My boyfriend took his “first love” on a trip around the world. Three months later, he stared at my slightly rounded belly and demanded angrily, “Who the hell did you sleep with?!” I didn’t answer, subtly shifting my gaze toward his best friend. Liam froze for a second, then threw a punch right at the guy’s face. Parker, who had been enjoying the show, was completely stunned by the blow. Recovering his senses, he threw a punch right back at Liam’s face. “Are you fucking crazy?! I didn’t sleep with her!” … They exchanged punches, going back and forth, hitting each other hard. I calmly left the private room. I patted my stomach, and the bump instantly flattened. Who said I was pregnant? I just ate too much for dinner! 1 To avoid being harassed by phone calls, I blocked both Liam and Parker’s numbers on my way home. I was soaking in the bathtub, enjoying a beauty bath. Just as I was getting drowsy, an unknown message woke me up. The content was concise and to the point: 【Open the door in one minute! Or I’ll tear your crappy door down!】 Liam is the type to act rather than talk nonsense. This screamed Parker’s style. Parker is petty and vengeful. I knew he’d come looking for payback, but I didn’t expect him to be this fast. Knowing him, when he says he’ll tear down the door, it’s not an empty threat. So, I chickened out. 【In the shower, need five minutes.】 Parker replied instantly: 【Fine! You get five minutes!】 Not daring to delay, I quickly stood up from the tub to rinse off the suds. After drying off, I threw on a slip nightgown and went to open the door. The moment the door opened, Parker, who had been ready to explode, froze when his gaze landed on my bare skin. Then, he roared in exasperation: “Can’t you put on some proper clothes?!” I looked innocent. “I just finished showering and am about to go to bed. Isn’t this what I should wear?” Parker choked, decisively changing the subject. “Why did you tell Liam that I knocked you up?” I asked back, feigning innocence: “Well, wasn’t it you?!” Among all of Liam’s friends, Parker is the one who hates me the most. The reason is simple: I hate his pettiness and venomous tongue, and he hates my manipulative, “green tea bitch” act. During the three months Liam was traveling the world with his first love, Parker—using the excuse of preventing me from cuckolding his best friend—shadowed me relentlessly every single day. If he hadn’t made me so miserable, I wouldn’t have turned my anger into appetite, eating till I was 120% full at every meal. Parker was jumping mad. “I haven’t even laid a single finger on you! How the hell could I have knocked you up?” “Immaculate conception?!” I smiled without saying a word, suddenly reaching out to wrap my arms around his neck, breathing softly near his face. “Well, aren’t we touching now?” Parker froze for a second, then sprang back as if burned, shaking off my hands. “What are you doing?!” Watching his ears turn bright red in a second, I smiled even more radiantly. “Doing… you!” Parker’s expression could only be described as dumbfounded. He stammered incoherently: “Have… have you no shame?!” I smiled nonchalantly: “You’ve said that so many times. Can’t you come up with something fresh?” Parker gritted his teeth in anger, dropped a “Real men don’t fight women,” and stormed off furiously. But he hadn’t taken many steps before turning back. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Something else, Mr. Sterling?” Parker asked with an unreadable tone: “Are you really pregnant?” “Can’t you see for yourself?” I stuck out my stomach, deliberately puffing it up. Parker glanced down, his face turning even darker. “Chloe, you are dead meat!” “Liam might not care much about you, but if you dare put a green hat on him, your family can just wait for bankruptcy!” I didn’t panic at all. I stroked his collar, smiling sweetly as I asked: “Couldn’t you just help me?” In terms of economic power, the Sterling family is on par with Liam’s family. But in terms of background and connections, the Sterling family is superior. Parker laughed out of anger. He pinched my chin, looking me up and down: “Why should I help you? I haven’t even settled the score with you for falsely accusing me!” I said shamelessly: “Because I’m special to you, of course.” Parker laughed even louder. “Which eye of yours saw that you’re special to me?” I stated it as a matter of fact: “You stare at me every day. Isn’t that because I’m special to you?” Parker was exasperated. “That’s because I can’t stand you and I’m looking for trouble, get it?!” I remained unfazed: “Then do you look for trouble with others the way you look for trouble with me?” Parker choked. I smiled smugly. “And you say I’m not special.” Parker’s face shifted through shades of green and white, probably livid. I decided to add fuel to the fire, lightly rubbing his perfectly shaped lips with my thumb, teasingly ambiguous: “Mr. Sterling, you aren’t secretly in love with me without realizing it, are you?” Parker’s face instantly flushed an impossible shade of red. Humiliated and angry, he forcefully swatted my hand away. “Liam won’t let you off!” He dropped a final threat on Liam’s behalf and left, looking somewhat flustered. It felt very much like he was fleeing in defeat. I crossed my arms, smirking coldly. Silly boy! 2 Although Parker is arrogant and domineering, he’s still a pure, innocent young man, so he can’t handle being teased. But he was very right about one thing—Liam is definitely someone I cannot afford to offend. And he’s absolutely not the type to just swallow his pride after being cuckolded. Liam is the heir to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate. The Vance family’s assets aren’t even a fraction of his. If he was determined to get revenge, the Vance family truly would have no way to fight back. But what does that matter? The Vance family belongs to my dad, my stepmother, and their son and daughter. It has absolutely nothing to do with me. The only thing I need to worry about is that after Liam dumps me, my dad will force me to marry a perverted old man older than him. As for that, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Less than half a minute after I closed the door, the doorbell rang again. I thought it was Parker coming back, so I opened the door without a second thought. To my surprise, I met Liam’s dark, thunderous face. The teasing words I had prepared died in my throat. Without a word, Liam grabbed my arm, dragged me inside, and forcefully pinned me against the wall in the entryway. He pinched my face hard, demanding through gritted teeth: “Who the hell did you sleep with?!” Liam is a steady, restrained man. It’s rare to see him display outward emotion. I’m pretty amazing. I successfully made him lose his cool twice today. Unable to break free, I stomped hard on his foot. “No comment!” Liam winced in pain, his grip loosening slightly. I took the opportunity to break free and ran towards the living room. But he quickly caught up, picked me up by the waist from behind, and headed straight for the bedroom. He tossed me onto the bed and immediately leaned over me. I gave up struggling uselessly and lay on the bed, accepting my fate. “If you don’t find it dirty, go ahead.” Liam froze. His angry gaze fell on my lower abdomen. The fury instantly overpowered any desire, and he lost control, grabbing my neck. “I’ll give you three days to get rid of that bastard in your belly! Otherwise, don’t blame me for not giving you a chance!” He let go of me and stood up, acting as if he had touched something filthy. I sat up and looked at him expressionlessly. “I say we should just break up.” Liam’s hand, which was straightening his collar, paused slightly. A flash of surprise crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by mockery and disdain. “What gives you the right to say it’s over?” I glared at him defiantly. “Ms. Miller is single again.” Liam had loved Elena Miller for many years. But Elena liked his older brother. Half a year ago, his older brother died in an accident, and Elena had been depressed ever since. Three months ago, to cheer Elena up, Liam ignored the gossip and took her on a trip around the world. Although marrying your deceased brother’s fiancée doesn’t sound great, for a self-centered man like Liam, it was nothing. Liam cast a warning look at my face. “Chloe, remember this: no one dictates to me.” “Even if this relationship is going to end, it will end when I no longer want to continue.” “You’re a smart person. You should know what to do.” My heart slowly sank to the bottom. He was right. In this relationship, I have no agency whatsoever. 3 Three years ago, my dad wanted to marry me off to a sixty-something-year-old perverted old man for business interests. My features resemble Elena’s. Driven to a dead end, I imitated Elena and seduced Liam. Liam was very excited at the time, but after pinning me to the bed, he restrained himself. After that, he told me to stay by his side. To please Liam, I imitated Elena in everything from my clothes and style to my words and actions. In name, we were boyfriend and girlfriend. In reality, it was a sugar daddy and his “canary.” Everyone in our circle implicitly knew this, and they all looked down on me because of it, especially Parker. But I didn’t care. Being a substitute for Elena was better than marrying a sixty-something perverted old man. Besides, Liam never touched me. I don’t know what psychological state I was in, but gradually, I actually developed feelings for Liam. Once, while drunk, he promised me that after his brother and Elena got married, he would marry me. Even though I knew I was his fallback option, I was still a little happy and expectant. Because I naively believed that love could grow over time. Who could have known the unpredictability of life? Liam’s brother actually died in an accident. From the moment I heard that news, I knew Liam would never marry me in this lifetime. So, I had been waiting for him to dump me. Three months ago, Liam suddenly told me he was taking Elena on a trip around the world. I thought he would use the opportunity to break up, but to my surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he tasked Parker—the guy I got along with the least—to “take care” of me. And Parker was sick in the head. He could have just agreed outwardly and ignored me, but he strictly enforced the order, watching me every day like a prisoner. He made it so I didn’t even dare to go find male models, forcing me to turn my grief and anger into appetite, eating myself six pounds heavier in three months and getting mistaken for being pregnant. I strongly suspected he was intentionally using this method to disgust me. That bastard really is vicious! 4 Liam gave me three days to get rid of the “thing” in my belly. Since I didn’t have one, naturally, I didn’t need to get rid of it. So I comfortably stayed at home, slacking off. Just as I was about to go to sleep that night, I received a message from Parker. 【Dead yet?】 Sometimes, when you hate a person to the extreme, a different kind of feeling can arise. So not only did I not block him, but I started chatting with him. 【Your grandma here is doing just fine.】 Parker replied quickly: 【It’s a miracle Liam didn’t beat you to death!】 I also thought it was a miracle. I called myself “grandma” and he didn’t even notice. Me: 【Don’t worry, grandma will definitely live to a hundred.】 Parker: 【True, bad weed grows tall. You definitely look like someone who’s hard to kill.】 Me: 【Grandma accepts your blessing.】 The chat box kept showing “typing…” It took about half a minute for the message to finally come through. Parker: 【What about the kid?】 I froze for a second before realizing he was talking about the non-existent baby in my belly. I didn’t expect him to actually care about this. My mischievous side immediately flared up: 【The child is innocent. Of course, I’m going to have it.】 Parker: 【Are you crazy? Aren’t you afraid Liam will actually kill you?!】 Me: 【If I die, I die. What’s there to be afraid of? I have nothing left to care about anyway.】 The grandmother I cared about most was gone. There was no longer any reason I had to stay alive in this world. Parker didn’t reply for a long time. Just when I thought he wouldn’t reply again, he sent another message. Parker: 【Who is the man?】 Me: 【Too many to tell.】 Parker: 【Fuck!】 I couldn’t hold it in anymore and laughed so hard on the sofa I couldn’t sit straight. Although Parker watched me closely, he didn’t follow me every single moment. One day when he was busy, I took the opportunity to go to a club, ordered a few male models, and drank all night. The next day, it was still him who dragged me out of the club. He must think it was that time. 5 I couldn’t stand lying at home for just one day. The next day, I went to a club to drink my sorrows away. That night, Liam’s men barged into the private room, dragged me out of the club, shoved me into a car, and headed towards a private gynecological hospital. When I arrived at the hospital, I realized Liam was there too. Having no vulnerabilities now, combined with being drunk and lacking reason, I was furious upon seeing him and started cursing. “Liam, it’s bad enough you’re lusting after your own sister-in-law, but you’re also playing this substitute game? You’re fucking disgusting!” Liam didn’t fly into a rage. Instead, he stepped forward, grabbed my chin, and forced me to look up. “I’ll ask you one last time. Whose bastard is it?” I glared at him defiantly. “Your dad’s!” Liam laughed out of pure anger. “Chloe, you’ve got guts!” He looked at the masked doctor. “Do a clean job. No anesthesia!” The doctor froze, stuttering as he nodded: “O-okay, Mr. Hayes.” I looked at him in disbelief. “Liam, you’re fucking crazy!” Liam smiled sinisterly. “Baby, you can’t blame me. Who told you to be unable to control your own body.” “Doctor, begin.” The medical staff nervously surrounded me. I put up a final struggle: “Liam! You can’t do this! I didn’t…” “Liam!” A teasing voice drifted slowly from the other end of the hallway. It was a familiar, cynical tone. Liam looked at Parker in confusion. “What are you doing here?” Parker glanced at me and said casually: “I’m the baby’s father. Shouldn’t I be here?” Me: …??!! Liam froze, looking at Parker in disbelief. “What do you mean?!” Parker shrugged apologetically. “Liam, I lied to you that day. I’m the one who knocked her up.” Me: … His brain must have been kicked by a donkey! Unable to bear it any longer, Liam raised his fist and charged at Parker. Parker didn’t just stand there and take it; he immediately took a defensive stance. The two of them exchanged punches, fighting back and forth. The medical staff obviously knew who Parker was and didn’t dare drag me into the operating room by force. They all stood there, at a loss for what to do. I had been scared weak just a moment ago, so I simply found a chair to sit on and watched the show. Parker seemed to have trained; his body was stronger than Liam’s. After a dozen exchanges, Parker gained the upper hand, pinning Liam firmly against the wall. Liam’s eyes were bloodshot with rage. “Parker! I treated you like a fucking brother!” I shook my head secretly. Liam had been losing his cool way too often lately, losing his usual composure. Parker reasoned with him calmly: “Liam, you’ve finally gotten Ms. Miller now anyway. There’s really no need to obsess over a substitute.” “Besides, with Ms. Miller’s temper, she probably wouldn’t allow you to keep a canary on the side, would she?” At the mention of Elena, Liam gradually calmed down. Parker struck while the iron was hot. “Let’s talk?” Liam didn’t agree, but he didn’t refuse either. Parker breathed a sigh of relief and quickly signaled me with his eyes: “Go back and wait for me.” I was mostly sobered up by now, and the courage I had earlier to die rather than surrender was completely gone. I shot Parker a grateful look and nodded immediately: “Okay.” I quickly left the hospital and took a cab home. On the way, I kept wondering, why did Parker help me? I thought and thought but couldn’t figure it out. Probably… love born from hate. 6 I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in bed. I don’t know how much time passed when my phone suddenly rang. I grabbed my phone and looked. It was actually Parker calling. After a brief hesitation, I swiped to answer. “Hello? What’s up?” “Open the door!” I froze slightly and replied, “Oh.” I got out of bed, threw on a robe, went to open the door, and was met with Parker’s bruised and battered face. He looked kind of funny. Parker glared at me and snapped, “I took a beating for you, and you have the nerve to smile? Do you have a conscience?” I immediately suppressed my smile and stepped back to make way. “Mr. Sterling, please come in.” Parker snorted heavily and walked inside with an arrogant expression. I didn’t have a first aid kit at home, so I had to hand him a pack of wet wipes, asking politely, “Do you need help?” Parker said bluntly, “Yes!” Me: … Couldn’t he tell I was just being polite? Parker truly couldn’t tell. He looked up, displeased. “What are you standing there for? Wipe!” Forget it, I’m indebted to him. I pulled out a wet wipe and carefully wiped the blood off his face. I have to say, he has a pretty good-looking face. Nice nose, nice eyebrows. It’s just his eyes that are bad, always filled with a cynical hostility, especially when he looks at me. “What are your plans?” I looked down and met a pair of eyes filled with amusement. I suddenly found that teasing him seemed more interesting than courting death. “What do you think?” Parker laughed out of anger again. “Helping you is a favor; not helping you is my right. Don’t push your luck.” I threw away the bloody wet wipe and sat directly across his lap, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. An ambiguous posture. “Then what do you want me to do before you’ll help me, Mr. Sterling?” Parker’s body instantly stiffened, tensed up, and then he pushed me away as if electrocuted. I wasn’t prepared, lost my balance, and fell backwards. Just as I was about to scream, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back into his arms. 7 Except for the night I seduced Liam, I hadn’t had such close physical contact with any man. I instinctively struggled. But Parker maliciously hugged me tighter, not forgetting to mock me: “Weren’t you the one throwing yourself at me? What are you afraid of?” I’ve always been susceptible to goading. Even knowing he was deliberately trying to disgust me, it still provoked my competitive spirit. So I hugged his neck and pressed myself against him as hard as I could. “I don’t mind! A high-quality man like Mr. Sterling is exactly what I want.” Parker’s body stiffened again, and then he tossed me onto the nearby sofa. I glared at him, asking the obvious: “What are you doing?” Parker gritted his teeth in anger: “Can’t you have some shame? Pregnant and still so… thirsty!” I forgot about that again. But his reaction is really cute. I said with a suggestive tone: “You can be gentle.” Parker completely turned red, almost looking like steam was coming out of his ears. “Y-y-you are shameless!” I leaned in close to him, smiling sweetly. “Didn’t you already know that?” Before Parker could erupt, he suddenly realized I was teasing him. He tried to regain control, sneering at me: “Liam told me, for every day you stay with me, he won’t touch you for a day. But if…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear. I tilted my head and looked at him: “Then I’ll just stay with you, right?” Parker broke down again. “Have you lost your mind? Right now, you are begging me to help you! Not me begging you to let me help you!” “Do you look like you’re begging someone?!” I felt smug: “Parker, you’re doomed.” He looked confused. I spoke slowly and firmly: “You’ve fallen in love with me.” Parker’s face suddenly turned dark. He grabbed his jacket and left. Looking at the forcefully closed door, I rolled my eyes hard. Still so petty. He can’t even take a joke.

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I was terrible at foreign languages, yet I ended up dating a diplomat who was fluent in eight. On my birthday, I arrived at the foreign restaurant Arthur had booked, brimming with excitement. Only when the waiter smiled and asked for the seventh time did I finally receive a message from him: [Stuck at work. Go ahead and order without me, don’t wait up.] Right after that, I saw a new post from his “the one that got away,” Mia, on her social media. In the photo, Arthur was holding a menu, ordering food, while handing a disposable bib to the person behind the camera. The caption read: [Haven’t been back in the country for so long, someone was afraid I’d starve reading the Chinese menu and specially treated me to a meal~] I suddenly felt entirely bored. I handed the “hieroglyphic” menu I couldn’t read back to the waiter: “I’ll have one of everything.” By the time I finished eating, packed up the leftovers, and got home, I found dozens of missed calls from Arthur. His last message was a voice note. “Babe, don’t overthink it. Mia is new in town and doesn’t know her way around. I was just helping her.” “Next time, next time I promise to make it up to you with an even better dinner!” I didn’t reply. Is a relationship that constantly relies on “next time” to make amends really worth anticipating anymore? 1 I never expected to run into Arthur at a bar. I had just sat down with my best friend when a pair of large hands grabbed my arm. Confirming it was me, Arthur’s face filled with disbelief: “Chloe? You didn’t reply to my messages, and you’re out drinking here in the middle of the night?” Before I could say anything, my best friend pulled my hand back and looked at the woman behind Arthur: “What? You can come here alone with another woman, but we can’t come here for a girls’ night out?” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose: “Don’t talk nonsense. Mia brought clients to the bar to relax. I was afraid they might encounter some danger if they got drunk, so I tagged along.” “And I did tell Chloe. She just never replied…” Saying this, Arthur sounded somewhat helpless. I then realized he had indeed sent a few more messages trying to coax me and report his whereabouts. I was quite surprised that Arthur would proactively report to me. In the past, if I just asked how many days his business trip would take, he would dismiss me with annoyance. “Chloe, everyone needs their own space. Can you stop hovering over me all day?” Only after I promised him repeatedly did he reluctantly forgive me, lecturing me not to ask about his affairs anymore. Turning off my phone screen, I casually brushed it off: “Sorry, I didn’t see it.” Arthur choked. Mia stepped forward right then. “Arthur? If Chloe minds, you should take her home. I can manage to call a cab.” I clinked glasses with my best friend, not even looking up: “I don’t mind. Suit yourselves.” Arthur frowned, looking me up and down: “Chloe!” “Be good and go back first. If you want to drink, after I drop Mia off, I’ll buy a few pounds of your favorite crawfish and drink with you at home, okay?” Arthur was a germaphobe and didn’t allow anything with a strong smell in the house. So after getting together with him, I gave up my favorite BBQ, hot pot, and crawfish. Assuming he was in a hurry to get Mia to a hotel to rest and making such a big concession, I nodded perfunctorily: “Got it. Go on then.” Arthur didn’t expect me to agree so easily. He rubbed my head like a reward: “Good girl. Wait for me at home. I’ve already called a car for you.” He left too quickly to notice my subtle flinch. By the time I got home, it was already 3 AM. Pushing the door open, I bumped right into Arthur, who was about to go out looking for me. Seeing me, he demanded coldly: “Chloe, look at the time. How old are you? Still acting like a little girl, coming home late when you’re mad.” I was so tired I could pass out if I closed my eyes. Too lazy to deal with him, I tried to bypass him to go to my room. He blocked my path: “Stop being so jealous. If there was really something between me and Mia, would I have ever gotten with you?” Saying that, he pulled a jewelry box from his pocket: “Here, birthday present. You’re a year older now, you can’t be as petty and childish as you were today.” I was too tired to speak. Without even looking, I took the jewelry box and headed toward the bedroom. “Fine. Thanks for the gift.” I casually tossed the gift on the table. Whatever. I crawled under the covers and closed my eyes. I didn’t even have time to think about who slammed the front door so loudly before I completely fell asleep. 2 The next morning, I woke up and scrolled through my social media to wake up properly, only to realize Arthur had slammed the door and left last night. Mia had updated her status again: [Wish time could stop at this moment.] The accompanying photo was of her and Arthur standing on a mountaintop, watching the sunrise from behind. I casually liked the post and sighed: Sigh, you two are having a great time, but poor me had to deal with an innocent door suffering for no reason last night. After a simple breakfast, I took a cab to the company. The manager was pleasantly surprised when she heard I was willing to accept the overseas assignment. After all, she had truly felt sorry for me when I previously rejected the assignment because I didn’t want a long-distance relationship with Arthur. “You’ve finally figured it out. Transportation is so advanced now. If you two want to meet, it’s just a two-hour high-speed train ride. Isn’t there a saying, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’?” I smiled, accepting her teasing, and finally said: “I’m planning to break up with him.” After finishing the transfer paperwork, it was just in time for lunch. My close colleagues insisted on taking me out for a farewell meal. I smiled and walked into the elevator with them. But as soon as I stepped out of the company building, Arthur suddenly appeared and shoved a bouquet of flowers into my arms. “An apology gift.” My colleagues immediately started hooting: “Wow~ What did Arthur do to make our sweet Chloe so mad that he’s waiting at the door with flowers!” “Hahaha, Arthur, you’re late today. Chloe’s lunch schedule is booked by us.” Arthur pulled me toward his car while apologizing: “Sorry everyone, Chloe and I have an urgent matter. I’ll treat you all to a meal next week to make up for it.” Thinking something happened at home, I said goodbye to my colleagues and got into the passenger seat Arthur opened for me. The first thing I did was put the bouquet in the back seat before buckling my seatbelt. Arthur got in and saw this. He pursed his lips. Finally, while waiting at a red light, he couldn’t help but ask: “Don’t you like them?” I was still handing over my work on my phone and looked up after a while: “What?” His words finally started processing in my brain. I realized: “Oh, you mean the flowers? Did you forget again that I’m allergic to pollen?” Arthur froze, then looked very frustrated: “Sorry, I’ll definitely remember next time.” My eyes were already back on my phone: “It’s fine.” It wasn’t the first time anyway. How could a brilliant diplomat who fluently spoke various obscure languages forget such a small detail? It was simply because he didn’t care. Fortunately, I didn’t need him to care anymore. “We’re here.” When Arthur reminded me to get out, I had just finished arranging my onboarding date with the branch office. When I saw the airport parking lot instead of our familiar neighborhood, I was confused. But before I could ask, Arthur had already opened my door. He pulled me and ran wildly through the departure hall. I was a bit stunned. In my eyes, Arthur had always seemed steady and mature. I had only seen this boyish side of him in Mia’s social media posts. “Chloe, hurry up. They’ve already started boarding our flight.” Only after sitting down, out of breath, did I have time to ask Arthur: “What’s wrong? Did something happen to your family?” Arthur’s family lived abroad year-round, so until now, I thought something had happened to them. Arthur was still catching his breath. He put away our IDs and passports and said: “I know you haven’t used your annual leave yet this year.” “Haven’t you always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower in Paris? I’m taking this vacation to show you around properly. Stop being mad at me, okay?” I realized then that in our three years of dating, this was our first trip together. Because all his previous vacations had been monopolized by Mia. Or rather, Arthur’s vacations were taken solely for Mia. He would accompany Mia to Africa to see lions, Iceland to see the aurora, and America to see kangaroos. Yet, when I just wanted him to go with me to a local café, he excused himself saying he was too busy with work. Forget it. Let’s just treat this as a breakup trip and part on good terms. I pushed down the urge to break up with him. “Right, if we board like this, what about our luggage?” Arthur patted my head: “Don’t worry, little manager. I was afraid we wouldn’t make the flight, so I had a friend who is also going to Paris take them to our hotel.” I nodded, thinking to myself that it was a good thing I was in the middle of transferring jobs. Otherwise, who knows if the company would have approved such a sudden leave request. 3 It was late at night when we got off the plane. Just as we arrived at the hotel entrance, Arthur’s phone rang abruptly. Arthur answered: “Don’t cry. Wait right there. I’m coming right now.” Looking anxious, he snatched the car keys back from the bellboy: “Chloe, Mia secretly followed us to Paris.” “Security here isn’t great, and I’m worried she might have an accident. Go to the room and rest. I’ll be back as soon as I pick her up.” With that, he floored the gas pedal and sped off into the distance. Completely forgetting that not only was I unable to communicate with the locals, but my ID and passport were also with him. The trip was so sudden that I didn’t even have a chance to set up international roaming. Unable to reach Arthur, I tried to communicate with the hotel receptionist using a translation app. But since I couldn’t provide identification, I had no choice but to sit in the lobby and wait. The long flight, combined with the fact that it was the time of day when people are most sleepy, made me drowsy sitting on the lobby sofa. The drive from the airport to the hotel was only half an hour. But the hour hand turned twice, and Arthur still hadn’t shown up. Too tired to guess what he and Mia were doing, I closed my eyes, ready to go back to sleep. A deep voice suddenly sounded by my ear: “Chloe?” My sleepiness vanished instantly. I turned around in shock: “Liam! What are you doing here?” I jumped up in joy. Running into an old friend in a foreign land, and my high school deskmate for three years at that—who wouldn’t be happy? Liam walked over smiling: “Here on a business trip. Closed the deal a few days earlier than expected.” His gaze swept across the lobby, and he narrowed his eyes: “Did Arthur bring you here? Where is he?” He directly ruled out the possibility of me traveling alone. Anyone who knew me knew my foreign language talent was zero. I pulled him toward the front desk, waving it off nonchalantly: “He went to pick up a friend.” “Hurry up and book a room for me to lie down. I really can’t stay awake any longer.” Before we parted, Liam specifically reminded me: “I couldn’t get a room next to mine on such short notice. I’m upstairs in 1312. Come find me if you need anything.” I nodded: “Got it, got it. You’re just as naggy as you used to be.” “Go sleep. Good morning.” 4 Not long after I closed my eyes, I was woken up by a loud “bang bang” on the door. Thinking it was Liam, I blindly fumbled to the door and opened it. The person pulled me into a tight hug. “Chloe, you really have a big heart! You’d sleep in a room booked by a strange man? Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you!” I finally woke up and pushed Arthur away. “What else was I supposed to do? Sit foolishly in the lobby waiting for you until dawn?” Arthur lost his momentum. Even forgetting his initial shock at me pushing him away, he opened his mouth: “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. Mia lost her passport, and I helped her look for it at the airport for a while.” Saying that, he reached for my hand: “Chloe, come back with me. This room is perfect for Mia to stay in.” I dodged his hand, my tone completely flat: “No need. I trust you guys. After all, if there was something between you two, you would’ve been together a long time ago. I wouldn’t have even been in the picture.” Arthur froze. This was the excuse he often used on me. Like the year before last, when Mia came back to the country, forgot her pajamas, and wore his T-shirt. Last year, when Mia got a mosquito bite and insisted on jumping into his arms for a princess carry. And this year, when Mia borrowed his razor to shave her legs. Whenever I thought they were too close and wanted them to keep their distance, Arthur would always use this excuse to brush me off. I yawned, too lazy to care anymore, and slammed the door shut. Falling back onto the bed, I went back to sleep. 5 In my sleep, I think I heard more “bang bang” sounds. It wasn’t until I woke up and saw the note, cash, and passport slipped under the door that I realized it wasn’t a dream. [Chloe, I’m going with Mia to get her a replacement passport and will be back soon. Don’t be afraid to spend the money. Tomorrow I’ll take you on a boat ride on the Seine.] I pocketed the cash and passport and tossed the note into the trash as I passed by. After washing up and leaving the room, I bumped into Liam just as he was about to knock. I was pleasantly surprised: “Liam, what a coincidence!” Liam smiled: “It is.” “Is Arthur here? I went down for breakfast this morning and think I saw him go out with someone else.” “He’s probably not back yet.” Not wanting a perfectly good vacation ruined by irrelevant people, I answered simply. Liam took my bag: “Then do you want to go see the Eiffel Tower this afternoon? I chartered a boat.” “Really?” I couldn’t wait: “Then let’s go. I also want to see if the coffee by the Seine is really that good!” The sun in Paris was exceptionally bright today. Liam and I walked through the Arc de Triomphe, took a boat on the Seine, listened to a violinist play on the riverbank, and finally had dinner at the Eiffel Tower. After returning to the hotel, I didn’t close my door because Liam still needed to bring his camera down to transfer the photos to me. Liam sent a message: [Chloe, there’s no hot water on the 13th floor. Do you mind if I come take a shower in your room?] I replied: [Sure, just bring the camera down too.] Liam handed me the camera and took his clothes into the shower. I was busy admiring the beautiful photos on the camera. When someone knocked on the door, I instinctively yelled “Hold on a second” in Chinese. Liam happened to come out and went to open the door for me. Immediately following was the word “animal.” I looked up just in time to see Arthur throw a punch at Liam. Arthur pointed at Liam, who was bare-chested with only a towel wrapped around his waist. With red eyes, he demanded of me: “Who is he?”

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In the eighth year of our marriage, my husband sent me nine hundred ninety-nine roses. Fresh off the operating table, I calmly dialed his number and asked for a divorce. From the other end of the line, I heard his young girlfriend’s tearful apology: “Mrs. Steele, it’s all my fault for acting on my own. Please don’t be angry with Mr. Steele.” Julian softly comforted her for a long time, only turning to me to say: “As you wish.” It was half a month later before I saw him again. 1 “Make me some noodles.” Logan Steele arrived home in the early hours, the kitchen devoid of the warm meal that usually awaited him. His handsome brows furrowed instinctively as he gave me the order before heading straight for the bathroom. When he emerged, cloaked in a cloud of steam, I was still staring absently at the TV screen, not even bothering to turn my head. He pulled a designer bag from his suitcase: “Look, do you like it?” It was a pink bag, clearly a style favored by younger women. In the past, he’d charm me by taking me to do anything I desired. Now, all that remained were these hollow gifts, a mere formality. I couldn’t be bothered to glance at it, casually changing the channel. “When do you have time for a divorce?” Logan was busy, so busy that even our anniversary gift had to be chosen by his female secretary. So, when it came to scheduling, I was always the one who had to adapt to him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Seraphina didn’t know you hated roses. It won’t happen again.” The man poured himself a small glass of whiskey and settled onto the single armchair opposite me, a faint, sardonic smile playing on his lips. Seraphina White was Logan’s childhood friend, devoted to him since they were kids. The moment she graduated university, she eagerly became his personal assistant. They were inseparable, even sharing a suite on business trips. Honestly, I didn’t blame Seraphina for clinging to Logan. A fly doesn’t bother an egg with no cracks. If he hadn’t given her an opening, no woman could have gotten close. I yawned dramatically, tears unconsciously welling in the corners of my eyes. After a long silence from me, Logan seemed to assume the matter was closed. He asked about our seven-year-old son Julian’s latest test scores. I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I wasn’t intentionally withholding information to spite Logan. I genuinely didn’t know. The Steele family believed in elite education, and Julian had been raised in the family estate since childhood, with every day meticulously scheduled with various lessons. It was laughable, really; Julian was my son, yet the times I saw him were few and far between. I had cried and raged about it, but the Steele family remained unmoved. In their eyes, my marriage into the Steele family was a blessing from my ancestors. Anything else was pure fantasy. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, urging me to focus more on Julian. “At this rate, Seraphina will be more like Julian’s mother than you are.” I understood what he meant. Yesterday was Friday, the only day I was permitted to pick Julian up from school. I arrived an hour early, waiting until dark, until the school gates closed. Seraphina then called to inform me that Mrs. Steele had asked her to pick Julian up for dinner at the estate. Through the phone, I could hear Logan’s voice. He was laughing as he asked Seraphina if she wanted some soup. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I gave Logan a brittle, mocking smile. “Well, doesn’t that suit you perfectly? I’ll leave right away, and she can take over as the esteemed Mrs. Steele.” Something in my words seemed to sting Logan. He fell silent for a few seconds, then erupted in a furious outburst. “My patience has its limits. Eliza Maxwell, stop playing these games.” The man stood up and took a couple of steps. I spoke in a flat, indifferent tone. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I had a miscarriage.” 2 A month ago, on the night he rushed out after Seraphina’s call to shield her from drinks, I was writhing in agonizing abdominal pain. I drove myself to the emergency room, only to be told I was over two months pregnant, the baby had no heartbeat, and it was a biochemical pregnancy. The most absurd part was feeling a wave of relief when I heard the news. As I walked out of the operating room alone, I thought, it’s time to end this. In the living room, Logan stood with his back to me, gripping his whiskey glass so tightly his knuckles were white. He didn’t question why I hadn’t contacted him. He knew exactly how many times I had called him that night. Unfortunately, there had been no answer. “It’s probably for the best. It just proves you’re not cut out to be a mother.” Logan walked towards his study, shutting the door with practiced ease. Eight years of marriage, countless arguments and disagreements. I was always the one to initiate a truce. This time, however, Logan waited, but no soft knock ever came. Half an hour later, he opened his study door. He searched the expansive house, but my presence was nowhere to be found. I was Logan’s first love. No one could have imagined that a brilliant, aloof rich kid would fall for a rebellious “bad girl” who spent her days smoking and clubbing. Our first meeting wasn’t exactly romantic. In a murky, reeking alley, the star student was being shaken down by some thugs. I happened to ride by, and one of them whistled suggestively at me. So I rode my bike straight into the crowd, teaching the punks a lesson, and, in a strange twist of fate, saved the introverted rich boy from a crisis. After that, Logan clung to me like a shadow. He’d wait for me after school, following me around, no matter how much I tried to shake him off. He sent me roses, which I’d coldly dump in the toilet and then toss back onto his desk. He meticulously prepared expensive lunches for me, which I’d casually hand over to beggars on the street. My friends would tease me about having a rich, lovesick puppy. Everyone could see we were from different worlds. But this was the same person who, when my alcoholic father beat me so badly I couldn’t go to school, forcefully broke into our house, scooped up my bruised body, and rushed me to the hospital. As the doctor stitched me up, he stood with his back to me, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, his hand constantly wiping at his face. The doctor, both puzzled and amused, asked him why he was crying when he wasn’t the one hurt. He said he didn’t know why, but his chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. He even foolishly asked the doctor if he needed an EKG to check his heart. In the hospital room, Logan awkwardly peeled an apple. “I never want to feel this terrible again. Eliza, please don’t get hurt anymore, I’m begging you.” I ate the popsicle he’d bought me, mumbling a “yes,” then glared at him fiercely. “So, are you going to be my boyfriend or not?” The entire day, both of us were blushing, unable to say another word. I had told Logan a secret no one else knew. Every time my dad got drunk and beat my mom half to death, a withered rose, a token of apology, would appear in the house the next day. So, if he ever wanted to break up with me, he didn’t need to say a word. Just one rose. “Silly, we’ll be together forever.” The eighteen-year-old boy held me tight, refusing to let me speak any more foolish words. 3 To escape my father’s constant harassment, Logan took me with him to study abroad. His own father, determined to force us apart, cut off all his financial support. Back then, besides attending classes, we both worked two part-time jobs every day. Those days were incredibly hard and busy, yet even during the short breaks while brushing our teeth, we couldn’t help but goof around and laugh. In our tiny apartment, we’d argue and make up, our eyes filled with only each other. If only life could have stayed like that forever… “Mrs. Maxwell? Are you feeling alright?” The doctor’s concern brought me back to reality. Today was my third day out of the mansion, and my insomnia had worsened. As I walked alone to pick up the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed, I bumped into Seraphina. “Eliza, why are you at the hospital by yourself?” Seraphina blinked innocently. Seeing my silence, she added with an exaggerated look of sympathy, “I heard Logan say something about your baby… don’t worry, you’re both still so young, you’ll definitely have another one.” “Don’t worry, there won’t be another one.” The words were barely out of my mouth when I saw Logan approach, his face dark and stony. I didn’t know why he was angry, only that he was gripping a medicated spray in his hand. Seraphina, in a sugary voice, told me she hadn’t been careful going up some steps and had twisted her ankle. She insisted it was a minor injury that didn’t warrant a hospital visit, blaming Logan for forcing her to come and making her miss work. It was my turn to collect my medication. Seeing the bag in my hand, Logan couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong with you?” When I ignored him and started to walk away, he snatched the medicine from my hand and opened it to look inside. “Insomnia? When did you start having this problem? Eliza, I’m talking to you. Tell me, how long are you going to keep this up?” Logan assumed my leaving home was just another impulsive whim, a new tactic to get his attention. So, even now, he hadn’t bothered to find out where I’d been staying or what I’d been doing for the past few days. The man’s voice rose, colder and louder than intended, drawing the curious glances of those around us. A flicker of annoyance crossed my eyes. I took the medicine back from him and said in a quiet, even tone, “I’m not ‘keeping this up’.” Perhaps my voice was too soft, too calm. Logan seemed to interpret it as a sign of weakness. He offered to drive me home first, then take Seraphina back to the office. But I shook my head. “Work is more important. I can get back on my own.” When I said “back,” I meant to my own home.

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To safely deliver my twins, I splurged a quarter of a billion dollars building myself a luxury maternity center. For six months, my husband was by my side, never leaving. When I suffered a massive hemorrhage during childbirth and needed emergency care, he cried so hard he nearly fainted, vowing to cherish me forever. But the day I was discharged, he took me to his old, dilapidated pre-marriage apartment. He helped me, step by agonizing step, climb seventeen flights of stairs. His eyes were bloodshot as he tenderly wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. He said he’d had the maternity center tested, and the formaldehyde and benzene levels were dangerously high. For the safety of me and the babies, we couldn’t stay there for now. Seeing how utterly concerned he seemed, I believed him. On my first day of postpartum recovery, he brought only a bowl of plain rice porridge for me and the babies, claiming rich, meaty dishes were too greasy, and porridge was best for our stomachs right now. It wasn’t until that evening that I scrolled past a viral social media post. The background was unmistakably the top-tier suite in my maternity center. The woman in the photo was holding the premium bird’s nest I’d prepared in advance, beaming with happiness. The caption read: “My boyfriend said I’m weak after childbirth, so he’s saving the best tonics and the most luxurious maternity center in the world for me to recover.” In the photo, the hand feeding her bird’s nest wore the Patek Philippe watch I had personally given Tommy. … There were only three of those Patek Philippe watches in the world, and the initials “J.S.” were engraved on the back of the dial. There was no way I could be mistaken. I used my main account to directly “like” that post and left a comment below it. “This watch looks familiar. Where did it come from?” Less than three seconds after I sent the message, Seraphina White’s post was instantly deleted. Immediately after, my bedroom door was violently kicked open. Tommy, not even wearing slippers, snatched my phone. He pointed at my nose and yelled: “Scarlett Steele, are you insane?! Did giving birth drive you crazy?!” “That’s my colleague’s watch! He borrowed it to show off! His girlfriend is vain, so what if he borrowed my watch for a photo?!” “You just sit at home all day doing nothing but being suspicious and checking up on me. Are you having a postpartum depression episode?!” His talent for turning the tables left me utterly speechless. “Borrowed a watch? Did he borrow the person too? And the top-tier suite at the maternity center is your colleague’s as well?” I hadn’t even finished speaking when Tommy erupted in a furious rage. He lifted my phone high and smashed it violently against the floor. The screen instantly shattered into a thousand pieces, scattering everywhere. “I’m out there working myself to death every day to support this family, and you won’t even let me have some peace! You need to seriously reflect on yourself!” With that, he slammed the door shut and stormed out. In truth, he wasn’t angry about me checking up on him; he was merely using it as an excuse to completely cut off my connection to the outside world. In the middle of the night, I heard rustling clothes in the living room. Tommy whispered to the empty air: “Don’t rush, baby. I have to work overtime at the office. I’ll be right there to be with you and our son.” The security door clicked shut softly. He had slipped away. I lay on the hard wooden bed, my lower body aching as if being torn by knives. A high fever made me break out in cold sweats. I turned my head to look at my twin daughters, whimpering from hunger in the old cradle beside me. They were only a few days old, hadn’t had a proper drop of formula, and were only drinking rice water. I swallowed back tears of despair, gritting my teeth and forcing myself to get up. I pulled back the covers, enduring the searing pain of my episiotomy, and slowly, step by agonizing step, moved to the side of the bed. From a hidden compartment in my suitcase, I pulled out a backup phone and logged into the Steele Corporation’s intranet. I entered the maternity center’s business registration number. The page that popped up shocked me. Tommy had forged my signature three days ago, issuing a full power of attorney for operation! And the current actual controller was explicitly listed as Seraphina White! Not only that, I checked the logistics tracking for the imported formula. Ten whole boxes of high-priced formula I’d ordered for my twin daughters had all been intercepted, and the delivery address was the top-tier suite at the maternity center. Just then, a “ding” sounded, and a strange text message popped up. “Scarlett, thank you for the maternity center and the formula.” “Tommy said he felt bad for me giving birth to his little prince, so of course, all the good stuff should be saved for me and our precious son.” “As for you, you gave birth to two money pits and still want to throw your weight around? Stay in that dump and slowly drink your rice water.” The last shred of affection I held for him vanished. If you want to play games, let’s play to the very end. That night, I called the encrypted number of the Steele family’s private lawyer. “Mr. Archer, immediately and discreetly freeze all of Tommy’s secondary credit cards.” “Create a convincing illusion of my assets being seized. I want him to believe I’m bankrupt.” “Also, assign someone to monitor that forged power of attorney. When he tries to cash out, close the net.” The next morning. My mother-in-law, carrying a greasy woven bag, moved into the dilapidated apartment under the pretense of taking care of me during postpartum recovery. She barely glanced at her granddaughters in the cradle before heading straight into the kitchen. In less than half an hour, a nauseating, foul smell permeated the entire apartment. My mother-in-law brought a chipped porcelain bowl to my bedside and thumped it heavily on the nightstand. Floating in the bowl were several unwashed, rancid pieces of pig intestine, and a thick layer of yellow grease covered the broth. “Drink this! I specially went to the market to buy these pig intestines; they’re very nourishing and help with milk production!” The rancid stench that went straight to my head made me instantly vomit. I gagged repeatedly, reaching out to block it, and the bowl of foul soup spilled directly onto the floor. My mother-in-law froze for a second, then immediately slumped to the ground, slapping her thighs and beginning to wail dramatically. “Oh, my heavens! I don’t want to live! The soup I worked so hard to make, this heartless woman just poured it all out!” “She’s cursed to bring misfortune and ruin the family! How did our Steele family marry such an ill-fated woman who can’t even give birth to a son?!” Just then, the security door was pushed open, and Tommy, reeking of alcohol, stumbled in. He didn’t even ask what happened, immediately pointing at my nose and yelling: “Scarlett, do you have any conscience?! My mom came all this way to take care of you, and not only are you ungrateful, you dare to spill the soup she painstakingly made?!” “Do you know how hard I work every day, begging and pleading for investments to keep this family afloat? It’s bad enough you don’t appreciate me, but you stir up trouble at home every single day!” Watching the disgusting faces of this mother and son echoing each other, I fought back the urge to slap them. Seeing me ignore him, Tommy snorted coldly, helped his mother up, and went to the kitchen to pour water. From outside the door, I heard my mother-in-law and Tommy whispering their calculations: “Those two money pits don’t deserve to eat my postpartum meals? The son in Seraphina’s belly is the true heir to our Steele family!” Tommy lowered his voice in agreement: “Don’t worry, Mom. My son will inherit the family business someday.” Their words disgusted me to the extreme. Behind their backs, I discreetly activated my backup phone. And added a simple message: “Proceed as planned.” At noon, my mother-in-law went to the market to buy groceries. Bored, I scrolled through local live streams and landed on Seraphina White’s live stream, showcasing her wealth to the entire internet. She was comfortably reclined on a large bed in the maternity center, a panoramic floor-to-ceiling window behind her. In her arms, she cradled a baby boy dressed in designer infant wear. She daintily raised her right hand, displaying a massive, million-dollar pigeon’s blood ruby ring on her ring finger. “Babies, this is a surprise Tommy just gave me this morning. He says as long as I and our son are happy, he’ll pluck the stars from the sky for me.” I narrowed my eyes, staring at the diamond ring. That was the one I had pre-ordered at the Sotheby’s auction six months ago. It had just been delivered to the country, and Tommy had secretly taken it, re-gifting it to Seraphina! Just then, my mother-in-law returned from the market and leaned in beside Tommy, peering at his phone. She stared at Seraphina on the live stream, her mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Oh, that girl is truly something, giving us a robust baby boy for our Steele family!” “Unlike that useless thing in there, who bore two money pits, she deserves to be stuck in that dump!” She spoke as if I weren’t even there. Tommy didn’t refute her; instead, he took a document and walked into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, feigning a troubled expression, and sighed. “Scarlett, the company’s cash flow is really tight lately, and our investors are pressuring us hard.” “Could you mortgage your pre-marital penthouse apartment for me to use? As soon as we get through this difficulty, I’ll buy you an even bigger place.” He handed the authorization form to me, even having a pen ready. I looked at the mortgage contract, riddled with loopholes, and inwardly sneered. This was a reverse gamble contract I had long since had the Steele Corporation’s legal team specially tailor. It looked identical to his authorization form, but if he dared to use this property to cash out or mortgage it to Seraphina, it would immediately trigger a massive penalty of five hundred million dollars. “Husband, since you need it urgently, I’ll sign it. You must be good to me and our daughters, okay?” I pretended not to understand anything, and in front of him, signed my name with crisp finality. Tommy saw my signature, a flash of wild joy in his eyes. He snatched the document and shoved it into his briefcase. “Don’t worry, darling. I love you the most.” He turned and left, not even bothering to keep up the pretense for another second. At dinner, Tommy, citing the need to save money, only cooked two bowls of sour plain noodles in the dilapidated apartment. One bowl for his mother, one for me. He himself only drank a glass of plain water, claiming he had an important foreign client reception at the company that night. Meanwhile, Seraphina White’s live stream on my phone was bustling with activity. She was hosting her son’s birth party at my maternity center, attended by all the renowned socialites and influencers in the city. Tommy changed into a perfectly tailored designer suit. It was one I had custom-made for him for a hundred thousand dollars from an Italian tailor, originally intended for him to wear to Tommy’s one-month celebration. He sprayed some men’s cologne in front of the mirror and rushed out the door. After Tommy left, my mother-in-law slyly crept into my bedroom. She opened my wallet, which was on the bedside table, and took out the last ten thousand dollars in cash. Then she found a red envelope, wrapped the money in it, and gleefully stuffed it into her pocket before also leaving. She thought I was too weak to get out of bed and didn’t even consider me a factor. Once the front door was thoroughly locked, I threw back the thin blanket. I ripped out the IV needle I had self-administered for my fever. I put on a sharply tailored black trench coat, slipped on flat shoes, and walked out the door. As I descended the stairs, I called the captain of the Steele family’s Blackwater security team. “Seal off the main entrance of the maternity center. Don’t let even a fly get out.” When I arrived at the maternity center’s party, the opulence was sickening. Champagne towers were stacked ten stories high, and long tables were laden with top-tier seafood flown in from overseas. I didn’t immediately cause a scene. Instead, I casually took a glass of champagne, blended into the circle of socialites on the periphery, and observed with cold eyes. In the center of the banquet hall, Tommy held Seraphina’s hand, his gaze filled with adoration. Together, they cut into a ten-tier custom-made fondant cake. All the guests began to chant: “Kiss! Kiss!” Seraphina coyly giggled, covering her mouth, then announced loudly into the microphone: “I really want to thank my husband for taking such good care of me and our baby.” “To be honest, that ex-wife is truly pathetic. She can’t even afford to stay in such a good maternity center, stuck in a slum like some country bumpkin.” Tommy shamelessly cooperated with her, putting me down. “Exactly. That woman is so unrefined and difficult. She couldn’t even give birth to a son. I’ve been fed up with her for ages. She’s nothing like our Seraphina, who is so understanding.” The surrounding guests immediately burst into laughter. The socialites gathered around Seraphina openly mocked me, a “haggard wife” they’d never met. “She’s probably some uncultured, parvenu bumpkin who’s never seen the world.” “Our Seraphina is so lucky to have such a doting man like Tommy.” I watched this circus of clowns with cold disdain. I strode out from the crowd, heading directly for the main table in the center of the hall. I had no entourage, going in alone. Having just come from that dump, my pale, drawn face and casually worn black trench coat made me look quite disheveled. Seraphina, nestled coquettishly in Tommy’s arms, caught sight of me from the corner of her eye and dramatically clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, isn’t that Scarlett? What on earth are you doing running out looking like that?” Seraphina scrutinized me, her eyes lingering on my sharply tailored Italian trench coat. She then scoffed, brazenly lying. “Sister, even if you’re bankrupt, there’s no need to wear a cheap, fifty-dollar knockoff to a luxury maternity center and make a scene, is there?” The surrounding socialites immediately let out disdainful snickers. Tommy saw me, his face darkening, and he snapped: “Scarlett! Why aren’t you at home nursing?! What are you doing making a spectacle here?! Who let you in?!” Seraphina, however, tugged at Tommy’s sleeve, speaking in a sickly sweet, manipulative tone. “Tommy, don’t blame Scarlett. She probably can’t even afford formula, so she ran here to beg us.” She deliberately raised her right hand, clearly showing off the million-dollar pigeon’s blood ruby ring to me. Then, she casually pointed to a waiter carrying a tray. “Pour that glass of red wine at her feet.” The waiter hesitated, but under Seraphina’s threatening gaze, he complied. The dark red liquid instantly splashed my flat shoes. Seraphina looked down at me, a triumphant smile on her face. “Sister, if you kneel down and wipe the wine stain off my shoe, I’ll be merciful and give your two money pits some formula. How about it?” Tommy not only didn’t stop her, but wrapped his arm around Seraphina’s waist, looking at me with utter disgust. “Everyone, please excuse us. My wife developed severe postpartum delusional disorder after giving birth. She talks nonsense all day long.” “As soon as this one-month celebration is over, I’m sending her straight to a mental hospital to get proper treatment!” With that, he turned and pointed to the large screen behind them, displaying photos of the baby boy, his face beaming with pride as he arrogantly declared: “This is the true heir of the Steele family! This is the real Crown Prince!” “Scarlett, those two money pits you bore aren’t even fit to carry my son’s shoes! They deserve to rot away in that dump!” The entire hall erupted in unrestrained laughter. The socialites surrounding Seraphina mercilessly insulted me. “So she’s a disgraced ex-wife who couldn’t even bear a son.” “Reeking of poverty, yet she dares to make a scene here. What a lunatic.” Tommy waved his hand grandly, yelling at the security guards by the door: “Security! What are you standing around for? Get this crazy woman out of here!” Just as the security guards were about to touch me. I sneered, and slowly, deliberately, reached into my trench coat pocket. I slowly, elegantly pulled out the original paternity test report I had paid a hefty sum for Seraphina to have done last night. I stared intently into Tommy’s eyes, speaking each word distinctly. “Tommy, you publicly shame your only flesh and blood, yet you cherish another man’s bastard as a treasure.” “I’m very curious to see how desperate you’ll be when you realize you’ve been serving another man’s child like royalty every day.” I savagely slapped the paternity test report onto Tommy’s face. A scanned copy of the report was projected onto the large screen. The conclusion at the bottom of the report was enlarged and bolded: Tommy Steele is excluded as the biological father of the male infant!

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A pet-raising game mysteriously appeared on my phone. Inside, a little pink octopus, dressed in a suit, went about its day diligently, incredibly adorable. But the little octopus had a problem: it was secretly in love with a little rabbit, but the rabbit was terrified of it and planned to move elsewhere for work. Seeing my sad little octopus son, my heart ached. I threw him into the dressing room, changed his unchanging suit for a handsome casual outfit. Go charm that little rabbit, my good son. The next day, my cold superior didn’t wear his usual black suit. Instead, he wore a casual outfit completely at odds with his usual demeanor, making him even more terrifying. After work, I opened the game. The poor little octopus lay dejectedly on the floor, looking even sadder. 1 A friend sent me a cyber incense-burning app. Although I didn’t believe in it, I went along with the trend and made a wish: Let me know what my boss, Alistair Vance, is thinking. At least, so I don’t get a failing grade from him. My current profession is a comfort therapist assistant. Ever since I was rescued by an octopus beastman from the insectoids ten years ago, I’ve dreamed of becoming a comfort therapist, helping the warriors who suffer from mental pollution after fighting the insectoids. Alistair Vance is the only Level 1 Comfort Therapist in Sector C. We, freshly graduated interns, should have been scrambling to be assistants to a Level 1 Comfort Therapist. But Alistair was humorless, radiating a chill wherever he went. Rumor had it he was a terrifying serpentine beastman, and he had a notorious record of giving two consecutive interns failing grades, making him a dreaded figure among all interns. So, his assistant position was decided by lot, and I was the unlucky one. I’m a rabbit beastman, and my fear of snakes is written in my genes. The first time I met Alistair, shaking his hand and feeling his cold body temperature, coupled with his snake-like impassive face, my intuition told me the rumors were true. He had to be a serpentine beastman. It was terrifying. Every day, I worked on edge, not daring to say an extra word to him. I decided that in six months, when I could apply for a transfer to another sector, I would immediately do so. 2 Nothing happened after my cyber incense wish. I still couldn’t discern Alistair’s emotions from his impassive face; in fact, I didn’t even dare to look at his face. A pet-raising game appeared on my phone. It was normal for my phone to mysteriously download apps. Just before I instinctively uninstalled it, I saw the cute pink octopus on the icon and hesitated. Ever since being saved by an octopus, I’d developed a fondness for these soft little creatures with eight tentacles. I clicked on the game. In a tidy apartment lived a little pink octopus. The apartment’s furniture was very simple, clearly designed to make players spend money on decorations—a common gaming trick. The little octopus, wearing a white shirt, was impassively frying fish. Even though it was a 2D game, this little octopus was incredibly cute, with big eyes, pink skin, and even its impassive expression looked exceptionally adorable. I wanted to pet the little octopus, but the game prompted me that I needed to level up to unlock interaction. Leveling up required observing the little octopus’s life and getting to know it. While I wouldn’t get tired of watching this little octopus all day, would others really like a game with no interaction at first? No wonder they bought promotions and forced it as junkware. The little octopus ate, washed the dishes, and then went to work out. In the bathroom, the little octopus took off all its clothes, and then mosaics appeared, covering its little bottom. To the sound of the shower, I let out a helpless sigh. Was there any need to censor a 2D little octopus’s pink bottom? Actually, I wasn’t that keen on seeing it anyway. After showering, the little octopus lay in bed, solemnly taking out a book and reading it. I zoomed in on the screen; the cover read “Laws of Love.” I sighed again. So serious, and here I thought it was reading something profound. I felt sleepiness creeping in with the sound of the little octopus’s breathing. What a regular little octopus, so cute. 3 The next day, I woke up early for a change. While eating breakfast, I watched the little octopus open its wardrobe. It contained a row of black suits. He took one out and put it on. Although I hadn’t found the “purchase” button yet, I knew this was surely a hint for me to spend money on outfits for the little octopus later; the suit was the default attire. The little octopus in its black suit was also exceptionally cute. My cold superior, Alistair Vance, also wore black suits every day, but it only made him seem terrifying. I’d been Alistair’s assistant for almost six months, and I still couldn’t get used to working long-term next to a snake. Days passed like this. I was finally close to leveling up and unlocking the interaction mode, where I could buy cute new clothes for the little octopus. Not even working next to a snake could dampen my good mood that day. I secretly opened the official website—the cursed website only accessible through the work network. Feeling incredibly stealthy, I downloaded the application form. After completing everything, I found Alistair standing not far behind me. It scared me to death. He couldn’t have seen it, could he? Would he be enraged and give me a failing performance review? But his expression hadn’t changed at all, and he left quickly. He seemed to have just glanced over. I remembered that snakes generally have poor eyesight, so he probably wouldn’t have seen it. Octopuses, on the other hand, have excellent vision. Fortunately, Alistair, besides seeming a bit colder, showed no other abnormalities. For now, I was safe. After work, I opened my pet-raising game. The little octopus, however, was inexplicably in a foul mood, slumped on the apartment floor. He didn’t make dinner; instead, he took out alcohol from the fridge, drinking glass after glass. The game had already reached level two. I quickly unlocked the interaction options. I still couldn’t touch the little octopus or let him know I existed, but more information about him was now available. [The little octopus secretly loves his subordinate, Mr. Little Rabbit, but Mr. Little Rabbit has always been very afraid of him. Besides work, he doesn’t dare to approach Mr. Little Rabbit, fearing he’ll scare him away. He’s found out Mr. Little Rabbit wants to work elsewhere, and he can’t stop him.] No wonder the little octopus read “Laws of Love” before bed. He had a secret crush after all. How could any rabbit be afraid of a cute little octopus? What poor taste. Seeing my sad octopus son, I decided to help him. He couldn’t keep wearing that suit all day. I opened the newly unlocked dressing room, threw the little octopus in, stripped off his black suit that seemed glued to him, and changed him into a fresher T-shirt and jeans. I also swapped his shoes for sneakers and gave him a new haircut. What a fresh, young-man octopus! So cute. Go charm that little rabbit. [A new memory appeared in the little octopus’s mind. He went to the barbershop for a new haircut and bought a new outfit. Perhaps a different style would make the little rabbit less afraid of him.] The next day, the little octopus stared wide-eyed in the mirror, seemingly unused to his new haircut. In his wardrobe, amidst several black suits, other colors had appeared. He instinctively reached for a black suit, but hesitated for a moment, ultimately choosing the outfit I had selected for him. 4 However, my good mood vanished the moment I saw Alistair. Like the little octopus, he also had a new haircut and wore a casual outfit. The little octopus’s impassive face was cute, looking like a youthful college student. But Alistair’s impassive face radiated a terrifying coldness. He looked completely unsuited to this new attire. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I felt he was even more frightening. Aside from assisting him in the therapy room with patients, he rarely interacted with me, always maintaining a certain distance. But today, for some reason, he kept appearing near me, staring. Being stared at like that by a snake made me want to bolt. This day felt interminably long. As soon as work hours ended, I clocked out without a moment’s hesitation. Even after getting home, the nervous fear hadn’t completely subsided. I opened my phone, wanting to see my cute little octopus. But I found the little octopus lying dejectedly on the apartment floor, looking utterly miserable. His mood index was even lower than yesterday, almost at zero. [Even with a new style, Mr. Little Rabbit not only didn’t like it but became even more afraid of the little octopus. The little octopus’s heart is almost broken. He wants Mr. Little Rabbit not to be afraid of him, not to leave.] So, there are rabbits who are as afraid of little octopuses as they are of snakes? What should I do? Luckily, I’m a rabbit beastman; I know how to win a rabbit’s heart. Give a rabbit delicious food. Half of a rabbit’s happiness in life comes from good food. I clicked on the TV in the apartment. Soon, advertisements for rabbit’s favorite foods began playing. The sudden sound of the TV startled the despairing little octopus, who looked as if he were dead. He looked at the content on the TV, his eyes lighting up. 5 The next day, Alistair finally wasn’t as strange as yesterday. Although it was understandable for a snake to sometimes act irrationally when facing a rabbit, it seemed he had regained his composure today. At lunchtime, the delivery person brought lunch. He actually ordered takeout instead of eating in the cafeteria, a first in six months. But Alistair actually brought that clearly expensive lunchbox over to me. What was he doing? Was he going to show me his spicy rabbit stew? Although a rabbit is a rabbit, and a rabbit beastman is a rabbit beastman, seeing such a thing would still be terrifying. Under my horrified gaze, he opened the lunchbox. To my surprise, it contained expensive vegetables and fruits that I usually couldn’t bear to buy for myself. “Scarlett, you’ve done very well these past six months. Please, have lunch on me. I hope you like it.” Ah, so he was actually pleased with me? But he had given two previous interns failing grades; he was a frequent resident of the “danger zone.” Yet, thinking back over the past six months, although he appeared cold, his movements were very gentle when using mental energy to comfort patients. And he never held anything back. As his assistant, I had learned a lot from him. And he had never once yelled at me. A boss who doesn’t yell is a rare gem among bosses! Could there have been some misunderstanding? Was he not some cold-blooded monster? Finally, I mustered my courage. “Mr. Vance, why were your two previous interns given failing grades?” He paused. “So, that’s what it was about?” He lowered his eyes. “The first intern was late fifteen times in one month. He also accidentally scheduled all of a week’s patient appointments on the same day, causing agitated patients to start fighting in the waiting area, and he refused to apologize.” There were such unreliable people? Mentally polluted patients are very irritable; how could he let them congregate like that? “The second intern repeatedly mixed up patient medications, causing more than one patient’s mental pollution to worsen.” My goodness, how could someone who had studied comfort therapy for eight years make such basic mistakes? “Later, I found out he had studied a different major before, and only studied comfort therapy for four years.” How could such people have the nerve to post online and slander Mr. Vance? “Mr. Vance, I’m sorry. Because you always seem so serious, and there were rumors about you failing interns, I completely misunderstood you.” “Because I seem serious?” He tried to force a smile, which looked a little comical. “How about this? Is this better?” Why was he like this? Mr. Vance wasn’t the serious, terrifying type; he was the adorable, awkward type! “Just be yourself, like before. It was my preconceived notion.” He continued, “You are a very competent comfort therapist assistant. I won’t give you a failing grade. I hope we can continue to work together in the future.” His tone, however, grew more subdued. “Of course, if you want to work for another comfort therapist, I’ll write you a letter of recommendation.” So, he had seen my application form after all. Was he trying to keep me? 6 But he was a snake. No rabbit would dare work under a snake. I remained silent for a long time. Mr. Vance didn’t press. “You take your time with lunch. I’ll be out for a bit.” Aside from appearing cold, Mr. Vance was a gentle person at heart. Whether I left or stayed, those two who slandered Mr. Vance deserved to be ruined. I posted on the forum under my real name, detailing the entire story online. Alistair’s two former assistants were quickly lambasted. At first, they tried to refute and accuse Mr. Vance in the comments, but as the digging continued, their various irresponsible deeds were quickly unearthed. It turned out these two had behaved similarly during internships elsewhere. Now, one had been fired, and the other had moved on to a different industry. Meanwhile, Mr. Vance had an excellent reputation among patients, always known as a gentle, considerate, and skilled comfort therapist. My post stated that Mr. Vance never yelled at his assistants; he just looked a bit intimidating because of his impassive expression, but was actually very kind-hearted, and paid very well. Many people now wanted to intern under Mr. Vance. In just a few hours, Mr. Vance went from someone everyone avoided to a highly sought-after boss. In that case, even if I left, more suitable people would come to intern with him, right? As closing time approached, Mr. Vance’s phone screen displayed the trending forum post. “Scarlett, did you write this?” Ahhhhh! Having something you posted online seen by your boss—what a mortifying social death! “Thank you.” For the first time, I saw a smile in his eyes. It was very handsome. Alistair was actually very good-looking; it was just his serious demeanor that kept people at a distance. “Actually, it’s just that Mr. Vance has taken such good care of me these past six months. I was simply speaking from the heart. Did Mr. Vance already know they were slandering you on the forum? Why didn’t you expose them?!” “I did give them failing grades. They were just recent graduates. Perhaps after a setback, they would change?” Unfortunately, they didn’t. It wasn’t until I was on the subway that I realized: I hadn’t been afraid of Mr. Vance today. Even if he was a snake, he was a gentle and kind snake. Perhaps I shouldn’t judge him with preconceived notions. Maybe I should spend more time with him, and reconsider?

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1 After my billionaire parents went bankrupt, they whisked me off overnight to a remote, unmapped African village to shield me from creditors. Then a rare malaria outbreak devastated the village, scattering the survivors. Desperate, I called my parents, begging to come home, but they coldly replied: “You’re not the spoiled rich girl anymore. We did this to protect you. Figure it out yourself—we can’t pay for a ticket.” I tried my fiancé next, only to be scolded: “Eleanor, why are you still so fragile? Lisa is suffering here from debt collectors. Call me again, and I’ll break off our engagement!” He blocked me and crushed any hope of my return. Starving, sick, and beaten down, I clung to life until an international rescue team finally arrived with medicine and supplies. When I eventually made it back, I found my fiancé and adopted sister flaunting lavish wedding photos online. That’s when I understood—the bankruptcy and my “ordeal” were all a lie, staged to push me aside for their relationship. I didn’t make a scene. I just commented “Hope you last.” under their wedding announcement. … After leaving the wedding venue, I went straight to the hospital. Malaria is somewhat contagious, and even though the virus had been completely cleared, I still needed to report to the hospital daily for a while to monitor my condition. Dr. Ben Carter, my treating physician who returned with me, saw my prolonged silence and assumed I was homesick. He reassured me that once my blood was drawn, I could go home. But he couldn’t possibly know that, starting today, I no longer had a home. As I exited the phlebotomy room, my phone suddenly started ringing frantically. It was my father, whom I hadn’t heard from in a long time. The moment I answered, his furious roar filled my ears: “Eleanor Price, what exactly did you mean by that comment on the video? Were you doing it on purpose!” “Don’t you know, because of your comment, Lisa’s eyes are all swollen from crying! She’s your sister, can’t you just let her have something good?” I looked at my emaciated reflection in the mirror, then recalled the radiant Lisa at the wedding, and let out a bitter laugh: “What’s wrong with a comment? Didn’t I just congratulate them? What? Do you expect me to give them a fat envelope filled with cash too?” “Dad, just tell me the truth. Lisa is actually your biological daughter, and I’m the adopted one, aren’t I?” Seemingly caught off guard by my words, the person on the other end of the line held their breath. Immediately after, the phone was snatched, and my mother’s voice came through: “Ellie, you’ve misunderstood your sister. That wedding was just for your sister to be happy, they haven’t actually registered their marriage, so it doesn’t count.” “After all, your sister stayed behind to help you hold off those creditors, which is why she couldn’t go abroad with you. You should be thanking her!” At this very moment, my biological parents were still lying to themselves. Thinking of the truth I had witnessed with my own eyes at the hotel entrance, my heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly, making it hard to breathe. After a long pause, I finally spoke, a touch of self-mockery in my voice: “Thank her for stealing my family and my love?” Hearing my sarcasm, my father’s angry growl erupted again: “You ungrateful little wretch, your mother and I do everything for you, and you dare speak to us with such disrespect!” “I’m telling you, if you don’t apologize to Lisa properly, you can stay in Africa forever and never come back! I’ll pretend I never had a daughter like you!” With that, the phone was slammed down. Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. Before, I had always believed my parents didn’t know my true situation in Africa, which was why they were so cold and heartless towards me. But when I landed today, I learned that news of the malaria epidemic in Africa had long since reached home. From eighty-year-old grandfathers to five or six-year-old children, everyone knew how terrifying malaria was. They simply didn’t care if I lived or died. As long as their most cherished daughter was well, that was all that mattered to them. Because ever since Lisa arrived, my father’s company crisis not only resolved itself but also began to flourish. From then on, my father became convinced she was the Price family’s “lucky charm,” and his affection for her far surpassed what he showed to me, his biological daughter. Anything Lisa set her eyes on, I had to unconditionally give up. When we were little, it was rooms, dolls, and princess dresses; as we grew up, it became my fiancé. They would rather trick me with an absurd lie about bankruptcy and send me far away, all to prevent me from interfering with Lisa’s love life. Africa was a harsh environment, with scarcity of food and drinking water. But more terrifying than that were the omnipresent viruses. It wasn’t until I contracted malaria and had several near-death experiences that I truly understood what fear meant. Recalling the moments when I desperately fought for survival, only to be repeatedly rejected by my closest relatives, a surge of intense anger welled up inside me. Even if it meant death, there was no way I would apologize to Lisa! 2 Due to an elevated blood marker, I needed to be temporarily isolated, so I couldn’t leave the hospital. To reassure me, Ben offered to visit my parents on my behalf and tell them I was safe. I wanted to tell him not to bother, that no one cared if I lived or died. But facing his earnest gaze, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. After all, if it weren’t for Ben, I would likely have perished in a foreign land. With a soft sigh, I sent him the address. Because the call remained connected, I could clearly hear my parents’ voices. Upon learning of Ben’s purpose, my father’s furious voice immediately erupted: “What new stunt is Eleanor Price pulling now! Can’t she behave herself even after going to Africa? No wonder even her own fiancé doesn’t like her!” “And she got malaria? Wouldn’t it be better if you just told us she died?” “I don’t care how much Eleanor Price paid you to put on this act. Please relay this message to that ungrateful wretch: if she refuses to apologize to Lisa, she can forget about ever leaving Africa!” Listening to my father’s enraged shouting, a pang of heartache was quickly followed by a bitter chuckle. He probably forgot how long it had been since he gave me any allowance. Pay an actor? If I had that kind of spare cash, I wouldn’t have had to fight someone tooth and nail for half a dry pancake, ending up with a chunk of my hair torn out. Ben had not at all anticipated such a response. He stood stunned for a long moment before speaking again: “I… I am genuinely a doctor from Central Hospital, and a member of this medical aid team to Africa. Your daughter…” “Enough! Haven’t you had enough of this act?” “Forget about malaria, even if she really died out there, her mother and I wouldn’t shed a single tear for her!” With that, without waiting for Ben’s reply, the door was slammed shut. Ben instinctively covered the phone’s microphone. It was then he belatedly remembered the ongoing call and quickly hung up. But everything that was meant to be heard, and everything that wasn’t, I had heard crystal clear. Even though I had told myself a thousand times to completely give up on that couple. Yet at that moment, my eyes still felt incredibly sore, and my hands beneath the covers were clenched tightly on the bedsheet. The parental love that was so easily obtained by others was, for me, an unattainable luxury. Perhaps, I should have given up on this false pretense of family long ago. [Ellie, are you… okay?] Despite being just a text message, I could still feel Ben’s concern and worry. See? A stranger I’d known for less than a month cared for me so much, while my parents, with whom I’d spent over two decades, treated me like dirt. Eleanor Price, how utterly pathetic you are! My trembling hand typed out a line: [It’s fine, I already knew this would be the outcome. I’m used to it…] 3 There were three other people isolated with me. Each of them had family concern and companionship, while I was all alone. I often saw pity and sympathy in their eyes. But more chilling than their pity was the balance in my bank account. My illness wasn’t difficult to cure, but it required an imported medication. However, the price of this imported medication was beyond what I could afford. Just because Lisa said, “I’m worried sister will go bad if she has money,” my father only gave me fifty dollars a month for living expenses. Meanwhile, Lisa’s monthly allowance was a staggering hundred thousand dollars. So, while Lisa indulged in lavish shopping, I could barely make ends meet by working part-time handing out flyers. Fresh out of university, I didn’t even have time to send out my resume before my parents tricked me into going to Africa. Now, my bank account balance was in the triple digits. How could that amount possibly afford imported medicine? Ben noticed my financial difficulty and proactively covered all my medical expenses. After being discharged, I still chose to go home. I simply didn’t want to trouble Ben anymore; I already owed him too much. Upon arriving home, I wasn’t greeted by my parents’ warm inquiries, but by my father’s teacup. It happened so suddenly that I couldn’t dodge, and the scalding tea drenched my exposed arm, instantly turning my skin red. But my father was still not satisfied; he pointed his finger at my nose and roared: “Who allowed you to come back home without permission? And who bought your plane ticket!” “Was it that actor you hired earlier? He even lied that you had malaria, but you seem perfectly fine to me!” “You’re full of lies, Eleanor Price, how could I have given birth to such a morally corrupt daughter!” “If only Lisa were my biological daughter, how wonderful that would be!” That last sentence made me snap my head up, staring directly at my father: “Dad, aren’t you the one full of lies? You used bankruptcy as an excuse to send me to Africa, leaving me to fend for myself.” “If I could, I’d rather not be your biological daughter…” Before I could finish speaking, a clear slap mark appeared on my left cheek. My father’s eyes were bloodshot, looking at me as if I were his sworn enemy: “You rebellious child, you’re nothing but a curse! Get out, get out now!” If it weren’t for needing to gather money to repay Ben, I wouldn’t have stepped foot in this house. Just as the atmosphere remained tense, Lisa hypocritically approached me, took my hand, and said: “Sister, Dad lied about being bankrupt and sent you to Africa for your own good. He just wants to train you to be a competent successor.” Her tone was sincere, but her fingernails dug deep into my palm. Without thinking, I immediately pulled my hand away from hers. I hadn’t used much force, yet Lisa stumbled and fell. She sat on the floor, her eyes wide, her face displaying a hurt expression: “Sister, you’ve misunderstood me! I really never intended to steal Jack from you.” “Even though you’ve always looked down on me, thinking I’m not worthy of being your sister, in my heart, you’ll always be my sister.” As she spoke, tears streamed down her face like broken pearls. My father gave me two more slaps. The sharp slapping sounds echoed in the spacious living room. I distinctly saw the triumphant smile hidden beneath Lisa’s tearful eyes. “You wretch! If I had known you were so malicious, I should have strangled you the day you were born!”

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It was the holidays, and Mom had set up another blind date for me. The guy was a good catch: worked at a bank, owned a house and a car. Mom glanced at me, lowering her voice. “You’re thirty already, stop being so picky. If this one doesn’t work out, it’ll only get harder later.” I was playing a game, not even looking up, when I replied, “Then I won’t look.” Mom’s eyes widened. “Bah, bah, bah, don’t say such things! You’re a perfectly good girl, why aren’t you interested in dating at your age?” What Mom didn’t know was this: I had a boyfriend of three years, five years my junior. The day I forced him to marry me, threatening to break up. He just smiled, nonchalantly saying, “Ellie, do you really think you’re still young? You’re thirty. Who else would marry you besides me?” 1 Hearing my “Then I won’t look,” Mom sighed. Her eyes held both affection and helplessness. She was just about to start lecturing me when her phone rang. It was our neighbor, Aunt Sarah, inviting us over for dinner. Mom hung up and insisted I come along. At Aunt Sarah’s house, the moment we stepped inside, there he was, sitting on the sofa. Leo Harrison. My boyfriend—oh, no, my ex-boyfriend. Mom greeted him with a smile, “Oh, Leo, you’re here too?” He stood up, politely addressing her as “Auntie.” His gaze swept over me, paused, then moved away. At the dinner table, he sat across from me. Aunt Sarah was Leo’s mother and Mom’s good friend. She enthusiastically put food on my plate. “Ellie, eat more, you look so thin.” Leo, beside her, subtly nudged the plate of sweet and sour pork ribs towards me. My chopsticks bypassed the ribs, picking up a piece of celery, which I hated. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Beside us, Mom and Aunt Sarah’s husband chatted animatedly. They were talking about Leo’s marriage. “Leo is twenty-five now, it’s time he thought about settling down,” Mom said. Aunt Sarah smiled and nodded. “Indeed. I’ve asked around and found a few girls; they’ll come over in a couple of days.” “What are their backgrounds?” Mom asked curiously. Aunt Sarah counted on her fingers. “One’s an elementary school teacher, one’s a nurse, and another works for a government agency.” Mom listened intently, then asked, “Do you have photos? Let me see.” Aunt Sarah took out her phone, found the photos, and handed it to Mom. Mom looked, exclaiming with approval. “This girl is so pretty and looks very kind-hearted.” She turned to Leo. “Leo, what do you think of these girls yourself?” Leo gave a polite smile. “I think they’re fine.” I kept my head down, quietly eating my rice, saying nothing. “Ellie.” Leo suddenly called my name. I looked up. He was looking at me, a half-smile playing on his lips. “What do you think?” 2 Aunt Sarah heard him and quickly handed me her phone. “Yes, yes, Ellie, you know Leo best. Help him choose.” My movements were stiff as I took the phone. In the photos, the girl smiled brightly, looking very gentle. That sweet, virtuous look was definitely a type that older generations would like. And probably the type Leo would like too. Young, pretty, from a good family. Unlike an old woman like me, who was thirty. I looked up, meeting his playful gaze. Three months ago, on the day we broke up at his apartment, I asked him, “When will you marry me?” He leaned back on the sofa, his voice flat. “Are you that desperate to get married?” “Fine, I can wait on marriage. Then let’s go public!” “Go public about what? Aren’t we perfectly fine as we are?” My eyes welled up. “Then why did you pursue me in the first place?” He sighed. “Ellie, don’t make a scene.” “I’m not making a scene!” I stood up. “Three years. I’ve been with you for three years. When you introduce me to your friends, I’m ‘the older sister.’ To your family, I’m ‘the neighbor’s daughter.’ Am I so shameful?” He frowned. “Can’t you be reasonable? I never said I wouldn’t marry you, it’s just not the right time.” “Then when is the right time?” He said nothing. I looked at him, suddenly feeling exhausted. Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. He never once acknowledged me in public. If friends asked, he said I was an acquaintance, an “older sister.” If colleagues asked, he said I was the neighbor’s daughter. The five-year age difference between us was like a thorn, stuck between us. “Let’s break up,” I said. He paused, then scrutinized me from head to toe. “Do you really think you’re still young?” “You’re thirty. Who else would marry you besides me?” At that moment, it felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on me, chilling me from head to toe. Tears streaming, I spat out a harsh retort: “Fine, then I won’t trouble you! I’ll find someone else!” He smiled. “Go ahead, find someone.” Back then, swept up in emotion, there were some things I didn’t want to face. Now that I’ve calmed down, I have to admit. He wasn’t wrong. He was twenty-five, in the prime of his life, with a bright future ahead. He had a master’s degree from a top university. I was thirty, past my prime for dating and marriage. I had a regular bachelor’s degree, worked as an “internet grunt,” earning eight thousand a month. We already had a five-year age gap. Logically, I didn’t even qualify to go on a blind date with him. Now, looking at him, my heart felt strangely calm. I even managed a slight smile. “She’s good, she’d be a good match for you.” “Auntie’s right, you can add her on social media and chat more.” His eyes slowly hardened. “Alright, I’ll add them later and chat more.” 3 After dinner, I headed home early. As I was leaving, Leo leaned against the elevator wall, waiting for me. “Want to talk?” I ignored him, walking straight past him. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the nearby fire escape. The door shut with a thud, and he pinned me against it. He leaned down, close to me. His familiar scent enveloped me. We had been together for three years; he knew me too well. He knew how to make my heart race, how to make me surrender. Just like now, a smile playing on his lips, his voice husky: “Are you really going to let me add them on social media? Can you really stand it?” I raised my hand to push him away. “Add them or not, what business is it of mine?” He laughed, catching my hand, and held his phone up to my face. On the screen were the photos of the blind date candidates. He squeezed my fingers, scrolling through the screen. One, two, three. “So many, how can I chat with all of them? Help me pick one, won’t you? Or maybe you and I could chat, Ellie?” It was his olive branch. Just like countless times when we’d bickered before. He’d offer an opening, and I was expected to take it. If I played coy and didn’t, he’d retract it. In this relationship, he was always so effortlessly in control. In our dynamic, he always held the upper hand. I looked at him, my finger resting on the screen. Without a second thought, I swiped to the photo Mom and the others had praised earlier. “She’s really good,” I said. “I wish you both well.” His face instantly darkened. He let go of my hand, stepped back, his eyes turning cold. “Do you really mean that?” His voice held a hint of suppressed anger. I nodded, my tone calm. “Yes.” The air seemed to freeze for a second. His gaze, like a knife, cut across my face before he turned and left. The fire escape door was slammed open with a harsh screech. I stood there, my legs feeling a little weak, but forced myself to stand straight. Back home, Mom was watching TV in the living room. She glanced at me and asked, “What took you so long? Didn’t you say you were coming straight home?” “I bought some things,” I vaguely replied. “Mom, I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.” Once I closed the bathroom door and the hot water poured down, I felt the dull ache in my chest slowly dissipate. I woke up the next day to a lit phone screen. It was a message from Leo. “Thanks for your recommendation yesterday. I added that girl, and we’ve been chatting quite well.” I stared at the message for a long time, eventually not replying. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, and the room was eerily quiet. 4 My relationship with Leo, to be honest, was quite cliché. Three years ago, he interned at our company. And he just happened to be assigned to our department. I volunteered to mentor him. On his first day at the company, he washed my coffee cup. At the time, I thought Leo was surprisingly polite. After spending more time together, I realized his gaze towards me was off. His cubicle was diagonally across from mine, and every time I looked up, I’d meet his eyes. He would quickly look away, the tips of his ears flushed red. On Valentine’s Day, he invited me to dinner. After dinner, he walked me home. Downstairs, he suddenly said, “Ellie, I like you.” I was stunned. “Leo, I’m five years older than you.” “I don’t care.” “Leo, I’m nice to you because I see you as a younger brother.” “But I don’t see you as an older sister, Ellie, no, Eleanor, I like you. I came to this company because of you.” I looked into his earnest eyes. My heart fluttered. Then, I nodded. After that, we dated for three years. When we first started dating, Leo only had eyes for me. Every morning he would drive to pick me up for work, bringing me my favorite coffee. He would quietly stay with me when I worked overtime, and carefully coax me when I was frustrated. Sometimes I would wonder if I was being too selfish. After all, he was still an ungraduated student, and I had been working for several years. But every time I saw his determined gaze, all those worries would vanish. Every day we were together was sweet. He would remember my favorite dessert shop from a casual comment, and deliver cold medicine to my apartment building in the middle of the night when I caught a cold. I thought our love would blossom and bear fruit, until reality cruelly slapped me in the face. 5 Three days later, it was a friend’s birthday. Leo was there too. He sat diagonally across from me. Dressed in a sharp suit, he looked exceptionally smart. Girls frequently glanced at him, whispering about something. “Is that Leo? He’s so handsome.” “I heard he’s single, I wonder if I have a chance.” I listened to these comments, lowering my head and sipping my water. Midway through the birthday party, someone suggested playing a game. The loser had to draw a slip of paper and answer a question. In the first round, Leo lost. The slip read: “Is there someone you like in the room?” The whole crowd started to tease. He smiled, his gaze sweeping over the crowd and landing on me. I lowered my head, pretending not to notice. The game continued. I chatted idly with friends around me. A friend sitting next to me, learning I was still single, smiled and offered to set me up: “Ellie, there’s a handsome single guy, should I introduce you?” Before I could reply, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Leo: [Decline.] I didn’t reply. He sent another: [Ellie, tell her you have a boyfriend.] I turned off my phone, stood up. “Sure, I’d love to meet him.” My colleague led me to another table. “Ethan Scott, let me introduce you to a friend.” The man stood up. The moment he turned around, we both froze. It was him. The man I’d met at the police station two months ago. That day, I had found a lost child in the park. The child clung to me, crying for his mom, inconsolable. Left with no choice, I carried him to report it to the police. He happened to be passing by, knelt down in front of the child, and magically pulled a piece of candy from his pocket. The child stopped crying. He looked up at me and smiled. “Your child?” “No, no, I just found him on the street. He can’t find his parents.” He nodded. “Alright, leave him to me. I’m a police officer; we’ll contact his parents.” Unsure, I followed him to the police station. Later, I learned he was a police officer in that district. As I left, he stood at the police station entrance in his uniform, sunlight falling on him. He handed me a business card. “If you ever need anything, you can find me.” The card read: Ethan Scott. Now, he stood before me, his eyes holding a subtle sparkle. “What a coincidence, we meet again.” 6 My friend looked at him, then at me. “You two know each other?” I nodded. “We crossed paths over something minor before.” My colleague smiled and left. He gestured to the chair beside him. “Want to sit for a bit?” I sat down. He poured me a glass of wine. I asked, “Was the child’s mother found eventually?” “Yes, she was. His mother came to the police station to pick him up.” “That’s good.” We chatted for a while. He didn’t say much, but he made me feel very comfortable. Unlike being with Leo. With Leo, I always felt on edge. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid he’d think there was a generation gap between us, afraid he’d find me boring. Even more afraid that one day, he just wouldn’t want me anymore. But chatting with Ethan, I didn’t need to overthink. He asked me about my job; I told him I worked in operations. He smiled. “Internet industry, huh? My cousin also works in the internet industry; she’s at New Horizon Tech.” “What a coincidence, I’m at New Horizon Tech too.” “Then you might be colleagues,” he paused. “Her name is Chloe Scott, do you know her?” I paused, surprised. Chloe Scott. She was the HR at New Horizon Tech. She was Ethan Scott’s cousin. What a small world. I nodded, unable to help but exclaim, “I know her! We’re at the same company. The world really is small.” He smiled. “That’s good then. We can all have dinner together sometime.” Mid-conversation, he suddenly said, “Ms. Price, there’s something I want to tell you.” “What is it?” “That day at the police station, after I met you, I went back and looked into your background.” I froze. He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Don’t misunderstand, I just wanted to see if you were married.” “Later, I found out you worked at the same company as my cousin, so I asked her to subtly inquire about you.” “She asked me why I wanted to know about you, and I told her I wanted to get to know you.” “She said you had a boyfriend.” “So I didn’t ask any more questions.” I looked at him, not knowing what to say. He continued, “When I saw you alone earlier, I thought, maybe I have a chance now.” “Eleanor Price, I like you.” “From the first moment I saw you, I liked you.”

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“Darling, let’s sell the house,” my husband said. That day, he cooked four dishes and even opened a bottle of red wine. A bouquet of flowers, baby’s breath—my favorite—sat on the table. I looked at him, feeling a little dazed. We’d been married for five years; the last time he bought me flowers was the day he proposed. “Sell it and get a bigger one, one with a yard,” he poured me wine, smiling gently. “Haven’t you always wanted to live in a villa?” I picked up my wine glass but didn’t drink. “Okay,” I said. He froze for a moment, probably not expecting me to agree so quickly. What he didn’t know was that three days prior, I had already seen the chat history on his phone. 1. Ray had changed. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact day it started, but it was probably around mid-last month. Before, when he came home from work, he’d kick off his shoes, flop onto the sofa, and cover his face with his phone. If I said dinner was ready, he’d say “in a minute.” If I told him to wash the dishes, he’d say “tomorrow.” If I reminded him the mortgage was due this month, he’d say “doesn’t it auto-deduct?” For five years of marriage, our conversations revolved around these same few phrases. But starting last month, things shifted. He began to cook on his own initiative. The first time was a Wednesday. I got home from overtime at eight, pushed open the door, and saw the kitchen light on. He was wearing an apron, stir-frying tomatoes and eggs. “I got off work early today, so I just cooked,” he said. I glanced at him, saying nothing. He had been making stir-fried tomatoes and eggs for five years, burning the eggs every time. That day, they weren’t burnt. I sat down and took a bite. It tasted good. “Is it good?” he asked. “It’s alright.” “I want to talk to you about something,” he put down his chopsticks and looked at me. “I’ve been thinking lately, isn’t our house a bit too small?” Our apartment was ninety-two square meters, with two bedrooms and one living room. In this city, it wasn’t considered small. “I looked at a few properties,” he pulled out his phone to show me. “Look at this one, four bedrooms, two living rooms, with a garden—” “How much?” “Over five million.” I chuckled. “Our combined savings wouldn’t even be enough for a down payment.” “That’s what I’m saying,” he put down his phone. “Let’s sell our current place first, then add a bit more. This area has gone up quite a lot; we should get at least three point five million.” Three point five million. He said the number smoothly, as if he’d calculated it many times. I didn’t respond. This apartment was bought in 2019. Back then, we weren’t married yet, just dating. The down payment of six hundred thousand was what I had saved from four years of work. The loan was one point two million, with monthly payments of six thousand eight hundred. When we bought the apartment, Ray said, “I’ll contribute one hundred thousand.” I waited three months, but nothing. Six months later, I asked him, and he said, “I’m a bit tight on cash right now; I’ll transfer it to you next month when I get my bonus.” A year later, I asked again, and he said, “Aren’t we the same? Why be so clear-cut?” After that, I stopped asking. I paid the loan myself. I covered the down payment myself. I paid the deed tax myself. I oversaw the renovations myself. On the property deed, there was only one name. Mine. Because it was bought before marriage, and the deed was processed before marriage. Did Ray know about these things? He knew I bought the apartment. But he probably didn’t remember that the deed was finalized before we got married. Or maybe he simply never cared. In his mind, once married, we were family. And family possessions were shared, weren’t they? “So, what do you think?” he urged me. “How about we go see some places this weekend?” I looked at him. His gaze was more sincere than at any other time in the past five years. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll think about it.” That night, he went to wash the dishes again. I sat on the sofa and turned on the other phone he had left on the coffee table a few days ago. Yes, the other one. He probably thought I hadn’t noticed. That phone, with its black case, was hidden in the inner compartment of his briefcase. Last Wednesday, he came home drunk, tossed it casually, and it landed on the coffee table. The next day, he searched his entire bag and finally found it under the coffee table. When he picked it up, his hand trembled slightly. From that day on, I knew something was wrong. But I didn’t make a fuss. I just picked up the phone while he was showering and tried to unlock it. The password was his birthday. He hadn’t even bothered to change the password. The screen lit up. There was only one chat history on WeChat. The contact’s name was a strawberry emoji. I tapped it open, scrolling up from the latest message. “Hubby, I miss you so much today.” “Good girl, I’ll take you to that Japanese restaurant this weekend.” “When are you going to tell her? You keep dragging it out…” “Soon, I’m figuring out a way.” “What way?” “Sell the house first, split the money, then I’ll tell her everything.” After reading that, I put the phone back in its original spot. Then I went to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and drank it. My hand didn’t tremble. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt. It was that over these five years, it had hurt so many times that I was numb to the pain. 2. Ray and I were introduced by a mutual friend from college. In 2017, I was twenty-seven, and he was twenty-eight. I worked as an operations manager at an internet company, having just been promoted to supervisor with a monthly salary of fifteen thousand. He was a sales representative at a building materials company, with a base salary of four thousand, plus commission, totaling around eight thousand per month. My mother had been pressuring me to get married for two years. Every phone call was the same old refrain: “Look at your cousin, her child is already walking.” “Girls shouldn’t be too picky.” “Good enough is good enough.” The first time Ray met me, he brought a bouquet of flowers. Not baby’s breath, but roses. The kind you buy at the supermarket entrance, ten dollars a bunch. But that day, he said something: “You deserve better flowers. When I make money, I’ll buy you a house full of them.” I smiled. Later, I found out he did buy a house full of flowers. Just not for me. During our courtship, he was reasonably attentive. He would pick me up from work. He would remember my birthday. He would bring me late-night snacks when I worked overtime. Although the snacks were always Jianbing Guozi—because only that one stall was open downstairs from the company. I never complained. I have a flaw: if someone treats me even a little well, I think it’s extraordinary. Probably because throughout my life, not many people have been genuinely kind to me. In 2018, I decided to buy an apartment. Property prices were just starting to rise then, and I found this current apartment I liked. The total price was one point eight million, with a down payment of six hundred thousand. I had saved five hundred twenty thousand from four years of work. I was short eighty thousand, which I borrowed from my mother. My mother only said one thing: “Put it in your name.” I said, “Of course.” Ray was very excited when he learned I was buying an apartment. “This will be our future home!” he said. “I’ll contribute one hundred thousand for the down payment.” I said okay. One hundred thousand. He said it three times, each time very earnestly. The first time was when we viewed the apartment. The second time was when we signed the contract. The third time was when the down payment was due. Each time, I believed him. But the money never materialized. The first month, he said he had just paid rent, so next month. The second month, he said sales were bad, so next month. The third month, he said he lent it to a friend, so next month. Eventually, I stopped waiting. Of the six hundred thousand down payment, I paid five hundred twenty thousand myself, and my mother gave me eighty thousand. He didn’t contribute a single cent. In early 2019, the property deed was issued. Three months later, we registered our marriage. We didn’t have a wedding. He said we should save up first, then have one when we had money. Five years passed. No wedding. No savings. It wasn’t that he couldn’t earn money. It was that his money never came into the household. In five years of marriage, I never saw Ray’s salary card. I asked once, and he said, “Why do you need to know so much? Haven’t I paid the living expenses every month?” Living expenses. Two thousand per month. I calculated that over five years, he had transferred less than eighty thousand to the household in total. And two thousand of that was a New Year’s gift to his mother, deducted from money I had transferred to him. What about me? The monthly mortgage was six thousand eight hundred, which over five years totaled four hundred eight thousand. Property management fees, utilities, gas, about one thousand two hundred per month. Groceries, household essentials, around two thousand per month. His cigarette money, three hundred per month. Yes, his cigarette money came from household funds. Gifts for relatives during holidays were mostly paid by me. Over five years, how much money did I invest in this home? I hadn’t calculated the exact figure. Because it would make me cry. But I estimated roughly, at least one point two million. Down payment: six hundred thousand. Mortgage: four hundred thousand. Living expenses: two hundred thousand. One point two million. And him? Eighty thousand. And two thousand of that was my money. So, sixty thousand. One point two million versus sixty thousand. Twenty to one. This was our marriage. 3. After discovering that phone, I did something. I didn’t storm out. I didn’t cry. I didn’t shake him awake in the middle of the night to confront him. I took photos. Every page of chat history, every transfer screenshot, every ambiguous message. All of it screenshotted and sent to my own email. Then I put the phone back in its original position, wiping off my fingerprints. The next morning, he made breakfast again. Fried eggs, toast, a cup of hot milk. “Why are you up so early today?” he asked. “Couldn’t sleep.” “Is work stress getting to you lately?” he handed me the milk. “Why don’t you just quit? I’ll support you.” You’ll support me. On eight thousand a month, you’ll support me. I almost burst out laughing. “No need.” I took the milk and drank a sip. “By the way, about selling the house, I’ve thought about it.” His eyes immediately lit up. “You think it’s a good idea?” “It’s a good idea, but I need to understand the process first. Do you know how long it takes to list a property these days?” “I asked the agent,” he said quickly. “It can close in as little as a month. This area is a school district now, so it’s in high demand.” A month. He was even more eager than I was. “Alright, then you go ahead and contact the agent,” I said. “Great!” he stood up. “I’ll call now.” Watching his excited back, I slowly finished my milk. What he didn’t know was that I had already consulted a lawyer yesterday. The lawyer, Ms. Fang, was recommended by my university roommate and specialized in family law. I explained the situation to her. She asked me three questions: “When was the house bought?” “2018.” “When did you register your marriage?” “June 2019.” “When was the property deed issued?” “March 2019.” Ms. Fang was silent for two seconds. “Ms. Lin, your apartment is your pre-marital personal property. The property deed was processed before you registered your marriage, and it’s in your name alone, correct?” “Correct.” “Who paid the down payment?” “Myself. My mother lent me eighty thousand, but that was also a personal gift to me.” “And the loan?” “I paid it myself for about a year before marriage, and the monthly payments after marriage were also deducted from my salary card.” “Did he ever transfer money to your salary card, specifically for mortgage payments?” “No.” “Then for the mortgage payments made after marriage, if it goes to court, he might claim a share. But as long as you can prove that all the mortgage funds came from your personal income—” “I have bank statements.” “Then it’s very clear,” Ms. Fang said. “Pre-marital personal property, property deed acquired before marriage, down payment made before marriage, and the loan primarily repaid by you personally. Even if it goes to court, the portion he can claim will be very limited. Moreover, he is at fault.” “What fault?” “Adultery. Do you have evidence?” “Yes.” “Then it’s even simpler. If a spouse cohabits with another person, the innocent party can claim damages during divorce. ” “How much compensation can there be?” “The amount won’t be very high. But more importantly, the at-fault party will receive less or no property in the division.” I hung up the phone. I sat there for a long time. Then I opened the notes app on my phone and made a list: 1. Evidence of infidelity – screenshots already exist, more needed to supplement. 2. Original property deed – in my possession. 3. Purchase contract – signed before marriage, in my possession. 4. Mortgage payment records – all deducted from my salary card, bank statements can be obtained. 5. Proof of his financial contribution – none. Because he never contributed. I looked at the list. Five years. One point two million. He hadn’t paid a single cent towards buying the house, hadn’t made a single mortgage payment, hadn’t paid a single property management fee. Now he wanted to sell my house, cash out three point five million, take half, and go off with his “strawberry.” I closed the notes app. No rush. Let him enjoy himself for a few more days. 4. Over the next two weeks, I began to pay attention to everything he did. Not in a sneaky way. It was a calm, purposeful observation. His second phone only came out after eleven p.m. every night. He thought I was asleep. But I wasn’t. I closed my eyes, listening to him type under the covers. The tap of his fingers on the screen was light, but in the quiet bedroom, I heard every single one. Sometimes he would chuckle softly. Very quietly. But I heard it. What were he and she laughing about? I didn’t want to know. I just waited until he was asleep each night, picked up that phone, and continued taking screenshots. In two weeks, I saved over one hundred sixty screenshots. Chat histories, transfer records, hotel check-in records. He had sent her red envelopes. Five hundred twenty, one thousand three hundred fourteen, and one for eight thousand eight hundred eighty-eight. In just six months, he had transferred fifty-three thousand four hundred to her. Fifty-three thousand. He gave the household two thousand a month. To her, fifty-three thousand in six months. Two thousand multiplied by six months is twelve thousand. Twelve thousand versus fifty-three thousand. The money he gave to his mistress was four and a half times what he gave to our home. I also discovered some other things. He rented a room outside. Monthly rent three thousand five hundred. Three months’ rent upfront, plus one month’s deposit. The first payment was fourteen thousand. When was this money paid? Three months ago. Meaning, three months ago, he already had another “home” outside. And three months ago— That’s when he started bringing up selling the house. All the pieces fell into place. He wanted to sell the house, not to get a bigger one. It was to cash out. He thought the house was marital joint property—after all, we moved in after we got married. He thought if it sold for three point five million, he could at least get half. One point seven five million. Taking one point seven five million to live happily ever after with his “strawberry.” And me? The one point eight million house was bought by me. The down payment was mine. The mortgage was paid by me. He didn’t contribute a single cent. In the end, he wanted to take one point seven five million. One point seven five million. Enough for him and that woman to live on for several years. I sat in the living room, staring out the window for a long time. Then I picked up my phone and sent a message to Ms. Fang: “Ms. Fang, all the materials are ready. We can file the case anytime.” She replied with one word: “Good.” I sent another message: “I want to wait for him to list the house first.” “Why?” “I want to see how far he’s willing to go.” Ms. Fang sent an ellipsis, then said, “Alright, you set the pace. But don’t drag it out too long.” I said okay. It wouldn’t be too long. Because I had already waited five years. A few more days wouldn’t make a difference.

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Three years. That’s how long we’d been together, living in pixels and text. Axel said I was too clingy. So he tossed me to his roommate. And just like that, the messages I received were from his roommate. The birthday gifts I cherished were picked out by his roommate. I was completely in the dark, my heart fluttering with anticipation for our three-year anniversary, the day we would finally meet. When that day came, my boyfriend was tall and gorgeous. He loved holding my hand and would blush shyly. I looked him over again and again, absolutely smitten. The only thing was, he was a man of few words, and he guarded me from other guys like a hawk. I’d laugh and tell him he was overreacting, that I was hardly some irresistible prize. Until the day a brazen young man blocked our path. His eyes were venomous, locked on the man beside me. “Silas, where the hell did you get a girlfriend?” 1 I’d noticed something was off with Axel. Before, when we chatted, he was never a big talker, but every word he typed had a spark of life to it. Over the past year, though, his messages had become… stilted. Sometimes the words came out one at a time, clipped and sterile. It felt like… I thought for a moment. It felt like I was talking to a robot executing a command. Uncanny. I’d cautiously tested the waters. “Do you… not like me anymore?” The reply was almost instantaneous, a frantic burst of text. “No!” “I do!” Before I could even respond, he started typing again, the “…” icon blinking for a long time. “Busy today. Basketball tournament. Not ignoring you.” I shook my head, a smile returning to my face as I typed back, “Okay, baby, my bad. I’m sorry.” But you couldn’t blame me for overthinking. This was the curse of a long-distance relationship, the constant hum of insecurity. I huffed, then remembered something. I sent a flurry of happy puppy emojis. “Do you remember our promise? We’re going to see each other in just a few days!” The “…” started blinking again. And again. And again… My patience, initially abundant, evaporated. “What’s your deal? If you want to break up, just say it. If you don’t want to meet, just block me.” He seemed to panic. A message shot back instantly: “Yes! Meet!” I grinned, triumphant. That’s more like it. A moment later, a transaction notification popped up. He’d sent me ten thousand dollars. I was confused. “?” “Buy,” he replied quickly, adding two more words. “Plane ticket.” Come to think of it, besides his newfound brevity, Axel had also developed a habit of sending me money. He used to, but only for holidays or my birthday. This past year, the transfers came at all hours. Sometimes I’d send him a random photo, and if there was so much as a single flower in the frame, he’d spot it and wire me a few thousand dollars with a simple message: “Buy flowers. Pretty.” It felt like a clumsy, almost desperate attempt to please me, as if money was the only language he knew. I didn’t accept the transfer. Instead, I sent him a picture of myself. “I got accepted into the exchange program at Blackwood University for a year!” I typed, my fingers flying across the screen. “Axel, I’m coming to your school! Are you happy?” I love the ocean, so we had agreed to meet for the first time in Seacliff Point. My school, Fairview University, and his, Blackwood, were two of the top universities in the country, rivals from opposite coasts. They had a long-standing exchange program for students with excellent GPAs. He took a long time to reply. So long that I was hugging my phone, drifting off to sleep. Finally, a message came through. Just two simple words. “I’m happy.” 2 The moment I landed in Bridgewater, my mom’s call came through. “I’ve set up the meeting for you. Just think of it as making a new friend. And remember to pay your respects to the old Mrs. Hawthorne. Don’t be rude.” I hadn’t dared tell my mom I had an online boyfriend. So she was constantly reminding me that as soon as I got to the city, I had to visit the family that ours had a long-standing understanding with—a verbal marriage agreement from a generation ago. I figured it was a good opportunity to clear things up in person, so I didn’t refuse. Besides, I’d heard the family’s name was Hawthorne. Because of Axel, I had a strange fondness for that name. But I sat in the designated café from afternoon until evening, and he never showed. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. My mom had told me the Hawthornes used to live in our hometown when I was five, before moving to Bridgewater. In recent years, as a minor branch of the family, they’d managed to attach themselves to the powerful Prescott family, and their status had skyrocketed. Naturally, they’d look down on someone from a small town like me. They were probably afraid I’d try to cling to them. My mom was a talkative woman with a short fuse, and I was a talkative woman with no fuse at all. The two of us spent the next half hour on the phone, trading insults about the Hawthornes. Finally, my dad’s slow, deliberate voice drifted through the receiver. “Honey, don’t swear in front of the baby. You’ll be a bad influence.” I laughed, and then an idea struck me. I lifted my phone and snapped a picture of the twilight sky. I opened my chat with Axel, sent the photo, and typed out a quick message. “I’m here! One day left on the countdown!” 3 Meanwhile, outside a dormitory at Blackwood University’s computer science department. A group of guys was heading back from the courts when one of them let out a surprised yell. “Hey, isn’t that a Prescott family car? Silas? What’s he doing back at school?” Axel, dressed in simple gray sweats and a white t-shirt, a basketball tucked under his arm, glanced over. A discreet, custom-built sedan was parked nearby, its door ajar. From his angle, he could only see a hand, pale and elegant, gripping the doorframe so tightly that the veins stood out in sharp relief. Axel knew what that looked like. It was the physical manifestation of pure terror, a visceral disgust for stepping into a crowd. Silas… Axel frowned. He couldn’t imagine why Silas would need to come back to campus. He’d already failed once. Rick, another one of the guys, was just as confused. “Doesn’t he hate being around people? Last year he moved into our dorm, said he wanted to ‘get over it.’ Lasted all of two days before the poor little rich boy couldn’t take it anymore.” “Seriously, driving him here in the middle of the night… you think they want you to babysit him again, Axel?” Rick said thoughtlessly, then caught the look on Axel’s face. He quickly changed his tune. “Hey, I mean, who cares if he’s the sole heir to a fortune? The guy can barely string a sentence together. How’s he supposed to run Prescott Industries?” “No wonder the old Mrs. Prescott dotes on you so much, man. When she finally kicks the bucket, even her own grandson will probably have to rely on you.” Axel said nothing. He pulled his gaze away from the car and walked off, indifferent. Inside the car, Silas’s lips were pressed into a thin line. His handsome, refined face was ashen, a sheen of sweat on his brow. His hand was still clamped onto the doorframe. After a long moment, he asked in a low voice, “Will she… think I’m… a freak?” Arthur, the family’s long-serving butler, a kind man with a head of white hair, felt a pang of sympathy. But he couldn’t bring himself to offer the same hollow reassurances as before. He couldn’t just say, “Our young master is brilliant and handsome, who would dare think such a thing?” He remembered a playmate Silas had as a child. The boy had pretended to adore Silas to his face, but behind his back, he’d called him a little idiot. A young Silas had overheard from behind the door. He never made another friend after that. It was only in the last few years, thanks to Axel, that things had started to change. Arthur didn’t know what magic Axel had worked, but over the past year, Silas had come alive. He was often glued to his phone, sometimes bursting into laughter for no apparent reason. And now, he was voluntarily asking to come back to school. It was for this reason that the Prescott family had showered the Hawthornes with resources, elevating their status. As for this “she” Silas was talking about, Arthur had no idea who he meant. He assumed it was just more of the boy’s rambling. So, he changed the subject. “Perhaps we should go home for now, and try again another day…” Silas looked out the window, his features delicate and striking. He shook his head, his voice firm. “We have to meet.” 4 The Intro to Philosophy lecture at Blackwood was always packed. By the time I rushed in with my textbook, only a few scattered seats remained. My eyes scanned the massive hall, finally landing on one spot. In the third-to-last row by the window, a single person sat in isolation. The seats all around him were empty, as if an invisible barrier had been drawn, a line no one dared to cross. The young man in the seat sat with his back ramrod straight, his posture almost painfully rigid. He wore a simple white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing wrists of a startling pale white. The room was a cacophony of noise, but he remained with his head bowed, eyes downcast, his long lashes casting a faint shadow on his cheeks. He was so still it was as if the world around him was on mute. I took a deep breath. In that instant, I knew. I started walking towards him. A boy with a shy smile tried to stop me. “Hey, um, you can sit here. He… he doesn’t let anyone sit next to him.” Hearing our exchange, the boy at the desk snapped his head up. The moment our eyes met, he froze completely, his light brown pupils flickering with a delicate, fractured anxiety. I gave the other boy a small shake of my head and whispered, “Thanks, but I’m here for him.” I plopped down into the seat beside him, and for a second, the entire noisy lecture hall fell silent. I ignored it, tilting my head to look at him, my voice soft. “Axel?” It took him a long moment to speak. When he did, it was a barely-audible hum. “Mm.” His voice was low, a little hoarse. I grinned and hooked my pinky finger around his. “I knew it was you,” I whispered. “I recognized you instantly. Pretty amazing, right?” He didn’t speak, but a furious blush crept up from the tips of his ears, spreading down his neck and across his cheeks. My eyes widened. I was afraid he might actually combust, so I quickly let go of his hand. But the next second, he looked at me, his eyes wide with shock, like a puppy that had just been abandoned. So, I threaded my fingers through his again. “By the way,” I asked casually, “what’s your real name?” He stiffened, suddenly unable to speak. I smiled. “Axel is a fake name, right? You said you’d tell me your real name when we finally met.” When we first started talking, neither of us used our real names. It had started as a quirky thing on my part, and the nicknames just stuck. Hearing my words, he pursed his lips, his expression suddenly serious. “Silas. My name is Silas.” I wiggled his fingers in mine, my smile bright. “Nice to meet you, Silas. I’m so happy to finally meet you.” 5 Axel… no, Silas’s situation was a little more complicated than I’d imagined. When the app first matched us, it showed a 98% compatibility rating. His profile tags were: *Withdrawn, Aloof, Anxious.* From our earliest conversations, I knew Silas was struggling with something—a condition without a formal name. A traumatic event in his childhood had left him terrified of face-to-face interaction, crippled by a fear of crowds. He couldn’t live a normal life, have normal conversations, or make friends in the real world. So he hid himself online. At first, I just felt a pang of sympathy for him. Like seeing a small cat huddled in a corner during a rainstorm and feeling the instinctive urge to offer it the shelter of your umbrella. But neither of us expected that my small umbrella would, over time, become a roof for us both. We were a perfect fit, a true meeting of minds. We read the same books, watched the same movies, listened to the same quiet music. He always seemed to understand the emotions I never put into words. My roommate, Pippa, once leaned over my desk, staring at my reflection in the mirror, completely baffled. “Do you really need to date online? With your looks, you could have a whole roster of boyfriends lined up.” I thought about it for a long time. When I finally answered, I sounded like a complete lovesick fool. “He’s different.” Everyone in my family is good-looking, so I’ve been immune to physical appearance since I was a child. To me, a thousand pretty faces are all the same. They can’t compare to a single interesting, profound soul. And Silas was brilliant. Inhumanly so. During my senior year of high school, when I was drowning in academic pressure, he became my unofficial tutor. No matter how convoluted the problem, he could break it down from behind a screen, explaining it with a clarity and conciseness that was breathtaking. I still remember how he typed out tens of thousands of words of analysis just to help me with my weakest subject. I glanced down. Silas was clutching my hand, his grip incredibly tight. I smiled, trying to get him to relax. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed his lips together, switched hands, and held on even tighter. I chattered on, telling him about everything and anything. I have a way of talking that’s different from most people; I love to add vivid, colorful descriptions. A story about losing a shoe at the train station might take someone else a single sentence, but I could stretch it into a ten-minute epic. All that talking left my throat dry, and I swallowed instinctively. A second later, a pale, slender hand appeared in front of me, holding an open water bottle. The bottle itself was immaculately clean. My eyes lit up, and I took it, gulping down a few mouthfuls. The water was the perfect temperature, not too hot, not too cold, with a faint, sweet scent of licorice root. “Babe, you’re too sweet!” I teased, looking at him. “Thanks, boyfriend?” The tips of Silas’s ears turned red again. He managed a clipped, “You’re… welcome.” I grinned and ruffled his soft, black hair. It felt like silk. It’s okay, I thought. You don’t have to talk much. I’ve got enough words for the both of us. 6 “I heard that Prescott kid is back on campus.” “Get close to him. Keep a very close eye on him. If that boy says so much as one extra word at home, the Prescott family will consider it a major accomplishment on your part.” “Did you hear me? Axel…” Axel scoffed and hung up the phone. Rick walked in, saw his foul mood, and wracked his brain for something fun to talk about. His eyes lit up. “Hey, have you heard? There’s a new exchange student in the computer science department. Dude, she is drop-dead gorgeous.” “She walked by the courts this afternoon, and someone snapped a picture and put it on the campus CrushNet page. A bunch of people are already shipping you two.” “Let me see… yeah, the comments are all like…” “*‘Oh my god! They don’t even know each other, but I’ve already written a 100,000-word campus romance in my head!’*” “*‘I don’t care about anything else. Based on these two faces alone, I’m shipping it hard!’*” Rick zoomed in on the photo and slapped his thigh. “It’s perfect, Axel! This girl is totally your type!” He looked up, only to realize Axel wasn’t listening at all, his eyes glued to the game on his computer. Rick scratched his head. “Oh, right, I forgot. You have that online girlfriend. When are you two planning to meet up?” Axel didn’t even look up. “She’s just something to kill time with when I’m bored. She’s not my girlfriend.” “Besides, with a face like hers…” He tried to recall what she looked like but couldn’t remember why he’d even started talking to her. He just remembered an accidental video call where he’d caught a glimpse of her. A round, flat face with two small eyes. She was far from pretty. Back then, he could have just ghosted her. But then he saw Silas. His online girlfriend and Silas. One who wanted to text 24/7, and one who wouldn’t speak for 24 hours if he could help it. He’d tossed the person who annoyed him to the person he despised. A chatterbox and a mute. A smirk played on Axel’s lips. A match made in hell. He had warned Silas that chatting with her was fine, but meeting up was out of the question. It would save him the trouble of cleaning up the mess. Silas was just an imposter filling in for him; he wouldn’t have the guts to meet her in person. The next day, Axel and his friends were on the basketball court when a girl walked towards them. The afternoon sun bathed her in a golden light, her skin so pale it almost glowed. Her features were sharp and stunning, her figure tall and graceful. There was no one this beautiful at Blackwood. This had to be the exchange student Rick was talking about. A lump formed in his throat. He let out a silent laugh. Rick really did know him well. As someone who was used to being the center of attention, he was always the one being approached. For the first time in his life, he took the initiative. “Hey, I’m Axel. Can we be friends?” 7 I blinked, looking up at him. The man in front of me was incredibly striking. He had a sharp brow, and the corners of his eyes tilted upwards, giving him an air of casual arrogance. If Silas’s beauty was like fine porcelain, cool and fragile, then this man was like a drawn sword, all sharp edges and swagger. His name was Axel too? What a coincidence… Silas probably never imagined that the random name he’d picked would belong to someone at his own university. I snapped back to reality, falling back on my well-practiced response to being hit on. “Hi, I’m Sera. Nice to meet you. Friend.” Remembering that Silas was waiting for me, I gave a nod and started walking towards the campus gate. Behind me, Rick and the others started hooting and hollering. “Ooooh, look at her, she’s so shy she ran away!” “Axel, man, your charm is undefeated! There’s no girl you can’t get!” Axel just shoved his hands in his pockets, a familiar, confident smile on his face. Silas still couldn’t handle being at school. He lasted one day before returning to the Prescott estate. I had a few classes today, and his car was waiting for me at the gate long before they were over. “You don’t have to come so early,” I said, climbing into the car and immediately cupping his face in my hands. “It must be so boring waiting out here for so long.” He sat perfectly still, letting me squish his cheeks. “Not boring. Not seeing you… is boring.” I pouted. I had no idea this quiet boy could be so smooth. The car pulled into a residential complex not far from Blackwood. Silas led me into an apartment, and I turned to him, confused. “For you,” he said, producing a deed from out of nowhere. “For school.” I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, absolutely not.” This place had to be worth millions. I couldn’t possibly accept it. “I’m fine in the dorms,” I said quickly. “It’s more convenient anyway.” I’d seen the Blackwood dorms; they were standard four-person rooms with loft beds over desks. They were spacious enough. “And I’m only here for a year, maybe a year and a half. It’s not like I’m moving here for good…” The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and Silas’s expression darkened. “Anyway,” I quickly added, “nobody gives someone an apartment the first time they meet. No way. Not even a boyfriend.” “The dorms are bad,” he said, pausing as if searching for a convincing reason. He finally found one. “They’re smaller than the bathroom at my house.” …I couldn’t argue with that. Silas didn’t press the issue. He just stood there, his eyes downcast, looking at me. His long lashes hid his expression, but he looked so quiet and crestfallen, like a giant, dejected dog. I was helpless against him. I pressed a finger to my nose, then pointed it at him with a huff. “Fine. On one condition. I’ll stay here temporarily, but you are not, under any circumstances, to give me this deed.” Silas’s lips twitched, the corners turning up in a faint, triumphant smile. 8 It was only after Silas left that I realized the apartment’s decor looked familiar. The color of the living room sofa, the style of the floor lamp, the built-in fireplace in the corner… Every single detail was something I had mentioned offhandedly in our chats, a preference I’d once shared. The next morning, I opened the door to find Silas standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers. “When did you get here? Why didn’t you knock?” I exclaimed, then noticed the person behind him and smiled. “Good morning, Arthur.” Arthur beamed at me. He probably knew Silas wouldn’t say anything himself. He spilled the beans. “Oh, he was up bright and early! Woke up at four, took a shower, spent an age picking out his clothes, and he even arranged this bouquet himself, you know.” He held up two fingers, his eyes crinkling with his smile. “When he got home last night, he did something unprecedented. He actually said two whole sentences to his grandmother. She was so happy she couldn’t sleep all night.” Last night, just before he went upstairs, Silas had turned back and seriously asked him: *How do you pursue a girl?* Goodness, a man his age, what did he know about how young people date these days? So he and his wife had put on their reading glasses and spent hours searching online, while Silas sat beside them, watching them quietly. As Arthur told the story, Silas’s ears turned red again. “That’s amazing!” I said, taking the flowers and praising him. “You said two sentences to your grandma yesterday. How about we upgrade to four today?” Silas nodded obediently. “Okay.” I had already sensed that Silas was only pretending to be relaxed and normal around me. He could spend an entire day with me in quiet companionship—talking, touching, being close were all fine. But the moment he stepped outside of this little world we’d created, he would retreat back into his shell. Over the next few weeks, I consciously made myself a bridge for him, helping him extend his world, little by little. He had once told me in a chat that when he was very young, his family, out of desperation, had tried to use extreme methods to shock him out of his condition. It had only left him with deeper scars. So I never pushed him, never rushed him to open up. We took walks in the park at dusk, visited quiet, empty bookstores, and went to the convenience store late at night. When he was having a good day, I would give him a gentle nudge. “How about you just try saying ‘thank you’ to the clerk?” I didn’t expect much. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.” Silas squeezed my hand, his fingers curling slightly, but he looked at the clerk and said a clear, steady, “Thank you.” As soon as the clerk turned away, I beamed at him, my eyes curving into crescents, and gave him a tiny, silent round of applause. “You were so brave just now.” Silas kept his eyes down, but his thumb gently stroked the back of my hand. His voice was low but incredibly earnest. “I… I wasn’t scared.” He paused, then shot a quick glance at me before looking away again, adding in a whisper, “When I’m with you, I’m not afraid.”

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My husband drowned in a tragic accident. While sorting through his belongings, I found a copy of a property deed tucked inside a magazine. When I walked into that house, I was struck speechless. It was warmly and romantically decorated, with expensive furniture, beautiful rugs, and a crystal chandelier that still sparkled through a layer of dust. It was a world away from the cramped, dilapidated old house we lived in. The walls were covered with photos of him, his first love, and their twin children. On his desk was a hastily scrawled note: *Isabelle, since you passed away, every day has been a living hell. My duty to my mother is done, and the children are grown. I have nothing left to live for. I pray we will be reunited in the afterlife.* I stumbled out of the room. All I wanted to do was dig up his grave. But a wave of rage and grief washed over me. Blood rushed to my head, and I coughed up a mouthful of it before my vision went black and I collapsed. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the tenth year of my marriage. 1 When the police called to inform me they had found my husband Donovan’s body in Blackwood Reservoir, I was still at the office, working late to deal with last-minute changes from a client. I was over forty, my hormones were a mess, and it was past ten at night. I was slaving away like an old ox. My resentment was already at an all-time high. So when I heard the news, my first thought was that it was a scam. “Get lost,” I spat into the phone. “I hope all scammers die horrible deaths!” The officer on the other end didn’t get angry. In a calm, professional voice, he recited his badge number and the precinct, explaining that a night fisherman had discovered my husband’s body and found his ID on him. He asked me to come to the scene as soon as possible to assist with the matter. Half-convinced, I hung up. As I drove to Blackwood Reservoir, I kept calling Donovan, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Forty minutes later, I arrived at the location the police had given me. The night was pitch-black. The sound of the reservoir’s current and the calls of unseen animals were unnerving. I stumbled along the uneven ground, heading towards the only source of light. And there, I saw him. A man, stiff and straight, lying on the riverbank. He was wearing his usual white shirt and black trousers, now caked in mud. His shoes were gone, and his bare feet were covered in cuts. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. When I saw his face, I froze, as if struck by lightning. …It really was my husband, Donovan. 2 After a thorough investigation of the scene, an autopsy, and a review of the reservoir’s security footage, the police ruled out foul play. The medical examiner found alcohol in his system, and the official cause of death was accidental drowning while intoxicated. Our two children flew back from overseas as soon as they heard the news. I was so consumed by grief that my blood pressure spiked repeatedly, causing me to faint several times. I ended up in the ICU. My children handled all of their father’s funeral arrangements. By the time I was discharged, Donovan was already buried. It was only when my children took me to his gravesite that I realized, with a jolt of horror, that they had buried him next to their biological mother, Isabelle. But they had been divorced for over twenty years… I looked at my children standing beside me, my mind blank. My daughter, Nora, spoke in a flat voice. “It’s what Dad wanted.” She pulled a document from her bag and handed it to me. “This is the will Dad wrote before he died. The lawyer gave it to my brother and me when we got back. You should read it too.” My hands trembled as I took it. Nora was right. Being buried with Isabelle was stipulated in Donovan’s will. Nora continued, “The last page is the asset distribution. The beneficiary for all of Dad’s life insurance policies is me and my brother. His stocks and mutual funds were purchased before he married you, so they’re considered his personal assets, and he left those to us as well.” “As for the old house…” Nora paused. “Dad left you your 50% share, but you’ll have to pay us the market value for his half. Of course, you could also sell the house and give us half of the proceeds.” My son, Noah, who had been silent until now, looked at me. His expression was tinged with guilt. “Mom,” he said, his lips barely moving, “Nora and I have our green cards now. Once everything is settled here, we won’t be coming back. Please take care of yourself.” I stared at the two children I had raised for twenty years, disbelief washing over me. I didn’t even realize when the tears had started to fall. My throat ached, and my voice was a raw, broken whisper. “How… how could you do this to me?” I had been married to Donovan for twenty years. I became a stepmother to five-year-old twins, Noah and Nora. I loved my husband deeply, weathering every storm with him. I cared for his children with all my heart. I was a devoted daughter-in-law to his parents. And in the end… They had used me and bled me dry. 3 I stumbled back to our house, pushing the door open with what little strength I had left. Everything inside was just as it had been when Donovan was alive. We had lived in this house for nearly twenty years. I had bought it with the dowry my parents gave me in the second year of our marriage. It was a second-hand apartment, over thirty years old, rundown and cramped. It was less than 800 square feet, and for a long time, it had housed five of us, including my mother-in-law. For years, I had scrimped and saved for everything: to send Noah and Nora to study abroad, to pay for my mother-in-law’s monthly dialysis treatments for her chronic kidney failure. I kept telling myself that things would get better. Everything would be okay. Only now did I realize that I had been nothing more than a tool for their family. My gaze was empty, like a stagnant pool of water. I moved like a puppet on strings, gathering Donovan’s things, planning to throw them all out. As I was clearing out his closet, I found a magazine at the very bottom of a stack of clothes. Tucked inside was a yellowed piece of paper: a copy of a property deed. The owner was Donovan. I went to the address on the deed. After verifying my ID, a locksmith opened the door for me. The moment I stepped inside, I was utterly stunned. This was clearly Donovan and Isabelle’s love nest. The walls were adorned with countless photos of them and their children. The house was decorated in a warm, romantic style. Expensive furniture, luxurious rugs, a crystal chandelier that still sparkled through a layer of dust. It was a world away from the cramped, dilapidated old house we lived in. I forced my feet to move, opening the door to the master bedroom. The room was enormous, with a walk-in closet, a vanity, a king-sized bed, and a spacious, sunlit bay window. The clothes in the closet were meticulously organized and looked expensive. Next door was Donovan’s study. The sight before me was like a dagger to the heart. The walls here were a timeline of their family’s happiness, from the children’s elementary school years to their college days. They had traveled the world together, visiting all the places I had dreamed of but never dared to spend money on. I collapsed into the chair at his desk. An open piece of paper lay on the desk. On it was a single line of writing: *Isabelle, since you passed away from your illness two years ago, every day has been a living hell. My duty to my mother is done, and the children are grown. I have nothing left to live for. I pray we will be reunited in the afterlife.* … It wasn’t an accidental drowning. It was a suicide. To be with her. I ripped the note to shreds, a raw scream tearing from my throat. 4 I don’t know how long I sat there. I finally pushed myself up, my knees weak. I stumbled out of the house. At that moment, all I wanted was to go to the cemetery and dig up Donovan’s grave. But the overwhelming grief and rage crashed through me. I felt a surge of heat, and a spray of blood erupted from my lips. My vision went black, and I fell backward. 5 When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting at a banquet table laden with food, surrounded by a cacophony of noise. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, all washed over me like a tidal wave. It took me a moment to remember where I was. This was the celebration dinner after Noah and Nora’s middle school exams. They had both been accepted into the city’s top high school. Not only was their tuition waived for three years, but they had each received a six-thousand-dollar scholarship. Donovan was currently leading the two of them from table to table, accepting toasts and congratulations. Everyone was praising him, saying that as a university professor, he had naturally raised two brilliant children. Sitting next to my mother-in-law, Isabelle watched the three of them with a proud smile, as if she were the guest of honor. I picked up my glass of red wine and downed it in one go. The cool, slightly tart liquid sliding down my throat was a sharp reminder that this was not a dream. As I was still trying to process everything, a sharp, sour voice cut through the noise. “Audrey, you really are a lucky one. Your reputation was in tatters, yet you still managed to marry a great man like Donovan. You don’t have a uterus, so you never had to go through the pain of childbirth, and you still got a pair of perfect children out of it. I’m so jealous.” I followed the voice and saw Brenda, a colleague of Donovan’s who had been two years behind him in university. She was also a philosophy professor at the same university. Her voice was loud, and many people had heard her. Isabelle raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips as she looked over, clearly anticipating a show. Brenda clicked her tongue. “Honestly, how did you get so lucky? I heard that ten years ago, your father was willing to throw in a free house and still couldn’t marry you off. Who would have thought Donovan would have such bad taste? He had so many women chasing him, and he chose you. There’s just no justice in the world.” I looked at her face, slightly twisted with jealousy, and found it both pathetic and laughable. I knew she’d had a crush on Donovan for years, only to be beaten to the punch by her supposed best friend, Isabelle. By the time she found out, Isabelle was already two months pregnant. They never spoke again. Later, Brenda married someone else out of spite. Not long after her wedding, Isabelle suddenly divorced Donovan, abandoned her children, and fled the country. 6 Brenda had never quite gotten over the fact that she hadn’t married Donovan. That’s why she was always targeting me, constantly picking at my old wounds. In the past, I had been ashamed of what had happened to me, so I would always lower my head and endure her taunts. She had said the exact same things in my past life, and I had swallowed my anger. It was my children’s celebration, with their teachers and classmates present, as well as Donovan’s colleagues. I didn’t want to make a scene. But now, none of that mattered. I slammed my chopsticks down on the table with a loud *crack*. “You’re right, I am lucky!” I shot back, my voice ringing through the room. “Are you jealous that I married Donovan? How about I give you my spot? I’ll grant your wish of pining after him for a decade. Then maybe you’ll stop buzzing around me, constantly trying to imply that I’m not good enough for him.” Brenda’s face went pale. She shot a panicked look towards her husband. “Audrey, are you crazy? What are you talking about?” I sneered. “Am I? What about all those flirty texts you send him? The way your eyes follow him around like a lovesick puppy? Do you think I’m blind? You always bring up my assault, just to try and humiliate me.” “Yes, I was assaulted! And yes, I was beaten so badly they had to remove my uterus! But even with all that, it was Donovan who came begging to marry me. If you’ve got a problem with it, take it up with him!” Everyone turned to stare at me. Brenda’s husband was glaring at her, his eyes dark and stormy. Donovan rushed over, his face a mask of fury. He shot a venomous look at Brenda, then grabbed my arm, hissing, “What do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea what day this is? Why are you bringing up all this old baggage in front of our friends and family?” I yanked my arm out of his grip. “What did I say? She’s the one who starts it every single time. Are you blind?” Brenda’s husband strode over to their table. He pulled his wife to her feet and then forced a strained smile at Donovan and me. “Professor, Audrey, I’m so sorry. I just got an urgent call from work. We have to go. We’ll come by and apologize properly another time.” With that, he dragged Brenda out of the banquet hall, his face like a thundercloud. 7 The noisy banquet hall fell into an awkward silence. The people around me were looking at me with a mixture of pity, curiosity, and disdain. Isabelle, who had been enjoying the show, stood up. She moved to Donovan’s side and smiled at me, her eyes filled with a taunting, mocking light. But her voice was soft and gentle, almost a purr. “Audrey, while no one says anything about your past, you don’t have to parade it around in public, do you? You’re Donovan’s wife now. When you bring up these things, how do you think it makes him look? “And even if you don’t care about Donovan, Noah and Nora still call you ‘Mom.’ How are they supposed to face their classmates now?” I followed her gaze to where Noah and Nora were standing. Noah’s hands were clenched into fists, his eyes blazing with fury. Nora’s eyes were filled with tears, and she was glaring at me with a look of pure hatred. I remembered them at the cemetery, waving Donovan’s will in my face, demanding I sell the house and give them their share. A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Their biological mother isn’t dead. What right do I have to be their mom? “When she finally kicks the bucket, then we’ll talk.” “You…” Isabelle was speechless, her fair cheeks flushing with anger. Her watery eyes pleaded with Donovan for help. A flicker of something vicious crossed Donovan’s face. He grabbed my arm again, his grip so tight I thought my bones would snap. He lowered his voice, his words a furious whisper. “Audrey, that’s enough. Don’t make this any more embarrassing than it already is. If you want to throw a tantrum, do it at home.” 8 I looked up into the eyes of the man before me, and a tidal wave of hatred washed over me. Our friends, seeing the tension, quickly stepped in to mediate. “Professor, come on, we need to ask you for some parenting advice. My son is failing half his classes. How do you get your kids to listen to you…?” Soon, the banquet hall was filled with noise again. I sat back down, watching everything with cold, detached eyes. A tight knot of pain was lodged in my chest. I poured another glass of wine and drank it down. I knew the best thing to do was to divorce Donovan, to get away from this family of ghouls and start my own life. But they had stolen my life from me. How could I just let go of all this hatred? 9 The party ended, and the guests slowly trickled out. Soon, only Donovan’s family of four, and me, remained. My mother-in-law’s coarse voice broke the silence. “Audrey, you may not have any shame, but we do. Are you trying to make sure everyone in the city knows about your sordid past? “Do you think that’s something to be proud of? With your reputation, and the fact that you can’t even have children, I wouldn’t have approved of you even if it was your first marriage. “Someone like you, damaged goods, you’re not worthy of our Donovan.” “Mom!” Donovan cut her off sharply. “I told you not to bring that up again. Why are you starting now?” I looked at my mother-in-law, who was healthy and full of vigor. At this point, she hadn’t been diagnosed with chronic kidney failure yet. She didn’t need to kiss up to me, to beg me to pay for her treatments and drive her to the hospital for dialysis every week. In my last life, after her diagnosis, I took care of her for nearly eight years. Every Saturday, without fail, I would take her to her appointments. I would cook her special meals, low in protein, salt, and potassium. She had died peacefully in the hospital two months before Donovan’s suicide. The line in his note, “My duty to my mother is done,” was a duty I had fulfilled for him. I let out a cold laugh. “If I hadn’t lost my uterus, do you really think I would have even looked at Donovan? “And do you think your son is some kind of prize? His professorship was a sham. If my father hadn’t pulled every string he had to get him a recommendation from a leading expert, he’d still be a struggling lecturer. “Don’t you dare act all high and mighty after getting everything you wanted on a silver platter.” The moment the words left my mouth, the air in the room seemed to freeze. My mother-in-law was clearly not expecting me to fight back. Her face turned a mottled shade of purple, and she started to tremble with rage. 10 Donovan, standing beside her, had been hit where it hurt. He roared, “What is wrong with you today? Brenda said a few words, and you have to go nuclear?” Nora’s voice, shrill and accusing, joined in. “Today was supposed to be a celebration for me and my brother! Why did you have to bring up all that disgusting stuff about you being assaulted? How am I supposed to face my friends now? Why do you always have to ruin everything?” I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage that was about to erupt. “You’re right! I’m on a warpath today. What are you going to do about it?” Then I turned to Nora. “Why should I care whether you can hold your head up at school? I’ve never complained that you’re short and ugly with a pig’s nose, have I? You’re the one who embarrasses me in front of my colleagues!” Nora, it was true, was not a pretty girl. Though she and Noah were twins, he had inherited his mother’s delicate features, while Nora was the spitting image of her grandmother. Nora froze, then completely lost it. She let out a loud wail and ran out of the banquet hall, crying her eyes out. I had no desire to waste any more words on them. I grabbed my bag and walked out.

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