When Arthur’s car blocked the neighbor’s driveway, I grabbed the spare key to move it. He had just left for a three-day conference in the capital. Sitting in the driver’s seat, the navigation screen was still illuminated, displaying his recent history. One specific address was repeatedly searched and even saved as a favorite. “Mia’s Cozy Nest: Moonbay View, Building 7, Unit 1, Apt 901.” I swiped the screen, my fingertips turning icy. For the past six months, there were consistent records of him driving there, always with return trips past midnight. And yet, he had told me he’d been busy with late-night work dinners lately. I took pictures of all the records and dialed my father-in-law’s number. “Dad, Arthur has been going to the Moonbay View area a lot recently. Do we have any relatives living there?” The line was silent for a few seconds before my father-in-law’s tense voice came through: “Don’t panic. I’ll be right there.” … Less than half an hour later, the doorbell rang frantically. My father-in-law stood outside. Usually impeccably dressed in his suit, today, his collar buttons were fastened incorrectly. “Where is he?” His sharp eyes scanned me. I handed him my phone, the screen facing him directly. “Moonbay View, Building 7, Unit 1, Apt 901. Dad, do you know where this is?” “Arthur said he had work dinners every Wednesday and Friday.” My father-in-law’s eyes fell on the screen, and his face instantly turned a sickly green. He didn’t reply, but his hand trembled imperceptibly. “Maybe… it’s a colleague’s house. There are a lot of young people at his company…” “Dad,” I retrieved the phone and looked straight into his eyes. “Do you honestly think any male colleague would name their home ‘Mia’s Cozy Nest’?” It was as if all the strength had been drained from him. He slumped onto the shoe bench, raising a hand to cover his eyes. “That bastard!” His voice was hoarse. “His mother mentioned something last month, saying he was getting too close to a female colleague…” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “Chloe! It’s my fault for not raising him right! I’ll handle this for you!” “Dad, this isn’t something you can fix now.” I pulled out a tissue and handed it to him. “I want an explanation.” “What are you planning to do?” He suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “If this gets out, his career is completely ruined!” “Why didn’t he think about his career when he was doing it?” My voice was ice-cold. “Don’t worry, I won’t go to his office and make a scene.” I walked over to the balcony. The city lights were just starting to flicker on. “Didn’t he go to a conference? Perfect. I have some time to pay a visit to this ‘Mia’.” “No!” My father-in-law immediately stood up, blocking my path. “It’s too dangerous for you to go alone! That kind of woman is capable of anything!” “Is she going to eat me alive?” I looked at him. “Dad, I’m not going there to pick a fight. I just want to see it with my own eyes, so I can completely give up hope.” He stared at me, his expression complex. Finally, he let out a long sigh and released my wrist. “Fine, if you’re going, I’ll go with you! I want to see exactly what kind of trash she is!” “You can’t go.” I stopped him. “If you go, is it to clean house on the spot, or to plead for leniency on his behalf?” “Either way, it’ll only escalate things and make him feel we haven’t left him any dignity.” “Then what do we do? Just watch helplessly?” “What does Arthur care about the most? His reputation, and his position as Deputy Director.” I took out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. “What do you think would happen if I sent an anonymous package with these navigation records and that address to the ethics committee?” “Don’t you dare!” My father-in-law snatched my phone away. “Do you want to ruin his entire life?” “He’s the one who ruined my life first!” I stared intently into his eyes. “Dad, tell me, if his rival, Gary, got his hands on this information,” “Could Arthur still keep his Deputy Director seat?” My father-in-law’s face instantly went deathly pale. His grip loosened, and the phone dropped onto the sofa. I picked it up and put it back in my pocket. Chapter 2 “I won’t actually send it, but Arthur needs to realize that his most prized possession is currently in jeopardy.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” “Moonbay View.” I opened the door. “Don’t worry, I won’t go inside.” “I just want to know the name of the owner of Building 7, Unit 1, Apt 901.” “And then?” “And then, I also found something else in his car.” I paused. “A receipt for prenatal multivitamins, bought at a pharmacy last month.” “What?” My father-in-law shot up, barely able to stand. “Chloe, you… explain clearly.” I pulled up the photo of the crumpled receipt and showed it to him. “Last month, he told me he was accompanying his boss on an out-of-town inspection trip.” “Dad, tell me, who was he really accompanying to a prenatal checkup?” Looking at the photo, my father-in-law stood frozen, unable to utter a single word. I stepped out, leaving his heavy breathing behind the closed door. The metallic elevator doors reflected my expressionless face, but my eyes were terrifyingly cold. My phone chimed. It was a message from Arthur: “Honey, arrived at the hotel. This conference is very important; I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.” I slowly replied: “Okay. I have some good news to tell you too.” Charging into Moonbay View unprepared would only alert the snake in the grass. I dialed my sister, Sarah’s, number. “Sarah, Arthur might be seeing someone.” The line went dead silent: “Do you have proof? That bastard!” I told her about the navigation records and the receipt. “Send me the address. I’ll get someone to run a background check on the owner, pull property management records, check everything possible.” “Okay.” “What’s your plan? A direct confrontation?” “No,” I said, “We will confront him, but not yet.” “I need to know who this woman is and if he’s been hiding assets.” “When I kick him out, I’m going to make sure he leaves with absolutely nothing.” My sister chuckled on the other end: “That’s my girl, Chloe! Leave this to me.” “I’ll get you the owner’s info, access logs, and financial statements, clear as day.” “Hold your ground. Don’t let him suspect a thing.” “He’ll be back in three days.” “More than enough time. Wait for my update.” Hanging up, I walked back into the living room. My father-in-law was still sitting there, looking like he had aged ten years. “Chloe…” “Dad,” I cut him off. “Stay out of this, and don’t tip Arthur off. I’ll handle it myself.” He opened his mouth to speak, but then waved his hand dismissively, his face etched with exhaustion. For the rest of the day, I acted as if nothing had happened, even cooking dinner as usual. My father-in-law barely ate, his eyes constantly darting toward me. In the afternoon, my sister’s message arrived. “Got it. The owner is Mia Sullivan, 26, single.” “She’s a Deputy Director at a partner company working with Arthur’s department.” “Parking lot footage: every Wednesday and Friday night.” “Mia’s red Macan is parked right next to Arthur’s car. The times match perfectly.” Several blurry but discernible screenshots from the surveillance cameras followed. It was Arthur! And a photo of Mia, clinging to his arm, smiling radiantly. I replied: “Keep digging, especially regarding the money.” I decided to go see Moonbay View for myself. I told my father-in-law I was going for a walk. He nodded, his expression complicated. Arriving at the complex entrance, I parked my car on the street. Not long after, a flashy red Macan pulled up. The window rolled down, revealing Mia. She had exquisite makeup on and seemed to be talking to someone on the phone, a smirk playing on her lips. Sitting in my car, watching her disappear into the underground parking entrance, my blood ran cold. I texted my sister: “I saw her. Track their joint expenses, especially any money he’s transferred out behind my back.” My sister replied quickly: “Don’t worry! I’ll dig everything up! Are you… holding up okay?” I typed two words: “I’m fine.” When your heart dies, your mind actually becomes clearer. Now, it’s their turn to suffer. Chapter 3 I drove home expressionlessly. My father-in-law immediately came to meet me. “Chloe, did you… see her?” “Yeah, I saw her car.” I changed my shoes, my voice flat. “I’m tired. I’m not going to eat.” I walked into the bedroom, locked the door, and let myself collapse onto the bed. Tears flowed freely onto the pillow. For these five years of marriage; For the innocent ones kept in the dark; For the promise of a lifetime together that I once believed would come true. When I had cried myself dry, I got up and splashed my face with cold water. The woman in the mirror had bloodshot eyes. I told myself: Chloe, this is it. Tears are useless. He would be back in two days. I turned on my laptop and started organizing everything. Navigation screenshots, owner information, surveillance photos, pictures of Mia… Everything encrypted and backed up. My sister’s messages kept pouring in. “Found out they frequently visit a high-end sushi restaurant. Every Wednesday or Friday, there’s a record of Arthur’s spending.” “Mia posted a watch on her social media. It’s the same model as the one you gave Arthur last year, just a different color.” “The purchase date matches.” “No hotel records. Looks like their long-term love nest is that apartment at Moonbay View.” “Working on breaching his bank statements now. He’s very cautious.” Looking at all this, my heart was numb. This wasn’t a momentary lapse in judgment; this was a meticulously maintained second life, a second home. The next day, under the guise of organizing his documents, I entered his study. Hidden in a compartment of his old briefcase, I found a USB drive I didn’t recognize. Plugging it into the computer, there was only one encrypted folder. I called my sister, and she immediately got someone to hack it remotely. Half an hour later, the folder opened. Inside were transaction records for a stock account. My sister’s call came in immediately, her voice suppressing anger: “Arthur used a joint investment account we set up after marriage and cashed out over $900,000 over the past six months!” “The funds went through several third-party accounts before finally landing in Mia’s!” “He used that money for the down payment on the Moonbay View apartment! The apartment is solely in Mia’s name!” Gripping the mouse, I was shaking with rage. Nine hundred thousand dollars! That was the money we had planned to use to upgrade to a bigger house! I was completely and utterly disillusioned with him. That evening, I went to the supermarket and bought the freshest ingredients. My father-in-law watched me carry in bags of groceries: “Chloe…?” “Arthur comes back tomorrow. I’m making a welcome-home dinner,” I said calmly. His lips moved, his cloudy eyes looking at me with a mix of guilt and helplessness. All the pieces were in place. The evidence, the lawyer, and my dead heart. Welcome home, Arthur. The next afternoon, Arthur returned. I got busy in the kitchen. The aroma of sweet and sour spare ribs filled the house. The dining table was set with several of his favorite dishes. My father-in-law sat in the living room, silently reading the newspaper. His eyes kept darting toward the kitchen, unable to sit still. The sound of a key turning came from the entryway. “Honey, Dad, I’m home!” Arthur dragged his suitcase in, sporting a travel-weary but eager smile. He changed his shoes and walked straight to the kitchen, opening his arms to hug me from behind. I happened to pick up a plate of food and turned around, perfectly dodging him. I wore a flawless smile: “You’re back? Go wash your hands, dinner’s ready.” He seemed to pause for a second, but my movement was so natural he didn’t think much of it. “Alrighty! My wife is the best!” He smiled and walked toward the dining table, reaching out to grab a spare rib. “Wash your hands first.” My tone was gentle, betraying nothing unusual. “Yes, yes, ma’am!” He went to the bathroom in an excellent mood. My father-in-law stood up and silently helped serve the rice, not looking at his son once. At the dinner table, the atmosphere was bizarrely harmonious. Arthur was starving. He ate heartily while talking non-stop about the “amusing anecdotes” from the conference, full of vivid details and solid logic. I listened quietly, smiling, nodding, and serving him food, playing the role of the perfect wife. My father-in-law barely touched his chopsticks, just keeping his head down and sipping soup. When dinner was over, Arthur leaned back in his chair with satisfaction. “I’m so full! Home-cooked meals are the best!” He looked at me, his eyes full of warmth. “Thanks for your hard work, honey.” I put down my chopsticks, picked up a napkin, and slowly wiped my mouth. The smile on my face faded away bit by bit. I looked straight at him. “Full?” I asked, my voice very soft. “Hmm? Yeah, I’m full.” He noticed the change in atmosphere, and his expression slowly grew serious. “If you’re full, let’s talk.” “Talk about what?” “Let’s talk about Moonbay View.” I looked at him. “Building 7, Unit 1, Apt 901.” The smile on Arthur’s face froze, like a wax statue instantly solidifying. The warmth in his eyes rapidly faded, replaced by a flash of panic, which he quickly forced down. “What are you talking about?” He tried to cover it up with a lighthearted tone, reaching out to put his arm around my shoulder. “What bay? I just came back from a conference, and my wife has already learned how to speak gibberish?” I shifted slightly, dodging his touch. “Arthur, drop the act.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it echoed clearly in the dead-silent dining room. “I saw the navigation history. ‘Mia’s Cozy Nest,’ the first address in your favorites. Very thoughtful.” All the color drained from his face instantly. Beside him, my father-in-law slammed his teacup onto the table. Scalding tea splashed out, but he remained completely oblivious. “You bastard! Explain yourself!” My father-in-law’s cane struck the floor hard, making a dull thud. Arthur’s gaze darted back and forth between my icy face and his father’s furious one, beads of fine sweat breaking out on his forehead. He knew denial was useless now. “Dad, Chloe, listen to me…” He stood up urgently. “It’s not what you think! Mia… Mia is just a colleague from a partner company. It’s not easy for her, striving alone in the big city. She got sick, and I… I just dropped by to check on her, to help out a little!” He sounded guilty even to himself, his voice growing quieter. “Dropped by?” I sneered, taking my phone from my pocket. I opened the photo album and placed a surveillance screenshot in front of him. In the photo, he was intimately holding a young woman’s arm as they walked into the lobby of Moonbay View. “Every Wednesday and Friday, you just ‘dropped by’? And every time, you ‘dropped by’ until midnight before coming home? Arthur, do you think I’m an idiot?” Arthur stared at the photo, his pupils shrinking violently, completely speechless. He probably never imagined that in just three short days, I would have gathered so much evidence. “You… you investigated me?” Ashamed and angry, his voice involuntarily rose, trying to regain control by questioning me. “You know exactly what you’ve done,” I didn’t back down, meeting his gaze. “I…” He was momentarily lost for words, looking to his father for help. My father-in-law was trembling with anger, pointing a trembling finger at him, unable to speak. “Arthur, how could you do this to Chloe? How has our family ever wronged you?” Arthur took a deep breath, seemingly deciding to throw caution to the wind. He pulled out a chair and sat down, his tone carrying a hint of impatience: “Fine, I admit it, I am with her. But Chloe, we’ve been married for five years, do you even know what passion is? Life is like a stagnant pool; I needed some excitement, is that a crime? I never thought about divorce; I still want this family!” “Family?” I felt like I had heard the biggest joke in the world. “You built a ‘cozy nest’ outside, and you’re talking to me about family?” “It was just… a moment of weakness!” He argued. “A mistake any man could make, do you really have to blow this out of proportion?” “A mistake any man could make?” I slowly stood up, walked over to him, and looked down at him. My shadow completely enveloped him. “So, accompanying her to a prenatal checkup and buying her pregnancy multivitamins, are those also mistakes any man could make?” I enunciated every word, my voice clear and ruthless. Arthur jerked his head up, his eyes filled with disbelief and terror. He looked as if he had been struck by lightning, frozen stiff. My father-in-law’s hand, leaning on the table, gave way, and he fell backward. Luckily, he was caught by the back of the chair, preventing him from falling to the floor. He gasped for air, pointing at Arthur, his face full of despair. “You… you animal!” Chapter 5 The air seemed to freeze. Arthur’s face turned from pale to a sickly, ashen gray. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. That face, which I was once so intimately familiar with, was now written with panic and disgrace. He knew the last shred of his cover had been ripped away. “Chloe… I…” His Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice as raspy as sandpaper. “I was wrong… give me one more chance. I’ll break it off with her, I’ll break it off with her right now!” He shot up, trying to grab my hand, forcing a look of remorse onto his face. I took a step back, avoiding him. “A chance?” I looked at him, my eyes devoid of any emotion. “From the moment you took the money we had saved for a new house and transferred it out, transaction by transaction, to buy her that ‘cozy nest,’ your chances were used up.” Those words hit like a sledgehammer, slamming hard into the hearts of both Arthur and my father-in-law. “What money?” My father-in-law, leaning on the table to stay upright, asked with a trembling voice. “Dad, you probably don’t know yet,” I turned to my father-in-law, stating the facts calmly. “Behind my back, he cashed out $900,000 from our joint account in batches and transferred it to Mia to pay the down payment on that apartment at Moonbay View. The property deed only has Mia’s name on it.” “Nine hundred thousand!” My father-in-law’s vision went dark, his cane clattering to the floor. He lunged forward, raised his hand, and using every ounce of his strength, slapped Arthur fiercely across the face. The sharp smack was exceptionally harsh in the quiet living room. “You spendthrift! You animal!” My father-in-law’s lips turned purple with rage. He pointed at him and cursed, “That was money the two of you worked so hard to save! How dare you!” Arthur’s head snapped to the side from the blow, half of his face rapidly swelling and turning red. He seemed stunned by the slap, or perhaps the shame and anger completely washed away his reason. He turned his head back, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. There was no longer a trace of remorse in his gaze, only venom. “Chloe! You’ve been ruthless! Just for a divorce, you investigated everything so thoroughly! Are you really in that much of a hurry to dump me?” “You forced my hand,” I replied coldly. “Divorce? Fine!” He gritted his teeth, forcing the words out. “But let me tell you, you won’t see a single cent of that $900,000! The house is in her name, the money has been spent! You have no proof! Even if we go to court, you won’t win! I’ll make sure you leave with nothing!” He had completely torn off his disguise, revealing his ugliest side. Looking at him like this, the last remaining sliver of attachment in my heart turned to ash. I laughed, a somewhat desolate laugh. “Arthur, do you really think you did it so cleanly that you can deny everything?” I took a stack of documents from my bag, gently placed them on the dining table, and pushed them toward him. The top document was the stock account transaction record exported from that encrypted USB drive, showing every cash-out clearly. Below it was the flow of funds chart my sister’s contact had put together. Even though it had passed through several third-party accounts, the final arrow pointed clearly to Mia’s bank account. “Is this enough?” I asked. Arthur’s eyes were glued to the stack of papers, his body trembling uncontrollably. His proud “flawless plan” had become a joke in front of me. “If it’s not enough,” I paused, my voice growing colder, “I’ve also prepared a ‘special gift’.” I took out my phone and played an audio recording. It was a complete recording of our entire conversation at the dining table just now, including his own admission of his relationship with Mia, his confession that it was just a moment of weakness, and his admission that he didn’t want a divorce. “Tell me, if I give this recording, along with this evidence of the money trail, to your rival Gary, or send an anonymous package to the ethics committee reporting you for ‘lifestyle issues’ and ‘unexplained wealth,’ do you think you can still keep your Deputy Director seat?” Arthur’s face instantly turned as pale as a sheet of paper. Like a trapped beast, he stared at me, his eyes filled with fear and resentment.

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Ever since I was little, I was an obedient and well-behaved girl. At thirteen, when my mother decided she didn’t want to raise me anymore and coldly told me to get out, I obediently packed my two bags of clothes and left. Right after kicking me out, she told my aunt, “She’s just a burden. How am I supposed to remarry if I have to drag her along?” My aunt tried to persuade her, “She’s your own flesh and blood, no matter what. If you raise her now, she’ll take care of you when you’re old.” My mom couldn’t have cared less. “Chloe has always been obedient. She listens to whatever I say. Even if I don’t raise her now, when I’m old, all I have to do is call her, and she’ll come running back to serve me hand and foot.” I carried my two bags of clothes to my dad’s house. My dad didn’t want to raise me either; he didn’t even want to let me in the door. He told me, “Chloe, it’s not that Dad doesn’t want to raise you, but I’m getting married soon. Your stepmother said we’re going to have our own baby, and I really can’t afford to raise you.” Finally, he added, “This isn’t my fault. You’re my daughter. Whether I raise you or not, when I’m old, you still have to take care of me. It’s the law of nature.” My parents always thought I was obedient, sensible, and completely incapable of rebelling. But they didn’t know me at all. I was never a good girl; I was a rebel who was just very good at pretending! 1 My parents got divorced because I was a girl. My deeply patriarchal grandmother went crazy and forcefully threw my custody to my mother. Saying things like “a little girl should be with her mother.” My mom had no choice but to reluctantly take me in and bring me back to my grandmother’s (her mother’s) house. The following year was bitterly miserable. I had to get up early every day to cook for the whole family, and when I got home from school at night, I had to do all the laundry. If I didn’t finish the laundry, I wasn’t allowed to sleep. My mom didn’t care how hard I worked. She nagged in my ear every day: “Your grandparents are animals, and you don’t even have my last name. Why should I raise you! I’m keeping you by my side now, so you should be eternally grateful to me. If I tell you to die, you have to die!” Every time I listened to her vent her anger with these roars, I would meekly nod: “Mom, I will be eternally grateful to you. If you tell me to die today, I’ll hang myself tomorrow. I will absolutely not be a burden to you.” Seeing how submissive I was, she would always nod in satisfaction, a look of triumph in her eyes. I could endure anything. When my grandmother called me a useless wretch who only knew how to eat, I just kept my head down and stayed silent. My grandfather only liked my aunt’s son. No matter how much my cousin hit me, my grandfather would only praise him: “Good hit! My grandson is so strong. When he grows up, he’ll definitely be a general. Not like your sister, she’s a purebred loser.” And I never argued back. Whether I was beaten or scolded, I never fought back. Not because I was stupid, but because I knew deeply that rebellion was useless and would only bring more torment. I thought if I swallowed my anger like this, my mom would definitely raise me until I was an adult before kicking me out. Facts proved I was wrong. My mom fell in love. Her new boyfriend clearly told her that he would absolutely not raise a piece of baggage like me. Once they got married, they were going to have their own biological child. Faced with a choice between love and me, my mom didn’t hesitate for a second and immediately chose to abandon me. She pointed at my nose and told me to get out: “Do you know how hard it was for me to raise you for thirteen years? Do you know how much I sacrificed for you? Now your mother is finally heading towards a happy harbor, don’t even think about delaying me.” Her words sounded ridiculous to me. It was as if I was the one who forced her to sleep with my dad and get pregnant. “Can’t I stay at Grandma’s house?” I asked her. My mom rolled her eyes at me: “If you don’t eat or wear clothes, I’ll let you stay at Grandma’s house!” How could a person not eat or wear clothes? I understood what my mom meant; she just didn’t want to raise me anymore. I always knew in my heart that she would abandon me sooner or later, I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast. “Pack your things now and leave this place! I don’t care where you go, just never come back.” Her voice was laced with a warning as she said this. Just like before, I didn’t argue, I didn’t cry or make a fuss, I didn’t even ask another question. I just obediently nodded, turned around, and walked into that tiny, broken, dirty side room piled with junk that belonged solely to me. I simply packed my luggage, which consisted entirely of old clothes. I found two plastic garbage bags, stuffed all the clothes inside, and carrying the two heavy bags, I slowly walked out of the room, inching my way out the front door step by step. As soon as I crossed the threshold, my mom couldn’t wait to slam the door shut with a loud “BANG.” I tightly gripped the plastic bags, not going downstairs immediately. 2 My grandmother’s family lived in a dilapidated apartment complex built in the 1990s. The doors were flimsy and covered in flyers. If someone inside spoke a bit loudly, people outside could hear them clearly. Standing at the door, I heard my aunt trying to persuade my mom: “Sis, no matter what, she’s your own flesh and blood. Kicking her out this early, how is she supposed to survive?” “I don’t care how she survives.” My mom couldn’t care less. “As long as she doesn’t spend my money, she can survive however she wants.” My aunt’s voice rose a little: “Don’t be stupid. Raise her until she’s eighteen and then kick her out. When you’re old, she’ll be able to take care of you.” I clearly heard my mom let out a sneer, her tone full of disdain: “You don’t understand. Chloe doesn’t have that kind of vindictive personality. Even if I kick her out now, when I’m old and call for her, she’ll still come and serve me hand and foot.” My aunt sounded a bit surprised: “Really?” “Of course it’s true. Anyway, I’m getting married soon.” My mom said, “My husband said he’ll take care of me, and the child we have together. He doesn’t want a burden like Chloe. If you try to stop me again, you go raise her.” Hearing that, my aunt immediately fell silent. Carrying my two bags of clothes, I quietly went downstairs. Alone, braving the wind, I walked two and a half miles to my dad’s house. My dad lived in an urban village, squeezed into a tiny courtyard house with my grandparents. I knocked hard on the courtyard gate for a long time before I heard my dad cursing as he slowly walked out of the house and opened the gate. But as soon as he opened it and saw clearly that it was me standing outside, holding two bulging plastic bags, the expression on his face instantly collapsed, as if he had just seen a debt collector. “Why are you here?” He blocked the doorway, refusing to let me in, not even willing to let me take a peek into the courtyard. I hadn’t seen my dad since my parents divorced. Seeing him again today, I realized he was even fatter than before. Standing outside the gate, I briefly explained my situation and begged him to raise me for a few years so I could continue my studies. Hearing this, my dad’s face instantly turned black: “Don’t come here and ruin my life! Your dad is getting married soon, the date is set. If I take you in, let alone get married, your grandparents will beat me to death.” As soon as he finished speaking, my grandmother’s voice suddenly exploded from the courtyard. Just like in my memory, she opened her mouth to curse, and whenever she cursed, she would scream at the top of her lungs. “Jinx! You’re a jinx just like your mother! Seeing my son doing well, you ran over to mess things up for him! Give up on that idea! As long as I’m alive, I will absolutely not let you in this house!” My grandfather chimed in with a few words: “Although her last name is Vance, at the end of the day, we never did a paternity test. Who knows, she might be a bastard.” Baskets and baskets of ugly words were thrown out. I stood outside the gate, listening expressionlessly. No sadness, no anger, no argument. Only the force gripping the plastic bags tightened a bit. My dad said earnestly: “Chloe, why don’t you go to an orphanage? Anyway, it’s impossible for me to raise you.” Orphanages absolutely don’t accept children with both parents still living. If I could get into an orphanage, I wouldn’t be here wasting my breath with him. After confirming that he couldn’t possibly raise me, I took a step back, ready to leave. Just as I turned around, he suddenly spoke again: “No matter what, we are biological father and daughter. The civil code clearly states that when you grow up, you must pay me alimony!” I sneered internally. He refuses to pay a single cent of child support, but he’s already scheming for alimony. After dropping that line, my dad closed the gate. I was once again left alone in the world outside. I looked down at the two bags of old clothes, sighed silently, and said flatly: “I have to survive.” 3 It wasn’t my fault that the two of them abandoned me. I didn’t have time to be sad, and I was too lazy to complain about anything. I just wanted to survive. I stood by the road, thought deeply for half an hour, and mapped out a path to survival for my future. Carrying the two bags of old clothes, I continued walking down the road until I reached a police station and walked straight in. The police station was very quiet, with only a few officers busy at their posts. My eyes quickly swept the room and locked onto the officer with the kindest face. Without a moment’s hesitation, I walked quickly up to him and dropped to my knees with a “thud.” “Officer, please, I beg you, save me! My mom and dad both don’t want to raise me anymore. I’m only thirteen, no one will hire me to work. I want to survive,” I said earnestly. My sudden kneeling instantly drew the attention of everyone in the police station. The kind-faced officer was startled. He quickly bent down and carefully pulled me up from the floor. His tone was sincere: “Little girl, get up, let’s talk about this slowly.” After I stood up, five or six officers had already gathered around, their faces showing concern. Seeing everyone gathered, I took the opportunity to explain my recent ordeal and predicament to them, word for word. After listening to my story, the concern on the officers’ faces gradually turned into sympathy. At this moment, an older female officer with a gentle aura walked up to me and gently patted my shoulder. “Little girl, don’t worry, don’t be afraid. According to the law, your parents have an obligation to support you. If they insist on not raising you, it’s the crime of abandonment, and they can be sentenced to prison.” I only found out later that this female officer’s last name was Miller, and the kind-faced officer’s last name was Davis. Officer Davis comforted me: “I’ll call your parents right now and summon them to the station. Whether they remarry or not, they can’t escape their parenting responsibilities!” Just as he pulled out his phone, I spoke up and stopped him: “Sir, I didn’t come here to force them to continue reluctantly raising me. Even if they take me home, I’ll only suffer endless torment.” Neither my mom’s house nor my dad’s house was my house. Forcing them to continue raising me would only result in endless humiliation and torture. Everyone present, besides me, was an adult over twenty. They naturally understood what I was saying, but they were also very helpless. As the saying goes, even an upright official finds it hard to settle family quarrels. Given my current predicament, the only solution was probably to force them to continue raising me. I hadn’t shown much emotion from the very beginning, and right now I was very calm: “I came here because I want you to take up this abandonment case. I want to get a police report receipt for ‘guardians failing to fulfill their support obligations’.” Without any hesitation, I laid out all my plans and my ultimate goal. “After getting the police report receipt for their failure to support me, I also want to get a certificate designating me as a de facto unparented child.” “Then I will go to court to sue my parents, asking the court to revoke their guardianship, and appoint the civil affairs department as my guardian. Finally, send me to an orphanage, where they will raise me until I’m eighteen.” I had memorized this entire process long ago. I had only stolen money once in my life. I secretly took five dollars from my mom’s pocket to go to an illegal internet cafe. I went there not to surf the web, and definitely not to play games. I just wanted to find out exactly how a child like me, with both parents living, could get into an orphanage. Officer Davis looked at me deeply: “You are a very calm and smart child.” I gave a bitter smile, my gaze slowly sweeping across every police officer present, my voice carrying a hint of pleading. “I beg you to help me. I am absolutely unwilling to be raised by either of them again. If I’m taken away by my dad, I’ll most likely be beaten to death by my grandmother. If I’m taken away by my mom, she’ll torture me to death sooner or later.” After these words were spoken, a brief silence fell over the police station, and everyone’s face was solemn. A moment later, Officer Davis spoke up first: “Okay, I’ll help you! I will handle all the necessary documents and the matters related to suing your parents and revoking their guardianship. I won’t let you face it alone.” Hearing these words, my eyes instantly welled up. I instinctively wanted to kneel down again to thank him, but Officer Miller pulled me into a tight hug. She gently patted my back, her voice gentle yet powerful: “It’s okay, little girl. Everything will pass. You are only thirteen, yet so calm and brave. When you grow up, no matter what difficulties you encounter, they won’t be able to knock you down.” Later, I was temporarily placed in a children’s rescue center. The rescue center was responsible for my food, clothing, housing, and transportation, so I didn’t have to worry about going hungry or cold anymore. The next time I saw my mom and dad was at the courthouse entrance. 4 As soon as they saw me, their faces were filled with hostility. They rushed up cursing and pointing at my nose, launching into a barrage of insults. Especially my mom, she looked like she wanted to stab me right then and there. The fact that I was suing them made her feel incredibly humiliated. In her logic, she could abandon me and torture me as she pleased, but I absolutely could not blow this matter up, and certainly couldn’t let outsiders know about her heartlessness. “Chloe Vance! You ungrateful wretch! I didn’t know you were this capable, daring to sue your own parents!” My mom glared at me with wide eyes, angrily rebuking: “If this were ancient times, an unfilial daughter like you would definitely be dragged to a pond and drowned alive!” My dad started threatening me as soon as he opened his mouth: “Don’t think that suing me will get you any benefits! You know my temper. If you push me over the edge, I’ll do anything! Beating you to death would be getting off easy. If I really go all out, I’ll sell you abroad and make you wish you were dead!” Faced with their endless stream of insults and vicious threats, I remained calm throughout, not offering a single word of rebuttal. It wasn’t until they cursed themselves dry and couldn’t think of any new words that I slowly opened my mouth to explain: “Did you guys not understand? I’m suing you to revoke your guardianship, not to force you to keep spending money to raise me.” When I said this, the hostility on their faces instantly froze, and a clear look of confusion flashed in their eyes. Obviously, they didn’t know what “revoking guardianship” meant at all, and thought I ran to the court to sue them to force them to pay up and continue raising this burden of a child. I tilted my head up slightly, looking at them calmly, and explained word by word. “Haven’t you two always wanted to get rid of me completely? As long as you cooperate with me and insist in court that neither of you is willing to raise me, the court will agree to revoke your guardianship.” “When that time comes, I’ll be sent to an orphanage. I’ll live in the orphanage from then on, and I will never bother you again, nor will I spend a single cent of your money.” Hearing this, the expressions on their faces finally began to soften. My dad spat impatiently: “You brat, why didn’t you say so earlier! Made me worry for nothing, thinking I’d have to keep paying child support and delay my remarriage!” The corner of my mouth hooked up slightly, revealing a perfectly obedient, shallow smile. My tone was soft, yet every word poked right at their desires: “Aren’t you two still counting on me to take care of you and bury you when you grow old? If the orphanage doesn’t take me in, and you’re not willing to spend money to raise me, I won’t even live to grow up. When that time comes, who will provide for you?” As soon as my words fell, they shared a very knowing look. From the depths of their eyes, I could clearly see a gleam of secret joy. I knew too well what they were rejoicing about: they wouldn’t have to spend a dime raising me, and later, when I grew up, I would still obediently provide for them. In their eyes, this was simply a highly profitable deal. Why wouldn’t they do it? “Fine! Got it!” My mom still didn’t give me a good look, her brows tightly knitted: “But you have to swear that when I’m old, you must provide for me well!” I agreed without hesitation, my tone sincere and obedient: “Do I even need to swear? Mom, don’t you know me? When you’re old, as long as you call me, I will definitely run to your side immediately, serve you meals and dress you, and I will absolutely not let you suffer a bit.” Seeing this, my dad quickly stepped forward, afraid of being left out: “And me! Chloe, you can’t forget your dad. When I’m old, you have to serve me the same way!” “I won’t forget either of you,” I said clearly, though my eyes remained completely flat. With my guarantee, and fully understanding that going to court this time would only benefit them without any drawbacks, they finally agreed to cooperate with me. My dad and mom certainly didn’t “disappoint” me. When it came to things that benefited them, they didn’t need any urging from me; they would try their absolute best on their own. In court, no matter what the judge asked, my dad steadfastly refused to take me, even saying he’d rather go to jail than raise me. My mom did the same. Ultimately, the court ruled according to the law, revoking the guardianship of both my parents, and authorizing the civil affairs department to exercise guardianship on their behalf. I also successfully secured my eligibility to enter the orphanage, finally and completely breaking free from them. 5 From the moment I stepped through the gates of the orphanage, my dad and mom completely disappeared from my world, without a word of goodbye, nor a hint of reluctance. I wasn’t sad at all; instead, my heart achieved an unprecedented sense of peace. Growing up in an orphanage meant, at the very least, I could live safely and normally, without being simultaneously humiliated and exploited. Days passed plainly. While in high school, I was fortunate enough to be sponsored by a kind-hearted person who not only paid all my tuition but also provided my living expenses. Later, when I got into college, she never interrupted her support. I always kept this kindness in my heart and never forgot it. After graduating from college, I worked two jobs a day, lived frugally, and after a year, finally saved up over ten thousand dollars. I transferred all this money to the kind person who sponsored me, wanting to repay her kindness over the years. But she didn’t accept the payment; instead, she blocked me completely. Before blocking me, she left me with just one sentence: “If you’re truly grateful to me, then live well. When you’re capable in the future, go sponsor other children who are as struggling as you once were, and just pass this kindness on.” It was this very sentence that gave me endless strength, making every single day of my future full of drive. My college major was radio and television directing. In my second year after graduation, relying on my own hard work, I got into a film crew. Starting from the most basic director’s assistant, I took it step by step, slowly clawing my way up. Just like that, after struggling in film crews for five years, I finally got an opportunity to direct a short drama independently. Relying on my years of accumulated experience and precise control of the story’s pacing, I successfully led this short drama to top the traffic charts on a major streaming app, achieving fame in one fell swoop. Since then, offers poured in. In just three years, I achieved financial freedom. Not only did I buy my own apartment in a mid-to-high-end complex downtown, but I also accumulated a considerable amount of savings. I thought life would just continue smoothly like this forever. I never expected that on the day I was about to turn thirty, I would see my mom again. That day, returning home from work, as soon as I reached the main gate of the complex, I saw a familiar yet unfamiliar figure. My mom was standing at the gate of the complex. Whenever someone passed by, she would scream at the top of her lungs: “My daughter Chloe Vance lives in this complex! If you see her, tell her that her biological mother is looking for her!” It had been over ten years since we last saw each other. She had aged significantly, with strands of white hair, but her personality hadn’t changed at all; she still had that unreasonable, domineering and arrogant look. I slowed my pace and slowly approached her. When she looked up, she immediately recognized me, her tone instantly becoming urgent, mixed with a somewhat rightful command: “Chloe! You’re finally back! Quick! Hurry up and help me curse out these two security guards! I already told them I’m your mother, the biological mother of an owner in this complex, but they adamantly refuse to let me in. It’s simply too outrageous!” The access control in our complex has always been strict. Anyone who is not a resident of the complex, without an owner personally vouching for them, the security guards will absolutely not let them pass. Those two security guards were also very responsible. No matter how my mom yelled, they didn’t let her into the complex. The security guards’ responsible attitude completely enraged my mom. In her eyes, being stopped outside the complex by security was an insult to her. Listening to her accusations, I just gave a soft sneer, ignoring her anger. I turned my head and waved my hand at the two security guards, signaling them to step away first. The two guards understood, nodded slightly, turned around, and went back into the security booth. Seeing that I not only didn’t help her curse the security guards, but actually made them leave, and then thinking about how I had never proactively contacted or looked for her after achieving success and fame, a burst of anger instantly ignited in her. Her voice instantly rose a few octaves: “Chloe Vance! I am your mother! Do you have any conscience left? Do you know how hard I worked to raise you this big? Now that you have money and are successful, you don’t recognize people anymore? Are you just going to watch your biological mother be humiliated by these two security guards at your own doorstep? Are you even human?” She was still the same as before, excelling at using morality and family ties to emotionally blackmail me, thinking I was still that cowardly, timid little girl from back then who could only obediently listen to her and let her manipulate me. Thinking that as long as she cried, made a fuss, and accused me, I would compromise and submit. I looked at her quietly, without any expression on my face, and just lightly replied to her with three words: “Who are you?”

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I recorded a show until the middle of the night, and when I got home, I found my dog was stolen. I immediately checked the security footage. I saw the “Crown Prince” of the Capitol City elite circle sneaking into my house late at night, slipping a leash on my dog, and running off. When you’re so mad you’re speechless, you really do just laugh. Later, while filming a reality show, the Prince had someone bring the dog over, saying it was there to keep its mom company. My arch-nemesis, Chloe, snatched the leash first. She even claimed she was Chips’ mom and that she and the Prince were madly in love. I called Arthur right then and there: “When did Chips get a new mom?” 1 The night my dog was stolen, I pulled Arthur’s number out of my blocked list and FaceTimed him. Expecting me to contact him, he had kept his phone close by. He picked up instantly when the call came through, then haughtily turned his head away from the camera: “Hmph! Didn’t we say whoever crawls back first is a dog? What are you calling me for!” I looked at Chips, who was lying next to him eating treats: “Would I have contacted you if you hadn’t come to my house to steal my dog? “Do you know what breaking and entering and theft of personal property means?” Arthur is the beloved grandson of the Vance family matriarch, pampered since childhood, reckless and arrogant. He leaned back on the sofa, petting Chips’ head in a good mood: “I brought my son home, what law did I break?” I reminded him: “I’m the one who bought Chips!” Arthur smirked, his thin lips curving: “But I’m the one who hand-fed him since he was two months old. If you want to see Chips, come home.” I was exhausted after a full day of filming and couldn’t be bothered to argue: “I’ll give you a million dollars, Chips is mine!” Hearing this, Arthur shot up from the sofa like a Husky whose tail had been stepped on, instantly bristling: “Chloe, you really are something else!” He angrily hung up the video call. A few minutes later, Arthur deliberately posted a photo of himself and Chips on Twitter, with the caption: [Secretly stole my son away from his girlfriend.] I scoffed: “Childish!” 2 Early the next morning, before I was even fully awake, my manager dragged me out to film a reality show. Last night, not long after Arthur hung up, he shamelessly called back again. The excuse was that Chips missed his mom. Sleepily leaning against my seat, I habitually opened the trending topics to take a look. I didn’t expect the top three trending searches to all be about Arthur. #PrinceAndChloeSecretlyOfficial!# #ChloeRespondsConfirmingRelationship# #ChloeRegretsBullyingThePrincess# I laughed when I saw the last hashtag. Who came up with this title? Aren’t they embarrassed? Princess? Then I must be the Queen! Ever since Chloe debuted, every time she trended, she had to drag me down to elevate herself, branding me with the reputation of stealing her resources. Following the netizens’ comments, I clicked on Chloe’s Twitter. Her latest tweet was a selfie from last night, wearing a sexy nightgown: [Boohoo, my doggie was taken away by his daddy, I’m so lonely all by myself.] The timestamp was half an hour later than Arthur’s tweet. Chloe even @’ed him. The trending topic exploded that night, with many verified accounts retweeting it. Some netizens even edited completely unrelated videos of the two of them together. [Holy crap, my two favorite people are actually together!] [Three months ago, paparazzi caught them skiing together in Aspen. The Prince denied he went with Chloe back then, but now he’s eating his words, haha.] [The Prince is so humble in front of our precious Chloe, reduced to stealing the doggie in the middle of the night just to see him, haha.] Me: “??” Did Arthur steal Chloe’s dog last night too? But didn’t she say in an interview before that she was afraid of dogs and would never keep one in her life? 3 I glanced at the comment section. A netizen asked her: [Are you and the Prince really together?] Chloe didn’t reply. A few minutes later, she liked several highly popular comments blessing her and the Prince with a long and happy life together. This directly solidified the rumors of her being with Arthur. [Our precious Chloe has made it so obvious and you’re still asking. The commenter above must be a hater sent by Chloe’s camp.] [Just asking makes me a hater? If they’re really together, what’s there to hide? I think it’s fake and she’s just clout-chasing!] [Chloe definitely has her reasons for not admitting it directly. Stop being so passive-aggressive.] [When it’s okay to go public, our precious Chloe will definitely be the first to say it on Twitter. Haters, get lost!] The netizen, angered by the attacks, ran over to Arthur’s comment section and asked: [Mr. Vance, is Chloe really your girlfriend?] Arthur quickly replied: [Who said that! Who said that! I don’t even know her!] Chloe’s fans were unhappy: [If our precious Chloe knew you said that, she would be very sad.] Arthur immediately clapped back: [Why should I care if she’s sad or not? Besides, I’m eating vegetarian lately, don’t bring your ‘precious meat’ around me!] These comments were quickly upvoted to the top. Netizens immediately threw the screenshots into Chloe’s comment section: [Stop clout-chasing. The Prince said he doesn’t even know Chloe. She really knows how to flatter herself.] The next second, she was besieged by Chloe’s fans: [We already said it’s not convenient to go public right now! The Prince obviously has to deny it!] [Didn’t a certain pop star deny it at first a few days ago, and then after going public, they livestream their PDA all day long?] My manager also saw the trending topics. She looked grim: “You and Chloe debuted at the same time, and you both have the ‘independent young star’ persona. Your two fanbases have always been at odds, tearing each other apart. “Now that she’s hooked up with Mr. Vance, I’m afraid she’s going to crush you from now on.” I felt my brain was about to fry. Chloe really dared to do anything for clout. To actually impersonate Arthur’s girlfriend. Seeing me zone out, my manager comforted me: “Don’t worry too much. In the future, I’ll try to arrange your schedule to avoid Chloe. Today is the last episode of the show. Keep your distance from her and don’t get into conflicts.” 4 The RV parked at the filming location. As soon as I stepped out, cameras were pointed at me, recording. [Chloe’s dark circles are so heavy. She must have lost sleep all night after seeing Chloe and the Prince go public last night, haha.] [The expression on her face is so sour. She’s probably dying of jealousy.] [Did Chloe’s fans forget to brush their teeth this morning? Why do their mouths stink so much!] [If Chloe dares to steal resources from Chloe again, the Prince will blacklist her in a heartbeat.] [From now on, the Prince will personally hand-deliver resources to our precious Chloe.] I arrived at the filming villa. The other guests were all clustered around Chloe, sucking up to her. This show was called Fall in Love with Me. There were four female and four male guests, and it was a live broadcast. Everyone had to live together for three days and two nights. As soon as the show started, the director pointed the camera at Chloe and asked if her and the Prince’s post last night was a public announcement. “Um, about that…” Chloe said coyly, “Everyone will know when the time comes~” The director didn’t want to let this wave of traffic go and continued asking: “Then can Chloe tell us what happened last night? Was the Prince showing off his love by posting late at night?” Chloe feigned anger and stamped her foot: “He insisted on bringing the doggie to keep me company while filming. I disagreed, so he childishly sneaked the doggie away while I was working.” I watched Chloe’s immersive performance, looking at her in shock. How could she weave such an elaborate tale without blushing or skipping a beat? I couldn’t help but ask: “In an interview before, you said you were bitten by a dog when you were a kid and would never keep a dog for the rest of your life.” 5 Chloe looked down, smiled, and turned to the camera: “I originally thought I’d never keep a dog again in this lifetime, but he gave me an overwhelming sense of security and made me accept doggies again.” [Our precious Chloe smiles so sweetly. If this couple isn’t real, I’ll never believe in love again.] [How jealous is Chloe of our precious Chloe? She even remembers exactly what she said in an interview. So disgusting.] [Can the Prince please blacklist Chloe already!!] The director watched the viewer count in the livestream skyrocket. He rejoiced inwardly; the ratings for this episode were secured. He was just preparing to dig deeper into how Chloe and the Prince met. An assistant jogged over and whispered a few words in his ear. The director nodded, his eyes turning into slits as he smiled at Chloe: “Chloe, the Prince sent you a gift. He said it’s here to keep mom company while filming.” Someone among the guests exclaimed: “Could it be that the Prince sent the doggie over?” 6 As soon as these words were spoken, someone immediately chimed in: “Chloe is so lucky! The Prince dotes on you so much~” Chloe was slightly taken aback, gently pinched her fingertips, and lowered her head: “Oh my, stop it you guys. I’ll go out and take a look first.” The director suggested everyone go together. As everyone came out of the villa, we saw a staff member holding an Alaskan Malamute on a leash. A message from Arthur popped up on my phone: [Wife, the old man called me in for an emergency meeting. Can you take care of Chips? I’ll pick him up tonight.] My eyelid twitched, and I replied: [I’m livestreaming a show right now. Why did you bring Chips here? [I know what you’re up to. Take him back immediately!] Arthur sent me a picture: [I’m at the company.] I locked my phone screen and took a deep breath. How could he get to the company in just a few minutes? Chloe looked left and right: “Is it just the doggie?” “Mr. Vance said he had something urgent at the company and had to leave first. He asked me to hand the dog over to its mom.” With that, the staff member handed the leash to Chloe. The Alaskan’s coat was shiny and thick, blowing in the gentle breeze. The guests couldn’t resist reaching out to pet him. “Chloe, what’s the name of the doggie you and the Prince are raising?” The person speaking was Liam, an artist recently signed by Vance Media, known for his “pretty boy” persona. Chloe’s ears suddenly turned red: “This… how can I say it.” 7 Seeing this, everyone started teasing: “Whoa, Chloe is embarrassed! Now I’m really curious what the name is.” “Hehe, I bet the name is definitely related to Chloe.” With everyone chiming in, Chloe cleared her throat amidst the teasing and said: “Alright, I’ll tell you guys. He insisted on naming the doggie Meatball, because he loves to eat meat.” Liam looked envious: “Force-fed another mouthful of PDA. I can’t film this show anymore.” [The Prince loves our precious Chloe so much! Even naming a dog revolves around her.] [Force-fed PDA the whole time, please spare us single dogs. I’m so jealous.] [This Alaskan Malamute looks so beautiful. It’s obvious Chloe takes great care of it daily.] The corners of my mouth twitched in speechless annoyance. Did Chips agree to change his name? Sharp-eyed netizens caught my expression and immediately launched an attack. [What’s with Chloe’s expression? She’s probably dying of jealousy.] [Jealous of what? Is it wrong to be speechless when Chloe says something disgusting?] [Chloe is definitely thinking about how to steal the Prince away from Chloe.] [This time she can only dream. The Prince only likes Chloe. No random nobody can just snatch him away.] Chloe beamed with joy upon hearing Liam’s words. She led the Alaskan towards the villa. But the dog sat there, unmoving. Looking around, as if searching for something. [Mommy-chan, where are you~ Watashi smells you.] Chloe smiled somewhat awkwardly at the camera: “Meatball, let’s go.” The Alaskan haughtily turned his head away. This scene was inexplicably similar to Arthur. Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but smile. Hearing my voice, Chips tried to break free from the leash in Chloe’s hand. [Ahhhh, as expected of the doggie raised by Chloe and the Prince. That head-turn is too cute, I’m going to die from the cuteness!] [Can Chloe’s fans stop forcing the compliments? The doggie hasn’t even given Chloe a single glance.] [Hahaha, I’m dying of laughter. Chloe’s fans, come out and see. Why isn’t the Prince’s dog familiar with your Chloe?] [What nonsense are you haters spouting! If the doggie isn’t familiar with our precious Chloe, could he be familiar with Chloe? Our precious Chloe is the Prince’s official girlfriend.] [Yo yo yo, hilarious. Has the Prince officially announced it? Calling her the official girlfriend already, be careful it doesn’t turn into a joke in the end.] [Honestly, it looks like the Alaskan wants to go to Chloe.] [I spit on that! If Meatball likes that bitch Chloe, I’ll eat shit doing a handstand!] I sneered at that comment and waved at Chips: “Chips, come here.” As soon as the words fell, everyone’s gaze instantly fixed on me. When Chips saw me, his tail wagged like a helicopter rotor. He wanted to run to me, but was restrained by the leash. He whined anxiously, his front paws constantly scratching the ground. 8 Chloe tightened the leash with an ugly expression: “Chloe, what did you do to Meatball?” Seeing Chips uncomfortable, I took a large stride over. [Hahaha, dying of laughter. Calling him Chips, do you see him wanting to go over?] [Anyone who isn’t blind can see he wants to go to Chloe. That commenter above, I suggest you stop watching the show and go see an eye doctor.] [Chloe is so disgusting. Scheming against a dog just for traffic.] [Who’s scheming? Chloe hasn’t even touched the doggie.] [If Chloe didn’t do it, then why does Meatball want to go to her?] [You should ask your idol that! Why is the dog she raised unfamiliar with her, but wants to cuddle with my Chloe~] [Chloe’s fans are triggered. The dog doesn’t even bother giving Chloe a single glance.] Feeling somewhat humiliated, Chloe loudly scolded the dog: “Meatball, if you don’t behave, Mommy won’t buy you treats anymore.” With that, she yanked the leash again. The Alaskan ignored her completely and barked excitedly at me. The smile on Chloe’s face faltered. She grabbed the leash with both hands and kept pulling, forcing the dog to go with her. Chips’ neck was being choked tightly, but she acted as if she couldn’t see it. I snatched the leash from Chloe’s hands and said coldly: “He doesn’t know you. No matter how much you pull, he won’t go with you.” Chloe looked as if she had heard the biggest joke in the world. She reached out, speaking passive-aggressively: “Chloe, I know you like to steal my things, but please give the doggie back to me. If Meatball misbehaves, I will naturally teach him a lesson. Are you sure you want to steal my dog in front of millions of viewers?” I sneered: “Did you really raise him?” Chloe’s face wasn’t looking good, and she spoke angrily: “What else? Are you trying to say you raised this dog?” The atmosphere on the set became tense. 9 Chips couldn’t sense it. He wagged his tail happily, jumping around me. I reached out and patted his head, meeting Chloe’s glare that looked like she wanted to eat me alive, and said clearly: “Listen carefully, this Alaskan Malamute’s name is Chips. NOT. MEATBALL!” [Hahaha, I’m dying. Is this Chloe sleepwalking? The things coming out of her mouth are crazy.] [I bet her next sentence will be that she’s the doggie’s mom, and the Prince’s girlfriend.] [To be fair, the doggie seems to be more familiar with Chloe. He doesn’t seem to recognize Chloe at all.] [And the doggie had absolutely no reaction to the name Meatball, but started wagging his tail when he heard Chips.] [Chloe must have used some trick. The tweet Chloe posted last night directly @’ed the Prince. Would anyone but the official girlfriend dare to do that?] [The commenter above makes sense too. I’ll stay quiet for now and see what happens.] [No way, no way!! Chloe’s expression just now was so scary. Does she have a vendetta against this dog?] [I saw Chloe choking the Alaskan desperately…] [I saw it too.] [I seriously doubt Chloe is the dog’s owner at all.] 10 Almost immediately after I finished speaking, Chloe pointed at me and loudly accused: “What Chips? His name is Meatball! “You usually steal my roles, steal my endorsements, and steal my screen time on variety shows. I let all that slide. But now you even want to steal the dog I raised. “After the last episode aired, Arthur wanted to blacklist you, and I was the one who put in a good word for you. Now it seems you’re not worthy of sympathy at all!” The director signaled for the cameras to focus on Chloe and me. He had a premonition that this show was definitely going to be the biggest hit of the past few years. Chloe publicly admitting to being the Prince’s girlfriend. Two top young stars going head-to-head. Chloe about to be blacklisted by the Prince. Any of these topics was enough to stir up massive engagement. Seeing the hype had peaked, the director forced a smile to smooth things over: “Actually, Alaskans all look pretty similar. Why doesn’t Chloe take a closer look? I often mistake other people’s dogs for my own too.” He used his eyes to remind me that this was a live broadcast. I scoffed: “Look at Chips right now. Do I look like I mistook him?” The director looked down. Chips was sitting by my feet, so happy his eyes were squeezed into slits. He learned this fawning look from Arthur’s Husky. The director: “…” [Chloe is such a bitch. Can’t she see the director is deliberately giving her a way out? She’s actually refusing to take it. So speechless.] [If you’re speechless, go learn sign language. Didn’t you see the doggie sticking to Chloe?] [Holy crap! Chloe finally admitted her relationship with the Prince. Wishing you and the Prince a long and happy life together.] [Our precious Chloe, don’t cry, don’t cry. I will always support you.] [Feeling sorry for our precious Chloe. Who knows how Chloe bullied her before, making her break down and yell while filming.] [Everyone, hurry to Mr. Vance’s Twitter comments and tell him to come quickly and stand up for our precious Chloe. Our precious Chloe looks like she’s about to break.] Chloe suddenly reached over to grab the leash. She ended up yanking the collar right off Chips’ neck. Sensing danger, Chips immediately took a defensive stance and let out a warning growl at Chloe. Chloe’s eyes reddened in disbelief.

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I loved wearing short white skirts, my wardrobe was perpetually a soft mix of pink and white, and everyone always said I was sweet and obedient. He dyed his hair red, was rebellious, and had a terrible temper. He was my older brother’s best friend. Every time we met, I would hide behind my brother to greet him. Distant and reserved. No one knew I liked him. 1 During the summer break of my sophomore year in college, my parents went traveling, so I had no choice but to stay at my brother’s apartment. At this hour, my brother was at work, but I knew his apartment passcode. Rolling my suitcase, I opened the door, only to hear someone inside speaking with a cold sneer. “Why don’t you let your unborn sibling play instead?” “What I mean is, you might as well go back into the oven and be remade.” A familiar voice. I stopped in my tracks. I recognized it. It was him. Arthur was my brother’s best friend. They had hung out since middle school, and I knew they had always been close. But I didn’t expect him to be living in my brother’s apartment. Arthur started playing esports in high school, and after retiring, he became a gaming streamer. That voice just now—he was definitely cursing out his teammates on stream. I understood immediately because I watched his streams every day. I was his top donator. No one knew. I softened my movements and went to the room my brother had prepared for me. It was still a cozy room in pink and white hues, filled with plushies. I didn’t plan to go over and bother him, but before I could finish unpacking, someone knocked on the door. Turning around, I saw Arthur leaning lazily against the open doorway, his narrow eyes glancing my way. “Didn’t you say you were arriving tonight?” Obviously, my brother had given him a heads-up but hadn’t told me. I didn’t know why, but facing him always made me feel a bit guilty. Maybe it was because I liked him. “My roommates all left early, so I changed my ticket.” I have mild social anxiety, but I also like being around people. Arthur pulled out his phone and glanced at it. Three o’clock. He raised an eyebrow. “Hungry?” He had always treated me like a younger sister, taking care of me just like my actual brother did. I nodded. “I’ll order takeout in a bit.” He let out a scoff. “Your Brother Arthur is standing right here, and you’re going to order takeout?” “You actually know how to cook?” I looked at him with bright eyes, a bit pleasantly surprised. I always thought he was lazy and had no interests other than gaming. Arthur lifted his chin. “Wait here.” 2 To be honest, I didn’t have high hopes for Arthur’s culinary skills until I saw a fragrant bowl of scallion oil noodles on the dining table. “You actually cooked.” I sat down reservedly, feeling a bit embarrassed yet surprised. He gave a short laugh. “Eat up. I’m going to go rank up.” I ate the noodles he cooked, watching him take long strides and cross the room in two or three steps. For the past six months, while I was at school, I could only watch him in his stream. Other female fans could brazenly call him “Hubby.” But even typing those two words made my face turn red. I felt like a hopeless case. He was streaming upstairs, and I was downstairs, eating noodles while secretly opening his stream. He had just restarted his broadcast, and fans in the chat were asking where he went. Unlike his usual cold and arrogant demeanor, he raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. “I was afraid the silly cat at my friend’s house would starve to death.” He deliberately lowered his voice, so I hadn’t heard it at all downstairs. The chat was curious about how cute the kitten must be for him to be in such a good mood after feeding it. He lowered his eyes, clicked to start a game, and gave an ambiguous smile. “It’s pretty cute.” His voice came through the phone, making my heart pound wildly. Where was there a cat? It was just me. 3 My brother came back that evening, looking exhausted and apologetic as he said to me, “I have to fly to the US tomorrow for a business trip. I’ll hang out with you when I get back.” Then he turned to Arthur, telling him to take good care of me. I saw him casually say “Hmm,” his back to us as he continued cooking. My brother was still telling me to stay up late less, but I couldn’t hear a word of it. The thought of being alone with him for half a month made me lower my head, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. “Arthur, take good care of my sister, or I’ll kick you out when I get back.” “I’ll starve her,” he retorted to my brother in a mean voice. My brother laughed out of exasperation, walked over, and pretended to hit him. The two of them bantered for a bit. I sat at the dining table, watching them laugh. I felt a bit envious of my brother. I didn’t think I could act so naturally around him. When I woke up the next day, my brother had already left. Looking at the worried messages he left on my phone, I washed up and went downstairs to make some instant noodles. Halfway through eating, Arthur came downstairs. My brother had mentioned before that he had terrible morning sickness. Seeing him looking full of hostility and annoyance, I swallowed my greeting and silently buried my head in my noodles, not daring to make a sound. “Little Chloe, you’re not very polite.” I blanked for a moment, looking up under his dissatisfied gaze with an embarrassed smile. “Morning.” He leaned in, gave it a look of disgust. “No nutrition. Wake me up tomorrow to cook.” It was as if he specifically came down just to say that to me, and as soon as he finished, he went back upstairs. I looked at his tall, lean back in confusion. Did he specifically come down just to snap at me? But Arthur always had a bad temper, so I didn’t think much of it. At noon, Arthur came downstairs with messy hair to cook. Hearing the noise in the living room, I spoke up apologetically, “Sorry, Arthur, for troubling you.” He scoffed, not even turning his head as he snorted coldly, “Not even calling me Brother. Watch out, I might starve you.” I chuckled quietly from behind. Arthur was fierce, but his bark was worse than his bite. “You wouldn’t.” His back seemed to stiffen for a moment. Then he brought the dishes over and said in a fierce tone, “Get your ass over here and eat.” 4 He was fierce, but his cooking was delicious. Coming down to eat on time every day was the only interaction I had with him these past few days. Even though I hadn’t said many words to him, I was incredibly happy. I got to see him every day. When he cooked wearing an apron, I would prop my chin up and watch from behind, secretly raising my phone to take a picture of his back. I didn’t have any photos with him, only some large group photos from my brother’s gatherings. I kept all of them, along with the occasional sneaky photos from over the years. My finger tapped lightly, the screen flashed, paused, and the flash went off. I was terrified, frantically turning my phone around as he looked back. “What are you doing?” He held a spatula in his hand, his handsome face looking very grumpy. I stammered, raising my phone slightly. “S-selfie.” I didn’t know if he believed it, but he frowned at me for a good while before turning back to continue cooking. I breathed a sigh of relief and quickly turned off the flash on my phone. Damn it, when did I turn the flash on? I was still feeling frustrated and guilty, not daring to look up. So I also didn’t see him send a message to my brother. “Is your sister complaining about me?” A reply came instantly. “Chloe is very well-behaved; she wouldn’t complain.” He snorted and retorted, “Not well-behaved at all.” She sweetly called everyone else “Brother,” except for him. The other side seemed exasperated, pausing for a moment before replying. “Is it really true what they say, that you hate Chloe?” “Everyone likes her and says she’s sweet. You’re the only one who thinks she isn’t.” The food was ready. He plated it and placed it on the table. The girl, looking very soft in her pink and white pajamas, obediently served herself rice under his gaze, then blinked at him. As if asking if she could start eating. He chuckled and spat out one word. “Eat.” I smiled at him, picked up a piece of cola chicken wings, and praised him enthusiastically. “Arthur, the cola chicken wings you make are really delicious.” I deliberately softened my voice, which somehow sounded a bit like acting cute. A bit embarrassing. We weren’t close enough for me to act cute with him. The corners of his lips seemed to tilt up, but his tone was still fierce: “If it’s delicious, then hurry up and eat. Why all the nonsense.” Like a cat with its fur standing on end. I was surprised to find that Arthur actually really liked being praised. 5 Just when I thought Arthur and I were getting along a bit better because of my compliments, I saw him coming downstairs impatiently in the evening. Seeing me actually downstairs, the hostility between his eyebrows seemed to dissipate a bit. “Going out for a bit. I’ll bring you dinner back tonight.” He twirled the car keys in his hand and explained to me. His hands were long and handsome. My gaze lingered for a second, and I nodded obediently. Arthur glanced at me, seemingly very satisfied with my obedience, his steps even becoming a bit lighter. When he came back that night, he brought me a rice bowl dish. He hurriedly went upstairs to stream, his expression still looking a bit poor. I was a bit curious, but didn’t dare ask, so I opened his stream. I heard him turn on his camera with a dark face. He stayed silent for a moment before telling the chat, “Company request. Playing duos today.” He was very skilled and always streamed solo, carrying the team single-handedly. Occasionally, he would play duos with former teammates or male streamers he was close with. Before the fans and I could react, an account with a cute pink avatar suddenly invited him to team up. He accepted without batting an eye, but his expression was still very poor. The female streamer on the other end turned on her mic, her voice sweet and sugary. Fans in the chat explained that she was also a streamer in the gaming section. I didn’t watch other gaming streamers besides him, so it was normal that I didn’t know her. But he was playing duos with another girl. Even knowing it was his job, I was still a bit unhappy. The game started, and I listened to them talk while eating. Actually, it was just the female streamer talking the whole time; he completely ignored her. The female streamer had quite a few fans. Seeing his terrible attitude, they started cursing him in the chat. “Our Frosty is so sweet. Why is this straight guy giving her attitude?” “Feeling bad for Frosty.” “Taking my Frosty away, stay away, you grumpy guy.” The chat was a complete mess. The female streamer didn’t seem affected. She was still acting cute, asking him to let her have the blue buff, and her character had even run over to him. But he took the blue buff without a change in expression and went to the side lane to help gank without looking back. The chat rolled even faster. He glanced at the screen and said sparingly: “You having the blue buff is useless.” His own fans were all laughing, typing “hahaha” and calling him a straight guy, while the female streamer’s fans were going crazy with anger. Many of Arthur’s old fans knew that he had a sharp tongue and did whatever he pleased, so they weren’t surprised that he didn’t give up the blue buff. It was exactly the kind of thing he would do. The chat was cursing so viciously. I couldn’t stand it and threw a bunch of special effect gifts. The chat started saying things like “Long time no see, top donator sister.” He glanced at it twice and said coldly, “Thanks for the gifts.” I kept my head down, eating the food he brought back, and smiled, my eyes curving, when I heard his “thanks.” One game ended quickly. I don’t know if the female streamer noticed his overly cold attitude, but she made an excuse and said she was done playing. His expression slowly softened after the female streamer left. Anyone with eyes could see how much he disliked her. The chat was full of “hahaha,” asking if he didn’t like soft girls. Arthur usually wouldn’t respond to these, but today he looked at the chat and paused for a second. “I like them.” The chat paused for a moment, then started scrolling even more vigorously. “Like what!” “So you do like soft girls?!” “Then why were you so mean to Frosty.” He scoffed. “Does that even count as a soft girl?” He thought of the girl downstairs. She ate slowly, much like the videos of rabbits or hamsters eating that he scrolled past online. Very well-behaved. None of them ate as well as he did. It was just that she was occasionally disobedient, afraid of him, and wouldn’t call him “Brother.” So he likes soft girls. My mind was a mess, thinking of countless possibilities that made the corners of my lips curl up. But if he liked me, how could he be so indifferent? A couple of days ago, my brother even sent me a message, worried that our relationship wasn’t good, telling me to hang around him less. I sighed and threw the empty takeout box into the trash can. 6 A couple of days later, he made breakfast and was about to go out again. He said the same thing, that he would bring lunch back for me. I wanted to say that I could actually just order takeout, but he didn’t even give me a chance to speak. He just left after saying that. I had some snacks for lunch. Later, feeling a bit bored while waiting, I wanted to play a game for a while. As soon as I logged on, I received many team invitations. I accepted my roommate’s. I didn’t expect that after I joined, she pulled a senior from our club in as well. The senior was a nice guy and took good care of us, but I could tell he was interested in me. I usually avoided him, rejecting him both explicitly and implicitly. I didn’t expect to run into him again today. “I haven’t played a game with Chloe yet.” The senior smiled and turned his mic on first, and my roommate immediately clicked start. The senior’s gaming skills were good. After he got a triple kill, my roommate and I smiled and praised him. “Triple kill! You’re awesome, Senior.” The apartment door clicked open. Just as I finished speaking, I locked eyes with Arthur, who was walking in carrying takeout boxes. From the phone, the senior was still modestly saying it was nothing special, and then a clear voice came through: “Chloe, come get the blue buff.” I saw Arthur’s face visibly darken. He raised an eyebrow and placed the takeout boxes in front of me. I said “No need” into the mic and quickly turned it off. “You’re back.” He gave a cold laugh. “Obviously.” I smiled awkwardly. He suddenly leaned in and asked, “Little Chloe, are you dating someone?” It was out of nowhere, but I felt his words were dangerous. I hastily shook my head, not wanting him to misunderstand. “I’m playing with my roommate and a senior. We’re all friends.” He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, reached out and messed up my hair, warning me fiercely: “Better not be. If you are, watch out, I’ll tell your brother.” My heart was beating very fast. After he went upstairs, the senior and my roommate asked me on my phone why I stopped talking. I inexplicably looked down and smiled, turned on the mic, and told them I wasn’t playing anymore. I felt like he cared about me a little bit. 7 That evening, after dinner, Arthur suddenly asked me if I wanted to play a game together. I was stunned. Besides the times when my brother was around and dragged us both to play, I hadn’t played alone with him before. Plus, he usually streamed after dinner. “Aren’t you streaming?” He leisurely poured a glass of water. “I am. Do you mind?” Didn’t his fans all say he had no taste, that he didn’t even like soft girls like Frosty? He was going to show them who really had no taste. I was very nervous, but the opportunity was rare. “I don’t mind.” He went upstairs, and I followed him with my phone. My heart was thumping. It was my first time in his room. Clean and tidy. He set up his equipment in a moment, then told me he started the stream. I hid in a spot the camera couldn’t see and softly said “Hmm.” I felt an inexplicable sense of shyness. Like we were dating behind the fans’ backs. Even though we weren’t yet. His mic picked up sound very well. The fans must have heard and asked if there was someone else with him. “Yeah, carrying my friend’s sister today.” I didn’t know what the chat was saying, but I heard him chuckle. I really wanted to click into his stream and take a peek, but I didn’t dare. The game started. His rank was very high. Afraid of being cursed at by my teammates, I picked a support hero. This entire game, I experienced both tension and a magical feeling. Listening to his clear voice talking to me for the whole game. “Follow me.” “Take the blue buff.” “I’ll come pick you up.” “Don’t be afraid, wait for me.” Was it because I was sitting next to him? I actually felt that the person who was usually cold in the stream was exceptionally gentle. When the game ended, he took a moment to look at the chat, seemingly in a very good mood. The sister is way sweeter than that female streamer! “You guys are right.” Is it really a friend’s sister? It’s not a girlfriend? “Yeah, friend’s sister.” Friend’s sister. I gripped my phone tightly, and the little bit of secret joy I couldn’t hold back just now instantly vanished. 8 Before heading back to my room after playing, I composed myself and told him he didn’t need to get up specially to make breakfast for me tomorrow morning. Arthur had just turned off his equipment. He looked back and gave me a deep look. “Why?” I didn’t dare look at him. I grabbed my phone and ran out. “No reason, just felt it was too much trouble for you.” Everything was fine while we were playing the game just now. Arthur watched the girl’s retreating figure and frowned imperceptibly. When I went downstairs the next day, as expected, I didn’t see anyone. That tiny bit of hope in my heart instantly plummeted to the core. He had always been rebellious. I had never seen Arthur be so obedient. I lowered my eyes, feeling a bit disappointed. “What are you dawdling for? Eat.” Just as I was slowly walking to the kitchen door, he pushed the door open, his bony, handsome hands steadily holding a bowl of noodles. I couldn’t help but show some joy. “Why did you…” Before I could finish, he reached out and pressed me down into a seat at the dining table. “How much do you hate me, Chloe?” His tone was very bad, as if he was suppressing anger. I turned to look at him. “I don’t.” How could I possibly hate him. He fiercely messed up my hair and placed the bowl of noodles in front of me with a thud. The sound wasn’t loud, but the action was scary. He did it on purpose. “Do you know how expensive my hands are? Cooking for you every day and you’re still complaining.” He was acting fierce. I softened my voice, feeling wronged: “I wasn’t complaining…” “If you weren’t complaining, why did you say that last night?” They had finally gotten a little bit closer, and she was knocking him back to square one again. Arthur was not one to admit defeat. When playing games, making a comeback against the wind was what excited him the most. The same went for her. He had always preferred to finish things quickly. But with her, he was slow and cautious, terrified that if he showed even a little bit, she would run away. “You’re tired from streaming, and you have to get up to cook for me instead of catching up on sleep.” “It’s exhausting, Arthur.” Besides a bit of pique last night, I really did feel it was hard on him, and there was no need for him to get up so early just to cook for me. Hearing this, he let out a scoff, leaned down, and pinched my cheek fiercely. “I want to.” He was always like this, looking fierce but actually not using any force at all. I covered my face and dodged, pursing my lips with a bit of distaste. “Learning bad habits instead of good ones.” My brother had loved pinching my cheeks since we were kids, making me cry several times but never tiring of it. He got better as we grew up, but occasionally he would still pinch my cheeks to tease me. He had always just watched the two of us siblings mess around from the side. I didn’t expect him to pick this up too. Arthur smiled and went upstairs. “See you at noon, Chloe.” I hummed an acknowledgment and buried my head in the noodles. I also hid the corners of my lips that were curving up. I liked him even more.

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When I woke up in the hospital, I was facing a handsome stranger. He babbled a whole bunch of things at me. I didn’t react at all. When he mentioned that we couldn’t get our marriage license for the time being, my brain finally started working again. “What marriage license?” I blurted out instinctively. “Our marriage license, Chloe. Did you hit your head and go stupid?” He reached out to touch my forehead, his movements incredibly natural. Is this a joke? I’m a beautiful young girl who just finished her high school finals. I’m not even of legal age to get married yet! Where did this scammer come from? 1 “Doctor!” I shoved the guy away and stretched my neck, yelling, “Doctor, come quick! There’s a bad guy here!” The doctor arrived quickly, followed by two nurses. They gave me a huge sense of security. I hid behind the kind-looking older doctor and loudly tattled. “I don’t know this guy! He’s trying to trick me into marrying him! He’s a human trafficker!” The handsome young man looked exasperated. “I know you’re mad. Getting the license is just delayed, not canceled. Mia didn’t mean to hurt you either. Don’t blame her—” “Where’s my phone?” I cut him off, looking at the doctor. “I need to call my parents.” “Your parents?” The guy frowned. “Your injury isn’t serious. There’s no need to alarm them. Seattle is far; it’s not easy for them to make the trip.” I was dumbfounded: “We’re not in Seattle?” The handsome guy was also dumbfounded. The doctor cleared his throat. “I was just about to tell you. The fall wasn’t too serious physically, but she hit her head. There’s some bleeding causing a hematoma that’s affecting her memory.” “Affecting my memory?” I muttered. “You mean, I have amnesia?” The doctor nodded: “Yes. But don’t worry, as the hematoma slowly dissipates, your memory will gradually return.” The handsome guy spoke up: “How long will that take?” “It’s hard to say. Could be a few months, could be a year or two.” I noticed the handsome guy visibly relaxed. After the doctor left, he picked up a women’s purse from the chair next to the bed, pulled out a phone, and handed it to me. “Since you have amnesia, there’s no rush for the license. But I really am your boyfriend. If you don’t believe me, look at the photos on your phone.” Lighting up the screen, the first thing I saw was the time and date in the center. 2025! But my memory was still stuck in the excitement of checking my scores after the finals. Six years had passed! 2 My attention shifted to the lock screen photo. It was a close-up selfie of two people cheek-to-cheek. The two people in the photo were me and the handsome guy standing in front of me. I unlocked the phone and opened the gallery. There were many photos of him. Judging from the angles, most were taken secretly. There were shots of him playing basketball, his profile while drinking water, and him sleeping with his head on a desk… “You actually took this many secret photos of me?” The guy leaned closer, his tone smug. “Now do you believe we’re a couple?” I pushed him away expressionlessly: “But I have absolutely no memory of you in my head. Stay away from me!” “Oh, then let me introduce myself.” His phone chimed. He picked it up and glanced at it, unable to hide the joy in his eyes. He typed a reply, his attention entirely on his phone, his tone casual. “I’m Ethan Vance. The boyfriend you stalked and shamelessly chased for a whole year before finally getting…” With a few simple sentences, he summarized my experiences over the past few years. As soon as I started college, I set my sights on Ethan, a rich kid, and became his ultimate lapdog. I followed him around constantly, impossible to shake off. I obeyed his every word. My behavior was high-profile and bold. Everyone at the university knew me. After more than a year of relentless pursuit, I actually succeeded. Ethan, the playboy, after a few brief flings and dumping several girlfriends, finally agreed to my pursuit. The whole school was taking bets on how long it would take for him to dump me. But surprisingly, a month passed, years passed, we graduated college, and we still hadn’t broken up. Recently, after I finished my master’s degree, Ethan even agreed to my proposal. He, who never posted on social media, made a high-profile announcement that we were getting our marriage license. Yesterday, we went to the courthouse together. At the entrance, he was called out. It was his childhood friend, Mia, who had been abroad for years. She bit her lip, grabbed his arm, and asked: “Can you not get married?” Angry, I got into an argument with her. In the scuffle, she tripped me. My head hit the steps, and I passed out. When I woke up, I was the amnesiac me of today. Ethan was still looking down, replying to messages, the corner of his mouth slightly raised. “Mia didn’t do it on purpose, and you just have amnesia, no serious physical harm. Don’t be unreasonable.” “She’s coming to visit you later. Be magnanimous and treat her nicely.” “She and I are just childhood friends who grew up together. Stop being jealous over nothing.” I took a deep breath and reminded him: “Did you forget? I have amnesia.” “To me right now, you are a complete stranger. Why would I be jealous?” Ethan put his phone in his pocket and leaned over me. His eyes were full of certainty. “Back then, it was love at first sight for you. You said my face was perfectly sculpted to your aesthetic.” “So don’t worry, you’ll fall in love with me all over again.” 3 I looked at the face mere inches from mine. Almond eyes, high nose bridge, thin lips, a sharp jawline. There was a hint of rebelliousness in his features. He gave off the vibe of an untamed boy from a comic book. He was indeed very handsome. But to say he was “perfectly sculpted to my aesthetic” was an exaggeration. I could only say he fit my aesthetic. He was a handsome guy. But my taste in handsome guys wasn’t limited to one type. I like almond eyes, but I also like fox eyes. Thick eyebrows and big eyes are nice, but there are plenty of handsome guys with monolids too. Pale, sweet “golden retriever” boys are lovable, but rugged guys with a bronze tan have their own charm. So, how could I have become his lapdog just because of his looks? I was absolutely certain his physical appearance didn’t hold that much attraction for me. While I was lost in thought looking at his face, a coquettish female voice came from the doorway. “What are you guys doing?” Snapping back to reality, I saw Ethan immediately straighten up, take two steps back, and eagerly put distance between us. He looked toward the door: “Mia, you’re here!” Saying that, he took the fruit basket from her hands and placed it on the small table next to the hospital bed. “Look, Mia even specially bought fruit for you. Stop being so petty!” The girl named Mia was wearing a floral dress, tall and slender. Her wavy long hair fell to her waist, her makeup was flawless, and she wore rimless glasses. She had an elegant, intellectual beauty. “Chloe, I’m sorry. Everything yesterday was my fault for causing you to get hurt.” Wearing stiletto heels, she walked to my bedside in three quick steps. Without giving me a chance to speak, she continued on her own. “I really didn’t mean it, I was just a little anxious.” “I didn’t want to ruin your wedding either, but Auntie specifically told me I had to stop you.” “You have to be understanding of her. After all, the Vance family has a massive business empire, and there are too many people approaching with ulterior motives. It’s only natural for Auntie to be afraid that you’re only after Ethan for his money.” “I don’t want you guys to get married right now either, but my reasons are different from Auntie’s.” “In my opinion, marriage is a serious matter. At the very least, both sets of parents should meet, right?” “You bypassing both families to get the license, isn’t that too childish?” “Also Chloe, even though Auntie refuses to see you, for Ethan’s sake, you should work hard to get her approval.” “Lowering your stance for love and pleasing your future mother-in-law isn’t shameful.” “How could you not even be willing to try, and just instigate Ethan to get the license directly?” “One more thing, I need to make my stance clear. Although Auntie has tried to set me and Ethan up more than once, I only see him as a younger brother and have absolutely no other thoughts.” I swallowed hard. Holy crap. That’s a lot of information to process. I need a moment to digest this. 4 My brain went into overdrive, quickly extracting useful information from Mia’s words. First, Ethan isn’t just an average rich kid; his family is extremely wealthy. Wealthy enough to create a massive class divide between him and me, who comes from a middle-class family. Second, our relationship did not have the support of our parents. Especially his mother, who suspected I was after Ethan for his money. She refused my requests to meet. Lastly, Mia subtly flaunted her extraordinary relationship with the Vance family. She and Ethan are childhood friends, so their family backgrounds should be similar. Most importantly, Ethan’s mother is her godmother. They have a close relationship. Ethan’s mother always wanted Mia to be her daughter-in-law. In just a few short sentences, she managed to provoke me and show off. This Mia is not simple. “Don’t worry, Mia. She has amnesia now and doesn’t even remember me. We won’t be getting the license anytime soon.” Ethan stared fixedly at the person in front of him, his gaze greedy, as if he couldn’t get enough of looking at her. Mia glared at him: “How many times do I have to tell you? Call me ‘sister’. I’m older than you!” “What do those few months matter?” Ethan grinned, “I’m going to call you Mia, what are you going to do about it?” It was like watching a puppy demanding affection from its owner. As someone who usually loves shipping couples, I felt slightly nauseated. Right now, I just wanted these two to get out of my sight as quickly as possible. “I want to rest. You guys should leave!” I started issuing eviction orders. Mia pursed her lips, sounding aggrieved: “Chloe, do you dislike me? I’ll leave right now.” Ethan grabbed her as she turned around. “You’re overthinking it. She’s probably just tired. We won’t bother her sleep anymore!” Without bothering to say goodbye to me, his supposed girlfriend, he pulled his childhood friend and left directly. He didn’t even consider that, having just woken up from being unconscious for over ten hours, how could I possibly sleep? However, their departure was exactly what I wanted. I picked up my phone and started investigating my situation. Because I didn’t believe a single word Ethan said. I had just quickly glanced through the photos on the phone. Most of them were secret photos I took of him, but there were also some photos of us together. In every single photo together, including the lock screen where our faces were pressed together, I had a slight smile. That’s the problem. I never just smile slightly for photos; I always show my teeth in a big grin. The person who knows me best is myself. Looking at those photos, I could tell those smiles weren’t genuine. I was forcing a smile. Or rather, I was putting on a performance of being happy for someone else to see. 5 There was one more crucial thing. I had someone I liked. Ethan had his older childhood friend. I also had my childhood sweetheart. Liam Hughes. The boy I grew up with. My companion, my older brother figure, my best friend. Throughout my life, his presence was everywhere. He was a genius scholar, the “perfect child” in every parent’s eyes. A dazzling existence like a star wherever he went. The most handsome guy you’d spot instantly in a crowd. The patient childhood friend who tutored me all the way to my good high school finals score. He was the one I had liked since my first flutter of teenage romance. We liked each other. We had already agreed to go to the same university. And start dating freely as soon as we got to college. With someone who amazed my entire youth right there, how could I possibly fall in love with anyone else? I picked up my phone and started dialing the familiar number from my memory. “The number you have dialed is not in service,” the automated voice reminded me. Impossible! Like a crazy person, I dialed the number over and over again. Over and over again, I listened to the mechanical voice from the receiver. How could this be? How could the number I had dialed countless times, the one I knew by heart, be out of service? I opened the phone gallery again and looked through it from beginning to end. It was entirely filled with that stranger, Ethan! Notes, memos, university intranet, various chat apps, I checked them all. Starting from my freshman year six years ago, my life was entirely consumed by Ethan. There was no trace of Liam. Did my amazing, prominent childhood sweetheart just vanish into thin air? Oh right, Mom and Dad. I called my mom. “Chloe? Did you finish all your graduation paperwork? When are you coming home?” Thank goodness, it was the voice I knew. Before I could speak, my mom started chattering away. “If you haven’t decided on a job yet, don’t rush. Come home and relax for a bit, then look slowly.” “And that boyfriend of yours, you’ve been dating for a few years now, right? Bring him home for us to meet when you have time.” “I’ve mentioned it a few times before, and you always found excuses to refuse. What, is he unwilling to come back with you?” So, I had been dating Ethan for years and hadn’t met either set of parents. His parents looked down on my status and refused to meet me. As for my side, was it that Ethan didn’t want to come meet my parents, or was it that I myself didn’t want to bring him? On the phone, my mom was still asking about my health, asking if I had lost weight again recently, and telling me to stop dieting. “Mom, where did Liam go?” I suddenly asked. The voice on the other end came to an abrupt halt. 6 It took a while for my mom to seem to find the name in her memory. “Liam? Why are you suddenly asking about him? Didn’t their whole family move abroad?” “Old Mr. and Mrs. Hughes too, it’s like they evaporated after moving abroad. They haven’t been back to our hometown once in all these years.” “We lost contact years ago.” “Speaking of which, you and Liam used to be stuck together like glue when you were little. We all thought you two would end up dating.” “Who knew that as soon as you started college, you fell for someone else, and Liam’s family just moved abroad.” “It’s a pity for you two childhood sweethearts. I really liked Liam. If he had been my son-in-law, I would have been a hundred percent satisfied!” It seemed my mom didn’t know what happened between me and him either. I chatted absentmindedly for a few more minutes and then hung up. Lying in the hospital bed, I briefly organized my experiences from the past few years. After the college entrance exams, the day the scores came out, I excitedly went looking for Liam. I wanted to tell him that I could go to the same university as him. My memory stopped on the road running towards his house. Waking up again, it was today, six years later. I had already graduated with my master’s. As soon as I started college, I fell for a guy named Ethan, went crazy for him, lost my mind over him. Shamelessly chased him for a year before finally getting him. Judging from Ethan’s condescending tone, I was clearly the subordinate in this relationship. I don’t understand. Even if I had moved on to someone else, my IQ should still be intact. Why would I do something so brainless? What happened six years ago that turned me into this? Could it be that someone transmigrated into my body? No, I had seen several photos of handwritten course notes I took in the phone gallery. The handwriting was exactly the same as mine. Using different colored highlighters for different key points was also my personal habit. It was evident that I took my master’s courses seriously and didn’t slack off on my studies. In my chat history with my advisor, he mostly praised me. I didn’t let my “love brain” delay my studies. This discovery made me breathe a sigh of relief. However, if even an absurd hypothesis like transmigration was ruled out, how could I explain my madness over these past few years? While I was thinking, I felt the need to use the restroom. I got up and went to the bathroom. Pushing the door open, facing me was a mirror hanging on the wall. Seeing myself in the mirror, I froze. It was still my face, but why had I lost so much weight? No wonder on the phone, my mom asked if I had lost weight again. She used to always remind me to eat less, saying I wouldn’t look pretty if I gained more weight. The old me couldn’t be called fat, but I was definitely not skinny. My face used to be round, with a bit of baby fat. Fair skin, good complexion. Liam always said my cheeks were like peeled eggs, supple and bouncy. And now? My cheeks were actually sunken in slightly from being so thin. My arms were as thin as bamboo sticks. Could it be that Ethan likes slim girls, so I dieted for him? What kind of willpower would that take?! I’ve always had a good appetite since I was little. I loved snacks, BBQ, cakes, desserts, and boba tea. I gave all of that up for Ethan? Too crazy, I couldn’t believe I was capable of doing that. I walked to the toilet and pulled down my pajama pants. Looking at my thighs, I froze again. It seemed it wasn’t just a simple matter of dieting. My thighs were crisscrossed with multiple scars. I had self-harming tendencies! 7 “Miss Smith, you can’t leave the hospital yet! You still need an IV drip this afternoon!” the little nurse yelled while chasing after me. “I have something to do! I’ll come back this afternoon!” I waved at her as I ran. The shopping app on my phone had my delivery address. It turned out I had rented a place on the university campus. Even though I had graduated, yesterday’s purchase history showed items were still being delivered there, meaning I hadn’t moved out yet. I called a cab and headed straight to the apartment on campus. I had the keys in my bag. Walking into the apartment, I confirmed at a glance that this was my place. The decorations, the potted plants, the plushies, the snacks in the fridge—they were all things I liked. The clothes in the closet were all styles I favored. Once again proving that for the past six years, that person was indeed me. No transmigration involved. Following my past organizing habits, I started searching the desk area. Finally, in a document folder in the drawer, I found a stack of medical records. Over the past few years, I had seen a psychiatrist, and more than once. According to the medical records, I had moderate depression and self-harming tendencies. The doctor’s conclusion was that, because the patient refused to cooperate and confide, they had not yet found the cause of the illness. In other words, I was depressed and self-harming, I felt something was wrong with me, so I went to see a psychiatrist. But facing the doctor, I refused to speak what was on my mind, preventing the doctor from making an accurate diagnosis and therefore unable to provide an effective treatment plan. This was very contradictory. Since I went to see a psychiatrist, I obviously wanted to save myself. Why didn’t I confess everything to the doctor? Could it be that someone stopped me from confiding in the doctor? I had to find out what happened over these past few years. I called my mom and asked her to take photos of every page of my high school yearbook and send them to me. Back at the hospital, sitting on the bed, I started calling my former high school classmates one by one. Asking them if anyone could contact Liam. I even asked our old homeroom teacher and subject teachers. Unfortunately, no one knew where he was. In the evening, Ethan called and said he was having his family’s housekeeper deliver food to me. He was busy and wouldn’t be coming over. For the next two days, he didn’t show up again. But every meal was delivered on time. Even when I was discharged, I didn’t see a shadow of him. Back at the university, I spent a whole day walking around the campus. This was once the shared goal of Liam and me. We agreed to apply here together, and then officially start dating. The result was, only I came. Why didn’t he come here as promised? If he didn’t come to this university, why did he go abroad? Why did he vanish? And what had happened to him? 8 That night, I turned on my laptop and started searching my online footprint over the past few years. Ethan called. “I heard from the housekeeper yesterday that you were discharged when she brought you lunch. How is it? Your body’s fine now, right?” “It’s fine!” I stared at the computer screen, brushing him off. “Since you’re fine, run an errand for me! Go to the wine cabinet in my house and grab a bottle of wine. I’ll send you a picture of it in a bit.” A very natural tone. He must have ordered me around like this a lot in the past. “Not going.” I hung up immediately. A few minutes later, he called again. I didn’t answer, and the phone kept ringing. I picked it up, annoyed: “What do you want? I told you I’m busy!” “Chloe, you’ve got some nerve, talking to me like that?” “Just a reminder, I have amnesia. To me, you’re a stranger. Why do you think I’d listen to you?” I asked. “Oh, I remember now, you have amnesia. I was wondering why you, who used to be so obedient, suddenly grew a spine.” He chuckled lightly. “So, stop bothering me, OK?” I hung up. The next second, I received a message from him on WeChat. “Are you sure you’re not coming?” Followed by a photo of a little bear keychain. “This is yours, right?” “Do you still want it?” I stared at the little bear in the photo, stunned. This was a gift Liam gave me in our senior year of high school. This little bear keychain was originally one of the prizes he won for placing first in the grade. He put the prize box in front of me and told me to pick what I liked. Inside were a fountain pen, a notebook, an electronic English dictionary, and more. I instantly fell in love with this little bear. A month after I attached this little bear to my backpack, I made it into the top ten of the grade for the first time in a mock exam. I even joked with Liam that it was my lucky star protecting my grades. I said I would keep it on my bag forever. How did it end up with Ethan? Ethan offered an explanation: “When you fainted that day, it fell at the entrance of the courthouse. Mia picked it up.” “If you want it, be a good girl and go get my wine.” I went to Ethan’s house, used the passcode he gave me to open the door, grabbed the wine he wanted, and then rushed to the private club he was at. When I pushed the door open, the noisy chatter stopped instantly. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me. Including Ethan and Mia sitting in the center of the sofa. A slacker-looking guy spoke up: “Yo, didn’t they say Chloe had amnesia? How come she’s still at your beck and call?” Another chimed in: “Maybe submission to Ethan is already encoded in her DNA. Even with amnesia, she can’t forget her instincts.” “Sigh, Ethan’s charm is just too powerful!”

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My mom was forced into a divorce. The instigator was my aunt. Because she only wanted me, my mom was forced by my aunt to leave with nothing. On the day of the court verdict, in front of everyone, I declared that I wanted to live with my dad. That year, I was 12, and my revenge had just begun. 1 The one who “successfully usurped the throne” was my biological aunt. She was only 26 that year, with a pretty face, a seductive figure, and eyes full of cunning. Unfortunately, such a “beauty” had never found a match. Most likely because she had a cousin whose father was unknown. My grandparents worried sick about her. Even on their deathbed, they urged my mother to take good care of her “immature” sister. To fulfill her parents’ dying wish, my mother kindly took care of my aunt. I didn’t expect my aunt to climb straight into her brother-in-law’s bed. My mother, who had always been gentle and mild, couldn’t bear the sight and fell ill immediately. Young as I was, I still remember her tearful, “tragic” display by my mother’s bedside. “Sister, I really couldn’t control my feelings…” “Besides, for all these years, Robert… I mean, brother-in-law and I have had feelings for each other.” “Moreover, this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this.” A paternity test completely destroyed any remaining love my mother had. It turned out that my cousin, whose background was unknown, was actually my half-sister! The double blow from her husband and sister made my mother bedridden. My aunt was still the same aunt, but I finally saw clearly the wolf’s eyes she couldn’t hide under sheep’s clothing. Young as I was, it seemed I grew up in an instant. During the height of summer, whenever my aunt came, she would always cry her eyes out, asking my mom not to be too hard on them for the child’s sake. Just when my mother thought she still had a shred of conscience and wanted to “settle it internally” for my sake, Unexpectedly, her real thought was… “Sister, just divorce brother-in-law.” “Your daughter has already enjoyed the warmth of a family for 10 years, it’s time for our Mia’s turn.” “Mia, quickly beg your aunt!” She dragged her 5-year-old cousin right up to my mom’s sickbed. “Please, Auntie, you already have a sister, please give Mia’s daddy back to Mia.” My cousin was really “a big drama queen in a small body.” While bowing to my sick mother, she actually started crying directly. Ha, how shameless. 2 Although my mother felt uncomfortable, what happened had already happened. In the eyes of my shameless aunt, she had gained the upper hand. She stopped going to the job she had been introduced to, stayed at our house every day, and stubbornly demanded an explanation. “Anyway, the child is here. You can kill us or do whatever you want.” My aunt pushed my cousin forward, looking as if she were at our mercy. “Auntie, I beg you, don’t hit me.” My little cousin was even more ridiculous. Her eyes were like faucets; her acting skills were so refined she could cry in three seconds. For a time, the house was always filled with the child’s crying and my aunt’s roaring, making everyone anxious and restless. In such an environment, my mother was both annoyed and agitated. Over the next few days, I continued to hear arguments between her and my father. Those unbearable truths painted a “dirty picture of adults.” For several days in a row, whenever night fell, I couldn’t sleep, so I could only wander aimlessly around our old house. My father’s ancestors had always been in business, and by his generation, they were already wealthy. Since my parents got married, I had been living in this old house left by my grandparents. Even if some of the wood had problems, my father would rather seal off the rooms than dismantle them easily. “This place holds all my childhood memories. If I tear it down, it will lose its flavor.” My father was a sentimental and nostalgic person, and he was very gentle and considerate to my mother. To be honest, my dream used to be marrying a man like my father. But I didn’t expect that without the filter, my father would turn out to be even more unbearable than an ordinary person. Below the stairs, I caught a glimpse of my father sitting alone at the bar, drinking. During the few days my mother was exhausted, he also looked increasingly haggard. “Robert, why aren’t you sleeping yet?” A soft female voice came. Late at night, I caught sight of the figure I had already guessed. My aunt, wearing a light green silk nightgown, stood under the light, stretching her waist, graceful and charming. “I can’t sleep, do you want a drink with me?” She held a bottle of wine in one hand and held a slender wine glass with the other. When I grew up, I often wondered why my father fell for it back then. After thinking about it, the only answer is—human frailty. The more concentrated the mind, the easier it is to get distracted. There are no absolutely rational people in the world, especially in an environment full of temptation. Never fight against human nature; you will inevitably lose terribly. 3 After Mia’s identity was exposed, my aunt moved in openly. My mother’s complexion worsened day by day, but apart from shedding tears, there seemed to be no substantial progress. My aunt took root in our house with unprecedented speed. She gradually replaced the servants and the driver. By the time my mother reacted, she had no one available by her side. My father, probably also “too lazy to argue,” just hid at his company. Only my mother and I were left at home. Every day at the dining table, my aunt and Mia acted more like the true masters of this house; even the seats were swapped. “What exactly are you trying to do?” My mother’s spirit was near collapse, but my aunt was still smiling. “Sister, I just want Mia to have a better life. You’re a mother too, you definitely understand me.” My aunt’s foxy eyes were smiling, but that touch of ruthlessness always sent a chill down my spine. It wasn’t just my mother; Mia’s “invasion” towards me also slowly began. She said she liked my room and moved in. She didn’t kick me out but insisted on sharing the room with me. Every evening after dinner, she would always call my father’s office and then quickly hang up after I entered the room. “Sister, do you know? I’ve envied you so much since I was little. Every time you came to grandma’s house, you wore different clothes.” “At that time, I really hoped you would grow up faster, so that when you couldn’t wear those clothes anymore, you could give them to me.” “But now, I have new clothes too.” She held up a long dress and showed it to me. The floral long dress reached her ankles; it was clearly my size. Mia’s behavior was bizarre and confusing, tormenting me constantly. Finally, my mother lost her composure, sat down with my aunt, and laid her cards on the table. She asked what it would take for my aunt to leave. I thought my aunt would fly into a rage out of humiliation, or even tear off her mask, but what happened was unexpected… “I’ll leave this afternoon, the tickets are already bought.” My aunt answered very straightforwardly; let alone my mother, even I was stunned. “Sister, take care of yourself.” “Are you really…” “Really, I mean what I say. Even if you beg me, I won’t come back.” The next day, my aunt did indeed leave with Mia. Everything happened so fast, but it dissipated with unusual ease. “Chloe, everything that happened recently is over.” My mother’s comforting smile looked exceptionally weak. Looking back at the few months since my aunt arrived, it really felt like a nightmare. Autumn wind blew in from the window, and I felt a bleak chill. The green plants my aunt gave us when she arrived had grown, and their leaves were swaying with the wind. Will she really leave so simply? My doubts were confirmed three days later. My father, who had been hiding for weeks, finally returned home, but it was to argue with my mother. It turned out my aunt had anonymously reported my father. “If it weren’t for my friend at the stock exchange tipping me off, do you know how serious the consequences would be? Can you stop provoking your sister? You really know how to cause trouble.” My father was truly panicked. So much so that he even forgot why my aunt came in the first place. Helpless, my mother still called my aunt. She didn’t answer the whole day; it wasn’t until late at night that my mother’s phone kept ringing. “Sister, you were looking for me.” “What exactly do you want? Where are you now? Let’s talk this over properly.” “You’re asking me to come back, right? Then I’ll set the conditions. Divorce. Except for the child, you take nothing.” Compared to my mother’s hoarse voice from anxiety, my aunt’s voice was noticeably light and thin. Ringing in the quiet midnight, it had an indescribable eeriness. Like a death warrant from a grim reaper. It suffocated my mother like she was dying. 4 Sure enough, the consequence of my mother’s compromise was divorce, leaving with nothing. My father also “kindly” stated that my mother could take me away; mother and child are connected by heart, he understood. Leaving with nothing? Although I was still young, from the reminders of others, I still understood that my aunt wanted to drive my mother out of the house. She didn’t want to give my mother a single penny of the money that should have belonged to her. My mother could also go to court and sue my father for bigamy, but she still didn’t want me to have a tainted father, so she chose to endure. I wanted to urge my mother to sue; I wasn’t afraid of my father having a stain. But my mother insisted that I was small and my considerations were not comprehensive enough. Ultimately, during the divorce mediation, when the court pronounced the verdict, to my mother’s astonishment, I chose my father. Because I wanted to protect my mother; she absolutely must not have nothing. Because she couldn’t get my inheritance rights, my mother finally calmed down and proceeded with the divorce mediation with my father, ultimately taking away a small portion of my father’s net worth. The scene I caused in court really made my aunt panic for a while. Her wishful thinking was not perfectly realized because of my sudden change, but soon, she accepted this fact. “If you like calling me aunt, keep calling me that. If you don’t, you can call me whatever you want.” “The family has its rules; call me what you should.” My father, “freshly remarried,” was completely bewitched; every word he spoke was defending my aunt. “Then sister should just call her mom with me.” Mia also blinked her big eyes, looking innocent. Since my mother was forced to leave, I got to see my aunt’s methods. In terms of understanding my father, my mother really couldn’t compare to this “latecomer.” Compared to my mother’s care and interaction as a wife, her attitude towards my father was more like to a boss. She could easily control my father’s emotions and state her demands at the most appropriate time. My aunt was like boiling a frog in warm water, step by step restricting my father’s emotions. My aunt provided the best emotional value to my father, but to me, it was endless psychological suppression. My aunt would from time to time “display family warmth” in front of me. But when my father wasn’t around, she would mock me in various ways. Fortunately, I, who understood my situation, learned self-control. When it was really unbearable, I went to see my mother. As long as my mother was there, my life wasn’t too hard; for my mother, I had the courage to persevere. My aunt would grow old, and I would eventually grow up too. When that time came, I would be able to protect my mother completely. Having a clear goal, I put all my energy into my studies. My studies were as good as ever, and I could win places in various competitions. But not long after, using “my health” as an excuse, my aunt gradually reduced my various skill classes. Without money to renew the fees, I had to say goodbye to the things I liked, but Mia walked my old path and became the “beloved pupil” of those teachers. Even so, my aunt was still worried about me “overusing my brain.” In my first year of high school, she rarely studied my various grades. Without my consent, she arbitrarily changed my career direction, switching from liberal arts, which I liked best, to science. “I’m doing this for your own good.” Every time, she would strike me and then smile brightly at me. I looked at her; she gradually got crow’s feet, but that ruthlessness was only more terrifying than before. I knew the reason why my aunt was restraining herself was that she hadn’t gotten her biggest “bargaining chip” yet. Just half a year after I entered school, I finally heard the news. “Sister, I’m going to have a little brother.” Mia happily announced to me. This time, she didn’t even bother saying “we,” but directly used the word for herself. After being away from home for half a year, I finally learned that my aunt had been pregnant for over 7 months. Even though she was an older pregnant woman, she put a lot of thought into it, and the pregnancy was very stable. 5 Shortly after learning about my aunt’s pregnancy, I took advantage of the weekend to visit my mother. After the divorce, my mother, who got the dividends, quickly started a new life. With growing experience, my mother started her own small business. Although it couldn’t compare to my father’s industry, compared to her past life as a full-time housewife, it was a “qualitative leap.” I occasionally met with my mother; she was still gentle, but the light in her eyes was somewhat diminished. “Mom, actually, after so many years, if there is a suitable person, you can remarry.” I had this idea long ago. But I was too young before to dare mention it to my mother. Now, my aunt is about to secure her position in the family completely because of her child, while I, who originally thought I could drive this mother and daughter out of the house after I grew wings, in fact, not only made no progress, but my aunt is now “elevated by her child.” “I’m tired, I’m not looking anymore.” My mother stroked my face, very affectionately. “When you get into college, you can date, and then mom will check them out for you.” “I’m not looking, I’ll just be with mom for the rest of my life.” I shyly snuggled in my mother’s arms, enjoying a rare moment of warmth. As the sun set, I also said goodbye to my mother. She stood behind me, waving and telling me to be careful crossing the street. A pregnant figure entered my mother’s shop after I left. Three minutes later, my mother rushed out crying. She was too sad; tears overflowed her eyes, blurring her vision. When I turned around and ran forward, I only heard a loud bang, and after a huge impact, my mother’s crying abruptly stopped. Not far away, my aunt was sticking out her pregnant belly, looking at all this with an innocent face. 6 Six years later. Looking at the Golden Glory Building in front of me, I smiled comfortably. I had been back here for a week, but I hadn’t contacted anyone. Now, I was no longer the little orphan girl who lost her mother, but a top student from Yale with an MBA. Giving up a high salary in the US, I resolutely chose to return to my home country. Everything was because of a man I had never met. That person was the “ideal son-in-law” my aunt had her eye on. I heard my aunt had secretly arranged for him to interact with Mia for a long time, just waiting for Mia to graduate to finalize this matter completely. That man was very mysterious; after checking for a long time, I didn’t know much either. I heard he was someone from the province’s largest enterprise—the Sterling family, a year older than me. “Aunt, your daughter should taste the suffering my mother went through.” I found my father’s old “rival,” and with his help, I passed the interview at the man’s company using a completely clean identity. “Miss Vance, please wait a moment, the president’s meeting will be over in half an hour.” Today was the final round of my interview for the president’s secretary position. In the office behind me sat my examiner for today. He was also my aunt’s most desired “ideal son-in-law,” Mia’s future “fiancé.” Since she gave birth to a son six years ago, my aunt’s status as a wealthy wife has been secured. Mia also became the veritable eldest miss of the Wang family. At this point, everything is ready except for a decent marriage. As for me, not only because I wasn’t 18 at the time and my inheritance could only be kept by my guardian father, I was also “sent overseas for further study overnight” by my aunt without a penny. I lost not only my mother but also my surname, which was changed to my mother’s maiden name. “My sister left early, we must leave a memento.” From then on, I was logically kicked out of the scope of heirs. In a foreign land, without even a high school diploma, I managed to earn my pre-university tuition by washing dishes in Chinatown. For six years, I didn’t contact anyone. Naturally, they didn’t pay attention to me either. My aunt would never know that, thousands of miles away, I still thought of “her” all the time. Over the past few years, my father and she seemed glorious, but in reality, it was just an empty shell. I had originally intended to wait until their foundation was a bit more solid before returning. But now… Calculating the time, I stood up and walked towards the pantry. When I returned to the waiting area with a coffee, the door to the president’s office happened to just be closed. I knocked on the door. “Come in.” A pleasant male voice sounded from inside, gesturing for me to enter. “Hello, President. I am Chloe Vance, here for the secretary interview today.” I placed the coffee cup on the desk, but the man didn’t even look up. I carefully examined the man’s face. He looked very young, yet carried the aura of a king in power. To be honest, my aunt really had a good eye for choosing men. But would a “little white flower” like Mia really be this guy’s type? 7 The man was looking at documents on his own, not paying any attention to me at all. After a long while, he finally tapped the coffee cup lightly with his fingernail and then looked up at me. “I don’t like subordinates who take matters into their own hands.” The implication was that he was asking me to leave. “Today is Wednesday. What you wanted to drink should be Blue Mountain…” “But I don’t have the right to use the key to your exclusive locker, so I could only choose the best beans available on the counter.” “This cup is Mandheling, best for refreshing.” Rumor had it that Sterling Group was negotiating an acquisition with Sudilai Chemical, and the stock market was changing every day. Presumably, he must have been incredibly busy pulling all-nighters recently. “You can go out now.” This time, he scrutinized me carefully. At the moment I closed the door, I caught a glimpse of him picking up the coffee cup from the corner of my eye. I smirked. It seemed the result of my interview should be pretty good. … Just as I was about to celebrate my initial success, a late email disrupted my plan. “Sister Chloe, I’m sorry, I sent you the wrong photo.” The hacker I hired apologized profusely to me. Looking at the smiling but very unfamiliar face on the screen, my expression completely froze. If the man on the screen was my actual “brother-in-law,” then who did I meet today? Soon, I found out the answer. “I originally wanted to flirt with a rookie, but stepped on an eagle’s wing.” It turned out my aunt’s appetite wasn’t that big. The one she set her sights on was not the current big boss of the Sterling Group, Arthur Sterling, but his nephew—Julian Sterling. Legend has it that Julian lost his mother when he was young and was deeply involved in the battle for family assets, almost becoming a discarded pawn. Fortunately, he had a powerful uncle. Arthur, who was only in his twenties at the time, not only helped him protect his maternal family’s property but also set a trap for his brother-in-law’s company, slowly eating away and swallowing it up. Because of his childhood experience, Arthur has always carefully protected his nephew, not letting him fall deep into the complex business world. Julian, who only held a sinecure, was kind to others and had a very honest and sincere temperament. The face I interviewed with today appeared in my mind. He looked decisive and resolute, with “Don’t Mess With Me” written all over him from head to toe. “Really, he’s obviously an older guy, why does he look so young… If you had an old face, would I have made such a blunder?” There was no way around it; I had already flirted with him, so the only plan for now was to stay in the company first. 8 In the days that followed, while exposing my “shortcomings,” I continued to secretly collect information about Julian. This time, I didn’t make any more mistakes. Fortunately, Julian also worked at Sterling Group, just in a different department. My “feigned clumsiness” quickly wore out Arthur’s initial “good impression.” A week later, I received a suspension notice from HR. “Miss Vance, starting tomorrow you will no longer be the president’s secretary. If you are willing to accept a reassignment, you can still stay in our company.” No matter what, I had to stay first. I held my patience, started from the bottom, and constantly paid attention to internal transfers within the company. Through round after round of promotion exams, I finally got my wish and became the assistant to the Marketing Director, Julian. HR also finally sent the transfer order. Heh… Brother-in-law, it’s really hard to get to see you. … And just like that, I became Julian’s assistant. At work, I performed impeccably in professional aspects, but in human relations, I occasionally made some insignificant little mistakes. “Your family must have protected you very well; you can’t even read the room.” “I’m sorry, Director, it won’t happen again next time.” I looked a bit frustrated and lowered my head in anger. But the kind-hearted Julian wasn’t angry at all and even comforted me. “It’s okay, you don’t have to come to this kind of social event next time.” I was just about to argue, but instead received a look of affirmation from him. “Everyone has what they are good at, you don’t need to mind.” “…” In fact, Julian was the one who was best protected. So much so that he couldn’t see through my little tricks even once. Over time, my persona as a “confused elite” was firmly established. In today’s era of big data, I had already clearly figured out Julian’s preferences. Science shows that the so-called “dream lover” in people’s hearts is actually the idealized self that they have not yet reached. Men and women use the combination of “love and marriage” to fulfill the regrets in their hearts. I wasn’t sure if Julian would “make do and try” with Mia, but getting him to sincerely accept this marriage would be no easy task. Especially after I had already worked hard to mold an image infinitely close to his “dream lover.” … Late autumn was approaching, and the cemetery had become unusually desolate. Standing in front of the tombstone, the autumn wind blew the hem of my coat. My mother’s face on the tombstone was still beautiful, but it could no longer respond to my calls. “Chloe, is that you?” My father’s voice came from behind. The eye drops I deliberately put in took effect; after the soreness, tears fell right on cue. “Dad?” Turning around, my face was full of astonishment, and I took off my sunglasses. The man in front of me had long lost his bossy spirit from my memory; he had a potbelly, and his hair was slightly sparse. They say you are influenced by the company you keep. He really looked more and more like my aunt.

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My husband is a kept man, but no one in my family would ever dare breathe a word of it to his face. Because I protected him like my life depended on it. When my best friend made a fleeting joke about him marrying into money, I cut her off entirely. When my father tried to use my husband’s financial dependence to control him, I didn’t speak to my father for three months. When my husband felt suffocated working under the umbrella of my family’s empire, I quietly bought a tech firm, rebranded it, and installed him as the CEO so he could play the big boss. Today was his mother’s fiftieth birthday. I had rushed through my morning meetings, planning to catch a quick nap at my private pied-à-terre in the city before heading to the luxury hotel to celebrate her. I had spent an entire week meticulously planning the gala, inviting everyone who mattered. I had barely closed my eyes in the quiet dimness of my apartment when a hand suddenly twisted into my hair, violently dragging me off the mattress and onto the hardwood floor. “You shameless whore! You dare sleep with my husband? Look at you, you piece of trash!” “If I don’t rip your face off today, my name isn’t Vera!” 1 A hand yanked my scalp backward, forcing my chin up. I found myself staring at a circle of looming figures. “Vera, look closely. Is it her?!” “It’s this cheap bitch. I saw her getting into my husband’s car yesterday with my own two eyes. I’d recognize that face even if she were burned to ashes.” “Her apartment gate code is my husband’s birthday. I knew it!” The searing pain radiating from my scalp made me wince, but more than anything, I was profoundly disoriented. The women standing over me were dressed for a country club brunch. The one leading the pack—Vera—was wearing a flowing, immaculate Zimmerman maxi dress. She had long, perfectly blown-out hair and the kind of face that usually looked innocent. But right now, her eyes were so contorted with venom that she looked monstrous. This was absurd. I was just taking a midday nap in my own private sanctuary. Somehow, a group of strangers had broken in and mistaken me for a mistress. I have always despised infidelity. Figuring that this woman had simply lost her mind out of grief over a cheating husband, I decided not to escalate things. I looked up at her, my voice cold and steady. “You have the wrong person. This is my apartment. Get out right now, or I’m calling the police.” The moment the words left my mouth, Vera’s hand cracked across my cheek. “You slut! Are all mistresses this arrogant now? You want to call the cops?!” Her blonde friend standing next to her scoffed, her face flushed with self-righteous fury. “Caught red-handed and still no shame. Disgusting.” “If she had an ounce of shame, she wouldn’t be sleeping with a married man. Everyone knows how much Vera and her husband love each other, and this rat just had to ruin it!” “Just looking at her makes me sick!” And then, the kicking started. Blows rained down on my ribs, my back, my shoulders. After a flurry of vicious kicks, my face was bruised and my nose was bleeding. I curled into a ball, terrified to provoke them further. Women blinded by this kind of mob-fury were capable of anything. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood, gritting my teeth. “You have completely misunderstood. I am married. My husband and I are very much in love. I would never be a mistress.” I pointed a shaking finger toward the console table. “There’s a framed photo of me and my husband right there. I’m not lying to you.” Vera glanced at the silver frame. She let out a sharp, breathless laugh. Pulling her phone from her designer bag, she shoved the screen inches from my bloody face. Her jaw tightened. “Then take a good look at my husband. Look familiar?” The breath left my lungs. My eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. My voice trembled as I stared at the screen. “That… that’s impossible. They just look alike. It can’t be… My husband’s name is Harrison.” “What a coincidence,” Vera sneered. “My husband’s name is Harrison, too. The CEO of the Harrison Group.” The Harrison Group. The company I had bought and handed to my husband. Something deep inside my mind fractured like fragile glass. My body went completely limp against the floorboards. I stared at the photo of Harrison and Vera, their arms wrapped around each other on some sun-drenched beach, and my vision blurred with hot tears. I couldn’t process it. The man in that photo was Harrison. My Harrison. The man I had loved with everything I had. We had been college sweethearts. It was love at first sight freshman year, followed by four years of quiet, beautiful simplicity. Just as we were talking about marriage, Harrison’s mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness. My father—a ruthless billionaire who controlled half the city’s real estate—approached Harrison privately. My father promised to pay for the experimental treatments and secure his mother’s future, but on one condition: Harrison had to sign an ironclad prenuptial agreement, sever his own ambitions, and essentially marry into the family as a kept man, a silent accessory to the Hastings empire. Harrison hadn’t hesitated for a single second. He agreed. Because of that sacrifice, I had spent my entire marriage feeling like I owed him. I owed him his pride. I owed his family. That was why I never allowed a single soul, not even my own father, to mention the terms of our marriage. It was why I bought his parents two sprawling luxury estates in the suburbs so they could live in comfort. I worried he would feel emasculated in my father’s boardroom, so I bought him his own company, letting him play the titan of industry. I nurtured his ego. I gave him everything, completely and unconditionally. I had foolishly believed that a love given entirely would be returned entirely. I was wrong. Now, Vera was holding a photo, telling me that Harrison had been cheating on me. And from the look of it, for a very, very long time. The throbbing pain in my ribs snapped me back to the present. I closed my eyes, a hollow, freezing emptiness settling in my chest. “Leave,” I whispered, my voice completely dead. “Get out of my house. I won’t press charges for what you did today.” This was between me and Harrison now. Vera had been played by him, just like I had. I didn’t want to destroy her. But my mercy was a foreign language to her. Vera grabbed my jaw, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my skin. She smiled, a terrifying, manic thing. “You spend my husband’s money, you live in the apartment my husband bought for you, and you won’t press charges?” she hissed. “Fuck you. If I don’t destroy your pretty little face today, my entire life has been a joke.” 2 I looked into her wild eyes, opening my mouth to explain, but I only managed a single syllable. Crack. Her palm struck my face with explosive force. White stars burst across my vision, my head snapping to the side. Before I could even draw a breath, a backhand caught me on the other cheek. The blinding pain wiped every rational thought from my mind. The blonde friend pointed a finger at me, practically spitting as she yelled, “You’re young, you’re pretty, and you chose to be a home-wrecking whore! You seduce married men for a living. If we don’t teach you a lesson, you’ll think you can walk all over us!” She looked around the apartment, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Harrison really spares no expense for you, does he?” I had been sheltered and pampered my entire life. I had never known physical violence. But trapped under their heels, I could only swallow the blood in my mouth and try to reason with them. “I bought this apartment myself,” I gasped, holding my ribs. “It has nothing to do with Harrison. Yes, Harrison is married. But he married into my family three years ago. You’ve been lied to.” I had to tell the truth to stop the beating. I thought the revelation would make Vera pause. Instead, she threw her head back and let out a piercing, hysterical laugh. “A kept man? A trophy husband? Harrison’s company is worth hundreds of millions! Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?!” Her friends immediately chimed in. “Mr. Harrison runs that company with an iron fist. A kept man? Yeah, right.” “I’ve never heard of an heiress letting her trophy husband run an empire by himself.” “Look at her trying to spin the story and call Vera the mistress. This bitch is pathological!” I swallowed the rising bile in my throat. “If you don’t believe me, call him right now. Ask him.” “Spit it out,” Vera snarled. “You just want me to call him so he can rush over here and save you. Do I look stupid to you? Harrison is only with you because you’re a shiny new toy. The first thing he did when his startup took off was call me. I am the only woman he actually loves.” Vera’s voice grew shrill. She stood up, her eyes darting around the apartment. A flash of madness crossed her face, quickly replaced by raw, ugly jealousy. This apartment was just my midday retreat, but I had designed it myself. Every inch of molding, every piece of custom Italian furniture, every vintage vase was hand-selected. It breathed quiet, old-money luxury. Vera kicked me hard in the chest, knocking the wind out of me. She turned to her friends, her voice lethal. “Trash the place. Take whatever you want. Consider it a bonus for coming with me today.” The women descended like vultures. At first, they were just tearing into my closet, grabbing my Birkins and Chanel bags. Then, the frenzy took over. They began smashing lamps, ripping the silk curtains, pulling drawers out and dumping them. Whatever they couldn’t fit in their bags, they shattered against the walls. The sanctuary I had built was reduced to a war zone in minutes. My chest ached with a deep, suffocating sadness. Suddenly, I saw Vera grab a heavy pair of fabric scissors from my desk. She was eyeing the small silver locket resting on my nightstand. Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the physical pain. “Don’t touch that,” I choked out. I scrambled to my knees, reaching out frantically. “Give it back to me!” That locket was not just jewelry. It was a St. Christopher medal, custom-made and blessed. My mother had bought it with her life. When I was nine, I contracted a severe strain of meningitis. I was in a coma for weeks. The doctors had gently told my parents to make funeral arrangements. My mother, broken and desperate, refused to accept it. She drove to a remote mountain sanctuary. To prove her devotion, she walked the final three miles up the mountain in a freezing, twenty-degree blizzard. She slipped on the ice, her knees bleeding, her hands frostbitten, just to reach the chapel and have that silver amulet blessed for my protection. Whether it was a medical anomaly or a miracle, I woke up. But the exposure and exhaustion destroyed my mother’s lungs. She developed severe pneumonia and never recovered. Before she died, she pressed the cold silver into my small hand, making me promise to never take it off. It was my anchor. It was the last piece of my mother’s soul in this world. I never let anyone touch it. “You want it so bad?” Vera sneered, holding it up by the delicate chain. “Then I definitely have to break it.” “No!” Before I could reach her, Vera yanked the chain with both hands. The silver links snapped. She threw the pendant to the floor and crushed it beneath her designer heel, grinding the silver into the hardwood. I stopped breathing. The world went perfectly, terrifyingly silent. My mother’s life. “You are an animal,” I whispered. And then, fueled by a grief so primal it blinded me, I lunged upward and slapped Vera across the face with everything I had. “You dare hit me?!” Vera shrieked, clutching her cheek. “Beat this bitch until she can’t breathe!” The women swarmed me. I was kicked back down, curling into a fetal position as designer heels stomped into my spine, my stomach, my head. They grabbed whatever wasn’t bolted down—books, glass paperweights, picture frames—and hurled them at my body. Within minutes, I was a broken, bloody mess. I could barely keep my eyes open, the edges of my vision turning black. Breathing in ragged gasps, I looked up at Vera through the blood matting my eyelashes. “Vera,” I whispered hoarsely. “You are going to regret this for the rest of your life.” Vera sneered, pressing the sharp heel of her shoe directly into the back of my hand, twisting it until I cried out. “Still running your mouth? I don’t know about my regrets, but I know you’re about to experience yours.” She looked at her friends. “Drag her out.” The women grabbed my arms and legs, hauling me out of my beautiful, ruined apartment, and dragged me toward the elevator. 3 We hit the ground floor, and Vera stood over me, issuing her next command like a queen presiding over an execution. “Strip her!” The words barely registered before I felt a dozen hands tearing at my clothes. The silk of my blouse ripped. Buttons popped and scattered across the pavement. “Everyone, come look!” Vera screamed to the passing residents of my luxury building. “Look at the filthy mistress living in your building! She’s a stain on this whole neighborhood!” People began to stop. Phones were pulled out, camera lenses staring at me like cold, unblinking eyes. “I’m not a mistress!” I screamed, my throat raw. “Please, call the police! Help me!” Vera’s foot lashed out, catching me square in the mouth. My head cracked back against the concrete. The taste of copper flooded my tongue, thick and warm. Two of my teeth had been knocked loose. I choked on my own blood, my cries reduced to pathetic, wet whimpers. Seeing the sheer brutality of it, a bystander finally stepped forward. “Hey! You can’t just beat people like this, that’s assault.” Vera’s blonde friend instantly spun on the woman, pointing a manicured finger in her face. “Oh, look! Another whore rushing to defend her own kind! Let me guess, you’re sleeping with someone’s husband too?” The bystander, intimidated by the aggressive mob, took a step back and walked away, not wanting to be the next target. Vera’s smile widened, intoxicated by the power. “Take a good look, everyone! This is what happens when you destroy a family!” She reached down and violently tore the last remnants of my undershirt away, leaving me exposed to the cold air and the flashing cameras. A collective gasp rippled through the small crowd. “Oh, you have the nerve to be a homewrecker, but you’re too shy to show it off?” Vera mocked, kicking my hands away as I desperately tried to cover my chest. “Move your hands. Look at this body. No wonder she knows how to steal men.” She grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my bloody, swollen face up for the cameras. “Make sure you get high definition. I’m posting this everywhere. I want the whole country to see what a cheap slut looks like.” She clicked her tongue. “Shame her face is totally ruined now.” Vera had completely lost her mind. Her hysterical, jagged laughter echoed off the glass facades of the apartment buildings. She turned to her friend. “AirDrop me the videos. I’m sending them to Harrison right now. I want him to see what his little pet looks like in the dirt.” As she pulled out her phone, the blonde friend snatched my cracked phone from my discarded purse. She held it out to Vera. “Ness, look. The bitch’s dad just texted her. It says the whole family is already at the Waldorf Astoria.” The friend squinted at the shattered screen. “Harrison is there too.” My phone was locked with Face ID, and my face was far too swollen to unlock it, so she could only read the notification banners. Vera’s face twisted into a grotesque mask of realization. “So her dad is a pathetic pimp, too? Handing his own daughter over to Harrison just to get a piece of his money?” She tossed my phone aside. “Change of plans, girls. We’re going to the Waldorf. I am going to expose this whore right in the middle of the lobby. Let’s see how her dad likes having his reputation skinned alive in public.” No. My father’s heart condition had been worsening for months. He couldn’t handle the shock of seeing me like this. Adrenaline fought through the pain. I thrashed violently, trying to claw my way away from them. But my resistance only fueled their sick adrenaline. Laughing like hyenas, they grabbed my limbs, lifted my bruised, half-naked body into the air, and threw me into the trunk of Vera’s SUV. The heavy lid slammed shut, plunging me into total darkness. 4 Today was my mother-in-law’s fiftieth birthday. To give Harrison face, I had personally called in favors from the city’s elite to attend. The ballroom at the Waldorf Astoria was packed with wealth and influence. As the SUV pulled up near the hotel entrance, the blonde friend pointed out the window. “Ness, look. Isn’t that Mr. Harrison at the valet stand? I thought you said he was away on a business trip?” Vera’s eyes darkened with possessive fury. “That bastard. He lied to me just so he could sneak around with this little slut.” She gripped the steering wheel tight. “God, I can’t wait to see the look on his face.” “Ness,” one of the quieter friends murmured nervously. “There are a lot of high-profile people here. Isn’t this going to embarrass Mr. Harrison? Maybe we should—” Vera whipped her head around, glaring at the woman. “Are you backing out? Need I remind you that all of your husbands work for my Harrison? I could make one phone call and have them all blacklisted from the industry.” She smirked. “Today, I am forcing Harrison to make a choice.” The blonde sycophant immediately jumped in. “Duh. And obviously he’s going to choose you, Ness. You’re carrying his baby!” “Exactly. One is his pregnant, beautiful first love, and the other is a naked, beaten whore. It’s not a hard choice. Mr. Harrison needs to cut this trash out of his life permanently.” Vera pulled the car right up to the sweeping driveway of the Waldorf. Standing by the grand doors, greeting guests, Harrison recognized the SUV. He froze. As Vera stepped out, her white dress fluttering in the wind, all the color drained from his face. He jogged over to her, his voice a frantic, hushed whisper. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to go to Paris for the week!” Vera looked at him, her eyes dripping with toxic jealousy. “If I went to Paris, I wouldn’t have caught you playing house with your little whore, would I?” Harrison stared at her, completely lost. “What whore? What are you talking about?” Vera smirked. She grabbed his arm, pulling him to the back of the SUV, and popped the trunk.

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My mother’s pancreatic cancer took a sharp, brutal turn, and I found myself sobbing into the phone, begging Carter for the $150,000 we needed for a last-resort experimental treatment. He promised to wire it immediately. I sat in the sterile chill of the hospital waiting room for three agonizing hours. What I saw instead, while endlessly refreshing my phone, was Harper’s Instagram story: a screenshot of a $150,000 wire transfer hitting her bank account, captioned with a heart. My mother died in the quiet, unforgiving hours of the early morning. Carter’s money didn’t arrive until the sun was up, far too late. Later, Carter stood before me in a bespoke Tom Ford suit that cost more than a car, his face a mask of mild inconvenience. “I’ve been transferring money to Harper a lot lately for the new portfolio,” he said, adjusting his cuffs. “It was muscle memory. A simple mistake.” Harper stood beside him, the diamonds of the $150,000 necklace he’d bought her resting against her collarbone. Her red lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Maddie, please,” she murmured, her voice dripping with weaponized sympathy. “I’m sure Diana is looking down from heaven right now, and she completely understands. You really shouldn’t make a scene. Carter’s career is at a critical juncture, after all.” Six years of absolute devotion. Six years of building a life together, reduced to a punchline. To them, my mother’s life was nothing but collateral damage on their climb to the top. I clenched my fists so hard my manicured nails bit into my palms. Blood and tears fell in tandem, hitting the pristine, icy linoleum of the hospital floor. 1 A sea of black umbrellas. The low, mournful hum of a cello playing through the pavilion speakers. I stood before my mother’s casket, the cold wind whipping my hair across my face, my fingers white-knuckling the phone in my pocket. I had just hit ‘send’ on a single email. I accept the offer. I’ll be in New York in three days. I looked down at my mother’s peaceful face, the lines of pain finally smoothed away. I could still feel the phantom weight of her frail hand in mine, could still hear her final, breathless whisper: Maddie, my sweet girl. Don’t ever shrink yourself down just to fit into someone else’s life. I hear you, Mom. I finally hear you. “Madeline Frost! Do you honestly think playing the tragic orphan is going to win you any sympathy points? Carter isn’t coming back to you!” The sharp, grating voice cut through the somber quiet of the cemetery. Harper pushed her way through the crowd of mourners, a vivid splash of scarlet against the sea of black. She was wearing a tailored crimson suit, her Christian Louboutin heels clicking aggressively against the wet stone pathway. She gestured wildly at the floral arrangements. “Look at all this! I have to admit, Maddie, your little performance is top-tier!” I turned slowly. Carter was trailing a few steps behind her, a look of profound irritation etched onto his handsome face. He was wearing his standard charcoal mourning suit, but tied neatly around his neck was a crimson silk tie—the exact shade of Harper’s suit. A tie she had bought him. He was wearing another woman’s colors to my mother’s funeral. “Shut your mouth,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it possessed a jagged edge that sliced through the murmuring crowd. “You are not welcome here.” The guests froze. Conversations died in their throats. Every eye darted toward us. Carter frowned, slipping effortlessly into that condescending, authoritative tone I used to mistake for leadership. “Maddie, lower your voice. Look at where we are. Don’t make this harder on your mother’s memory than it needs to be.” My vision blurred with a rage so pure it felt like a religious experience. Who made it hard on her memory? Who starved her of her last fighting chance by giving her lifeline to his shiny new toy? “Carter,” I rasped, the sound tearing out of my throat like shattered glass. “How dare you even speak her name standing on this grass?” Harper immediately shrank back, looping her arm through Carter’s and pressing her chest against his bicep. “Carter, just let it go,” she whispered loudly enough for the front row to hear. “Losing a parent makes people completely unstable. Though, Maddie…” She looked at me with wide, Bambi eyes. “Throwing a tantrum like this? It’s really not a good look for your mother’s legacy.” Every word was a perfectly calculated strike. I looked at her, my voice eerily calm. “My mother’s legacy requires zero input from a woman who sleeps her way onto a cap table.” “Excuse me?!” Harper gasped, her hand flying to her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes with terrifying speed. “I am just trying to be supportive! After all, we’re both Carter’s…” “Enough.” Carter cut her off, but his glaring eyes were fixed squarely on me. “Madeline, when are you going to stop this hysterical crusade?” I stared at the man standing before me. The man I had pulled all-nighters for. The man whose startup I had built from the ground up. He was actually standing over my mother’s grave, scolding me. A laugh bubbled up in my chest. A dark, hollow sound that startled even me. I was laughing at my own six-year blindness. At my pathetic, unwavering loyalty. “From this second forward, Carter, we have absolutely nothing to discuss.” I reached into my black clutch and pulled out the crisp, white envelope I had carried for three days. With a flick of my wrists, I tore the resignation letter in half, then into quarters, letting the pieces flutter like snow over the damp grass. “I, Madeline Frost, officially resign as Head of Acquisitions.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Orion Capital, you, and your little parasite over there—you are dead to me.” Dead silence draped over the cemetery. I turned my back on them, facing my mother’s portrait resting among the white lilies. “Watch me, Mom,” I whispered, the dam finally breaking as hot tears tracked down my frozen cheeks. “I’m going to build my own empire now. I’m done being the architect for someone else’s.” The memories of the last six months crashed over me, a suffocating wave of deceit. 2 It had started on a crisp, sunlit Monday morning. I was in my glass-walled office, running risk models on a tech merger. In my six years at Orion Capital, my portfolios had generated over fifty million in pure profit. My projections were gospel. “Morning, team. I’m Harper Montgomery. I’m the new Investment Manager, and I’m so thrilled to learn from all of you.” The boardroom doors had swung open, and she strolled in. She looked like she had stepped off a Pinterest board for ‘quiet luxury.’ A black tweed Chanel jacket, a vintage Patek Philippe on her delicate wrist, and red-soled pumps. But the brands weren’t what made the room stop. It was her face. She possessed that untouchable, poreless beauty of someone who had never known a day of real struggle. She radiated the intoxicating, dangerous energy of a girl who always got what she wanted. Carter was at the head of the table. When his eyes landed on Harper, I saw something shift in his posture. A hunger. A spark I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. “Harper’s resume speaks for itself,” Carter said, his voice dropping an octave, smoothing out into something warm and velvety. “An MBA from Wharton, aggressive international portfolio experience. I have no doubt she’s going to shake things up around here.” After the meeting, Carter called me into his corner office—the office we had celebrated securing, the one decorated with a framed photo of us in Napa and the Montblanc pen I bought him when we hit our first million. “So, Maddie. Thoughts on the new blood?” He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the Chicago skyline. There was a thrum of electricity in his voice. “She looks the part,” I said honestly, sinking into the leather sofa. “But female intuition tells me she didn’t take a mid-level job at our boutique firm just to crunch numbers.” Carter turned around, flashing a brilliant, boyish grin that made my stomach flip. “You’re always so analytical. But you’re right to be sharp. Her resume is pristine, and her family background… well, it’s significant.” I brushed it off, too busy managing my own accounts to pry. A week later, Carter pulled me into his office again. This time, he shut the door and clicked the blinds closed, pitching the room into conspiratorial shadows. “Maddie, I have the holy grail,” he said, practically vibrating with adrenaline. “The Apex Trust is restructuring. They’re looking for a new external management team.” My heart did a violent stutter-step. The Apex Trust. It was a ten-billion-dollar fund. Landing that account would catapult us from a successful boutique firm to Wall Street royalty. It was the white whale we had been chasing for six years. It was the reason I had declined offers from Goldman and Morgan Stanley. “Are we actually in the running?” I breathed, my hands suddenly clammy. “Better than in the running.” Carter leaned across his mahogany desk, his eyes wild. “Harper Montgomery is Richard Montgomery’s niece. The founder of the Apex Trust.” I stared at him. “So… she’s here to…” “Audit us.” Carter grabbed my hands, his thumbs tracing my knuckles. “Maddie, she’s her uncle’s proxy. This is the golden ticket.” I was so blinded by the prospect of our shared dream coming true that I missed the red flags snapping in the wind. “What’s the play?” I asked. Carter’s gaze darkened into something intensely calculating. “We need a narrative. A dynamic. I need you to play the heavy. Be hard on her. Question her proposals, make her feel a little targeted.” I blinked. “Why?” “Because then I can step in,” he said smoothly. “I’ll play the mediator. I’ll defend her against the ‘harsh, veteran executive.’ Women like her—sheltered, trust-fund girls—they love a white knight. If I can make her feel protected, I win her trust. And if I win her trust, we get the fund.” I nodded slowly. It sounded manipulative, but corporate finance was a blood sport. “And then what?” “Then we secure the bag, Maddie. We win.” He kissed my forehead. “We’re so close.” God, I was so naive. I thought we were writing a masterpiece together. I didn’t realize he was just scripting my exit. 3 The plan worked seamlessly. Too seamlessly. Our first ‘performance’ was at the Friday pitch meeting. Harper presented an acquisition strategy, and right on cue, I tore it apart. “Harper, your risk assessment here is practically nonexistent,” I said, leaning back in my chair, projecting icy indifference. “Before you try to reinvent the wheel, perhaps you should familiarize yourself with our baseline conservative models?” Harper’s lower lip actually trembled. The tears welled up instantly, shining in her massive eyes. “Madeline, I know I’m the junior here, but I spent all weekend pulling these analytics. The market trends…” “Trends change with the wind,” I interrupted with a cold laugh. “We deal in hard data, not textbook theories.” The tension in the boardroom was suffocating. The junior analysts were staring at their laptops, terrified to breathe. Right on cue, Carter cleared his throat. “Maddie, let’s dial it back.” His voice was a masterclass in gentle authority. “Harper might be new to our specific culture, but her angle is incredibly innovative. We can’t let seniority blind us to fresh perspectives.” Harper looked at him like he had just pulled her from a burning building. The raw hero-worship in her eyes made my stomach churn, even knowing it was supposedly part of the plan. “Thank you, Carter,” she breathed. “I promise I won’t let you down.” At first, I compartmentalized it. I told myself it was just business. But then, the lines began to blur. Carter started quietly reassigning my flagship accounts to Harper. He gave her my two best junior analysts. He even moved her office from the bullpen to the executive floor, directly across the hall from mine. “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it?” I cornered him in the breakroom a month into the charade. “She’s practically co-director at this point.” He didn’t even look up from his espresso. “You have to commit to the bit, Maddie. We have to show her we value her beyond her last name. Think of the big picture.” The big picture. The illusion shattered the night I forgot my laptop charger and went back to the office at 9 PM. The lights were off, save for the warm glow spilling from Harper’s office. I walked quietly down the hall. Carter was standing behind Harper’s leather chair. In his hands was a velvet jeweler’s box. “Happy birthday, Harper,” his voice was a low, intimate murmur that sent a shockwave of nausea through me. She popped the box open and gasped. Nestled inside was a diamond collar necklace. It was blinding. “Carter, my god… this is too much. I can’t accept this!” “Take it,” he insisted, his voice thick with an emotion I hadn’t heard in years. “You deserve the best.” He stepped closer, brushing her hair over her shoulder, and fastened the diamonds around her neck. His fingertips lingered on her bare skin for a long, heavy moment. I stood in the shadows of the hallway, the blood roaring in my ears, feeling my world tilt on its axis. The next morning, I threw a printed photo of the jeweler’s receipt—which I had found on his assistant’s desk—onto Carter’s keyboard. “Is this the plan, Carter?” I demanded, my voice trembling. “A hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace?” He glanced at the paper, his jaw clenching in immediate defensive anger. “What is your problem?” “My problem? You’re dropping six figures on a twenty-something’s birthday! Is this part of the ‘strategy’?” “Do you know nothing about ROI?” he snapped, pushing back from his desk. “A necklace is a drop in the bucket. When we sign the Apex Trust, that money comes back tenfold!” ROI. The word tasted like ash. “You’re treating emotional manipulation like an investment strategy?” “Madeline, Jesus Christ!” He slammed his hands on the desk, his face flushed with sudden, explosive rage. “Can you stop being so incredibly suffocating? I am doing what it takes to secure our future! And frankly, I’m getting sick of your constant paranoia!” He shoved past me, his shoulder clipping mine so hard I stumbled sideways. My arm slammed into the sharp edge of the marble credenza. A dark, ugly bruise would bloom there by evening. I cradled my arm, staring at the back of the man I loved. “You’ll do whatever it takes?” I asked the empty room. “Whatever it takes,” he threw over his shoulder without looking back. “Even if it means dealing with your goddamn jealousy.” The door clicked shut, severing six years of history like a guillotine. 4 Then came a relentless, rain-soaked night in November. I was buried in spreadsheets, trying to salvage an account Harper had neglected, when my cell phone vibrated. It was the hospital. “Ms. Frost, your mother has taken a sudden turn. You need to get here immediately.” I abandoned everything, sprinting to my car. The rain lashed against the windshield, blurring the city lights into a smear of neon, mirroring the panic rising in my throat. When I reached her room, my mother looked translucent, swallowed by the hospital bed and a maze of IV tubes. The oncologist pulled me into the hallway, his expression grim. “The cancer has metastasized to her liver. She is in rapid decline.” The sterile hallway spun. I braced my hand against the wall. “What can we do? There has to be something.” He hesitated. “There is an experimental immunotherapy compound. It’s not FDA-approved yet, so insurance won’t touch it, but it has shown miraculous results in European trials. We have to administer it tonight, or… or she has a month, at best.” “How much?” I asked, my voice cracking. “I don’t care what it is.” “A hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” A hundred and fifty thousand. The exact price of a diamond necklace. My fingers shook as I dialed Carter’s number. “Yeah?” he answered. There was thumping bass in the background. A club. And the unmistakable sound of a woman’s breathless laugh. “Carter, it’s my mom. She’s crashing. The doctors need $150,000 for an experimental treatment right now, can you please wire…” “Wait, what? A hundred and fifty grand?” The irritation in his voice was instant. The background noise muffled slightly as he walked away from the music. “Are you serious?” “Please, Carter. It’s life or death. She’s out of time!” I was sobbing right there in the open corridor. “Okay, okay, calm down,” he sighed, the patronizing tone slipping back in. “I’ll handle it. I’ll initiate the wire. Just wait for the confirmation.” “Thank you. God, thank you so much, Carter.” “Yeah, whatever. I gotta go, I’m in the middle of something.” Click. I sat in the plastic chair outside the ICU. An hour crawled by. Then two. Then three. Every notification bell made my heart leap, only to crash when it was just an email. At 3:00 AM, my screen lit up with a banking alert from our joint corporate account. I opened it, ready to sprint to the billing department. Instead, the words on the screen made my blood run cold. Transfer Complete: $150,000.00 wired to Harper Montgomery. Remaining Balance: $24,500.00. Wired to Harper. I blinked hard, thinking the sleep deprivation was making me hallucinate. But the numbers didn’t change. The money—my mother’s literal lifeline—had gone to Harper. I hit Carter’s contact. It rang endlessly. Finally, a groggy voice answered. “What?” “Carter! You wired the money to Harper!” I screamed, not caring who heard me. “My mother’s treatment money!” “Huh?” There was a rustle of sheets. He was in bed. “Oh. Shit. Look, I’ve been wiring her funds for the new escrow account all week. I must have just hit her contact on autopilot. Muscle memory. I’ll just redo it.” Muscle memory. “My mother is dying right now! The pharmacy needs the funds to release the drug!” “Maddie, stop being so dramatic,” he groaned, clearly exasperated. “The wire cutoff has passed. It won’t clear until banking hours open at 8 AM anyway. It’s a few hours. Just wait.” I looked through the glass window at my mother, her chest barely rising. “Carter… do you remember what you promised her?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You sat by her bed and told her you would look after me. That you’d treat her like your own mother.” “I know, I know. And I am,” he deflected smoothly. “I said I’d send the money, didn’t I? She’s a tough lady, she’ll make it to morning. Just relax. I have a massive pitch tomorrow and I need sleep. We’ll handle it in the morning.” The line went dead. I slid down the wall, hitting the cold floor, completely and utterly shattered. 5 I remembered the day Carter met my mother. He had brought her an extravagant basket of imported teas. He held her fragile hands in his and smiled that golden-boy smile. Consider me the son you never had, Diana. I’ve got Maddie. You don’t ever have to worry. My mother had cried happy tears that day. She thought her daughter was safe. Now, her “safe harbor” was sleeping soundly while she suffocated, having accidentally given her life savings to his mistress. At 5:00 AM, the monitors in the room started alarming. I rushed in. My mother’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at me, her gaze terrifyingly clear. She squeezed my hand, her grip weak but desperate. “Maddie,” she breathed, her voice like dry leaves. “I don’t think I’m going to see the sun come up.” “No, Mom, don’t say that! The money is coming at 8 AM. We’re going to get the medicine. Just hold on!” I begged, burying my face in her shoulder. “My sweet girl.” She offered a heartbreaking, knowing smile. “I know how it is. Promise me… don’t you ever shrink yourself down for anyone again.” “Mom, please…” Those were her last words. At 6:13 AM, the monitor flatlined into a solid, deafening tone. At 8:00 AM sharp, as the sun broke over the Chicago skyline, my phone buzzed with a bank notification. $150,000 had arrived. I stared at the glowing screen for a long time. Then, I dialed Carter’s number. “Hey, it went through, right?” he answered, sounding chipper, already at the office. “Keep it,” I said, my voice as dead and hollow as the room I was standing in. “She’s already gone.”

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“Happy Thanksgiving, Resident Rachel Miller.” The elevator doors slid open. On the digital display in the lobby, the building management’s holiday greetings scrolled upward in elegant gold lettering against a maroon background. “To the resident of Unit 1801 at The Palisades, Rachel Miller: We wish you and your family a joyous Thanksgiving.” I froze. Resident. Rachel Miller. That was my name. But wasn’t this condo supposed to be my mother-in-law’s? A voice echoed down the elevator shaft from the eighteenth floor. “Rachel! The gravy is separating! What the hell is taking you so long down there?” I looked up. The impatience in her voice tumbled down eighteen flights of steel cable, heavy and demanding. I didn’t move. The screen was still glowing. “Resident Rachel Miller.” 1. Thanksgiving Day. The whole city was settling down for the holiday, the smell of roasting turkey and woodsmoke hanging in the crisp November air. I stood in the elevator, staring at that line of text, my fingertips going numb. Resident Rachel Miller. Not Barbara. Not David. Rachel. Me. The elevator doors bumped against my shoulder, retreated, and tried to close again. The sensor beeped, confused by the human who simply wouldn’t move. “Rachel! Are you down there or not? Get up here!” Barbara’s voice struck like a hammer again. I hit the button for the 18th floor. The car lurched upward. My mind was spinning with a single, desperate rationalization: It’s a glitch. The HOA system made a mistake. Because this was Barbara’s house. When we moved in back in 2016, she had made it very clear. “I paid cash for this place,” she had said, her chin tipped up. “Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. My entire life savings, poured into these walls. You get to live here, Rachel. You should be grateful.” Eight years. For eight years, I had cooked in that kitchen, scrubbed those hardwood floors, and loaded that dishwasher. And every single month, I transferred eight hundred dollars of “rent” to my mother-in-law. She took it without a flinch. “You’re living under my roof. Chipping in is the least you can do, don’t you think?” I hadn’t thought it was unreasonable. I had always believed that when you lived in someone else’s house, you were inherently smaller. You owed them. The elevator pinged. The doors opened. Barbara stood in the hallway. No apron. Hands on her hips. “I asked you to go down and grab the package from the concierge. It’s been twenty minutes. Are we having Thanksgiving dinner or not?” I stared at her. She was sixty-three. She had just gotten her hair blown out and was wearing a new burgundy silk blouse. It was a holiday, after all; she had to hold court. She looked exactly like the lady of the house. For eight years, she had been the lady of the house. “Barbara,” I started, my mouth dry. “The screen downstairs in the lobby… the HOA system—” “What about the HOA? Let’s eat! Brian and the baby are starving. Hurry up!” She turned on her heel and marched back inside. The words Resident Rachel Miller were swallowed by the click of her heels. I stood in the doorway, clutching the cardboard box in my hands. The condo was filled with loud, festive noise. My brother-in-law, Brian, and his wife, Jessica, had flown in for the holiday. Barbara was thrilled. She had been on my case since 6:00 AM. I had brined the turkey. I had peeled the potatoes. I had baked the pies from scratch. Twelve different dishes. Made entirely by one pair of hands. Mine. I swapped my boots for house slippers and walked in. The dining table groaned under the weight of the feast—golden, steaming, and perfect. Jessica, Brian’s wife, was lounging on the sectional, scrolling through Instagram. Brian was yelling at the football game on TV. My husband, David, was pouring his mother a glass of chardonnay. Not a single one of them was in the kitchen. “Come on, sit, sit, before it gets cold,” Barbara beckoned Brian’s family. “Here, Brian, try the stuffing. It took three hours to make.” It took three hours. I spent three hours making it. But there was no “I” in her sentence. “Rachel’s a great cook,” Jessica offered offhandedly, not looking up from her phone. Barbara waved a dismissive hand. “She has the time. Besides, it’s the least she can do. She lives in my house; a little elbow grease is expected.” Jessica offered a tight, polite smile and let it drop. I sat down. I picked up my fork, then set it back down on the linen napkin. Resident Rachel Miller. The words were a metronome in my head. Barbara was serving Brian the best cuts of turkey, pouring juice for Jessica’s toddler, humming a happy little tune. My husband sat beside me, eyes glued to his plate, chewing methodically. He said nothing. He never said anything. In eight years of marriage, I had never once heard David defend me to his mother. Not because he didn’t love me, but because he didn’t see the point. In his world, whatever his mother said was gospel. It was her house. Her rules. I glanced at the family portrait hanging above the mantel. Taken last Christmas. I was positioned on the far right edge, practically leaning out of the frame. You could crop me out without touching anyone else’s shoulder. A thought pierced through the fog in my brain. What if it wasn’t a glitch? What if this house actually belongs to me? Then what the hell have I been doing for the last eight years? “Rachel, what are you spacing out for? Pass the cranberry sauce.” Barbara’s sharp tone yanked me back to the present. I stood up. I walked into the kitchen. The gravy boat was still on the counter. I picked it up. My hands were shaking. And it wasn’t because the porcelain was hot. 2. To understand these past eight years, you don’t need to look at grand tragedies. It was all in the small things. Things so small that if I complained about them out loud, people would tell me I was being “too sensitive.” The day we moved in, Barbara established the law of the land. “I bought this place for four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It’s my life’s work,” she had said, sitting at the kitchen island. “You two get to live here, but we need to set some ground rules.” I thought she was going to talk about keeping the place clean. Instead, she slid a printed piece of paper across the marble. a. Monthly rent: $800. b. No nails in the walls. No hanging art. c. Do not change the window treatments. d. No pets. e. All overnight guests must be approved two weeks in advance. f. The thermostat cannot go above 72 degrees in the winter or below 74 in the summer. I had laughed. I genuinely thought it was a joke. David tugged at the hem of my sweater. “It’s my mom’s house, Rach. Let’s just do what she wants.” From that day on, I wasn’t a wife building a home. I was a tenant. During our first year, I bought a beautiful framed print to hang above our bed. Barbara walked in, took one look, and shook her head. “You put a nail in that drywall, you ruin the integrity of the room. Do you know how much a skim coat costs?” I slid the painting under the bed. In the third year, the kitchen cabinets started to warp. The hinges gave out, and grease would coat the shelves. I paid out of my own pocket to have the entire kitchen refaced. Fifteen thousand dollars. The next day, I heard Barbara talking to the neighbor in the hallway. “Oh, I just dropped fifteen grand upgrading the kitchen. I’ve invested so much into this property.” I was standing right there, holding a bag of groceries. I said nothing. In the fifth year, Brian got married and brought Jessica to stay with us for two months while they were between apartments. Two months. I cooked for four adults. I washed dishes for four adults. I didn’t wash their laundry—but I had to fold it when it piled up in the dryer. Jessica didn’t pay a dime in rent. I brought it up to David once, quietly, in the dark. The next day, Barbara confronted me. “Brian is my own flesh and blood. You expect him to pay to stay in his own mother’s house? You think you and him are the same?” We weren’t the same. I was an outsider. The outsider who paid eight hundred dollars a month to scrub floors, who wasn’t allowed to hang pictures, change curtains, or touch the thermostat. The prodigal son got to live here for free, eating the meals I cooked, treating the place like a hotel. Over eight years, how much rent had I paid? I had never calculated it. I was too afraid to. Because if I did the math, I’d have to face exactly how pathetic I had become. Once, I was mopping the living room floor. Barbara was on the sofa, watching her daytime soaps. I mopped right up to her slippers. She lifted her feet slightly, never taking her eyes off the television. I maneuvered the mop around her chair, back bent, hands gripping the plastic handle. The wet wood gleamed. I caught my own reflection in the polish. Bent over. Subservient. I looked like the hired help. When I finished, I rinsed the mop, put it on the balcony, changed my shoes, and started wiping down the kitchen counters. When David came home from work that night, I whispered to him in our bedroom. “I spent three hours deep-cleaning the floors today. Your mom didn’t even acknowledge I was in the room.” He sighed, loosening his tie. “If she didn’t say anything, it means she’s happy with it. You’re overthinking it, Rachel.” I never brought it up again. But there was one more thing. Last October, a cardboard box of mine—filled with my college textbooks, my diploma, and the letters my dad wrote to me before he died—was cleared out of the storage closet by Barbara. Thrown away. By the time I got home from work, the sanitation truck had already come and gone. “That closet was a disaster hazard,” Barbara had said, sipping her tea. “It’s my house, and clutter attracts pests. Your box of junk was taking up an entire corner.” My dad’s letters. He had been gone for five years. He wrote those letters from his hospital bed. Seven letters in total, one for every week he was in hospice. The last one was unfinished. Gone. I crouched by the empty space in the storage closet. I didn’t cry. The capacity for tears had been hollowed out of me a long time ago. David knelt beside me and rubbed my back. “Just buy a plastic bin and keep your stuff under the bed next time. You know how my mom gets about organization.” Keep it somewhere else. In the home I had lived in for eight years, there was not a single corner that belonged to me. Because it wasn’t my house. It was Barbara’s. Her word was law. 3. The Thanksgiving weekend passed in a blur of leftover turkey and forced smiles. By Monday, the HOA management office was open again. I called in sick to work and walked down to the lobby. The receptionist was a young girl, sipping an iced coffee, looking bored out of her mind. “Hi, I need to check the ownership records for Unit 1801,” I said. She glanced up. “And you are?” “Rachel Miller. I live in the unit.” She typed something into her computer. “Rachel Miller?” “Yes.” “Well, you’re the owner.” She spun the monitor around so I could see. Black and white. Owner Name: Rachel Miller. Social Security Number: Mine. Date of Deed Recording: March 17, 2016. We had moved in June of 2016. The deed had been registered in my name three months before I ever packed my first box. “Excuse me,” my voice came out as a raspy whisper. “Do you have the original purchase agreement on file?” “I’d have to check the physical archives. Do you have your ID?” I did. Twenty minutes later, I was holding a photocopy of the closing documents. Buyer: Rachel Miller. Payment Method: Cash/Wire Transfer. Total Price: $450,000. Originating Account Name— I stopped breathing. Thomas Miller. My dad. He died in February 2016. The closing date on this contract was January 2016. One month before his heart finally gave out, my father used every cent he had to buy this condo. In cash. And he put it in my name. I sat down on one of the faux-leather chairs in the lobby, staring at the copy. Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. My dad was a high school history teacher. He spent thirty-five years grading papers at the kitchen table. My mom died when I was young, and he raised me on a single public school salary. When I married David, my dad hadn’t made a fuss. He didn’t demand a grand wedding. He just held my hands and said, “Rachel, I’ve set something aside for you. I’ll explain it all when the time is right.” A month later, a massive coronary took him. I was on a business trip when it happened. I never got to say goodbye. He never got the chance to tell me what that “something” was. It was a home. He had saved pennies his entire life, bought a sanctuary in secret, and put my name on the title. He knew David was passive. He knew Barbara was overbearing. He wanted me to have an escape hatch. A fortress. But he died before he could tell me. Which meant the person who handled the estate… I stood up. I walked out of the double glass doors of the lobby. The November wind was brutal, biting at my cheeks, but I didn’t feel the cold. I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the last page of the contract, zooming in on the signatures. Under the line labeled Authorized Proxy for Buyer, there was a signature. David. My husband. He was the proxy who finalized the paperwork. He had known. From the very first day.

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At the company holiday gala, my name was pulled for the grand prize: a Hermès Kelly bag with a market value of around forty-five thousand dollars. Thrilled, I had rushed out to get it authenticated so I could sell it and finally have some breathing room. Instead, the appraiser looked at me with pity and told me it was a cheap knockoff. After the holidays, I went straight to the office to report it to our CEO. But I was intercepted by our Head of Operations. “Don’t bother Valerie with trivial things,” she had said, her voice smooth and dismissive. “Bring the bag to me. I’ll handle the feedback process.” That same afternoon, I was handed a termination notice and a lawsuit. The Operations Manager’s face twisted into a victorious sneer. “The seal on the box was broken. You expect us to believe your ridiculous story? You obviously sold the real bag, bought a counterfeit, and now you’re trying to extort the company!” I was buried under a mountain of legal fees and debt. Crushed by the suffocating weight of it all, I stepped off the roof of my apartment building. Then, I blinked. The heavy bass of the holiday gala’s DJ filled my ears. I was back. Gemma, the Operations Manager, was standing right in front of me, handing me a pristine, shrink-wrapped orange box with a strange, calculating glint in her eyes. I took a breath, letting the phantom feeling of the wind whipping past my falling body fade away. I turned on my heel, walked straight up to our CEO in front of a dozen colleagues, and held the box out to her. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us, Valerie,” I said, pitching my voice bright and loud. “A gift this exquisite really belongs to you.” 1 Valerie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Harper, that’s… I couldn’t possibly,” she murmured. But her hand was already lifting, reaching for the iconic orange packaging. This was exactly why I chose her. Valerie was a woman obsessed with status symbols. In my past life, I’d heard rumors that she had been aggressively hunting for a Kelly bag to complete her collection. If she was the one who received the fake bag, what would happen? Would a wealthy, fierce executive with zero tolerance for embarrassment be more capable of unearthing the rot in this company than a powerless junior employee like me? “Wait!” Gemma practically sprinted over, her heels clicking frantically against the marble floor. Panic flared in her eyes. “Harper, company policy strictly states that gala prizes are registered to the winner. They are non-transferable.” She positioned herself between the box and Valerie. “Operations is about to log all the winning serial numbers. If you just give it away, it throws the entire inventory process into chaos.” Valerie’s hand froze mid-air. The warm smile on her face iced over. I sneered internally, but kept my face a mask of wide-eyed confusion. “But it hasn’t been logged yet, right?” I asked innocently. “Gemma, couldn’t you just write Valerie’s name down instead of mine? The raffle ticket was blank anyway. It’s just whoever holds the prize.” Gemma flinched. She clearly hadn’t expected me to push back so directly. She darted a nervous glance at Valerie and realized the CEO was staring at her, eyes narrowed in sharp displeasure. Desperation made Gemma’s voice sharp. “Corporate benefits are meant for the employees, Harper. Using a company prize to kiss up to your boss? How does that look? What will the rest of the team think?” The room went dead silent. That crossed a line. Heads turned. People at the nearby tables were blatantly eavesdropping now. The implication was ugly enough to make Valerie flush. Her pride couldn’t take the public hit. She withdrew her hand, her tone turning clipped and distant. “It’s a sweet thought, Harper, but we do need to follow policy. Gemma is right. Keep your prize.” She didn’t look at the orange box again. My heart sank. I awkwardly pulled the box back to my chest, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Valerie. I wasn’t thinking.” Gemma let out an audible breath of relief and patted my shoulder, her grip a little too tight. “Just remember to come over to the registration desk before you leave, Harper. Don’t hold up the line.” My mind was a chaotic blur. I set the box down at my assigned table and headed straight for the restroom. I knew one thing for sure: the ballroom was heavily surveilled. As long as I didn’t leave the building with the bag, no one could accuse me of swapping it. I had just locked myself in a stall and sat down on the closed toilet lid when I heard the click-clack of Gemma’s heels storming into the bathroom. 2 “…I know! I told you I’ll have the money soon! It’s forty-five grand, right? …Let them threaten me! So what if they call my family? Stop harassing me!” A pause. Then a harsh, breathless laugh. “Find out? How could they possibly find out? As long as that idiot takes the bag out of the building tonight, she can scream until she’s blue in the face. Everyone will just assume she pocketed the forty-five grand herself. Who’s going to believe a junior copywriter over the Operations Manager?” I stopped breathing. The cold porcelain chilled the back of my legs. “Valerie was practically drooling over it today… Next week, I’ll pitch a ‘policy update’ to her. I’ll suggest that for any physical prize valued over ten thousand dollars, the company reserves the right to recall it and issue a cash bonus instead. When we do that, I’ll force Harper to pay back the market difference! I get my debt cleared, buy a real bag to kiss up to Valerie, and I’m totally in the clear.” Another pause as the person on the other end spoke. “And if she can’t pay it back?” Gemma hissed viciously. “Then the company sues her for embezzlement of corporate assets!” The voice on the phone muttered something else. “Shut up!” Gemma barked, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. “Why do you think I took such a massive risk? You think I like having those loan sharks breathing down my neck? Just get through tonight, and we’re fine.” The call ended. The heels clicked rapidly away, stopping briefly near the door. “Where the hell is that stupid girl? Why hasn’t she come to register yet…” The bathroom door swung shut. Inside the stall, I was trembling. A profound, bone-deep ice spread through my veins. So that was it. It wasn’t a simple mistake. Gemma had drowned herself in predatory online debt. She had swapped the real prize for a fake, sold the genuine Kelly bag for forty-five thousand dollars to cover her loans, and needed a fall guy. I was the chosen sacrifice. The moment I walked out of this hotel with that box, the stain on my name would become permanent. Even if I didn’t try to sell it tomorrow, she already had a plan to legally corner me into coughing up money I didn’t have. I could not leave this party with that bag. There were two hours left before the gala ended. Before then, I had to get this counterfeit out of my hands. 3 The second I sat back down in the ballroom, my phone started vibrating furiously. Gemma was blowing up the company Slack channel. @here Attention everyone. All physical prizes MUST be registered at the Operations desk before you leave the venue. Employees with unregistered prizes are not permitted to exit. Please cooperate. We are currently waiting on exactly ONE employee to register. Please come to the desk immediately so we can wrap up. People at the tables around me were already packing up their coats. They turned to look at me, irritation plain on their faces. “Harper, are you the holdup?” “Just go sign the paper, come on. We want to go home.” Before I could deflect, a couple of coworkers practically herded me over to the Operations desk. Gemma sat behind it, the registration ledger spread out in front of her. She looked up at me, her chin tilted in smug triumph. I stood there, motionless. Next to the desk stood Kelsey, a loudmouth from the marketing team who was tight with Gemma. She had a habit of making my life difficult. “Look at her,” Kelsey projected her voice so everyone could hear. “Wins the grand prize and suddenly she thinks she’s royalty.” Kelsey had been glaring daggers at me all night; she was deeply, toxically jealous of the bag. “Some people get the luckiest break of their lives and just want to play hard to get. If you don’t want it, Harper, I’ll take it! God knows I wouldn’t act like a snob about it.” A few people chuckled, eager for the drama. I let my face flush, pretending her words had pushed me over the edge. I shoved the heavy orange box right into Kelsey’s chest. “Fine! Take it! You act like I’m begging to keep it!” Kelsey let out a startled gasp, instinctively wrapping her arms around the box. Her shock instantly melted into wild ecstasy. She hugged it tight, as if terrified I would snatch it back. She whipped around to Gemma. “Gemma! Quick, put it under my name! Harper voluntarily surrendered it to me! Ha! Some people just can’t handle nice things.” But Gemma’s face had drained of color. Her voice cracked, shrill and panicked. “No!” Kelsey froze, her triumphant smile faltering. “…What do you mean, no?” I mirrored Kelsey’s confusion. “Yeah, Gemma. I’m willingly giving it to her. Aren’t you two close anyway? Just make an exception for her.” Gemma shot me a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. She choked on her words for a second before snapping, “No means no! I am following protocol! The prize must be registered under the original winner’s name. It has to be Harper!” Kelsey looked like a kid who just watched her balloon float away. Her face turned violently red, and she pointed a manicured finger right in Gemma’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me, Gemma?! Protocol? Since when do you care about protocol unless it’s to kiss executive ass? Don’t pull this bureaucratic bullshit with me! I’m keeping this bag!” 4 Kelsey’s voice was piercing. It immediately drew the attention of the stragglers who hadn’t left the ballroom yet. Gemma, sweating and desperate to contain the scene, grabbed Kelsey’s arm and hissed, “Come here! Let me explain it to you!” She practically dragged Kelsey into a quiet corner. I watched them whisper furiously. Kelsey’s expression morphed from outrage to deep suspicion, her eyes darting over to me every few seconds. Just then, a small group of senior management strolled over, clearly lured by Kelsey’s screaming match. Leading the pack was Monica, the VP of Marketing. She was famously at war with Valerie over department budgets. Monica’s sharp eyes landed on the bright orange box resting on my chair. She let out a low, amused laugh. “Well, well. Is that the infamous Hermès everyone’s whispering about?” She looked over her shoulder at Valerie, who was trailing slightly behind. “Valerie, isn’t this the exact Kelly bag you’ve been obsessing over? I swear I saw on your Instagram that you were begging your personal shopper in Paris for this exact model.” Valerie’s face tightened. She didn’t say a word. Monica, sensing blood in the water, wasn’t about to let it go. She looked Valerie up and down, feigning sudden realization. “Oh, that explains why you’ve been glaring at this table all night. You want it. It must be agonizing, watching an entry-level employee walk away with your dream bag while you just have to sit there.” “Watch your mouth, Monica,” Valerie snapped, her voice like cracking ice. Monica just smirked and turned to me. “Harper, honey. Didn’t you try to give this to Valerie earlier? Whatever happened to that?” Suddenly, every eye in the vicinity was pinned on me. I ducked my head, hunching my shoulders into a posture of perfect, trembling anxiety. “I… I did want to give it to her. But Gemma told me company policy explicitly forbids it. She said I wasn’t allowed to transfer it to an executive.” “Oh!” Monica drew out the syllable, her eyes gleaming with malice. “So it’s a policy issue. How fascinating.” She pivoted fully to face Valerie, her tone dripping with condescension. “Since when does Operations dictate what our CEO can and cannot accept? Valerie, you’re telling me you let an admin manager police your gifts? You’re really that toothless? Taking orders from the party planner?” 5 Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger. Monica was pretending to praise Valerie’s ethics while publicly emasculating her. She was calling her weak. Valerie’s chest heaved. She shot a venomous glare across the room at Gemma, who was still oblivious, whispering frantically into Kelsey’s ear. Valerie snapped. She lunged forward and slammed her hand on my table. “Harper! I’m buying the bag. Right now. Market value is forty-five thousand. I am transferring it to you this second.” The entire room seemed to stop breathing. Playing the terrified, overwhelmed subordinate, I fumbled with the lid, hastily pulling the bright orange leather bag out of its dust bag. Valerie snatched it from my hands. She didn’t even bother to look at the stitching. She just whipped out her phone. “Zelle. Now.” I gave her the email tied to my account. Three seconds later, my phone buzzed. Transfer Received: $45,000.00. Valerie gripped the handle of the fake bag, shot Monica a look that could kill, and marched out of the ballroom, her heels echoing like gunshots. Monica chuckled softly, adjusted her blazer, and led her team away. I immediately turned back to the registration desk. The last line on the ledger was completely blank. I picked up the pen and, under ‘Prize Description’, I wrote in neat, block letters: Hermès Kelly Bag (Est. Value $45,000). I signed my name. Then, in the large ‘Notes/Exceptions’ column, I wrote: Liquidated on site. Sold directly to CEO Valerie Mercer for cash. Transaction finalized and cleared. I capped the pen, closed the empty box, and stepped back. Just in time. Gemma and Kelsey had finally finished their little huddle and were walking back over. Kelsey’s face had softened, though she still looked at me with a heavy dose of schadenfreude. “So, Harper,” Kelsey drawled. “Are you giving me the bag or not? Because I already texted my friend at the consignment shop. I’m banking on that cash for my trip to Tulum next month.” Gemma stepped behind the desk, her mask of professional authority firmly back in place. “If you’re going to transfer it, do it now. I’m only making this exception once, and it’s irreversible.” They had clearly struck a deal in that corner. I looked down, rubbing my arms, projecting deep regret. “Um… I changed my mind.” “What?” Kelsey barked. I lifted my chin, playing the part of a defensive, greedy girl perfectly. “I said I changed my mind! I already signed the registry. I’m keeping it for myself!” Kelsey looked furious, turning her glare onto Gemma. “Are you kidding me? If I hadn’t listened to your stupid gossiping, I would have had it!” Gemma looked like she was struggling not to laugh, her face twitching as she maintained her stern facade. “Well, you should have decided earlier. Stop wasting my time.” 6 I clutched the empty box to my chest like a paranoid thief and turned to leave. “Not so fast, Harper,” Gemma called out, stepping out from behind the desk. “Since you registered it, standard protocol requires a photograph of the physical prize for the inventory archive. Open the box.” She was careful. I’ll give her that. I let my face contort into defensive hesitation. I pulled out my phone, pretending to open my camera app. In reality, I hit Record on my voice memos. “Pictures? Sure… actually, Gemma, do you mind if I take a bunch of close-ups too? Like, of the hardware, the date stamps, the stitching… I heard super-fakes are getting insanely good lately. If the company accidentally bought a counterfeit, I need to know so I can file a police report right now.” Gemma’s face instantly drained of all color. She backpedaled so fast she nearly tripped. “Never mind! Forget it!” she sputtered. “We don’t need an unboxing. Do you really think corporate procurement would buy a fake? Just… take a picture of the outside of the box! That’s fine!” I smiled, finally compliant. I snapped a useless picture of the cardboard. Then, right in front of them, I casually tore off the carbon-copy receipt from the registry ledger. “I’ll just keep the yellow copy for my records. Have a good night, ladies.” I walked out of the ballroom, clutching the empty box. Behind me, I could faintly hear Kelsey’s mocking laughter. “God, look at her. She actually thinks she won the lottery…” On the first day of our holiday break, I posted a story to my Instagram. No photo. Just text on a plain black background. Took my new baby out to brunch with the girls today. Finally get to see how the other half lives! ✨ I set the privacy settings so it was only visible to my ‘Close Friends’ list—which, for this account, was strictly company coworkers. Sure enough, ten minutes later, Gemma posted a vague-booking status on her own feed. No names mentioned, but the venom was palpable. Pro tip: if you’re carrying a cheap knockoff, don’t try to mingle with the big leagues. Real recognizes real. Don’t wait until you embarrass yourself in public to realize you’re a fraud. She was trying to bait me. She wanted me to panic, realize the bag was fake, and come crying to the company, right into her trap. Right after she posted that, I watched her ‘Like’ and comment on Valerie’s latest post. Valerie had posted an immaculate flat-lay of an invitation to a high-society charity gala. The caption read: Decided the new Kelly is making her debut tomorrow night. Gemma, assuming Valerie had gone to a boutique to buy a real one, had commented: Congratulations, Valerie! Gorgeous piece. It completely suits you! I locked my phone screen and let out a long, slow breath in the quiet of my living room. The bait was set. Now, we wait for the blood in the water. 7 First day back in the office after the holidays. Gemma practically kicked the door to the bullpen open, clutching a stack of freshly printed memos. “Listen up, everyone!” she shouted over the hum of the computers. “Per emergency executive orders, an audit revealed a compliance issue with all high-value physical prizes from the holiday party. We are recalling them immediately. Operations will appraise them and issue cash bonuses in their place!” The office erupted into groans and complaints. “Are you serious? I already opened my espresso machine!” “Why wasn’t this announced at the party?” “Cash bonus? Based on retail or what you think it’s worth?” Gemma clapped her hands loudly, silencing the room. Her eyes cut through the crowd and locked onto me like a laser. “This is mandatory policy. It is to protect the company from unauthorized reselling of corporate assets.” She marched straight to my cubicle and held her hand out. “Harper. The bag. Hand it over.” I looked up at her, perfectly blank. “Bag? What bag?” Gemma let out a theatrical scoff, loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “Oh, don’t play stupid with me, Harper. You think you can just keep the Hermès and play dumb? The entire company saw you win it.” “I did win it. But I didn’t take it home.” Gemma looked at me like I was the most pathetic liar on earth. Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. “You didn’t take it home? You walked out holding the box! It’s on the security footage! If you’re trying to fence company property, Harper, legal will have you arrested by lunch!” People were standing up from their desks now, openly staring. I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, the heavy glass doors to the department violently swung open. Valerie stormed in. She radiated a dark, suffocating fury. In her right hand, she was white-knuckling the bright orange Kelly bag. Gemma saw her and instantly dropped her aggressive posture, slipping back into a sycophantic smile. “Valerie! Good morning! Oh, you brought the bag, it looks so stunning on you—” Before Gemma could finish her sentence, Valerie whipped her arm forward and hurled the bag directly into Gemma’s face. The heavy hardware smacked against Gemma’s cheekbone with a sickening thud. “Do I look like a woman who carries a fucking counterfeit?!” Valerie screamed, her voice tearing through the silent office. “Gemma! You are going to explain this right now!” “Why did you use company funds to purchase a forty-five-thousand-dollar piece of garbage?!”

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