My dad’s old friend entrusted his daughter to our family. She was outgoing and lively, unlike me, who only knew how to study and take exams, quiet and a woman of few words. Dad doted on her like his own daughter. My brothers drove her to all the trendy spots for photos and bought her the latest gadgets. Even my boyfriend, the most popular guy in school, only paid lip service to complaining about her being too clingy and whining too much. But during every club activity, his eyes would unconsciously drift toward her. For the school anniversary gala, he even changed the song he had promised to sing with me to a four-hand piano duet with her. I looked down at the program in my hand, my name crossed out, and said calmly. “Let’s break up.” 1. Arthur’s hand froze mid-air. He looked at me in disbelief. Before he could speak, Mia, standing behind him, immediately got teary-eyed. She was wearing a white gauze dress, identical in style to the performance outfit I had prepared. “Chloe, please don’t blame Arthur. It was me… I wanted to perform at the gala so badly, and Arthur took pity on me, so he…” I ignored her and just looked at Arthur. “I said, let’s break up.” Arthur’s brows furrowed tightly, his face full of impatience. “Chloe, stop making a scene. It’s just a song. Is this really necessary?” “Mia just got here, and it’s her first time at the school anniversary. What’s wrong with me helping her out as an upperclassman?” “It’s one thing that you’re usually dull and boring, but since when did you become so petty?” I looked at him, didn’t say another word, turned around, and walked off the stage. The audience was buzzing; no one noticed this little episode in the corner. I threw that voided program into the trash, walked out of the auditorium, and sent Arthur a text. [I’m not discussing this with you. I’m informing you: we’re broken up!] When I got home, the living room was brightly lit. Dad, my eldest brother, my second brother, and Mia were sitting around watching the live stream of the gala. On the screen was Arthur and Mia’s four-hand piano duet. The piano music was melodious, and the two of them did look like a good match. “Wow, our Mia is so multi-talented. She plays so well!” My eldest brother clapped first. “Yeah, much better than some people who only know how to bury their heads in books all day.” My second brother shot a pointed glance at me. Dad’s gaze moved from the screen to me, full of scrutiny. “Why didn’t you come back with Arthur?” I changed my shoes, my voice flat. “We broke up.” The living room instantly went dead silent. Mia was the first to stand up, running over to me with tears in her eyes. “Chloe, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. Please don’t break up with Arthur… I’ll go explain everything to him right now!” Dad’s face darkened, and he struck the floor heavily with his cane. “This is ridiculous! Chloe, how old are you? How can you be so willful!” “Mia is the younger sister. It’s only right for Arthur to take care of her. As the older sister, not only are you not magnanimous, but you’re also breaking up over such a trivial matter. Where are your manners?” I looked up and met his gaze calmly. “My manners are what my mom taught me before she died: never let yourself be wronged.” With that, I walked straight upstairs and started packing my things. Not long after, my door was pushed open. My eldest brother leaned against the doorframe. “Chloe, what kind of act is this now? Running away from home? Do you think you’re still three years old?” I folded a few pieces of clothing, put them in my suitcase, and ignored him. “Enough is enough. Go downstairs, apologize to Dad, and let this pass.” “Mia is a guest and the daughter of Dad’s old friend. We should treat her well. Why are you so intolerant of her?” “I’m not intolerant of her.” “I’m intolerant of you guys.” My eldest brother’s face instantly turned ugly. I pulled my suitcase and walked past him. Down in the living room, my second brother stopped me. “Chloe, what’s wrong with you? Will you only be satisfied when you’ve made things completely ugly?” I looked at him, then at my father on the sofa with a gloomy face, and Mia crying silently beside him. “I’m tired. I don’t want to play the role of the sensible, magnanimous, and understanding sister and daughter anymore.” “Please, let me go!” I pushed my second brother aside, opened the front door, and walked out without looking back. Behind me came my father’s exasperated roar. “If you dare walk out that door today, don’t ever come back!” I didn’t stop, disappearing into the night. They all thought I was just throwing a tantrum. That I would soon come crawling back, tail between my legs, because I had no money and nowhere to stay. Unfortunately for them, they miscalculated. 2. I took a cab to a penthouse apartment in a high-end complex. Fingerprint unlock, door open. This was my coming-of-age gift from my mom on my eighteenth birthday. She said back then: “Chloe, Mom hopes you’ll always have a foundation, a fallback plan for the rest of your life.” No one but her and me knew about this place. I put down my luggage, poured myself a glass of water, and stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the dazzling city lights. My phone vibrated constantly in my pocket. I took it out and glanced at it. Missed calls from Dad, my brothers, and dozens from Arthur. I put my phone on airplane mode. I didn’t want to be harassed by them anymore. First thing the next morning, I went to the school and filed the paperwork to become a commuter student. My counselor was a bit surprised but approved it anyway. Just as I walked out of the office, I ran head-on into Arthur. He had faint dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night. He was still wearing the suit from yesterday’s performance, now wrinkled. Seeing me, he rushed over immediately and grabbed my wrist. “Chloe, why didn’t you answer my calls? Do you know how worried I was? I searched for you all night!” His voice was loud, filled with suppressed anger, causing students in the hallway to look our way. I tried to shake off his hand, but he gripped it tighter. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing? There’s really nothing going on between me and Mia. I just saw that she’s new here, doesn’t have any friends, and is all alone. It’s pitiful.” “I’ve already scolded her, and she knows she was wrong. Come back with me, let’s talk properly. Let’s not break up, okay?” I looked at him and found it ridiculous. “Arthur, do you think the problem is Mia?” He froze. “Isn’t it?” “It’s that between me and her, you chose her.” “You handed over the performance I spent two months preparing for on a silver platter to her.” “When I needed you to stand by my side the most, you accused me of being boring and petty.” “So, we’re done.” Arthur was at a loss for words for a moment, wanting to keep me but not knowing what to do. “Chloe… I…” “Let go.” A cold male voice came from the side. Both Arthur and I turned our heads. Liam Vance. A big shot at our school. Not only was he the student body president, but his family background was also extremely prominent. He was half a head taller than Arthur. He frowned slightly, looking at Arthur gripping my hand tightly. Arthur obviously recognized him too. His face got even uglier, but he still refused to let go. “This is between us as a couple. It’s none of your business.” Liam didn’t speak. His gaze just lingered on me for a second. His eyes were calm, but it felt like they could see right through my feigned toughness. Then, he turned to Arthur. The temperature in his eyes instantly dropped to freezing, filled with disdain. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of us. Then he waved his phone and said flatly, “Tsk, tsk. Isn’t this fresh material of a campus simp? I think the forum will be very interested in an idiot like you who only knows how to use violence to resolve relationship disputes.” Arthur’s face turned even uglier. He glared at me fiercely, then reluctantly let go. “Chloe, you’ll regret this!” He dropped the harsh words, turned around, and left. I rubbed my reddened wrist and thanked Liam. Liam put away his phone, his gaze lingering on my face for two seconds. “The partner switch for your performance yesterday was quite sudden.” I nodded. “Heh, completely caught off guard.” He didn’t ask further, just said, “Living off-campus alone, be safe.” With that, he turned and left, leaving behind a tall, straight back. I watched his retreating figure, feeling a bit strange. We weren’t close. We had only met a few times during project group meetings, yet he had helped me again and again. This person, who seemingly stood above the clouds, wasn’t as distant as I had imagined. 3. I didn’t have classes in the afternoon, so I went to a bank downtown. I had two cards under my name. One was the supplementary card my dad gave me for monthly living expenses. The other was the one my mom left me. As soon as I walked into the VIP wealth management room, I got a call from the bank manager. “Ms. Davis, your father just called the bank and froze your credit card ending in 8888.” I wasn’t surprised at all. This was Dad’s usual trick. He thought that by cutting off my financial source, I would obediently listen to him. “Understood.” “What about the other card?” The manager’s tone became even more respectful: “Ms. Davis, the gold card your mother left you has the highest clearance. No one has the right to operate it except you personally. The current balance on the card is…” He read out a long string of numbers. Enough for me to live comfortably for the rest of my life. “Okay, thank you.” Hanging up, I transferred a large sum of money from the gold card to my regular debit card. Coming out of the bank, I received a message from my second brother. [Chloe, Dad stopped your card. If you’re out of money, come home early and admit your mistake. Don’t be stubborn out there.] Annoying. That evening, Mia sent me a message on WhatsApp. [Chloe, please don’t be mad at Dad and your brothers anymore. They are just too worried about you. Where are you now? I’ll ask Arthur to go pick you up and bring you home, okay?] A photo was attached at the end. It was my family’s living room. The four of them were eating fruit together, a picture of harmony. Mia leaned against Dad, smiling radiantly. On the coffee table, there was an opened gift box containing the latest gaming console. That was the one my eldest brother had promised to buy for me a few days ago. Now, it belonged to Mia. I curled my lips and replied: [Thanks, but no thanks!] The next day, I went to class as usual. As soon as I entered the classroom, I felt the atmosphere was off. Everyone was looking at me with strange eyes. My desk mate, a girl I usually had a decent relationship with, hesitated before coming over. “Chloe, did you… see the post on the campus forum?” I took out my phone and opened the forum. A red-hot trending title immediately caught my eye. [Massive Tea! Chloe Dumps Campus Heartthrob Boyfriend out of Jealousy over New Transfer Student, Runs Away from Home Overnight!] The post vividly described what happened on the night of the school anniversary. It painted me as a jealous, petty, and unreasonable mean girl. Mia, on the other hand, was an innocent, pitiful, and endearing little white flower. Arthur was portrayed as a “good man” who valued friendship and loyalty, willing to anger his girlfriend to help a friend’s daughter. The post also included several photos. One was Mia crying her eyes out backstage. One was Arthur on the phone, looking extremely anxious. And another was my back as I coldly turned and left. The angles were well-captured, making me look exceptionally cold and heartless. The comments below had already reached hundreds of threads. “I always thought Chloe was pretentious. Turns out this is what she’s really like.” “Tsk, tsk. Arthur really has the worst luck, ending up with a girlfriend like this.” “Feeling sorry for Mia. Getting bullied as soon as she arrives.” “Person above, I heard she’s even living at Chloe’s house. She’s in for it now, definitely going to get targeted.” My desk mate asked me cautiously, “Chloe, maybe you should go explain? You can’t just let them talk behind your back like this!” My nails dug deep into my palms. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to drag out the person who posted this and rip apart their lying mouth. But eventually, the surging emotions turned into a numb wasteland. I put away my phone, my voice calm. “There’s nothing to explain.” The facts didn’t matter at all. They only wanted to believe what they wanted to believe. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out who made the post. Who else but Mia would have those “perfectly timed” photos? 4. The post went viral quickly. By the afternoon, my reputation as a “mean girl” had spread throughout the school. Walking around, I could feel people pointing and staring everywhere. Even classmates who usually greeted me took detours to avoid me. Arthur’s buddies even came up to me specifically and said sarcastically, “Chloe, you can’t be too selfish. You have to be forgiving when you can.” I couldn’t be bothered with these pests. However, when I ran into Liam again at the library entrance, he asked an extra question. “The forum post, do you need help handling it?” His tone was still flat, but I could hear the concern in his voice. “No need. Just a clown jumping around.” He gave me a deep look and didn’t insist. “By the way, I’ve set up a project group for a research topic on the ‘Digital Protection of Urban Cultural Heritage.’ We’re still missing a lead for data integration and analysis. Interested?” I was a bit surprised. I knew about this topic. It was a key project supported by the school, and only the top students from various departments could participate. “Why me?” “Because your grades are the best, and your logic is the clearest,” Liam said matter-of-factly. “I’ve reviewed all your past papers and coursework.” I didn’t expect him to pay attention to that. “Alright, I’m in.” I needed something to distract me, to keep myself busy. This project was the perfect opportunity. For the following days, I practically lived in the library and the project group’s activity room. Dad and my brothers probably realized the silent treatment wasn’t working on me and changed their strategy. My eldest brother started frantically posting pictures on social media of him taking Mia out to play. Disneyland today, skiing tomorrow, flying to an island resort the day after. The caption was always: “Sisters are the most considerate. A man with a sister is a treasure.” My second brother was even more direct. He changed his profile picture to a selfie of him and Mia. They thought this would provoke me, make me jealous, make me regret it. I just muted all their posts. I also deleted all past chat histories with my second brother. Out of sight, out of mind. Until one afternoon, I received a frantic phone call from our nanny, Aunt Zhang. “Miss, you have to come back quick! That piano your mother left… Mr. Davis is giving it away!” My brain buzzed. That piano was my mom’s gift for my tenth birthday. It was one of her most precious relics. I hung up, immediately hailed a cab, and rushed home. All the way there, my heart was tied in knots. When I reached the front door, I saw a few movers carrying the white grand piano out. In that moment, I felt all the blood rush to my head, and my eyes instantly turned red. But I gritted my teeth hard, forcing the tears back. Mia stood by, directing them with a look of “concern.” “Be careful, don’t bump it… This is very valuable…” Seeing me, a flash of panic crossed her face, but she quickly reverted to her usual innocent expression. “Chloe, you’re back? Dad said you don’t play this piano anymore, and it takes up space in the house. A friend of mine studying music happens to need one, so…” “Put it down!” The workers looked at each other and stopped. Mia bit her lip, her eyes turning red again. “Sister, don’t be like this… I know Auntie left this for you, but if it just sits there unused, doesn’t it lose its value? Isn’t it better to let it go somewhere it can be useful?” Her twisted logic was exactly the same as what Arthur said when he swapped my duet song. “Useful?” I sneered. “Its value is that someone like you has no right to touch it.” I took out my phone and dialed 911 directly. “Hello, police? I want to report a crime. Someone has trespassed into my private residence and is stealing my personal property.” Mia’s face went completely pale. “Chloe, you… how could you call the police? This is our own home!” “This is my house.” “The name on the deed is mine. All of you are currently living in my house.” “Including you, Mia. An outsider who doesn’t even count as a guest.” Before Mia could retort, Dad and my brothers hurried out upon hearing the commotion. Hearing that there was a theft in a wealthy neighborhood, the police arrived incredibly fast. Just as the standoff was escalating, the police arrived. Seeing the police, Dad’s face immediately darkened. “Chloe! Are you crazy! What are you calling the police for! It’s such a small matter, why waste police resources? Tell them to leave right now!” I ignored him and just said to the police, “Officers, this piano is my mother’s relic, valued at over a million. Now, without my permission, they are trying to move it out and sell it.” Hearing the high value involved, the police immediately became serious and started questioning Dad and Mia. Dad was shaking with anger, pointing at me and cursing. “You’re out of control! I am your father! I need your permission to dispose of a piece of furniture?” “Yes, you do. Because my mom left this to me. In this house, anything that belonged to my mom, you have no right to touch.” “Also, I am officially notifying you now. Please move out of this house within a week.” 5. Dad was so furious he almost blacked out. He grabbed a teacup nearby and smashed it hard on the floor, sending shards flying everywhere. “You’re out of line! You ungrateful daughter!” He pointed at me, his fingers trembling. My eldest brother, Julian, looked ready to explode. He lunged forward, trying to grab my collar, but my second brother grabbed him around the waist. “Chloe, are you crazy?! Do you have no conscience?! This is our home!” “Excuse you, this is my home.” “The deed has my name on it. It’s the pre-marital property my mother left me.” “If you want to keep living here, you can. Pay rent at the market rate.” My second brother’s face was also extremely ugly. “You’re kicking us all out for an outsider?” He glared fiercely at Mia, who was already scared silly nearby. Mia was so scared she just cried, unable to articulate anything. After understanding the situation, the police determined it was a family dispute. However, due to the high value of the item, they took statements and explicitly informed Dad that without my consent, they could not touch the piano. The movers had long since carefully put the piano back in its original place and slipped away. After the police left, Dad sat on the sofa, his chest heaving violently. My two brothers stood behind him, both looking at me like an enemy. Mia shrank in a corner, shivering. “One week,” I repeated. “If you can’t find a place, tell me. I can have a realtor help you.” With that, I turned to leave. “Stop right there!” Dad demanded. “Are you really going to be this ruthless?” I stopped but didn’t turn around. “You guys were the ones who abandoned me first.” From this moment on, between me and them, there was only blood, no family bond. Back at the apartment, I received a message from Liam. [Need any help?] I froze for a moment before realizing he had probably heard about my family. Our circle was very small; any little wind couldn’t be hidden from people. [No need, it’s all handled.] [That’s good. Tomorrow is the project group meeting, don’t forget.] [Okay.] The next day, I went to the project group meeting as usual. Pushing open the door to the activity room, everyone inside looked at me with complex expressions. Only Liam acted as if nothing had happened. He nodded at me and pointed to the empty seat next to him. “Sit.” The meeting went smoothly. When discussing data visualization for the later stages, disagreements arose. Based on the existing data models, I proposed a new presentation plan that could more intuitively display the loss of cultural heritage. My plan was logically rigorous and well-supported by data, quickly convincing everyone. Even the usually critical advising professor was full of praise for me. After the meeting, Liam stopped me. “I heard about what happened at your house. You did well.” This out-of-the-blue compliment surprised me. “Thank you.” “There’s a charity auction this weekend, sponsored by my family. I need a plus-one. Are you free?” He suddenly extended an invitation. I hesitated. “Don’t misunderstand,” he immediately said. “It’s just a pure social event. There will be many industry experts and scholars present, which will help our project. Also, Arthur and his parents will be there.” I instantly understood. He wanted to help me; help me win a round back. “Okay.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394714”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the apocalypse, I acted out due to my pregnancy. Others couldn’t even get water, but I’d make Richard clear out zombie-infested supermarkets just to get me milk. Until I gave birth to a… zombie baby. I fainted from shock, then was jolted awake by the system: [I told you to romance the male lead, not to cheat on him!] [And a zombie, no less! Now it’s impossible to trick the male lead into taking the kid!] [The male lead already hates zombies. Now you and your baby are definitely going to be thrown into the zombie horde…] Richard once again offered me milk, warmed with his powers. I frantically shook my head. “I-I’m never drinking milk again.” 1 “Say that again. What’s in my belly?” The system repeated firmly: [You’re carrying a zombie!] After humanity entered the apocalypse, the medical system completely collapsed. Fortunately, I was still bound to a system that regularly helped me with prenatal check-ups. The progress of romancing Richard had been stuck at 99%. The system and I both agreed that the key to ultimate success lay with this child. At the moment of complete domestic bliss, the strong, tragic male lead would surely be completely healed. But now. It was telling me that what I was carrying was not Richard’s child at all. But a zombie’s? My vision went black. I fainted instantly from fright. Richard was the leader of the Southern Base. Everyone knew he detested zombies. He killed every one he saw. That’s how he earned his current top-tier ability and status. [Youth is good, just fall over and sleep. But host, wake up first.] The system jolted me awake with a “biu.” It was utterly heartbroken. [I told you to romance the male lead, not to cheat on him!] [And with a zombie, no less! Now it’s impossible to trick the male lead into taking the kid!] [The male lead already hates zombies. Now you’re doomed. He’s definitely going to throw you and your baby into the zombie horde…] I was utterly confused. And collapsing. “How could this happen…” Good heavens. I truly never cheated on him! No. Except for that one time… 2 That day, I found a bottle of fruit wine among the supplies Richard had gathered. I couldn’t resist drinking it all. In my drunken stupor, I vaguely saw a pair of red eyes. Chilling, dangerous. Clearly not the eyes of a normal human. Those belonged to the legendary high-level zombies. Half-sober, I was terrified. I tried to run. But was dragged back by my ankle. When I woke up, I was lying in the base’s bedroom. Richard was bringing me food back to the room. I simply thought it was a dream. Now that I think about it. Richard’s expression was a bit strange then. He asked me, “Do you remember anything? Do you feel any discomfort?” I was so embarrassed, I thought he was asking about his performance last night. I threw a pillow at him. “Don’t ask!” He froze for a moment, then said nothing more. He just pulled me into his arms, holding me very tightly. 3 “How about we draw lots again?” The ability team was discussing personnel assignments for a mission, when someone suddenly suggested, in a nuanced tone. Pulling my thoughts back. I looked at them blankly: “Why redraw?” Then I realized they were also observing my reaction. It turned out that during the drawing, Richard and a newly joined female ability user, Sarah, were accidentally chosen to go on an S-rank mission together. I was notorious for my ‘demanding’ nature, leveraging my beauty. Since seeking protection from Richard, the Southern Base leader, I had a reputation for being ‘difficult’. I was very possessive of him. If he was going out on a mission, I’d cling to his arm and insist on going for a drive with him. If he spoke an extra word to a female team member, I’d be jealous for three days straight. Not to mention this kind of isolated outing for two people, a man and a woman. My behavior only intensified after I got pregnant. But now… The system urgently warned me, [At this point, let’s not be arrogant. Put the romance mission aside; self-preservation is key!] [It was understandable that you were possessive of the male lead for the sake of the mission. But now, self-preservation is paramount. Listen to me, it’s best to quickly hand over the male lead, this hot potato, to the female second lead…] [Anyway, you don’t really have feelings for him beyond the mission.] Hearing that last sentence. My hand paused, mid-stroke, on my belly. My thick eyelashes lowered, concealing a hint of bitterness. In the living room. Richard said calmly, “No need.” “I can handle it alone. Sarah can go with your other team…” Before he could finish. I quickly interrupted: “Just follow the drawing.” “Sarah’s abilities complement yours perfectly. You two go together.” Richard looked at me in surprise, his eyes dimming slightly. I returned a sweet, soft smile. 4 Evening. Everyone had returned from their missions. Except for Richard and Sarah, who had the most arduous task. Following their tracker, we found them in a warehouse of an abandoned supermarket. Richard was shirtless, his muscles wrapped in bandages. Sarah was crouching in front of him, her hand resting on his chest. Hearing the commotion. She frantically withdrew her hand and stood up. “Why are you all here?” As she spoke, she made small, restless gestures. Tossing her hair, her cheeks flushed: “I was treating Captain Hayes’s wounds. He’s quite hurt… Please don’t overthink it, Phoebe.” The other team members exchanged glances, having initially not thought much of it. I also stood motionless. Richard’s gaze was as cold as ever, but on closer inspection, it seemed to hold a hint of tension. Everyone was waiting for my reaction. I pursed my lips. But, uncharacteristically, I was generous. “Well, why don’t we wait for them in the car? We’ll head back together after they’ve finished treating their wounds.” The air was silent for two seconds. The others were momentarily unsure if I was being sarcastic. Richard’s face darkened. Ignoring his wounds, he picked up his shirt and put it on. He hoisted a carton of milk supplies by his side and walked away. As he brushed past me. He gave me a fleeting glance. That look sent shivers down my spine. On the way back, he didn’t say a word. When we got home, he still heated a cup of bedtime milk for me first. Then he sat there, changing his own dressing. I went to help. He pulled his hand back. “No need.” I froze. He struggled to wrap the bandage himself, one hand being inconvenient, making a messy job of it. Eventually, I snatched it from him and re-bandaged it properly. In the quiet bedroom, a low, hoarse, unwilling voice suddenly broke the silence. “Why weren’t you angry today?” 5 My hand paused. I chose to feign ignorance. “Huh, angry about what?” “Phoebe, don’t pretend.” His dark eyes were still, fixed on me. I continued to wrap the bandage, speaking softly. “You two were treating wounds, what’s there to be angry about?” On the way here. Afraid my emotions would trigger early labor, the system showed me the remote monitoring. They truly weren’t doing anything. Besides, I was carrying another being’s child in my belly. Even if they really were doing something. What right did I have to be angry at him? He was silent for a few seconds. “Phoebe, you weren’t like this before.” That night, Richard tossed and turned. Suddenly, he hugged me from behind, his hand resting on my belly, even unconsciously stroking it a few times. My body stiffened. I knew he couldn’t tell the baby’s species by touch. Still, I instinctively felt guilty. As soon as I moved his hand away. He put it back. “You, don’t want to?” I moved it away again. “No.” He stopped moving. After a while, his voice was muffled, containing a hint of uncontrollable joy. “You really are angry after all.” I shook my head. “No, I’m just tired.” He was silent for a moment. His hand reached over again, this time gently pulling me into his embrace. “I’m sorry, you’re tired from pregnancy. Just sleep if you’re tired.” I didn’t struggle anymore. But I couldn’t sleep either, secretly rubbing my leg. I actually wanted to… Late-pregnancy hormones were acting up, making my body uncomfortably restless. I had secretly asked my doctor friend before. She said it was okay, as long as we were careful. But Richard was afraid of hurting me. Each time, he would unilaterally attend to my needs, then use his powers to take a cold shower. Or he’d go out to hunt zombies to vent, returning with a chill and then hugging me tightly again. Today, he definitely wouldn’t touch me. Sure enough, he hugged me for a while, then released me and went to the bathroom. The sound of rushing water went on for a long time. When he came out, he carried a coolness with him. He lay down again, this time a little further from me. Waking up the next morning, a pile of crystal cores lay on the pillow beside me. All of them were his earnings from yesterday. I had no abilities, so I couldn’t absorb them. But I liked these sparkly things, like diamonds or crystals. He always saved them for me. I counted them. There were more than usual. He probably gave me all of yesterday’s spoils. I looked up. And saw Richard staring intently at me. Our eyes met, and he awkwardly looked away. “Awake?” I nodded. Clutching those crystal cores, my heart ached. “I heard… Sarah is at a bottleneck in her Level 3 abilities and needs a lot of crystal cores to level up. Maybe you should give these to her instead?” “It would be a waste if they were given to me.” 6 “And the milk, you don’t have to bother with it next time either.” “A-anyway, I’m almost due, so I don’t need extra nutrition anymore…” He stared at me silently for a while. Just as I felt a chill run down my spine, he suddenly chuckled softly, with a hint of obsession. “Phoebe, when you suddenly clung to me, saying you liked me, I asked why, and you said you wanted my protection. I gave it.” As he spoke. He suddenly pressed close, pinning me against the headboard of the bed. “Now you’re telling me you don’t want anything anymore. Why? Is there another man offering you more?” “Tell me if there’s anything I can’t give you. I can find anything for you, just tell me.” The system told me to stop being difficult, and to be thoughtful and generous, to make him happy. I was already changing. But why did he seem even angrier? I stared at his cold profile, feeling very uneasy myself. Richard was injured last night. The system once again started fretting for me, [It’s over! It looks like the baby in your belly is about to be exposed, and you’ve gone and gotten the male lead injured again?] I wanted to cry but had no tears. “I didn’t! He was injured on the mission.” [This is the apocalypse. Water is more precious than gold, let alone milk. You keep clinging to him, demanding milk every day. Yesterday, he risked injury just to reclaim that carton of milk from dozens of zombies…] I froze. I liked drinking milk, especially a cup of warm milk before bed. But that was a pre-apocalypse habit. I had just mentioned it casually, never expecting Richard to remember it all this time. Just as I was about to say something. A sharp pain shot through my belly. My face changed. Richard suddenly sat up. “Phoebe, are you going into labor—” I endured the pain, shaking my head. “It’s nothing, maybe just… a stomach upset.” “Aren’t you leading a zombie clear-out today? Go quickly. I’m really fine.” He didn’t move. “I’m not going.” My heart was pounding, threatening to burst. If he didn’t go out, and I suddenly went into labor. Wouldn’t everything be exposed? “Really, it’s nothing. Just a cramp earlier, it’s fine now. Your mission is important, don’t delay.” He stared at me, silent. I forced out a pale smile, pushing him out. I looked incredibly considerate. “Go on, go on, don’t make the team wait.” He was silent for a few seconds, then rose and got dressed with a cold expression. He walked to the door. Turned to look at me. “Even if you hate me, it’s too late!” “You provoked me first. I gave you a chance to leave, but you didn’t take it. Trying to get rid of me again? Impossible.” A startling obstinacy flashed in his eyes. He abruptly pulled open the door and left. The sound of the door closing was still silent, however. I’ve always lacked a sense of security since childhood, developing a habit of being easily startled by sudden noises. After he left. I slowly leaned against the headboard, biting my lower lip hard to keep from crying out. My eyes were already red, ring after ring. I gently patted my belly. Baby, just bear with it a little longer. Mommy hasn’t figured out a way yet.

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My friends called me a simp. I worked three jobs, all to put my girlfriend, Scarlett Reed, through law school. She’d say: “Ash, when I pass the bar, I’ll come back to you.” “Ash, when I get confirmed, I’ll marry you.” “Ash, when I become a partner, we’ll get married immediately.” My friends told me that once they make it, they often ditch their loved ones. I didn’t believe them, and I waited seven years. Until my mom was nearly assaulted and accidentally killed her attacker. Frantically, I tried to reach Scarlett, but I couldn’t get through. Desperate, I had no choice but to go to Zenith City to find her. “Attorney Reed, which Attorney Reed?” “Oh, you mean Scarlett, don’t you?” “Attorney Reed is already a senior partner at our firm at such a young age. She just married our boss’s son and is on her honeymoon.” The receptionist picked up a box of wedding favors from the desk. “Here, the firm gave these out recently. Their wedding photos are gorgeous.” 1 I stared at the wedding favor box the receptionist handed me, at the names and the wedding photo. My mind exploded in a deafening buzz. Scarlett Reed. Married? My girlfriend of seven years, seven years of long-distance, the woman I’d poured everything into to get her through school, was married? My face went ashen, my fingertips trembled. I didn’t even notice the papers I was holding slip to the floor, my airway instantly constricting, leaving me gasping for breath. The receptionist looked at me, surprised. “Sir, are you alright?” My gaze remained fixed on Scarlett’s picture. Snapping back to reality, I shook my head, my throat tight. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” “My mom got into trouble. I came all the way from out of town to Zenith City to ask Attorney Reed to represent her, but I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect her to be so busy.” I explained, my voice catching. The receptionist looked sympathetic and offered to register me to see if other lawyers could help. “Thank you.” “Can I keep that wedding photo?” “It’s really beautiful. I’d like to find a similar dress when I get married.” The receptionist didn’t think much of it and handed me the entire box of favors and the photo. I pulled out the photo and slipped it into my jacket pocket, right over my heart. In that moment, my heart felt like it was being torn to shreds. That day, I sat on the steps outside the law firm all afternoon, repeatedly looking at the wedding photo. It was the most agonizing day of my life. Mechanically, I kept dialing her number, but the call never went through. I couldn’t understand how Scarlett, who I talked to almost every day, found time to be with someone else. I couldn’t understand why Scarlett, who promised to marry me, ended up marrying another man. All of it made the past seven years—the three jobs, every penny sent to her for tuition, exam fees, and living expenses—into one colossal, heartbreaking joke. Bitterness, pain, and fury churned inside me. I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. It wasn’t until dawn that my phone finally rang. I groggily answered, and Scarlett’s voice came through the line. “Ash, where are you? Are you still at our firm?” “I forgot to tell you I went for an out-of-town training session. It was a closed program, no phones allowed. I just got mine back.” “I’m booking a ticket back right now. Wait for me.” Scarlett’s urgent tone on the phone would have sounded like genuine concern to anyone. If I hadn’t personally received her wedding favors, I might have drowned in her deceptive excuses once again. Thinking back, in the year since she joined Sterling & Co., she’d frequently ended our video calls and canceled our dates with various excuses: training, business trips, client meetings. I’d occasionally get upset, but she’d always soothe me with a few words. Now, I realized I’d been a complete fool. I clutched my phone, the questions I wanted to ask ready on my tongue, but just as I was about to speak, a muffled male voice drifted from the receiver. “Wifey, still on the phone in the middle of the night?” “Did Dad give you another case? Such a hassle, can’t even enjoy our honeymoon in peace…” The voice sounded strangely familiar. I thought I’d heard it a few times before on her calls. She had betrayed me long ago. Scarlett must have stepped outside, muffling the receiver. I didn’t hear another word of what followed. “Ash?” She cautiously called my name. I stared into the dark hallway, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Scarlett Reed, were you really at a training?” A long silence stretched on the other end, broken only by her soft sigh. “You’re doing it again.” “Ash, I know you’re exhausted because of your aunt’s situation, which is why you’re being so suspicious.” “Alright, I’ll rush back first thing tomorrow morning. Be good, go to sleep.” Before I could say another word, Scarlett abruptly hung up, leaving only a dial tone echoing in my ear. The next morning, I saw Scarlett, looking disheveled, rushing towards me outside the law firm. She hadn’t even had time to change into her professional attire, her face etched with concern. “Ash, I’m so sorry, so sorry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone on that business trip now.” Her familiar embrace and warmth made my nose sting. When I saw the marks on her neck, my already cold heart gave a painful twitch. Scarlett, seeing my distraught state, simply assumed I was worried about my mother’s case. After briefly asking about the situation, she pulled me into the law firm, saying she’d ask her colleagues for a referral. I followed behind her, overhearing a colleague ask her. “Attorney Reed, who is this?” “Oh, just a cousin from back home, here for some personal business.” I clenched the case files in my hand and lowered my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. After she finished speaking with her colleague, I walked over and took Scarlett’s hand. “Cousin, shall we go?” Scarlett froze, her hand trembling uncontrollably, her expression panicked. “Cousin, why aren’t you moving? Did I say it wrong?” The colleague across from us looked at our clasped hands, deep in thought. Scarlett snapped out of it, pulling her hand away from mine. She gave an awkward laugh and led me out of the office area. Once outside, she pulled me into a secluded corner of the stairwell. “Ash, I said you were my cousin because I didn’t want people gossiping about our relationship.” “Otherwise, during your aunt’s trial, there’d be endless chatter, and you wouldn’t get a moment’s peace.” Such a convincing reason, but behind it lay her recent marriage and the relationship that had long betrayed me. I instinctively tightened my grip, quietly pulling my hand away. “I understand.” Scarlett affectionately patted my head. “Good boy.” Scarlett claimed she’d help me find a lawyer, but she kept making excuses—either the collaborating lawyer was unavailable, or the case was too difficult and no one dared to take it. I knew she just didn’t want to get involved with my affairs, didn’t want my presence to affect her life. The day before the trial, I took the organized evidence to Scarlett’s office to make one last plea. I pushed the door open, but she wasn’t there. The office was elegantly furnished, with hardly any personal items visible. On her desk stand, there was an engraved pen with delicate script: “Law in Heart, Integrity in Action.” Signed, Grenier Thorne. Her new husband, the law firm owner’s son. The door creaked open. It wasn’t Scarlett, but Grenier. He paused when he saw me, then immediately understood. “You’re here to see Scarlett about a case, aren’t you?” Grenier took out paper cups and tea from a cabinet and made me a cup of tea. “Please, have a seat and wait. She’s in a meeting, she’ll be back soon.” His movements were practiced and natural. Then, he pulled a small, delicate crystal photo frame from his desk drawer and casually placed it in a prominent spot on the corner of the desk. Inside the frame was an intimate photo of them, and a date was engraved at the bottom of the frame. It was last New Year’s Eve. The New Year’s Eve Scarlett had stood me up. At that time, Scarlett had just received her bar license and was preparing to be promoted to lead attorney. We had planned for her to come home for New Year’s and formally meet my family. My mom cooked a feast, and even my sister took time off work to wait for her. But by six in the evening, with the food already cold, Scarlett called to say she had an urgent client case to handle and couldn’t make it back. I saw the angry expressions on my parents’ and sister’s faces. After hanging up, I had to calm them, “It’s just work, you know, she can’t help it…” But the disappointment in my heart was something no one could soothe. Now, seeing this photo frame, I realized that the “urgent case” was actually to spend New Year’s Eve with another man. Scarlett Reed, you truly outdid yourself. Seeing me staring at the photo frame, Grenier chuckled. “Looks like we’re very happy, right?” “On New Year’s Eve, my wife insisted we take this photo. She said to put it on the desk so she could see it every time she looked up, symbolizing that I’m always in her sight.” The joy in Grenier’s eyes was so thick it made my own eyes ache. “Your wife is truly romantic.” I suppressed the bitter churning in my chest and responded offhandedly, my voice terribly dry. “Indeed, she pursued me for over two years, you know. Even though we’ve only been together for less than a year, she was eager to settle down with me,” He chuckled, waving his hand, his tone full of pride. “She said you have to hold on tight to the person you like, or they’ll just run off.” “But honestly, couples who date for seven or eight years and still don’t get married—ultimately, it’s just not meant to be. Nine times out of ten, they end up parting ways.” Every single word was like an ice-cold needle, piercing deeply into my heart, prodding at the most painful spots. “My wife is one of the brightest young minds at our firm. When she handles a case, her thinking is clear, her methods are tough, and she’s never lost. If your family’s case were in her hands, it would be a sure win!” When Grenier spoke of her, his face was alight with pride, an expression like a massive stone, suffocating my chest, making it hard to breathe. Once upon a time, I too would brag about Scarlett to friends and family, gushing about how smart and hardworking she was, how she passed her bar exam on the first try, how she would become the most brilliant lawyer, my lifelong pride. But now, she was still the “excellent” person in others’ eyes, but no longer someone I could proudly speak of. Click. He pulled out a cigar and lit it. I was surprised. Scarlett hated smoking, saying it smelled bad and was unhealthy. He clipped and lit the cigar, then turned back to me with a smile. “Just to unwind. My wife doesn’t like me smoking these, but it’s fine as long as I don’t do it in front of her.” “She’s pregnant, and the smell might bother her.” A buzzing sound filled my ears. My breath caught. She… she was pregnant? So, principles could be selective? My heart ached as if pierced by needles. I picked up a dropped document from the floor and handed it to him. Just as I was about to speak, the door opened. It was Scarlett. Scarlett looked visibly flustered seeing us together. She gave me a deep look, then smelled the cigar smoke in the room and frowned. “What are you doing here?” “Are you smoking again?” Beneath her slightly scolding tone was an undeniable undertone of concern. I lowered my head, tracing the paper cup in my hands. It held only warm water, but it felt scalding hot, making my insides ache. “Oh, don’t nag me.” “You have a client waiting for you…” Grenier gestured towards me with his eyes. Scarlett coughed, then spoke, feigning calmness. “Come with me to the office next door, and bring the materials.” I followed her out. As soon as the office door locked, Scarlett’s expression changed. “Didn’t I tell you not to come looking for me? I said I’d keep an eye out for a suitable lawyer for you.” “Coming directly to my office like this, did you consider my situation?” “What did you say to him?” Scarlett’s voice was high-pitched, yet deliberately lowered, as if afraid of being overheard. “From the moment we met until now, you haven’t given me a straight look, not a single explanation, and the first thing you do is blame me.” “You betrayed our seven years together; how can you be so self-righteous in questioning me?” “What could I say? Should I tell him he’s the other man, that he interfered with our seven-year relationship, and let everyone know what kind of person you are?” Scarlett’s expression drastically changed. She frantically clamped her hand over my mouth. “Don’t shout.” “Ash, I’ll explain this to you later.” “For now, please, just go back, alright?” My tears streamed down during the struggle. Perhaps it was out of hatred; I bit hard into Scarlett’s hand. She yelped in pain and let go. “Why should I leave? Scarlett Reed, tell me, why should I leave!” “If this blows up, I won’t be the one who’s humiliated!” Scarlett pressed her bitten hand, her dark eyes filled with anger. “Ash, if you dare to cause trouble, no lawyer in Zenith City will dare to take your mom’s case!” The woman I had loved for seven years, through gritted teeth, used my mother’s case to threaten me. From the moment I discovered she had married someone else, I’d replayed our potential confrontations over and over in my mind. I’d imagined furious arguments, her admitting or denying, apologizing or begging. But I never imagined she would say something like this, to warn me. “Scarlett Reed, are you even human?” “Every penny you spent during your seven years in law school was earned by my hard work.” “I supported you through seven years of schooling, through your bar exam, through getting your license. I wasted seven years of my youth on you, seven years!” “Scarlett Reed, do you have any decency?” Scarlett’s cold gaze seemed to pierce right through me. “I’ll pay you back the money.” “But you can’t disrupt my peaceful life anymore.” Scarlett left, shutting the door with a bang. I watched as Grenier put his arm around her waist and they walked out of the law firm building. News about Scarlett and me spread like wildfire. I didn’t know what Scarlett had said. In the rumors, I was the “other man” trying to break up Scarlett’s marriage. The poor country cousin who came to latch onto high society. “I’ve never seen such a shameless home-wrecker before!” “I knew something was up when he saw Attorney Reed’s wedding favors at the front desk and looked so pale. Turns out he was just trying to worm his way in as the other man!” “Yeah, I heard he used his mom’s case to gain sympathy, even trying to emotionally blackmail Attorney Reed into getting a divorce!” “Attorney Reed already promised to help him find a lawyer, and he still bit the hand that fed him!” “Oh my god, you really can’t trust these poor relatives.” “He’s just jealous now that Attorney Reed is a partner and doing well. He wants to take a shortcut. He didn’t appreciate her when she was struggling; now who would want a man like him?!” I listened to the whispers from the law firm’s break room, then turned and roared. “I’m not, I didn’t!” “I’m not the other man!” My defense was swallowed by the chatter. Everyone started to shun me. Even when I tried to consult other lawyers, they all made excuses and turned me away. I don’t know why my mom heard some whispers in the detention center. Through the visitation glass, she asked me, looking frail, “Ash, did something happen?” “Don’t be afraid, Mom is fine. Mom won’t hold you back.” My mother’s words made me want to cry. But I knew I had to hold back. At least, I had to wait for my mother’s trial, to get a verdict. “No, nothing’s wrong. What could be wrong?” “Mom, don’t worry, I’ve already found a lawyer. The trial will definitely clear your name, and you’ll be out soon.” I lied. My voice trembled even as I spoke the lie. The trial date arrived. Without a professional lawyer to defend her, my mom was speechless, unable to respond to the opposing lawyer’s interrogation. Ultimately, the court immediately pronounced my mom guilty of negligent homicide, sentencing her to two years in prison. My mom collapsed in the courtroom on the spot and was escorted to the detention center by court officers. On the third day of her detention, I received a call from the detention center saying my mom had a sudden heart attack, and after being rushed to the hospital, she passed away. When I arrived at the hospital, I only saw my mom covered by a white sheet. In that moment, my world crumbled. Back at the detention center, everyone pointed at me and whispered. “Look how quickly karma strikes. What good can come to a home-wrecker? Serves him right!” “Indeed. Do enough morally bankrupt things, and retribution will come knocking eventually. He brought this upon himself!” “Why choose to be the other man and even show up at their doorstep? I heard the wife is heavily pregnant too…” “It’s a sin, serves him right!” “Hey? Wasn’t the wife that lawyer who came to see his mom?” “Seems so. I heard she’s the managing partner’s son…” “The wife must have gone to settle scores with his mom. No wonder his mom passed away so suddenly…” The whispers were soft, but I heard every single word.

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I was abandoned when I was just five days old. But for some reason, my birth mother left me on the doorstep of the Black Talon gang in Southside. To survive, when I was staring into the fierce eyes of those desperate men, still in my swaddling clothes, I instinctively blurted out “Daddy.” The rough men instantly furrowed their brows. “Maybe… we could keep her?” From then on, I had 108 fathers. But my family seemed to be a magnet for wanted posters. So, to avoid causing trouble for my dads, I lived an utterly ordinary life for over a decade. Until I encountered bullying in high school. A rich girl, Chelsea Thorne, with her cronies, cornered me in the bathroom, doused me with cold water, tore my clothes, and filmed me with a camcorder. “What are you staring at? You charity case, acting all high and mighty! You trash, thinking you can go to college!” But I was hit so hard, I screamed and pulled Chelsea, dragging her with me as I plunged from the third floor. When I woke up, the school nurse, Mrs. Davison, pointed at me and yelled: “She hit you, so you tried to kill her, is that it?! When others hit or scold you, you don’t reflect on yourself, but plot revenge!!” “Get your parents here, now! I want to see them! If they don’t show up, you’ll stay here today and rot!” My hair stood on end. I meekly replied: “Ma’am, are you sure you want to call my parents?” … The words hung in the air, then SMACK, a sharp crack. “Sure? I’m sure your ass!” “You little brat! How dare you lay a hand on my daughter! You will call your parents to come apologize to me!” Chelsea’s dad, Mr. Thorne, slapped me across the face, his eyes blazing with vicious fury. I instantly fell to the ground, half my face stinging with a fiery pain. Mrs. Davison, however, acted as if she hadn’t seen a thing, immediately bowing and scraping, fawning over Mr. Thorne. “Mr. Thorne, rest assured, the school will handle this strictly and without leniency!” She turned her head, screaming at my face. “Willow King! Look at what you’ve done to Chelsea Thorne! Call your parents immediately to pay her medical bills!” I lowered my head, my nails digging deep into my palms. A metallic taste spread in my mouth. “No, it was Chelsea, she was the one who first cornered me in the bathroom with her friends, poured cold water on me, and tore my clothes. I was just…” But I didn’t finish my sentence. Chelsea, lying weakly in the infirmary bed, burst into tears. “Dad! She’s lying! I was just passing by, and Willow King suddenly went crazy and pushed me down the stairs… She’s just a scholarship student, jealous because our family has money. She’s always hated me!” “You clearly…” I immediately retorted. But Mrs. Davison gave me no chance to speak. “Silence! Willow King! The facts are clear; you deliberately assaulted her!” She grabbed me and dragged me out of the medical room. Roughly pulling out my phone, Mrs. Davison slammed it against my face with a smack. “I don’t want to hear your nonsense! Now, immediately! Call your parents! Tell them to get their butts over here and pay up!” Instantly, the eyes of teachers and students in the hallway focused on me, a mix of curiosity and schadenfreude. But I clutched the cold phone, looking at the busy contacts list, yet I couldn’t bring myself to make the call. I had 108 fathers. But Dad One was a gang boss, Dad Three trafficked weapons, Dad Fifteen ran black market loans, Dad Seventy-Eight owned an underground casino… Although they always loved to give me black cards and then stroke my head, saying: “Sweet Pea, don’t cause trouble outside, but if you’re ever in trouble, always come to Daddy. If anyone lays a finger on you, Dad One will make their whole family disappear from the face of the Earth.” “That’s right, if anyone dares to upset you, Dad Three will come with two knives and chop them up!” But they were all Southside’s most wanted criminals. A shiver ran down my spine. I remembered how they always left early and came home late, covered in scars and blood, grumbling about running into “the Feds” again today. I remembered the “Crackdown on Organized Crime” headlines constantly scrolling across the news. I… I couldn’t put them in harm’s way. Looking up again, I tried one last desperate plea. “Ma’am, my dads… they’re all working out of town, very far away, they can’t make it.” “Could I just… write an apology, get a detention, even a suspension, just please, don’t call them?” Mrs. Davison let out a sneer. “Working? No wonder you turned out to be such a shameless child! And they can’t make it?” “No way!” “Chelsea Thorne’s medical expenses, her emotional damages, so much money! You, a child, can pay for that? Call them now, don’t waste time!” She looked at me with utter contempt. “How much? I can…” I was about to say I could pay for it myself, as I hadn’t even touched the black cards my dads gave me. But Mr. Thorne came out and immediately handed Mrs. Davison a bank card. “Mrs. Davison, here’s half a million for the school’s donation.” “My demand is simple: get her parents to come here, apologize, and compensate us!” “Otherwise, I’ll call the police directly! I’ll accuse her of intentional assault! Once she has a criminal record, she can forget about ever going to college!” Seeing the bank card, Mrs. Davison’s eyes instantly lit up. She turned to me, her tone becoming incredibly stern. “Willow King, did you hear that? This is your last chance!” “Either call your working parents now to come pay and apologize!” “Or you get a criminal record and forget about college for the rest of your life!” A criminal record… The two words, like needles, instantly pierced my mind. I couldn’t have a criminal record. I still had to go to college, still had to earn money to support my dads in their old age. Looking at that bank card, looking at Mrs. Davison’s snobbish and ugly face. Tears welled in my eyes. My trembling fingers finally lit up my phone screen. “Ma’am, please! Don’t call the police. I’ll… I’ll call my parents.” My trembling hand touched “Dad One” at the very top of my contact list. Although he was a gang boss, he was still the most “normal” among all my dads. I hoped, I hoped he could pretend to be an ordinary person and get through this. “Beep, beep…” The call was answered the instant it went through. Dad One’s gentle, smiling voice came from the receiver: “Sweet Pea?” “Dad One,” I pressed my lips together and spoke: “My teacher wants me to call you to school. I…” “To school?” He instantly sounded excited: “Oh, my girl won another award, didn’t she! It’s the first time you’ve asked Dad to come get a certificate! Wait for it, Dad’s coming now!” “No…” A pang of sorrow hit me. I was about to say no. But then, a clear gunshot suddenly echoed from the other end of the line. Followed by the screams of unfamiliar men and a series of dull thuds. I froze instantly. I faintly heard a very soft “clean it up.” Childhood memories flooded back—Dad One always came home with blood on him, but he’d lie and say it was ketchup. His breathing seemed a little unsteady, but when he spoke to me again, his voice was still gentle: “No what? Honey?” The thought of him possibly doing something dangerous, or being injured, made my heart pound. The words on the tip of my tongue twisted into: “Nothing… it’s nothing. I can just get the certificate myself. You’re busy, I’m hanging up.” “Hey! You didn’t even say anything, why are you hanging up!” Hearing me, Mrs. Davison yelled and reached out to grab my phone. Instinctively dodging, I quickly hung up. But the next second, “SMACK!” Another harsh slap landed on my face. Mrs. Davison’s face was twisted with fury: “You caused such big trouble and you’re still trying to hide it from your parents!” Mr. Thorne also slammed his fist against the wall, pointing a finger at my nose and cursing: “Don’t think hiding it from adults means nothing will happen! I’m telling you, in this part of Southside, I’m the local kingpin! I have people in the police department! If you dare touch my daughter, I’ll make your whole family of low-wage workers disappear in minutes!” Chelsea hobbled out, limping, and sneered at me: “You’re so pathetic you don’t even dare call your parents, probably because your family is too poor to put food on the table, right? So where did you get the guts to push me? Ridiculous!” I lowered my head, my voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz: “My dads really can’t come… I’m sorry, Chelsea Thorne, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed you.” “I can kowtow to you in front of the whole school, be your lackey for a year, or you can hit me back, but please don’t call the police, okay? I don’t want to be expelled…” Chelsea laughed with disdain, but Mr. Thorne roared and reached out to snatch my phone. “You’re trying to negotiate terms now?” “Give me your parents’ number, I’ll tell them myself!” Mrs. Davison immediately chimed in: “Willow King, give Mr. Thorne your phone! Don’t be stubborn, you need to show a willingness to solve the problem!” The man lunged forward to grab it, but I fiercely protected my phone, backing away repeatedly. Finally, I ended up clumsily kneeling on the ground. My knees hit the cold tiles, a searing pain bringing tears to my eyes, but I kept kowtowing and begging: “…Please, please, don’t go after my dads. Chelsea, please, I’ll do anything I just said—apologize, atone, let you hit me back—just please don’t call my parents, okay?!” Dull thuds echoed on the floor until my forehead was bleeding. Only then did a look of triumphant pleasure appear on Chelsea’s face. Stopping her dad, she raised her voice: “Alright then, just apologizing publicly isn’t enough. Tomorrow, you have to kowtow to me 100 times, until I’m satisfied! Only then will I not call the police.” “Alright.” Clenching my fists, I agreed to all her conditions. My heart bled with humiliation, yet I felt it was worth it, as long as I didn’t implicate my dads. But that evening, when I, wearing a baseball cap, wearily returned to the small apartment Dad Two rented for me. I saw three men bustling in the kitchen, cooking up a storm: Dad Sixty-Six, Dad Seventy-Nine, and Dad Ninety-Three. Seeing me return, they immediately gathered around, beaming. “Sweet Pea’s home!” At the dining table, Dad Sixty-Six chuckled and squeezed my cheek: “Sweet Pea, I heard you’re getting an award at school? Why didn’t you let an old dad go collect it for you? By sequence, it should be my turn, shouldn’t it?” Dad Seventy-Nine expertly massaged my shoulders, refuting him: “My turn, you fool! It’s my turn!” Dad Ninety-Three pushed a bowl of soup in front of me: “Drink up, brain food, so you can get into a good college.” My nose stung, and I almost burst into tears. But I forced a smile and explained: “It’s just a small award, no need to trouble you. I’ll call you for a big award next time.” “Alright, we won’t argue. You eat first, honey.” The men excitedly served me food. As I was eating, Dad Sixty-Six suddenly grew serious and stood up to answer a phone call. But I faintly caught a few words. “That shipment… being watched again… jumped into the river… Damn it, this money is so hard to earn…” Instantly, my heart tightened again. Fearing they might get caught, I took a deep breath and put down my chopsticks. “Dads, in the future… can you… can you stop doing that kind of work? I’m grown up now. I’ll get into a good college and support you.” “So, can you find some stable jobs?” The three big men froze simultaneously, then, deeply moved, burst into tears and promised they would. Two hours later, the three of them gave me a few more instructions, left me three black cards, and then quickly departed. I stood at the doorway, watching them disappear down the hallway, my eyes stinging. “Remember to change jobs!” “Got it!” But the moment the door closed, old Dad Sixty-Six looked at his brothers beside him, puzzled. “Strange, our daughter doesn’t like my nuclear submarine research…?” The other three were equally bewildered. And I, closing the door, looked at the group chat on my phone, “Loving Family (108),” which already had 999+ messages. My dads were all asking: “Sweet Pea, are you tired from studying today?” “Do you have enough money? Don’t skimp, Daddy has plenty!” My eyes warmed again. I sniffed, and finally typed a line into the chat box. “I’m fine, everyone. Don’t worry. Dads, you’re busy with work, please also pay attention to your safety.” Send. The next second, staring at the constant stream of caring messages popping up on the screen, I made up my mind. I would never cause my dads any more trouble. Willow King, you must hold on. Just until after college entrance exams, everything will be fine. On Monday’s flag-raising ceremony, a dense crowd of students packed the field below. I knelt on the ground, mechanically confessing my sins. “It was I who, filled with resentment, pushed Chelsea Thorne down the stairs… I was jealous of her, I’m a worthless person…” My voice echoed across the sports field, but every word felt like a knife cutting my throat. Chelsea sat in a wheelchair, pushed to the very front by a few classmates, watching me with a smug look, her eyes filled with excitement as I knelt and kowtowed, apologizing. Beneath the stage, whispers coalesced into a buzzing din of noise. “I heard her family is really poor; she’s here on scholarship.” “Such a malicious mind, just jealous of their money.” “Look at her pathetic, penniless self, serves her right.” “Born without a mother’s raising, just no upbringing.” All the malicious words were like needles pricking my flesh, a bone-chilling pain. But I was already numb. Done reciting, I slowly bent at the waist. Thud. The first kowtow, on the cold platform. … Fifty kowtows, one hundred kowtows. I slammed my head down, again and again. My forehead went from numb to agonizing pain, then to a warm stickiness. Blood streamed down my brow, blurring my vision, plunging everything into darkness. The ground was covered in crimson. When the confession was over, I walked off the stage, my face covered in blood. The crowd parted for me as if I were carrying a plague. Chelsea, surrounded by her entourage, deliberately walked past me. She said in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft: “Ugh, some people are just lowly. An apology isn’t enough, is it? From now on, when you see me, you call me ‘Grandma.’ Got it?” Clenching my fists, my nails dug deep into my flesh. I said nothing. I just silently returned to my seat, took out a wet wipe, and vigorously tried to rub off the red paint from the table. But the paint had already seeped into the wood grain, spreading and smearing with each wipe, like ugly scars. All day long, I was surrounded by malice, until the dismissal bell rang, and I couldn’t hold back anymore, rushing out of the classroom. Afraid to use the main entrance, I took the secluded alley behind the school to leave. But after only a few steps, at the alley entrance, Chelsea and her three cronies were already blocking the way. She stood up from her wheelchair, stretched her limbs, and walked towards me, step by step. “Didn’t you say you’d be my lackey? The boss hasn’t left, but you’re running fast, are you messing with me, Willow King?” “Sorry, you didn’t call me…” “Whether I call you or not, you’re going to follow me around like a dog!” Chelsea pulled out her camcorder, aiming the lens at my disheveled face. “Come on, apologize again. Say, ‘I, Willow King, am trash, and I shouldn’t have forgotten to be Chelsea Thorne’s dog.’” I bit my lip, motionless. Chelsea became even more excited, launching into a new round of torment. Cold mineral water poured over my head. My soaked school uniform was torn by them. Lipstick was haphazardly smeared across my face. Chelsea held up the camcorder, laughing maniacally. “Come on, smile for the camera, say, ‘Thank you, Sister Thorne, for the lesson,’ otherwise, I’m calling the police and letting your unspeakable dads have a nice chat with the precinct?” My mind buzzed. I stared at her, disbelieving. Did Chelsea know about them? But I couldn’t risk it. I could only endure my whole body trembling, my voice hoarse as I repeated her words. “Thank you, Sister Thorne… for the lesson.” Only after I said it dozens of times did Chelsea smile, satisfied, kicking me once before leaving. “Wouldn’t it have been better if you’d been this obedient earlier? From now on, after school every day, wait for me here, got it? Whatever I want you to do, you have to do!” “Alright.” She left with her cronies. Instantly, I was alone in the alley. I don’t know how long passed before I slowly crouched down. On the ground, a soaked math test, the vivid red “100” glaringly obvious. Frantically, I fought back the welling tears, reaching out to pick up the mud-stained books and test papers. However, the moment I looked up. At the mouth of the alley, four or five men had appeared. Leading them was Dad One. And behind him, another four or five dads. At this moment, their faces were dark and grim, all staring intently at me, silent. The air in the alley seemed to freeze. After a long moment, Dad One crouched down, his rough fingers wiping away the bloodstains on my face. “Who did this?” I turned my face away, not daring to meet the anger in his eyes, and whispered: “Nothing… I just fell accidentally.” “Fell?” Dad Five snatched up the math textbook, crushed and mud-stained, pointing at the dirty shoe prints on it, and roared: “This is falling? This is stomping her to death!” Dad Three adjusted his glasses, his eyes behind the lenses sharp as blades: “Sweet Pea, tell us. If you say the word, Daddy will blow up Southside and kill those people.” But I bit my lip tightly. I couldn’t say it. Mr. Thorne was rich and powerful. Chelsea said even the Southside police listened to her family. My dads were wanted men; I couldn’t get them… sent to prison. I shook my head stubbornly, but tears refused to obey, welling in my eyes. Time ticked by, second by second. Finally, Dad One sighed, gently gripping my cold hand, yet with an undeniable strength. “Sweet Pea, do you remember that year when you were five, the chubby kid from the next street stole your candy, and you cried all night when you came home?” “The next day, that chubby kid’s entire family moved out of Southside.” “Your dads aren’t good people, but our family rule is, whoever touches you, dies!” The wind in the alley instantly stilled. Seeing my dads silently gather around me, their eyes filled with extreme suppressed rage and heartache. All the humiliation, fear, and shame of these past days instantly broke through my tightly strung nerves. “Dad—” I flung myself into Dad One’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping out everything that had happened: “It was Chelsea… Her dad is Mr. Thorne, he owns mines… She said Southside is all their territory… She bullies me every day… Today she even filmed it…” Dad Five’s latest model phone, in his hand, CRACKED! He had crushed the screen! “A mine owner, how dare he!” “Damn it, that bastard Thorne! When I helped him get started back in the day, he was licking my boots!” “He’s gone too far! How dare he touch our Sweet Pea!” My dads’ curses rose and fell, but I listened, stunned. Dad One simply patted my back, then pulled out his phone, dialed a number, his voice cold as ice. “Send out the word. All brothers, drop what you’re doing.” “One hour, everyone to Southside.” “Our girl, she’s been bullied!” Early the next morning, Dad One told me to go to school as usual. I nodded, going alone. Sure enough, at the school gate, Chelsea was again waiting by that flashy luxury car. Seeing me, she deliberately raised her voice, her face full of sarcasm: “Oh, isn’t this the one who knelt and kowtowed to me yesterday…” But before she finished, I walked straight past her, my eyes calm, as if she were just air. Chelsea instantly froze. “Willow King!” She flared up in anger, lunged forward, and tightly grabbed my backpack: “Did I say you could leave? Didn’t learn your lesson yesterday, did you? You trash!” She raised her hand to slap me. “I’m giving you face—” But remembering Dad One’s words, my heart was now filled with unprecedented confidence. The next second, her wrist was clamped tightly in my hand, stopped mid-air.

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The day before our engagement party, Bella, my heiress girlfriend, seemed distant as we walked through the city. I bought a cheap sandwich and offered it to her, but she slapped it to the ground. “Cole!” she snapped. “The Lancasters need someone who fits in. This is embarrassing. How can my parents ever accept you?” Humiliated, I tossed the ruined sandwich away. For the sake of our four years together, I just said, “Whatever you say.” The next day, she called off our engagement to marry Spencer Croft. “Cole, Spencer tried to die for me,” she claimed tearfully. “Once he’s stable, I’ll come back to you.” Again, I only replied, “Whatever you say,” and ended it. Four years later, she appeared at my small house, wearing the ring I’d given her. “Cole, Spencer finally agreed to divorce! We can be together now!” she announced, beaming. “I told you I’d return once he let go of his obsession!” I frowned, annoyed by her performance. Of all days to run into her here. Pushing her toward the door, I said, “Move. You’re making me late to pick up my son from school.” 1. Bella followed me out. “I’ve checked, Cole. No other woman has set foot in this house in four years. What son are you talking about?” She softened her tone. “I know you’re angry. I’ll take you home with me right now. I know your family is poor, just scraping by with that chicken farm, but I’ve already convinced my parents. They won’t look down on you anymore.” I turned, my brow furrowed. “I’ve told you before, it’s a free-range poultry business. It spans three mountains.” Bella scoffed. “It’s still just chickens. For heaven’s sake, don’t mention that in front of my parents. It’s so… provincial.” I gave up. There was no getting through to a clueless urbanite like her. She had no concept of the value of a massive, organic, free-range operation. That business had lifted my family out of poverty and made us wealthy long ago. I quickened my pace. I didn’t want to be late picking up Noah. Bella hurried to keep up. “I can take you back to the Lancaster estate right now. The villa is huge. Spencer hasn’t moved out yet, but there’s plenty of room for you. Just… be nice to him. He’s very sensitive, so you’ll have to be the bigger person and not provoke him.” “What the hell?” I stopped dead, staring at her. “You’re not even divorced, and you’re coming on to me, asking me to move in with your current husband? What am I, your side piece? Your kept man?” “Are you insane?” I yanked open my car door and slid in, desperate to get away from her. She, with a familiarity that was both infuriating and chilling, opened the passenger door and got in. “I always told you to lock the doors as soon as you get in. For safety,” she chided, as if no time had passed at all. “Still so careless after all these years.” Seeing her sitting there, so comfortable, so entitled, sent a surge of pure rage through me. “Get out. Now!” She clicked her seatbelt into place, a smug look on her face. “Weren’t you going to pick up your son? You’d better get driving, or you’ll be late.” I glanced at the time. She was right. If all the other kids were gone, Noah would be sad waiting all by himself. I stomped on the gas, peeling out of the driveway. “When you see my son,” I growled, “don’t you dare say anything stupid.” “Fine, I won’t,” she said breezily. “You’re really committed to this act, Cole. Let’s see where you conjure up a son from.” As I drove, I forced myself to calm down. At a red light, staring at the gridlocked traffic ahead, I spoke. “Bella, why were you so sure that after four years, I’d still be waiting for you?” My low, serious tone seemed to finally get through to her. A flicker of unease crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by her usual arrogance. “After knowing me, what other woman could possibly measure up?” she said with a shrug. “Besides me, what kind of sophisticated people could you possibly meet? If you weren’t waiting for me, who else would there be?” I let out a long sigh. So that was it. In her mind, I wasn’t worthy of meeting anyone better. That’s why she could leave without a second thought and come back with such unapologetic entitlement. The light turned green. I hit the gas. As we cleared the intersection, I said quietly, “Bella, I’m not joking. I’m married. I have a child. When I park, you need to get out and leave. I don’t want you interfering with my life.” She frowned slightly. “Cole, do you really think you can fool me with this? I know you’re angry. You can throw whatever tantrum you want. I’ll be right here with you until you’ve gotten it all out of your system and you’re ready to come back to me.” 2. If words wouldn’t work, maybe the truth would. “Daddy! You’re late today!” Noah ran towards me, his arms outstretched, a sweet smile on his face. “Daddy had to go to the old house to get something. Sorry to keep you waiting, buddy. How about I make it up to you with some fries when we get home?” “Okay!” he cheered, hugging me tightly. Bella stared, speechless. She clearly hadn’t expected me to actually have a child. Her face soured. “Cole, there’s a limit to your jokes. You can’t just grab some random kid off the street. This is kidnapping! Do you want to go to jail? Take him back right now.” She grabbed Noah’s arm, intending to drag him back to the school. I slapped her hand away and pulled my son into my arms. “What are you doing?” One of the teachers saw us and walked over. “Oh, you must be Noah’s mom! We see his dad all the time, but we’ve been so eager to finally meet you.” Bella’s jaw dropped. She looked from the teacher to me. “He’s really your son?” “Of course.” I started to leave, but she blocked my path, her eyes fixed on the teacher. “How old is he?” she demanded. “Noah just turned three.” Three years old. Bella looked at Noah, who was a head taller than most of the other kids his age. Her hands shot out and gripped my arms. “Cole, his age… you’re lying, aren’t you? He’s supposed to be four. Our premature baby… he didn’t die, did he? You hid him from me all this time!” I looked at her, my voice flat. “If our child had lived, would you have still married Spencer?” “I…” She was at a loss for words, then her face crumpled. “I had to. Spencer would have died.” I sneered. “You don’t have the right to even mention our child.” “Cole, I’m taking you and our son home. Right now.” Her voice was firm, resolute. “My parents have been hoping for a grandchild for years. If you bring our son home, they won’t care about our families’ status anymore.” I could feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head. “Who wants to go with you? I told you, he’s not your son. Are you deaf?” “Stop this, Cole. I will not allow a Lancaster to be raised out here in the world like this. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? How could you let our son attend a school like this, in such a rundown, crowded area? How is he supposed to get a proper education here?” I looked at the school, then back at her. This was one of the top-rated state schools, a direct feeder for the best magnet programs in the city. What did her snooty, overpriced “elite” private school have on that? Ava had specifically transferred Noah here so he wouldn’t grow up with the arrogant, entitled attitude of kids like Bella. To hear her belittle it like this… I was suddenly profoundly grateful I’d never married someone so shortsighted. “Stay away from us,” I said coldly. “This has nothing to do with you.” “If he’s not my son, then whose is he?” She turned back to the teacher. “You, tell me. Who is listed as the mother on his records?” To protect our privacy, we’d left the mother’s information blank on the school forms. The teacher didn’t know who Noah’s mom was. When Bella heard this, she became even more certain. “Cole, it must have been so hard for you, raising him all alone. You’ve had your fun. Now, come home.” Noah didn’t understand what we were arguing about. He just whispered in my ear, “Daddy, what about my fries?” Bella reacted as if he’d said something monstrous. “Cole, how could you let my son eat that garbage? You were always eating that cheap street food, and now you’re feeding that filth to him? What if he gets sick? Can you take that responsibility? He is the sole heir to the Lancaster family!” My son wanted me to make him fries at home, with our private chef. How was that unhygienic? I ignored her and carried Noah to the car. She blocked the door. “Don’t get into this piece of junk. It’s not good enough for my son.” To keep a low profile, I drove a modest sedan. It wasn’t fancy, but the back seat was completely customized for Noah’s safety and comfort. If Bella had bothered to look inside for even a second, she would have seen that I had a child and that he was cherished. But she never paid attention to any detail about my life. She just pointed to her Mercedes. “Cole, stop pretending. Only I can give you and the boy the life you deserve.” Just then, Spencer walked up, dressed in a ridiculously expensive designer suit that was completely out of place on the bustling street. He picked his way through the crowd with a look of distaste. “Bella, darling, I thought you were picking up Cole. What’s the delay? We have that meeting with the mysterious new CEO of Westwood Corporation, remember?” The moment Bella saw him, her expression softened. “I remember, Spencer, don’t worry. I won’t forget what’s important to you. Cole is being a little difficult, but I’ll handle it and be right with you. You look so handsome today, you’ll definitely charm Ms. Westwood. She’ll be lucky to have you as a husband. The Westwoods are one of the most powerful families in the country, even bigger than ours. You’ll be so happy, Spencer. Just give me a minute, okay?” I stared at them. Were they serious? Spencer was fine with Bella chasing her ex, as long as Bella helped him land a new rich wife? And Ms. Westwood… surely they didn’t mean my wife?

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Lord Ashton Hall, the heir to the Capital Circle, heard me mention male escorts on the day of our divorce? Ashton Hall looked at the papers on the table, his hand, which usually fingered prayer beads, paused. I lowered my gaze demurely, my voice choked: “His sister is back, I don’t want you to be in a difficult position, Mr. Hall. Let’s part ways amicably.” Inside, I was ecstatic: [Sign it! A billion! Male escorts! Jerry’s abs!] The next second, the string of prayer beads in Ashton’s hand suddenly snapped, scattering the beads across the floor. He sharply looked up, his eyes bloodshot, fixated on me. “Monica Hall, you want to use my money to feel whose abs?” I silently scoffed inwardly: [How did this bastard know I wanted to feel abs? Is he bluffing?] Outwardly, I cried even harder: “No one… I only have you…” 1 “How can you accuse me?” I wiped away tears, reaching for his sleeve, my fingertips trembling, playing the part of utter helplessness. Inside, I cursed: [What a big show-off!] [We’re getting a divorce, why does it matter whose abs I touch?] [Forget Jerry, once the money’s in my account, I’ll book Tom and Jack too!] [Every night, they’ll take turns giving me a striptease!] Ashton’s mouth twitched violently, his expression grim. He flung my hand away, and I nearly crashed into the coffee table. “Fine, very well,” he gnashed, his voice cold and cutting. “Tom? Jack? Monica, your appetite isn’t small.” My heart skipped a beat: [What the hell? How does he know about Tom and Jack?] [Has my club membership been exposed?] [No way, I used my mom’s ID for that!] Panic flared inside. But I firmly believed that as long as I didn’t admit it, he had no proof. I looked up, my swollen eyes bewildered and wronged. “Ashton, what are you talking about? What Tom? Is that his sister’s cat?” Ashton took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, those eyes blazed with consuming fire. He picked up the divorce papers and shredded them. Confetti of paper rained down. I froze. [My billion! My happy place!] [Ashton Hall, you son of a bitch! If you’re not signing, why tear the paper? Printing costs money!] Ashton strode forward, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look up at him. His thumb was rough, calloused from years of fingering prayer beads, and it chafed painfully against my skin. “You want to take the money and leave? To go hire male escorts?” He leaned in close, his hot breath fanning my face, possessive and aggressive. “Monica, you can forget about that for the rest of your life.” With that, he pulled out his phone, dialed his assistant, his voice chilling. “Cancel all supplementary cards under Monica’s name, including her mother’s.” “Also, find out all the ‘Jerrys,’ ‘Toms,’ and ‘Jacks’ in every club in Eastlake City, and blacklist them all.” Me: “…” [Ashton Hall! Damn you to hell!] The call ended. My heart bled. The money was gone. The escorts were gone too. Sorrow welled up in my heart. This time, I genuinely cried. Cried with heartfelt sincerity. “Ashton Hall, you can’t do this to me! I’ve already stepped aside, why do you still humiliate me?” I collapsed to the floor, weeping tragically. Inside, I cursed viciously: [May you never get it up! May you be cuckolded! May you clog the toilet when you poop!] Ashton’s face darkened, veins throbbing at his temples. He suddenly bent down, sweeping me up from the floor. He strode upstairs. The world spun. I screamed in terror: “What are you doing! Put me down!” Ashton kicked open the bedroom door, roughly tossing me onto the large bed. Before I could scramble up, his tall frame pressed down on me, and with one hand, he untied his tie, binding my wrists above my head. Those eyes, usually cold and ascetic, were now tinged with intense desire and ruthlessness. “Cursing me to never get it up?” He sneered. His knee forcefully pushed my legs apart: “Monica, tonight I’ll show you who’s truly ‘incapable.’” “As for that Jerry, he’d better pray I don’t find him.” “Otherwise, I’ll let him know what ‘truly exquisite touch’ feels like.” 2 I closed my eyes, bracing for the storm. However, just as his kiss was about to descend, the phone on the bedside table suddenly rang. The ringtone was shrill, a death knell and a lifeline at once. Ashton froze, his brows tightly furrowed. The desire in his eyes hadn’t faded, tinged with annoyance. I seized the chance to slip out from under him, wrapping myself in the duvet and shrinking into the corner of the bed, my face terrified. [Answer it! Pick it up!] [A late-night call, who else could it be but that pure-hearted Lily White, Clara Reed?] [Thank you, Clara Reed! Thank you, Telecom Company! Thank you, heavens!] [As long as he leaves now, I’m willing to kowtow to Clara Reed three times!] Ashton’s hand, holding the phone, stiffened. He gave me a deep, unreadable look. But he answered the call anyway. “Ashton… I’m so scared… there’s thunder, can you please come see me?” The voice on the other end was soft and sweet, trembling, clearly audible in the dead of night. It was her, indeed. I immediately put on my understanding, magnanimous, and virtuous wife face, sniffing but my voice still tearful. “Is that his sister? She just returned to the country, she must not be used to it. You should go be with her, don’t worry about me…” Inside: [Go! Go now! Preferably to her bed and don’t come back! I want this huge king-sized bed all to myself!] Ashton sneered. He ignored Clara on the other end and hung up the phone directly. “You’re quite generous,” he threw the phone back onto the bedside table, making me flinch. “Since you want me to go so badly, I absolutely won’t.” He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, stripped naked in front of me, lifted the duvet, and climbed into bed. He reached out, pulling me into his embrace. “Sleep.” Me: “…” [You’re insane! Your ‘pure love’ is calling, go to her!] [What are you doing here? If you don’t leave, how can I hire escorts!] That night, I spent it tightly held in Ashton’s embrace. The next day, I was woken by commotion downstairs. Going down, the living room was piled high with expensive luggage, as if someone was moving in. Clara Reed, wearing a hospital gown and looking as if she might faint at any moment, was sitting on the sofa, wiping away tears. Seeing Ashton and me descend, she immediately stood up, swaying slightly. “Ashton, I’m so sorry… I was just too scared last night, so I had to bother you two.” Her eyes were red, and she looked at me pitifully: “Monica, you don’t mind, do you? I’m not well, and Ashton doesn’t feel comfortable leaving me alone outside.” I sneered inwardly: [Mind? Like hell I mind!] [You moving in will not only share Ashton’s perverse intensity, but you might even push me out, then I can legitimately split the assets!] [Quick! Quick, say you want the master bedroom! Steal that bastard Ashton!] I immediately forced a smile even weaker than hers, walked over, and took her hand. “How could I, sister? This was always… your home. Ashton and I treat you like a real sister.” Ashton, in the middle of fastening his cufflinks, paused and looked up at me, his gaze chilling. Clara was clearly surprised by my easygoingness, she froze for a moment, then smugly looked at Ashton. “Ashton, Monica is so understanding.” Ashton said nothing, walking directly to the dining room: “Let’s eat first.” At the dining table, the atmosphere was strange. Clara naturally sat to Ashton’s left—that was originally my seat. I didn’t care at all, cheerfully taking the seat opposite. A maid served breakfast: plain congee and side dishes. Clara took a sip of the congee, then suddenly frowned, clutching her chest and gagging. “What’s wrong?” Ashton asked blandly. “Nothing, it’s just this congee tastes a bit fishy.” Clara leaned weakly towards Ashton: “Ashton, you know, I’m used to Western food from abroad. This kind of Chinese… my stomach isn’t feeling well.” I rolled my eyes inwardly: [Fishy? How could seafood congee not be fishy?] [Who are you putting on an act for? Your stomach isn’t upset, your brain is bubbling.] [If you don’t like it, don’t eat it. Better to starve to death than waste food.] Ashton’s hand, holding the spoon, trembled. He suddenly picked up a spoonful of cilantro, which Clara hated, and placed it in my bowl. “If you don’t like it, don’t force it,” he said to Clara, then turned to me, his tone significant: “Monica isn’t picky. Eat more.” I looked at the pile of green cilantro, my face grim. I nodded tearfully: “Thank you, darling. I love cilantro.” Then, with a look of resignation, I shoved the wad of cilantro into my mouth, swallowing it without even chewing. Inside, I was furious: [Ashton Hall! Damn you!] [You just wait, next time I’ll add something extra to your bowl too!] [I’ll spit in your coffee! Make you drink it like an idiot!] Ashton’s hand, reaching for his coffee, paused mid-air. He looked at the coffee cup, then at my seemingly obedient face. He placed the cup on the table, coffee splashing out. “What’s wrong, Ashton?” Clara jumped. Ashton’s face was livid. He poured the expensive Blue Mountain coffee directly into the nearby trash can. “Not drinking it.” He stood up, looking down at me. His voice squeezed through gritted teeth: “It’s disgusting.” I blinked innocently: [This is enough to be disgusted? He must hate Clara’s perfume. That smell is deadly.] Clara’s face fell, she bit her lip. She seemed utterly wronged: “Ashton, did I do something wrong?” Ashton ignored her, simply dropping a cold remark: “There’s a party tonight. You both come.” With that, he strode away. I wanted to slip away too. Just as I stood up, Clara called me. She dropped her pretense of fragility, her eyes contemptuous, scanning me up and down. “Monica Hall, do you know the caliber of tonight’s party?” She walked over, reaching out to adjust my collar, a familiar gesture. Her voice oozed superiority: “That’s a top-tier event in the Capital Circle, attended by old money families. You, a country bumpkin who’s never even touched a piano, will only embarrass Ashton if you go.” Me: “…” [Oh? Can’t keep up the act anymore?] Clara leaned close to my ear, whispering viciously: “If you know what’s good for you, give up the position of Mrs. Hall.” “Otherwise, tonight I’ll make you lose face in front of all the city’s elites.” I looked at her twisted face and smiled. “Sister is right,” I stepped back, bowing respectfully, “I truly don’t understand anything. I’ll have to rely on sister to look after me tonight.” Inside: [Excellent! Hurry up and make me lose face! The more, the better!] [Hopefully, Ashton will be so embarrassed he’ll divorce me on the spot tonight!] [You said it. If you don’t mess up my divorce plan tonight, you’re a loser!] Clara smiled, satisfied, thinking she had intimidated me. But she didn’t see Ashton, who had already reached the door, suddenly stop. He looked back, his gaze falling on Clara’s smug face. Then he swept his eyes over my demure expression, a cruel curve playing on his lips. “Want a divorce?” he murmured, so softly only the air could hear. “Dream on.” 3 A top-tier private club in the Capital. The lighting was ambient, seductive. Clara, in a designer gown, held a wine glass, intimately walking beside Ashton. I followed demurely behind, playing the part of the long-suffering, overshadowed wife. A group of bejeweled socialites gathered around. Clara smiled gracefully, proactively taking my hand and introducing me to everyone. “This is Monica,” she emphasized, “Though she grew up in the countryside and hasn’t seen much of the world.” “But she’s extremely talented, skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.” A ripple of suppressed laughter spread through the crowd. The socialites whispered, their gazes brazenly scrutinizing me, filled with disdain. Clara then pointed to a vintage harp nearby. Her smile was radiant: “Monica, why don’t you play a tune for everyone to liven things up?” I immediately recoiled, waving my hands frantically. My eyes instantly reddened. “Sister, I really can’t… I’ve never learned the harp,” my voice trembled, fully embodying the self-conscious, timid country girl. Inside, however, I was on fire: [Play what, you idiot!] [I used to be a star DJ at ‘The Nightclub,’ my hand speed was so fast I could spark!] [Even the boss had to light my cigarette!] [What’s a harp? I refuse to play!] [Hurry up and make fun of me! The more the whole room laughs, the better!] [Make Ashton feel like I’ve utterly shamed him, and tonight he’ll sign the divorce papers!] Ashton was holding a wine glass, exchanging pleasantries with someone. Hearing my inner thoughts, his wrist suddenly stiffened. He turned, his gaze fixed on my intertwined hands, which looked tense and helpless. Seeing me motionless, Clara relentlessly walked over, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the harp. “Monica, don’t be shy,” her grip was incredibly strong, her nails almost digging into my flesh. “Even a simple tune is a gesture. Ashton wants to hear it too.” I stumbled, tears almost falling. [Pinching me? You old manipulative witch, you dare pinch me?] [When I get my billion, I’ll hire ten burly women to dance in front of your house every day, deafening you!] Ashton strode forward. He grabbed Clara’s wrist, ruthlessly pulling it away. Clara gasped in pain, her smile freezing. Ashton directly pulled me back behind him, his actions forceful. He coldly scanned the room, his gaze finally settling on Clara’s pale face. “She’s not playing,” his low voice boomed through the noisy hall. Silence instantly descended. “My wife, Mrs. Hall, has delicate hands,” he took out a handkerchief, wiped his hand, and tossed it into a trash can. “Only suitable for counting money, not for playing music to entertain others.” Everyone fell silent. A few socialites who had laughed earlier turned pale. I, hiding behind Ashton, was completely stunned. [What’s gotten into this bastard? He actually stood up for me?] [No, he must be afraid I’d play terribly and embarrass him! Yes, that must be it!] [Capitalists care most about their reputation!] Ashton’s erect back stiffened. He sharply turned to glare at me, his eyes threatening to devour me. I quickly lowered my head, continuing to play the part of a timid quail. Just then, a waiter passed by with a tray, on which lay an intricately carved pure silver cufflink. This cufflink was a distinctive mark of Ashton’s family, rumored to be hand-polished by the top craftsmen of the Hall family, symbolizing the family’s honor and legacy. Only direct core members were allowed to wear it. Clara’s eyes lit up, and she looked at Ashton with tenderness. “Ashton, this cufflink is so beautiful,” her voice was very soft, full of implication. Ashton’s face was expressionless. He picked up the cufflink directly. “You like it?” he asked. Clara shyly lowered her head, extending her hands, ready to receive it. “Thank you, Ashton…” Her words were cut short. Ashton walked directly past her, picked up the cufflink, and tossed it into my lap. The force of it made my chest ache. “Play with it,” Ashton looked down at me, his eyes ruthless. “If it’s not enough, I’ll have someone make you more when we get back.” He leaned close to my ear, his voice barely a whisper. “Don’t spend all your time thinking about those worthless trinkets.” Clara’s hand froze in mid-air. She stared disbelievingly at the cufflink in my lap, her face pale, her lips trembling slightly. All eyes in the room were fixed on me. I clutched the heavy cufflink, my mind a blank. [It’s not for her? It’s for me?] [If we divorce, can this thing be considered my personal property? How much could it sell for?] I hadn’t even had time to mentally appraise it. Clara’s finger trembled, and her goblet tilted. More than half a glass of dark red wine splashed onto my gown, flowing down my collarbone and deep into my neckline.

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Forced to marry the powerful Grant Covington after my twin sister eloped, I faced a double life. By day, as his assistant, he was ruthlessly critical. By night, he was a demanding lover, whispering about my sister’s shortcomings. When she returned, demanding her life back, Grant fired me, accusing me of seduction. I left, taking a fortune from them both. Months later, on a beach, my sobbing sister called. Grant wouldn’t touch her; she begged me to return and have his baby for them. I hung up, one thought lingering: how was a man as insatiable as Grant surviving three months without it? 1 I’m Grant Covington’s executive assistant. And I’m about to quit. Who would’ve thought that the same Mr. Covington who’s the picture of cold, professional restraint by day, turns into an absolute freak in bed at night. During meetings, his long, elegant fingers tap against the polished table, his expression sharp, radiating an almost suffocating pressure. All I can think about is how last night, he was wearing my black silk lingerie, hooking a leg around my waist and purring, “Baby, come on, faster…” “June! Ms. Shaw!” A nudge from my colleague snaps me back. Grant is calling my name. I jump to my feet. “I’m so sorry, sir. I was just…” “You were what? Spacing out during a board meeting? Am I paying you a six-figure salary to daydream?” His face is a mask of disdain. “Do you not sleep at night? You walk in here every day looking like death warmed over. And since when did Apex Global’s dress code permit… that?” I blink, confused, then follow his gaze. He’s staring at the faint purple mark on my neck, a kiss I’d failed to cover completely with my silk scarf. My cheeks burn. “I’m sorry, sir. I…” “I don’t want your excuses,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the silent room. “Let me be clear, Ms. Shaw. If it weren’t for your sister, you wouldn’t have a place here. So you and your boyfriend need to tone it down. I don’t want to see this kind of trashy display in my office again. One more time, and you’re fired.” He slams a file onto the table, ignoring the humiliation burning its way through me, and declares, “Meeting adjourned!” 2 The reprimand stings, but I’m too exhausted to feel much else. I barely slept three hours last night, and my head is pounding. I drift back to my desk in a fog. When lunchtime rolls around, I stumble out of the building and into the luxury apartment next door. From the walk-in closet, I pull out a designer dress and a breathtaking diamond necklace. Under the dim light, the yellow diamond glows like a drop of solidified amber. It’s the one Grant bought for his wife at an auction last month. A ten-million-dollar piece that made the society pages. And now it’s in my hands. I tap it against the table, just to hear the sound. That’s right. I’m the wife he adores. And I’m the assistant he can’t stand. He thinks we’re twin sisters. But it’s always just been me. The “trashy” mark on my neck? He put it there himself. Six months ago, right after I started at Apex Global, my parents summoned me home. My twin sister, Seraphina, had run off with her rocker boyfriend, leaving a void in the arranged marriage with the Covington family. They wanted me to take her place. To marry Grant Covington under her name. “Your sister will regret this one day,” my mother pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “We have to leave a path open for her to come back!” “June, you’ve always had it easy, growing up with us in the city. Seraphina was stuck in that small town with your grandparents. She didn’t even finish high school. Think of this as… paying back a debt you owe her. Please?” She threatened to kill herself. I had no choice but to agree. I figured it would be a marriage of convenience. We’d be polite strangers, like most couples in our circle, living separate lives. And at first, it was. But then, it was like Grant was possessed. He became an insatiable demon in the bedroom, clinging to me every night. If I ever said no, his eyes would turn red-rimmed and wounded. He’d wrap his lean thighs around my waist and whisper hoarsely, “Baby, don’t you love me anymore? Did you find someone else? Don’t leave me… I can’t live without you…” What could I do? He was the one begging for it. So, I reluctantly indulged. At first, it was a thrill. But lately, I just want to castrate him. This past month, I’ve been averaging three hours of sleep a night. The exhaustion is making me sloppy at work, and the constant tongue-lashings are grinding me down. This double life—working for him by day, and working for him by night—is killing me. I run my hands through my hair and collapse onto the bed, my mind a swirling mess. Before I can even begin to think of a way out, I’m dead asleep. 3 An hour later, my alarm shrieks me back to life. Filled with resentment, I force myself through a makeup routine, pin up my hair, and transfer my takeout into a chic bento box. Then, I head back to the office to play the role of the doting wife bringing her husband lunch. He’s on a video call, his brow furrowed as he listens to a report from the European division. When he sees me, he gestures for me to come over and pulls me onto his lap. “What took you so long?” he murmurs into my neck, a hint of a pout in his voice. “I thought you weren’t coming today.” The formal presentation is still playing from his laptop speakers. Even though his camera and mic are off, my face flushes with heat. I try to push him away gently. “You’re still in a meeting. Stop it.” “What’s there to be afraid of? We’re married. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.” “Isn’t it… unprofessional?” I shoot back. He freezes, then his expression darkens. “Did your sister complain to you again?” “She’s just a young woman, Grant. Being yelled at like that in front of everyone… it must have been humiliating. Could you please try to be nicer to her?” Grant goes quiet. After a long moment, he kisses the corner of my mouth. “I know you have a good heart, darling, but don’t you see? She’s trying to be you.” “What?” He unmutes his mic, tells his team to postpone the meeting until the afternoon, then turns back to me. “Even for twins, it’s impossible to have the exact same mannerisms, the same tastes. You love pearls, so she wears pearl earrings every day. You have a bubbly personality, so she practically skips into the office. The way your voice lilts up at the end of a sentence… she does that too. It’s a deliberate, calculated act.” “So you’re saying…” “She’s imitating you to seduce me,” Grant says, his voice laced with conviction. “I’ve seen women like her a thousand times. They use your trust as a weapon to try and steal what’s yours. You’re just too kind to see it. She’s always been jealous of you, and your parents always took her side. You have to be careful, darling.” As he speaks, his fingers trace lazy circles on my waist, his tone that of a worldly husband schooling his naive, sheltered wife. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning. “Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” I manage a weak smile. “June isn’t like that.” “I knew you’d say that,” he sighs, his disappointment palpable. “Baby, I’m the one closest to you. Why do you trust her over me?” I can only force a laugh. I have no words. Thankfully, he drops the subject, giving me a tender kiss before we start eating, with me still perched on his lap. As I leave, he pulls me in for a long, passionate goodbye kiss. I’m barely out of the Apex Global tower, wiping the sticky residue of his lips from mine, when my phone rings. It’s him. The moment I answer, he unleashes a torrent of abuse. “Are you a child? You get scolded and you have to run and tattle to your sister? And what the hell is this quarterly report? It’s riddled with errors! If you can’t do the job, then get out! You’re useless!” For a split second, my face contorts into a mask of pure rage. Then, another call comes through. Fuming, I snap, “I said I’m on my way back, stop calling—” “June.” The voice is soft and familiar. “It’s me. I’m back.” 4 My relationship with my sister is… complicated. We’re twins, but we didn’t grow up together. I was with our parents in the city while they built their business; she was left with our grandparents in a sleepy coastal town. They’ve carried a crushing guilt over it ever since. When they finally brought her to the city, they showered her with affection and demanded I give in to her every whim. Any conflict was met with the same refrain: “You stole the love that should have been hers! You owe her this!” Later, when Seraphina failed to get into a good high school, they shipped her off to a boarding school abroad. I stayed home. We were practically strangers. So, hearing her speak to me with such warm familiarity now feels… wrong. “What do you want?” I ask bluntly. “Mom told me about the situation… with you and Grant.” Realizing her sweet act isn’t working, she cuts to the chase. “Now that I’m back, don’t you think it’s time you returned the title of Mrs. Covington to its rightful owner?” “So you’re back to reclaim your throne? What happened, did the rocker dump you?” “Don’t push it, June!” she hisses, her voice dropping. “And don’t you forget, the only Mrs. Covington the world knows is Seraphina Shaw. You’re just an imposter. Who are you to act so high and mighty?” She has a point. The daughter the Shaws married off, the wife Grant introduced to the world… that was always Seraphina. Sometimes, when Grant was in the mood, he’d whisper her name in my ear, calling me “Sera” or “my sweet Seraphina.” It made my skin crawl. “But I didn’t clean up your mess for free,” I retort. “What does that mean?” “A million dollars. Or we can go have a little chat with Grant and see who he thinks the real Mrs. Covington is.” I say it with a saccharine smile. “A million dollars for the Covington fortune. It’s a bargain, my dear sister.” Because of their guilt, my parents cut me off financially the moment I turned eighteen, funneling all their resources to her. While I was working three jobs to pay for college, she was living it up in Europe. I’m owed a little compensation for my suffering. But as much as they doted on her, they wouldn’t have given her their entire fortune. A million would hurt her. Badly. She hesitates for a long time. “You’re sure? You take the money and you disappear?” “If you don’t trust me, I could just go see…” “Don’t! I’ll give it to you!” she blurts out, her decision made. “But you have to promise you will never, ever show your face in front of Grant again.” I agree instantly. Hanging up, my mood lifts considerably. I wipe off every trace of makeup, change into a simple blouse and skirt, and admire myself in the mirror. I think about Grant’s accusation—that I was imitating her to seduce him—and let out a short, bitter laugh. It’s absurd, but I don’t want any more trouble. I swap my pearl studs for a pair of sapphire ones and pull a long trench coat from the closet, hiding my curves completely before heading back to the office. 5 Seraphina wanted me to quit and move to another city. Not a chance. This was my first real job, one I’d earned after five grueling rounds of interviews. Leaving after only six months would look terrible on my resume. After she failed to persuade me, she resigned herself to just taking my dedicated “wife” phone. She spent a few days at our parents’ house, grilling me for every last detail about my life with Grant, all of which I shared honestly. With my nights finally free, I’ve been sleeping like a baby. I feel human again, greeting my colleagues with a cheerful smile and even buying a round of coffee for the team. When I run into Grant in the elevator, I can even muster a bright, “Good morning, sir!” He, on the other hand, looks like hell. His face is pale and drawn, a sickly white. He never looked this bad, not even after the all-nighters we used to pull. “Sir?” I ask, a flicker of concern rising. “Are you feeling alright?” He doesn’t look at me, his voice a flat line. “None of your business.” “…Right.” I have a productive morning, and I’m just starting to think about lunch when I see Seraphina gliding into the office, carrying an insulated lunch box. She’s fully embraced the gentle, doting wife persona I created, dressed in a pink Chanel suit with a silver butterfly clip in her hair. Her smile is perfectly serene. I watch as she disappears into Grant’s office. It’s been a week since she moved back in. They’ve definitely slept together by now… and even though I never loved Grant, the thought of Seraphina having what was mine makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a bug. I press my fingers to my temples. Just as I’m about to head out, Grant’s line buzzes. “Bring in two coffees.” Grant has a sweet tooth but loves the rich aroma of coffee, so the ratio of sugar to cream is very specific. I prepare them just the way he likes and carry them into his office. Seraphina’s syrupy voice fills the air. “Darling, you have to eat. I made all your favorites.” She sees me and falters for a moment, her composure slipping before she plasters on a smile. “June, what are you doing in here? My husband and I are having lunch.” “Just dropping off the coffee,” I say, wanting to avoid a scene. Grant is still at his desk, so I place one cup there and bring the other to Seraphina on the sofa. She reaches for it, a sly smile touching her lips just as my fingers let go. Then she deliberately tips the cup, sending the scalding liquid cascading over my forearm. The skin instantly turns an angry red, blistering before my eyes. “Oh, June, are you okay?” she cries, her face a mask of frantic concern. “You were so clumsy! Oh, I hope it doesn’t scar.” She looks like she’s about to burst into tears. Grant rushes over, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, it wasn’t your fault… Let’s get you to a hospital,” he says to me. “I’ll cover the medical bills.” “Oh, darling, you’re the best,” Seraphina coos, melting into his embrace. “I feel so terrible. If June scars because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.” Hidden in the safety of his arms, she shoots me a triumphant, mocking smirk. The same one she used a thousand times as a child to manipulate our parents. I just smile back. I leave the office, quickly treat the burn in the breakroom, and then wait by the elevators. When Seraphina emerges, beaming, I beckon her over with a crooked finger. I grab her arm, and without a word, I slap her hard across her perfectly powdered face. “You—” CRACK. The other cheek gets the same treatment. Her face is already swelling, her expression a mixture of shock and fury. “How—how dare you—” “I played along for Grant’s benefit, but I’m not about to take that kind of abuse for free.” I cross my arms, smiling sweetly. “Add another two hundred thousand to the tab. Have it in my account by tonight. And from now on, keep me out of your twisted little games. You really don’t want to piss me off.” Seraphina clutches her face, her eyes burning with a hatred she can’t voice. She knows pushing me too far has consequences. She remembers the pool, three years ago. The feeling of my hands on her head, holding her under the water, the burning in her lungs as she fought for air… If a maid hadn’t screamed, she would have died. My parents may adore her, but I’m their daughter too. She’d never go to the police. She’d just have to swallow it. “Just quit, June,” she says, taking a deep breath. “The world is a big place. Why are you so obsessed with your sister’s husband?” “If you can’t stand the sight of me, then get away from me. Leave the city. Disappear. Wouldn’t that be better for everyone?” It clicks into place instantly. “You’ve been whispering in Grant’s ear.” She just gives me that same challenging smile. I take a deep, shaky breath, a vein throbbing in my forehead. The feeling of being played like this, of being so utterly manipulated—it makes me want to scream. I shove her, hard. And then I turn and storm back into Grant’s office.

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My mother was forced into a divorce. The woman who destroyed our family was my aunt. My mother, who only wanted to keep her child, was coerced into leaving with nothing. On the day of the court hearing, in front of everyone, I announced that I would live with my father. I was twelve years old. My revenge was just beginning. 1 The woman who clawed her way to the top was my mother’s own sister, Isabelle. She was only twenty-six then, with a stunning face and a body that moved with a dancer’s grace. Her eyes held a sly, fox-like charm. A woman like that should have been married, but she wasn’t. The most likely reason was the little girl always at her side—my cousin, whose father was a mystery. My grandparents had worried themselves sick over her. On their deathbeds, they made my mother promise to always look after her “immature” little sister. My mother, honoring their final wish, took Isabelle in, only for Isabelle to crawl into my father’s bed. My mother, a woman of gentle and refined character, couldn’t bear the sight. The betrayal shattered her, and she fell ill. I can still see Isabelle’s tear-streaked face at my mother’s bedside, a pathetic performance of remorse. “Eleanor, I couldn’t help it… I truly couldn’t,” she sobbed. “And… Richard and I… we’ve had feelings for each other for years.” Then, the final blow: “Besides, this isn’t the first time he’s strayed.” A paternity test obliterated the last vestiges of love my mother held for my father. It turned out that my cousin, the girl with the unknown father, was my own half-sister. The double betrayal from her husband and her sister was too much. My mother’s health collapsed. Isabelle was still Isabelle, but I could finally see the wolf hiding beneath the sheep’s clothing. In that moment, it felt as though I grew up overnight. That summer, Isabelle was a constant presence, always weeping, begging my mother to “think of the children” and not make a scene. My mother, believing there might still be a shred of decency in her, considered settling things quietly for my sake. But that wasn’t what Isabelle had in mind. “Just divorce him, Eleanor,” she said, her tone suddenly devoid of tears. “Your daughter has had ten years of a happy family. Isn’t it my Sophie’s turn?” “Sophie, darling, go ask your auntie.” She pushed my five-year-old cousin toward the bed. “Auntie Eleanor, please,” Sophie whimpered, her performance as flawless as her mother’s. “You already have Hope. Can’t you please give me my daddy back?” She even managed to squeeze out real tears. Shameless. Utterly shameless. 2 My mother was cornered, and the shameless vulture knew it. Isabelle quit the job my mother had found for her and moved into our house, refusing to leave until she got what she wanted. “The child is here,” she’d declare, shoving Sophie forward. “Do what you want with us.” “Auntie, please don’t hurt me,” Sophie would wail, her eyes like faucets she could turn on at will. The house filled with the constant noise of a child’s crying and my aunt’s histrionics. It was suffocating. Under this constant assault, my mother’s spirit began to crumble. In the days that followed, I overheard her arguments with my father. The ugly truths they screamed at each other painted a filthy picture of the adult world. Sleep became impossible. I’d wander the halls of our old family mansion at night, a ghost in my own home. My father’s family had been in business for generations, and by his time, we were wealthy. My parents had lived in this house, inherited from my grandparents, since their marriage. It was a beautiful old place, and my father was sentimental about it. When parts of the woodwork began to decay, he’d sooner seal off a room than have it replaced. “This house holds all my childhood memories,” he used to say. “Tearing it down would destroy the soul of this place.” He was a man who cherished the past, and he had always been tender and devoted to my mother. I once dreamed of marrying a man just like him. But with the rose-tinted glasses shattered, the real man was uglier than I could have imagined. One night, I saw him sitting alone at the bar downstairs, nursing a drink. The past few days had aged him. “Richard, why are you still up?” A soft, feminine voice drifted from the shadows. It was her. Isabelle, draped in a pale green silk nightgown, stretched languidly in the dim light, a picture of seductive grace. “Can’t sleep. Care to join me for a drink?” she purred, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a delicate glass in the other. Years later, I would often wonder how my father fell for her trap. The only answer I could ever come to was human weakness. The more focused a person is, the more susceptible they are to distraction. There is no such thing as absolute rationality, especially when temptation is dangled so perfectly. Never fight a battle against human nature. You will always lose. 3 After Sophie’s parentage was revealed, Isabelle moved in for good. My mother grew paler each day, but all she could do was cry. Isabelle, with terrifying speed, put down roots. She replaced the maids and the driver. By the time my mother realized what was happening, she was completely isolated. My father, likely tired of the fighting, retreated to his office, leaving my mother and me alone to face the siege. At the dinner table, Isabelle and Sophie acted like the true mistresses of the house, even taking my mother’s and my seats. “What do you want from me?” my mother finally whispered, her spirit broken. Isabelle just smiled. “I only want a better life for Sophie, Eleanor. You’re a mother. Surely you understand.” Her fox-like eyes twinkled, but there was a coldness in them that was terrifying. The invasion wasn’t limited to my mother. Sophie began her own subtle campaign against me. She decided she liked my room and simply moved in, insisting we share it. After dinner, she would make a show of calling my father’s office, only to hang up abruptly the moment I walked in. “You know, Hope,” she’d say, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “I was always so jealous of you. Every time I visited Grandma’s, you had a new dress.” “I used to wish you’d grow up faster, so I could have your hand-me-downs.” She held up a long, floral dress. “But now, I get new clothes too.” It was my size. Her behavior was bizarre and unsettling, a constant, low-level torture. Finally, my mother couldn’t take it anymore. She sat Isabelle down and demanded to know what it would take for her to leave. I expected a screaming match, a final, ugly confrontation. But what happened next shocked me. “I’m leaving this afternoon. I’ve already bought the tickets,” Isabelle said, her voice crisp and final. My mother was stunned. So was I. “Take care of yourself, Eleanor,” she added. “Are you really…” “Yes. I’m a woman of my word. You couldn’t drag me back here if you begged.” The next day, she and Sophie were gone. It all happened so fast, and the relief was intoxicating. “Hope, darling,” my mother said, her smile weak but genuine. “It’s over now. Everything that happened… it’s in the past.” The past few months had been a nightmare. An autumn breeze blew in through the open window, carrying a chill. The potted plant Isabelle had brought as a gift had grown, its leaves swaying in the wind. Would she really leave so easily? My question was answered three days later. My father, who had been avoiding the house for weeks, came home. He came home to fight with my mother. It turned out Isabelle had filed an anonymous tip with the SEC. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I’m in?” he roared. “If my friend on the inside hadn’t warned me, I’d be ruined! Can you just stay away from your sister? All you do is cause problems!” He was genuinely terrified. So terrified that he’d completely forgotten why Isabelle had come to our house in the first place. Defeated, my mother called her. Isabelle didn’t answer all day. Late that night, the phone finally rang. “You were looking for me, Eleanor?” “What do you want, Isabelle? Where are you? Let’s just talk this out.” “So you’re asking me to come back? Is that it? Fine. Then we do this on my terms. A divorce. You get to keep your child. Nothing else.” Compared to my mother’s strained, anxious voice, Isabelle’s was light and airy. In the dead of night, it sounded otherworldly, like a death sentence whispered by a demon. It was the sound of my mother suffocating. 4 The result was exactly what Isabelle had demanded: a divorce. My mother left with nothing. My father, in a magnanimous gesture, said my mother could take me with her. He understood the bond between a mother and child, he said. Left with nothing? Even at my age, I understood what that meant. Isabelle wanted my mother out on the street, without a penny of the family fortune that was rightfully half hers. My mother could have sued, could have charged my father with bigamy, but she didn’t want me to have a father with a criminal record. She chose to endure it. I begged her to fight. I didn’t care about my father’s reputation. But she insisted I was too young to understand the consequences. So, at the custody hearing, as the judge made his final ruling, I looked my mother in her shocked, disbelieving eyes and chose my father. I had to protect her. She couldn’t be left destitute. Because she didn’t get custody of me, she was forced to renegotiate the settlement. In the end, she walked away with a small but significant portion of my father’s assets. My courtroom stunt had thrown Isabelle for a loop. Her perfect plan was marred by my sudden defiance. But she recovered quickly. “You can still call me Aunt Isabelle, if you like,” she told me later, a triumphant smile on her face. “Or whatever you prefer.” “In this house, you call people by their proper titles,” my father interjected, already completely under her spell. “Then Hope can call me Mom, just like I do,” Sophie chimed in, her eyes wide and innocent. After my mother left, I saw the full extent of Isabelle’s cunning. When it came to understanding my father, my mother never stood a chance. My mother’s concern was that of a wife; Isabelle’s was that of an employee managing her boss. She could manipulate his moods with ease, making her requests at the perfect moment. She was like the proverbial frog in boiling water, slowly tightening her control. For my father, she provided emotional validation. For me, she provided endless psychological abuse. She would parade their “happy family” in front of me, then mock me viciously the moment my father was out of sight. But I had learned to control myself. When things became unbearable, I would visit my mother. As long as I had her, I could endure anything. For her, I had the courage to persist. Isabelle would grow old. I would grow up. One day, I would be strong enough to protect my mother. With that goal in mind, I threw myself into my studies. I excelled, winning awards and competitions. But it wasn’t long before Isabelle, under the guise of “concern for my health,” began to cut back my extracurricular classes. With no way to pay for them myself, I had to give up the things I loved. Sophie, meanwhile, took my place, becoming the star pupil of my former teachers. Even then, Isabelle worried I was “overworking my brain.” The year I started high school, she took an uncharacteristic interest in my grades. Without my consent, she changed my academic track from humanities, which I loved, to science. “It’s for your own good,” she’d say after every blow, smiling that serene, chilling smile. I watched as faint crow’s feet appeared around her eyes, but the cruelty in them only sharpened with time. I knew she was only holding back because she hadn’t yet secured the ultimate prize. Six months into the school year, I heard the news. “Hope,” Sophie announced, her voice filled with glee. “I’m going to have a baby brother.” This time, she didn’t even bother with the pretense of “we.” It was her brother. I later found out Isabelle was already seven months along. Despite her age, she had been meticulous, and the pregnancy was stable.

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My husband, a pilot, had to work on New Year’s Eve. So I decided to surprise him, secretly booking tickets for me and our daughter on his flight. In business class, our daughter hugged her doll and asked brightly, “Mommy, can I go see Daddy fly the plane?” Before I could answer, the woman in the next seat laughed. “Is the little one’s dad a pilot?” I nodded. “What a coincidence! My husband’s a pilot too,” she said, beaming. “But he’s an ace captain. Promoted ahead of everyone, even though he’s so young!” Looking at her proud expression, I offered a small smile. “My husband works hard, too. He’s finally earned his position.” A few moments later, my husband’s deep, steady voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking…” A warmth spread through my chest, but then the woman leaned closer. “That’s my husband,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Doesn’t he have a wonderful voice?” My entire body went rigid. The woman then casually flicked her wrist, showing off a luxury watch. “He felt so bad he couldn’t be with me on New Year’s, so he spent all of last night making it up to me. He gave me this and insisted I fly with him today to keep him company.” My eyes locked on the watch. I recognized it instantly. It was the promotion gift I’d given my husband just two days ago…

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At five, I ran away. My stepmother said, “Your mother is dead. This house doesn’t want you.” My stepsister tossed my toys, calling me a stray. My dad? In a meeting, phone off. I packed my bag with my eight dollars and started a livestream, as Mom taught me. “Hi, I’m Molly Geller, five. My mommy’s dead, my daddy doesn’t want me. I’m running away. Can you talk to me?” Viewers jumped from zero to a hundred thousand. Comments exploded: “Whose child is this?!” “Call the police!” “Wait, isn’t that Riverside Estates behind her? A Geller Corp project? And her last name is Geller?!” That night, the whole internet searched for Molly Geller. My father faced a press mob: “Is it true your daughter ran away?” “Your new wife is seen abusing her online, any comment?” “Your daughter says you abandoned her. What do you say?” I saw his face then—pale as paper. 1. I Decided to Run Away My name is Molly Geller, and I’m five years old. Mommy gave me my name. Molly, like a little sprout, she’d say. She hoped I would be tenacious like a blade of grass, able to grow anywhere. But now, Mommy is dead. Three months ago, a big truck took her away. And just like that, I went from being my mommy’s daughter to the Geller family’s “stray.” The Geller house is huge. It has a garden, a swimming pool, and so, so many rooms. Mine is the smallest one, at the very end of the hall. The window looks out onto a brick wall, so I have to keep the light on even during the day. My stepmother calls it the “guest room.” But I’ve been a guest for three months. The real daughter, Sophie, is eight, three years older than me. Her room is across the hall. Her window overlooks the garden, where the sun is so bright it could give you a tan. Every day, she tells me the same thing: “This is my house. You’re just a stray. What gives you the right to live here?” I never know how to answer. Because she’s right. This isn’t my home. My home used to be a tiny forty-square-foot apartment. But Mommy always made my little bed so soft, and she’d leave a piece of candy on my pillow. She’d kiss my forehead and whisper, “Goodnight, my love.” That little bed is gone now. Sold for forty dollars. Stepmother said it brought bad luck. Today is my birthday. My fifth birthday. When I woke up, I tied my hair in pigtails in front of the mirror. Mommy taught me how—two little sprouts, one on each side. Super cute. I didn’t do a very good job. One is higher than the other. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t see them anyway. Pigtails tied, I put on my little backpack. It’s pink with a little white bunny on it, a gift from Mommy. Inside, I have the eight dollars I’ve saved for three months, a picture of my mom, and a piece of candy—the last one she ever gave me. I haven’t been able to bring myself to eat it. I opened my door and went downstairs. At the top of the stairs, I heard my stepmother on the phone. “Yes, the party tonight is all arranged. Sophie will wear that little Chanel princess dress… That stray? Don’t worry about her. Just make sure she stays in her room. We can’t have her embarrassing us.” I waited on the landing until she hung up, then continued down. Stepmother frowned when she saw me. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Out to play,” I said. “Play? The house is busy today. Don’t go running around.” She waved her hand dismissively, like she was shooing a fly. “Go back to your room.” I didn’t move. “Ma’am,” I said, looking up at her. “Today is my birthday.” Stepmother paused for a second, then laughed. It was the same smile she always wore for guests, but since we were alone, it looked different. Wrong. “Your birthday?” She looked me up and down. “What birthday? Your mother’s dead. Who’s going to celebrate with you?” “I’ll celebrate by myself,” I said. This time, she laughed even louder. “Fine, you do that. Now get out of here. You’re in the way.” I started for the front door. Halfway there, a voice called from upstairs. “Hey, stray!” I looked up. It was Sophie, still in her pajamas, her hair a mess. “What’s that in your hand?” I clutched my backpack tighter. “It’s my backpack.” “Let me see it.” I stayed put. She stormed down the stairs, grabbed the strap of my bag, and yanked. She was bigger than me, and the backpack was ripped from my hands. She unzipped it and dumped everything onto the floor. Eight dollars in coins scattered everywhere. My mommy’s picture landed face down. And the candy rolled under the sofa. “Is that all?” Sophie sneered. “Pathetic.” She picked up the photo. “Who’s this? Your mom? She’s ugly.” “Give it back,” I said. She ignored me, holding the photo high above her head. “Come and get it. If you can reach it, it’s yours.” I jumped, but I couldn’t reach. I jumped again. Still too short. At eight years old, she was a whole head taller than me. “Can’t get it, can you? Haha!” She laughed and ran outside. “Catch me if you can!” I chased her out, through the yard, into the garden, all the way to the edge of the swimming pool. She stood there, dangling the photo of my mom. “Call me ‘big sister.’ Say it, and I’ll give it back.” I didn’t say anything. “You won’t, huh?” Her hand opened. The photograph fluttered down, landed on the water’s surface, and slowly began to sink. I froze. It was the only picture I had of my mommy. She hated having her picture taken. This was from my third birthday, at the park. In the photo, Mommy was smiling so happily, holding me, making a peace sign for the camera. Now it was at the bottom of the pool, the image blurring. “You give me back my mommy!” I screamed, shoving her with all my might. Sophie lost her balance and fell backward onto the ground. She stared at me for a second, then burst into tears. Stepmother rushed out of the house. “What happened?! What’s wrong?!” Sophie pointed at me. “She pushed me! She tried to drown me!” Stepmother’s face turned black with rage. She lunged forward, grabbed me by the collar, and lifted me off the ground like a kitten. “What do you think you’re doing?! You dare touch my daughter?!” I dangled from her grip, my feet kicking in the air, struggling to breathe. “My mom… my mom’s picture… she threw it in…” “I don’t care about some stupid picture!” she shrieked, throwing me to the ground. “You listen to me. Your mother is dead, and this house doesn’t welcome you! If you want to stay, you behave. If not, then get out!” I landed hard on the stone patio. Pain shot through my knee, and tears welled in my eyes. But I didn’t cry. Mommy said crying doesn’t help. You have to be strong. I pushed myself up, brushed the dirt off my clothes, and walked to the edge of the pool. I stared at the photo, a faint shape at the bottom. The water was too deep. I couldn’t reach it. Sophie was still wailing. Stepmother was hugging her, cooing and cursing at me. I stood there for a moment, then turned and went back inside. I picked up my coins, one by one, and put my empty backpack on. Then I walked out the front door. No one stopped me. At the gate, I glanced back. Stepmother was still comforting Sophie. She hadn’t even looked my way. The gate was huge and ornate, black iron with gold filigree. I pushed it open and stepped through. A long road stretched out before me, lined with villas even bigger than ours. I didn’t know which way to go. But Mommy always said, just keep walking forward. You’ll always find a path. 2. I Started a Live Stream After about ten minutes, my legs got tired. I sat down on a small planter by the side of the road, hugging my backpack. The sun was warm on my skin. A little cat was napping nearby, its eyes squeezed shut, looking perfectly content. I remembered what my mom taught me. “Molly, if you ever get lost, or if you run into a bad person, you open this.” She had pointed to an icon on my phone. “It’s called a live stream. You press it, and people will be able to see you. You have to tell them who you are, where you are, and what’s wrong. People will help you.” That’s what she said. I took out my little phone—the one she left me. It was old, with a crack across the screen, but it still worked. I tapped the icon. My face appeared on the screen, pigtails and all, one high, one low. I looked into the camera and said: “Hi, Misters and Misses. My name is Molly Geller, and I’m five years old. My mommy is dead, and my daddy doesn’t want me anymore. I’m going to be a runaway now. Can you talk to me so I’m not lonely?” In the corner of the screen, the number of viewers changed from 0 to 1. Someone was here. A comment floated across the screen: ??? Another viewer joined. Whose kid is this? Why is she all alone on the street? And another. Little girl, where are your parents? I read the comments and answered them one by one. “I don’t have parents anymore. My mommy’s dead, and my daddy… my daddy doesn’t want me.” “I’m at… I don’t know where this is. There are lots of big houses.” “I have my backpack, with eight dollars inside. I’m going to be a runaway.” More and more comments started to appear. OMG this poor baby! Someone call the police! Can anyone get a location?! Wait a second, that villa behind her… isn’t that the Riverside Estates? The Riverside Estates? Isn’t that a Geller Corporation development? Geller Corp? As in, Richard Geller’s company? What did she say her name was? Molly… Geller? Her last name is Geller?! I looked down at the screen. I didn’t know a lot of the words. But I knew they were talking about me. “Geller Corporation is my daddy’s company,” I said. “My daddy’s name is Richard Geller.” The chat exploded. ????? Richard Geller?! The real estate tycoon?! Wait wait wait, doesn’t Richard Geller only have one daughter? The one who was in that magazine, Sophie something? That’s his stepdaughter! Is this one his biological kid? That can’t be right, Richard Geller’s first wife died, right? I remember seeing it in the news… Is this kid telling the truth? I was a little confused. The comments were moving too fast for me to read. But I saw one: Sweetie, what’s your dad’s phone number? I can try calling him for you. I thought for a moment and recited a string of numbers. I had memorized it. Mommy taught me to call it if I was ever in trouble. But every time I called, it just said, “The number you have dialed is currently busy.” It never went through. A comment appeared: I called it! It’s ringing! No answer! Another one: Keep calling! Don’t stop! I watched the number of viewers on my screen climb. 17 people. 35 people. 82 people. 196 people. It just kept growing. A man in the chat said: Little one, don’t move. I’m calling the police for you. An officer will be there soon. “Okay,” I said. “Thank you, Mister.” A woman wrote: Molly, are you hungry? Are you thirsty? I touched my tummy. “I’m hungry.” I hadn’t eaten anything all day. There’s a convenience store! Do you see it? With the blue sign! I stood up and looked. There it was, a little store with a bright blue sign shining in the sun. “I see it.” Go there! I’m ordering you a delivery! Just wait! I didn’t know what a “delivery” was, but I did as she said and walked toward the store. A kind-looking woman was standing behind the counter. She looked surprised to see me. “Are you all by yourself, sweetie?” I nodded. “Where are your parents?” I thought for a moment. “I don’t have any.” Her expression softened, and she didn’t say anything else. I sat down on a little bench outside the store and waited for the “delivery.” The stream was still running. The comments kept flying by. I just followed her! This is heartbreaking! Took a screenshot! Posting to social media! Get more eyes on this! People are already spamming the Geller Corp official accounts! Go upvote! I didn’t understand most of it, but I knew they were trying to help me. The delivery really came. A young man in a yellow uniform pulled up on an electric scooter, holding a bag. “Who’s Molly Geller?” I stood up. “That’s me.” The man handed me the bag, his brow furrowed. “Are you all by yourself, kid?” “Mhm.” He knelt down and lowered his voice. “Did someone hurt you?” I didn’t know how to answer that. The chat went wild. Way to go, delivery guy! Get the details! Ask her where she is! Look at her eyes! Her expression! Something definitely happened to her! The delivery man glanced at my phone and saw the comments scrolling by. He blinked. “Are you live streaming?” I nodded. His expression grew more and more serious as he read the chat. “Okay, kid. You stay right here. I’ll wait with you for the police.” I nodded. The bag smelled so good. Inside was a hamburger and a can of Coke. I sat on the bench outside the convenience store, taking small bites. Someone in the chat commented: Look at the way she’s eating. She was starving. Another wrote: My heart is breaking for this little girl. And another: Richard Geller is human garbage! I’m going to his social media page right now to tear him a new one! The delivery man was squatting next to me, watching the stream on his own phone. After a moment, he looked up. “Kid,” he said. “You’re famous.” 3. The Whole Internet Was Looking for Me I didn’t know what “famous” meant. But I knew that more and more people were showing up outside the convenience store. First, it was a woman, filming me with her phone. Then, a group of teenagers, pointing and whispering from a distance. And then, a white car with red and blue flashing lights pulled up. The police were here. A tall, thin police officer walked over and knelt in front of me. “Are you Molly Geller, little one?” I nodded. “Did you come out here all by yourself?” I nodded again. He looked around, then glanced at my phone. “Can I see your phone for a second, sweetie?” I handed it to him. He looked at the comments scrolling across the screen, and his expression changed. “Okay, little one. How about you come back to the station with me? It’s too hot out here.” “Do you have food at the station?” I asked. He paused for a second, then smiled. “Yes. We have food.” I stood up, dusted off my shorts, and followed him to the police car. The delivery man in the yellow uniform ran over and pressed a slip of paper into my hand. “Here’s my number, kid. Call me if you need anything.” I took the paper and said thank you. As the police car pulled away, I looked out the window. A huge crowd was standing outside the convenience store, all of them holding up their phones, filming me. The kind woman from inside the store was standing in the doorway, wiping her eyes. “Why is that lady crying?” I asked the police officer. He was quiet for a moment. “Because she feels bad for you.” “I don’t need anyone to feel bad for me,” I said. “I just need my mommy’s picture.” And then I remembered. My mommy’s picture was still in the swimming pool. “Mister,” I said, tugging on his sleeve. “Can you take me to get my mommy’s picture?” “What picture?” he asked. “My mommy’s picture. My sister threw it in the swimming pool.” He froze. He exchanged a look with the officer who was driving. Then he took out his phone, looked at something, and his face became very complicated. “Sweetie, does your dad… does he know you’re out here?” “No,” I said. “He never answers my calls.” He fell silent again. We drove for a little while and stopped in front of a small building with a sign that said “Police.” I followed the officer inside. It was full of people. Some were in uniform, some were in regular clothes, and some were holding big cameras. The moment I walked in, everyone turned to look at me. A woman officer rushed over and knelt in front of me, taking my hand. “You must be Molly. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Cold?” I shook my head. “I just had a hamburger.” She paused, then shot a glare at the people with the cameras. “Who let you in here? Get out! Don’t scare the child!” The men with the cameras backed out of the room. The officer led me into a small office, sat me on a sofa, and brought me a glass of water and a box of cookies. “Molly, can I ask you a few questions?” I nodded. “What’s your name and how old are you?” “Molly Geller. Five.” “What’s your mother’s name?” “Lily Reed.” The officer wrote in her notebook. “And your father?” “Richard Geller.” Her hand paused. “Are you sure?” I nodded. She was quiet for a few seconds. “Why did you leave home by yourself today? Where’s your mother?” “My mommy’s dead,” I said. “A big truck hit her three months ago.” The officer’s eyes grew red around the edges. “And… who do you live with at home?” “My stepmother, and my sister.” “Are they nice to you?” I thought about it, but I didn’t know what to say. The officer looked at my face and seemed to understand. She stood up, went outside, and spoke quietly with some of the other officers. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they all looked very serious. A little while later, she came back. “Molly, are you hungry?” “I just ate.” “Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap?” I was a little sleepy. I had woken up very early, walked for a long time, and my tummy was full. I nodded. The officer led me to a small room next door. There was a little bed with clean sheets. “You can sleep here. I’ll be right outside. Just call if you need anything.” I lay down on the bed, hugging my little backpack. Inside was my eight dollars, and my mommy’s picture… No. My mommy’s picture was gone. My sister threw it in the pool. Suddenly, I wanted to cry. But I didn’t. Mommy said crying doesn’t help. You have to be strong. I closed my eyes. Just before I fell asleep, I heard people talking outside. “…it’s the number one trending topic on social media…” “…the Geller Corp official page is getting destroyed…” “…has he responded yet?” “…their PR team is trying to bury it, but they can’t…” I didn’t understand it all. But I knew they were talking about me.

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