Wyatt Montgomery was a titan of industry, a shark in the boardroom, and—to put it bluntly—an absolute disaster when it came to his choice in women. His track record was legendary for all the wrong reasons. Every woman he dated eventually turned into a high-maintenance hurricane, demanding his undivided attention and treating every other woman in his orbit like a threat to be neutralized. As his Chief of Staff, I’d spent years perfecting the art of being invisible. I kept our interactions strictly professional, never texted him after hours unless the world was ending, and navigated his personal life with the caution of someone walking through a minefield. It worked for five years. Until Callie Rivers entered the picture. We were in the middle of a twelve-billion-dollar merger. It was the kind of deal that defined a career. At 3:00 AM, I was staring at the final version of the contract, bleary-eyed and fueled by cold espresso. Wyatt’s final instruction before he left the office had been crystal clear: “I don’t care what time it is, Natalie. Call me the second the final draft is ready. I need to sign off before the 9:00 AM closing.” I dialed. He declined. I dialed again. Declined. Panic started to set in. If we missed the window, the whole deal would collapse. Desperate, I tried calling from my personal cell. This time, someone picked up. It wasn’t Wyatt. “Do you have any concept of boundaries?” a woman’s voice hissed. It was high, breathless, and sharp as a razor. “It’s the middle of the night. Why are you calling my man? Are you trying to seduce him, or are you just that pathetic?” Before I could get a single syllable out—before I could say ‘contract’ or ‘billions’—she hung up. Ten seconds later, I realized she hadn’t just hung up; she’d blocked my number. I sat in the silence of the empty office, fuming. I called the landline. No answer. I checked the company Slack. Wyatt was offline. I finally went home and crashed, figureing that if the world ended at 9:00 AM, at least I’d be well-rested when it fell on Wyatt’s head, not mine. Somehow, by some miracle or perhaps a massive concession on Wyatt’s part, the partners still showed up to sign. But just as we were about to put pen to paper in the boardroom, the door creaked open. 1 She slipped in like a wounded bird, her eyes rimmed with red, her bottom lip trembling. “Wyatt? Am I… am I interrupting something?” The room went dead silent. The investors looked at each other, confused. I felt the blood drain from my face. Wyatt looked mortified. “Callie, honey, go wait in my office. I’ll be there as soon as we’re done.” But Callie didn’t leave. She stepped further into the room, clutching a designer handbag like it was a shield. “I just wanted to apologize to everyone personally.” Before Wyatt could stop her, she turned to the table of executives and performed three deep, dramatic bows. “I’m so sorry for interrupting your meeting. But this is very important.” The lead investor’s face turned a shade of purple I hadn’t seen before. My colleagues stared at their laps, trying to phase out of existence. Callie, seemingly oblivious to the atmospheric pressure of the room, turned her tearful gaze on me. “Natalie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said you were trying to seduce Wyatt when you called at 3:00 AM. I wasn’t being fair. I just… I love him so much, you know?” I stood there, frozen. “I’ve always been so insecure,” she continued, her voice rising in a shaky crescendo. “I’m just so scared he’ll realize he’s too good for me. I only acted out because I care. Please, tell me you forgive me!” I opened my mouth, but she didn’t wait. “It’s okay if you don’t. I just had to do what was right. Apologizing in front of everyone… it’s the least I could do.” The silence that followed was agonizing. I cleared my throat and leaned toward Wyatt, whispering, “Mr. Montgomery, perhaps your… guest… should step out so we can finalize the signature?” Wyatt caught my drift. “Callie, that’s enough. Go. We’ll talk later.” The tears, which had been simmering, finally boiled over. “Wyatt! Why do you listen to her more than me? I apologized like you asked! I believed you when you said it was ‘business,’ but I don’t understand. What kind of business requires a woman to call a man at 3:00 AM? It’s just the two of you… is that really appropriate?” She looked at me, then back at the room. “Are you sure you’re just ‘colleagues’?” The investors’ eyes shifted to me, heavy with silent judgment and sordid assumptions. I felt the heat crawling up my neck. I tried to pivot. “Mr. Montgomery, why don’t I take the partners through the product demo one last time while you… take a moment?” Wyatt looked at Callie, then at me. He sighed, a soft, defeated sound. He reached out and took Callie’s hand. “Fine. Natalie, take over. Callie, let’s go outside.” I thought the nightmare was ending. I was wrong. Callie ripped her hand away from his. “No! I thought I was overthinking it, but you’re just doing whatever she says now! If you love her, just say it! You don’t have to humiliate me in front of all these people!” I rubbed my temples. Humiliate her? She’d crashed a high-level closing, accused the Chief of Staff of being a homewrecker, and turned a billion-dollar deal into a soap opera. If anyone was being humiliated, it was the rest of us. I looked at Wyatt. He was a brilliant man, a shark who could sniff out a bad deal from a mile away. How was he falling for this? Maybe my face betrayed my thoughts, because Callie’s voice hit a pitch that could shatter glass. “Look at her! You’re both sitting there, exchanging looks! Don’t tell me there’s nothing going on!” 2 As his Chief of Staff, I was well aware that Wyatt had a ‘type.’ I didn’t judge; I didn’t want his job, and I certainly didn’t want his bed. My motto had always been ‘Observe and ignore.’ But after being screamed at at 3:00 AM and having my professional reputation set on fire in front of the board, my capacity for ‘respectful observation’ had reached its limit. The deal didn’t happen that day. The investors walked out, their expressions ranging from disgusted to pitying. As I saw them to the elevator, one of them leaned in and whispered, “Is Montgomery really the one running this company, or is he just a figurehead for the circus?” I couldn’t even defend him. I was too exhausted. When I got back to the lobby, Wyatt was still trying to soothe his crying girlfriend in front of the entire staff. “Callie, I swear, it’s just work,” he pleaded. “Natalie is my assistant. That’s why we talk. It’s strictly professional.” Callie clung to his arm, sobbing into his blazer. “I don’t care! If she has to be ‘near’ you all the time, then she has to go! Let me be your assistant. I’m the only woman who should be allowed near you! All these other vultures… they just want what’s mine!” I felt a wave of nausea. A vulture? I’d worked eighty-hour weeks to keep his empire afloat, and now I was a vulture? I tried to slip past them toward the freight elevator. I just wanted to go upstairs, pack my bag, and maybe scream into a pillow. I didn’t make it two steps. “Natalie Miller!” Callie barked, her tear-streaked face suddenly cold. “Wyatt said starting tomorrow, I’m his only assistant. You can pack your things. You’re done.” I looked at Wyatt. Honestly? I was halfway hoping he’d say yes. The severance package for five years of high-level service would be enough for me to disappear to a beach in Mexico for at least eighteen months. I waited for the ‘God of Layoffs’ to bless me. Wyatt frowned. He didn’t look at me; he looked at Callie. “Callie, don’t be impulsive. Natalie is highly skilled. She beat out fifty other applicants for this role. I can’t just fire her.” Callie’s eyes began to well up again. Wyatt immediately buckled. “But… okay. Tell you what. You can be my assistant. I’ll move Natalie to a different department. How does that sound?” Her face cleared instantly. “Fine. As long as she’s nowhere near you.” 3 Wyatt told me I could pick my own department. On paper, my title changed. In reality, nothing did. Because his ‘new assistant’ was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. I was still doing the heavy lifting, just from a different floor. To preserve my sanity, I chose a desk in the farthest corner of the Operations department, three floors down from the executive suite. But the peace didn’t last twenty-four hours. Most of my high-level files were encrypted, requiring Wyatt’s personal authorization. My new terminal was locked out. I pulled up my phone to message him, then hesitated. I didn’t want to trigger another 3:00 AM meltdown. I called HR instead. “Hey, Sarah? Could you ask Wyatt to grant admin permissions to my new workstation? I’m dead in the water without them.” Sarah, who knew exactly why I’d been moved, sighed sympathetically. “I’m on it, Natalie.” I waited. I scrolled through some industry news. I grabbed a coffee. I knew Wyatt and Callie were probably playing house in his office, and I was fine with waiting as long as I was getting paid by the hour. But by 5:30 PM, the permissions still hadn’t come through. I couldn’t leave my work unfinished; the whole supply chain was waiting on my clearance. I walked up to the executive floor and knocked on the door. Of course, Callie opened it. “You again? How many times do I have to tell you to stop throwing yourself at him?” I didn’t blink. I raised my voice so Wyatt could hear me inside. “Mr. Montgomery, did you get the message from HR about my server access?” Before Wyatt could answer, Callie shoved me. Not hard, but enough to be an insult. “Messages? You’re just making up excuses to talk to him. He told me you were professional, but you’re just a stalker in a blazer.” That was it. My patience snapped. I shoved back. I wasn’t trying to hurt her—I actually held back because she looked so fragile—but I wanted her out of my personal space. Predictably, she played it for all it was worth. Callie stumbled back, her hip clipping the edge of Wyatt’s mahogany desk. She let out a gasp that sounded like she’d been shot. “You… you’re so violent! Wyatt! Help! She hurt me!” Wyatt rushed over to catch her as she ‘collapsed.’ He shot me a look of pure irritation. “Natalie, just get out! Leave!” I felt my heart turn to ice. “Fine. I’m going. But before I ‘roll’ out of here, listen carefully. I asked HR to tell you four hours ago that I need server permissions to do my job. It’s now the end of the day, and I’ve done nothing. If those permissions aren’t granted, do I stay home tomorrow, or do I come in and collect my salary for scrolling through TikTok?” Wyatt looked confused. “I never got a message from HR.” Callie, clutching her hip, piped up. “Oh, Wyatt, I saw you were so stressed earlier. When you went to lunch, I took your phone and logged your Slack and email onto my laptop so I could ‘help’ you filter out the junk. I saw some message from Sarah in HR, but it didn’t look important, so I deleted it.” Wyatt’s face went pale. It was the first time I’d seen him look at her with anything other than adoration. “Callie… Natalie’s work is the bottleneck for five different departments. If she stops, the company stops. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Seeing him upset, she started to tear up. “I just… I thought she was trying to get to you again. I was trying to protect us!” 4 I didn’t even have the energy to scream. I just pulled out my phone and sent Wyatt a direct message. “There. The request is in your inbox. Again.” I took a deep breath. “Because of this delay, I’m going to have to stay late to finish the audit. I’ll be submitting the overtime request via the portal. Please make sure it’s approved. Along with the holiday pay, since tomorrow is a weekend.” I turned and walked out before she could start another scene. I went back to my desk, fuming, but I started working. I couldn’t let the whole company’s progress stall because of a jealous girlfriend. About an hour into my focus, Callie appeared at my cubicle. She was holding a bowl of grapes. “Natalie, just go home. Stop working.” I didn’t even look up from my screen. “If you don’t leave, Wyatt won’t leave,” she said, her voice dropping that fake sweet tone. “He’s tired because of you. Stop being so selfish and dragging him into your overtime.” I ignored her. She pulled up a chair and sat down. For twenty minutes, she regaled me with the ‘epic’ story of how she and Wyatt met at a gallery opening. It was mind-numbing. “Callie,” I finally snapped, “don’t you have work to do?” She blinked, looking hurt. “What?” “If you actually care about Wyatt being tired, go help him with the filing or get him some dinner. You sitting here distracting me only makes this take longer. The longer I’m here, the longer he’s here. Basic math.” Her face twisted. “You… you think I’m useless, don’t you? You think I’m not good enough for him.” I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to. “Natalie Miller, you are so mean! I’ve tried to be nice! I brought you grapes! And you just humiliate me!” She stood up, her face red with rage. I reached for my phone to call security, but she was faster. In a fit of pique, she swept her arm across my desk. My laptop, my monitor, my coffee mug, and my heavy glass paperweight went flying. The coffee—a full, large latte—splashed directly into the floor-mounted power outlet. There was a loud POP, a shower of blue sparks, and then total darkness. The entire floor went black. My computer screen flickered once and died. I stared at the spot where my desk used to be, then at Callie, who was silhouetted by the emergency lights. “You really hate this company, don’t you?” I whispered. “That was the only copy of the audit.” Wyatt came running out of his office a moment later. “What happened? Why is the power out?” Before I could answer, Callie let out a blood-curdling wail. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!” “Shut up and think for once,” I snapped. Suddenly, a thick, acrid smell filled the air. Below the desk, the power outlet wasn’t just shorted—it was glowing. A small flame licked up the side of the cubicle wall. “Fire!” I shouted. Before I could grab the extinguisher from the hallway, Callie grabbed the large jug of water from the cooler. “I’ll fix it! See? I can help!” “Callie, NO! It’s an electrical fire!” She didn’t listen. She dumped five gallons of water directly onto the flaming power strip. The explosion was deafening. A massive arc of electricity threw her backward. The sparks hit the acoustic ceiling tiles, and within seconds, the flammable material was roaring. The fire alarms began to scream, and the overhead sprinklers failed to trigger. The hallway was already filling with black smoke.

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The Smith family was a den of vipers. To break Dominic and me apart, they drugged him, orchestrated a night of “accidental” passion with his socialite ex, and ensured she ended up pregnant with twins. When I found out, I packed my bags, but Dominic—shattered and desperate—begged me to stay. He swore he’d never see them. He told me the pregnancy had been “handled.” He even held a blade to his own wrist to prove he couldn’t live without me. I was young, I was in love, and I believed the lie. Three years later, the lie imploded at a kindergarten orientation. In a fit of blind rage and betrayal, I kept the twins behind after the event to confront the teacher about why Dominic’s name was on their emergency contact list. On their way home, they were snatched. Dominic didn’t ask questions. He didn’t look for evidence. He blamed me instantly. To force a confession I didn’t have, he took my mother—who had a failing heart—to the top of a pier-side drop tower. I screamed until my throat bled, telling him I didn’t know where they were. Dominic only roared back, his face a mask of predatory fury: “I’ve given you everything, Leah! Why would you touch those children? If you don’t tell me where they are, I’m letting her go!” He shoved her toward the edge of the platform. Her safety harness was unbuckled, flapping uselessly in the wind. I had no answers to give. In his cold, calculated hatred, Dominic finally pushed the button. My mother plummeted. Moments later, his phone rang. The kidnappers had been found. It had nothing to do with me. Without a glance at my mother’s broken, lifeless body, Dominic turned on his heel and ran toward his “real” family. While he was holding those twins, I was in a sterile hospital room, pulling a white sheet over my mother’s face. In that moment, the love I held for him didn’t just die. It rotted. … I stared at the white shroud covering my mother, my eyes so dry they burned. I had no tears left. The doctor stood beside me, his voice heavy with a pity I couldn’t stomach. “I’m so sorry. If she had been brought in just twenty minutes earlier… she might have had a chance. Her heart simply gave out from the sheer terror.” I dug my nails into my palms until I drew blood. The guilt was a physical weight, crushing my lungs. I should have left him three years ago. I could have saved her. My mother had treated Dominic like her own son since the day we married. I had only asked the teacher to keep the kids for ten extra minutes to talk. I didn’t kidnap them. But Dominic wouldn’t listen. He chose his “legacy” over my mother’s life. After making the arrangements for her body, I dragged myself back to the empty house we once called a home. Seven days. I told myself I only had to survive seven more days. Then, I’d take her ashes back to the coast, and Dominic Smith would become a ghost in my past. Dominic didn’t come home until the following evening. He didn’t notice my ghost-white skin or my hollow eyes. He just walked into the kitchen, radiating a cold, sharp bitterness. “Leah, I honestly can’t believe you,” he said, his voice a low hiss. “You were willing to watch your own mother go over the edge rather than tell me where those boys were. Do you have any idea what they went through? They’re still in the hospital because of you!” They’re in the hospital, I thought, the irony tasting like copper in my mouth. My mother didn’t even get the chance to be a patient. She went straight to the morgue. My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. I looked him dead in the eye, but only a raspy, broken sound escaped my throat. Seeing my distress, a flicker of something—regret? pity?—crossed his face. “Fine,” he sighed, reaching out. “As long as the boys are okay, Tiffany and I will find a way to move past this. I know you’ve been stressed taking care of your mom. In a few days, once things settle, I’ll take you away for the weekend. We need to reset.” He tried to pull me into the familiar curve of his chest, but I shoved him away with every ounce of strength I had left. “No… no more… taking care of her,” I croaked. My voice was a ruined thing; he couldn’t even understand the words. He frowned, his patience evaporating. “Stop acting out, Leah. You were in the wrong here. I’m staying at the hospital tonight to be with the kids. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency.” He turned to leave, but his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, and his face went pale. Before I could move, he lunged forward, grabbing my wrist in a vice grip. “Get in the car. Now.” He didn’t care that I could barely stand. He dragged me through the hospital corridors like a piece of luggage. The moment we reached the private wing, Tiffany—the woman who had been a shadow over my marriage for three years—lunged at me. She slapped me so hard my head hit the linoleum wall. She wasn’t finished. She threw herself on me, screaming, clawing at my skin like a wild animal. Thinking of my mother, a spark of cold fire lit up in my gut. I tried to fight back, tried to push her off. Suddenly, Dominic’s hands were on me, pinning my arms to my sides. He held me still, letting Tiffany land blow after blow across my face. When he finally let go, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. Dominic looked down at me, his expression a complicated mess of guilt and resolve. “The twins are losing too much blood. Their levels are critical. Just let Tiffany vent, Leah. You owe her this.” I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. Tears finally began to fall. A doctor stepped out of the ICU. “We need the units now.” Dominic didn’t wait. He hauled me up and shoved me toward the technician. “She’s a match. Take whatever you need.” I struggled, my weak hands fluttering against his chest, but he pinned me down on the cot. I watched, detached from my own body, as the thick needle pierced my vein. Dominic stroked my hair, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly tender tone he used when he wanted to manipulate me. “It’ll be over soon, honey. Think of this as your penance. Once this is done, we can start over.” I closed my eyes tight, systematically erasing every memory of love I had ever felt for this man. After two bags, the world began to tilt. My head rolled to the side, but Dominic grabbed my arm, his voice tight with anxiety. “Doctor, they’re twins. Shouldn’t you take more? Just to be safe?” The doctor shook his head, looking uneasy. “Sir, if we take any more, she’ll go into shock. She could die.” Dominic didn’t hesitate. He shifted my arm, offering it up like a piece of meat. “She’s stronger than she looks. Do it.” I broke into a cold sweat, my voice a mere whisper. “Dominic… please… I had nothing to do with the kidnapping…” He just looked at me with profound disappointment. “Still lying, Leah? Even now?” They took two more bags. By the end, I was a shell. Dominic’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and he reached out to help me up. But then, Tiffany called his name from the ICU window, her voice trembling with manufactured terror. Dominic turned and ran to her without a second thought. I was left on a gurney in the hallway, discarded like a used bandage. Later, I was moved—not to a room, but to a small chair in the twins’ suite, effectively tethered there by my own exhaustion. Dominic’s parents arrived an hour later. His mother, a woman who wore pearls like armor, walked straight up to me and backhanded me across the face. “You animal,” she spat. “We knew you were low-class, but to target three-year-old children? You’re lucky we don’t have you arrested.” I was too weak to even flinch. I looked toward Dominic, expecting the man who used to defend me against his mother’s barbs to step in. He stood by the window, his hands trembling as he stirred a cup of broth for Tiffany. He wouldn’t look at me. His eyes, once full of a heat that could melt me, were now as cold as a winter morning in the city. “Just endure it, Leah,” he said quietly. “You brought this on yourself.” His mother let out a sharp, jagged laugh and kicked me square in the stomach. I felt a sharp, hot burst of pain, followed by the sickening sensation of warmth spreading between my thighs. As the world faded to black, the last thing I saw was Dominic’s face, finally breaking into an expression of pure, unadulterated panic as he ran toward me. When I woke up, I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. I just listened to the voices in the room. “Maybe it’s for the best that the pregnancy didn’t hold,” Dominic was saying, his voice sounding hollow. “If she could hurt the twins like that before she even had her own child, imagine what she would have been like later.” “Let’s just pretend it never happened,” his mother’s voice replied. “Don’t even tell her. The Smith heir should come from Tiffany anyway. We were never going to accept a child from her bloodline.” A single tear escaped my closed eyelids. Did he ever love me? I wondered. Or was I just a three-year distraction? When the room finally fell silent and the footsteps faded, I opened my eyes. I reached down and touched my abdomen. It felt empty. Cold. I should have left years ago. One wrong decision had cost two lives—my mother’s and my child’s. I was staring at the acoustic ceiling tiles, lost in a trance of grief, when the door creaked open. Tiffany walked in, her “grieving mother” facade replaced by a sharp, triumphant smirk. “Leah Smith. Still breathing? You really are like a cockroach.” She walked to the side of my bed and pressed her thumb hard into the bruising on my arm where the IV had been. “Oops. My bad. But hey, a little bruise is nothing compared to a miscarriage, right? You weren’t fit to be a mother anyway. Think of it as a favor.” She started to giggle—a high, tinkling sound that grated on my raw nerves. With the last of my strength, I grabbed the heavy thermal carafe from the bedside table and swung it at her. It clipped her shoulder, spilling lukewarm water everywhere. Tiffany didn’t get angry. Instead, a look of predatory glee crossed her face. She deliberately threw herself onto the floor, knocking over a chair as she went. A second later, the door burst open. Dominic was there, his face contorted in rage. “Leah! What the hell are you doing?” He lunged at me, his hand connecting with my cheek so hard I tasted blood. He froze when he saw how pale I was, his hand trembling as he pulled it back. But Tiffany began to sob from the floor. “Don’t hurt her, Dominic! It was my fault,” she wailed, her voice thick with fake tears. “I just wanted to apologize. I thought… maybe she lost the baby because of the stress I caused. I wanted to make peace, but she…” She let out a broken whimper. “It’s fine. I deserve it for trying to be kind.” Dominic looked at me with a disgust so deep it felt like a physical blow. He reached down and gathered Tiffany into his arms. “I never knew how truly venomous you were, Leah. You aren’t half the woman she is. My parents were right about you from the start.” He turned and walked out, carrying her like a prize. I watched them go, laughing until the sound turned into a sob. You’re right, Dominic, I thought. We both made a mistake. You chose her, and I chose you. I was discharged a week later. When I opened the front door of our penthouse, I found Tiffany and the twins sitting in our living room. Dominic stood in front of them, blocking my view like a bodyguard. “The boys have severe trauma from the kidnapping,” he said, his brow furrowed. “They need stability. I’ve moved them in so I can look after them personally.” There was a challenge in his eyes, a silent dare for me to object. I simply nodded, my face a mask of indifference. Dominic blinked, caught off guard by my lack of fire. He reached out to grab my hand, a look of confusion flickering in his dark eyes. Before he could touch me, Tiffany stepped in, slipping her arm through his. “Dominic, if Leah isn’t comfortable, the boys and I can leave. We can stay at a hotel. It’s just… they’re so scared, and you’re the only person they trust right now.” She shot me a look of pure malice over his shoulder. I remained silent. Annoyed by my lack of reaction, Dominic snapped, “This is a Smith property. I decide who stays. If Leah has a problem with it, she can be the one to leave.” He watched me, waiting for the explosion. In the past, I would have burned the house down. I would have screamed until he chose me. Now, I just felt tired. “I’m just here for my documents, Dominic,” I said, my voice sounding like it was coming from miles away. “Sign the divorce papers and leave them on the desk. When you have a gap in your schedule between playing house, let me know. We can go to the courthouse and end this.” Panic flared in his eyes, masked instantly by bravado. “Fine! Go! See if any other man with my bank account wants a woman as cold as you.” Then, his voice dropped, turning manipulative again. “Look, once the boys are better, I’ll send them to the estate in the Hamptons. This will be our home again. Just give it time, okay?” He tried to pull me into an embrace. I pulled back, smelling nothing but rot on him. The man I loved was dead. This was just a walking, breathing corpse of a marriage. I went upstairs to my office. On the way, I saw the boys in the hallway. They had found the porcelain urn I had brought home from the funeral parlor. They had poured water into it and were using my mother’s ashes as “gray paint,” smearing it across the wallpaper. My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. I lunged forward. “You little monsters! Put that down!” The boys saw my desperation and grinned. Then, with a casual cruelty that could only be inherited, they smashed the urn onto the hardwood floor. I fell to my knees, frantically trying to scoop up the gray dust with my bare hands. The boys started jumping on it, their sneakers grinding my mother into the floorboards. I lost it. I shoved them back—hard. They fell, catching themselves on the sharp porcelain shards. They let out a synchronized howl of pain. Tiffany appeared instantly, her eyes wild with fury. “Leah! What is wrong with you? It’s just a jar! You pushed my children over a jar?” Dominic appeared behind her, his face darkening to a bruised purple as he saw the blood on the twins’ hands. I was still on the floor, weeping, trying to gather what was left of my mother. Dominic lunged forward and backhanded me. The world spun. I fell onto the broken porcelain, the shards slicing into my palms and knees. Dominic didn’t even look at my wounds. “You haven’t learned a thing,” he spat, his voice trembling with cold rage. “You need a lesson you’ll never forget.” He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me down the hall, throwing me into the windowless walk-in pantry. He slammed the heavy door and turned the deadbolt. I wasn’t let out until the following morning. The butler opened the door, his eyes full of disdain. “Get out. Mr. Smith says you’ve had enough time to think.” I stumbled out, clutching a small plastic bag containing the few ounces of ash I had managed to salvage. I had a flight booked for that afternoon. All I needed was my employment release from the preschool where I worked. When I walked into the Director’s office, she sighed heavily. “Leah, why did you have to cross Mrs. Smith? Dominic is a powerful man, and his family is everything to him. My hands are tied.” My heart gave a dull, familiar throb of pain. Because the Smiths never officially recognized me, I was still “Miss Susan” to the world. Our marriage was a secret they kept in a drawer. I just nodded, waiting for her to stamp the papers. Suddenly, there was a commotion in the courtyard. I walked to the window and saw Tiffany. She was standing in the middle of the playground, throwing handfuls of photos into the air. Behind her, two men were unfurling a massive red banner over the school entrance: [THANK YOU, MISS LEAH, FOR TAKING CARE OF MY HUSBAND’S NEEDS. I’M WILLING TO PAY THREE DOLLARS FOR YOUR NEXT SHIFT.] The parents waiting at the gates turned to look at me, their expressions curdling into disgust. The world began to tilt. I felt the bile rise in my throat. Tiffany saw me through the glass and raised her voice, her face twisted in a mocking grin. “This is the woman who tried to break up my family! Be careful, ladies. Don’t let your husbands come to pick up the kids. Miss Leah is always looking for a promotion.”

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My husband thought seventy-dollar tins of premium baby formula were a luxury we couldn’t afford. For months, he’d insisted on feeding our daughter nothing but watered-down rice cereal and thin vegetable mash. The result was heartbreaking. At fourteen months old, Sophie was a ghost of a child—sallow-skinned, lethargic, weighing barely twelve pounds. I had spent two months secretly scrimping and saving, taking on extra data-entry shifts late at night just to buy four cans of high-end imported formula to get some nutrients into her fragile body. But when the delivery box arrived and I opened it, the premium tins were gone. In their place were four plastic bottles of cheap, sugary fruit juice. Fuming, I pulled out my phone to demand an explanation from the seller. That’s when I saw the notification. My widowed sister-in-law, Brooke, had just posted on Instagram. There they were. My four tins of premium formula, lined up neatly on her marble kitchen island. The caption read: “So grateful for my amazing brother-in-law. Ryan knows Hunter is at that critical growth stage at four years old and went out of his way to send over this imported gold. He’s more of a father to my son than most biological dads could ever be. Blessed. #FamilyFirst #BestUncle” Seconds later, a private DM popped up from her. It was a photo of a receipt for a prestigious private piano academy. “Hey babe, tell Ryan thanks again for me. He pulled some serious strings—and spent a fortune—to get Hunter into Mr. Sterling’s masterclass.” I stared at the total on the receipt: $38,000. The blood in my veins turned to ice. My daughter was starving, and my husband was financing a four-year-old’s concert pianist dreams. The front door groaned open. Ryan walked in, tossing a box of generic government-subsidized nutrient supplements onto the table. His face was set in that familiar mask of weary irritation. “I picked these up for the kid,” he said, his voice clipped. “Maybe if she eats these, she’ll actually put on some weight and you’ll stop complaining.” I looked at the box. In bold letters, it said: FREE GOVERNMENT ASSISTANCE – NOT FOR RESALE. … It was a slap in the face. We already had boxes of these in the pantry—donated by a local clinic—but he never bothered to notice. He just wanted the credit for ‘providing.’ “We don’t need those, Ryan,” I said, my voice trembling. “Fine. Suit yourself.” He snatched the box back, his tone turning frigid. “You’re the one who said no. Don’t go blaming me later when you’re crying about her being thin.” He turned on his heel and disappeared into the guest room, slamming the door. I didn’t even get a chance to ask him why our daughter’s survival was currently sitting in Brooke’s pantry. The next morning, I walked into the living room to find Ryan and Brooke already perched on the sofa like a pair of high-court judges. Ryan didn’t even look up from his coffee. “Natalie, sit down. We need to talk. Your spending is out of control. Since Brooke has a background in corporate accounting, she’s going to handle our household finances from now on. She’s here to walk you through the new monthly budget.” Brooke produced a leather-bound planner with a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. She cleared her throat, sounding every bit the professional auditor. “Natalie, honey, you’re just too impulsive with money. Starting this month, your total household allowance is capped at $250. You’ll submit every single receipt to me for reimbursement. If the expense isn’t ‘essential,’ I won’t approve it.” She began reading from a list of draconian rules. “Daily groceries cannot exceed $10. Generic brands only—no organic, no name-brands. Toiletries and feminine products must be under $5 per pack. You get one clothing purchase a month, not to exceed $30. Absolutely no snacks, no Starbucks, no ‘treats.’” She paused, tilting her head. “Also, Sophie is over a year old now. She can eat what we eat. So, no more specialized formula and no more brand-name diapers. If she gets sick, you bring the medical bill to me for ‘review’ before I release the funds…” “Enough!” I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet, and I was being told how many tampons I was allowed to buy. My fists were clenched so tight my nails drew blood. “I don’t accept this. This is insane.” Brooke’s eyes immediately welled up. She dropped the planner onto the coffee table, her lower lip trembling. “Ryan, I told you I shouldn’t have stepped in. Look at her… she’s so ungrateful. I’m just trying to help your family stay afloat, and I get treated like a villain.” Ryan’s face darkened instantly. “Natalie, drop the attitude,” he barked. “Brooke is a CPA. Don’t question her expertise. A family needs a solid fiscal foundation to survive the long haul.” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. “A fiscal foundation? Ryan, you’re worried about a $250 allowance for your own wife and child, yet you just dropped thirty-eight thousand dollars on Brooke’s son’s piano lessons? How is that ‘solid fiscal planning’?” “Are you seriously jealous of Brooke again?” Ryan groaned, his expression full of disgust. “I’ve told you a thousand times. My brother is gone. Brooke is a single mother struggling to survive. I am simply doing my duty as a man to look after them.” “She’s struggling?” I pointed toward the bedroom where Sophie lay sleeping. “Our daughter is fourteen months old and weighs less than a healthy infant. She’s sallow and weak. Does she not count as family?” “That’s enough!” Ryan stood up, his voice booming. “Stop being so hysterical. If Sophie is thin, it’s because of you. If you hadn’t insisted on working those stupid freelance gigs while you were pregnant, maybe she wouldn’t have been born two months premature. You’ve been a subpar mother from day one. If you put half the effort Brooke puts into Hunter into our daughter, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” I stared at him, the man I had loved for seven years, and felt a coldness settle into my bones. We had met in college. I had given him every cent of my inheritance to start his tech firm. When he told me the startup failed and we were a million dollars in debt, I didn’t hesitate. I spent my entire pregnancy eating plain toast and canned beans to save money. I worked until my back felt like it was breaking, right up until the night I went into labor early. I had sacrificed my body, my career, and my sanity for him. And this was the return on my investment. The “negotiation” ended there. Ryan left with Brooke, presumably to go house-hunting for her “noble” new life. I sat on the sofa for a long time, the silence of the apartment ringing in my ears. The tears came slowly at first, then in a flood. I wasn’t just crying for the money; I was mourning the seven-year lie I had been living. A sharp, thin wail from the bedroom broke my trance. I ran in to find Sophie. When I picked her up, my heart nearly stopped. She was burning—radiating a heat that felt like a furnace. I rushed her to the ER. The diagnosis was severe pneumonia. The hospital stay and the immediate treatments would cost over five thousand dollars. I didn’t have fifty. I called Ryan, my hand shaking as I held the phone to my ear. “Ryan… Sophie has pneumonia. She needs to be admitted. I need the money for the deposit.” His voice came through the line, bored and dismissive. “It’s just a cold, Natalie. Don’t be so dramatic. Give her some Tylenol. Besides, Brooke handles the accounts now. You have to clear it with her.” I heard Brooke’s voice in the background. She took the phone. “Pneumonia? Send me the digital copies of the lab results and the doctor’s credentials. I’ll need to verify the necessity of the admission. Give me three days to audit the request.” “Three days?!” I screamed into the phone. “She’s burning up! She can’t wait three days!” “Mommy! Uncle Ryan! Look! The pirate ship is going so fast!” It was Hunter’s voice, joyful and loud. They were at a theme park. “Look,” Brooke said, her voice dropping to a chilly whisper. “If you’re going to be difficult and refuse to follow the protocol, then the expense is denied. Don’t call back.” Click. I stood in the sterile hospital hallway, shaking with a rage so violent it felt like a physical seizure. The billing department was hovering. Desperate, I scrolled through my contacts until I hit a name I hadn’t called in years. I swallowed the pride that had kept me silent for so long. “Hi… it’s Natalie. I… I need five thousand dollars. Please.” Five minutes after I hung up, a notification flashed: Transfer Received: $50,000. I stared at the zeros, sobbing so hard a nurse had to lead me to a chair. Ryan didn’t call for three days. Not once. He only showed up after Sophie was discharged. Brooke was trailing behind him, carrying two pathetic bags of bruised grocery-store fruit. “Hey, honey,” Brooke said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Ryan’s been so swamped helping Hunter get settled into his new private preschool. He felt terrible about missing the hospital stuff, but you know how it is—family duties.” I looked at Ryan. I felt nothing but a deep, churning nausea. Ever since his brother died, our home had become a secondary thought. He fixed Brooke’s lights, he mowed Brooke’s lawn, he attended Brooke’s parent-teacher conferences. We were just the roommates he subsidized. “Watch the baby,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m going downstairs to get some things.” When I returned thirty minutes later, I walked into a nightmare. Sophie was on the floor, vomiting violently, her little face turning a terrifying shade of gray. “What did you give her?!” I screamed, dropping my bags and rushing to her. Brooke pointed toward the kitchen, her expression a mix of smugness and feigned innocence. “Oh, I saw those potatoes in the pantry were starting to sprout. Such a waste! I mashed them up with some milk for the little one. She actually ate quite a bit. See? She’s not picky if you just feed her.” My brain felt like it exploded. “Those were in the ‘to be tossed’ bin! They were sprouting! They’re toxic!” “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Brooke rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “A little sprout never killed anyone. You’re just looking for reasons to be wasteful. No wonder Ryan says you’re a spendthrift. Honestly, with the way you throw money away, it’s a miracle Ryan has anything left.” Looking at her smirking face, something in me snapped. The years of repression, the hunger, the gaslighting—it all condensed into a single point of white-hot fury. I lunged at her, my fingers clawing for her face. But Ryan caught me. He shoved me back with enough force to send me reeling. “Natalie! Stop it!” he bellowed. “Brooke was just trying to help! She was trying to save us money because she knows how hard I work! If Sophie is sick, it’s because she has a weak constitution. You’re the one who made her this way!” “It was just a few potatoes,” he continued, his eyes cold and full of contempt. “She’ll throw up and be fine by morning. Stop making a scene. Brooke and I have to take Hunter to his Taekwondo grading. Grow up and take care of your daughter.” He didn’t even glance at the child heaving on the floor. He walked out, following Brooke. I didn’t waste another second. I gathered Sophie and raced back to the hospital. It wasn’t “just a stomach ache.” It was severe solanine poisoning. Because she was already so malnourished and weakened from the pneumonia, her body couldn’t fight it. She slipped into a coma and was rushed to the ICU. The next day, I went back to the apartment to grab a change of clothes. Ryan and Brooke were there, sitting at the dining table, going over spreadsheets. “Oh, look who decided to show up,” Brooke said, her voice sharp. “Ryan was looking at the insurance portal. It says the claim for the pneumonia was filed for five thousand, but the reimbursement check for two thousand was sent to your personal account. Where is that money? You need to hand it over.” I stared at her, stunned. “Hand it over? To you?” “It doesn’t matter where it came from,” Ryan said, his voice a low, threatening rumble. “Any money in this house is marital property. And since Brooke is managing our wealth, it goes to her. It’s for the ‘family fund.’” “Wealth?” I spat the word like it was poison. “There is no wealth, Ryan! You told me we were in debt! And that money is for Sophie’s medical bills! She’s in a coma! The ICU costs thousands a day!” “Natalie, stop with the horror stories,” Ryan snapped, standing up. “It was a potato. She’s probably just sleeping it off and you’re milking it for sympathy because you hate that I’m helping Brooke. You know I’m struggling to dig us out of the hole my business left, and yet you still have this obsession with spending.” He walked over, grabbed my phone out of my hand, and used my thumb to biometrically unlock it. “Ryan, don’t!” He ignored me, navigating to my banking app. His eyes widened. “Thirty thousand dollars? You’ve been hiding thirty thousand dollars in a private account while I’ve been killing myself to pay our bills?” “That’s the loan I took out to save our daughter’s life!” I screamed, lunging for the phone. He shoved me away. I tripped, my forehead slamming against the sharp corner of the sideboard. I felt the warm prickle of blood immediately. “See?” Brooke chimed in, her voice hushed and toxic. “I told you she was siphoning money. She’s been lying to you this whole time, Ryan. She’s probably been skimming off the grocery money for years.” Ryan didn’t even look at the blood dripping down my face. He initiated a transfer of every cent in that account to Brooke’s ‘management’ firm. “This is for your own good,” he said, tossing the phone onto the sofa. “You clearly can’t be trusted.” They left together, the door clicking shut with a finality that felt like a coffin lid. That night, Brooke posted again. A photo of a dazzling blue diamond pendant against her skin. “A $35,000 ‘thank you’ gift from my favorite person. He saw me stressed and insisted I have something pretty. So lucky to have a man who knows my worth. #BlueDiamonds #Protected” I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. That was Sophie’s life-support money. That was my daughter’s breath, hanging around Brooke’s neck. But then, I saw a comment that made the world stop spinning. It was from one of Ryan’s old college buddies: “Damn, Brooke! Ryan’s getting cheap, isn’t he? His last tech exit netted him forty million. A thirty-five-thousand-dollar necklace is pocket change for a mogul like him!” Brooke’s reply was almost instantaneous: “Shh! Delete that! Don’t let the ‘wifey’ know. She still thinks he’s broke and in debt. If she knew he was worth nine figures, she’d spend him into the grave in a week!” The room tilted. Forty million. Nine figures. Every skipped meal, every freezing night because we ‘couldn’t afford’ to turn up the heat, every moment I spent agonizing over the price of a gallon of milk… it was all a game. A sick, sadistic psychological experiment to keep me small, hungry, and compliant. I started to laugh. A jagged, broken sound that turned into a retch. When the shaking finally stopped, I picked up my phone and dialed that number again. My voice was a rasp of cold iron. “I’ll do it. I want the divorce.” “But I don’t just want him gone,” I whispered into the dark. “He hid everything. He let our daughter starve while he sat on millions. I want him stripped bare. I want him in the dirt. I want him to watch while everything he built turns to ash.” Sophie’s ICU bills were covered by an anonymous donor—my uncle—and she was moved to a private wing with the best specialists in the city. But she was still far from safe. I went back to the apartment one last time to get my legal documents. I was barely inside when Ryan stormed in, his face contorted with rage. “Natalie! You bitch! Brooke’s car was keyed in her driveway tonight. Was that you? Did you hire someone to do that?” Before I could even answer, Brooke followed him in, her arm wrapped in a dramatic, unnecessary bandage. “Natalie, how could you? It’s just a necklace! Are you really that petty? I’ve lost my husband, I’m all alone, and you’re trying to destroy the only joy I have left? Can’t you just be the bigger person?” I looked at the tiny scratch on her arm, then at Ryan’s furious face. My daughter was fighting for her life in a sterile room, and they were here playing ‘Suburban Victim.’ “It’s a shame the car didn’t hit you instead,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Maybe next time I’ll have better luck.” “Natalie!” Ryan stepped toward me, his hand raised. “I don’t even recognize you. You’ve become so incredibly cruel.” “Ryan, she’s out of control,” Brooke whispered, clutching his arm. “She’s dangerous. Hunter is terrified of her. You know, Hunter’s new Doberman, Zeus, is being trained as a guard dog. Maybe Natalie needs a night in the kennel with Zeus to learn some humility. To remember who actually provides for her.” Ryan looked at her, then back at me. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. “That’s a great idea, Brooke. A little ‘time-out’ to adjust your perspective.” “Ryan, that dog is a monster,” I said, my heart starting to race. “It’s been trained for aggression.” “He’s just a puppy, Natalie. Barely six months old,” Ryan said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “He won’t kill you. But he’ll certainly make sure you stay in your place. Consider it a lesson: Brooke is the head of this family now. You don’t cross her.” He grabbed me by the arm, his grip like a shackle. He dragged me out of our apartment and into the backyard of the house next door—the house he had bought for Brooke with my inheritance money. He shoved me into the gated kennel area and locked the heavy iron bolt. As he turned to leave, Brooke leaned against the gate. She pulled her collar down slightly to reveal a fresh, dark hickey on her neck. “You really are a loser, Natalie,” she hissed so only I could hear. “When you’re gone, your husband is mine. Your house is mine. Your money is mine.” She smiled, a sharp, predatory look. “And don’t worry about that pathetic daughter of yours. I’ll make sure to ‘take care’ of her just like I did with the potatoes…” I lunged at the bars, screaming, but she just laughed and walked away. I turned around. In the shadows of the kennel, three full-grown, red-eyed Dobermans—not one puppy—slowly stood up, their low growls vibrating in the air.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394508”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My sister’s birthday fell on a National Day of Mourning. I bought a big cake and came home to celebrate with her. She made a wish to become a famous journalist like me. I joked that saying wishes out loud makes them not come true. The next second, my mother shoved my face into the cake. “How can you curse your sister like that?” I knew there was no point arguing with my mother, who always favored my sister, so I stood up to wash my face. But my sister grabbed my arm. ” Madison, Mom’s just joking. Getting some cake on your face on a birthday is good luck!” My mother scolded me for making a big deal out of nothing. My boyfriend also urged me to sit down and eat. But I was about to go live for the moment of silence! The phone rang. My sister quickly answered the video call. Millions of viewers in the livestream saw me with a face full of pink frosting. I got cyberbullied for “disrespecting the deceased.” When I walked out of the TV station, I was killed by a bereaved family member who ran me over with their car. The day after my death, I watched my sister, who had just graduated from college, walk into the TV station. “Hello everyone, I’m Jessica. I will absolutely uphold journalistic ethics!” Starting over, I stood at the front door with the cake and my boyfriend.

“Madison!” The door flew open and Jessica threw herself at me, giving me a solid hug. She wore the light pink dress I’d just bought her last week. Her makeup was perfectly natural, making her look innocent and pure. “Happy birthday.” I shivered and pushed her away. “Madison, are you in a bad mood?” Jessica’s mouth turned down. The smell of braised pork filled the house. The dining table was already set, with a space in the center reserved for the cake. “Madison, I’ve been waiting for you all day.” Jessica’s tone carried a hint of grievance. “Mom said you had to work overtime. I thought you’d forgotten my birthday.” “How… how could I? Sorry, I’ve been really tired lately!” I smiled stiffly while apologizing and looked around the living room. Everything was exactly as I remembered— The walls were covered with various artistic photos of Jessica from childhood to now. My photos consisted of only a tiny family portrait in the corner, taken when I was in middle school. My mother’s favoritism was never hidden. After Jessica was born, my mother suffered severe postpartum depression and almost strangled the baby in her crib. Although she recovered, she always felt she owed her younger daughter, so she compensated with double the affection. “Madison, guess what I’m wishing for?” Jessica, her face lighting up again, leaned close to my ear. I turned to look at her and suddenly remembered what she’d said before cutting the cake in my past life— “I hope to become a famous journalist like my sister!” Back then, I’d joked, “Saying your wish out loud means it won’t come true.” Then the next second, my mother had shoved my face into the cake. “How can you curse your sister like that?” Now, Jessica’s eyes sparkled as she looked at me, waiting for my answer. “Sorry, I can’t guess.” In the dining room, Nathan had already helped set out the plates and cutlery. My mother turned off the TV, and the room suddenly became quiet. “Make a wish! Make a wish!” Nathan laughed and cheered. Jessica put her palms together and closed her eyes. A few seconds later, she opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out the candles. “What did you wish for?” my mother asked indulgently. Jessica glanced at me, then smiled and said: “I hope—to become an outstanding journalist like my sister!” Here it comes. Word for word, just like my past life. The smile on my mother’s face faded a bit. She glanced at me, her eyes full of expectation. Expectation that I would say something. Expecting me to encourage my sister as usual. To say “You can definitely do it,” or “You’re much better than me.” Nathan was also watching me. The room suddenly became terrifyingly quiet. I picked up the knife, cut the first slice of cake, and handed it to her. “Then work hard.” “Madison…” Jessica froze, then her voice became somewhat aggrieved. “Do you think I can’t do it?” My mother’s face immediately darkened. She slammed her cutlery down on the table with a bang.

“Madison, can’t you speak properly? Jessica is your sister. Can’t you encourage her more?” “I am encouraging her.” I looked up, my expression innocent. “I told her to work hard. Isn’t that encouragement?” The atmosphere was tense. Nathan quickly tried to smooth things over: “Alright, alright, it’s Jessica’s birthday today. Let’s not talk about this. Come on, let’s eat. The food smells amazing.” The meal was very quiet, with only the soft sound of cutlery hitting plates. I kept my head down eating while counting the time in my mind. Seven thirty-five. “I need to take a call.” I picked up my phone and walked toward the balcony. “You have work this late?” My mother muttered behind me. On the balcony, I opened my phone’s front camera and adjusted the angle to make sure I could see the glass door behind me through the screen. Seven forty. The glass door was gently pushed open, and a figure quietly walked in. It was Jessica. She was holding the plastic base of the cake box with the remaining half of the cake on it. She tiptoed in like a cat, approaching. I stared at my phone screen, calculating the distance. Three steps. Two steps. One step. Just before her hand touched my shoulder, I suddenly turned around and swung my hand— “Ah!” The entire cake smashed onto Jessica’s face! Pink frosting, strawberry sauce, chocolate chips—all over her face, her hair, her dress, everywhere. She froze completely. “Wah wah wah, Madison—I just wanted to play a joke—” Tears streamed down Jessica’s face. “Jessica!” My mother screamed and rushed over. Nathan followed. “Madison! What are you doing!” My mother pushed me aside and frantically wiped the frosting off Jessica’s face. I immediately stepped back two paces, leaning against the railing with my hand clutching my chest. My breathing was rapid, my face pale. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” My voice trembled. “I didn’t mean to… I’ve been followed recently. When someone approaches me from behind, it’s a reflex…” “What do you mean, followed?” Nathan frowned. “An… an interviewee’s family member.” I spoke incoherently. “He said my report was inaccurate and ruined his family business… He’s been following me for days. Yesterday he cornered me downstairs… I just felt someone behind me. I was terrified. I really…” I covered my face, my shoulders starting to shake. Actually, I was hiding my face to suppress my laughter. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” My mother’s voice softened a bit but still carried anger. “But you still shouldn’t treat your sister like this. Look, you ruined her new dress!” “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Jessica…” I squeezed out a few tears and cried while reaching for Jessica’s hand. “I’ll buy you a new one, ten new ones… I really didn’t mean it. I was so scared…” She was still crying, but the sobs were quieter. Then the phone rang. I looked up at Jessica. Her face was still covered in frosting, and my mother was frantically wiping it off. Nathan stood to the side, his brow furrowed. After hanging up the call, I said with a crying voice: “The station notified me. I have to go online now… I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Jessica. I’ll explain everything to you later…”

I rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. Seven fifty. The livestream started. I and several other colleagues bowed our heads in silence before the camera. Three minutes. Complete silence. Eight o’clock. The livestream ended. When I came out of the bathroom, the atmosphere in the living room was heavy. Jessica had cleaned herself up and changed clothes, but her eyes were still red. She sat on the sofa without a word. My mother was grimly cleaning up the mess on the dining table, the plates clanking loudly. Nathan was smoking on the balcony, his silhouette radiating irritation. “Mom, Jessica, I’m really sorry about earlier.” I walked over with my head down. “I’ve been under too much stress lately. That person who’s been following me…” “Enough!” My mother interrupted me, throwing the dishcloth into the sink. “Today is Jessica’s birthday! What’s the point of you constantly talking about your work?” “Mom, don’t be like this!” Jessica looked up and forced a smile. “Madison didn’t mean it. She said someone’s been following her. Madison, are you okay? Should you report it to the police?” “I already reported it, but it didn’t help.” I sat down next to her and held her hand. “Did I scare you? I’ll take you to buy a new dress tomorrow. And the cake—I’ll order a new one…” “No need.” Jessica withdrew her hand, her smile fading. “I’m a bit tired. I want to sleep early.” She stood up and went back to her room. My mother glanced at me: “You should go to bed early too. You look terrible. I can’t handle it if something happens to you.” Nathan stubbed out his cigarette and came in. “I’ll drive you home.” “No need. I want to spend time with Jessica.” He looked at me for a few seconds and nodded. “Alright then. Call me if you need anything.” After he left, the house became completely quiet. My mother finished cleaning the kitchen and returned to her room. I was left alone in the living room. In my past life on this day, I was cyberbullied because of the livestream incident. Three days later, I was fired by the TV station. As I walked out of the TV station, I was killed by a bereaved family member who ran me over with their car. The day after my death, Jessica, a new graduate with no experience, became one of the TV station’s star journalists. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Nathan: “I’m home. Don’t overthink. Get some sleep.” I didn’t reply. Another message: “About Jessica, I’ll go smooth things over with her tomorrow. Young girls love to throw tantrums.” I looked at this message and suddenly smiled. How did I not notice this in my past life? That familiar, matter-of-fact tone, as if Jessica were someone important to him. “No need. I’ll handle it.” After returning home, I replied with those words. Then I opened my contacts and found a number. “Officer Miller, this is Madison. There’s something I’d like to ask for your help with.” “Ms. Walsh? What do you need investigated? If I can help, I absolutely will!” “Thank you. I’d like you to investigate someone for me…” After hanging up, I opened my social media feed. Jessica had posted half an hour ago: “Another year older. Going to become even more amazing” The photo showed the table full of dishes my mother made. In the corner, you could see half of Nathan’s hand. A mutual friend commented below: “Wow, your brother-in-law came over for dinner again?” Jessica replied with a shy emoji. A few days later, near the end of the workday, my phone rang. It was my mother. “Madison, come home early today. Jessica has something to announce.” “What is it?” “You’ll know when you get here. It’s good news.” My mother’s tone was cheerful.

I hung up and looked at the photo on my computer screen. Nathan’s hand rested on Jessica’s shoulder in an intimate gesture. Good news? That evening when I got home and opened the door, I smelled the aroma of food. Jessica was wearing an apron helping my mother in the kitchen. Nathan sat on the sofa watching TV. “Madison, you’re home!” Jessica poked her head out of the kitchen, her smile sweet. “Dinner’s almost ready!” My mother brought out the last dish, her face beaming with unconcealed joy. “Come, everyone sit down. We’re celebrating today.” “Celebrating what?” I put down my bag. Jessica untied her apron, her cheeks slightly flushed: “Madison, I found a job.” My heart sank, but I smiled on the surface: “Really? What job?” “TV station, news department, journalist position.” She looked at me excitedly. “Same department as you.” “Same department?” I repeated it. “Nathan helped recommend me.” My mother beamed and gave Nathan a piece of pork rib. “Thanks to him, Jessica got such a great opportunity. Madison, you’ll have to take good care of your sister at work from now on.” Nathan smiled modestly. “Don’t say that. It’s mainly because Jessica is outstanding herself. She did well in the interview.” “But someone still needs to give her the opportunity.” Jessica looked at him with admiring eyes. I picked up my cutlery and took some greens: “When did this happen? How come I didn’t hear the station was hiring?” “It’s a special recruitment.” Nathan said. “The station has been reforming recently and wants to bring in fresh blood. I mentioned Jessica to Director Hayes, and he thought it was a good idea, so he gave her a chance.” Director Hayes. Head of the news department. An old classmate of Nathan’s father. “Jessica has no experience. Won’t going straight into the news department be too much pressure?” I slowly chewed the greens. “Should she start as an intern first?” Jessica’s smile faded. My mother immediately glared. “With you guiding her, what pressure could there be? Didn’t you also start at the TV station right after graduating from college?” “Back then, I went through campus recruitment, passed five rounds of written tests and interviews.” “Jessica also interviewed.” Nathan started smoothing things over again. “And with you as her sister, how could she not learn? Madison, don’t be so strict.” I looked at the three of them. My mother with her “don’t be difficult” face. Jessica looking aggrieved. Nathan with his “I’m helping you” face. “Fine.” I suddenly smiled. “Then welcome aboard. I’ll take you to process your onboarding tomorrow.” Jessica’s eyes lit up again. “Thank you, Madison!” “But,” I added, “The news department is highly competitive with many rules. Since you’re coming in through special recruitment, many people will be watching you. Perform well. Don’t embarrass your recommender.” I was saying this to Jessica, but also to Nathan. His smile didn’t change: “Naturally.” On Jessica’s first day, she brought gifts for everyone in the news department. Designer lipstick for the female colleagues, phones for the male colleagues. An expensive watch for the director. “Just a small token. I hope everyone will take care of me.” She smiled innocently. The colleagues naturally all said nice things. A few female colleagues who were already jealous of me pulled her aside asking questions, comparing us in their words. “Jessica has a much better personality than Madison. Madison always has that cold face, like someone owes her money.” “Yeah, Madison is much more likable.” Jessica looked embarrassed. “My sister is just professional. I still have a lot to learn from her.” I sat at my workstation organizing today’s interview outline, pretending not to hear. During lunch break, the director called me into his office. “Madison, now that your sister is here, you as her older sister should help guide her more.” Director Hayes was a bit overweight and his eyes narrowed into slits when he smiled. “She has no experience. Please look after her more.” “I will,” I said. “Also, about next month’s exclusive interview, it was originally scheduled for you. But Nathan told me he wants to give Jessica a chance to practice. What do you think…” “Then give it to her.” I readily agreed. Director Hayes was a bit surprised. “You agree?” “Newcomers need opportunities, don’t they?”

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My husband and I were praised as the model arranged marriage couple in our circle—until I developed postpartum depression. I fled the nursery, trying to escape my son’s relentless crying. Wandering aimlessly through the house, my footsteps stopped outside the study. At some point, a password lock had been installed on the study door. Instinctively, I raised my hand and entered my husband’s birthday, then our son’s. Neither worked. My nerves tingled with a strange excitement as I prepared to enter my own birthday. But my hand trembled, and I pressed 0817 instead of 0517—that was my sister’s birthday. I stiffly pushed open the door that had opened by chance. The next moment, I froze in place. In the center of the study sat a portrait identical to my husband’s face—a memorial portrait. The nameplate clearly bore my husband’s name: Quinn Harper. For a moment, my mind went completely blank. I didn’t know whether to be angry that my husband used my sister’s birthday as his password. Or whether to be angry that my husband kept his own portrait and memorial tablet in his study. A terrible thought flashed through my mind, but I immediately suppressed it. I knew Quinn had a twin brother named Kieran, but he had died in a car accident at eighteen. I had never met either brother before marriage because I had lived abroad with my grandparents as a child. I only returned home after graduating from college. Just days after returning, the Harper family came with the engagement token, and my parents readily agreed to the marriage. No one asked what I wanted—except Quinn, who walked up to me. “Are you willing to marry me? If you’re not, you can refuse.” In that moment, I fell for this fiancé I was meeting for the first time. Ours was a business alliance. Even though I liked him, I was willing to maintain a respectful distance. I respected his space and never entered his study without permission. But he had locked it. This was blatant distrust and defensiveness. Realizing this, my already fragile rationality completely shattered. I raised my head and surveyed this study I had never set foot in before. The study wasn’t cleaned by the housekeeper, yet it was spotlessly clean. He, who never cared about his surroundings, had arranged flowers and plants here, kept goldfish. A notorious workaholic, yet the study had an entire wall of collectible figures and the latest gaming console. In this study, there was a man I had never known. He wasn’t dull and boring—he had romance and passion for life. Footsteps sounded behind me, followed by an explosive shout. “What are you doing? Who gave you permission to enter my study?” I turned around. My husband’s eyes burned with rage, his fury turning them bloodshot. This was the first time he had lost his temper with me, yet I felt no fear. I almost wanted to laugh. In three years of marriage, this was the first time I’d seen such vivid expression on his face. The man who had always been restrained and controlled, even during intimate moments—his mask shattered when I opened his study. Seeing I didn’t answer, my husband walked over to pull me away. His large hand clamped around my arm, using no restraint. The pain made me furrow my brow. I used all my strength to shake off his hand, stubbornly staying in place. My gaze fell on the photo in the center of the study, and on the tablet bearing my husband’s name. “Are you Quinn or Kieran?” I asked calmly. The atmosphere instantly became tense. I should have stared intently at his expression to catch any lies. But in that moment, I didn’t dare turn around. Silence spread through the air, stretching time, tormenting me. “I’m Quinn.” He answered in a voice that sounded like surrender. I sensed something, but I didn’t want to dig deeper. I turned back to face Quinn again, asking him to give me a reason to explain the memorial tablet. “I was in that car accident with Kieran, but I was the one who survived.” “All these years, I’ve carried guilt, so I made this tablet. I wish it had been me who died instead.” His flat tone made it sound like he was discussing the weather, yet I heard the bone-deep self-torture. My heart seized with sudden pain. I couldn’t control the sympathy I felt for this man before me. But my questions weren’t finished. “Why did you use Aria’s birthday as the password?” I hoped desperately that he would give me a reason I could accept, like he had with the tablet. Whatever he said, I could accept it. I would choose to believe. But he didn’t. His tightly pressed lips were like the door to his heart, closed to me. The baby’s cries rang out. My tears also burst forth.

I took my still-crying son back to my mother’s house. Quinn watched us leave without movement or words. Though the Hayes house was my parents’ home, I felt incredibly out of place there. Counting the days, I had lived at the Hayes house for less time than I’d lived at the Harper house. Seeing me suddenly return, everyone in the Hayes family seemed at a loss. In the past, I certainly would have had the sense to leave. But the son in my arms was still whimpering, rain poured outside, and I needed a safe harbor. I hadn’t grown up with my parents. When my grandparents sent me back, they said, “Your parents will treat you well. They’ll love you like we do.” I believed them, so I shamelessly stayed. And the first person in this house to reach out to me was my sister, Aria Hayes. “Aria, come in quickly. I’ll find you some clothes. Go take a hot shower first.” Until my sister pulled me upstairs, my parents standing to the side never said a word. At dinner, they finally seemed to remember to ask why I’d come home. I couldn’t explain. Whether it was the memorial tablet or the password, neither was appropriate to mention to them. I could only respond dryly, “Quinn and I had a fight.” Mr. Hayes’s face darkened. He put down his fork. “Friction between husband and wife is normal. Running back to your parents’ house over every little thing isn’t appropriate.” Mrs. Hayes nodded beside him. “We know Quinn. He’s not an unreasonable person. As a wife, you need to be more accommodating. Family harmony is most important.” The already unpalatable meal became even more tasteless. I simply put down my bowl and fork, looking at my parents who were criticizing me. “This is my first time coming home because of a fight. Where does ‘every little thing’ come from?” “Quinn’s not unreasonable, so does that mean I am? Why should I have to accommodate everything just because I’m the wife?” Hearing my rebuttal, my parents froze in shock. Since returning home, I had always been obedient and well-behaved around them. Over time, even I had forgotten that abroad, I had been bold, unrestrained, and free-spirited. Aria looked at me, then at our parents, smiling as she smoothed things over. “Don’t you know what kind of person Aria is? She must have been wronged to come back. We should back her up.” Aria’s words calmed our parents down. Mom looked at me with some guilt. Before she could speak, I stood up. “I’m going to check on the baby.” In the rare quiet of the room, I stared blankly at my son’s sleeping face. My mind was crammed with chaotic thoughts, pressing down until I couldn’t breathe. The door lock clicked. Aria walked in. She carried a blanket and pillow, sitting beside me. “Aria, can we sleep together tonight?” Though my conflict with Quinn involved Aria, I didn’t want it to affect our sisterly relationship. “Of course.” With my permission, Aria was as happy as a child. We lay side by side in bed when an inappropriate question suddenly escaped my lips. “Aria, what kind of person do you think Quinn is?” She seemed surprised but still answered. “Someone excellent in every way.” It was high praise. An even more inappropriate question burst out. “If someone like that loved you, would you accept him?” She fell silent. Just when I thought she wouldn’t answer, I heard her response. “No.” Rationality returned. I said nothing more. The breathing beside me gradually became even. I still had no desire to sleep. So when her phone vibrated, I heard the sound and glanced over. [It’s getting cold. Cover yourself with the blanket at night.] I couldn’t be more familiar with that contact name, yet such detailed care felt utterly foreign to me.

My mother-in-law, Rachel Harper, heard I had taken the baby back to my parents’ house and called to check on me. “Claire, did Quinn bully you? Did he hurt you? Tell me, and I’ll back you up” The unconditional support I didn’t get from my own mother, my mother-in-law gave me. But similarly, my conflict with Quinn wasn’t appropriate to tell her. I couldn’t find a suitable answer, so I stayed silent. Rachel seemed to have endless patience with me. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I’ll have Quinn come apologize to you.” She asked about the baby’s condition before hanging up. Perhaps Rachel pressed him hard, because Quinn came to the Hayes house that very evening. My parents received him warmly. Though I didn’t like it, I understood. The Hayes family’s alliance with the Harper family was truly the Hayes marrying up. At the dinner table, Quinn acted like a dutiful husband, taking care of me. My parents nodded approvingly. But I noticed with sharp sensitivity that he kept rotating the lazy Susan. After observing for a while, I finally understood his purpose. Aria loved shrimp. Every time Quinn rotated the lazy Susan, it was to position the shrimp in front of her. I looked down at the various foods in my bowl, my lips curling into a bitter smile. Quinn seemed to be caring for me, but he didn’t even know what I liked or disliked eating. Yet he precisely understood Aria’s preferences and was willing to care for her so discreetly. This meal once again became impossible for me to swallow. I got up and left the table. As I went upstairs, my parents were apologizing to Quinn for my rudeness. Quinn agreed to stay the night. My sister moved back to her own room. I deliberately avoided thinking about why he was willing to stay. Closing the door, we each did our own things without communication. When sleeping, we automatically maintained a clear boundary between us. In the middle of the night, I heard my son crying and got up, covering my aching head. The space beside me was already empty. When I reached over, not even a trace of warmth remained. After feeding and soothing the baby back to sleep, I put on a jacket and left the room. I finally found Quinn on the third-floor balcony—but he wasn’t alone. Standing beside him was Aria. The deep night was quiet enough that their low voices reached my ears clearly. “Aria has been wronged. Even though she won’t say it, I know she’s unhappy.” “I heard the Hayes family is arranging a match for you. What do you think?” The two of them talked past each other in conversation that was absurd yet natural. “You know she has postpartum depression. Why don’t you care more about her?” “As long as you say you’re unwilling, I guarantee no one can force you into an arranged marriage.” A moment of silence. The two faced each other, more like a confrontation. I stood in the shadows, watching this scene, feeling only absurdity. When Quinn couldn’t hold back any longer and closed the distance, pulling Aria into his embrace, I fled in humiliation. The next day, I took my son and returned to the Harper house with Quinn. When leaving, Aria expressed concern and reluctance as always. But this time, I avoided the hand she tried to hold. Back at the Harper house, I discovered the study had a new password lock. Quinn came home later and later. He no longer shared my room or communicated with me. Every day when he came home, he would glance at the baby, then lock himself in the study. His presence in this house was almost nonexistent. My marriage felt like just a dream. But life remained tedious, and the baby still cried. Then at a certain moment, without any trigger, I exploded. I grabbed a hammer and smashed the study’s password lock like a madwoman. In that moment, I couldn’t hear my son’s cries—only a devil whispering in my ear. “Smash it. Smash this damned life to pieces”

I charged into the study like a bandit, brazenly invading Quinn’s territory. On the bookshelf was a photo album, its cover worn from frequent handling. Inside were all photos of Aria. I looked toward the rocking chair by the study’s floor-to-ceiling window, as if seeing Quinn sitting there every night, obsessively flipping through the album. In the first layer of the right-hand drawer of the desk was a diary. It recorded Quinn’s daily life and moods—none of which involved me. Tears had long blurred my vision, but like a greedy prospector, I hoped to find treasure about myself on the next page. Until I turned to the day I first burst into the study. That day’s entry had only one sentence. [If only I had been the one to die. If only she were your wife.] I was absolutely certain this “she” referred to me. Good news: I finally found myself in his diary. Bad news: In his diary, I had lost him. In this moment, I could no longer deceive myself. The guesses I deliberately avoided, the clues I intentionally ignored—they now struck me with vengeful force. Rachel said Quinn loved astronomy most, but when I gave him a telescope, his expression was flat. The dignified, steady Harper Corporation CEO had a study full of collectible figures and every type of gaming console. I still remembered when I agreed to the marriage contract, Quinn had pulled his lips into a smile. Looking back now on that day’s smile, it hid regret and helplessness. I walked to the portrait in the center of the study, carefully examining that face so similar to Quinn’s. He had a mole at the corner of his eye—but Quinn’s eye corner also had one. I took out my phone and sent Rachel a message. She replied quickly. “Kieran didn’t have a mole at his eye corner. Claire, why are you suddenly asking me this?” I used my last shred of rationality to construct a white lie. “I found an old photo of the two brothers at home. Just curious.” I picked up the portrait and walked to the rocking chair by the window, studying the person in the photo under the sunlight. Soon, Quinn got word from the housekeeper and rushed home. The study had been torn apart by me. I thought he would be even more furious than last time. Unexpectedly, he only instructed the housekeeper to take care of the baby, then silently walked to my side and crouched down. I turned my head, my gaze falling on the corner of his right eye. A brown dot, perfectly shaped, evenly colored. It fit all the characteristics of a tattooed beauty mark. My heart felt pierced by an invisible arrow. As blood gushed out, tears burst forth like a breached dam. Complex emotions flashed through Quinn’s—no, Kieran’s—eyes, including reluctance. He didn’t question or explain. Everything seemed understood without words. But his silent admission, without any defense, felt like an unfair trial. The oppressive atmosphere tortured me like cruel punishment. I could no longer hold on and fainted. When I woke again, I was lying in bed with an IV drip in my hand. No one was in the room. The sunlight was bright, yet I felt no warmth. I pulled out the needle and walked barefoot on the floor, feeling coldness rise from my feet through my body. I walked to the nursery. My son was sleeping, the housekeeper resting wearily beside the bed. As if sensing my approach, my son suddenly opened his eyes. He looked at me and broke into a smile. In that moment, I felt like I was seeing an angel smiling at me. Looking at my son’s smile, I made a decision. I went out and came back with a document. When Kieran came home, I stopped him. “Kieran.” This was our first exchange in a week. Then I said the second sentence. “Let’s get divorced.”

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My mom was a university professor. She always said the biggest regret of her life was marrying my dad—a man who’d blown up as a livestream shopping host. “So materialistic. So tacky.” Eventually, they divorced. In my last life, I chose my mom—the one who seemed above it all, who didn’t care about money. What a mistake. I bought a new dress? “Wasteful.” I wanted to grab dinner with friends on the weekend? She slapped me across the face. When my period came and I wanted decent tampons, I got screamed at. “You’re just like your father—obsessed with money! You’re such a disappointment!” Later, my uncle’s investment failed and he drowned in debt. When he tried to sell me to an underground matchmaking ring for bride money, I begged my mom through tears to save me. She just frowned. “You won’t even help your own uncle? You’re as selfish as your father!” In the end, my uncle sold me to some fifty-year-old bachelor in the mountains. I died falling off a cliff trying to escape. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment of their divorce—the moment they asked me to choose.

“So what if I used your money? My brother needs startup capital for his business. I gave him fifty thousand dollars. What’s the problem?” “Money, money, money—that’s all you care about. You spend your days playing a clown on livestream. Have you no shame?” “Being an influencer isn’t impressive! You have zero depth. No wonder your follower count keeps dropping!” “Let’s get divorced. I have nothing left to say to you.” Mom was tearing into Dad. Dad gripped his phone, knuckles white. He’d been live streaming until 3 AM last night to clear his inventory. His eyes were bloodshot. His voice came out hoarse: “Fine, we’ll divorce. But that fifty thousand was my college fund for Emma. You need to get it back.” Mom acted like she’d heard something absurd. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then they both turned to look at me. “Emma, you’re old enough now. After we divorce, you decide who you want to live with.” Mom tossed the question at me like it weighed nothing. But Dad’s eyes were red-rimmed as he gently touched my head. “This is Dad’s fault. I’m sorry you had to see this. It has nothing to do with you.” Watching this scene—identical to my last life—my heart pounded like a drum. Mom sat primly in a chair surrounded by stacks of old books, her expression arrogant. Dad anxiously ran his fingers through his hair, dry and brittle from too much dyeing. In my last life, I thought Mom was calm, wise, cultured. So I chose her without hesitation. But after living with her for two years, I understood: Dad’s anxiety and frustration? She caused it. She constantly belittled him. And her brother? He endlessly demanded money from Dad. Remembering what happened in my previous life, I threw myself at Dad and grabbed his arm. “Dad, I’m staying with you.” Dad froze. His eyes instantly grew redder. Mom just raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing, contemptuous smile. “Of course. She inherited your inferior genes. Shallow, just like you.” Dad immediately covered my ears with his hands. The gesture was clumsy but careful. “Since Emma’s staying with me, please return that fifty thousand as soon as possible. I’ll have a lawyer handle the rest of the assets.” I pulled Dad’s hands down and looked up at Mom. “Someone as above-it-all as you—someone who treats money like dirt—surely doesn’t care about a little cash, right? After all, you have your dignity.” Mom’s indifferent expression froze for a second before she recovered her haughty composure. “Fine. I’ll leave with nothing. This house reeks of greed anyway. I should have left long ago.” She stood, took only a few thick books from the shelf, packed them in a faded cloth bag, and took nothing else. Before leaving, she glanced at me—like she was looking at a fallen soul. “I hope you don’t lose yourself in the pursuit of money.” I smiled. Lose myself? I hoped that when her brother squeezed every last drop of value from her, she wouldn’t regret today’s choice.

In my last life, I chose Mom. Dad left heartbroken, taking almost nothing—just his livestream equipment and a few clothes. That fifty thousand? Mom transferred it to my uncle that same day. My uncle opened a “café”—fancy décor, eighty-eight dollars for a cup of coffee. It went bankrupt in two months. After it closed, my uncle’s family naturally moved into our place—the run-down house near Mom’s university. At first, they just made Mom give up the master bedroom because my uncle’s wife, Patricia, was pregnant and needed quiet. Then they made me go to the grocery store after school every day, then come home and cook. I was preparing for my SATs at the time, trying to get into a good college. I was busy. So I refused to do their chores. But Mom said: “Family helps each other. Don’t be cold like your father.” Gradually, buying new clothes became “wasteful.” Wanting to eat at a restaurant with friends became “consumerism.” I couldn’t even buy decent tampons during my period. Seeing I had zero autonomy, my uncle’s family let their son take over my desk. When I tried to get my desk back to do homework, Mom said: “Why are you acting just like your father!” In that moment, I felt frozen to the bone. I wasn’t spending recklessly. I just wanted basic study conditions and a shred of dignity. But in her mouth, that made me selfish. Meanwhile, my uncle blew through our money, failed at every investment, and ended up buried in debt. When he hit rock bottom, he listened to some shady broker and tried to “marry” me off to some rich old man in a remote rural area. I knelt before Mom, crying until I couldn’t breathe. She just frowned: “Your uncle has no other options. If you can help him, that’s your value.” In the end, I was tied up and stuffed into a van, sold into the mountains. The night I tried to escape, it was pouring rain. The road was slippery. I missed my footing and fell off the cliff. — Dad really was an influencer—the insanely lucky kind. He used to be an ordinary office worker. After getting laid off, he tried making funny short videos. Somehow, a “immersive supermarket free sample tasting” video went viral. Then he started livestream selling and made some money. Mom was an associate professor of English Literature. Deep down, she looked down on Dad’s job—thought he was playing a clown on screen. Embarrassing. After Dad made money, the first thing he wanted was to move out of our old house. Mom refused. Dad wanted to sign me up for a good dance class. Mom objected—she said the costumes were too sexy, that it was dancing to please men. I knew Dad was under a lot of pressure with his livestreams. The industry was cutthroat. He never went to college, so he had to rack his brain to entertain his followers just to keep them. But competition was fierce, and his numbers really were declining. After Mom left, I went to clean her room. The irony. On her desk sat a luxury fountain pen—several thousand dollars for just one. Her closet held several dresses made of expensive fabric. In her vanity drawer: unopened high-end perfume. She was the one who loved luxury goods, yet she constantly called Dad tacky and me vain. This time, without Dad’s financial support, I wanted to see how she’d maintain that elegance and superiority. Just as I was thinking this, someone pounded loudly on my door. I went downstairs. My uncle had already barged in, pointing at Dad’s face and cursing. “That fifty thousand was a gift from my sister! She already wrote up a gift agreement! Now, right when my café just went under—my hardest time—you want the money back? Are you even human?” “Your daughter doesn’t need fifty thousand for college! What’s the point of her reading so many books? She’s just going to get married anyway!” His shameless attitude—exactly the same as my last life. The difference was, this time, Dad stood straight in front of me.

Dad wasn’t tall, but standing in front of me now, he was like a wall. He shouted at my uncle: “Your business failed—what does that have to do with me? That money was for my daughter’s education. I’m divorcing your sister. I have no obligation to help you anymore.” At the word “divorce,” a calculating gleam flashed in my uncle’s eyes. “Divorce? Grace never mentioned that to me. If you’re getting divorced, you’ll have to split assets, right? This house, the car, the savings… my sister gets at least half!” Dad laughed in disbelief. I stepped forward with a smile. “Uncle, didn’t you check with Mom before coming? She said she won’t take a single penny after the divorce. Mom’s a professor. She doesn’t care about money.” My uncle’s eyes went wide. “What? Has Grace lost her mind?!” Dad pushed my uncle toward the door: “You want money? Tell Grace to come talk to me herself.” I smirked. I wanted to see if Mom could stay so proud when facing her greedy brother. We waited two days. Nothing from Mom. But things on Dad’s end got worse. His livestream numbers kept dropping. Several brand partners wanted to terminate their contracts. Between the penalties and his previous investments, he was deep in debt. He couldn’t sleep at night. He’d stand on the balcony chain-smoking, jumping every time his phone rang. It hurt to watch. I spoke up: “Dad, let’s get that fifty thousand back. We can pay off some of the debt.” Dad shook his head, voice hoarse: “That was for you… Dad’s useless.” “Dad,” I looked him in the eye, “I believe in you. You built everything from nothing before. You can do it again. Let’s get through this first. For college, I can earn scholarships or work part-time.” Dad’s eyes reddened. He rubbed my head hard. “I thought… you’d be embarrassed by me. That you’d leave with your mom.” “Silly girl.” In my last life with Mom, I didn’t lack much materially, but my heart died. This life with Dad might be hard for now, but my heart was warm. “Dad, we need to get that money fast. Someone like Uncle will just throw it away.” With my insistence, Dad finally sent Mom a formal message demanding the fifty thousand back. Mom replied with one line: “How vulgar.” Then she blocked him. Looks like we’d need another approach. I had Dad pull the transfer records and my uncle’s so-called gift agreement. Full of holes, as expected. Mom had only verbally agreed. The transfer was labeled loan.The gift document my uncle typed up didn’t even have a fingerprint. We consulted a lawyer. He said we could absolutely sue to recover the money. Dad hesitated—”They’re still family”—but I had the lawyer send a formal demand letter immediately. The effect was instant. The next day, my uncle showed up downstairs, furious, but too scared to come up. He just stood there cursing at the street. “David! Are you even human? Suing your own brother-in-law over some money?” “My sister really hit rock bottom marrying you! And your ungrateful daughter is a totally a bitch.” Dad wanted to go down and confront him. I held him back, grabbed my phone, opened the camera, and walked to the balcony. “Uncle, got the lawyer’s letter? That fifty thousand was for my education—we have the transfer records to prove it. Either pay up, or we’ll see you in court. If you keep yelling and disturbing the neighbors, I’ll call the cops for noise disturbance.” “You— you…” My uncle pointed at me, his finger shaking, but no words came out. After a long moment, he finally snapped, “Just you wait!” Then he turned and hurried out, looking completely humiliated. Dad looked at me with a complicated expression—surprise and guilt mixed together. “Emma, you shouldn’t have to deal with this…” “Dad, we’re family.” I linked my arm through his. “We’ll get through this together.”

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My wife is the most renowned genius artist of our time, but she suffers from emotional detachment disorder. When I accidentally fell down the stairs and called out to her for help, she asked me, “Why do you always bother me?” Then she stepped over my body in her high heels and left gracefully. That’s when I finally understood—a heart you can’t warm is not worth warming anymore. After she proposed divorce for the ninety-ninth time, I said, “I agree.” My wife froze for a long moment. “What did you say?” I handed her the signed divorce agreement. She stared at the papers, then looked up at me for a long time, seemingly wanting to say something but holding back. “You don’t even want our daughter?” I nodded. Right. I didn’t want any of it anymore. In the divorce agreement, I willingly gave up custody of our daughter. I had only one condition—Hannah Smith had to agree to let my mother continue receiving treatment at the hospital under the Smith family’s name. The Smith family owned the top medical team for bone cancer treatment in the country. Only there did my mother have a chance of recovery. After we got our divorce certificate, Hannah’s face remained calm and distant as always. “So what will you do now?” I knew this was just Hannah being polite. She had never truly cared about me. I gave a perfunctory answer. “Travel.” Hannah didn’t ask any more questions. Leo put his hand on Hannah’s shoulder and smiled at me. “Thanks for being willing to let Hannah go and give her freedom.” I instinctively glanced at Hannah. Facing Leo’s closeness, her expression was relaxed and natural—none of the discomfort she showed when facing me. Hannah suddenly spoke up. “Travel costs money. I’ll transfer some to you.” Her tone was still that flat, cold indifference, as if we were complete strangers. This divorce left me with essentially nothing. Hannah and I had signed a prenuptial agreement—whatever we earned after marriage would belong to each of us individually. All our expenses after marriage followed an AA system. There were no property disputes. But the key issue was that our daughter had poor health and high needs. I had quit my job long ago to stay home and take care of her full-time. If I couldn’t take on freelance work from home, I would have starved. Leo interrupted Hannah with a teasing tone. “Hannah, I’m sure he has savings. Besides, he’s a grown man—how could he have the nerve to take your money?” “Plus, the art exhibition is about to start. We need to manage our funds carefully.” As he spoke, Leo kept patting Hannah’s shoulder, his manner intimate and natural. Hannah nodded thoughtfully, looking at Leo with approval and admiration. “You’re right.” Leo seemed satisfied with this answer and smiled at me. “You better not go anywhere too remote on your travels. These past few years, quite a few solo hikers have gotten into trouble.” Hannah frowned and replied flatly, “What could happen to him?” I took a deep breath. See? That’s how little Hannah cared about me. Hannah had severe emotional detachment disorder. To put it bluntly, she lacked the capacity to love. When Hannah was young, her grandfather died. At the funeral, she showed no expression, like it had nothing to do with her. Everyone said she was a monster. I was afraid Hannah would be hurt if she heard them, so I covered her ears and comforted her. “Don’t listen to them. You’re not wrong. I know you’re sad too—you just don’t know how to express it.” But Hannah looked at me seriously and said, “Why should I be sad? Everyone dies eventually, don’t they?” I was stunned. As an eight-year-old, I couldn’t understand why Hannah would say something like that. Later, Hannah’s condition got worse. She even began self-harming and showing signs of nihilism—Hannah didn’t love anyone, including herself. But only when she saw me did Hannah’s condition improve. To save her, the Smith family made a deal with me—they would treat my mother’s bone cancer if I married Hannah. Hannah even looked at me with pleading eyes, like an injured young animal. “Don’t leave. Stay with me forever, Jasper.” I had no choice. We did have a period of affection once. During that brief time, we had our daughter. Our daughter was born with a congenital heart condition and needed constant care. Hannah couldn’t even take care of herself, so I certainly couldn’t count on her. I had no choice but to shift all my focus to our daughter, caring for her with everything I had. Without realizing it, Hannah and I grew further and further apart. Hannah was a famous genius artist online with a massive following. When her fans found out I was a stay-at-home husband, they all said I wasn’t good enough for her. [Hannah’s husband is just a useless pretty boy living off her. And he’s supposed to be some elite graduate? What a disgrace.] [How can the husband of a genius artist be such a worthless kept man?] [I heard their families go way back and arranged their marriage when they were kids. Feudal thinking ruins lives.] I asked Hannah for help, begging her to explain things to her fans. After all, nobody cared what I had to say. But Hannah was different. Yet Hannah looked at me with a strange, confused expression. “You’re so weird. Why do you care what strangers think?” “Besides, they’re not wrong. You are a stay-at-home husband.” What did I say back then? I can’t remember. I only remember feeling completely lost and on the verge of breaking down. Should I have blamed Hannah? Everyone around me kept telling me that Hannah was just sick, that she was incapable of love. As her husband, I should be understanding. I used that excuse to comfort myself countless times after that. Our daughter had poor health—even a little breeze would give her a cold and fever. I couldn’t sleep through the night, keeping watch by her bedside. Meanwhile, Hannah, her mother, never showed up once, completely absorbed in her paintings. I confronted her, asking why she didn’t care about our child. Hannah looked up at me. “Would it help if I went? I’m not a doctor.” Days of exhaustion and mental torment made my vision go dark, and I fell down the stairs. Blood pooled beneath my head in a spreading stain.

Before I completely lost consciousness, I called out to Hannah for help. She stood there, looking at me coldly. “Why do you always bother me?” Then she stepped over the pool of blood in her high heels and strode away without a care. In that moment, I truly understood for the first time what people meant when they called Hannah a monster. Hannah didn’t care whether I lived or died. But she was different with Leo, her young assistant. Around Leo, Hannah seemed to become normal. Like a wooden puppet suddenly growing flesh and blood, suddenly having warmth. At a press conference once, Hannah said, “Leo makes my withered soul grow wild with life.” “Because of him, I can feel that sunlight is warm and flowers are enchanting.” When we got home that day, I questioned her like a madman. “Hannah, do you even know what you’re doing? This is cheating!” “Jasper, you shouldn’t use the word ‘cheating’ to define my relationship with Leo.” Hannah’s expression didn’t change. As she spoke, she didn’t even lift her head once, continuing to work on her painting. The studio was filled with sketches—all portraits of Leo. Him laughing, him deep in thought, him frowning… Every stroke seemed to pour out all of Hannah’s energy and devotion. As I left in despair, Hannah called out to me. “Jasper, you’ve only ever been a passerby in my life.” “But Leo gives me a soul. He’s the wellspring of my artistic inspiration.” Suddenly, I lost all desire to argue with her. Utter exhaustion and powerlessness consumed me. I finally understood that Hannah wasn’t incapable of loving everyone. I just wasn’t the person she was willing to understand or accommodate. I thought my life was already as desperate as it could get. But then even my daughter started calling Leo “Dad.” Our daughter, just like Hannah, constantly fawned over and praised Leo. “Daddy Leo, you’re so handsome.” “I wish you were really my dad.” “I don’t want a useless father. My classmates all make fun of me.” Even my mother-in-law came to lecture me, telling me I should be grateful. “My Hannah is the best artist now. You should feel honored to be her husband.” “So what if she doesn’t love you? Love doesn’t put food on the table.” … As my memories flooded back, I turned to leave. “Goodbye, you two.” If I could help it, I never wanted to see Hannah again for the rest of my life. But someone grabbed my wrist. Hannah stared at me, her eyes full of confusion and bewilderment. “Why… why are you doing this?” “Let go.” My voice was cold. Leo glanced at me, then gently coaxed Hannah. “Hannah, could you let go first?” But Hannah acted as if she hadn’t heard him, her brow furrowed tight. When she spoke again, her expression was still innocent and clumsy. “Is this because of when you fell down the stairs? But you… you were fine, weren’t you?” I laughed bitterly. The only reason I was still standing here was pure luck. I yanked my hand back forcefully and looked at her coldly. “Get lost.” Hannah had never been treated this way by me before. She looked at me helplessly, clearly not used to it. Leo stepped forward in time to hold Hannah’s hand, saying somewhat helplessly, “Come on, calm down. Hannah doesn’t mean any harm. She just doesn’t know how to express what she’s thinking.” “Don’t keep forcing her. Hannah isn’t your property.” Hannah nodded, clearly agreeing with Leo’s words. I laughed out loud. How utterly pointless. “Goodbye, Hannah.” I waved my hand and strode away. Hannah stood frozen in place, her fingers trembling unconsciously—a sign she was nervous. Leo didn’t notice anything wrong and gripped her hand tighter. “Let’s go, my great artist.” Hannah stared at Leo in a daze. She tried to ease the discomfort in her chest. But found she couldn’t fill that hollow, lost feeling no matter what. Hannah wasn’t good at conversation and couldn’t express her thoughts precisely. To explain it in terms Hannah understood best—it was like a work she’d poured her heart and soul into had suddenly been destroyed. It made her heart skip a beat.

When people learned about our divorce, many came to talk me out of it. My usually arrogant former mother-in-law, Mrs. Smith, came to find me with her daughter. At the time, I was pulling my suitcase, preparing to leave. Mrs. Smith grabbed my suitcase, her eyes smiling. “Oh, you don’t need to move out.” “You haven’t worked in so many years. Can you even support yourself out there?” “Besides, you’ve done our Smith family a favor. If you starve to death out there, people will say we repaid kindness with cruelty.” My daughter, Riley, stood beside her, looking at me sideways and muttering, “Stingy jerk. You’re just jealous that we like Daddy Leo more.” Mrs. Smith pretended to scold Riley a few times, then turned to speak to me. “Good boy, Mom knows you’ve been wronged.” “But you know Hannah—she just doesn’t understand social niceties. But you’re the one she likes most.” Her tone was familiar and affectionate, as if nothing had ever gone wrong between me and the Smith family. I sneered. “Mrs. Smith, didn’t you always want us to divorce?” I cut straight to the point. The smile on Mrs. Smith’s face nearly cracked. She forced a dry laugh. “What are you saying? Your mother and I are such good friends. Of course I’m very satisfied with you as a son-in-law.” She looked sincere. But I only found her hypocritical. I couldn’t forget that after I fell down the stairs and was sent to the ICU, just as the operating room doors closed, I heard Mrs. Smith’s extremely cold voice: “It would be better if he died. The Smith family doesn’t need such a useless son-in-law.” In private, Mrs. Smith often told people, “Jasper doesn’t deserve my daughter at all. He’s worthless.” I looked at Mrs. Smith coldly. She must have had ulterior motives for coming to find me today. Sure enough, the next second, Mrs. Smith spoke, her tone turning cold and hard. “Hannah is at a critical point in her career. If news of your divorce gets out now, it won’t look good.” “So you can’t publicly announce the divorce yet. Can you do that?” Before I could respond, Riley pushed me. “Just agree already.” “Daddy Leo was right. You’re so selfish, always only thinking about yourself.” Riley’s words were like countless silver needles piercing my heart until it bled. I stared at her in a daze. My daughter used to cling to me the most. She would hug my leg and say over and over, “Daddy’s the best. I love Daddy most.” But she carried Hannah’s blood in her veins after all. Just like Hannah, she would immediately abandon me the moment Leo appeared. I hardened my expression. “Riley!” Riley stuck her neck out stubbornly, not thinking she was wrong at all. Just then, the door was pushed open. Hannah and Leo walked in side by side. Riley’s eyes instantly reddened as she rushed toward Leo. “Daddy Leo, I hate Jasper so much. He’s always yelling at me. Can you help me get rid of him?” Leo looked at me with disapproval in his eyes. “That’s going too far, don’t you think?” “Even if you’re Riley’s father, you can’t bully her.” “An irresponsible father like you would have custody taken away in other countries.” Hannah’s displeased gaze fell on my face. “Jasper, you’re getting more and more unreasonable.” “Go see a doctor if you’re sick.” I coldly dropped one sentence and left with my suitcase. As I got on the elevator, Leo caught up. He looked me up and down with a challenging expression. “You’re really never coming back, right, Jasper?” “Hannah’s pregnant—with my child.” I was somewhat surprised. I thought someone as proud as Hannah wouldn’t go that far. Leo’s mouth curved into a wide grin. “Hannah said she wanted to have a child with me, connected by blood.” “That’s between you two. It has nothing to do with me.” My expression didn’t change. But Leo wouldn’t let it go. He stepped closer and closer, lowering his voice. “Hannah also said that only with me does she feel alive, only with me does she understand passion.” “And you? You’re utterly boring.”

As he spoke, he backed up step by step, showing me a strange smile. Then he fell backward. The next second, a force hit me. I saw Hannah rush over like a madwoman, trying to catch Leo. But it was futile. “Bang!” Leo fell heavily down the steps. His head hit the railing, and blood gushed out. The bright red blood stung my eyes, making my whole body shudder. Not long ago, I had just experienced something exactly like this. Behind me came Riley’s wailing cry. “Daddy Leo!” “Leo, are you okay? You can’t… you can’t be hurt…” Hannah screamed desperately. She knelt helplessly in the pool of blood, gripping Leo’s hand, her voice nearly breaking. “Don’t be scared. I’ll get you to the hospital right away.” Hannah called the property management with trembling hands. When the staff arrived, several people worked together to get the unconscious Leo into the elevator. Hannah followed behind. Before getting on the elevator, she suddenly turned back, her eyes filled with hostility. “Jasper, I won’t let you get away with this.” The instant before the elevator doors fully closed, I saw Hannah press her forehead against the back of Leo’s hand. That kind of care, deep to the bone, was something I had never received in the nearly thirty years Hannah and I had known each other. Riley rushed over, hitting me repeatedly and glaring at me viciously. “You should just die! You hurt Daddy Leo. I never want to call you Dad again.” Hannah’s revenge came quickly. That evening, I received news from the hospital—my mother was about to be kicked out. “Mr. Reed, you have to understand that this hospital answers to the Smith family. We have no choice.” “Maybe you could ask Miss Smith? After all, you’re husband and wife…” The hand holding my phone was shaking. My mother’s condition had been well controlled. Victory had been within reach. Transferring hospitals now would undo all our progress. And my mother’s body couldn’t handle that kind of upheaval. Just to be safe, I quickly contacted other hospitals. But without exception, not a single hospital was willing to accept her. Either they feared the Smith family’s influence or thought my mother’s condition was too severe… I had no choice but to beg Hannah. In the hospital corridor, Hannah leaned against the wall, her demeanor growing colder. “You want to beg me to save your mother?” “Yes. According to the divorce agreement, you should let my mother continue treatment at the Smith family hospital until she recovers.” My voice was tight. Hannah sneered but didn’t respond. I took a deep breath and explained, almost humbly, “Leo wasn’t pushed by me. You can check the surveillance. He did it himself…” I was becoming incoherent. Hannah walked toward me in her high heels, step by step, her tone utterly cold. “Does it matter?” “What?” “Does the truth matter?” Hannah’s expression was haughty, carrying the air of a judge passing down sentence. “Either way, Leo fell down the stairs because of you.” I stared at Hannah in shock, the last thread in my mind snapping. I broke down and shouted, “That’s a human life, Hannah! Are you really going to watch my mother die?” “Using your mother’s life to pay for Leo’s injuries seems pretty fair to me.” A nearly cruel smile rose in Hannah’s eyes. I had no choice but to fall to my knees and kowtow to Hannah. “Please, please spare my mother. I’ll use my life to atone if I have to. I’m willing to die…” Hannah’s expression didn’t soften in the slightest. She looked at me like I was insane. “Jasper, you really look like a dog begging for scraps right now.” Right after Hannah left, I got a call from the caregiver. “Mr. Reed, I’m sorry for your loss. Your mother has passed away.” “The hospital was completely unreasonable. They just pulled the plug on her ventilator…” Boom— My world plunged into complete darkness. I handled my mother’s funeral simply, then carried her ashes to the seaside… Meanwhile, Hannah was at the hospital keeping Leo company. Leo looked at her, clearly preoccupied, and suddenly asked, “Are you worried about Jasper?” Hannah shook her head. Leo lay in the hospital bed, gently taking Hannah’s hand and speaking persuasively, “Trust me, nothing will happen.” “That serious illness was just Jasper’s act. His mother’s illness was cured long ago.” Hannah murmured in agreement. But her heart was still anxious. Until Mrs. Smith burst into the room, looking panicked. “Quick, quick, you need to issue a statement saying Jasper’s death has nothing to do with you.”

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My husband has changed recently. He stopped wearing cologne, saying it has too strong a scent. He’s constantly on his phone now, smiling at the screen for no reason. I figured it out—he’s in love. After I put the two kids to sleep, I received a message from his little girlfriend: “The unloved one is the real homewrecker. I’m telling you to divorce Ethan right now. I’m already pregnant! He’s crazy in love with me.” I smiled, pretended not to see it, deleted the message, and blocked her. He’s just cheating. It’s not like he went bankrupt. Besides, his affair is actually a good thing for me. I never expected the mistress to show up at my door, flaunting her pregnant belly: “If you won’t divorce him, I’ll just move in and stay here.” “When I’m in postpartum recovery, you’ll have to take care of me too.” My expression remained calm. Facing her provocation, I showed no emotional reaction: “No need.” “Ethan will hire you a postpartum nurse. He’s got plenty of money.” I pulled out my phone, about to activate the robot vacuum to clean up. Then I worried the mistress might fake a fall and blame me, so I stopped, sat across from her, and called Ethan: “Your little girlfriend showed up here with her pregnant belly.” My husband rushed home from the office in a panic. His hair was windswept and messy, his face stripped of its usual refined composure. When he entered, standing in the foyer, guilt flickered across his features. Along with displeasure at his young girlfriend’s impulsive visit. The mistress stared at me in shock. She hadn’t expected me to be this calm: “Aren’t you angry?” “Your husband cheated on you, and you’re calling him to deal with me?” I ignored her. Instead, I turned to my husband: “Handle this. Don’t let her cause a scene—it’ll be bad for the company.” “From your phone call, it sounds like you left something unfinished at the office?” “I’ll go take care of it for you.” As I walked past my husband, he grabbed my wrist. His mouth opened and closed, as if searching for an explanation. Searching for a reason I could accept, one that would also defend the pregnant mistress standing in our home. I gently pushed his hand away: “No explanation needed.” I took the car keys from him. “Don’t worry about the company matters. I’ll handle them.” “Don’t forget to turn on the robot vacuum.” I closed the door behind me. I could faintly hear his young girlfriend making a scene inside. My footsteps quickly carried me to the car, and the sounds from inside faded away. The company was built from scratch by my husband. Back then, I was his secretary. Because I was fair-skinned, beautiful, and good at my job, he took notice of me. He pursued me for a long time. Engagement, marriage—we became the model couple in everyone’s eyes. At first, he would create romantic gestures, run his fingers through his hair before going out. When we went shopping together, he’d dress up specially, saying it made him feel worthy of being with me. He’d reply to my messages instantly. If I didn’t respond to him, he’d send me message after message. He worked out every day, saying he wanted to maintain his abs for me to touch. When I worked at the company, he’d feel sorry for me, pull me aside, and tell me just sitting there watching was enough. Just sitting there and watching was already hard work, he used to say. That’s what he said when he loved me. Later, he stopped loving me. When there was work at the company, he’d dump it directly on me. When I made mistakes, he’d scold me mercilessly in front of the employees. Going out with me, he lost all patience. He’d stare at his phone, throw on whatever clothes, no effort in his appearance. So recently, when he suddenly started dressing up again and doing push-ups at home, I knew—he’d found someone new to love. “Ms. South.” In the conference room, a senior executive stood and nodded at me. I began cleaning up my husband’s mess. As the sky gradually darkened, my husband entered the office, closed the door, and kept watching me cautiously. He said: “I picked up the kids.”

I threw myself into work. Although it was his company, I benefited too. Every bit I earned meant more money I could spend. More security for my two children. Seeing I wasn’t responding, my husband pulled over a chair and sat beside me: “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” “I never thought she’d come straight to you. I told her not to do that.” “But she insisted on finding you, using her pregnancy as leverage, demanding I divorce you.” I paused. Turned my head to look at him: “So do you want to?” My husband shook his head without hesitation: “No.” “I really love you. With her, it was just a moment of impulse.” I smiled slightly: “Then just handle it yourself.” His expression was extremely anxious. “You’re… not angry?” Before I could answer, he quickly added: “I know you must be furious.” “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. What do you want? A house, a car, a house for your parents, or company shares—anything, as long as you want it.” Looking at his guilty expression, I said: “I’ll take the shares.” “Not for me—for our two kids. To give them security.” My husband’s face filled with even more guilt. He held my hand and cried for a long time. I honestly didn’t understand. He was the one who cheated. What was he crying about? My husband owned eighty percent of the company shares. Because he’d built this company from the ground up. Later, when the company needed to go public, he was forced to distribute some shares. He was smart, with keen instincts. Whatever he did, he made money. That’s what I valued about him—even if he went bankrupt, he had the ability to rise again. He transferred twenty percent of the shares to me. Gave each of our children ten percent, and promised: “There will never be a second time.” “I know you’re worried about the kids’ inheritance rights. I’ve already had my lawyer draft a will. In the future, our children will inherit the majority of my assets. Her child… will inherit a smaller portion. Is that acceptable?” My husband asked me cautiously. I honestly couldn’t understand what he felt guilty about. Guilty, yet still doing the things that betrayed me. Better not to feel guilty at all—just be brazen about it. After all, it was his money. He could give it to whoever he wanted. Did he really think that if I told him not to give shares to the mistress’s child, he wouldn’t do it? I went along with his performance: “Okay, whatever you say.” This compliance made him much more comfortable. His facial expression visibly relaxed. I thought for a moment and said: “Just don’t let it affect the company.” That night, the mistress sent me a text message, taunting: [Don’t think Ethan isn’t divorcing you because he loves you. It’s just because a divorce would hurt the company!] [Eventually, he’ll definitely divorce you! Even if he doesn’t, my child will still have inheritance rights!] I deleted the message again. Pretended I hadn’t seen it. Because her child would never have inheritance rights.

If the mistress didn’t provoke me, I actually didn’t care about his private romantic life. We’d been married for ten years. The passion had long since faded. Our son was in middle school, our daughter about to graduate elementary school. The two children already took up most of my time and energy. But the mistress had to go find my eldest son. I learned about it when my son called me, saying some woman claimed to be his stepmother. I rushed over immediately. I could be indifferent about everything else, but not my children. Never my children. When I arrived at the school gate, the mistress stood beside my son, smiling triumphantly at me. I walked over and stood in front of my son: “What do you think you’re doing?” The mistress crossed her arms in front of me: “Just letting your son get to know his future stepmother.” “What’s wrong with that? Ethan just isn’t divorcing you yet.” “He promised me he definitely will later.” It involved my son, and potentially the company’s reputation too. After all, this was an expensive private school. The students who attended here came from wealthy families. Several business contracts had been established through connections made via my son’s classmates. Quite a few people were already looking in our direction. I was angry: “Get lost.” Seeing me angry, the mistress backed off instead, laughing: “I never thought Ms. South could lose her temper.” “I thought you were made of paper—that nothing could make you angry.” I was somewhat provoked, and said coldly: “If you don’t leave now, I’ll have someone drag you to the hospital for an abortion.” She panicked: “You wouldn’t dare!” “Ethan won’t let you get away with it.” I raised my chin, lowering my voice threateningly: “If you don’t get lost, the media will show up here instantly and expose you.” “You tell me—what’s more important, you or the company’s reputation?” The mistress panicked. She glared at me resentfully. I knew she wouldn’t let this go, but she also wouldn’t dare act rashly. She was in it for the money. If my husband’s company ran into problems, she’d lose her meal ticket. And my husband would hate her. After the mistress left, I turned to look at my son, my expression complex. My eldest son gestured with his eyes for me to get in the car. Once in the car, he said: “We need to protect my sister. I’m afraid that bad woman will hurt her.” I nodded. I didn’t expect that at dinner that evening, he’d bring it up: “Dad, someone came to find me today and told me to call her stepmother.” My husband immediately guessed who it was, his expression uncomfortable: “She’s crazy. Ignore her. It won’t happen again.” My son nodded calmly: “Okay.” “I don’t want my sister to know.” My husband fled in embarrassment. My son and I exchanged glances without words.

Actually, I’m quite materialistic too. Because I only love money and my children, I’m emotionally stable in my marriage. I don’t care about my husband’s private life outside. But the thing is, my husband is actually a very good man. He doesn’t drink, works hard, even helps take care of the kids. And he respects me. On his office desk, he’s always kept a ceramic cat I made from clay. When we were dating, we visited a ceramics shop, and he wanted something I’d made with my own hands. So I made him a cat. A red-painted cat. The color has faded now, but it still stands firmly on his desk. My daughter loves stickers. Every time she sits in his car, she puts up a few. Even though she’s in elementary school now, if anyone touches those stickers, he gets upset. There’s also a little shoe hanging there. That little shoe, pink and crocheted from yarn. When my daughter was just a few months old, I crocheted it for her to wear for fun. Later, one went missing. He was so disappointed that he just hung it in his car as decoration. My husband is recognized as a good man. Everyone praises how lucky I am to have found such a good man. At every social event, his appearance makes people’s eyes light up. Either with jealousy or with envy. Especially recently, since he started his romance with the mistress, he’s been paying attention to his appearance. Wearing white dress shirts on top, the semi-transparent kind. Faintly revealing his newly developed abs. Tight-fitting dress pants, a belt highlighting his waistline. Red-soled leather shoes. When he walks toward me, there’s actually something seductive about it. Since he stopped loving me, he rarely initiated intimacy. I suppose this time, he felt guilty. And I wasn’t crying or making a scene, so he wanted to use another method to appease me. After an entire night of appeasement, I was indeed satisfied—the mistress had trained him well. But we were only halfway through when he was urgently called away by a phone call from the mistress. Before leaving, he looked especially guilty and uncomfortable. But I could already feel him going soft inside me. It was indeed uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t criticize him: “Go ahead. We can continue when you get back.” He felt even more guilty. Yet guilt didn’t stop his feet from moving. He still left. It seemed my husband was really invested in the mistress. He wouldn’t be coming back tonight. I kind of missed him already. Before long, the mistress sent me several photos. They were explicit images of them in the bathroom together. I replied: [You’re pregnant. Aren’t you afraid of a miscarriage doing something this intense?] She cursed at me angrily several times. I blocked her again. Actually, my husband being like this made me feel relieved. He used to be too good—so good that I’d have nightmares at night. I’d feel anxious. Anxious that a gold-digger like me had actually landed a good man. Now he’d finally cheated. The heart that had been anxious for so many years finally calmed down. Because my two current children weren’t even his.

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At the airport security checkpoint, the security officer asked the routine question: “Are you carrying any prohibited items?” I was about to shake my head when my assistant beside me raised her hand with an innocent expression on her face. “Do blades count? She’s got dozens of them in her suitcase!” As soon as the words left her mouth, the entire area fell deathly silent. The security officer pressed her radio, and security personnel instantly surrounded us like an iron wall. I broke out in a nervous sweat. “I’m a doctor! I’m going to the neighboring state for emergency surgery. My suitcase only contains medical instruments. I have the permits!” “Open it.” The security officer’s face remained expressionless. Inside the bag were neatly arranged surgical scalpels, hemostatic clamps, and a change of clothes. While pointing out each item, I turned back and urged, “Did you bring the medical records?” My assistant Bella kept her head down, her voice like a mosquito’s hum. “I… I brought them.” “What’s this bottle?” The security officer suddenly pointed at a shadow on the screen. Before I could react, Bella spoke up with an innocent expression, shouting loudly: “I already told you gasoline can’t be brought on the plane. Why won’t you listen? Are you planning to blow up the plane or something?” The air froze once again. The security officer’s eyes shifted from suspicion to vigilance. “Please follow us both to the interrogation room.” Hearing this, my mind went blank with a buzzing sound. The patient on the operating table had already been anesthetized, but the lead surgeon was being treated as a suspect at the airport because of her assistant’s loose lips. At this moment, there were eighteen minutes until the boarding gate closed.

“Officer, this is a misunderstanding!” My voice cracked with urgency as my hands gripped the handle of my suitcase desperately. “I’m Chloe, the chief physician at Hope Hospital. There’s a critically ill seven-year-old child waiting for me to save their life!” “There’s absolutely no gasoline in my bag. She’s lying!” Several special police officers had already surrounded us. Although the dark muzzles of their guns weren’t raised, the sense of oppression was suffocating. “Whether it’s a lie or not, anything involving flammable and explosive materials or terrorist statements must be investigated.” The security team leader’s face was cold as he snatched away my boarding pass. “Take them away!” Two female security officers twisted my arms behind my back and forcibly pushed me toward the sealed interrogation room. Looking back, Bella was leisurely following behind. I was so angry my blood felt like it was flowing backward. “Bella! Do you know what you’re doing?!” “That child has massive bleeding in the chest cavity. Every minute of delay could cost them their life!” Bella rolled her eyes and examined her freshly done manicure. “Chloe, aren’t you being a bit overdramatic?” “I was just trying to lighten the mood. How was I supposed to know these people can’t take a joke?” She pointed at the security officer with a grieved expression. “Besides, who told you to check so strictly? I casually mention gasoline and you believe it? No sense of humor at all.” The security team leader’s face turned iron-blue. “Sense of humor?” “Miss, claiming to carry gasoline and blades at an airport constitutes fabricating false terrorist information. That’s a crime!” Bella scoffed. “Stop trying to scare me. My relative is a leader at the Health Bureau. You dare arrest me?” “Let us go quickly, or I’ll file a complaint against you for violent law enforcement!” Her reckless attitude completely enraged the police. The interrogation room door slammed shut. I glanced at the electronic clock on the wall. Ten minutes until takeoff. If I didn’t get on now, it would be too late!

I dropped to my knees with a thud. “Officers, the liquid in the bag is just alcohol. I accept the penalty! Confiscate the alcohol, lock me up afterward if you want!” “But can you please let me board the plane first? I’m a doctor. The neighboring state hospital urgently needs me for surgery. They’re already calling me!” “If you don’t let me board, it’ll be too late!!” The police officer’s eyes changed. He immediately picked up his radio. “Command center, verify the suspect’s identity. If this is a misunderstanding, requesting assistance…” Hearing this, Bella sat in a chair to the side, crossed her legs, and laughed outright. “Officer, let me tell you the truth. She’s not going to the neighboring state for any emergency surgery. She’s fleeing to escape punishment.” The officer’s hand tightened on the radio, his eyes instantly becoming sharp. “Fleeing? Explain yourself!” Bella’s face showed mockery. “Chloe just killed someone on the operating table yesterday. The family members are causing a scene at the hospital right now.” “The hospital issued a notice this morning—suspended pending investigation, medical license to be revoked.” “She’s afraid of going to jail, so she made up an excuse to run away to another place and lay low.” After speaking, she covered her mouth with exaggerated surprise as she looked at me. “Chloe, I didn’t want to expose you. After all, we’ve been colleagues. Several friends even specifically asked me to represent them in seeing you off this time.” “But you can’t use these kind officers’ goodwill as a tool.” As she finished, the security team leader’s face instantly turned as black as the bottom of a pot. “Is what she said true?” Of course Bella was lying. And it was the kind of outrageous lie that could destroy a doctor’s entire career! I stared hard at Bella’s face, trembling with rage. “Bella, I’ve always treated you well—helped you publish papers, shielded you from complaints. Why are you trying to destroy me like this?!” The smile vanished from Bella’s face instantly. She suddenly leaned close to me, grinding her teeth as she spoke in a low voice. “Treated me well?” “Chloe, stop pretending to be a saint!” “Last week when that rich kid from the VIP ward added me on Twitter, why did you confiscate my phone in front of the head nurse?” “And you called me out at the morning meeting, saying I dressed provocatively and didn’t meet medical staff standards?” “You made me lose face, made me unable to hold my head up in front of those interns!” She grew more agitated as she spoke, the malice in her eyes almost overflowing. “You’re the director, so what? You’re an expert, big deal?” “Today I’m going to make sure you can’t leave!” So the reason was this absurd. Simply because I stopped her from flirting with a patient’s family member in a sterile ward, simply because I wanted to maintain departmental discipline. She was willing to sacrifice a seven-year-old child’s life at this critical moment! I laughed bitterly, about to retort. The security team leader’s sharp shout interrupted our confrontation. He had obviously been influenced by Bella’s words, looking at me with eyes full of scrutiny. “Enough! If this involves medical malpractice and fleeing, the situation has changed.” “Confiscate her bag, detain her first, and notify the district police station and Health Bureau to pick her up.” Two female officers immediately stepped forward, gripping my shoulders from left and right. At that moment, the clock on the wall jumped forward. Six minutes left. The boarding gate was about to close! I was losing my mind. Because once the gate closed, even if I could prove my innocence, I wouldn’t make this flight—the only one available. And that child couldn’t wait for the next flight! “I’m not lying! I didn’t kill anyone!” I struggled desperately. “I have evidence! I have proof!” “Let me get my phone! Please let me get my phone!” The security team leader frowned, seemingly impatient with my resistance. “Settle down! You’ll get your chance to talk at the police station!” “There’s no time! It’s a life at stake!” Tears and mucus covered my face. I had completely lost the dignity of a chief physician. “I need my phone! Let me look at my phone! Just one look!” “If it’s fake, you can shoot me right here!”

Perhaps the desperation in my eyes was too real. The young officer who had been observing me grabbed the team leader’s arm. “Team leader, let her.” “What if… what if it’s true?” The team leader was silent for two seconds, then snorted coldly and let go. “Watch her. Don’t let her delete anything.” With trembling hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket. As soon as the screen lit up, countless red notifications popped up. All from the director of the neighboring state’s Central Hospital. I frantically opened the conversation and held the phone screen up to the officers. “Look… please look!” “This is the Twitter account of the neighboring state Central Hospital director!” “This is the child’s medical record!” “These are real-time surveillance screenshots from their operating room!” I cried while scrolling through the screen, my voice breaking. The officer frowned, half-believing as he took the phone and randomly clicked on the most recent long voice message. The next second, an elderly voice came through. “Chloe! The child’s heart rate has dropped to 40! Blood pressure can’t be measured!” “There’s too much pleural effusion compressing the heart. We have to open the chest!” “But no one dares to do this surgery except you! The blood vessels are too thin. One tremor and it’s a massive hemorrhage!” “All the hospital’s experts are here watching, all waiting for you alone!” “Chloe! I’m begging you! Please hurry!” In the background, you could hear a nurse’s anxious shouts: “Epinephrine injection complete! Heart rate still dropping!” The voice message stopped. The entire interrogation room once again fell into dead silence. But this time, it wasn’t from suspicion. The security team leader’s expression changed. He instinctively looked at the clock on the wall. Four minutes left. My eyes were red as I stared hard into the officer’s eyes. “Officer, this isn’t a recording. This was sent twenty minutes ago.” “I’m not acting either. I’m begging you… let me go…” The security team leader, who had been so firm just moments ago, moved his lips as if wanting to say something. The suspicion in his eyes looking at me was rapidly fading. However, just as I thought I could leave smoothly, Bella’s shrill voice rang out again. “Pfft.” She covered her mouth, laughing so hard she could barely stand. “Chloe, you really went all out with this performance.” “Where did you hire this actor? The director? That old guy’s voice imitation is pretty good.” “You even prepared background audio? Must have spent quite a bit of money.” She leisurely walked up to the officer, pointing at my phone with utter disdain. “These days, fraud software is so advanced.” “You can buy a bunch of these voice generators online for a hundred bucks.” “The background audio is just downloaded material from the internet.” “If she was really so urgent, why didn’t she show this earlier? Why wait until now?” “She obviously just made this up on the spot, trying to fool you!” “Besides, if the surgery was really this urgent, that hospital would have sent a helicopter by now. They wouldn’t make her take a commercial flight, would they?” “The logic doesn’t even make sense. Only laypeople would fall for this.” Bella became more pleased with herself as she spoke. She turned to look at me, her eyes full of provocation. “Chloe, to avoid responsibility for medical malpractice, you’d even fake a critical condition notice.” “Do you have any medical ethics left?” “You’re the scum of the medical profession!” The security team leader, who had just been about to let go, became uncertain again because of these words. He was getting annoyed and ordered directly: “Continue interrogating both of them! Hurry up and verify Chloe’s real identity!”

In the interrogation room, I stared hard at that exquisitely made-up face before me. Bella was someone the director had forced on me—someone with family connections. Normally, I tolerated her slacking off during work and just clocking in and out. When she handed me the wrong clamp in the operating room or wrote incorrect medical records, I covered for her too. But I never imagined her humanity could be extinguished to this degree! Originally, the hospital had planned to send a helicopter for this surgery, but somehow Bella had said something to the director, and the hospital changed it to having me take a commercial flight. “Bella, that’s a human life!” “You studied medicine too. Did a dog eat your conscience?!” “What exactly are you trying to do!” Bella sneered and took out her compact to touch up her makeup. “I’m just here to build my resume. In a couple years I’ll be promoted to deputy director.” “Who’s like you, stupidly risking your life? Now look—you can’t make the flight, right? Perfect. If I go back now, I can still make it to my date with my senior.” “Shopping and dating? Just because of this?” I forced these words out through clenched teeth. Bella nodded matter-of-factly and took out a mirror to check her eyeliner. “What else! Some dead kid who’s nothing to me, compared to my lifelong happiness—I know which matters more.” She even winked at me. “Chloe, you should actually thank me.” “After all, that surgery only had a 20% success rate. Dying on the table and then having to write a review—so unlucky.” I was about to retort angrily when I heard a loud “bang” as the interrogation room door was thrown open. The person who entered was the criminal police captain. He turned to look at me, his tone somewhat gentler. “Chloe, we’ve verified your identity. You are a national special subsidy expert, and you do have filing records for carrying surgical instruments.” A glimmer of hope lit in my eyes. “Can I leave now?” The captain glanced at the clock on the wall, his eyes showing some reluctance. “The tower just notified us that the flight to the neighboring state took off three minutes ago.” Hearing this news, my legs gave out and I collapsed into a chair. Bella picked up her phone, brushed off the dust, her tone light. “Chloe, now you can give up, right? Come on, let’s go. I’ll treat you to a spa to cool down your temper.” I ignored her. At the same time, my phone rang. It was a video call request from the intensive care unit at the neighboring state hospital. With trembling hands, I answered. On the screen was a panicked face. “Chloe! Chloe, where are you?!” The director on the other end was covered in sweat, his eyes bloodshot. My eyes reddened too. I wanted to apologize, to say I couldn’t make the flight, to say I was sorry. But the words stuck in my throat. I couldn’t get them out. But the other end continued speaking. The camera shifted to focus on the operating table. The director roared furiously: “Chloe! You clearly said you could make it here for the surgery! Do you know that because of your delay, this child just had a massive hemorrhage and died!” My head buzzed. My mouth hung open, my face covered in tears. Five hundred miles, no plane—how could I get there?! Just then, Bella beside me suddenly spoke up: “So noisy! It’s just a dead kid! Is it worth dragging the whole hospital into mourning! People die on operating tables every day!” The director looked at Bella furiously. “Shut up! What are you to say such things!” “This child was the long-lost grandson of a military region commander!” “This time, everyone involved in this surgery won’t escape consequences!”

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After my miscarriage, my abdomen felt like it had been crushed by a truck. My husband William walked in wearing his white coat. He pulled off his gloves while coldly informing me: “It’s good this baby’s gone. Now we can remove part of your uterus and transplant it to Juliet.” I thought I’d misheard. I weakly asked: “What did you say? Who’s Juliet?” His eyes held no warmth, as if looking at an organ container: “My first love. She has congenital underdeveloped uterus and can’t be a mother. You have a good constitution. We won’t be having children anyway, so you might as well help her out.” I struggled to sit up, disbelief filling my eyes: “William, I’m your wife! You want me to give my organs to your old flame?” He pressed down on my shoulder, his tone brooking no argument: “This is the medically optimal solution. It’s also your chance to atone.” “Atone? What did I do wrong?” He looked down at me from above, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses: “You’ve occupied the position that should have been hers for five years. That’s your mistake. I’ve already signed the surgical consent form for you. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll stop your father’s medication tomorrow.” I lay on the cold operating table, staring at the blinding surgical light overhead. So in his heart, I wasn’t even a person. Just a spare parts warehouse.

After William said this, he threw the surgical informed consent form directly in my face. The sharp edge of the paper cut across my cheek, stinging painfully. The pen tip nearly blinded my eye. I ignored the pain on my face and desperately grabbed the hem of his white coat. “William, are you insane? I just had a miscarriage! That was our child!” “Doing a transplant surgery now—do you want me to die on the operating table?” William slapped my hand away in disgust, as if brushing off something dirty. “You won’t die. I’m the lead surgeon. I know what I’m doing.” “Besides, that embryo wasn’t viable anyway. It’s better that it’s gone.” “Juliet can’t wait any longer. Her birthday is next month. This is my gift to her.” A gift? Using my organs to please his first love? I trembled all over, whether from anger or cold, I couldn’t tell. “I won’t sign! I’ll call the police! This is intentional harm!” William let out a cold laugh, the look of someone superior regarding an ant. “Call the police? I’m your legal husband and your attending physician.” “I have the right to decide your treatment plan.” “And by the way, did you forget? Your father is still lying in the ICU.” At the mention of my father, I fell silent like a chicken with its throat squeezed. William was satisfied with my reaction. He unhurriedly pulled out his phone. “Your father’s medical expenses are twelve thousand dollars a day. It’s only through my connections that he’s in the special care ward.” “With just one phone call, he’ll be thrown into the hallway tonight.” “Want to try it?” I bit through my lip. The taste of blood spread through my mouth. Five years ago, I was a prodigy at medical school. He was a poor boy living on financial aid. To support him through his doctoral studies, I gave up graduate school to sell insurance and wait tables. I worked three jobs a day. My hands were corroded by dish soap. Back then, he carried me on his back through the snow when I had a fever, swearing he’d protect me for life. Now, wearing the designer shirt I bought him, he wanted to take me apart and give me away. “William, did a dog eat your conscience?”

“I supported your education, supported your whole family. Is this how you repay me?” William’s face darkened, as if I’d touched a nerve. “Shut up! That was all your wishful thinking, your self-indulgent delusion!” “If you hadn’t desperately clung to me, Juliet and I would have been married long ago!” “You’re just a burden. Besides cooking and washing clothes, what else can you do?” “Juliet is different. She’s George’s daughter. She can advance my career.” “Giving her your uterus is the greatest value you’ll have in this life.” Just then, the hospital room door was pushed open. A nurse came in with a medication cart. Seeing the tense atmosphere, she didn’t dare speak. William resumed his sanctimonious appearance. “Change the dressing for bed 3. Also prepare her for surgery. First case tomorrow morning.” The nurse hesitated: “Dr. William, bed 3 just had a D&C procedure. Her vital signs…” “Do as I say!” William barked. The nurse flinched and quickly nodded. William pulled back my blanket in front of the outsider. Without any respect, as if examining a piece of pork. “Recovery looks fine. Won’t affect the extraction.” Extraction. Was I a package? The overwhelming humiliation made me want to scream, but I couldn’t make a sound. Because I saw a wheelchair had stopped at the doorway. A woman sat in it, smiling at me. That was Juliet. I’d only seen her photo in the inner fold of William’s wallet. It was an old photo from many years ago. The girl in the photo looked as pure as a white flower. The current Juliet wore a hospital gown. Though sitting in a wheelchair, her complexion was rosy. She even looked healthier than me, who had just miscarried. The moment William saw her, he changed his expression completely, becoming tender enough to melt. “Juliet, why did you come? There are bacteria here. Don’t get infected.” Juliet coyly extended her hand, letting William help her. “William, I was worried about Lena. Lena just lost her baby. She must be devastated. I wanted to see her.” She had William push the wheelchair to my bedside. I smelled her expensive perfume—the one William had bought with my card last week. Juliet grabbed my hand. Tears came instantly. “Lena, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. My body is useless.” “I just want to give William a child so badly.” “Since you can’t have one, just let me borrow your uterus. You don’t need it anymore anyway.” Borrow? Could such a thing be borrowed? I looked at her fake face, nausea churning in my stomach. “Get out! Don’t touch me!” I used all my strength to shake off her hand. Juliet fell backward deliberately, collapsing to the floor with a cry. “Oh! That hurts!” “Juliet!” William rushed over to lift her up, then turned and slapped me across the face. “Smack!” The slap was brutal. It hit me so hard that my post-surgical abdomen cramped violently. My vision went black. “Lena! You vicious woman! Juliet came to see you out of kindness, and you pushed her!” I covered my face, my ears ringing. “She’s faking… William, are you blind? She’s not even sick!” I hadn’t used any force in that shake. And her pulse was strong and powerful, her palm warm. She wasn’t someone with congenital disease at all. I studied medicine. I still had that much judgment. William didn’t listen at all. He carefully lifted Juliet back into the wheelchair. “If anything happens to Juliet, I’ll take your life!”

Juliet curled up in William’s arms, sobbing: “William, don’t blame Lena. She’s probably just too jealous of me.” “After all, I’m the one you’re going to marry. She’s just a transition.” William tenderly wiped away her tears. “What transition? She’s just a housekeeper.” Then he took out his phone and, right in front of me, called my father’s attending physician on speakerphone. “Hello, this is William.” “Stop the ventilator for half an hour.” The doctor’s hesitant voice came through: “William, this… the patient can’t survive without the ventilator. Half an hour will be fatal.” William looked at me, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Do as I say. If anything happens, I’ll take responsibility. Or rather, this is the family’s request.” The call ended. Less than a minute later, the alarm from the monitoring equipment in my father’s room echoed down the hallway. It was a countdown to death. “No! William, you bastard!” I broke down crying. Ignoring the severe pain in my abdomen, I knelt on the bed and kowtowed to him. “Please! Don’t hurt my father! I’ll sign! I’ll sign!” “I’ll give you whatever you want! Please don’t stop his medication!” Dignity? In the face of a loved one’s life, dignity was worthless. William was satisfied with my submission. He hung up and ordered the oxygen restored. Then he patted my face from above, like patting an obedient dog. “Wouldn’t this have been easier from the start?” “Eight o’clock tomorrow morning in the OR. Make sure you’re clean.” “I don’t like dirty things.” Juliet covered her mouth and laughed: “Lena is so understanding. Thank you for your sacrifice.” They left. Leaving me alone in the darkness, listening to my father’s weak heartbeat from the end of the hallway. In that moment, the Lena in my heart died. I kept my eyes open all night until dawn. Like a movie playing in my mind, all the moments from these five years. To save money to buy him medical textbooks, I bought the cheapest sanitary pads. When he published his first paper, I was happier than him. I treated everyone in the lab to dinner. Back then he said: “Lena, when I become a renowned doctor, the first thing I’ll do is cure Dad.” Turns out, it was all a lie. From the beginning, I was the “drawback” after he weighed the pros and cons. Six o’clock the next morning. William brought a group of medical interns for rounds. He was high-spirited, his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting cold light, showing no trace of last night’s ferocity. “Everyone, today we’ll discuss a special case.” He pointed at me, as if introducing an object. “Patient Lena, habitual miscarriage due to uterine malformation. She has a strong desire to donate.” “We will perform a highly difficult partial uterine transplant surgery.” “The recipient is a young woman with congenital uterine underdevelopment.” The interns took notes, pens scratching away. Someone muttered quietly: “This is a living donor transplant. Did it pass ethical review?” William glanced coolly at that person. “Family signatures are complete. The patient herself strongly requested to atone… oh no, to contribute.” He deliberately misspoke, causing whispers among those around. Those gazes fell on me. Probing, contemptuous, and pitying. As if I were a soulless medical specimen, a piece of meat awaiting slaughter. I gripped the bedsheet tightly, my nails breaking into my flesh. “William, you’re lying!”

I shouted with a hoarse voice. “I’m not willing! You forced me! You were going to kill my father!” The scene fell deathly silent. The interns looked at each other, their pens stopped. William’s expression didn’t change. He even shook his head with a hint of regret. He pulled out a paper from the medical chart. “After the miscarriage, the patient developed severe delusional disorder. She’s emotionally unstable and aggressive.” “This is the psychiatric evaluation report from last night.” He displayed the forged report for everyone to see. “She constantly imagines someone is trying to harm her father. In fact, her father is already brain dead. We’ve just been maintaining him.” Public opinion reversed instantly. Everyone looked at me like I was insane. “So she’s crazy. No wonder.” “William really has it tough, having to care for a crazy wife.” “So pitiful. She doesn’t even know she miscarried.” I opened my mouth wide, wanting to explain, but found words so powerless. In this world of authority constructed by white coats, I was just a madwoman. William waved his hand: “The patient is agitated. Administer a sedative.” Two male orderlies rushed up and pinned me down, one on each side. A cold needle pierced my neck. “Let me go… William… may you die a horrible death…” The medication took effect quickly. My vision began to blur, my tongue grew thick. In my daze, I saw Juliet standing at the door. She wasn’t in the wheelchair—she stood perfectly straight. She mouthed words to me: “Idiot.” Then, while the interns were leaving, she slipped in. She pinched my IV tube with her sharp nails until the tube was flattened. “Lena, actually I’m not sick at all.” She whispered in my ear, like a serpent’s hiss. “My uterus is perfectly fine. I just don’t want to give birth myself. Afraid of pain, afraid of ruining my figure.” “William said your uterus is well-maintained. Perfect for me to use.” “He also said you reek of cooking oil and have disgusted him for a long time.” “Only I am his muse.” My whole body was limp, unable to move, but I didn’t close my eyes. I bit through the tip of my tongue. The sharp pain kept me barely conscious. Blood flowed down from the corner of my mouth. Juliet, William. As long as I don’t die, I will skin you alive and pull out your tendons. All the suffering I’ve endured—I’ll return it to you a thousandfold! The sedative dosage wasn’t enough. Or rather, hatred gave me drug resistance. During the nurses’ shift change, using my former medical knowledge, I pulled out the needle. Blood droplets splattered on the floor like red plum blossoms. I stole an intern’s white coat, put on a mask, and stumbled out of the room. I had to take my father away. Even if I died on the road, I couldn’t let him fall into the hands of this pair of dogs. My father’s ICU was upstairs. I held onto the wall, shuffling step by step. Each step felt like a knife twisting in my lower body. Finally, I reached that familiar door. My hand had just touched the doorknob when I heard voices inside. “William, do we really need to keep Lena’s father around?” It was Juliet’s voice. “The ventilator is so noisy. It’s giving me a headache.” Then came William’s voice, cold as ice. “Originally we could drag it out a few more days to control Lena.” “But since the surgery is happening anyway, this old thing is useless now.” “Plus, his little pension isn’t even enough to cover the special care fees.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “367823”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #重生Reborn #现实主义Realistic