’s treatment!” John didn’t even give her a proper glance. He walked straight to me. “Dr. Mary, finished throwing your tantrum?” He pulled out a check and waved it between his fingers. “Six million. Double the price.” “Come with me right now, and our family can let bygones be bygones.” I didn’t even look at the check. I coldly spat out two words. “Not going.” “Don’t be ungrateful!” John’s face instantly darkened as he dropped all pretense. “You really think you can afford to offend our family?” He leaned in slightly, his voice extremely low but bone-chillingly cold. “If you won’t go willingly, I’ll tie you up and drag you to the operating table today.” “If you won’t operate, our family has ways to make you operate.” “I heard Dr. Mary’s mother is currently staying at Green Care Nursing Home?” My whole body shook. They were despicable enough to track down my mother’s location! “You dare touch my mother and see what happens!” I clenched my teeth, staring at him. “To cure the young master’s illness, our family will do anything.” John sneered continuously, his face full of arrogance. “You’d better be smart and go pack your things now.” “Otherwise, I guarantee your mother will be kicked out of the nursing home today and left homeless on the streets!” The surrounding bodyguards immediately stepped forward and restrained me. The flight attendant gloated from the side. “Did you hear? You dare show off in front of the Thompson family? How audacious!” Looking at their shameless behavior, I suddenly laughed. John frowned, extremely impatient. “What are you laughing at!” “I’m laughing at how stupid you are.” I stopped smiling and looked at the flight attendant who was still gloating. “You think I don’t want to save Thompson?” “Even if I go now, he won’t survive.” John’s face changed dramatically. He grabbed my collar. “What do you mean!”

“Ask her.” “Yesterday at the airport departure hall, she broke my suitcase.” “She also crushed the special medicine I specifically prepared for Thompson.” “Without this medicine to protect his heart meridian, forget surgery—he won’t even survive the anesthesia!” The smile on the flight attendant’s face instantly froze. “Stop slandering me!” “You deliberately spilled your things yourself, and now you want to blame me?” “Butler John, don’t listen to this crazy woman. She’s a fraud!” I watched her panic and found it laughable. “The departure hall surveillance recorded everything clearly. Want to check it yourself?” John stared at me hard, as if trying to judge whether I was telling the truth. After a long moment, he snorted coldly. “Stop making excuses! Our family has access to all the precious medicinal materials in the world. At worst, we’ll have someone prepare another dose!” “Now, come with me immediately!” He waved his hand. Several bodyguards in black directly lifted me up and forcibly stuffed me into a black business van parked downstairs. Several hours later, I was brought to the entrance of Houston First Hospital’s intensive care unit. Through the glass, Thompson was covered in tubes, and the monitor beside him emitted sharp alarm sounds. “Heart rate continuously dropping! Blood pressure barely measurable!” Several experts surrounded the bed, sweating profusely but helpless. “The miracle doctor is here!” John pushed through the crowd and pulled me to the front. At the end of the corridor, an elderly man with silver hair and an imposing presence walked over with a cane. Thompson’s grandfather, Paul, looked me up and down and directly handed me a blank check. “Fill in any amount you want.” “As long as you can save my grandson, our family won’t treat you poorly.” “But if you can’t save him…” His voice suddenly turned cold, full of killing intent. “I’m afraid your mother won’t be safe.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The Thompson family members were all cut from the same cloth. “Mr. Paul, you certainly have impressive authority.” I looked at him coldly, not taking the check. “Unfortunately, your grandson’s life can’t be bought back with any amount of money.” Paul flew into a rage, raising his cane and striking it heavily on the ground. “Outrageous! You dare curse my grandson!” “Someone, tie her up and throw her in the operating room! Today she’ll operate whether she wants to or not!” The bodyguards immediately surrounded me. I didn’t resist. I just took out my phone from my pocket and opened a video. I held the phone screen up to Paul’s face and pressed play. In the video was yesterday’s scene of the flight attendant crushing the medicine. “This medicine is one of a kind in the world.” “Without this medicine to protect his heart meridian, even God couldn’t save him.” Paul suddenly turned his head and looked at the flight attendant cowering in the corner. The flight attendant was so frightened her legs gave out. She fell directly to her knees. “Please let me explain…” “SLAP!” A loud slap landed hard on her face. The flight attendant’s face instantly swelled on one side, blood trickling from her mouth. She covered her face, scared out of her wits. “It wasn’t me! It was her! This woman is lying!” The flight attendant pointed at me, trying to throw all the blame on me. Paul was shaking with rage, his hand pointing at the flight attendant trembling.

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My husband Steve works in America. For ten years after our marriage, we’ve maintained a long-distance relationship across borders. I’ve been rejected for a green card ten times. On the tenth attempt, the visa officer laid it out for me directly: “Miss! Your so-called husband is already married! His wife obtained a green card ten years ago! Your marriage certificate is fake!” With that, he turned his computer screen to show me the documentation. In Steve’s spouse column, the name clearly displayed was his brother’s wife—Mila. I couldn’t believe it. I immediately called Steve. He responded casually over the phone: “Our marriage certificate is indeed fake!” “I did get a marriage certificate for Mila. That’s the only way her son David could come study in America. My brother died—I have a duty to take care of his wife and child!” “Once David turns eighteen and we’re sure he can stay in America, then we’ll get married.” I didn’t lose my temper. I simply said calmly: “No need. I’m not interested in someone else’s husband.” Then I called my assistant: “Notify Steve’s company—I want him fired. And cancel his credit card!”

Ten years ago, Steve’s offer to work in America was snatched away by someone else. I couldn’t bear to see him depressed, so I secretly created an exclusive overseas assignment plan just for him. I not only helped him connect with the top American universities, but invested ten million to secure a professor position. I paved his way with money at every turn, helping him build a world-class research team and become America’s youngest external consultant. Due to visa issues, I could only stay in this country three months each year before I had to leave. For ten years, I traveled back and forth, exhausted. Every year I prepared the materials needed for a marriage-based green card well in advance. I reviewed every detail meticulously before submitting, but was rejected every single time. Steve always comforted me: “America’s marriage green card review process is extremely strict, especially when the spouse is someone in a high-level technical position like me. Getting rejected is normal—we’ll try again next year.” I always thought it was just my bad luck. Now I finally know—it was my pillow partner who fabricated everything. I had even asked Mila before about how she got her green card, how she could stay here long-term with her child. Every time, Mila would respond with a half-smile: “Probably just my good luck?” So that’s how it was… To say I wasn’t heartbroken would be impossible. Just after I hung up with my assistant, Steve’s call came through. I wanted to hear what else he had to say, so I answered. The moment I picked up, I heard his scolding voice: “Mila just found out you called to question me, and she’s so upset she’s crying. She says she wants to take David and withdraw from school to return home tonight. You’ve scared David to tears.” Over the phone, I could indeed hear Mila’s sobbing and David’s angry crying: “Why do we have to leave?! I’m not going! This is my home! I won’t let that bad woman come here!” “Marta, if you’re going to blame someone, blame me. Don’t fight with Steve…” Steve said to David and Mila in a gentle voice: “As long as I’m here, no one can drive you away.” “I’ll have her apologize to you now, okay? Marta, apologize to them.” I hung up directly. I tore up all the visa documents and turned toward home. This green card—I don’t care about it anymore. I hadn’t walked far when Steve’s car pulled up in front of me. He rolled down the window and said: “I knew you were angry. Fine, you don’t have to apologize anymore. Really, why are you getting jealous over a widow and her child?” “I came specially to pick you up. Get in.” I didn’t bother saying anything and walked straight to the passenger side. I opened the door to find Mila there. She raised her eyebrows and said apologetically: “Sorry, Marta. I’m not feeling well today, so I took the passenger seat. You can sit in back.” Steve looked at me nervously, opening his mouth to defend Mila. After all, on any other day, I would have frowned and insisted on getting my rightful place in the passenger seat as the lady of the house. But today, I said nothing and got in the back seat. The visa center was eighteen kilometers from downtown—hard to catch a ride. If he was willing to pick me up, I’d just treat him as a free driver. Steve seemed surprised. His lips moved as he turned to say something to me. Mila interrupted: “Steve, the car behind us is honking. Let’s go.” I closed my eyes. I don’t know how long passed before the car stopped. When I opened my eyes, we were parked outside a Michelin restaurant. Seeing me frown, Steve smiled and said: “Mila knows you’re upset about the green card situation. She specially wants to treat you to dinner and apologize.” I said coldly: “Not necessary. I want to go home.” But Steve pulled me out with a laugh. “Be good. Mila and I will explain the marriage certificate situation to you properly.” I sat down expressionless. The whole evening I just watched the three of them interact intimately. I lost patience and said: “If you have something to say, say it now.” Steve said unhurriedly: “Let me add some red wine first.” Right after ordering, David suddenly knocked over the wine. Mila cried out in alarm. Steve quickly said to me: “Marta, I’ll take David to the restroom to wipe off his clothes. Just wait for me.” Mila shot me a triumphant look, then pulled Steve away. But I waited a full hour without seeing any sign of them. Instead, the restaurant manager came over and said politely: “Miss, we’re closed now. Please settle your bill—that’s $10,000 total.” I froze. The next second, Steve sent me a message: “You insist on making things difficult for Mila and the child and refuse to apologize simply because I’ve spoiled you too much.” “Now I’ve frozen your card!”

Seeing me grip my phone in silence, the manager raised his voice: “Miss! Please settle your bill!” Whispered laughter came from customers around me. “Coming here to eat when she has no money.” Countless mocking gazes fell on me like a resounding slap in the face. My phone kept buzzing with messages: “Marta, apologize to Mila and admit you were wrong! Promise you’ll never bring this up again. Otherwise, you’ll be detained in the restaurant or sent to jail.” I read his messages expressionlessly. Then I looked up and said in fluent English: “Go call your store manager. Tell them Miss Marta is here.” The manager didn’t understand what this meant, but his instincts told him he needed to do as I said. After the manager left, I took out that bank card from my wallet, snapped it in half, and tossed it in the trash. Steve really seemed to think I was just some appendage who could only depend on him. But he didn’t know that I had long ago inherited my parents’ estate, with business holdings spanning the globe. I never told him any of this because when my parents died, they left a will stating that if I wanted to marry, I had to conceal my identity from my partner. If my partner ever learned my true identity, all my assets would be taken by the family foundation, and I could only receive annual dividends. I knew they did this to prevent me from being taken advantage of. I once thought Steve was different. He was ambitious and hardworking, stayed on at the university as a teacher based on his excellent academic record, and even got an opportunity to study abroad on a government scholarship. But when the list came out, that slot went to someone with connections. Steve was devastated and locked himself in his study in despair. I couldn’t bear it, so I secretly had my assistant donate a building to a prestigious American university in exchange for a joint training opportunity and a visiting professor position. When Steve learned the news, he wept with joy, holding me and choking out: “Marta, I’ll work hard out there. Once I make something of myself, I’ll bring you here to live permanently.” Actually, I didn’t care about permanent residency status. What I cared about was not wanting to only be reunited with him for three short months each year. At this thought, a self-mocking smile appeared on my lips. Turns out Steve never planned on letting me stay here with him long-term. He had already given his legal status to Mila. No wonder every time I came back, I’d see things in our American home that didn’t belong to me. No wonder every time, even before the three months were up, Steve would pack my luggage and tell me to go back early. Turns out during the nine months I wasn’t there, the house I had carefully decorated had another lady of the house. Soon the store manager came in. As soon as he saw me, he bowed in greeting. Then he said to the restaurant manager: “Miss Marta is our BOSS. Her bill doesn’t need to be—” I raised my hand to interrupt: “Why shouldn’t it be settled?” I tapped the security camera above my head lightly and said: “Intentional dine-and-dash. You should call the police immediately. According to local regulations, the debt should be recovered tenfold.” Steve, you got it backwards. You’ve been deceiving me without any qualms all along simply because you’ve been relying on my love for you. Now that my love is gone, let’s see what becomes of you.

I returned home. The moment I pushed open the door, I saw an incredibly heartwarming scene. David sat in Steve’s arms, coaxing him to tell a story. Mila held a fruit plate, occasionally feeding Steve a grape. Her fingers brushed Steve’s lips, and Mila’s face flushed. But my eyes were fixed on what Mila was wearing—matching couple’s pajamas nearly identical to Steve’s. I had once bought these and begged Steve to wear them with me. He was dismissive: “Marta, that’s too childish.” When I came back the next year, those pajamas were gone. I always thought Steve had thrown them away. I never imagined… they were already being worn by someone else. I kicked the door open, startling the three people in the room. Mila cried out and hid helplessly behind Steve. Steve looked briefly surprised, then asked with an ugly expression: “How… how did you get back here?” I laughed coldly: “My own home—why can’t I come back?” Steve was speechless. Just as he was about to say something, David in his arms already rushed over like a little cannonball. He rammed into my lower abdomen. I slammed hard into the table corner, a piercing pain shooting through my lower back. I stumbled and fell to the floor. “It’s all your fault! Every time you come, Mom and I have to leave home!” “You bad woman! Don’t you have your own home?! Why do you have to take over ours?!” Steve pulled David back awkwardly, his face stern: “Kids say the darndest things. It would be petty of you to argue with a child.” I gritted my teeth and barely managed to stand: “Fine. I won’t argue with a child.” Before a satisfied smile could appear on his face, I had already strode forward and slapped Mila across the face. “It’s the mother’s fault if the child isn’t taught properly. Mila! You deserved that!” But my wrist was gripped tightly. The next second, a burning pain spread across my cheek. I fell to the floor, looking up at Steve with his raised hand. He said to me coldly: “Are you done yet, Marta?! Looks like today’s lesson wasn’t enough for you!” As if suddenly remembering something, his face darkened: “Today’s bill was $10,000, and you don’t have a cent on you! How did you pay?!” Before I could speak, Mila said tearfully: “Marta, even if you’re angry with us, you can’t hurt yourself!” “No wonder that manager was smiling at you when we left. Did you… with him…” She covered her mouth with a look of regret. Steve’s anger ignited. He looked at me with an ugly expression: “Marta! To avoid apologizing, you’d rather sell your body?! Is this how you treat me?!” “You’re just… how can you be so cheap!” He pointed a trembling finger toward the door: “Get out! Get out right now!” “Didn’t you want to break up with me? Fine! Let’s break up! Leave now!” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and stood up shakily: “Steve, this is my marital home. The ones who should leave are you!” Mila’s eyes were mocking, though her tone remained gentle and patient: “Marta, I know you put in some money initially… but Steve already transferred the property rights of this house to me. Sorry, but you’ll have to leave now.” I jerked my head up to look at Steve: “You transferred our marital home to Mila?!” Mila walked over and took Steve’s arm, saying awkwardly: “Steve was afraid David and I wouldn’t be comfortable living in someone else’s house, so he transferred it to me.” “He said this way I’d have my own home…” Though I was already disappointed, at this moment I still felt my heart being cut by knives: “This is our marital home! The home we decorated together! Steve! How dare you!” He looked at me coldly: “This house is Mila’s now! No amount of talking will change that.” I looked at the two of them for a long moment. Then I laughed lightly and made a phone call. “Send me some people.”

The moment I hung up, Steve let out a scoffing laugh. “Marta, what are you pretending for?” “You don’t have a cent on you. Who could you possibly call?” Mila also sighed softly, her tone gentle: “Marta, I know you can’t accept this right now, but things are what they are.” She lowered her head and stroked David’s hair. “Steve only transferred the house to me because he feels bad for us, a widow and orphan.” I said nothing, just looked at them. Our arguing attracted quite a few neighbors. Someone recognized Steve and called out: “Isn’t that Mr. Steve? Do you need us to call the police?” Mila smiled graciously: “It’s fine. She’s our friend from back home who won’t leave my house…” Hearing this, they all looked at me with disgust. Someone even shouted at me: “Ugly woman! Get out of here!” Steve turned to look at me: “Just leave, Marta. This isn’t something an apology can fix anymore. You… you’re already dirty.” I looked at him expressionlessly: “$350,000.” “What?” “The total price of this house.” I said calmly: “I paid half, so you paid $350,000. Steve, I’ll pay you back that $350,000.” Steve looked at me and lost his patience. “Marta, stop talking nonsense. You probably took out loans for years just to scrape together your own $350,000. Where would you get the money to pay me back?” He pulled out his phone and made a call: “This is Steve. I want to report someone for forging documents to fraudulently obtain a marriage green card.” “Yes, I have evidence. Please come take her away immediately.” Steve hung up and looked at me with a complex expression: “Marta, this could have been resolved with just an apology.” “I already explained to you—once David gets into college and he and Mila are completely settled, I can get our marriage certificate. Why won’t you accept that?” “You were willing to wait ten years. What’s another ten years?” I laughed coldly, but felt only sorrow in my heart. So this is the kind of man I wasted ten years on. Steve took a deep breath and said to me: “As long as… you promise never to mention the thing with Mila and me again, I can explain to immigration that this was all a misunderstanding…” “I know you don’t want to keep traveling back and forth. I can promise that every year during university winter and summer breaks, I’ll go back to spend time with you… Back home, we can still be like husband and wife…” Hearing this, Mila glared at me venomously, though her tone remained soft: “Marta, stop being stubborn. Do you know that if immigration takes you away, you’ll not only face ten years in prison, but also a fine of hundreds of thousands of dollars?” “The restaurant bill could be handled by the manager helping you out, but you can’t possibly handle the prison bill by…” Just as she finished speaking, footsteps sounded outside. Steve’s face darkened, with an undertone of threat: “Marta! This is your last chance! If you agree, I’ll go send them away. If you don’t agree, I can only let them take you…” But I calmly pulled at the corner of my mouth, shook off Steve’s grasping hand, and walked over. Several tall men in black suits and sunglasses walked in. Steve’s jaw clenched. He seemed to finally make up his mind, looked at me deeply once, then pointed at me and said: “It’s her…” Before he could finish, I raised my hand and said: “Smash it. Smash this house to pieces for me!” Mila and Steve’s eyes widened instantly: “You’re crazy!” Before they could say anything else, they were tied up and thrown to the ground. I smiled and walked forward, slapping each of them until my palms went numb: “$350,000, right here.” I casually tossed down a check. “Steve, my things—I’d rather smash them than give them to you.” I said coldly: “Smashing isn’t enough. Bring explosives. I want this filthy marital home razed completely to the ground!” “Marta! You’re insane!” Amid Steve and Mila’s terrified screams, the house was instantly blown to rubble. The massive explosion drew attention. Within minutes, countless vehicles bearing immigration and security bureau insignias blocked the entrance. Steve roared: “I’m Steve! A senior consultant hired by America! This woman is insane! She forged a green card and hired illegal personnel to maliciously threaten me!” “She should be imprisoned for life! Arrest her now!” But I wasn’t afraid at all. I just smiled faintly.

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The day my husband declared bankruptcy was the same day I stumbled upon a certain livestream. She was a “lifestyle influencer”—the kind who flaunts a life bought with other people’s secrets. On screen, she swirled in a limited-edition couture gown, gesturing toward a floor-to-ceiling glass case filled with Hermès Birkins and Chanel flaps. “My Daddy is playing a game with me,” she cooed to her camera, her voice a sugary needle. “He’s pretending to be broke just to see if his wife will actually follow him into the trenches. He moved her into some rotted-out studio apartment in the slums.” She giggled, running a manicured nail over a row of leather. “Now, all these bags are mine. I can’t even wear them all. Maybe I’ll do a giveaway for my favorite followers.” My heart didn’t just skip; it stalled. My eyes were locked on the bag in her hand. It was a structured, architectural piece in midnight-blue calfskin. I knew that bag. I had one exactly like it. In fact, there was only one in the world. Because I had designed it myself. On the screen, a comment flashed: Does Daddy even love his wife? “Of course he does,” she smirked, leaning into the lens. “But so what? He says she’s expired. Her face is sagging, and everything else is… well, loose. He says top to bottom, she’s just old. He’s bored to tears.” I looked at the girl—her face bore a haunting, younger resemblance to mine—and then looked around the damp, peeling wallpaper of the studio apartment where I sat. I felt a chill settle into my marrow. “Sorry, babes, I have to hop off,” she whispered with a performative blush. “Daddy’s coming home. He told me to be showered and ready. He said he wants to go all night.” The stream cut to black. Almost instantly, a text vibrated in my hand. It was from Harrison. [I’m so sorry, babe. The creditors are hounding me. I might be stuck here until dawn trying to negotiate. Don’t wait up.] 1 I stared at the screen, a heavy silence descending on the room. So, Harrison was the “Daddy.” The bankruptcy? A meticulously crafted lie. I tapped on the influencer’s profile. She had just posted a new update: Pre-battle intimacy. It was a photo of a man’s back. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a kitchen apron, standing over a stove. After ten years of sharing a bed, I could recognize the curve of Harrison’s shoulders in pitch darkness. The kitchen was familiar, too. It was our kitchen. My kitchen. For a decade, I was the one standing there, coaxing flavors out of cast iron while he worked late. Harrison hadn’t spent more than sixty seconds at that stove in years. Now, he was cooking for her. I sat back on the hard plastic chair. This “apartment” Harrison had brought me to didn’t even have a sofa. It had no Wi-Fi, no TV. It was a cage designed to keep me isolated while he played house in our mansion. I waited for the tears, for the cinematic rage. But all I felt was a strange, crystalline peace. Maybe I’d known all along. The bankruptcy had been too sudden, too quiet. No news reports, no legal notices—just Harrison’s frantic voice and a suitcase packed in the dark. For the past week, he only showed up in the mornings. He told me he was “hiding from collectors,” warned me never to leave the building for my own safety. I’m worried about you, Margot, he’d said, kissing my forehead. Now I realized he wasn’t worried about my safety. He was worried about his two worlds colliding. Fine. I accepted the reality with the cold efficiency of a ledger being balanced. I stood up, put on my coat, and laced my shoes. Harrison had lied to me about being broke. What he didn’t know was that I had never told him about the private offshore account I’d been building from my design royalties—a safety net large enough to keep me in silk and champagne for the rest of my life. 2 The next morning at 8:00 AM, Harrison’s texts started flooding in. Where are you? I didn’t answer. Ten minutes later, my phone shrieked. I let it ring four times before picking up. “Margot? Where are you? Why aren’t you answering me?” His voice was tight, vibrating with an anxiety he tried to mask as concern. I took a sharp breath, making sure it sounded labored. “I… I didn’t see the phone.” The line went quiet for a few beats. “Margot,” he said, his tone shifting to something suspicious, “what are you doing? Why is your breathing so heavy?” I let out a soft, airy laugh. “Running, Harrison. What else would I be doing?” “Running where? I’ll come pick you up.” “Central Park,” I lied effortlessly. He hung up without a word. I shrugged and took my time getting back to the dingy apartment. When I walked in, a grease-stained paper bag sat on the plastic table. Egg sandwiches and lukewarm coffee. The “broke man’s” breakfast. I didn’t touch it. I tossed the whole bag into the trash. For a week, he’d brought me the same cheap breakfast every morning, playing the part of the struggling provider. At first, I thought it was sweet. Now, the smell of the congealed eggs made me want to gag. The phone kept vibrating. Harrison, again and again. I set it to silent, walked into the cramped bathroom, and turned on the shower. I let the water drown out the world. When I stepped out, Harrison was standing in the middle of the room, holding my glowing phone. His face was a mask of thunder. “Margot, why the hell aren’t you picking up?” I rubbed a towel through my hair, giving him a vacant, dreamy smile. “Data plans aren’t cheap, Harrison. You told me we’re bankrupt. I’m just trying to save us money.” The lecture he had prepared died in his throat. He looked at me, his eyes searching for a crack in my armor, but I gave him nothing. Finally, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just stressed.” He pulled out his phone and, with a flourish of performative martyrdom, Venmoed me exactly fifteen dollars. “I made this doing some freelance consulting last night,” he lied, his breath smelling of the expensive espresso I knew he’d had at the house. “It’s all I have right now. Use it. Don’t worry about saving every penny.” Freelance? Is that what they called being a sugar daddy now? As he held me, his phone chimed. A text notification. He pulled away instantly, turning his back to me to check the screen. Within seconds, he was fumbling for his keys. “I have to go, Margot. The creditors again. They’re being aggressive.” I watched him. “Are they really, Harrison? Is it the debt collectors?” “Of course. I’d never lie to you.” He was already at the door, his hand on the knob. “Stay inside. Don’t go out. I’ll bring breakfast tomorrow.” He practically sprinted out. It didn’t look like a man running from debt; it looked like a man running to a prize. I pulled up the influencer’s—Lexie’s—page. New post: Daddy just sent his wife $15 for ‘groceries.’ I told him that wouldn’t fly with me. I wanted a million. In my account. Right now. The second photo was a screenshot of a wire transfer: $1,000,000.00. The third was a candid shot of Harrison’s profile, his head bowed as he typed on his phone. I laughed. I reached up to wipe my eyes, but they were perfectly dry. 3 Harrison returned the next morning. This time, it wasn’t a greasy paper bag. He brought a delicate container of lobster bisque and truffle-oil dumplings. I was about to take a bite when my phone pushed a notification. Lexie again: Last night I mentioned I was craving lobster. Daddy got up at 3 AM to hand-shell four lobsters himself. I couldn’t finish it all, so I told him to take the leftovers to the ‘old lady’ in the cellar. I stared at the dumplings. I dropped the chopsticks as if they were white-hot. “This is disgusting,” I whispered. Harrison, who was pouring tea, froze. “What did you say?” I turned my head slowly, meeting his eyes. “I read a story online yesterday. About a man who faked a total financial collapse just to move his wife of ten years into a dump so he could move his mistress into their mansion.” I tilted my head, my voice dripping with faux-innocence. “Can you imagine being that pathetic? That much of a coward? It’s sickening, don’t you think, Harrison?” Harrison’s eyelid gave a violent, uncontrollable twitch. He looked down, then back up, his face pale. “Yeah. Sickening.” I leaned in, my voice a sharp blade. “You wouldn’t ever lie to me like that, right?” “No!” he blurted out, his voice cracking. “I’d never lie to you, Margot. You have to believe me.” He saw the doubt in my eyes and doubled down, his face twisted into a mask of desperate sincerity. “If I’m lying to you, I hope I get hit by a car the second I walk out that door. I mean it. May God strike me down.” “Careful what you wish for,” I said, my lips curling into a sweet, sharp smile. “But okay. I believe you.” I didn’t touch the food. I walked straight into the bathroom. Harrison followed me to the door, his voice hesitant. “You’ve been showering every morning lately. Is it because of the running?” “Yeah,” I called out over the sound of the faucet. “The neighbor’s dog keeps jumping on me at the park. I smell like sweat and wet dog, and you know how much I hate that. I can’t stand the filth.” I don’t know if he believed me. I don’t think he was even listening. I could see him through the pinhole camera I’d installed the day before. He was huddled in the corner of the room, frantically texting his little toy. I have to stay tonight, he typed. She’s getting suspicious. I need to keep her handled. 4 That night, Harrison climbed into bed and pulled me against him. It was a suffocating, practiced intimacy. “I’m so sorry, Margot,” he whispered into my hair. “If I hadn’t lost everything, you wouldn’t be suffering in a place like this. I promise, I’ll get our life back.” I closed my eyes, picturing the text I’d seen on the monitor earlier. Harrison had told Lexie: I can’t stand lying next to this old woman. I swear I can smell the rot on her. Like an old person’s home. Lexie had replied: Poor baby. Just wait until she’s asleep, then go to the bathroom and FaceTime me. I’ll show you what a real woman looks like. No clothes allowed. I felt him wait. He waited for my breathing to turn deep and rhythmic. Once he was sure I was under, he slipped out of bed. The studio was so small that he didn’t even go to the bathroom; he just huddled in the far corner by the sink. I didn’t even need the camera to hear the muffled, pathetic sounds of his arousal as he whispered to a screen. It was pathetic. I hoped his prayer came true. I hoped he’d be hit by a bus by morning. But Harrison didn’t die. He didn’t even wait for morning. He slipped out in the middle of the night, leaving a note: [Creditors found me. Moving to another location. Stay safe.] On Lexie’s Instagram, there was a video of them in the back of his Maybach, his hands all over her, his face buried in her neck. I didn’t chase him. I didn’t scream. That would be messy. It would make me look like the “crazy, bitter wife” he probably told her I was. Instead, I sat at the small plastic table and methodically saved every screenshot of Lexie’s posts, every frame of the hidden camera footage. These weren’t just memories. They were my ammunition. 5 Harrison spent the next forty-eight hours with Lexie. He even grew bold enough to appear on her livestream, though he kept his face out of frame. They were flaunting their “forbidden love” for thousands of viewers. One commenter went rogue: This is trash. You’re a homewrecker and he’s a cheating loser. I feel sorry for his wife. Harrison didn’t block them. Instead, he started “raining” digital gifts on the stream, spending thousands of dollars in seconds to bury the comment. “You’re just jealous,” he typed into the chat, his hubris reaching a fever pitch. “Here’s some money so you can buy a life. Now shut up and let the adults play.” I sat in my dark studio, tapping the screen to collect the “red envelope” digital cash he was throwing around. Years ago, when Harrison and I first started out, he had defended me against online bullies with that same ferocity. He was still the same man—dominant, protective, aggressive. He just wasn’t doing it for me anymore. I sighed, clicking the last of the digital credits. The man I loved was dead. There was only this rotting shell left. Harrison finally showed up on Valentine’s Day morning. He brought the usual egg sandwiches. Meanwhile, Lexie’s story featured a five-course breakfast tray he’d prepared for her, complete with edible gold leaf and mimosas. A man who hadn’t boiled an egg for me in a decade was suddenly a Michelin-star chef for a twenty-two-year-old. I was tired. This farce was exhausting. “Come back tonight, Harrison,” I said, my voice flat. “I have something to tell you.” He promised he’d be there. 6 February 14th. Our tenth anniversary. I spent the afternoon cooking—the things I liked. I didn’t make his favorites. I made mine. I called him at 7 PM. He answered, sounding breathless. Before he could say a word, I heard a woman’s sharp, theatrical moan in the background. “I’m busy, Margot! I’ll be there soon!” He hung up. I sat down and ate my dinner alone. It was delicious. He finally rolled in at 10 PM, looking disheveled, the faint scent of a heavy, floral perfume clinging to his skin like a sin. “Margot, I’m so sorry. The meeting ran late.” He held out a plastic container. “I brought you dinner from that bistro you love. I happened to be meeting a client there, and I told him it was your favorite, so he insisted I take some home.” Another lie. He had spent the day with Lexie. They’d probably spent the afternoon in a hotel and the evening at a five-star restaurant. These weren’t “thoughtful leftovers.” They were the scraps of a meal he’d shared with his mistress. I didn’t tell him I’d already eaten. I just looked at him. “Sit down. We need to talk.” Harrison stayed by the door, looking trapped. “Babe, I really just came to check on you. I have to go back. The deal isn’t closed yet.” He looked at me with that practiced, puppy-dog sorrow. “I feel terrible about missing our anniversary. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He turned to leave. That’s when I noticed he hadn’t even taken off his shoes. He wasn’t even pretending to stay. “You really can’t give me ten minutes?” I asked. “On our tenth anniversary?” Harrison hesitated. His gut told him to stay—that this was a pivotal moment. But his phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from Lexie, no doubt. The pull of the new was stronger than the debt of the old. “I’m sorry, Margot,” he said, and he closed the door. I waited sixty seconds. Then I followed him. His car was idling at the curb. As soon as he got in, Lexie—who had been waiting in the passenger seat—threw herself at him. She bit his lip, her voice loud enough to carry in the quiet street. “You’re two minutes late! Your punishment is you aren’t allowed to leave the bed tonight!” Harrison pinned her back against the seat, his voice thick with a heat I hadn’t heard in years. “I can start right now.” I stood in the shadows, my phone recording the whole encounter. I watched them drive away. I didn’t go back to the studio. I pulled out my phone and dialed a different number. “Pick me up,” I said. 7 The transition from Valentine’s Day to the end of the month was a blur of guilt-management for Harrison. He felt bad about missing the anniversary, so he decided he had to be with me for the upcoming holiday. It was a tradition—no matter how “broke” we were, we spent the big moments together. He was addicted to Lexie, but in his mind, she was a toy. I was the “foundation.” He thought he could keep the foundation in a cage and play with the toy in the sunlight. On the holiday morning, he drove to the studio, ready to play the part of the doting husband. He unlocked the door with a smile. “Margot, I’m home! Today we’re—” The words died. The room was cold. The bed was perfectly made. My clothes were still in the tiny closet, and the “leftovers” from the bistro were rotting on the table. But my favorite shoes were gone. He panicked. He dialed my number, his hand shaking. I picked up on the second ring. “Margot! Where are you? Why aren’t you at the apartment?” I didn’t answer him with words. I let the phone capture the sound—a low, masculine chuckle and the rhythmic creak of a headboard. Harrison’s entire body went cold. “Margot… what are you doing? Are you… are you running again?” A sharp gasp hit the microphone, followed by my voice, cool and steady. “Harrison, someone told me I was ‘expired.’ That I was old everywhere. I decided to get a second opinion.” I paused, letting the silence twist the knife. “It turns out, I’m fine. It was you. You’re short, you’re soft, and frankly, you’re underwhelming. Like a wilted sprout.” I hung up. Harrison’s world tilted. Before he could call back, a notification popped up on his feed. A post from a popular “Confessions” page: My sugar-sister said her husband was a ‘two-pump chump’ who faked bankruptcy. What should she do? Answer: Get yourself a golden retriever boy who can go all night! Attached was a photo of a young man with a chiseled chest, his face masked, and a woman in silk lingerie leaning against him. Even from the back, Harrison knew that woman. It was Margot. His “expired” wife.

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I built my empire on stinky ramen. I’m the “Ramen Queen” of social media, a micro-celebrity known for slurping down bowls of pungent, spicy, fermented pork broth for millions of followers. My husband, on the other hand, is the apex predator of the Manhattan financial circuit. Before the wedding, we made a pact: church and state. He wouldn’t touch my business, and I wouldn’t interfere with his. In three years, he hasn’t so much as liked a single post of mine, let alone dropped a “gift” in my livestream. My frenemies love to whisper about us. They insist he’s secretly pulling strings for me behind the scenes, mocking our pairing as “Street Cart Ramens paired with 30-year Macallan.” One night, fed up with the snide remarks, I decided to lean into the joke. “Hey, Dominic,” I said, leaning against his mahogany desk. “Maybe you should actually pave a path for me. You know, make the rumors true?” Dominic looked up, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He removed his gold-rimmed glasses and pulled me into his lap, the scent of expensive sandalwood and cold hard cash clinging to him. “Our little internet star doesn’t need my help to build an empire,” he murmured. “If anything, the day I go bankrupt, I’ll be the one begging to be your cameraman for a paycheck.” We’d been together for five years, and I was still a sucker for that charm. With one effortless, half-joking comment, he managed to smooth out all the wrinkled insecurities in my heart. Until the day my follower count hit the one-million mark. A rival influencer bought a smear campaign against me. Suddenly, the top trending topic was “Stinky Ramen Slut and Her Secret Sugar Daddy.” The internet was tearing me apart. Only one person spoke up for me: Camille Rossi, a visionary indie director. But her defense of me backfired, sparking a new wave of rumors claiming she’d “slept her way through every venture capitalist in the city.” I was drowning in guilt until a verified corporate account dropped a bombshell comment on the trending thread. @CamilleRossi is my most vital partner. Her professional integrity is beyond reproach. Our legal department will be pursuing every account involved in this defamation. The handle looked familiar. Too familiar. I ended my livestream early and practically sprinted home. I pushed open the study door and found him there—the man who claimed to have no social media, the man who always told me to “just ignore the trolls.” Dominic was gripping his phone so hard the veins in his forearms were bulging. He was personally operating his conglomerate’s official account, waging war in the comments section to defend Camille. 1 I walked right up to Dominic, but he didn’t even notice me. His brow was furrowed, his eyes locked onto Camille’s latest post on his private phone. At that moment, his work phone on the desk lit up with a notification from his assistant: [Mr. Sterling, the situation regarding Miss Rossi has been handled.] [Should we deal with the trending hashtags regarding your wife as well?] My heart hammered against my ribs. I was suddenly, paralyzingly afraid of the answer. Before he could reach for the work phone, I backed out of the room and closed the door, my breath hitching. An hour passed. The “Sugar Daddy” hashtags about me were still climbing the charts, untouched. There was my answer. This was Dominic’s “consistent” attitude toward me. He always preached about “the truth speaking for itself,” telling me to stay above the fray of public insults. I had been naive enough to believe that to a titan of industry like him, internet drama was simply beneath his dignity. But now, every insulting post about Camille Rossi had vanished as if they never existed. I realized then that it wasn’t that he was “above it.” It wasn’t that he was always calm. It was just that I wasn’t the woman he was willing to go to war for. With a hollow ache in my chest, I went to the kitchen and cooked a bowl of my signature ramen, extra spicy, extra pungent. I ate them like a form of self-flagellation, scrolling through Camille’s Instagram—ten years of history she’d never deleted. It was a roadmap of my husband’s heart. I saw the Dominic I knew—the neat freak who winced if I kissed him after I’d brushed my teeth three times—holding a greasy takeout container for Camille, looking at her like she was the only thing in the world. I saw Camille standing on his rare, limited-edition vinyl records to reach a high shelf, and he was just laughing, taking a photo and captioning it “Adorable.” When I had once asked to listen to one of those records, he’d locked the cabinet with a cold, stony expression. I scrolled further back. He’d once walked out of a billion-dollar cross-border negotiation just to make it to Camille’s birthday dinner. Meanwhile, I had waited at the courthouse three separate times for him to show up for our marriage license. The first time was an “emergency meeting.” The second was an “unexpected business trip.” The third time he actually showed up, he spent the entire ceremony on a work call he refused to hang up. Seeing this version of Dominic—this reckless, passionate boy—made the bitterness I’d been swallowing for years overflow. I began to sob, the sound muffled by the documentary playing in the study. He was watching The Flavor Trail again. He’d invested in it years ago. Only now did I see the director’s credit at the end: Camille Rossi. The irony was a knife to the gut. Dominic and I had started because of this film. Five years ago, when I was a struggling vlogger, my raw, unpolished review of that documentary had caught his eye. He’d told me he saw “true soul” in my work. After we married, we watched it together often. Every time the credits rolled and the camera panned over the exhausted film crew, he would get this distant, longing look in his eyes. I had been vain enough to think that look was a reflection of his pride in me, a nod to our shared beginning. But I was wrong. He wasn’t reminiscing about how we met. He was staring at the screen, drowning in the memory of the woman he could never truly have. … I forced down a massive mouthful of spicy ramen, the chili oil burning my throat until tears streamed down my face. Hearing me choke, Dominic walked out of the study. He saw my red, swollen eyes and the oil smeared on my lips, and his brow twitched with a familiar irritation. He sighed, handing me a glass of lukewarm water. “If you can’t handle the heat, Jade, don’t force it.” His calm, condescending tone was the final straw. “Dominic,” I said, my voice thick. “I’m trending again. Everyone is calling me a whore. I’m tired of being the ‘Ramen Queen.’ I want to pivot. I want to go into production, to do something real. Can you help me?” 2 He looked at me with the cold, analytical gaze he usually reserved for a failing stock. “Your brand is too ‘street,’ Jade. It’s grounded in being relatable and a bit… unrefined. You can’t just jump into high-end production. The market is cold right now. Me helping you wouldn’t make a dent. Don’t be impulsive.” I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. I remembered Camille’s post from years ago. She’d complained about being tired, and Dominic had replied: Then stop. I’ll take care of you. Like a woman possessed, I heard myself ask: “If I actually lose my career because I don’t have your help, will you take care of me then?” His face darkened immediately. “Jade, adults are responsible for their own choices. What I’ve always admired about you is your independence.” Every word felt like a stone hitting my heart. The truth was, I didn’t even have the credentials to be his trophy wife. I was just an “independent” asset he didn’t want to be bothered by. “So what are we, Dominic?” I whispered, fighting back tears. He looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean? You’re my wife. You’re Mrs. Sterling. Isn’t that enough?” “It’s not.” I swiped my phone open and shoved Camille’s post in his face. “You can wipe the internet clean for her in a single night. You can dump millions into a documentary just to see her name in lights. You’ll even get into a digital fistfight for her!” My voice was shaking uncontrollably. “And me? Your wife? Am I not worth a single resource? Not even one word of public support?” He looked at the photo of Camille on the screen—her holding an award, looking radiant. He was silent for a few beats. When he spoke, the calm was gone, replaced by a sharp, business-like edge. “I do those things for her because she is worth the investment. Every dollar I put behind her yields a hundred-fold return in prestige and profit. Her talent, her vision—that is a premium asset.” His eyes snapped back to me, cold and dismissive. “And if I help you? What do I get? A percentage of the ‘donations’ from your livestream? Two dollars for every pack of ramen you sell through a link? That wouldn’t even cover the gas my driver uses to get me to work. Investment requires a return, Jade.” Finally, the mask of the “supportive husband” was ripped away. The truth left me pale and trembling. Dominic saw my shattered expression and sighed. He stepped forward and pulled me into his arms, his voice softening slightly. “Jade, don’t be like this. Let’s be rational. Tell me what you need, and we can—” His phone let out a sharp, demanding ring. He didn’t even look at the caller ID. “Who is it?” he snapped. A soft, feminine voice drifted through the speaker. “Dominic? It’s Maddie… I mean, Camille.” He stiffened. His instinct was to let go of me and head for the study, but seeing my red eyes, he hesitated, frozen in place. Camille’s voice continued, laced with a familiar, practiced dependence. “I’m at dinner with those investors you introduced me to. They’re being difficult about the new studio project. They won’t sign unless you’re here to vouch for me…” She paused, her voice dropping to a soft plea. “Can you come? They only listen to you.” 3 Dominic held the phone in one hand while the other continued to pat my back in a hollow gesture of comfort. After a moment of silence, he spoke into the receiver. “Tell them I’m in for two hundred million. Their portion is guaranteed. If there’s a profit, it’s theirs. If there’s a loss, I’ll cover it.” “Send me the address,” he added. “I’m on my way.” The world went silent. I gripped the hem of his expensive suit jacket with a desperate, manic strength. “Don’t go.” “Dominic, what happened to your principles? What happened to ‘Return on Investment’?” One second ago, I was “not worth the gas money.” The next, he was throwing two hundred million at Camille because she made one phone call. He was taking all the risk and giving others the reward, just to clear a path for her. The slap in the face was so violent I started laughing through my tears. Dominic’s face shifted into blatant impatience. “Camille just got back to the States. Starting over is hard for her. Helping her is a matter of loyalty. Jade, you’re my wife. Can’t you show a little grace?” “So, you won’t help your wife, but you’ll burn the world for her?” My voice was a ghost of itself. “She has it hard? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked?” I had built my brand from nothing. I had swallowed every insult, every spicy bite that burned my stomach, every lonely night while he worked. He knew none of it. He had never asked. “Dominic, if you go, we’re done. I’ll file for divorce.” He brushed my hand off his jacket as if I were a nagging child. “Stop being dramatic. I’ll have someone look into your hashtags. Get some sleep. I’m going.” The door clicked shut. I collapsed onto the floor. I had tried. I had bet the only thing I thought I had—our marriage—and I had lost. To Dominic, I was so insignificant that he didn’t even believe my threat was real. I sat there for a long time. My manager sent me a text: [Hey, I know you want to move behind the scenes. There’s an investor, Mr. Miller, who’s willing to talk tonight. He’s at the Grande.] Dominic wouldn’t build a road for me, so I’d have to walk through the mud myself. I washed my face, put on my fiercest heels, and left. At the hotel bar, Mr. Miller was already waiting. He was oily, his hand lingering too long on my waist as he guided me toward a private booth. I’d dealt with men like him before, but as I was scanning for an exit strategy, I saw a familiar figure at the end of the hallway. Dominic. He saw me being led away by Miller. His face darkened into a mask of pure contempt. Just then, Camille’s voice rang out. “Dominic! Why are you still out here? The board is waiting!” She spotted me and a flicker of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a smirk. She tucked her arm through Dominic’s and began pulling him toward the ballroom. “Honestly,” I heard her whisper as they walked away, “I thought Jade was a hard-working, decent girl. That’s why I tried to defend her. I didn’t realize… this was how she ‘networked.’ I shouldn’t have gotten involved. It’s a bad look for both of us.” Dominic didn’t defend me. He let her lead him away. That was the moment the last spark of love in me died. Back in the booth, Miller and his cronies were pressuring me to drink. After three glasses, a strange, terrifying heat began to bloom in my chest. I realized something was wrong. They’d spiked the drink. I lunged out of the booth, stumbled into the hallway, and kicked open the door to the VIP lounge where I knew Dominic was. The drug was hitting me hard. I looked at the man at the head of the table—the man I’d shared a bed with for three years. “Dominic,” I rasped, “Please… they did something to me. I don’t feel right. Take me home.” The room went silent. Camille looked up, annoyed. “Miss Jade, I think you have the wrong room. This isn’t one of your… low-rent parties.” I looked at Dominic. He sat there like a king on a throne, cold and unmoved. The other investors at the table caught the vibe immediately. “Who let her in?” one of them laughed. “Is this some wannabe trying to ‘stumble’ into a high-stakes room?” Another chimed in. “Never seen her. Probably some social climber looking for a billionaire to save her.” I wanted to scream, I’m his wife! But Dominic got up and walked over to me. He looked at my flushed face, my trembling hands, and my disheveled hair. He didn’t even touch me. “When you decided to go looking for other ‘investors,’ did you not consider the consequences?” He stood tall, looking down at me with nothing but disgust. “You made this mess. Clean it up yourself. And don’t bring your filth near me again.” He turned around, put his hand on Camille’s shoulder, and walked out. The rejection felt like a bucket of ice water. I stood there, frozen, as Miller came up behind me and grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the elevators. Fear and the drug made me weak. I struggled, screaming at the silhouette disappearing down the hall. “Dominic! I was wrong! Help me! Please!” The footsteps stopped.

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Miles has a tongue like a serrated knife—sharp, jagged, and designed to leave a mark. When I first got my curtain bangs, he spent an agonizingly long time scrutinizing me. Finally, he let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Did you honestly think your face wasn’t round enough? You really had to frame it like that just to make sure you look more like a dinner plate?” I lost count of the times he reduced me to tears. But he was gorgeous, and he always seemed to show up exactly when I needed him. So, I did what women in love always do: I gaslit myself. I told myself he was just one of those men who didn’t know how to handle his own emotions. I told myself his cruelty was just a defense mechanism. Then came the university club mixer. A freshman named Piper accidentally knocked over a carafe of scalding tea, and it spilled directly onto Miles’s arm. If it had been me, he would have eviscerated me. He would have called me clumsy, useless, and a burden. … But as I watched, he only winced, glancing down at the angry red welt forming on his skin. When he looked up at Piper, his voice was… soft. Almost gentle. “Go to the infirmary and get some burn cream,” he said. “What are you waiting for?” That gentleness felt like a needle driven straight into my heart. He had never looked at me with anything but irritation. Yet here he was, waving off the girl who had actually hurt him, making sure she wasn’t too upset about it. It was the moment the floor fell out from under me. I realized then that he wasn’t “bad at expressing himself.” He was perfectly capable of tenderness; he just didn’t think I was worth the effort. The mixer ended in a blur of awkward silences. Back at our apartment, Miles sat on the sofa, brooding and silent. I fetched the first-aid kit, my hands trembling as I tried to treat the burn. His arm was a mess of angry red skin and rising blisters. “Can you please just be steady for once?” he snapped, his usual impatience flaring up. “You’re about to squeeze half that tube onto the floor.” My eyes stung with sudden heat. “Miles,” I whispered. “What?” “You were… different with Piper.” He let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter. “Jade, are you seriously doing this right now? Don’t start with the crazy.” “I’m just saying—” “I’ve known her for five minutes. You’re my girlfriend. You’re actually comparing yourself to her?” He yanked his arm back, looking down at me with a cold, superior distance. “Stop overanalyzing everything. If you spent half as much time on your coursework as you do on these imaginary dramas, maybe you wouldn’t have been the one dragging your group’s grade down on the last modeling project.” My heart sank into my stomach. That project. I had stayed up all night with him because he wanted to watch the playoffs, and I was so exhausted the next day that I made a coding error. But in his narrative, the failure was entirely mine. Seeing my silence, his irritation curdled into boredom. “Whatever. I’m hungry. Go make dinner.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. I walked into the kitchen like a ghost. When dinner was served, Miles took one bite and immediately set his fork down. “Too much salt.” I had tasted it. It was perfect. But if he said it was salty, it was salty. I reached for the plate to take it back and fix it, but he stopped me. “Forget it. I’ll just deal with it.” He ate with a distracted air, his phone lighting up every few seconds. I caught a glimpse of the screen. It was Piper. Piper: Hey, how’s the arm? I bought some ointment, I can bring it to you tomorrow? Piper: What do you like for breakfast? I’ll pick something up for you in the morning! Miles’s thumbs flew across the screen. His expression softened into something I had never seen before—a genuine, unforced kindness. Miles: Don’t worry about it. It’s just a scratch. Miles: I’m not picky. Whatever you get will be fine. I felt like I was being submerged in freezing salt water. After dinner, as I scrubbed the dishes, he leaned back on the sofa, texting her back and forth, occasionally letting out a low, soft chuckle. That sound hurt worse than any insult he had ever thrown at me. Late that night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t “incapable” of kindness. He just didn’t think I deserved it. The next day, we met up for our senior capstone project. This project was everything—it was our ticket to the international design competition. There were four of us in the group: Miles, me, a guy named Tyler, and… Piper. Miles had pulled her into the group at the last minute, claiming her modeling skills were top-tier. He took the lead, as he always did, delegating the tasks. I was in charge of data mining and initial analysis. Piper was responsible for the final 3D modeling. But with three days left until the deadline, Piper’s section was a void. Every time we pushed for an update, she had an excuse. “Oh, this data set is so complicated, I’m getting so confused!” “Miles, I’m struggling with this algorithm. Can you show me how to do it? Again?” She only ever asked Miles. And Miles always answered. He would drop his own work to sit with her for hours, patiently explaining things she should have known months ago. It was a level of patience I had only ever seen in my dreams. I posted the final data sets to our Slack channel and tagged Piper. She responded with a cute ‘thank you’ emoji. Piper: Got it, Jade! You’re a lifesaver! And then, silence. As the deadline loomed, the rest of the team started to panic. Only Piper remained unbothered. The night before the submission, she finally uploaded her model. When we opened the file, the entire group chat went dead. The core parameters were completely wrong. It wasn’t a model; it was a digital wreck. All our hard work was essentially garbage. Tyler finally lost it. @Piper: What the hell is this? Do you realize how important this project is? Piper immediately spammed the chat with crying emojis. Piper: I’m so, so sorry! It’s all my fault. I’ve been feeling so dizzy and sick lately, I must have just clicked the wrong thing… I swear I tried my best… Before she could even finish her apology, Miles jumped in. Miles: @Everyone. Give it a rest. He didn’t aim his fire at the person who failed. He aimed it at us. Miles: Piper has been sick. Did any of you even bother to ask how she was? Now that there’s a problem, you just want someone to blame? Miles: Jade, you’re her senior, and you’re my girlfriend. Couldn’t you have helped her carry the load? You gave her the data—didn’t it occur to you to double-check her work? I stared at my phone, my body shaking with a cold, sharp rage. This was it. The ultimate deflection. I took a deep breath and typed back: Now isn’t the time for a post-mortem. We need a fix. Miles: A fix? It’s due tomorrow morning. You couldn’t finish this in a week, let alone a night. His words were dripping with condescension. I didn’t reply. I logged out of Slack, pulled up the raw data, and opened the design software. My brain was firing on all cylinders, fueled by a sudden, crystalline clarity. If I couldn’t rely on anyone else, I would rely on myself. That night, I didn’t just rebuild the model. I rebuilt myself. Every insult, every “round face” comment, every moment I felt like a second-class citizen in my own life—I poured all of it into the work. By dawn, I had built something entirely new. Something better. I hit ‘Submit’ on the competition portal at 6:00 AM. Then, I collapsed over my desk, my strength completely spent. My phone buzzed. Miles: Stop wasting your time. I already emailed the professor to ask for an extension. I told him a team member was ill. Miles: Where are you? Just come home and sleep. I looked at the message and felt nothing but a dull, aching irony. I didn’t text back. I dragged my exhausted body back to the apartment. When I pushed the door open, I saw Miles and Piper on the sofa. She had red-rimmed eyes and was clutching a bowl of oatmeal. When she saw me, she stood up tentatively. “Jade… you’re back. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault…” Miles stood up, his brow furrowed in a dark scowl. “Where have you been? You weren’t answering your phone.” It wasn’t a question of concern. It was an interrogation. “Jade, can you stop being so dramatic? I know you’re annoyed, but things happen. What is pouting going to achieve?” He gestured toward Piper. “She knows she messed up. She apologized. What more do you want?” He stood there, shielding the person who had nearly ruined our futures, while accusing me of being the difficult one. In that moment, the final thread snapped. I looked at him, my voice eerily calm. “Miles, we’re done. I’m breaking up with you.” The air in the room turned to ice. Miles’s mask of irritation froze, then cracked into total bewilderment. He looked like he genuinely thought he had misheard me. “What did you just say?” “I said we’re done. It’s over.” Piper gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, though I didn’t miss the predatory glint of triumph in her eyes. Miles stepped toward me, his voice a low, dangerous warning. “Jade, don’t do this. Not over a project. Are you seriously that petty?” Petty? Two years of my life, two years of swallowing his insults and managing his moods, and he thought this was about a “project.” “I’m not being petty,” I said, feeling a strange, light sensation in my chest. “I’m just tired. I’m tired of being your accessory. I’m tired of being the maid who gets yelled at. And I am definitely tired of watching you be ‘gentle’ with everyone except the woman who loves you.” I had finally poked a hole in his reality. His face darkened. “You need to watch what you’re saying. What do you mean ‘gentle’ with everyone else? Piper is a freshman. I’m her mentor. That’s it.” “Is it?” I let out a soft laugh. “Because you treat your ‘freshman’ better than your partner. She fails, and you blame me. She gets a cold, and you coddle her. I stay up all night fixing her mess, and you tell me I’m being dramatic. Miles, look me in the eye and tell me that’s normal.” He opened his mouth to argue, but his phone cut him off. He glanced at the screen, and his face immediately shifted. It was Piper’s roommate. “Hello?” He listened for a second, his expression turning to pure panic. “What? When? Okay, stay there. I’m coming.” He hung up and grabbed his jacket. “Piper fainted. Her roommate says she’s unresponsive.” He didn’t even look at me as he bolted for the door. He just threw one last cold sentence over his shoulder. “We’ll deal with your little tantrum when I get back.” The door slammed shut. I stood there in the silence of the foyer, looking at the empty space where he had been. That was Miles. Even at the funeral of our relationship, one fake “faint” from Piper was enough to make him run. Two years of my life had just become a punchline. The tears finally came then, but I didn’t let them stop me. I went into the bedroom, pulled out the suitcase I had tucked under the bed weeks ago—the one I had been too afraid to use—and started packing. I didn’t take much. Only the things that were truly mine. I left every gift he had ever given me. Including the Montblanc pen I used to treasure. I left it right in the middle of his desk. A period at the end of a very long, very bad sentence. By the time I left the apartment, the sun was fully up. I checked into a cheap motel near campus. Once I was settled, I did the one thing I should have done a year ago. I blocked him. Everywhere. I lay down on the lumpy mattress and felt a sensation I hadn’t felt in years. I felt light. That afternoon, my advisor called. “Jade, I need you in my office. Now.” I walked in to find Miles and Piper already there. Piper looked pale and fragile. Miles looked like he was vibrating with rage. Our advisor, Professor Harrison, was a stern man who didn’t suffer fools. He adjusted his glasses and looked at me. “Jade, what is the meaning of this?” He pointed to his computer. “I received an email from the competition board. We have a double submission. Two completely different models submitted within hours of each other. Miles tells me you took it upon yourself to modify the final design and upload it independently. Is that true?” Before I could speak, Piper’s voice came out in a tiny, pathetic squeak. “Professor, it’s my fault… I shouldn’t have accidentally sent Miles the rough draft… I think Jade was just so angry with me that she… she wanted to do her own version…” She was “apologizing” while effectively painting me as a rogue, vengeful teammate. Miles chimed in instantly. “Sir, Jade has been under a lot of stress lately. Her emotional state hasn’t been stable. We can handle this internally. Please, don’t report this to the dean.” They were a perfect duo, painting me as a hysterical woman who had sabotaged her team. Professor Harrison looked at me, his disappointment palpable. “Jade? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

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My roommate sold me five thousand pounds of moldy oranges and had the audacity to swear they were fresh. I told her, “If they’re so good, why don’t you eat one?” That night, she was rushed to the ER with acute hemorrhagic gastroenteritis. By the next morning, a rumor caught fire across campus: the “rich girl” had forced her poor, starving classmate to eat rot. Overnight, I went from the dean’s list sweetheart to the campus pariah—a literal “cockroach socialite.” My boyfriend, the man I thought would be my rock, stood firmly by her side, publicly listing a hundred and eight “sins” I had supposedly committed against her. They sold my private life to bottom-feeding tabloids, raking in blood money while my father’s company stock plummeted. I ended up on the streets, beaten to death by debt collectors in a rain-slicked alley. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in my freshman dorm. My roommate was mid-performance, tears streaming down her face like a tragic indie movie lead. She was wailing that if she didn’t sell her family’s crop, they’d be out on the street. Worse, she claimed her father would sell her off to some “backwoods idiot” in their village just to pay for her brother’s tuition. I just said, “Oh,” and put on my noise-canceling headphones. Inside, I was silently praying for her to get sold off as soon as humanly possible. … “Get your ass back here and sell these oranges! We can’t even put bread on the table, and you’re out there living it up? I’m giving you one day. If you aren’t back, I’m coming to that school to break your legs! Click—” I was jolted awake by the tinny, aggressive roar of a middle-aged man coming from a cheap smartphone. The realization hit me like a physical blow: I was back. Freshman year. As soon as the call cut, my roommate, Cassie, let out a gut-wrenching sob. “Oh god, what am I going to do?!” she wailed, her voice reaching a pitch that set my teeth on edge. “My dad’s going to pull me out of school. I might as well just end it now! I have nothing!” I watched her through the corner of my eye. Even in her “uncontrollable” grief, she was checking my reflection in the mirror, gauging my reaction. In my last life, that performance had cost me everything. My sympathy had been her weapon, and I had been the ultimate mark. This time, I didn’t rush to her side. I didn’t offer a tissue or a checkbook. I simply slid my headphones on, blocking out the noise, and pulled up my messages with Nate. I typed two words. [We’re done.] In that previous life, I’d been a fool. I’d listened to Cassie’s sob story about her father’s failing orchard and didn’t hesitate. I ordered five thousand pounds of oranges, intending to give them out as a “farm-to-table” wellness perk to my father’s employees. Cassie had acted like I was her guardian angel. But the day the shipment arrived, reality set in. I’d arranged a temperature-controlled warehouse for them, but the foreman called me before the first pallet was even offloaded. “Miss Thorne,” he’d said, his voice thick with disgust. “These aren’t oranges. They’re biohazards.” Not a single crate was salvageable. The mold had eaten through the cardboard, and in the sweltering August heat, the stench was enough to make a grown man gag. I confronted Cassie in the middle of the quad. She turned pale, then immediately shifted gears into a “persecuted victim” role. She wept in front of half the student body, screaming about how “the 1%” was out to destroy her family. “I thought you were a good person!” she’d shrieked, her voice cracking perfectly for the crowd. “My dad could have sold these for two dollars a pound at the market, but he gave them to you for a discount because we’re ‘friends.’ That’s five thousand dollars of our livelihood! And now you’re lying about the quality just so you don’t have to pay? You’re trying to kill us!” She was so convincing that the crowd turned on me instantly. Even Nate—the boy I’d grown up with—stepped in. He told me to “stop being a brat,” pay her the money, and apologize for “humiliating” her. I refused. I knew my foreman wasn’t a liar. I dragged Cassie to the warehouse to see the “gold” her father had sent. The air was thick with flies. The buzzing was deafening. “This?” I’d asked, fighting the urge to vomit. “This is what you’re defending?” Cassie squared her shoulders, her eyes hard. “Yeah! It’s hot out, Phoebe. Of course they’re a little soft. You rich girls are so delicate. I don’t care—they’re delivered. You can’t send them back. Pay up.” Her sheer entitlement snapped something in me. I pointed at a particularly fuzzy, green-blue orange. “Fine. If they’re so great, eat it. Eat one, right now, and I’ll write the check.” She hesitated, her bravado flickering. But her father, Rick, had followed us there. The moment he heard there was money on the line, he grabbed the moldy fruit and shoved it into her mouth, his hand clamped over her lips until she swallowed. He didn’t care that she was retching and red-eyed. He just held out his hand for the money. I paid, thinking I was buying my way out of a nightmare. I was actually buying a front-row seat to my own execution. That night, Cassie went into the hospital. She started a livestream from her bed, claiming I’d “forced” her to eat rot as a power move. She called me a “bully,” a “sociopath.” My father’s corporate rivals saw the opening. They poured money into boosting her stream, making it the #1 trending topic in the country. The internet tore me apart. And then Nate twisted the knife. My own boyfriend went on camera to confirm that I was “vile” behind closed doors. He listed every private insecurity I’d ever shared with him as proof of my “dark nature.” I didn’t know then that the rival company had already bought him. My father, desperate to clear my name, fell into a legal trap they’d set. He lost the company. He lost everything. I ended up dead in the dirt. And Nate and Cassie? They became the “it-couple” of the media cycle—the humble girl and the hero who saved her, building their empire on the ashes of my family. “Phoebe! I’m literally falling apart here! Why aren’t you saying anything?!” Cassie’s voice broke my reverie. She marched over and snatched the phone out of my hand before I could hit ‘send’ on the breakup text. “My dad says if I don’t sell these, I’m done. I’m out! Don’t you care?” I pointed to my ears and gave her a look of pure, unadulterated boredom. “I heard you. You’ve said it four times. Now, give me my phone back.” Cassie’s brow furrowed. She looked like a teacher disappointed in a student. “You heard me? And? What’s the plan?” I reached out and plucked my phone from her grip. I met her eyes—the sharp, calculating eyes hidden behind the puffy lids. “The plan? I don’t know, Cassie. Maybe talk to the guy who told you to quit? I’m not your father. Why are you telling me your problems?” Cassie stood there, her face flushing a deep, angry crimson. She was speechless. I didn’t give her a second to recover. I started throwing my things into a suitcase. I was moving out of this dorm immediately. Seeing me leave, she panicked. She threw herself in front of the door, dropping to her knees with a dramatic thud. “Phoebe… Izzy… please. I know you’re loaded. I saw your bag—it’s a Hermès, isn’t it? It’s worth more than my house. Just that one bag could save my family. Please, help me!” I tilted my head. “What exactly do you want me to do?” A flash of greed crossed her face before she tucked her head down. “My dad’s oranges… they’re two dollars a pound, but I’ll give them to you for one-fifty. There’s five thousand pounds. It’s nothing to you, but it’s life or death for us!” Without waiting for me to answer, she scrambled up, her face lighting up with a fake, watery smile. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, Phoebe! I knew you’d help!” She whipped out her phone and dialed her dad before I could even draw breath. “Dad! We’re saved! My roommate is taking them all! Yeah, the whole shipment!” “Cassie,” I said, my voice cold and level. “I never said yes.” She froze, hung up the phone, and grabbed my hand, shaking it playfully. “Oh, stop it. I know you. You’re the best person I know. You wouldn’t let us starve. My dad’s already loading the truck. They’re going to be so sweet, I promise!” I wrenched my hand away and walked out. If she wanted to play this game, fine. But I wasn’t the one paying for the tickets this time. I went back to my parents’ townhouse. The memories of my previous death were still clawing at my brain, and I ended up coming down with a stress-induced fever. When I finally checked my phone two days later, the campus group chat was a war zone. Cassie had been busy. She’d uploaded a series of sobbing voice notes. “Phoebe Thorne told me she’d buy the crop. My dad spent two days in the sun picking every single one. He almost broke his back loading that truck!” “Now the shipment is here at the campus gates, and she’s ghosted me. What am I supposed to do? These oranges are our only income!” “The heat is killing the fruit. They’re starting to turn. Phoebe, where are you?! Please, just pay for what you promised! I’m begging you!” The comments below were a landslide of vitriol. [Phoebe Thorne is a literal monster. How do you live with yourself?] [Rich girl games. She probably thinks it’s funny to watch them suffer.] [Cassie, honey, call the police. This is fraud.] My skin went cold. I’d learned one thing from my first life: silence is a confession in the eyes of the public. I drove to the campus gates. Even from twenty yards away, the smell hit me. It was that same, sickly-sweet rot. A massive flatbed truck was parked by the entrance. Cassie and her father, Rick, were sitting on the curb, surrounded by a small crowd of “outraged” students. They were giving a masterclass in performative poverty. I saw the angry faces of my classmates and realized I was walking into a lynch mob. I didn’t walk up to them empty-handed. I went to the security booth first and borrowed a megaphone. Then, I pulled up the recording of our last conversation in the dorm. I hit play and walked toward them, the audio booming across the quad. The crowd went silent. They heard Cassie’s voice, clear as day, trying to guilt-trip me. They heard my explicit, repeated refusal. They heard her “interpreting” my silence as a yes and calling her dad before I could even speak. The color drained from the faces of the students. One guy, who had been screaming for my head a minute ago, looked at Cassie. “Wait… so she actually told you no? You just brought the truck anyway?” “I—I thought she was just being modest!” Cassie stammered, her fists clenching. “Modest?” I said into the megaphone. “Or were you just trying to trap me into a bill I never agreed to?” “Everyone relax,” a girl from our psych class sighed. “Cassie, look, being broke is hard, but you can’t just force people to buy your stuff. Phoebe doesn’t owe you a living.” “Yeah, but…” another student chimed in, looking at me with that annoying ‘neutral’ pity. “Phoebe, you do have the money. Look at them. Maybe just buy them anyway to keep the peace? It’s just some fruit.” “Oh, ‘just some fruit’?” I laughed. I walked to the back of the truck, grabbed a box, and ripped it open. A cloud of fruit flies erupted. The oranges inside were a fuzzy, greyish-green mess of slime. “You want me to pay for this? The smell is already making people gag. Cassie tried to sell me toxic waste at a premium. Does that sound like a ‘favor’ to you?” Cassie jumped up and shoved me. “You liar! They only look like that because you made us wait two days in the sun! This is your fault! You owe us for the damage!” I almost doubled over laughing. “Cassie, use your brain. Oranges don’t turn into compost in forty-eight hours unless they were already rotting on the branch. You brought your trash here hoping I’d be too ‘nice’ to check the boxes.” Suddenly, the crowd parted. Nate, my “boyfriend,” pushed through. He looked at me with a disgust so deep it felt like a physical slap. “Enough, Phoebe! I am ordering you to apologize to Cassie right now. Pay her, and let’s get this over with.” I stared at him. Truly looked at him. Nate was the son of our family’s long-time driver. He’d grown up in our guest house. My parents had treated him like a second son, paying for his elite private schools, his clothes, his vacations. And yet, here he was, looking at me like I was the dirt under his shoe. In my last life, I thought his “strong moral compass” was why he sided with her. Now, I saw it for what it was: a deep-seated inferiority complex. He hated that he owed us everything. He wanted to be the hero, and he couldn’t be a hero if he was dating the “princess.” He needed a “victim” like Cassie to make him feel like a man. “On what grounds, Nate?” I asked quietly. My lack of affection clearly rattled him. He stepped back, his voice rising. “Apologize, Phoebe. Or we’re over. I won’t be seen with someone so cruel.” “Good,” I said, a sharp smile touching my lips. “We’re over. And I’m not buying your girlfriend’s trash.” “You… you’re unbelievable!” Nate spat. He turned to Cassie with a gaze so tender it made my skin crawl. “Don’t worry, Cassie. I’ll buy them. I can’t stand by while a hard-working family suffers because of a spoiled brat.” Cassie looked at him with stars in her eyes. “Oh, Nate… but you don’t have to…” She shot me a look of pure malice. “The person who caused this mess should be the one to pay.” Nate puffed out his chest. “My dad’s company has thousands of employees. We’ll just give these out as a bonus. It’s fine.” I actually snorted. “Your dad’s company? Nate, what company would that be?”

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