My father-in-law Paul was killed by my wife’s male assistant who ran a red light, but the verdict ruled that my father-in-law was committing fraud by staging an accident. I filed lawsuits three times, and lost all three times. Just as I was preparing for my fourth appeal, I discovered that my father-in-law’s body had been stolen. I was about to call the police when my wife Corinna, a lawyer, suddenly came to me and threw twenty thousand dollars at me: “You should know I’ve never lost a case. No matter how much evidence you have, you’ll never win this lawsuit. You keep appealing just to squeeze out more compensation money. I already had someone sell your dad’s body to the black market. Got twenty thousand total—at least his life was used to its fullest potential.” “Stop harassing Anthony endlessly. He’s being merciful by not making you pay for the car repairs.” I finally understood why Corinna had been defending the perpetrator all along—she thought the person who was killed was my dad. I pushed the money back to her: “You’d better keep this money. I have no right to take it.”

Corinna thought I was refusing. Her voice shot up: “Twenty thousand isn’t enough for you?” “James, get it through your head—your dad was just an unemployed bum. Being able to earn twenty thousand with his life is already a great deal. Don’t push your luck!” I shook my head: “You’ve got it wrong. What I mean is, this is money you earned from your family member. Only you have the right to take it.” Corinna frowned deeply, her face full of disgust: “This is money from selling your dad’s body. What does that have to do with me?” “You think I’m like you, needing this kind of blood money?” Corinna came from a single-parent family. Her mother died early, and Paul raised her from infancy, feeding and caring for her through everything. To fulfill her dream of becoming a lawyer, Paul worked multiple jobs a day, wearing his body down with all kinds of ailments. Corinna saw it all and had always been extremely devoted to Paul. At first, I didn’t understand why Corinna stopped coming home the moment Paul died, focusing all her energy on being the defense lawyer for Anthony, the perpetrator. Turns out it was because she thought the person who died was my dad. I looked at Corinna with complete seriousness: “Corinna, I advise you to return this twenty thousand dollars and get your dad’s body back. He worked so hard to raise you.” I thought I’d been obvious enough, but Corinna still didn’t understand. She said angrily: “Are you out of your mind? When did your dad ever raise me?” “And you think the black market is some kind of place where you can just redeem things you sold?” “By now your dad’s body has definitely been chopped into pieces. How could you possibly get it back? Just take the money and stop making a scene!” Paul wasn’t my biological father. But he was a perfectly good person who was killed for no reason, forced to bear the label of fraud, and even had his body sold to the black market by his own daughter to be dismembered. Thinking of his tragic fate, my eyes reddened. “Corinna, you know how the black market handles bodies, yet you had the heart to sell Dad’s body there to be desecrated? Are you even human?” Corinna smirked: “It’s your dad, not mine. Why wouldn’t I have the heart?” “Besides, dead people can’t feel pain. Being able to sell to the black market for money at least gave your dad some value.” “Who told him not to watch where he was walking? Getting hit was bad enough, but he also gave Anthony nightmares for days!”

Looking at Corinna’s self-righteous attitude, I found it hard to imagine what her reaction would be if she knew the dead person was her father. Seeing I hadn’t responded, Corinna continued: “Honestly, I always thought your dad had the face of someone who’d die young. Even if he hadn’t been hit, he wouldn’t have lived long anyway.” “Getting twenty thousand now—you should be satisfied!” “Take the money and go to the office tomorrow with some gifts to apologize to Anthony. Then we can put this behind us.” With that, Corinna left the money and turned to leave. Watching Corinna’s resolute departing figure. I suddenly realized that the great lawyer who once fought for justice had now rotted through completely. This marriage should end too. The next day, I drafted divorce papers and went to her law firm. As soon as I entered the office, I saw Corinna, who had severe germophobia, kneeling on one knee, gently massaging Anthony’s feet with tender movements. In her eyes was a tenderness I’d never seen before. The moment Anthony saw me, he immediately acted panicked: “James, don’t misunderstand. I, I twisted my ankle, and Corinna was kind enough to massage it for me.” As he spoke, he pulled his foot back and tugged at Corinna, his tone urgent: “Corinna, explain quickly! I don’t want to lose my job…” Corinna affectionately patted his back, softly reassuring him: “Don’t worry, he’s here to apologize to you.” Then she looked at me with disgust, her tone cold: “Didn’t I tell you to bring some gifts? Why are you empty-handed?” “At your age, you don’t even know how to apologize properly?” Too lazy to argue with her, I coldly pulled out the divorce agreement from my bag and handed it to Corinna: “Sign it. We’re getting divorced.” Corinna looked at the divorce agreement and froze for a moment. Then she frowned in anger: “What are you up to now?” “You know my dad only recognizes you as his son-in-law. He’d never agree to us divorcing.” “You’re pulling this stunt just to get my dad to scold me, aren’t you?” So she still had her father in her heart after all. I pulled a bitter smile and said coldly: “Your dad will never scold you again.”

Corinna’s expression changed slightly. She asked: “What do you mean?” I looked grave: “Go home and see for yourself.” Corinna glared at me impatiently: “Stop being so cryptic with me.” “So what if your dad died? Why are you still going on about it?” “Get lost. Don’t embarrass yourself at my office. I’m not divorcing you!” Seeing this, Anthony, who had been watching the whole time, suddenly wiped away non-existent tears and sobbed theatrically: “James, even though I bought my license and I’m not a good driver, that day really wasn’t my fault!” “Are you bringing up divorce now to threaten Corinna into sending me to prison?!” Anthony spoke as if he were the real victim who’d suffered the greatest injustice. That tearful appearance broke Corinna’s heart. She pulled Anthony into her arms: “Anthony, don’t cry. As long as I’m here, you’ll never go to prison.” Then she glared at me furiously: “James, Anthony is still a kid. Do you have to target him like this?” “You think threatening me with divorce will make me stop defending Anthony? Dream on!” “Let me tell you, your dad died for nothing, and you won’t get a penny in compensation, let alone harm a single hair on Anthony’s head!” Watching Corinna stand against me to protect the perpetrator who killed her own father. I couldn’t help but feel sad for my father-in-law again. Forget it. Since even his own daughter had taken this stance, what was there for me, an outsider, to say? I took a deep breath and said word by word: “I’m getting this divorce no matter what.” Corinna angrily tore up the divorce agreement on the spot, threw the pieces in the air, and said through gritted teeth: “You want a divorce that badly?” “Fine! I’ll grant your wish!” “But let me tell you, even if we divorce, I’ll be the one drafting the agreement. I’ll make you lose all reputation and leave with nothing!” “And I’ll make my dad see clearly that the son-in-law he liked is nothing but a vicious man who uses his own father’s death to scam money and sue for profit!” Through the fluttering paper scraps, I saw Corinna’s ruthless, determined eyes. And the barely noticeable triumphant smile at the corner of Anthony’s mouth. In the end, I said nothing and turned to leave the law firm. After returning home, I silently began packing my belongings. Just as I was dragging my suitcase downstairs to the apartment complex. A large group of people suddenly swarmed toward me.

They each held cameras or phones, frantically filming me: “Look, it’s him! He taught his elderly father to commit fraud by staging accidents!” “After his dad was killed committing fraud, he used his father’s death to greedily extort money. When extortion failed, he filed lawsuits to scam money! He drove a college graduate to depression, and the poor guy nearly committed suicide several times!” “Fortunately his wife is a righteous lawyer who helps the right side regardless of family ties, always fighting for justice and defending the innocent victim. Otherwise who knows what would have happened to that young man!” “Now he blames his wife for not going along with his schemes, so he’s threatening her with divorce. He’s even packed his bags and is about to leave!” Sharp accusations rang out endlessly. Through the crowd, I saw Anthony and Corinna’s gloating faces behind them. So this live broadcast was Corinna’s method to destroy my reputation? The response was indeed massive. The on-site hosts hurled accusations non-stop, and various live streaming channels were filled with constant abuse: “This man is truly despicable! For money, he’d even sacrifice his own father’s life?” “What parent could live long with such garbage for a son?” “Like father, like son. His dad getting hit was divine justice!” “Right, why wasn’t anyone else hit, but specifically his dad? That proves his dad must not have been a good person either!” Public opinion fermented quickly. In moments, my photo topped trending searches across the internet. Labels like “scumbag” and “trash” all became synonyms for my identity. As these hosts fanned the flames. The onlookers who gathered at the scene couldn’t help but start throwing eggs and rotten vegetables at me. I walked through the garbage on the ground, passed through the crowd, and approached Corinna: “Corinna, do you really have to be this ruthless?” Corinna frowned slightly. Before she could speak, Anthony tearfully jumped in: “James, even though your father died, I haven’t had it easy either!” “I’m begging you to let me go. Stop going after me!” A flash of heartache crossed Corinna’s eyes, then she looked at me resolutely: “James, you brought all this on yourself.” “Your dad getting hit by a car was entirely because he was trying to commit fraud. You shouldn’t have kept suing and harassing Anthony over this.” “Anthony’s new car was damaged by your dad. He didn’t make you pay for repairs because he’s kind, yet you keep going on and on. With such a malicious son like you, no wonder your dad died young!” As soon as she finished speaking. My dad suddenly emerged from the crowd, looking at Corinna: “Who died?”

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The day Adrian Bennett made his comeback, he secretly hired his ex-girlfriend—the one who abandoned him years ago—behind my back. When I found out, he swore to me right there: “I just want to punish her. I have absolutely no feelings for her whatsoever.” I didn’t lose it. Instead, I made her Adrian’s personal assistant. Vivian grabbed my hand and promised over and over: “Don’t worry, we’ll only have a professional relationship. I would never come between you two.” I believed her. After all, when the Bennett family went bankrupt years ago, Vivian humiliated Adrian to no end just to get rid of him. Until the car accident, when Adrian threw himself in front of her without a second thought for his own life. That’s when I realized—all these years, Adrian had never gotten over her. When he woke up in the hospital, Adrian had lost his memory. Looking at Vivian and me standing by his bed, he asked: “Who are you?” This time, I pointed at Vivian and spoke first: “Mr. Bennett, this is your wife. I’m your personal secretary.”

Vivian pulled me out of the hospital room, asking in surprise: “Why did you lie to him?” I simply said calmly: “I know the person he loves is you.” Seeing her conflicted expression, I added: “Don’t worry, we’re not legally married yet.” She pressed on: “You’ve struggled alongside him for seven years. Are you really willing to just hand him over to me?” I nodded peacefully. “There’s nothing to be unwilling about.” I should even thank you. The moment Adrian was hit by that car, fragments suddenly flashed through my mind. I saw Adrian’s future—endless arguments because of Vivian. Because even though he’d lost his memory, his subconscious still loved Vivian. After recovering his memory, he finally realized the person he truly loved was Vivian. To make it up to her, he personally sent me—the obstacle preventing their reconciliation—to a psychiatric hospital. In the end, I died in a mysterious fire, my body completely destroyed. After seeing my own ending, I suddenly didn’t want to keep clinging on anymore. A flash of wild joy crossed Vivian’s eyes, though she forced down the smile at her lips. She bit her lip, looking reluctant: “Adrian has amnesia now and really needs someone to take care of him. Since you insist, I’ll help you look after him for now.” “But if he blames me when he gets his memory back…” I cut her off: “I’ll take responsibility for the consequences. You just focus on being Mrs. Bennett.” Vivian finally felt at ease. She smoothed out her skirt and turned back to the hospital room. I followed behind her, holding the payment receipt I’d just gotten. Watching her walk toward Adrian, I felt not a trace of bitterness in my heart. Only the lightness of setting down a thousand-pound burden. On the hospital bed, Adrian’s head was wrapped in thick bandages. Seeing Vivian enter, his previously confused eyes brightened. That look in his eyes couldn’t be faked. Even if his mind forgot, his heart would make the choice for him. The second the accident happened, he instinctively protected Vivian. And me? I sat in the back seat, watching the airbag deploy, watching him collapse in her arms covered in blood. I should have understood right then. Seven years of companionship couldn’t compare to a single tear from his childhood sweetheart. “You’re my wife?” Adrian’s gaze locked tightly on Vivian. Vivian’s body stiffened. She instinctively looked back at me. My face remained expressionless. I even nodded slightly at her, mouthing two words: “He means you.” Vivian took a deep breath, her face instantly filling with tender, heartbroken affection. She hurried over and grasped Adrian’s hand: “I’m here, Adrian. I’m here.” Adrian breathed a sigh of relief and gripped her hand even tighter. “You scared me. I thought I’d lost you.” “My head hurts so much. Have I been asleep for a long time?” Watching this scene of mutual affection before me, I felt like a superfluous decoration. In the past, whenever Adrian had so much as a headache or fever, I’d stay by his bedside day and night. Feeding him water and medicine, wiping him down, giving massages. He just took it all for granted. Now, his eyes were full of another woman. “Mr. Bennett.” I spoke in a businesslike tone, breaking through the intimate atmosphere. Adrian turned to look at me, his brow slightly furrowed. “I seem to have some impression of you. You are…” Vivian suddenly panicked, her eyes darting toward me in confusion.

I signaled for her to relax, lying without changing expression: “Sarah Clark, your personal secretary.” “Since Mr. Bennett is awake, there are many urgent matters at the company that need handling. I won’t disturb your reunion with your wife.” I bowed slightly, my tone respectful and distant. Adrian seemed uncomfortable with my attitude. He unconsciously licked his dry, cracked lips, his gaze lingering for a second on the water glass I’d placed on the table. In the past, I would have already put the water to his lips, making sure the temperature was just right. But now, I didn’t move a muscle. Adrian waited two seconds. Seeing I had no reaction, his brow furrowed even deeper. He looked at Vivian, his tone carrying a hint of playful whining: “Honey, I want some water.” Vivian clearly had no experience taking care of people and fumbled clumsily trying to pour water. The result was that the water was too hot—as soon as she handed it over, Adrian flinched from the burn. “Hiss—” “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Vivian panicked and quickly grabbed tissues to wipe it up. Even though he’d been burned, Adrian endured the pain to comfort her: “It’s fine, not your fault. I was too impatient.” See? That’s the difference between love and no love. In the past, if I accidentally made his coffee a bit too strong, he’d lecture me with a dark face for ages, saying I couldn’t even handle such a simple thing. Now Vivian burns him, and he turns around to comfort her instead. I sneered inwardly and pulled out a set of keys and an access card from my bag, placing them on the bedside table. “Mrs. Bennett, the care work during Mr. Bennett’s hospitalization will be your responsibility.” “Also, Mr. Bennett is allergic to seafood, doesn’t eat cilantro, is particular about pillows, and must have a cup of warm black coffee every morning.” I rattled it all off at lightning speed. Vivian listened in a daze, nodding unconsciously. Adrian looked at me, confusion flashing in his eyes. “How do you know all this so clearly?” I met his gaze calmly and smiled: “As Mr. Bennett’s personal secretary, understanding my boss’s lifestyle habits is part of my job.” “Now that Mrs. Bennett is here, these responsibilities naturally transfer to her.” “After all, some intimate matters aren’t appropriate for a secretary to handle.” Adrian was left speechless by my response. He seemed to feel something was off but couldn’t put his finger on it. He could only wave his hand irritably: “Fine, go do your work.” “Yes, Mr. Bennett.” Without any hesitation, I turned and walked away. When I reached the door, Adrian’s voice came from behind: “Wait.” My steps paused, but I didn’t turn around. “Um… were the medical bills paid?” So he was worried about money. I turned around and waved the receipt in my hand: “Already advanced from the company account. It will be deducted from your dividends later.” “Mr. Bennett, rest and recover. I’ll take care of the company.” After speaking, I pulled open the door and strode out. The moment I closed the door, I heard Vivian complaining coquettishly: “Why is this Secretary Clark so cold? She has no warmth at all.” Adrian was silent for a while before saying in a low voice: “Maybe people with strong work abilities are all like that.” Walking out of the inpatient building, I took a deep breath. The air mixed the smell of disinfectant with osmanthus flowers. How nice. I was still alive. I took out my phone, removed Adrian from my pinned contacts, and changed his name from “Husband” to “Mr. Bennett.” Finally, I didn’t have to play the servant anymore. I just wondered how many days this pampered princess Vivian could last. You should know, Adrian’s foul temper—even his own mother couldn’t stand it. For seven years, I’d been the one who spoiled him rotten. Now, it was someone else’s turn to taste the bitter fruit.

Back at the company, the first thing I did was flip over the photo of Adrian and me on my desk. Before throwing it in the trash, my movement paused. In the photo, I was smiling sweetly, my eyes only for that high-spirited young man. Back then, to help him start his business, I ran sales during the day and accompanied him to drinking parties at night. Even when I drank until I had stomach bleeding, I didn’t dare tell him. He always said: “Sarah, once the company goes public, I’ll make up for it with a grand wedding.” Now the company was actually about to go public. But he’d given that promise to another woman. My face expressionless, I let go. Thud. The frame fell into the waste basket, burying those seven years of youth along with it. “Ms.Clark, about the contract with Mr. Wilson…” Assistant Andy pushed open the door and walked in. Seeing my action, he was startled. In the past at the company, everyone called me Ms.Clark. Although I was a co-founder, to maintain Adrian’s authority, I was willing to be the shadow behind him. “From now on, I am Vice President Clark.” I raised my head, my eyes sharp. “Bring me the contract. Also, notify all department heads—meeting in half an hour.” Andy froze for a moment, then straightened his back: “Yes, Ms.Clark!” That afternoon, I efficiently handled the documents Adrian had let pile up for half a month. Those problems I’d previously had to handle circuitously to save Adrian’s face were now resolved decisively. Exhilarating. Absolutely exhilarating. It turned out that focusing on making money instead of romance felt this addictive. It wasn’t until ten o’clock at night that I dragged my exhausted but exhilarated body out of the company. My phone screen lit up. It was a message from Vivian on SnapChat. It was a photo. In the hospital’s VIP room, Adrian was leaning against the headboard while Vivian held coffee for him to drink. Caption: [Although it’s tiring, seeing him depend on me makes it all worth it.] I opened the full image to look. That cup of coffee was bought from the hospital convenience store. Adrian’s brow was tightly furrowed, and there was even a bit of coffee foam at the corner of his mouth. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Adrian was so particular about things. In the past when he was hospitalized, the coffee he drank had to be hand-ground by me, and the beans had to be from a specific origin. Now? It seemed the power of love really was great—it could make him drink instant coffee. I casually replied with a [smile] emoji, then turned off my phone and went to sleep. That night was the most peaceful sleep I’d had in seven years.

The next morning, I was woken by urgent ringing. It was an unfamiliar number, but I knew who it was. When I answered, Adrian’s furious voice came through: “Sarah! Where the hell are you?” “Where’s my coffee? What time is it already!” Hearing this familiar bossy tone, I leisurely poured myself a glass of milk. “Mr. Bennett, it’s currently 7:30 AM New York time.” “According to labor law, this is my personal time.” “As for coffee, that’s something your wife should worry about, isn’t it?” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then came Vivian’s tearful voice: “Adrian, it’s my fault. I didn’t know you only drink that kind of coffee…” “That coffee machine is too complicated. I broke my nail trying and still couldn’t figure it out…” Next came Adrian’s heartbroken consoling: “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Sarah didn’t do a proper handover.” He turned and yelled at me: “Sarah, as a secretary, you can’t even do a simple handover properly?” “Get to the hospital right now! Bring my coffee and a change of clothes!” “If I don’t see you within half an hour, you’re fired!” Beep— The call was disconnected. I looked at the darkened screen, a cold smile forming at the corner of my mouth. Fired? Adrian, you’ve probably forgotten. Half the company’s shares are under my name. Back then, to let you feel secure, I signed a proxy holding agreement, letting you shine in the spotlight. But now, it was time to take back what belonged to me. I leisurely finished my milk and did a full face of exquisite makeup. I picked out a red dress Adrian used to hate most and put on ten-centimeter heels. I didn’t buy coffee. I didn’t get his change of clothes either. Instead, I went directly to the company’s legal department. “Draft a share confirmation letter.” I paused, my eyes turning cold. “Also, check the cash flow of that recent project. I suspect someone’s been misappropriating company funds.” After handling these matters, I unhurriedly took a cab to the hospital. When I pushed open the hospital room door, it was already ten o’clock in the morning. The room was a complete mess. Coffee stains on the floor, along with shattered cup fragments. Vivian was crouched on the ground crying, her fingers wrapped in band-aids. Adrian sat on the bed with a dark expression, stubble showing on his face, looking somewhat haggard. Seeing me enter, the fury in his eyes instantly erupted. “Sarah! Look what time it is!” “Are you trying to rebel?” I avoided the mess on the floor, walked to the foot of the bed, crossed my arms, and looked down at him. “Mr. Bennett, such a temper isn’t good for wound healing.” “The coffee shop had too long a line. I couldn’t buy any.” “As for the clothes…” I glanced at the pile of dirty clothes thrown in the corner. Those were what he’d changed out of yesterday. Clearly Vivian found them too dirty and hadn’t touched them. “I see Mrs. Bennett isn’t very skilled at housework. Perhaps Mr. Bennett should hire a housekeeper instead.” “After all, I’m a secretary, not a maid.” Adrian was so angry at my attitude that he laughed. He pointed at me, his finger trembling slightly: “Good. Very good.” “Sarah, do you think the company can’t function without you?” “Believe it or not, I’ll fire you right now!” Vivian also stood up, wiping her tears, looking like she’d suffered a tremendous injustice: “Miss Clark, I know you have issues with me, but Adrian is a patient. How can you treat him like this?” “I may be clumsy, but at least I’m trying to learn. What about you? All you do is mock and ridicule!” This back-and-forth—they really were a perfect match. I pulled out a document from my bag and lightly tapped it on the bedside table. “Fire me?” “Mr. Bennett, before firing me, I suggest you look at this first.”

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My roommate thinks her online boyfriend is a control freak and wants to transfer him to me. “He’s always checking my location and even tells me what to wear. You never had a dad, so maybe you’d actually like that kind of controlling older guy.” I was about to slap her across the face when a line of floating text appeared before my eyes: Stella is so clueless. This older guy is hot, loaded, and has more stamina than college boys. Just act cute a little and he’d give you his life! Older men do like to be controlling, but they control you by dressing you, cooking for you, buying you mansions, transferring you to good school districts, and making you go from community college to Harvard. Don’t worry, Claire is just a tool. Once the older guy realizes he’s talking to someone else, he’ll come back to find Stella, and then we’ll get the forced romance storyline we love. My raised hand gently fell, stroking my roommate’s face instead. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of this relationship.” Money or not doesn’t matter—what I really want is to get into Harvard.

After getting Stella’s alternate account, I immediately changed the password. As soon as I logged in, I was overwhelmed by the flood of messages. You there? Why aren’t you replying? Skipping class now? Why has your location been stuck at the dorm? Answer the phone. The last message was from two hours ago: I’ve already bought a ticket back to the States. You’d better give me an explanation. Seeing this, I quickly scrolled through their chat history. Just as Stella had said, this was an older man who lived abroad year-round. They didn’t chat much. But whenever they did, he’d ask what Stella did that day, whether she’d eaten, and if she was studying. He also urged her to transfer schools, go to grad school, get a doctorate. Of course, it wasn’t just lectures—he’d transfer money too. Five thousand at a time. For ordinary college students, that wasn’t bad, but for Stella, it wouldn’t even buy one handbag. Stella had tried asking the older man for more, but he refused. “I’ve looked into it. Most students’ living expenses don’t exceed two thousand. Five thousand is more than enough.” “Don’t flaunt your wealth. You shouldn’t be too flashy at school, or you’ll attract jealousy.” Those two sentences probably convinced Stella he was a cheap, preachy old man—lucky for me. It had been two days since their last conversation. Stella hadn’t replied to any of his messages, which must have driven him crazy. I quickly opened the text box and apologized. I’m so sorry! I’ve had a fever these past two days, been completely out of it, and my phone broke. Less than three seconds after I sent it, he called. I took a deep breath, declined the call, and typed: My throat’s hoarse, I can’t talk… This time he was silent for a few seconds, then sent a transfer. 100,000. Is it because I didn’t give you enough spending money last time? Are you angry? I counted the zeros on the screen, my fingers trembling slightly. A hundred thousand, just like that. Who said this old man was stingy? He’s incredibly generous! I didn’t accept the money and typed: I don’t want money. The older man: Then what do you want? I stared at that line, my heart pounding. I don’t want to go to school anymore. After I sent the message, the chat went quiet. At the same time, floating text appeared: Claire has such a big appetite, trying to become a sugar baby right after hooking up Too bad the male lead hates gold diggers like this. He likes ambitious people Just wait, he won’t reply. Older men despise this type the most My heart tightened, and I quickly added another message: I mean, I want to drop out and retake the SAT. Can you help me? Time ticked by second by second. I stared at the screen, palms sweating. One minute. Two minutes. Just when I suspected he’d figured out I wasn’t the original person and wouldn’t reply anymore, a new message popped up in the chat box. Okay. The day after receiving that message, I got a phone call. The caller said he was Mr. Quinn’s assistant and asked me to bring my ID documents to a café outside school. He wanted to discuss the SAT retake with me. Although Stella had never revealed her identity information while chatting with the older man, I was still nervous when I went. Fortunately, Assistant Lewis didn’t say anything after reviewing my documents. He just asked if I had a target university. I felt a bit embarrassed. “I want to go to Harvard.”

Assistant Lewis seemed surprised. The floating text exploded too. Claire, do you have some kind of misunderstanding about Harvard? Is that somewhere you can get into just by dropping out? This girl doesn’t actually think the older man can buy her a Harvard acceptance letter, does she? You’re community college level at best, just stick with your community college I knew this sounded absurd. The reason I ended up at community college was because I had a fever and missed one section during the SAT. After my scores came out, I’d considered retaking it. But my parents refused, saying I should start college early so they could support my brother sooner. Even so, my SAT score was over a hundred points higher than Stella and her friends. Just when I thought Assistant Lewis would tell me not to daydream like the floating text suggested, he simply nodded. “That’s fine. We’ll create a plan for Claire based on getting into Harvard.” I asked him what kind of plan. Assistant Lewis said they’d first help me drop out. Since the state I was in had too much competition, they’d help me transfer to Massachusetts and handle local enrollment procedures, then hire professional one-on-one tutors for me. Hearing all this left me stunned. Transfer to Massachusetts? Did that mean I could apply to Harvard as a Massachusetts resident? The educational resources in my previous state compared to Massachusetts were worlds apart! And one-on-one tutors? If I’d had one-on-one tutoring before, would I have had to randomly guess the last physics problem? I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm. “Assistant Lewis, how much will all this cost?” Assistant Lewis said, “Claire doesn’t need to worry about money. Mr. Quinn will handle it.” After discussing this, Assistant Lewis took me to the mall. He said Mr. Quinn had instructed him to buy me some clothes and a new phone. During this process, I learned the older man’s name was Cyrus Quinn. He started his own business, opened a small company, and was currently expanding overseas, unable to return for a year or more. I secretly looked up the name Cyrus Quinn online. Assistant Lewis had downplayed it, but seeing the words “Quinn Group,” I was still shocked. This is called a small company? Oh my goodness. Cyrus’s net worth was more than all the rich second-generation guys in Stella’s dating pool combined. Especially that face—more handsome than any celebrity. It’s over, now that Claire knows the older man’s real identity she’ll never let go Claire, get lost! The older man belongs to Stella Don’t worry everyone, once the older man discovers Claire isn’t Stella, he’ll dump her immediately Seeing the word “dump,” I instantly sobered up. Cyrus would come back looking for Stella eventually. But before that happened, I had to play the role of online girlfriend perfectly and treat Cyrus like my own father. So I immediately pulled out my phone and sent Cyrus a bunch of thanks and sweet nothings. I typed so fast that I accidentally sent: Thank you for supporting my education. When I make money I’ll definitely repay you. By the time I realized what I’d sent, it was too late to retract it. Oh no. I’m going to blow my cover. He’ll figure me out before I even take the SAT and I’ll fail before I start. Just as I was panicking, Cyrus sent a voice message. “Okay.” His tone was low. But I knew I had pleased Cyrus.

I had just returned to the dorm carrying bags of stuff when Stella came over and asked: “Claire, who was that man who dropped you off this afternoon? Did he buy you all this?” I paused. “That’s the online boyfriend you gave me.” Stella frowned, looking unhappy. “What did you do? When I was with him, he only gave me five thousand a month. Today he bought you so much?” Good thing I had the foresight. I quickly opened the bags to show her the contents. “Look, there’s a lot of stuff, but it’s all cheap. This T-shirt was only 99 dollars, the jeans 139. Everything added up is less than two thousand.” Stella’s expression softened slightly, but she still pressed: “Are you lying to me? I saw the car he was driving. That car costs at least over a million.” My heart skipped a beat, but my face remained calm. “That’s the company car. He’s just an assistant for someone, a high-level employee. He occasionally borrows the boss’s car for errands.” Only then did Stella relax. “I thought he was so rich.” She laughed mockingly. “But even an assistant—with your background, you’d have a hard time finding someone like that. He spent so much money on you, shouldn’t you thank me? Buy me dinner.” I pretended not to hear her passive-aggressiveness and said I should, asking what she wanted to eat. Stella: “Let me think about it. I’ll bring a few friends. You don’t mind, right?” I nodded. Within two hours, the news that I was being kept by a stingy older man had spread throughout the girls’ dorm. I didn’t bother with the gossip since I’d be dropping out soon anyway. I had just relaxed when I took out the clothes from the bags, picked a few to try on, and took a photo in the mirror. I sent the photo to Cyrus, hesitated, then added a line: I love all the clothes Assistant Lewis bought me today. Which outfit do you want me to wear tomorrow? Cyrus: From that day on, I started reporting my daily life. I had to ask what clothes to wear, where to go. I’d proactively send my location and even tell him when I drank water. It turned out Cyrus really did have a strong need for control. Whenever I obeyed him, he’d become very pleased. Assistant Lewis’s efficiency was exceptional. Within a week, my withdrawal paperwork was complete. When the dorm found out I was dropping out, everyone gathered around asking what I planned to do. In front of Stella, I naturally wouldn’t tell the truth, so I said: “My boyfriend says community college has no future. He told me to go home, said he can support me.” Seeing my lovesick appearance, my other two roommates strongly objected. “Claire, are you crazy?” Madison, who slept across from me, widened her eyes. “Even community college is still a degree. You’ll need it when looking for jobs later.” “Exactly.” Another roommate, Tiffany, also tried to persuade me. “Don’t be foolish. Men can’t be relied on. If you drop out for him now and he dumps you later, what will you do?”

The two of them went back and forth, practically wanting to pin me back in my seat. Before I could speak, Stella laughed mockingly. “You two are going too far. Claire is clearly going to live the good life.” Madison frowned. “Stella, how can you say that? She’s doing this because of your online boyfriend…” “Because of what?” Stella rolled her eyes. “Even if that man’s a bit stingy, he’s still more generous than most guys. Besides, Claire is willing. Why are you interfering so much? Don’t you know what it means to respect others’ choices? Mind your own business.” Madison and Tiffany were left speechless, their faces showing disbelief. I said nothing and continued packing my luggage. Stella was right—respect others’ choices. She definitely couldn’t imagine what my destiny actually was. After leaving school, I moved into a mansion with dedicated housekeepers and servants, and a family doctor on call 24/7. I only needed to have my meals prepared and clothes laid out for me. But while enjoying this, I didn’t forget to maintain my persona on social media. I posted lots of lovesick housewife content, saying I spent every day washing clothes, cooking, and cleaning for my boyfriend. My boyfriend also bought me gifts, though these were just stock images I found online, adding up to less than a hundred dollars total. Stella commented how envious she was. Then she turned around and told others in the dorm group chat: Claire is so stupid. He’s just using her as a free housekeeper. She actually thinks she can become a rich wife The floating text turned bitter about my lifestyle. Claire is so shameless, all this stuff clearly belongs to our Stella She’s even posting on social media to trick Stella, afraid Stella will find out the truth and come looking for the male lead No matter how the floating text insulted me, I didn’t get angry. After all, they couldn’t actually hurt me. On the third day after moving into the mansion, Assistant Lewis came over with a document folder. “Claire, this is your Massachusetts residency certification. It’s all processed.” Looking at that red booklet, my hands trembled. My parents dreamed of getting Massachusetts residency for my brother, and it had just landed in my hands so easily. Over the next week, Assistant Lewis brought several teachers. The language arts teacher had participated in SAT question writing, the math teacher had published study guides, the English teacher had been a university professor… I scheduled myself from 8 AM to 11 PM. Cyrus was very unhappy seeing this and forced me to only study until 9 PM, saying studying like this would cause a mental breakdown. I wanted to say this was nothing. But I didn’t dare contradict him. After all, this was my real sugar daddy. Just like that, I studied while posting social media to maintain my housewife persona and chatted with Cyrus in my spare time. In the blink of an eye, I was about to take the SAT. The night before the SAT, I was preparing to get a good night’s sleep when the floating text that hadn’t appeared in a while suddenly exploded. The older man is back! He’s here! The older man will soon discover Claire is fake and kick her out, then turn around to find Stella Hahaha, just thinking about how Claire worked so hard but won’t be able to take the SAT makes me happy My heart dropped. Cyrus was back? And he’d prevent me from taking the SAT? My hands moved faster than my brain. By the time I came to my senses, I was already at the door with my things. I could lose anything, but I had to get into Harvard. But as soon as I turned the doorknob, I crashed into a hard chest. I stiffly raised my head to meet a face even more stern than in photos. Cyrus looked down at me, his voice emotionless. “Where are you going?”

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Julian’s proposal—which I personally helped plan for my best friend Quinn—was a huge success. After the celebration died down, Quinn pushed Julian toward me with a grin, egging him on. “Julian, your turn! Why don’t you propose to Jenna today too? We’ll have double the celebration!” The spotlight swung onto Julian. I held my breath, waiting. But he only gave a faint smile, walked past everyone, and headed straight backstage. When he came out again, he was holding the hand of a girl covered in sweat, his tone casual and straightforward. “Come on, Quinn, don’t mess around. You only succeeded because Iris was backstage holding up the signs. You should really thank her properly.” “Absolutely! Let’s do Japanese food!” I stood awkwardly to the side, laughing at my own naivety. Seven years. I’d given Julian ninety-nine chances. This was the hundredth. And the last. Julian, I’m done waiting. The romantic music from the proposal scene still looped in the background. He smiled and walked over to me. The next second, he pulled a few pieces of candy from his suit pocket and held them out. “Today’s their day, after all. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to propose here.” “I picked these out while packing the wedding favors for Quinn. Saved some of the nice-looking ones.” He shook his wrist slightly, his voice gentle. “I didn’t eat any. I saved them especially for you.” “Thanks.” I lowered my eyes, took the candy, unwrapped one, and popped it in my mouth. Very sweet. So sweet it was almost cloying. “Jenna, is the candy good?” I didn’t know when Iris had sidled up to me, her head tilting toward my side. “I could smell the chestnut from way over there. I knew there’d be candy.” I didn’t respond. I just silently opened my hand and offered the candy her way. “Little glutton.” Julian suddenly laughed, his tone relaxed and natural. “Don’t steal hers.” As he spoke, he pulled out a few more pieces from that custom-tailored suit. My gaze drifted over—that pocket was now completely empty. “Quinn really splurged on this proposal. Even the candy is imported.” He turned his head, speaking casually to Iris. “Try some. Wedding favors—share in the sweetness.” Iris held the candy, tilted her face up to look at him, her eyes curving into crescents. “Thank you for thinking of me, Julian.” “After all, I was basically a human signboard for half the day. My arms are killing me.” “Take tomorrow off.” Julian replied offhandedly. “I’ll have accounting add a bonus to your check this month. Consider it compensation.” Iris’s eyes lit up, and she gave an exaggerated bow. “Thank you, Julian!” She chewed the candy, patting her chest energetically. “Julian, next time there’s something like this, call me again! I may not have much, but I’ve got muscle to spare!” “Count on me, and I guarantee you’ll be satisfied!” “Sure, sure. I’ll call you next time.” Julian looked at her, the smile on his lips impossible to suppress. Perhaps noticing my continued silence. His gaze finally returned to my face, pausing slightly. I spoke first. “The candy’s really sweet.”

When the banquet ended and I reached for my car door, Julian caught my wrist from behind. “Let’s go together. Take my car. Leave yours with Quinn—I’ll pick it up tomorrow.” Before I could respond, he naturally took my bag from me, his other hand covering mine as he firmly shut the car door. I stiffened but didn’t argue with him anymore. People have to move forward. You can’t stay trapped in endless waiting, building your own cage. The car merged into the deep night. Watching the flickering neon lights outside the window, I suddenly felt so tired. Tired of Julian. Tired of these seven years of unresolved feelings. We drove in silence. Until he broke it first. “Are you angry?” “No.” My voice was flat. He turned to look at me, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. “Jenna, I know you’ve been waiting and it’s been hard. But the overseas projects are crushing me. I’m stretched too thin. I really can’t help it.” “How are we any different from being married right now? We’re just just not legally married yet.” “If you can’t wait, we can go to City Hall right now. We can get the license anytime.” Seeing my continued silence, a rare crack appeared in his usually composed expression. “What do I have to do for you to believe me?” I looked up, my voice calm. “You don’t have to do anything. I believe you.” like punching a pillow, Julian turned to me in bewilderment. “Then why haven’t you said a single word to me from the end of the banquet until now?” I turned back to the window. The neon lights still flashed tirelessly. Red, yellow, green—the same as every night for the past seven years. But I knew clearly in my heart that Julian and I could never go back. Back then, my parents strictly forbade me from dating, but when they found out I liked Julian, they relented. Mom smiled and held my hand, her tone full of approval. “The Wright family matches ours perfectly. Much more reliable than those social climbers out there.” “You two are in love—it saves us the trouble of an arranged marriage.” In the dim car, Julian’s profile was still sharp and handsome, the kind countless people chased after. But looking at him, I could no longer piece together the memory of that boy who used to blush when he smiled at me, who always put me first. I spoke softly, my voice so calm it felt foreign even to me. “Julian, let’s break up.” The car lurched violently. I pitched forward, nearly hitting the windshield. “Jenna, do you know what you’re saying?” The car stopped on the roadside. He turned his head. The cramped space left me nowhere to escape. I was forced to meet his gaze. The moonlight deepened. I had no energy to look at Julian’s increasingly dark expression. “The Ashford family rules—I told you when we first got together.” My voice stayed level. “Before thirty, if I don’t get married, I have to accept an arranged match.” I smiled slightly. “Next month on the tenth, I’ll be thirty.” The car fell silent. So silent only heartbeats remained. “So you’re breaking up with me to go through with an arranged marriage?” Julian’s voice trembled with anger. “Jenna, won’t you fight for us? Tell them you have someone you love. Marriage is just a matter of time.” “We will get married. I just… I’m not ready yet.” “I want to give you the best.” My chest suddenly felt blocked, sour emotions surging up. I couldn’t help asking one more time. “How much longer would I have to wait?” The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. At this point, what was the use of asking these questions, waiting for his high-sounding excuses? “It won’t be much longer.” He reached out to hold me, his thin lips moving to kiss me. I turned my head away. His hand froze in midair, the light in his eyes gradually dying. “Jenna, you don’t trust me anymore?” His voice was hoarse with bitter laughter as he pounded the steering wheel. Just then, his phone rang abruptly. He straightened up, instinctively moving to open the door to take the call. I beat him to it, speaking softly. “I’ll get out. It’s easy to get a cab here.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt and was suddenly stopped by him. “Jenna.” “Let’s just… let tonight’s unpleasantness end tonight.” “I’ve had your birthday gift ready for a long time. Next month, I’ll give you a surprise.” My hand on the door handle paused. “Okay. Thanks.” His phone rang again, with a sense of urgency. I understood. I quickly got out of the car. It was Iris’s custom ringtone. No matter how deeply Julian hid it, how could someone as sensitive as me not notice? I dragged myself home. My gaze fell on the notebook on my desk. Inside was everything about Julian and me, from burning passion to desolation. So much time had passed, I’d almost forgotten how Julian and I had reached this point. I sat at the desk, flipping through page by page, forcing myself to see the truth clearly. Until I reached page ten, where Iris’s name first appeared in my diary—also our first fight. Back then, she hadn’t even graduated yet but got an internship at Julian’s company. Fresh and green, with clear eyes. Like all college students entering society, carrying naive curiosity and vibrant energy. Julian at that time was full of disgust for her, frowning as he called her noisy. Said she was stupid, couldn’t even make a cup of coffee properly, his face full of impatience as he wanted to fire her. I watched Iris bow in apology with red-rimmed eyes and softened. I tugged on Julian’s arm, gently persuading him to give her a chance—everyone makes mistakes, as long as they learn from them. At that time, I thought I was saving a girl full of dreams who just needed guidance. That night, Julian pressed me against the floor-to-ceiling window and took me all night long. He bit my shoulder, his voice domineering. “You like putting women around me that much? Beg me, and I’ll keep her.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, whimpering and begging for mercy as we moved, but my heart was so sweet. Later, Iris began infiltrating our lives at every turn. Gradually, Julian’s assessment of her shifted from stupid and noisy to sunny and lively. His indulgence of Iris gradually exceeded what he showed me. On our anniversaries, she could always appear with complete justification, tilting her head to offer a casual apology. Then sitting beside Julian without a care. When we were alone, Julian’s phone would ring at the worst times, the caller ID always showing Iris. Then he’d turn away and tell me, “Work comes first. I’ll be right back.” And then he could leave me behind with a clear conscience. It wasn’t like Julian had done anything terribly wrong. At least I’d never caught them in bed together. But looking at my diary, densely recording every single moment Iris intruded on our lives—once, twice, countless times… The ignored emotions suddenly lodged in my chest, so stifling I couldn’t breathe.

Just as I walked out of the office at noon, I saw Julian waiting at the entrance. Over six feet tall and straight as a pine, wrapped in a custom-tailored suit that showed off his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He leaned casually against a limited-edition sports car. Drawing frequent backward glances from passing female colleagues. But the more dazzling he was, the more suffocated I felt. I walked toward him step by step, speaking in a voice only the two of us could hear. “Didn’t we already break up?” He looked up, casually removing his sunglasses, completely ignoring my words. “I made reservations at that French restaurant you love.” He chuckled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “Jenna, stop being stubborn.” “It’s such a small thing, and you actually held a grudge all night and are still giving me the cold shoulder?” He was certain I’d soften, convinced he understood all my thoughts. He was also confident I would never leave. It belatedly dawned on me that these seven years had always been like this. My chest felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, sour emotions churning, choking me until I couldn’t breathe. I looked up, meeting his gaze, enunciating each word. “Julian, I already agreed with my family. I’m going through with the arranged marriage.” Julian’s smile froze on his face. “Jenna, you’re joking with me, right?” His voice carried a tremor that was hard to detect. The next second, he lunged forward. “I’m your boyfriend! You’re telling me to my face that you’re going to marry someone else? What do you take me for?” “Ex-boyfriend,” I interrupted him. Four words, light as wind but heavy as a thousand pounds, crashing between us. Julian squeezed his eyes shut, raised his hand to his forehead, and let out a bitter laugh. “Fine. Jenna, you’re really something.” “You’re always so self-centered. You want to get married, so I have to disrupt all my plans to humor your tantrum.” “If I don’t go along with you, you threaten me with breaking up, with an arranged marriage. What makes you think I’ll always give in?” “Let me tell you, no one can control me. Including you.” I froze completely in place. I thought that from the moment I decided to give up on him, I wouldn’t hurt anymore. From the first time he abandoned me for Iris. From yesterday when he dismissed marriage talk with flimsy excuses. From last night’s thinly veiled phone call. I’d been holding it in, maintaining composure, not crying, not making a scene, not falling apart. I even wanted to part on good terms, to give closure to who we were seven years ago. But tears still fell because of these few baseless accusations from Julian. Like pearls off a broken string, falling endlessly no matter what. “Julian.” I heard my own voice shaking. “I can’t control you.” “But I can decide for myself.” I looked up. Tears blurred my vision, yet I was more clearheaded than ever. “I’ve decided to give up on you.”

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After a night of passion on our wedding day, my husband Derek White cupped my face and suddenly spoke. “There’s something I need to come clean about.” I lazily hummed in response. “I can’t marry you. Officially, I’m already someone else’s husband.” My whole body froze. My nails dug into my palms. “Who?” “A woman my parents forced me to marry years ago. I never mentioned her to you.” He sat up and looked at me with deep affection. “Evelyn, you’re the most important person to me. But she’s just a housewife who can’t survive without me. I can’t just abandon her.” “Why are you crying?” His brow furrowed with confusion. “We had the wedding, you’re wearing the ring, everyone thinks you’re my wife. Is a marriage certificate really that important?” I took half a step back, my spine pressing against the cold wall. “We’re done.” He froze for a moment, then laughed. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” “Then divorce her.” I insisted. Derek fell silent. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “She took care of my parents for seven years. No merit, maybe, but she put in the work. I can’t do something so ungrateful.” Seven years. I calculated the timeline, and a wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. That year we had just graduated, and his lease was ending. I helped him move. He took a phone call and walked to the balcony. When he came back, he said it was work I believed him. Turns out that was his wedding day phone call. “Don’t look at me like that.” He walked over, reaching to put his arm around my shoulder. “Nothing ever happened between us. It’s just a formality.” “We’ve been together for ten years. How can she compare to that?” I pushed his hand away. The nausea intensified. He stood there, his tone growing colder. “Evelyn, think rationally. You’re going to throw away ten years over a piece of paper? How will you explain that to your parents?” “What about all our plans we’ve been saving for? You’re just going to walk away from all of that?” The door closed with a soft sound, like a sigh. I knelt by the toilet, dry heaving until tears smeared across my face. At 3 AM, I dragged out my suitcase and yanked clothes from the closet one by one, stuffing them in randomly. My phone lit up. His mother had posted on Ins. “Derek’s wife made me this roast beef. Delicious.” The picture showed a table full of food, utensils arranged neatly. In the upper right corner of the photo, half a sleeve was visible. I recognized that watch. It was the first gift I ever gave him. I’d saved three months of salary for it. Today he said he was having dinner with a client. I liked the post, then unliked it. His mother probably didn’t know that like came from her son’s mistress of seven years. 2 At 3:17 AM, I stood in the elevator watching the floor numbers descend. The elevator doors opened and cold air rushed in. That’s when I realized I was only wearing a thin knit sweater. My phone rang. It was my father. I stared at that name for a long time before finally answering. My father’s voice was soft. “Evelyn, Derek just called. He said you two had a disagreement?” I didn’t respond. “He’s been really good to you all these years. We’ve all seen it.” “Tell me, what has he done wrong?” What has he done wrong? Well, nothing really. That year I had acute appendicitis. He rode his electric scooter to take me to the hospital and fell on the way. His knee was scraped raw, blood running down his pant leg. When my parents arrived, he’d already treated his own wound and was limping around buying me fruit. When he was starting his business, things were hardest. He went three days without sleep, and the project still failed. He sat on the company building steps all night and only came home at dawn. The first thing he did was take a shower, then stick his face in front of mine. “Smell it. Does it smell good? New shampoo.” I only found out later he was afraid I’d smell the cigarettes and alcohol on him. He was good to me. But he was also someone else’s husband. “Evelyn? Are you listening?” “Yes.” “I need to tell you something.” “Dad, I have something to tell you too.” The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back down. Tell him what? That your daughter was deceived for ten years? That your future son-in-law married someone else seven years ago? “Your mother is having heart surgery next month.” My father’s voice was calm, like he was talking about pork prices dropping at the market. “The doctor said she can’t handle any stress.” “Evelyn, I know you have your own issues to deal with, but right now, we need peace at home. You know your mother’s temperament…” I couldn’t hear the rest clearly. I don’t know when it started raining. By the time I came to my senses, my hair was plastered to my face, water dripping from my chin. “Evelyn!” An umbrella appeared over me. Derek stood in the rain, his shirt soaked through. He grabbed my wrist, gripping it tightly. I could feel his fingers trembling. “Get in the car first. We’ll talk about everything at home.” “That Ins post was deliberate. I was trying to get back at you.” “I never wanted to break up. I really didn’t.” He threw my suitcase in the trunk and pulled open the passenger door. “I’ll handle things with Mia. Just give me some time, okay?” “Your dad told me about your mom’s situation. I know some cardiac specialists. I’ll contact them tomorrow.” I sat in the passenger seat without saying anything. There was a faint fragrance in the car. On his collar was a very faint lipstick mark. I tilted my head, watching the windshield wipers sweep back and forth. He kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. The rain was heavy. The neon lights outside the window blurred in the rain, red, green, yellow, all mixing into a hazy glow. 3 I stayed at the hospital for two weeks. Derek never complained once. In fact, he did everything he could. He found the specialists, finalized the treatment plan, and even switched us to a south-facing private room. He knew my mother’s pre-surgery indicators better than I did. At night he sat with me on the hallway bench. When he got tired, he’d lean against the wall and doze off. The nursing station lights were dim yellow. Even in sleep his brow was furrowed, but his hand never let go of mine. When my mother was feeling better, she’d hold his hand and talk. “Derek, Evelyn can be stubborn. Please be patient with her.” He smiled and tucked my mother’s hand back under the blanket. “I’m the lucky one.” My mother looked at me, her eyes full of relief. I nodded without saying anything. But each day, the weight in my chest grew heavier. That afternoon, he was called away by the company.  I was carrying a food container toward the hospital room. When I pushed open the door, a strange woman was sitting by my mother’s bed. They’d changed caregivers. The woman wore light blue scrubs and was peeling an apple with her head down. Sunlight streamed through the window. She looked up and smiled at my mother. “My husband? He’s not a bad person.” “He’s just too softhearted. Women throw themselves at him, and he always says he’s afraid of hurting their feelings, can’t bring himself to cut them off.” My mother leaned against the headboard and sighed. “That must be hard on you.” She handed the peeled apple to my mother. “You’re telling me.” “Sometimes when I feel suffocated, I come out to find something to do, clear my head.” My mother’s voice was muffled. “If you ask me, those homewreckers have no shame at all.” I stood in the doorway, the thermal container in my hands growing heavier. My mother waved me over. “Evelyn’s here?” “Mia is such a good person, just unlucky. You don’t know what her husband is like…” “Mom, I brought you food.” I set the container on the bedside table and turned to the woman in blue scrubs. “Can you step outside? I need to talk to you.” The window at the end of the hallway was open, the smell of disinfectant dispersed somewhat by the breeze. “Were those words meant for my mother to hear?” She leaned against the wall. The gentle expression on her face peeled away like paper. “I was talking about my own family business. How does that concern you?” “This is between us.” I kept my voice low. “It has nothing to do with my mother.” “Between us?” She laughed. “Evelyn, you’ve been an underground mistress for seven years, and now you want to talk to me about ‘us’?” I clenched my fists. “You think he’ll actually marry you?” “You know that, right? He plays everyone.” “Your mother’s surgery? Who knows if it’ll even happen. She’s old. Her health isn’t great. Something could go wrong on that table…” The slap happened before I even realized what I was doing. My palm burned. She covered her face and stumbled backward. Her scream hadn’t even left her throat before it was drowned out by a voice from the other end of the hallway. “Evelyn!” Derek rushed over and pulled her behind him, grabbing my wrist. “Have you lost your mind?” She hid behind him, tears coming on command. “Derek… I just wanted to help. I saw her mother had no one with her… I don’t know why she got so angry. I didn’t say anything and she just…” I stared at Derek. “Ask her what she said.” He frowned, looking at me, then at her swollen face. “What could she have said?” “Evelyn, whatever she said, hitting her was wrong. When did you become like this?” I laughed, my eyes burning. “What have I become?” “Derek, it’s you who-” “Enough.” He cut me off, putting his arm around her shoulder and walking toward the elevator. “I’m taking her home. You calm down and think about whether what you did today was right.” 4 That night at 11:40, I got a call from the hospital. The nurse on duty said the original team of specialists had been urgently reassigned. The specific reason was unclear. I stood outside the hospital room holding my phone, hearing people talking at the far end of the hallway. “…that woman, she was the other woman for seven years.” “Really? She looks pretty decent.” “You can’t judge a book by its cover. The real wife even came to confront her.” I stood there silently, not moving. The next morning, my mother somehow heard about all this. She leaned against the headboard, her face ashen, and asked me. “Evelyn, tell me the truth.” I opened my mouth. She suddenly clutched her chest, her whole body tilting to one side. The heart monitor started screaming. My dad rushed in from outside, frantically pressing the call button. A nurse ran in, glanced at the situation, then ran back out. When she returned, she said the original surgical team wasn’t there. They could only stabilize her for now and wait for people to arrive. My dad grabbed the nurse’s sleeve. “Where are they?” “Didn’t you say everything was arranged?” The nurse shook her head and said she didn’t know. I put an oxygen mask on my mother, my hands shaking badly. Her eyes were half-open, looking at me. Her lips moved but no sound came out. I pulled out my phone and called Derek. It rang seven times before disconnecting. I called again. Still no answer. My dad paced back and forth, asking over and over what was happening. I couldn’t answer. I just stared at my phone screen, my finger frozen over the dial button. Then I tried calling from a different number. Mia answered, her voice lazy. “Looking for Derek?” “Let me talk to him.” “He’s in the shower. You can tell me whatever it is.” “Give the medical team back.” The other end went quiet for a few seconds before Derek’s voice came on. “Have you thought it through?” “Give them back.” Tears fell involuntarily from my eyes. “Please.” “I can do that.” He said, “Apologize to her. If she agrees, the team will go back.” I hung up and looked at the numbers on the monitor, then at my dad. He crouched in the corner, his hair mostly white now, shoulders hunched, like a dried-up tree stump. The elevator at Riverside Apartments was the slowest I’d ever seen. Mia sat on the sofa. There was fruit on the coffee table. She was peeling an orange. Derek stood by the floor-to-ceiling window with his back to me. “You’re here?” Mia popped a piece of orange in her mouth and chewed. “Sit down.” “Actually, I don’t really want to make things difficult for you.” “But you know, getting slapped out of nowhere-anyone would need an explanation, right?” I didn’t say anything. She looked at me and smiled. “So apologize.” “I’m sorry.” She tilted her head. “Hmm?” “What did you say? I didn’t hear clearly.” “I’m sorry.” She sighed, crumpled the tissue into a ball, and tossed it in the trash. “Words alone won’t cut it.” “Kneel down. Slap yourself. Keep going until I say stop.” I looked at her coldly. She glanced toward the floor-to-ceiling window. “Derek, what do you think?” Derek didn’t turn around. I knelt down. My knees hit the tile floor with a dull thud. I raised my hand and slapped my own face. Once, twice, three times. My palm burned, my face burned. I couldn’t tell if it was pain or numbness. “Is that enough?” Mia didn’t answer. She stared at something behind me. My phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket. “Hello?” “Evelyn…” “Your mother is gone. Her heart just stopped. We couldn’t wait any longer…” The phone fell to the floor. The screen shattered. Light seeped through the cracks like a spider’s web. I knelt there, staring at that broken screen. It was still lit, the call interface showing. The timer kept running. One second, two seconds, three seconds. Derek walked toward me and crouched down, his hand on my shoulder. “Evelyn? What happened?” “Is it your mother…” His voice paused. “Don’t panic. I’ll call right now and get the team back.” “I never really planned to withdraw them. I just wanted to teach you a lesson…” I looked up at him. This face-I’d been looking at it for ten years. In front of the dorm building, cooking noodles for me in our rental apartment, asleep in the hospital hallway holding my hand. But now it looked like a stranger’s. “Derek. My mother is dead.”

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For eight years, I harbored a secret crush on Lucas Brooks. And then, I slept with him. The next morning, I heard him on the balcony, taking a phone call. “I told you, it was just a one-night stand. Marry her? Don’t be ridiculous. Just give her some money and send her on her way.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. I got dressed, went home, and dragged out the box filled with eight years of memories from my closet. Secret photos, movie ticket stubs, a button he’d discarded. I dumped it all into a black garbage bag. As the garbage truck rumbled past, crushing everything beneath its wheels, I let out a long breath. Later, that same man who said “just throw some cash at her” took a red-hot steel pipe through his back to save me. He lay on the ground, covered in blood, but he was still smiling. “Thank God… it didn’t hit your face. You’re getting married tomorrow, even if the groom isn’t me. You should still be the most beautiful bride.” Ivy Laurent POV For eight years, I harbored a secret crush on Lucas Brooks. And then, I slept with him. It was unexpected, absurd, yet somehow inevitable. I woke at six in the morning. London had been raining all night. The air was heavy with moisture and the lingering scent of us. My whole body ached. I didn’t even dare look at the man sleeping beside me. This was the deity I’d placed on a pedestal and worshipped for eight years, now reduced to evidence of my deepest transgression. I picked my clothes up off the floor. I’d barely gotten half-dressed when I heard movement from the balcony outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lucas was awake, taking a phone call. Through the half-open glass door, his voice was low and husky, lazy with post-coital drowsiness, yet it cut into my heart like an ice-cold blade. “I drank too much last night. Didn’t even see who it was.” The person on the other end must have been teasing him, because Lucas lit a cigarette, his tone distant to the point of coldness. “Who told you to drug her? Don’t use that kind of tactic again.” Through the curling smoke, he paused, irritation creeping into his voice. “I don’t like her, but we’ve known each other for years. Last night was her first time… What do you expect me to do? Take responsibility? Marry her?” A scoffing laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Not just anyone can walk through my family’s door, least of all her. What I feel for her is friendship at most.” “Enough. Keep this between us. As for compensation… I’ll have my assistant send her a card later. She can fill in whatever amount she wants. Enough to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life. That’ll settle years of acquaintance.” My hands froze mid-button. In an instant, my blood ran cold. My hands and feet went numb. So in his eyes, my eight years of careful companionship, this one wild night-all of it could only be converted into a string of cold numbers. With the added phrase: “Don’t be ridiculous.” I didn’t cry. I dressed efficiently, left no note, took nothing, and slipped silently out of the villa that had trapped my youth. When I got home, my father was sitting on the sofa, sighing. Spread across the coffee table were a pile of photos, potential marriage candidates he’d painstakingly collected. “Ivy, I know you’ve got pride. You used to chase after Lucas all the time. But people like him, we’re not in their league. I’m getting old, my health’s failing every day, and I just want to see you settle down with someone ordinary…” In the past, I would have stayed silent, resisted, made excuses to retreat to my room. But today, I walked over and scanned the pile of photos. Not one looked like Lucas. That was good. I randomly pointed to one. “This one.” My father froze, hardly daring to believe it. “That’s Ethan Rivers. He’s a doctor, very refined. But he’s being transferred to the New York branch for a few years. If you marry him, you might have to leave home…” “It doesn’t matter.” I cut him off. “The farther away, the better. Set up a meeting for us.” My father was overjoyed and hurried to make the call. I returned to my room and pulled out a locked box from the depths of my closet. Inside was everything related to Lucas Brooks. Photos I’d secretly taken in high school, every movie ticket stub from the past eight years, even a button he’d carelessly tossed aside. I didn’t burn them. Burning things creates smoke, stings your eyes, makes people think you’re crying. I found a large black garbage bag and dumped everything I’d once treasured, along with the heart that had loved Lucas Brooks for eight years, into it. I tied the bag shut and threw it in the trash bin downstairs. The garbage truck rumbled past, crushing everything. I looked at my empty room and let out a long breath.

Ivy Laurent POV The meeting with Ethan went surprisingly smoothly. Ethan wore gold-rimmed glasses and had a refined, scholarly air. He spoke softly and politely. He didn’t have Lucas’s aggressive presence. He was like a glass of warm water. Good for quenching thirst. Good for living a stable life. “Miss Laurent, the matchmaker should have told you about my situation.” Ethan refilled my water glass. “Next month I’ll be going to New York. I’ll probably settle there permanently. If you’re willing, we can get married first, and you can join me after you’ve settled things here.” The pace was absurdly fast, like completing a task. But I only thought for three seconds. “Okay.” Ethan looked up, somewhat surprised. “Don’t you want to think about it more? After all, marriage is a big decision.” “No need to think about it.” I looked down, stirring the water in my glass. “I want a change of environment. A fresh start.” Ethan smiled, genuinely pleased. “What a coincidence. So do I.” We hit it off immediately. Though the meal lacked passion, it was remarkably relaxed. No one needed to look up to anyone. No one needed to force themselves to read obscure philosophy books or learn difficult video games just to cater to the other person. Since I’d decided to leave, the first thing I did when I returned to the office was submit my resignation. The editor-in-chief Mr. Evans looked at my resignation letter, frowning. “It’s not that I won’t let you go. You’re one of the pillars here. Losing you would be a real loss. Plus, you haven’t finished that London’s New Elite feature yet.” He tapped the desk, offering a deal. “Here’s what we’ll do. The first subject is Lucas Brooks. Everyone in London knows he never gives interviews, but you know him. As long as you can get his exclusive, even just ten minutes, I’ll sign off immediately and double your bonus for the month.” My fingers holding the resignation letter went pale. Lucas Brooks. Lucas Brooks again. I couldn’t shake his name no matter how hard I tried. “Mr. Evans, could we get someone else?” “No.” Mr. Evans’s tone was firm. “Only you can do this. If this article doesn’t get done, your resignation process could take three months.” I stood at the end of the hallway, looking out at the gray sky, silent for a long time. To leave London cleanly. To completely sever the past. One last meeting. After seeing him this one time, never again. I pulled out my phone and found the number I’d kept at the top of my contacts for eight years but never dared to call. My fingertip hovered over the screen, trembling, then finally pressed down. It rang once before being answered. The background was noisy, like people playing cards, then footsteps, and the surroundings quieted. Lucas’s voice came through the receiver, carrying a careless, teasing quality. “You’ve been avoiding me for three days. Finally willing to call?” So he knew I’d been avoiding him. I took a deep breath and spoke in a businesslike tone. “Mr. Brooks, our magazine would like to do an interview with you. When would you be available?” Two seconds of silence on the other end, then a soft scoff. “Ivy Laurent, since when did you learn to be so formal with me?” Lucas seemed to be in a good mood. He wasn’t angry about the distant form of address. “I’m at the club. Come now.” “It’s working hours…” “Then forget the interview.” Lucas cut me off, his tone carrying its usual arrogance and control. “If I don’t see you within half an hour, the interview’s cancelled.” He hung up without waiting for a response. I looked at the darkened screen and put my phone away. I turned and called to the photographer. “Let’s go. To the club.” The photographer looked shocked. “That place? He’s there? My god, you’re amazing. You actually got him to agree!” I said nothing. Amazing? This was a “privilege” I’d bought with eight years of blood and tears. And today, I was going to tear that privilege to shreds and throw it in the trash.

Ivy Laurent POV This was London’s most exclusive private club, the place Lucas and his circle frequented. In the past, whenever I came here, I always felt awkward and inferior, trailing behind Lucas like a shameful little shadow. But today, I wore my press badge, held my voice recorder, and kept my spine straight. When I pushed open the private room door, smoke and alcohol fumes filled the air. A group of rich kids were laughing with their female companions. When they saw me enter, the room fell silent for a moment, then erupted in louder jeers. “Isn’t that Ivy? Long time no see!” “Wow, you’ve got some pull! Three days without seeing him and now you’re here to check up on him?” The man sitting in the center of the sofa wore a black shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing his pale collarbones. He was playing with a lighter, the flame flickering on and off, illuminating his sharply defined face-the kind that made countless women throw themselves at him. Lucas Brooks. He leaned lazily against the back of the chair, his gaze cutting through the crowd to land on me. His eyes lingered on me for a moment. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, then smoothed out. He patted the empty spot beside him. “Come here.” Like summoning a well-trained pet. In the past, I would have obediently walked over, sat down, poured him drinks, waited on him. But this time, I stood where I was and gestured for the cameraman to set up the equipment. “Mr. Brooks, we’re on a tight schedule. Let’s just do it here.” I pulled out my equipment. “About fifteen minutes.” The atmosphere in the room instantly chilled. Everyone exchanged glances. Lucas’s hand playing with the lighter paused. The lid snapped shut. He narrowed his eyes, his expression amused. “Ivy, what are you trying to pull?” “You’ve got it wrong, Mr. Brooks.” I turned on the voice recorder, meeting his gaze directly. “This is strictly business. If now’s not a good time, we can do this another day. Or I can have someone else take over.” I started to pack up my things. “Stop.” Lucas’s face darkened. He slammed his glass on the table with a sharp clink. “Everyone out.” He waved his hand at the others. Though curious, no one dared to anger Lucas. They all filed out with their companions, but as they passed me, their eyes held a voyeuristic gleam. The photographer hesitated. “Should I…” “Wait for me outside,” I said. The private room door closed. The vast space held only the two of us. The lighting was dim. The air was filled with expensive perfume and lingering cigarette smoke. Lucas stood and walked toward me step by step. He was tall, his presence overwhelming. He lowered his head, leaning close to my face, his warm breath brushing against my ear. “Still mad about that morning? Didn’t I say I’d have Steve send you a card? Not enough?” I stepped back half a step, avoiding his breath. “I didn’t accept the card. I already sent it back to your company’s front desk.” I lifted my head. “Lucas, that night was an accident. We’re both adults. It’s over. I’m here today purely for work.” “Over?” Lucas looked like he’d heard a joke. He suddenly grabbed my chin, his fingertips grazing my delicate skin. “Ivy, you’ve followed me around for eight years, and now you’re playing it cool? I don’t believe you feel nothing for me. That night, you clearly…” “That was the drug’s effect.” I interrupted him. “Mr. Brooks, I’m resigning. This interview is my last assignment at this company. After this, I’m leaving London. We probably won’t see each other again.” Lucas’s fingers tightened abruptly, the pressure making me wince. “Leaving London? Where to?” “That’s none of your concern.” “To avoid me?” Anger flickered in Lucas’s eyes. “Ivy, is this really necessary? Just because I never made you official? You never cared about that before.” “I was naive before.” I pried his hand off forcefully and stepped back twice, smoothing my wrinkled collar. “Now I’ve come to my senses. Someone like Mr. Brooks, up in the clouds-you’re not suitable for someone ordinary like me. I apologize for bothering you all these years. It won’t happen again.” I raised the voice recorder again. “Mr. Brooks, first question: regarding the Brooks Group’s strategic plans for next quarter…” Lucas stared at me. He laughed in fury and sat back on the sofa, lighting a cigarette, his expression dark. “Fine. Very good. You want an interview? Ask away. I’d like to see how long you can keep up this act.”

Ivy Laurent POV The interview was exceptionally difficult. Lucas didn’t cooperate. In fact, he deliberately made things hard for me. No matter what I asked, he answered carelessly, even deliberately steering the conversation toward his private life, trying to provoke me. “What are Mr. Brooks’s expectations for a future partner?” “Obedient. Well-behaved. Preferably not like some people, the kind who sleep with you and then pretend you don’t exist. Change faster than the weather.” Lucas exhaled a smoke ring, looking at me with mock amusement. My fingers tightened around my pen, but I still dutifully recorded his words. “Mr. Brooks prefers the obedient type. What about the recent rumors of a business marriage…” “Not interested.” Lucas cut me off, suddenly leaning forward, his gaze intense. “Lately I’ve been more interested in women who look proper on the surface but will do anything for a man in private. Got any recommendations?” I closed my notebook. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Brooks. I have enough material.” I didn’t want to stay a second longer. Just as I was about to stand, the private room door suddenly burst open. A girl in a white dress with long flowing hair rushed in, carrying an elegant thermal container. The girl was beautiful-the kind of bright, flamboyant beauty completely different from mine. “Lucas! I heard you were here, so I made you chicken soup!” The girl fluttered toward Lucas like a butterfly, naturally looping her arm through his and nuzzling against him affectionately. Charlotte Ashford. Also Lucas’s recent rumored girlfriend, the female lead in those ambiguous social media posts. Though that post was later deleted, everyone in their circle knew Charlotte was pursuing Lucas. Lucas didn’t push her away. His gaze traveled over Charlotte’s head, staring straight at me, seemingly waiting for my reaction. I just glanced once. I nodded politely at Charlotte. “Hello, miss Ashford.” Then I turned to Lucas. “Since Mr. Brooks has a guest, I won’t intrude further. I’ll send you the draft for review once it’s written.” I turned and left without a trace of reluctance. But I still heard the voices behind me. Charlotte sounded confused. “Lucas, who is she? She seemed kind of weird.” He suddenly shook off Charlotte’s hand and irritably swept the glass off the table. “Get out.” Charlotte jumped. “Lucas…” “Everyone get out!” Lucas roared. I ignored his tantrum. After leaving the club, the wind outside was cold, clearing my head. The photographer had been waiting anxiously in the car. Seeing me emerge, he quickly started the engine. “How did it go? Did you get it?” “Got it.” I tossed the voice recorder into my bag and leaned back in the seat, exhausted. “Back to the office.” Back at the paper, I worked through the night to finish the article. I sent the piece to Mr. Evans with a single line. “Assignment complete. Please sign.” Mr. Evans was probably surprised by my efficiency. He didn’t make things difficult and readily approved my resignation. The moment I finished the paperwork, I stood outside the company building, looking at this prosperous city, feeling only relief. I sent Ethan a message. “I resigned.” Ethan replied almost instantly. “Congratulations. To celebrate your freedom, dinner tonight? I’ve made a reservation.” I thought for a moment and replied. “Okay.” I didn’t tell anyone I’d already bought a plane ticket to New York for the day after tomorrow. This meal was a farewell. Farewell to the past, and farewell to this city.

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I have been ruthless since I was a child. At seven, while at a vacation resort, I found Mrs. Wang’s Tibetan Mastiff too noisy. I threw it a piece of beef laced with rat poison and killed it. At ten, I caught my dad kissing his secretary in his study. I shoved her down the stairs, resulting in high-level paraplegia. At fifteen, the school heartthrob was playing with female students’ feelings. I kicked him straight into the fountain pool. Everyone who sees me takes a detour. Except for Arthur. He was a poor student sponsored by my grandfather. With refined features, he was lean and aloof. After graduating from a top university, he joined the Sterling family’s company and became my father’s right-hand man. He was never afraid of me, nor did he look at me through colored lenses. After we married, he treated me exceptionally well, acting as the Sterling family’s model live-in son-in-law for six years. Until today. At my daughter Lily’s fifth birthday party. I saw the lines of text floating before my eyes: 【Arthur Sterling, a poor boy who endured for years, willingly married into the family, actually to swallow the Sterling family’s assets.】 【Chloe, Arthur’s true love, joined the Sterling Group as a “distant cousin” and is now three months pregnant.】 【Madison Sterling dies from brake failure, Grandpa Sterling dies of a heart attack, the Sterling assets are inherited by Arthur, who immediately marries Chloe.】 【Lily Sterling is sent to a remote mountainous area and eventually freezes to death in the snow.】 Arthur stood before me, still maintaining his gentle facade. I raised my hand and threw my glass of red wine directly into his face. 1 Everyone present froze. They knew the eldest Miss Sterling was domineering, but they didn’t know she was this domineering. They thought marriage and motherhood might have tempered her vicious temper. The wine dripped down Arthur’s clean-cut face into his collar, making him look exceptionally pathetic. He took a deep breath and wiped his face. “Madison, did the glass slip? Are you okay?” Huh? Interesting. Couldn’t he tell I threw it on purpose? But over the years, I surprisingly hadn’t noticed that his tolerance towards me was all just an act. I looked up at the crowd, my gaze locking onto the woman in the white dress. Chloe. The text flickered: 【Chloe is carrying a boy. Arthur has already bought an overseas property worth thirty million dollars, planning to send her there to rest during her pregnancy.】 I looked at Chloe’s pure and innocent face, then at Arthur’s “deep tolerance” he forced himself to maintain despite his wine-stained face. Thinking of the sentence, 【Lily Sterling is sent to a remote mountainous area and eventually freezes to death in the snow,】 I trembled with anger. I don’t need a man, but my daughter is my life. I casually took a shot of high-proof tequila from a passing waiter’s tray, twirled it gently in my fingertips, and let my gaze fall on Chloe. “You, come here.” I crooked my finger, my tone like I was calling a cat. Chloe shuddered all over, timidly shuffling over to me, her voice as quiet as a mosquito: “Ms. Sterling, what can I do for you?” I thrust the tequila in front of her: “Today is my daughter’s birthday, shouldn’t you offer a toast? Drink it.” Chloe looked at the spicy, strong liquor, her face instantly turning chalk white. She instinctively touched her still-flat stomach, her eyes filled with terror. If this strong liquor went down, the “golden goose” in her belly probably wouldn’t survive. She jerked her head up, looking at Arthur with those wet, doe-like eyes. “Madison, Chloe is allergic to alcohol. I’ll drink this for her.” Arthur, who had always been completely obedient to me and never dared to defy a single word, was actually stepping up to take a drink for a female employee in front of everyone. I flicked my wrist away, letting out a cold sneer: “Arthur, I told her to drink, not you. Since when is it your turn to tell me what to do in the Sterling household?” “Madison, stop making a scene. She’s just a low-level employee.” For the first time, Arthur pulled a long face at me in front of all the guests. “With so many people watching, the way you’re acting right now is really uncultured.” “Uncultured?” My eyes flashed fiercely, and right in front of Arthur, I poured the entire glass of tequila over Chloe’s head. Perfect, one glass each for the dog couple. “Ah!” The strong liquor ran down Chloe’s carefully styled hair. She screamed, looking completely disheveled. “Madison Sterling! You are an absolute lunatic!” Arthur yanked the pocket square from his chest, strode over, and supported Chloe, naturally letting her lean into his embrace. What a perfect drama of the “cruel” legal wife bullying the “innocent” subordinate for no reason, and the “heroic” live-in son-in-law sacrificing himself to save the beauty. 2 “Madison, today is our daughter’s fifth birthday party. As a mother, do you want her to remember this day as the day you humiliated an innocent subordinate? What kind of psychological trauma will your violent behavior cause the child?” Since I had known Arthur, this was the first time I heard him speak so harshly to me. But right now, in front of everyone, he was standing on the moral high ground, ruthlessly crushing me: “Madison, the Sterling family gave you the capital to be arrogant, but please keep a little bit of kindness for this world. Don’t let Lily grow up thinking her mother is a monster!” The guests began to whisper. “Yeah, Miss Sterling is really going too far. That young girl is just an employee.” “Arthur has such a good temper. To be stuck with a wife like that, he has to endure it for their daughter.” “Madison acting like this is really setting a bad example for the child…” Only my best friend, Mia, stood in the corner, watching all this unfold with an all-knowing gaze. Chloe nestled in Arthur’s embrace, crying beautifully: “Mr. Sterling, please don’t say anymore. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have made Ms. Sterling angry… Don’t fight because of me. Today is Lily’s birthday, boohoo…” What a perfect display of a submissive “green tea.” If I hadn’t seen the subtitles beforehand, I would have almost stood on their side and helped them curse myself. Unknowingly, Lily, holding her doll, came to my side. “Mommy…” she called me in her crisp voice. I picked her up and kissed her over and over. This dog couple actually wanted to send my precious baby, whom I held in the palm of my hand, to the countryside to freeze to death! I took a deep breath, calmed my emotions, and whispered to my daughter: “Do you think Mommy is bad?” Lily shook her head: “Not at all! Mommy is the best mommy in the world! A woman kinder than Snow White!” I smiled. In a child’s world, pure kindness is a virtue. But in this cannibalistic real world, kindness without an edge will only turn you into a lamb waiting to be slaughtered. Arthur saw me smiling while holding our daughter and thought my anger had dissipated. He quickly continued to occupy the moral high ground: “Madison, for the sake of our daughter’s birthday, apologize to Chloe today, and we’ll consider this matter closed.” I just gave him a side-eye. “What the hell is she? And what right do you have to tell me to apologize to her?” Chloe hurriedly stopped him: “Mr. Sterling, don’t say anymore. I’m fine… I’ll head back first, let’s not delay celebrating Lily’s birthday.” Arthur’s eyes were full of heartache. He turned and looked at me angrily: “Madison, I’m taking my employee home first. Reflect on what happened today yourself. We’ll talk about it when I get home tonight!” Then, right in front of everyone, he took off his jacket, draped it over Chloe’s shoulders, and led her away from the scene. Good. Exactly what I wanted. Saved me the trouble of kicking them out! I originally didn’t want to make a move today anyway; I just wanted to give my daughter a good birthday. I didn’t even spare Arthur a glance, just kissed Lily’s cheek again. At this moment, Mia stepped out to smooth things over: “Alright, alright. Lily, go greet the guests, it’s time to cut the cake! We’re going to sing the birthday song!” Lily clapped happily: “Yay! I’m going to eat cake!” Looking at her innocent face, I only had one thought in my mind. That is, I would fight with everything I have to let her live a happy, joyful, and simple life. 3 When the birthday party ended, the nanny took my tired daughter to sleep, and I returned to my bedroom alone. I had already ordered the butler to throw all of Arthur’s things out, change the locks, and send all the family cars in for inspection. There was still a message from Arthur on my phone: “Madison, what you did today was a bit over the line. But Chloe is kind-hearted and won’t hold it against you. I have things to deal with at the company today, I’ll be back late.” If you’re keeping your mistress company, just say so. Why pretend you have company business? Still thinking about coming back? Dream on! I closed my eyes, recalling the subtitles before my eyes, and tears fell like rain. At 7 years old, our whole family went on a trip and stayed at a vacation resort. My dad’s business partner, Uncle Wang, also brought his family along. Mrs. Wang treated her Tibetan Mastiff like a precious treasure; several times it almost bit the resort staff. I saw with my own eyes that beast viciously bite a cleaning lady, ruining half her face! But Mrs. Wang wouldn’t even apologize, just hastily paid some money to settle it. And continued to let her dog act like a tyrant. The first time subtitles appeared before my eyes was then. At that time, I had just started elementary school and didn’t know many words. The subtitles were mixed with pinyin. “Mrs. Wang’s dog will pin Madison down and bite her to death! Old Mr. Sterling tries to save Madison, but is also bitten into a bloody pulp.” I was stunned. Looking at that beast, remembering the cleaning lady with half a ruined face, I secretly decided in my heart: I must strike first! The landscaping at the vacation resort was very good, so there were many mosquitoes, insects, rats, and ants. I easily got my hands on some rat poison. I added it to a deliciously seared steak and fed it to her dog right in front of Mrs. Wang. Mrs. Wang couldn’t help but praise me: “Madison is so sensible, knowing how to care for our Mastiff… “Is it yummy, baby? “Hey… hey baby, what’s wrong? Why are you throwing up? Why did you fall down and start twitching? “Ambulance! Call an ambulance quickly!” I sneered: “Don’t bother. Your dog isn’t going to survive!” Mrs. Wang was shocked: “…You dead girl, you actually dared to poison my son? So young and already so vicious! Believe it or not, I’ll beat you to death!” I ran for my life. As I ran, I thought: when her dog bit someone, she didn’t care. I thought this Mrs. Wang had no heart! Now that her dog is dead, she knows how to panic. 4 The second time the subtitles appeared was when my dad and his secretary were kissing in his study. I originally liked that secretary a lot; I called her Sister Tingting. She had big, watery eyes, wasn’t very tall, and looked gentle and refined. I was originally going to get a newly bought plush toy from Disney to share with her. I tiptoed to the door, wanting to quietly push it open and surprise her. I quietly pushed the door open a crack and saw a scene that left me dumbfounded. She sat directly on my dad’s lap, and the two of them entered a world of their own. At this time, the subtitles appeared before my eyes again. 【From this day on, the secretary sends intimate photos of herself and the female lead’s dad to the female lead’s mom every day.】 【Yes, and she also calls the female lead’s house late at night to insult her mom.】 【The female lead’s dad even moves out to live with the secretary.】 【The female lead’s mom gets depression and later jumps off a building to commit suicide.】 … In that instant, Sister Tingting completely turned into a demon in my heart. Of course, I couldn’t let all this happen. I just quietly waited at the study door for them to come out. I don’t know how long it took, but the door opened. When Sister Tingting walked out, her hair was messy and her face was flushed. “Madison, why are you here.” She looked guilty for a moment. I smiled: “I wanted to show you this Minnie I bought at Disney. Is it cute?” “C… cute. As cute as Madison.” She smiled harmlessly. “Really?” I took her hand, “There are more downstairs, let’s go look together.” Then, when we reached the top of the stairs, I used all my strength and shoved her hard. “Ah!” White Tingting let out a terrified scream. But it was too late. She just beautifully tumbled down the stairs like that. And fell unconscious. Later, White Tingting was basically ruined. My family paid her patriarchal mother a large sum of money, which was all spent buying a car, a house, and a wife for her younger brother. When my grandfather learned the ins and outs of the whole matter, he severely taught my father a lesson. The branch company that was originally intended for my father to take over was given to my uncle. “Bringing a secretary home to fool around! And being caught by your child! What kind of behavior is this? This matter was suppressed with money. If the media finds out and makes a big fuss about it, our family’s clean reputation will be ruined by you!” After that, my father never dared to openly chase women outside again. 5 As for the school heartthrob… He was a spoiled rich kid from the Gu family. Relying on his handsome face, he ran wild at school. But he hadn’t done anything totally outrageous yet. That day after school, a row of subtitles appeared before my eyes. 【This rich kid is just a bit mischievous at this age. Who knew that as an adult he wouldn’t learn anything good and would play with the feelings of so many innocent girls?】 【Yeah, and he’ll be flirting with the female lead while also pursuing her best friend, causing the best friend and the female lead to turn against each other!】 I froze and looked at my best friend, Mia, beside me: “When you grow up, will you like the second young master of the Gu family?” Mia looked disgusted: “Madison, what are you saying? Who would like him?” Me: “Then do you dare push him into the water?” Mia: “…” I didn’t explain, just chased after him. “Gu Feng!” I called him. The rich kid turned around: “Yo, Madison. Does the eldest miss of the Zhao family need something?” I smiled slightly and stepped forward. “Look at this fountain pool.” “What about it?” “Get in there!” “Ah…” Mia caught up: “Madison, did you really do it?” Gu Feng floundered up: “Madison Sterling, are you crazy? And you, Mia, you conspired to mess with me?” Me: “Run.” I pulled Mia and jogged away. … Later, Mia and I were on the balcony at home, eating ice cream and talking about it. “So, Madison, what you mean is, you pushed him into the water today because you saw subtitles telling you Gu Feng would cause our friendship to break in the future?” “Exactly!” I took a bite of my Cornetto. “That’s really amazing! To be honest, Gu Feng’s face is indeed my type. If I hadn’t known this in advance, maybe… if he actively pursued me, I really would be moved.” I looked at the distant sky: “As long as you don’t think it’s absurd, as long as you believe me, that’s enough!” “Of course I believe you!” From that day on, Gu Feng blacklisted both of us. He told everyone he met: “Madison Sterling is a crazy bitch, and that Mia hanging around her is no good either. Stay away from them!” Let him talk. After all, I was “in the wrong” first. But for the next ten years, my friendship with Mia remained as strong as ever, without any impact. And she was the only one who always remained extremely calm whenever she saw me “go crazy.” Because she knew I definitely had a reason.

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I helped my husband pay his credit card bill. When I logged into his banking app, I discovered that his salary account balance was over four million dollars. I looked at it three times. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. We’ve been married for three years, and he told me his monthly salary was five thousand. We split every meal 50/50, every bill calculated down to the cent. I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a $399 coat. I stared at that string of numbers, my fingers turning ice-cold. Arthur, who exactly are you? 1. It was a Wednesday. Arthur was going on a business trip, and before he left, he asked me to help him pay his credit card. “You know the password. Send me a screenshot when you’re done.” He sent a message on WhatsApp, complete with a kissing emoji. I said okay. We’ve been married for three years, and we’ve always split everything 50/50. He said his monthly salary was five thousand; mine was eight thousand. Rent was four thousand: he paid two thousand, and I paid two thousand. Utilities and HOA fees, split down the middle. Meals, split down the middle. He said, “It’s not easy for either of us; splitting it 50/50 is the fairest.” I thought that made sense. Even though my salary was higher than his, splitting it was indeed fair. So, for three years, I lived very frugally. I ate at the school cafeteria for lunch, twelve bucks a meal. I bought all my clothes online. If it was over two hundred dollars, I had to think about it for three days. Last month, I had my eye on a coat, $399. I tried it on three times but didn’t buy it. I told myself to wait, wait for the Black Friday sales to buy it. Arthur found out and said, “If you like it, just buy it.” I said, “Forget it, it’s not a necessity.” He smiled. “You really know how to manage a household.” At the time, I felt that although money was tight, it was nice for two people to strive together. Until that day, when I opened his banking app. He had given me his password. A long time ago, he asked me to pay his phone bill once. Back then, I just paid the bill and logged out. This time, after helping him pay his credit card, I was getting ready to take a screenshot. While taking the screenshot, my finger slipped. It swiped to the “My Account” page. A number popped up on the screen. $4,171,283.67. I thought I had read it wrong. I closed it and opened it again. $4,171,283.67. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. I held my phone, sitting on the sofa, motionless. Someone was honking their horn outside the window. A kid was crying downstairs. I couldn’t hear a thing. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. He said his monthly salary was five thousand. We had split everything 50/50 for three years. I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a coat. 2. Before we got married, Arthur told me he worked in sales at a small company. “Base salary is three thousand, plus commissions, it’s about five thousand.” He dressed very ordinarily, H&M, Zara. He drove a used Toyota with scratched paint. I never suspected a thing. I’m an elementary school teacher, making eight thousand a month. In this city, thirteen thousand between the two of us isn’t a lot, but we could get by. When he suggested splitting things 50/50, I thought it was reasonable. “I earn less, but I don’t want you to support me. Splitting it 50/50 is about respect.” Those words warmed my heart. My mom said, “Although this young man doesn’t earn much, he has good character and knows how to respect you.” So, I married him. Life after marriage could be summed up in one word: frugal. We never ate out at restaurants. I cooked, and we split the grocery bill. I used an expense-tracking app, recording every single transaction clearly. “Today’s groceries were 23.50. You pay 11.75, and I pay 11.75.” He’d say, “I’ll round it up and give you 12.” I’d laugh, “Okay, Mr. Generous.” Back then, I felt this kind of penny-pinching was actually quite sweet. For my birthday, he sent me a $520 red envelope on WeChat. “It’s the thought that counts.” I accepted it, thinking it was nice. For his birthday, I bought him an $899 pair of headphones. He said, “Why did you buy something so expensive?” But his eyes were smiling as he said it. I didn’t think anything was wrong. Until last winter. My cold turned into pneumonia, and I was hospitalized for a week. The medical bills were over six thousand dollars. I asked him if he could cover it for me first, as I hadn’t been paid yet. He thought for a moment. “How much will insurance cover?” “Probably about half.” “Then you use your insurance first, and we’ll figure out the rest later.” I said okay. The day I was discharged, he did the math for me. “Insurance covered 3200, leaving 3400. You pay 1700, and I pay 1700. Fair, right?” I said it was fair. I was still coughing that day. He took me home and bought a box of pears. “Drink plenty of water, get well soon.” I felt he treated me well. Really. He was just poor. Poor people budgeting carefully, there’s no shame in that. That was my thought back then. Laughable? Laughable. My mom was diagnosed with diabetes last year. She needs long-term medication, which costs about eight hundred a month. I told Arthur about this. “I want to send my mom a thousand dollars every month.” He fell silent for a while. “You can, but this is your family’s business. It comes out of your portion.” I said okay. From then on, my monthly disposable income was even less. I switched from eating lunch at the cafeteria to bringing my own meals. I’d cook a little extra the night before and take it to school the next day. Colleagues asked me, “Why are you always bringing your lunch?” I smiled, “It’s healthy.” After Arthur found out about me sending money to my mom, he said something. “Don’t give too much either. Your mom still has your dad.” I said, “My dad’s pension is only two thousand.” He said, “Then do what you can afford.” Do what you can afford. Those five words, I thought they were well-intentioned at the time. Thinking back now, it’s a joke. A man making fifty thousand a month telling his wife, who makes eight thousand, to “do what she can afford.” But that night, I didn’t fly into a rage. I was very calm. Terrifyingly calm. I took a screenshot of that balance. Then I exited the app. Then I sent Arthur the screenshot of the credit card payment. “Done.” He replied, “Thanks, honey.” With a heart emoji. I looked at that heart. I put down my phone. I went to the kitchen and washed the dishes. Then I sat in the living room and started thinking. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. If his monthly salary was five thousand, his savings over three years would be eighteen thousand at most. Even living as frugally as possible, twenty thousand tops. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. This wasn’t saved up. This was another level of income altogether. I needed to know more. But I couldn’t let him find out. I couldn’t. 3. The next day, I took half a day off. Not to go to school. To see Chloe. Chloe was my college roommate, now a lawyer. Specializing in family law. We met at the coffee shop downstairs from her law firm. I showed her the screenshot. She took one look. “Over four million?” “Yes.” “And he said his monthly salary was five thousand?” “Yes.” Chloe put down her coffee cup. “What do you suspect?” “I don’t know,” I said. “I just feel something isn’t right.” “Do you know where he works?” “Yes. A company called ‘Apex.’ He said he does building materials sales.” Chloe took out her phone and did a search. “Apex Industries?” “Probably.” She scrolled through a few pages. “This company had a revenue of 1.2 billion last year and is preparing to go public.” I was stunned. “1.2 billion?” “What does your husband do at this company?” “He said… sales.” Chloe looked at me. “A sales guy making five thousand a month at a company with 1.2 billion in revenue?” She didn’t finish her sentence. I understood. Chloe helped me organize my thoughts. “Don’t alert him just yet. You need to do three things now.” “First, confirm his real income. Check his bank statements. You have his password?” “Yes.” “Second, confirm where this money is going. Four million is the balance. How much comes in, how much goes out, and where is it all going.” “Third, confirm if he’s having an affair.” I looked at her. “You think he is?” Chloe didn’t answer directly. “A balance of four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. If his monthly salary is fifty thousand, that’s eighteen million over three years. Minus the four million, where did the other fourteen million go?” Fourteen million. That number hit me like a ton of bricks. “It could be investments, it could be real estate, it could be something else,” Chloe said. “But keeping it a secret from you is not a good sign.” I nodded. “Find out the truth,” she said. “Find out the truth before you decide what to do.” She looked at me. “Don’t cry, don’t make a scene.” “Find out the truth, and then deal with it as you must.” I said okay. That night, Arthur still hadn’t returned from his business trip. I sat alone in the living room and opened his banking app. This time, I didn’t rush. I looked at every single transaction. Salary account, monthly deposits. Not five thousand. It was four hundred and eighty-seven thousand, three hundred and twenty-one dollars. Every single month. A fixed date, the 15th. Source: Apex Industries LLC. I scrolled down. Expenses. Transaction by transaction. There was one transfer, a fixed monthly amount. $15,000. Memo: Mortgage. Mortgage. We rent our apartment. What mortgage? I took a screenshot. I kept scrolling. Another transfer, varying amounts. Three thousand, five thousand, eight thousand, twenty thousand. Same payee. Different memos. “Buy whatever my baby wants.” “Bought this for you, don’t be frugal.” “Happy Black Friday.” I stared at the word “baby.” My hands didn’t shake. My heart didn’t break. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over my head. Freezing me to the bone. So cold it actually stopped hurting. I kept scrolling. I found a massive transfer. Three million, two hundred thousand. Exactly three million, two hundred thousand. It happened a year and a half ago. The memo had only two words: “Down payment.” A 3.2 million down payment. While I was gnawing on discounted bread in our rental. He was buying a house for someone else. I finished looking through all the statements. Closed the app. Stood up and went to the bathroom. Splashed water on my face. The person in the mirror had red eyes, but no tears had fallen. I looked at myself in the mirror. “Arthur,” I said softly. “You’re finished.” 4. For the next two weeks, I didn’t show a single sign. I cooked when I was supposed to cook, split bills when I was supposed to split bills. When Arthur came back from his business trip, I poured him water as usual. “Rough trip?” “It was alright.” He smiled and kissed my forehead. “Miss me?” “I missed you.” I said, smiling. Smiling very naturally. He didn’t notice anything unusual. But during those two weeks, I did a lot of things. First thing: Confirm who the payee was. Chloe helped me look into it. The payee’s name was Mia Miller. Female, 28 years old. When I saw that name, my hands stopped. Mia Miller. I knew her. Arthur’s “cousin.” She had been to our house. Eaten the food I cooked. Called me “sister-in-law.” Last Thanksgiving, she came to our house for dinner. I made a big feast. Arthur said she was his aunt’s daughter, fresh to the city and didn’t know anyone. “Take good care of her,” he said. I said okay. That day, Mia wore a white dress. She looked very pretty. I even complimented her. “Mia, you look so pretty.” She smiled and said, “Sister-in-law, your cooking is amazing.” When she left, she gave me a hug. “Sister-in-law, thank you.” I patted her back. “We’re all family.” We’re all family. I checked Arthur’s contacts. There was no “Mia Miller.” But there was a contact named “Baby.” I checked his iMessage chat history. His phone was passcode-protected, but I knew it. Our wedding anniversary. Ironic, isn’t it? I opened “Baby’s” chat. I saw photos. Photos of that house. Fully furnished. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Sunlight pouring in, a massive living room. Mia stood in the middle of the living room, throwing a peace sign. Arthur sent a message: “Do you like it?” Mia replied: “I love it! Hubby is the best!” Hubby. She called him hubby too. I scrolled down. Arthur: “The deed is here, it has your name on it.” Mia sent a string of kissing emojis. “Hubby, I want to have a baby with you.” Arthur: “Okay.” I took screenshots of the chat history. Page by page, I captured it all. Then I exited. Cleared the login traces. Put the phone back exactly where it was. Arthur was sleeping soundly in the bedroom. I walked out to the balcony. The night wind was biting cold. I stood there for a long time. Then I went back to the bedroom and lay down beside him. Closed my eyes. And didn’t sleep a wink all night. 5. After Chloe finished looking at the screenshots I sent her, she was silent for a long time. “Are you okay?” “Just tell me what to do.” She nodded. “First, the house was purchased after you were married, and the down payment came from his salary. His salary is considered joint marital property.” “So that house—” “Even though it’s under Mia’s name, the down payment originated from joint marital property. You can claim this is a transfer of marital assets.” “Can we get it back?” “Yes. And the courts penalize this kind of behavior heavily. When dividing the assets, the party at fault gets less or nothing.” I listened. “Also,” Chloe said, “you said his company is preparing to go public?” “Yes.” “During the IPO process, if an executive has a major undisclosed personal dispute, it could constitute a disclosure violation.” “What does that mean?” “It means—if he is an executive at the company, his divorce litigation and asset dispute could impact the company’s IPO process.” Chloe looked at me. “This is your leverage.” “He won’t want the company to know about this.” I thought for a moment. “Can you help me find out his position at the company?” Chloe gave me the answer the next day. Arthur Vance. Vice President of Apex Industries. In charge of Marketing. Not sales. Vice President. That Friday, Arthur came home very late. I didn’t ask him where he had been. I had cooked dinner, and his portion was keeping warm in the oven. He came back, ate, and said, “We had a company meeting today, I’m exhausted.” “You’ve been working hard.” “Oh, by the way,” he suddenly said, “my mom wants to take us out for dinner next Saturday. A family gathering.” “Okay.” He looked at me and smiled. “Your cooking is better than my mom’s.” I smiled too. “Then I’ll go help out when the time comes.” “No, no, you’re a guest when you go.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “You’re the best, honey.” I didn’t pull away. I even returned the smile. Because I had already made up my mind. Next Saturday, that family gathering. That would be the day I cast the net. Over the weekend, I went to see Chloe. This time it was official. “Help me prepare three things.” “First, an application for asset preservation.” Chloe nodded. “Second, a divorce petition.” “Okay.” “Third—” I looked at her. “Help me run a background check on Mia Miller.” Chloe raised an eyebrow. “What do you want to know?” “Everything. Her job, her background, and… exactly when she and Arthur started seeing each other.” Three days later, Chloe placed a file in front of me. “You might need to mentally prepare yourself.” I opened it. Mia Miller is not Arthur’s cousin. No familial relation was found. Her registered address isn’t even in the same state as Arthur’s hometown. “Cousin.” It was a lie from beginning to end. I kept reading. The first transfer record between Mia and Arthur—wasn’t two years ago. It was four years ago. The year before we got married. In other words, he knew her before he knew me. While he was dating me, marrying me, splitting bills 50/50 with me—she was there the entire time. I wasn’t a betrayed wife. I was a pre-arranged transitional placeholder. The last page of the file. Mia Miller opened a prenatal care file at the city maternity hospital three months ago. Pregnant. Due date: six months from now. I closed the file. “There’s one more thing you need to see.” Chloe handed me her phone. It was a chat screenshot. A message Arthur sent to a friend. “Once Mia’s baby is born, I’ll bring up divorce with Elena. I’ll give her what’s due, but the house and main assets have been dealt with in advance, so she won’t get much.” The friend replied: “Then why didn’t you divorce her earlier?” Arthur sent a voice memo. Chloe hit play. Arthur’s voice, very relaxed. “It’s not worth divorcing now. The company is pushing for an IPO at the end of the year; an executive getting divorced looks bad. We’ll wait until the IPO is done and the equity is in hand, then divorce. The timing is perfect.” “What about your wife?” “Her?” Arthur laughed. “Give her a few hundred thousand to get rid of her. She’s an elementary school teacher, what kind of money has she ever seen? Give her two or three hundred thousand and she’ll be thanking her lucky stars.” The voice memo ended there. It stopped. Chloe looked at me. I was expressionless. For a long time. “Give her a few hundred thousand to get rid of her.” I repeated. “She’s an elementary school teacher, what kind of money has she ever seen.” I laughed. “Chloe.” “Yeah.” “When can we file the asset preservation?” “Anytime.” “Then do it now.” 6. For the next few days, I acted as if nothing had happened. Cooked. Went to work. Split bills 50/50. Every day Arthur came home, I’d bring him water or tea. When he went on business trips, I packed his bags. “Honey, you’ve been in a pretty good mood lately?” “Am I?” “Yeah, feels like you’re smiling more than before.” I looked at him. “Maybe it’s because the weather is nice.” He didn’t think much of it. He wouldn’t think much of it. Because in his eyes, I was that woman who “is an elementary school teacher, what kind of money has she ever seen.” Easy to bully. Easy to fool. Easy to get rid of. What he didn’t know was— The asset preservation application had already been submitted to the court. The real estate under his name, the property he transferred to Mia’s name, were all under the court’s purview. What he didn’t know was— I had already obtained three years of his complete bank statements. Every single dollar transferred to Mia, every single thing bought for her, was all printed out. A thick stack. What he didn’t know was— The lawyer’s letter had been written. The divorce petition had been written. Everything was ready. Just waiting for that family gathering. Before Saturday, I did one last thing. I called my mom. “Mom, Arthur’s family is having a gathering this Saturday. You and Dad come too.” “Huh? Go to his house? What’s going on?” “Nothing major, just a get-together. You come, I have something to say.” My mom probably caught something off in my tone. “Elena, are you okay?” “I’m fine. You’ll know when you get here.” “Did you and Arthur have a fight?” “No.” I paused. “Mom, bring your IDs when you come.” “Why bring our IDs?” “You’ll know when you get here.” I hung up the phone. I sat in the living room of our rented apartment. That $399 coat, I finally ordered it. I’m going to wear it next Saturday.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394810”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I stared at the line of text for a long time. It was printed in crisp, clear Arial font on the official lab letterhead. “Testing indicates No Paternity relationship exists between the alleged father (Robert ‘Bob’ Miller) and the tested child.” Not him. I had mentally rehearsed a hundred ways to handle the worst-case scenario. Screaming, throwing dishes, packing his bags, slapping the document across his lying face. But the results said it wasn’t him. Then whose child is Leo? The technician at the lab mentioned that while my husband wasn’t the match, the sample’s Y-chromosome markers showed a very strong familial link to the Miller line. The Miller family line. Not Bob. But a Miller. I closed my eyes. And the cheerful, wrinkly face of my father-in-law, ‘Pop’ George Miller, floated up from the darkness. 1. Three months ago, Sarah came over for dinner. She brought Leo. He’s three, a chubby, red-haired little guy who’s impossible not to love. I remarked offhandedly, “Sarah, Leo just gets cuter every day. He’s starting to look just like his dad.” Sarah offered a tight, forced smile and kept her head down, busy cutting up Leo’s chicken nuggets. “Let’s not talk about him.” Sarah’s story was always that Leo’s father was a guy she dated briefly in college. She only found out she was pregnant after they’d gone their separate ways. She decided to have the baby and raise him solo. My heart always went out to her. Sarah had been my best friend since Freshman orientation. We’d known each other for twelve years. I helped her land her first job, I walked her through signing her first lease, and I was the one sitting outside the delivery room waiting when Leo was born. Bob used to tease me about it. “You’re better to Sarah than you are to your own sister.” “She’s doing this on her own, Bob,” I’d say. “It’s not easy.” After dinner that night, my mother-in-law, Martha, stopped by. The moment she saw Leo, her face lit up. “Oh my goodness, look who’s here!” She knelt down, ignoring her bad knees, and pulled a brand-new, boxed Transformer out of her large tote bag. I froze. I’d seen that exact toy in the mall last week. The price tag was seventy-five dollars. Our son, Sam, had begged for one just like it. I’d told him it was too expensive, that we’d have to wait for a sale or maybe Christmas. Martha pressed the toy into Leo’s hands, smiling so wide her eyes crinkled shut. Leo took it, offering a chubby grin, and chirped, “Thanks, Grandma!” I glanced at Sam. He was standing off to the side, staring at the toy Leo was holding. He didn’t say anything. And I didn’t say anything either. Martha never even glanced his way. That night, lying in bed, a small detail clicked into place. Leo called my mother-in-law “Grandma.” When did Sarah teach him to do that? I rolled over, trying to push the thought away. It didn’t mean anything. Toddlers are sweet; they call any nice older woman “Grandma.” But the next afternoon, as I was packing Sam’s water bottle into his backpack, I saw a drawing he’d started in his notebook. He’d drawn a rough, blocky square with pencil. Next to it, he’d printed one word in wobbly, childish letters. “TRANSFORMER.” I stared at that word for five full seconds. Then I shoved the water bottle in and zipped the backpack shut. Sarah texted me later that afternoon: “Hey Chloe, Leo’s preschool needs some paperwork. Something about certifying paternity for legal stuff. Do you know where I can get one of those DNA tests done quickly?” I texted back: “Any Quest Diagnostics or LabCorp can do them. It’s just a couple hundred bucks.” Hours passed before she replied: “Never mind. I’ll figure something else out.” I pushed a bit. “They’re really fast, Sarah. It’s just a cheek swab.” She didn’t reply. I asked her again about it that evening. She finally said: “I don’t want to do it. It’s too much hassle.” What hassle is there in a paternity test? You swab, you wait three days, you get the report. It was the first time I felt Sarah was dodging something. But at the time, I assumed she was dodging the ghost of that college ex. Maybe he had a family now. Maybe she didn’t want him listed on any official documents. I didn’t think much of it. But with those two incidents stacked together, I couldn’t sleep soundly anymore. Martha’s attitude toward Leo. Sarah’s refusal to do a certified test. Was there a connection between those two things? I told myself I was being ridiculous. But that night, I dreamed Leo was sitting in our living room, looking up at Bob and calling him “Daddy.” I snapped awake. Soaked in sweat. 2. I started noticing things I’d never paid attention to before. Like how often Martha came over. It used to be once a month, maybe twice if there was a family birthday. After Leo was born, she started coming over two or three times a week. And every single time, she brought something. Always for Leo. Designer clothes, expensive shoes, organic snacks, top-tier toys. The good stuff. For Sam—nothing. Once I couldn’t help but mention it. “Martha, you know Sam’s birthday is coming up soon, too.” Martha didn’t even look up from the floor where she was building blocks with Leo. “Sam has everything he needs.” “Leo has everything he needs, too.” Martha shot me a look. I’ll never forget that look. It wasn’t anger. It was defensiveness. Like I’d crossed a line I didn’t know existed. She put down the block she was holding and said slowly, “Sarah is raising that boy all on her own. It isn’t easy, Chloe. You’re her best friend; don’t you have any sympathy for her?” I didn’t say anything. She added, “You shouldn’t be so keeping score all the time.” Keeping score. I’ve cooked her son’s dinner for eight years, washed his clothes for eight years, gave birth to and raised her actual grandson. She comes over three times a week, bringing luxury items to someone else’s kid, and I’m the one keeping score for asking a simple question. I put my head down and continued peeling the shrimp for dinner. Bob was off to the side, looking at his phone. He never said a single word. That night, Sam was in his room doing homework, and I was in the kitchen washing dishes. In the living room, Martha was on the sofa, holding Leo and reading him a story. Leo was giggling. I looked out through the glass door of the kitchen. Martha leaned down and kissed Leo’s forehead. She had never kissed Sam. Not once. I turned back around. And kept scrubbing the dishes. I turned the faucet on full blast. I couldn’t hear the laughter from the living room anymore. Sarah came to pick Leo up the next day. As I was helping Leo put his shoes on, I felt his socks. They were incredibly soft, high-end cotton. I checked the ankle cuff. The brand label was still there. I flipped it over. A fourteen-dollar pair of socks. The socks I bought for Sam were ten dollars for a six-pack at Target. I didn’t say anything. I finished putting his shoes on, picked Leo up, and handed him to Sarah. Sarah said, “Thanks so much, Chloe. Sorry to keep imposing on you.” I told her it was fine. After she left, I stood in the doorway, watching her get into a taxi. A taxi. Sarah worked an administrative desk job at a small local company. She made less than forty thousand a year. Single mom, forty thousand a year, fourteen-dollar socks, and taxis. Where was the money coming from? I’d never questioned it before. Because I assumed she was struggling. Raising a kid solo, paying rent, no help. I’d been transferring her $150 every month, telling her it was to “help with groceries.” She always said, “Oh, you don’t have to,” but she always accepted it. But… Someone who can afford fourteen-dollar socks for a toddler doesn’t need $150 a month from me. I stood in the doorway, watching the taxi turn the corner and disappear. The wind picked up. It felt incredibly cold. 3. I started doing a deep dive into Sarah’s Instagram. Her feed was pristine. Occasionally photos of Leo, occasionally reposting parenting articles. But I remembered a post she’d put up a while ago, then deleted. I remembered what was in the photo. Leo was sitting on a high-end leather sofa, with a massive floor-to-ceiling window behind him. Neither the sofa nor the window looked anything like the cramped, one-bedroom apartment she was renting. I’d even commented on it at the time: “Where’s this place? It’s gorgeous.” She’d replied: “A friend’s place.” And the next day, that post was gone. I opened up the Amazon app and searched for the brands Leo was wearing. An eighty-dollar puffy coat. Fifty-dollar sneakers. I scrolled through. Not a single item Leo wore cost less than twenty dollars. A single mom on forty thousand a year. I shut off my phone. The following Saturday was my birthday. I’d mentioned it to Bob the day before: “Hey, my birthday’s tomorrow. Let’s just stay in, I’ll cook us something nice.” He said, “Sure, sounds good.” I also called Martha: “Martha, it’s my birthday tomorrow, come over for dinner.” Martha said, “Okay, noted.” I went grocery shopping early that morning. I came back and made a four-course meal. Braised short ribs, garlic butter shrimp, roasted Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, and a scratch-made mushroom soup. Sam helped me set the table. “Mommy, when is Grandma coming?” “Soon, sweetie.” I waited until 5:30. I called Martha. No answer. I called Bob. “Where are you?” “My mom said she took Leo to the petting zoo and needed me to come pick them up. I’m on my way there now.” “Leo?” “Sarah had something come up, so she dropped Leo off at my mom’s.” “It’s my birthday today, Bob.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I know. We’ll all eat when I get back.” He hung up. I sat at the dining table. A four-course meal. The fat on the short ribs was already congealing. Everything was cold. Sam sat across from me, poking at a shrimp with his fork. “Mommy, can we just eat?” “Let’s eat.” I scooped some short ribs onto his plate. I didn’t eat. They all got back later that evening. Martha walked in saying, “God, the petting zoo was packed today.” Nobody mentioned my birthday. Bob hung his coat up, put on his slippers, and walked straight into his home office. I went into the kitchen and scraped the mushroom soup down the disposal. I have never cried in that house. I didn’t cry that day, either. I washed the dishes, wiped down the stove, and mopped the floor. Then I went to the bedroom and turned off the lights. Lying in the dark with my eyes open. Thinking about one thing. Where is Sarah’s money coming from? The next day, I made a decision. I waited for the perfect moment when Sarah brought Leo over to play. Leo was on the sofa watching cartoons. I walked over, knelt down, and stroked his hair. “Leo, buddy, let Aunt Chloe get this little white thread off your shirt.” A thread from his shirt. A hair from his head. He didn’t know the difference. I pulled three hairs, making sure to get the root, and slipped them into a small Ziploc bag I’d hidden in my pocket. Sarah was in the kitchen helping me wash fruit. She didn’t know a thing. I clenched my hand around the Ziploc bag. My palm was covered in sweat. 4. I needed a comparison sample. I thought about it for two days. The websites said paternity testing requires samples from both the child and the alleged father. At first, I only wanted to test Sarah’s “college ex”—but I didn’t have his sample. All I had were samples from the Miller line. Bob. If my suspicion was right—if Leo was Bob’s son—then comparing his sample would work. I snagged a few hairs from Bob’s hairbrush. The kind with the root follicle still attached. I mailed them off to the lab. Then came the wait. Those seven days felt like I was walking on cotton. Every day I cooked, cleaned, did laundry, picked Sam up from school, helped him with homework. Everything was normal. But every night, I stared at the ceiling until 2 or 3 in the morning. Beside me, Bob slept soundly. Snoring. On the seventh day, the call from the testing center came. “Your results are ready. You can log in to view the report.” I took a half-day off work. I took the bus home. My hands were cold the whole ride. When I opened the PDF of the report, I sat on a bench in a nearby park for a long time. “Alleged Father 1 (Adult Male hair) vs Child (Toddler hair)—No Paternity relationship exists.” Not Bob. I stared at that line, my mind a complete blank. It wasn’t him. Then whose is it? I thought the worst-case scenario was—my husband and my best friend. I was prepared to be furious, prepared to pack a bag, prepared to leave him with nothing. But now they were telling me it wasn’t him. Whose child is this? I picked up my bag and walked out of the park. Standing in the sunlight. One sentence kept replaying in my head— “A very strong familial link to the Miller line.” The lab tech’s words. “While No Paternity relationship exists with this specific male, the Y-chromosome markers are a near-perfect match, meaning the child’s biological father and your submitted sample share the same paternal lineage.” The same paternal lineage. Not Bob. But a Miller. How many Miller men are there? Bob. Bob’s younger brother, David, who lives in California and comes back once a year for Thanksgiving. Bob’s father. George. No. Impossible. I stood on the street corner for a long time. Then I bought a bus ticket back to my neighborhood. The whole way, I kept thinking: Impossible. George is fifty-eight. He’s the quintessential suburban American grandpa. Retired, loves his backyard grill, watches the game on Sundays. Every time he comes over for dinner, he wears a collared shirt, talks loudly to Bob about politics, and always lectures about “living with integrity.” Martha always says, “The best thing about your father is how grounded he is.” Grounded. Suddenly, I remembered something. About a year after Leo was born, I stopped by Sarah’s apartment to drop off some chicken soup. The door wasn’t quite shut. I pushed it open and saw George sitting on her sofa. He was holding a bag of groceries. He saw me, stood up, and offered a calm smile. “Bob asked me to drop some things off for Sarah. Said she’s got a lot on her plate.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. A father-in-law dropping groceries off for his daughter-in-law’s best friend. What was weird about that? But now replaying it— Bob asked him to? I got home and called Bob. “Hey, you remember when your dad used to drop groceries off at Sarah’s? Did you ask him to do that?” There was a pause on the other end. “What? No, I never asked him that. He went on his own? I didn’t know that.” He went on his own. He didn’t know. I hung up the phone. It almost slipped from my sweaty palm.

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The company canceled our annual gala and distributed the budget to each department for a private dinner. I was stuck in traffic and arrived late, only to overhear our new male intern talking trash about me through the door: “Clara Hayes? She’s what, thirty-three? An old hag who hovers around my desk every day. It’s pathetic.” “It’s hilarious. She wants to date me? She wishes. I’m not gonna indulge her delusions!” “In a minute, I’m ordering ten portions of the most expensive items on the menu. Don’t worry, she’s paying—what’s she gonna do, not show up?” Everyone inside cheered, praising him for being the ultimate “Gen Z boss-buster” who was finally taking down toxic corporate culture. I quietly released the door handle and stood outside, listening until he finished ordering a $15,000 feast. Once he was done, I walked away and sent a message to the department group chat: “Family emergency came up, I won’t be able to make it tonight.” “Here is the $800 dinner budget the company provided. Eat well and have a great time.” On the ride home, I leaned against the car window, a slow smile curving my lips. Taking down toxic corporate culture? Sure. With this $15,000 bill, I’m going to teach you exactly how the real world works. 1. I sat in the back of my Uber, watching the notifications explode on my phone screen. The “Marketing Dept Family” group chat was practically on fire. Three minutes ago, right after sending those two messages and Venmo-ing the $800 budget into the group pool, I left the chat entirely. But I forgot about the unofficial, “no-managers-allowed” group chat. Right now, messages in that chat were refreshing at a rate of a dozen per second. Tyler Vance, the intern, had tagged me dozens of times: “Clara, what the hell is this? You made it to the door and then left?” “Are you a sore loser? You’re the department manager, you’re supposed to pay for this!” “Who is $800 supposed to feed? Are you tipping a homeless guy?” “Get back here and pay the tab! Don’t make me lose respect for you!” Following his messages were a flurry of photos. Maine lobster sashimi, one for every single person. Three bottles of wine that cost over three grand each, already uncorked. And a table overflowing with premium seafood. Just minutes ago, standing outside the private dining room, I had heard everything clearly. Tyler’s voice was loud and obnoxious as he ordered: “This, this, and this—give us the most expensive ones! Ten orders of each!” “Waiter, pop all those bottles and let them breathe!” “What are you guys scared of? Someone’s footing the bill tonight. Our Manager Clara is loaded. If she wants to date me, she’s gotta bleed a little cash, right?” The room had erupted into hoots and hollers. Someone tried to reason with him, “Tyler, can we even finish all this? Clara isn’t even here yet.” Tyler’s voice pitched up, “If we can’t finish it, I’ll box it up and feed it to my dog! We need to teach this touchy-feely female boss a lesson, let her know I’m not to be messed with!” “Yeah, Tyler’s right! Gen Z doesn’t hold back!” “Clara is always so stingy anyway, she deserves to bleed a little.” I let go of the door handle. Originally, I was going to walk in. Even though I was late, I would have just bought a round of drinks as an apology and moved on. But this dinner? I had lost my appetite. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Dave, one of the older guys in the office, texted me privately: “Clara, did you really leave? The food is already served, the bill is nearly $15,000. If you’re not here, who’s going to pay?” I replied, “Whoever ordered it pays. The company budget is $800. I transferred all of it.” Dave: “Stop messing around. Tyler is just a clueless kid, why stoop to his level? Hurry back, the waiter is hovering with the tab and everyone is getting really embarrassed.” Me: “I’m not embarrassed.” Dave: “You’re leaving everyone high and dry! The wine is opened, we can’t return it!” Me: “Tyler said he wanted to teach corporate a lesson. I’m giving him the opportunity.” I put my phone on silent and shoved it in my pocket. The Uber driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, ma’am?” “Home.” The car merged into the night traffic. I closed my eyes, my head filled with Tyler’s arrogant voice. I am thirty-two this year. I’ve ground it out at this company for eight years to finally climb to the position of department manager. Tyler was an intern who started last month. He was decent-looking, but his work ethic was an absolute disaster. He messed up basic print jobs and lost data when making simple spreadsheets. Seeing that he was new, I gave him extra guidance and occasionally took him along to client meetings so he could learn the ropes. To him, this translated to me wanting to date him, making me a “creepy boss.” It even became his justification for burning through fifteen grand. Fifteen thousand dollars. I have savings, but I’m not a human ATM. My phone screen lit up again. It was an audio call from Tyler. I declined it. He called again. I blocked his number. A moment later, Marcus, the deputy manager, called. Marcus and I had always been at odds; he had been gunning for my job for years. I answered. Marcus couldn’t hide the smirk in his voice. “Clara, you really played dirty this time. Everyone was waiting for you, and you just bailed, leaving a room full of people hanging?” 2. “I had a family emergency.” “What emergency is more important than the department dinner? Tyler is practically crying his eyes out, saying you’re bullying the new guy.” “I gave you guys the $800 budget.” “$800? The tab is fifteen grand! Who’s going to cover the rest? We all split it? That’s going to ruin everyone’s holiday!” “Whoever ordered it pays.” “Clara, you’re the leader, you need to take responsibility. Tyler is new, he doesn’t know the rules. You’re a veteran, do you not know the rules either?” “I know the rules perfectly. The company rule is an $800 budget for the dinner. For anything over that, the person who ordered it is responsible.” “Are you really not coming?” “No.” “Fine, Clara. You’ve got some nerve. This isn’t over.” Marcus hung up. I stared at the neon lights flashing past the window. In the past, I was too responsible. I took the blame for everything and cleaned up everyone’s messes, which only spoiled them into thinking I was a pushover. When I got home, I took a hot shower and fell right asleep. I slept like a rock. The next morning, I arrived at the office right on time. As soon as I walked in, I felt the heavy atmosphere. Everyone was staring at me, their eyes filled with disdain, anger, and the gloating anticipation of a good show. Tyler was sitting at his desk. His eyes were red and puffy, the bags under them prominent, his face sagging like a miserable, deflated balloon. It was obvious he had been crying. Seeing me, he shot up from his chair and slammed a folder hard onto his desk. “Clara! Are you even human?” The office instantly went dead silent. Everyone stopped what they were doing, their eyes locking onto us. I walked to my desk, set down my briefcase, and looked at him. “It’s working hours. What are you screaming about?” Tyler stormed over, pointing a finger right in my face. “Drop the act! You did that on purpose last night, didn’t you? You said you were treating us, and then you ran! You made every single one of us shell out over two grand just to leave that restaurant!” The other coworkers gathered around. Dave looked grim. “Clara, you really went too far this time. We’re all just working stiffs. How much do we make a month? Dropping half a month’s salary on one dinner, how are we supposed to survive the holidays?” Another female colleague chimed in sarcastically, “Exactly. Manager Clara makes six figures, so of course she doesn’t care about this kind of money. We aren’t like you; we have families to feed.” Marcus leaned against a cubicle partition, arms crossed, sneering. “Clara, when we were pooling our cash last night, everyone cursed your entire family tree. Tyler is just an intern, he had zero cash on him. He had to max out his credit card. You’re a real piece of work as a manager.” I looked at their angry faces. When they were scarfing down Maine lobster last night, they didn’t have these expressions. Back then, they were cheering, telling Tyler what a great job he did, waiting for me, the rich sucker, to foot the bill. I turned to Tyler. “When did I ever say I was paying?” Tyler’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t? When a department dinner is announced, isn’t it an unwritten rule that the manager pays? Besides, when I was ordering, you never said I couldn’t!” “I was stuck in traffic.” “That’s just an excuse! You just wanted to see me humiliate myself! This is retaliation because I rejected your advances!” Tyler raised his voice, “Everyone, be the judge here! Does a woman who maliciously retaliates against her employees deserve to be a manager?” “Advances?” I fired back. “When did I ever make advances on you?” “Don’t even try to deny it! You’re always calling me into your office, insisting on taking me to client meetings. Isn’t that just because you have an ulterior motive? I didn’t give in, so you held a grudge and set a trap to screw me over!” Tyler was getting more and more agitated. A grown man, crying on cue, putting on a sickeningly theatrical performance as the victim. 3. The whispers around the office grew louder. “That’s so gross, using her position to harass a male subordinate.” “She always looked so professional, I never thought she’d be so dirty behind closed doors.” “Someone like her should be fired!” Taking him to see clients was because he was new to marketing and needed to learn the business. Calling him into my office was because his weekly reports lacked any logical structure, and I had to walk him through fixing them step by step. To them, this translated to “ulterior motives.” “Tyler, if you’re going to make accusations, you need proof,” I said coldly. “Last night, you ordered those dishes yourself. Ten portions of each, and only the most expensive ones. You’re the one who said you wanted to teach corporate a lesson and have everyone box up the leftovers. What, now that you can’t afford the bill, you’re throwing dirty water on me?” “I did that to liven up the mood!” Tyler shrieked. “And I thought you were going to pay for it! Who knew you were such a cheapskate! If you couldn’t afford it, you should have said so! Stop acting like a big shot!” “The company’s dinner budget is $800. I transferred the full amount to you all.” “What is $800 going to do? It doesn’t even buy a single bottle of wine!” Tyler pulled a stack of receipts from his bag and slammed them on my desk. “The total was $14,800! Minus your $800, that’s $14,000! You have to pay this! Pay everyone back their money!” I didn’t even glance at the receipts. “Whoever ate, pays.” “You!” Tyler was shaking with rage. “You backstabber! You’re not even human!” “Clara.” Marcus walked over and patted my shoulder. “Don’t make this so ugly. We’re all in the same department, we see each other every day. Yeah, it’s a lot of money, but it’s not like you can’t afford it. Just treat it as a tax to avoid bad luck and squash this. Otherwise, if the CEO hears about this, it’s going to look really bad for you.” He was threatening me. Using my career to threaten me. If it were the old me, for the sake of departmental harmony and the bigger picture, I might have just pinched my nose and paid it. But now, looking at Marcus’s hypocritical smile, Tyler’s self-righteous greed, and the coworkers ganging up on me like an angry mob. I suddenly realized that this job, being their manager, was utterly meaningless. “Marcus, if you’re so generous, why don’t you pay for him?” I looked right at him. Marcus’s smile stiffened. “Clara, that’s uncalled for. You caused this mess, why should I pay?” “I caused this?” I laughed. “Tyler ordered the food. Tyler opened the wine. You guys are the ones who put it in your stomachs. I didn’t eat a single bite, didn’t drink a single drop, didn’t even step foot in the room. How did this become my mess?” “Because you’re the manager!” Tyler yelled. “The manager has to take responsibility!” “A manager is responsible for the work, not for footing the bill for your endless greed.” I swept the receipts off my desk onto the floor. “I am not paying a single cent of this.” “Ah!” Tyler screamed, as if he had been dealt a fatal blow. “Clara! Just you wait! I’m going to report you! I’m going to let the whole company know what kind of person you are!” He spun around and stormed toward the CEO’s office. Marcus looked at me and shook his head. “Clara, you’re done. Tyler has connections high up, and you know how the media environment is these days. If this blows up, you won’t be able to handle the fallout.” The other coworkers dispersed, retreating to their desks to whisper. “This is gonna be a good show.” “Manager Clara is definitely going down this time.” “Serves her right for being so cheap.” I sat down and opened my laptop. Report me? Great, I was just worrying about how to blow this up myself. 4. I opened my phone and located the audio recordings I had saved last night. I recorded them while standing outside the private dining room. I had originally intended to send them to the CEO to explain the situation, but they were going to be far more useful now. In the recording, Tyler’s voice was crystal clear: “Hilarious, she wants to date me? She wishes. I’m not gonna indulge her delusions!” “In a minute, I’m ordering ten portions of the most expensive items on the menu…” “You guys box up the leftovers, I’m making Clara pay the tab!” I transferred the audio files to my laptop to back them up, then started drafting an email. Not a resignation letter. A work report. A report regarding the marketing department’s recent budget overruns, the chaotic management of interns, and attempts by certain employees to commit corporate embezzlement via company dinners. Half an hour later, the HR manager notified me to go to the conference room. When I walked in, Tyler was sitting across from the CEO, Mr. Henderson, crying his eyes out. Henderson was a balding man in his fifties who hated conflict and loved sweeping things under the rug. Seeing me, Henderson frowned. “Clara, what is going on? A simple team dinner, how did it turn into this mess?” Tyler jumped in, “Mr. Henderson, you have to help me! Manager Clara is bullying me! she intentionally set a trap to screw us over, making every single one of us lose a ton of money! And… and she even…” He feigned embarrassment, biting his lip. Henderson tapped the table impatiently. “And what?” “She sexually harassed me!” The conference room went dead silent. Henderson’s face instantly darkened. In the corporate world, financial disputes are one thing, but the moment the words “sexual harassment” are uttered, a hard line has been crossed. “Clara, is this true?” Henderson stared at me. I pulled out a chair, sat down, and looked him in the eye. “No.” “You’re lying!” Tyler pulled up a few screenshots on his phone and handed them to Henderson. “Look, Mr. Henderson, these are her daily chat logs! Texting me late at night, insisting on driving me home! When I refused, she started making my life miserable at work!” Henderson took the phone. His frown deepened. I could guess exactly what those texts were. Just standard late-night overtime texts: “Did you make it home safe?” or “I need that proposal on my desk first thing tomorrow.” But clipped out of context by someone with an agenda, these normal check-ins and work demands could easily be twisted. “Clara, how do you explain this?” Henderson pushed the phone toward me. I glanced at it. Just as I thought. It only showed the fragments of me asking “Where are you?” and “Do you want me to give you a ride?”, completely deleting the voice memos right before them where he whined, “Manager Clara, I can’t get an Uber and I’m so scared.” “Out of context,” I said. “Mr. Henderson, you can check the full chat history.” “I deleted it!” Tyler yelled. “Those gross messages, I felt dirty just keeping them! Thank god I had the presence of mind to take screenshots!” “Playing the ‘dead men tell no tales’ card, huh?” I looked at Tyler. Tyler avoided my gaze, shouting even louder at Henderson. “Mr. Henderson, even though I’m a guy, I still care about my reputation. If I wasn’t pushed to the brink, why would I expose this? Now the whole department knows what kind of person she is, how am I supposed to work here?” Henderson sighed, taking off his glasses to clean them. “Clara, regardless of what happened, you really handled last night’s dinner poorly. You’re the leader, you need to be forgiving. Tyler is new, he doesn’t know any better, you need to cut him some slack.” Exactly as I expected. Sweeping it under the rug. “So, what are you proposing, Mr. Henderson?” 5. “How about this. You cover the bill for last night’s dinner. As for the harassment claims… since there’s no hard evidence, Tyler, don’t go spreading this around, it’s bad for everyone. Clara, you apologize to Tyler, and we’ll turn the page on this.” I almost laughed out loud. He wanted me to cough up $14,000 and apologize? This was his idea of a resolution? “Mr. Henderson, I am not paying that money. And an apology is completely out of the question.” I looked Henderson dead in the eyes. “First, I didn’t order the food. Second, I never harassed him.” “Clara!” Henderson slammed his hand on the table. “What kind of attitude is this? I am trying to protect you! If this blows up, the company will have to fire you to protect its reputation! With a reputation for harassing subordinates, how are you ever going to find a job in this industry again?” “Exactly!” Emboldened by Henderson’s backing, Tyler grew even more arrogant. “If you don’t pay up and apologize, I’m going to expose you online! Let the internet judge you! Let’s see how you live with yourself after that!” “Expose me?” I looked at Tyler. “How exactly do you plan to do that?” “I’ll post it on TikTok, on Instagram! I’ve already got the title figured out: SHOCKING! Creepy Female Boss Fails to Seduce Gen Z Intern, Traps Him with $15,000 Dinner Bill!” Tyler looked incredibly smug. “I’ve got a lot of followers, you know. The second I post it, you’re going to be canceled permanently!” Henderson’s face changed. “Tyler, stop this nonsense! Do you not care about the company’s reputation?” “That depends on how Manager Clara behaves.” Tyler crossed his arms, looking like he had me backed into a corner. “Either you pay the $14,800, plus an extra $5,000 for my emotional distress, and we settle this privately. Or, I post the video, and we burn together!” Looking at his face, the last shred of pity I had vanished. This was extortion. Naked, blatant extortion. “Mr. Henderson, you heard him.” I pointed at Tyler. “He is extorting me.” A flash of awkwardness crossed Henderson’s face, but it was quickly masked by impatience. “Clara, just pay the money and be done with it. Twenty grand isn’t that much for you, don’t lose the forest for the trees.” “And if I refuse?” “Then you are refusing to follow company orders!” Henderson’s face darkened, his knuckles rapping against the table—thud, thud, thud—like a death knell. “Clara, you need to think very carefully about the consequences.” I stood up. Buttoned my suit jacket, one button at a time. “I have thought about it very carefully.” I looked down, placing my phone face-up on the table. The screen was on. The voice memo recording app was open. 04:47, and still ticking. Tyler’s face drained of color in an instant. “Since he wants to expose things—” I picked up my phone, hitting “Save” right in front of his eyes. “Let’s expose it all.” Henderson was stunned. “Clara! You—” I didn’t look back. Behind me came the loud crash of a chair tipping over, and Henderson’s furious roar: “If you walk out that door today, don’t bother coming in tomorrow!” I didn’t stop walking. “Whatever.” The door closed behind me. The hallway was long. The click of my heels on the tile echoed steadily, one step at a time. Henderson said don’t bother coming in tomorrow? Fine. Because tomorrow, I might not be the one getting fired. Back at my desk, I started packing my things into a box. My coworkers whispered around me, looking at me like I was already a ghost. Marcus walked over, feigning sympathy. “Clara, why do this? Why fight over money? Why fight with Mr. Henderson? You leave now, and all your hard work these past few years goes down the drain.” “Marcus, you don’t have to play the good guy here.” I placed a picture frame into the box. “You’ve been eyeing this position for a long time, haven’t you? It’s yours now.” Marcus couldn’t hide the gleam in his eyes. “Oh, come on now. I actually wanted to help you, but your temper is just too stubborn. Keep in touch, alright?” Tyler walked out of the CEO’s office, a victorious smirk plastered across his face. He strolled over to me, looking down at me as I packed. “If you had just paid up last night, none of this would have happened. Now look at you. Lost your job, ruined your reputation, and you still have to pay up! If you don’t, I’m going to make a scene at your front door every single day!” He leaned in close and whispered, “Let me tell you something. My cousin runs with a rough crowd. If you don’t cough up the cash, I’ll have him pay your family a visit.” 6. My hands stopped. I looked up at him. “Are you threatening my family?” “So what if I am?” Tyler sneered. “Scared now? If you’re scared, hurry up and pay! And I don’t just want what I asked for in there. I’ve changed my mind. I want $25,000! Not a penny less!” I looked at his face, twisted with greed. Excellent. Originally, I was going to leave him a way out. Now, it seems there’s no need. “Tyler, remember what you just said.” I picked up my box and strode toward the elevator. Behind me, Tyler laughed mockingly. “Stop acting so tough! You’re a stray dog!” The elevator doors closed. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Hello, Attorney Brooks? I have a few cases I want to retain you for. Yes, involving extortion, corporate embezzlement, and defamation. Evidence? I have plenty of evidence.” After hanging up, I opened another group chat. It was my college alumni group, filled with friends working in media and PR. I sent a message: “Ladies, I’ve got some massive tea. Exclusive scoop, complete with audio and video. Unlimited material. Someone wants to take down toxic corporate culture, and I want to give him a hand.” When I got home, I didn’t stay idle. I organized the recordings from last night, the audio I secretly recorded in the conference room, and screenshots of Tyler cursing me in the group chat. Especially his final threat regarding my family. Even though I didn’t have audio for that specific moment, there was a security camera right outside the conference room. From that angle, it would easily capture his mouth movements. That alone would be enough of a headache for him in court. 3:00 PM. Tyler made his move, exactly as expected. He posted a video on TikTok. In the video, he cried pitifully, alleging workplace bullying and sexual harassment. The title was clickbait gold: [Gen Z Intern Tries to Fix Toxic Workplace, Gets Set Up by Creepy Female Boss With $15k Dinner Bill!] The video was masterfully edited. It only showed the massive receipt and the two messages I sent in the group chat. Layered over it was his sobbing voiceover: “I’m just a recent grad, I only make three thousand a month… Manager Clara kept dropping hints, and when I rejected her, she purposefully bailed on our team dinner, forcing us into debt…” “She even threatened me, saying if I didn’t listen to her, she’d make sure I could never work in this industry again…” The video blew up fast. In less than two hours, it had over 100,000 likes. The comment section was a bloodbath directed at me. “Why doesn’t this psycho old hag just go die?” “Doxx her! Expose her info!” “Feeling so bad for this guy, it’s too hard for Gen Z to fix corporate culture.” “This is the reality of the workplace, funny how the feminists are quiet now.” My phone was blown up by unknown numbers. A barrage of abusive texts flooded in. Some people even found my private social media accounts and spammed the comments. Mr. Henderson sent me a message: “Clara, look at what you’ve done! The company phones are ringing off the hook! You need to issue a public apology immediately! Take full responsibility! Otherwise, the legal department will sue you for damaging the company’s reputation!” I didn’t reply. I was waiting. Waiting for the heat to rise a bit more. Waiting for Tyler to feel like he had completely won, lowering his guard entirely. 8:00 PM. Tyler went live on TikTok. I checked in; there were over 100,000 people watching. He was playing the victim, thanking the internet for their support, and conveniently pinned his Venmo handle, claiming he needed to crowdfund to pay off the dinner tab. “Thank you guys, I really have no other choice. I had to borrow from all my friends just to cover that $15,000, and now I have to pay off my credit cards…” “That Clara woman has already been fired, but she still hasn’t paid us back, and she even threatened me…” “If you guys send enough gifts, I’ll leak her home address!”

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