To save Alfred Moran, who had been diagnosed with cancer, I bound myself to a “Pain Transfer System.” All the suffering he endured would be transferred to me. For three years, he thrived, his career soared, and he became a celebrated new titan of industry. Meanwhile, I became what he called a “frail little thing who gets winded after a few steps and blown over by a breeze.” He grew increasingly fed up with me. Finally, the day he secured a billion-dollar project, he brought home his childhood sweetheart. “Lilith Winters, let’s break up. I’m sick of your half-dead appearance.” “Look at you, always on medication or lying around, utterly useless!” I nodded, my voice soft. “Alright.” 【Ding! Binding severed. Three years of accumulated pain now being processed.】 Alfred instantly collapsed, letting out a horrific scream, his body contorting like a shrimp. A shimmering screen, visible only to us, unfurled before him. 【1095 days of late-stage bone cancer pain, fully returned.】 【Host Lilith Winters, you have received the entirety of his life force. Wishing you good health.】 1 The icy mechanical voice echoed in my mind. The next second, Alfred’s handsome face, previously etched with impatience and disgust, twisted into a grotesque mask of agony. He fell straight to his knees, his forehead slamming against the polished floor with a dull, sickening thud. “Ah—!” A shriek, utterly inhuman, tore from his throat, ripping through the air. He curled into a ball, convulsing and contorting like a shrimp tossed into boiling oil, veins bulging from his neck all the way to his temples, threatening to burst. “Alfred! What’s wrong? Alfred!” Vivian Summers’ face went ashen. She screamed, lunging to help him, but his flailing arm violently shoved her away, sending her sprawling. “Get away! Don’t touch me!” Alfred’s eyes were bloodshot, sweat instantly soaking his expensive bespoke suit. “It hurts…it hurts so much! My bones…my bones are breaking!” I stood my ground, watching him with detached indifference. For three years, this bone-deep agony—every single second feeling like countless red-hot needles churning in my marrow—had been my daily reality. To spare him worry, I never cried out. Instead, I’d bite my lips till they were bloodless, in corners where he couldn’t see. Now, I felt an unprecedented lightness. That cold, incessant ache that had plagued my body day and night receded like a tide, leaving behind a refreshing void. I could even distinctly feel a warm, vital energy flooding into my body, nourishing every muscle and bone. I tried taking a deep breath; no longer did my lungs burn with a searing pain. The air was crisp and clean. I flexed my wrist; my joints no longer creaked with that teeth-grinding crunch. They moved with fluid grace. I was healthy. A shimmering, ethereal blue screen, visible only to Alfred and me, slowly unfolded before him. 【1095 days of late-stage bone cancer pain, fully returned.】 【Host Lilith Winters, you have received the entirety of his life force. Wishing you good health.】 Alfred’s pupils contracted sharply. He stared fixedly at the text, then snapped his head up to look at me, his eyes wide with an incomprehensible terror. “It’s…it’s you, Lilith! What have you done to me?!” He spat the words through clenched teeth, his voice trembling uncontrollably, laced with desperate fear. Vivian scrambled over, tears streaming down her face as she shielded Alfred. She wailed at me, “Lilith! I know you hate me, hate Alfred for choosing me! But how could you use such wicked magic to hurt him! Stop it! Please, I beg you!” She turned to Alfred, weeping melodramatically, “Alfred, bear with it, I’ll call an ambulance right away! It’s all my fault; if I hadn’t come back, Lilith wouldn’t have done this out of jealousy…” What a grand performance from such a manipulative hypocrite. I looked down at them—one writhing and howling on the floor, the other feigning tears and taking false responsibility. The scene was funnier than any comedy, laced with bitter irony. I chuckled softly, flexing my long-dormant, now powerful ankles. My whole body felt alive again. “Alfred, this isn’t magic. This is science.” “It’s your own cancer cells, saying hello.” “Can…cancer cells?” Alfred froze, the color draining completely from his face, leaving him pale and terrified. “You’re talking nonsense! I was cured three years ago! My medical reports were all clear!” “Yes, all clear. Because all your cancer cells, all your pain, were transferred to me.” “Your three years of success and vitality? You built them on my broken bones.” “And you’re right, I was pretty useless for those three years.” I straightened up, surveying the apartment I had personally decorated, now destined for a new owner. The air held a faint, undefinable scent of decay. “Now, this ‘useless’ me, I’m done playing your game.” Alfred’s mind seemed to have shut down. He just stared at me, his lips moving, but no words came out, as if he were frozen. Vivian continued to shriek, “You maniac! You psycho! Alfred is perfectly healthy! You’re just jealous! You evil woman!” I couldn’t be bothered with them anymore. I turned and walked to the door. “Lilith! Stop!” Alfred shrieked with all his might, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Explain yourself! What do you mean ‘transferred’? Get back here!” I didn’t look back. I opened the door, closed it, and completely shut out the screams and cries of that pathetic duo, as if sealing away a nightmare. Stepping out of the apartment building, the cool night breeze caressed my face, but I felt an immense warmth and freedom, like being reborn. Finally, I was no longer the sickly wretch whose every breath was agony. 2 I didn’t go far, just to the convenience store across from the complex, and bought an ice-cold can of cola. Pulling the tab, bubbles rushed out, hissing enticingly. I tilted my head back and took a long swig. The icy liquid slid down my throat, carrying a stimulating sweetness that spread through my stomach, igniting every cell in my body. For three years, to avoid irritating my frail body, I had given up all cold, spicy, and raw foods. My diet was blander than a monk’s, as uninteresting as plain water. Alfred always said, “Lilith, be good, it’s for your health.” Looking back now, it was utterly ironic. The convenience store’s glass window faced the complex entrance. Soon after, an ambulance wailed into view, then sped away, its flashing lights a grim, ominous sign in the night. I figured Alfred was on his way to the hospital by now. Bone cancer pain is a maximum Level 10, comparable to childbirth—a tearing, excruciating agony. And what he was enduring now was three years’ worth of concentrated, non-stop Level 10 pain. I wondered how long his arrogant pride would last, or if it would be utterly crushed. My phone began to vibrate wildly. It was Alfred’s assistant, Jonathan Black. I ignored the call and blocked the number. Next, it was Alfred’s mother, Mrs. Moran. I looked at the number, my thoughts drifting back four years. Back then, Alfred was the least favored illegitimate child of the Moran family. He had just been diagnosed with late-stage bone cancer; doctors said he wouldn’t live six months without painful and expensive chemotherapy. The Moran family abandoned him immediately, kicking him out of the house and cutting off all his cards. When I met him, he was being evicted by his landlord, standing on the street in pouring rain, clutching a cardboard box, dishevelled and utterly defeated, his eyes devoid of light. His pale face was bloodless, his gaze vacant, as if his soul had been sucked out. At that time, I was a moderately successful illustrator, having just won a substantial international art award. My future was bright and promising. On a whim, I walked up to him and held an umbrella over his head, shielding him from the cold drops. “Are you…alright?” He looked up, his dark, deep-set eyes meeting mine, wary and distant, like a wounded animal. “Do you need help?” I asked. He said nothing, just clutched the cardboard box tighter, his knuckles white. That day, I took him home. He thought I was a con artist with ulterior motives, defensive and prickly. I didn’t explain. I just cooked for him every day, talked to him, took him to art galleries and concerts, slowly melting the ice around his heart. I told him, “Alfred, death isn’t that scary. What’s scary is not truly living before you die.” On a beautiful, sunny afternoon, he finally opened up to me. He told me he had cancer, that he was dying. He said he didn’t want to die so painfully, didn’t want to lose all his hair during chemo and become an ugly monster. That night, I held him as he cried brokenly for hours, my heart aching. And that very night, the Pain Transfer System found me. 【Bind Alfred Moran. All his ailments can be transferred to you, at the cost of your health. Do you accept?】 I barely hesitated, his desperate, suffering face flashing before my eyes. “I accept.” The next day, Alfred’s test results came back: his cancer cells had miraculously vanished. He was ecstatic, spinning me around in his arms, calling me his lucky star, his salvation. Mrs. Moran showed up around that time too. She looked at her cured son, then at me, her eyes filled with scrutiny and disdain. “Tell me, how much will it take for you to leave my son?” Alfred exploded with anger on the spot. He stepped in front of me like a protective lion. “Mom! Lilith isn’t like that! She’s the only woman I’ll ever marry!” That was the first, and only, time I received such a firm promise from him, like an eternal vow. Later, using his exceptional abilities, he returned to Moran Group, rose quickly through the ranks, and eventually became CEO. Meanwhile, my health deteriorated day by day, like a flower whose nutrients were being drained. At first, he worried about me, taking me to every major hospital, seeking out renowned doctors. But all the tests showed I was perfectly normal, which left him confused and increasingly impatient. Gradually, his patience wore thin. He started to think I was feigning illness, being overly dramatic, dragging down his progress, a blemish on his otherwise brilliant life. Until Vivian Summers appeared, becoming the final straw that broke our relationship. “Ding-a-ling.” The convenience store door chimed, interrupting my memories. Mrs. Moran, dressed in a Chanel suit, flanked by two bodyguards, marched towards me, her face alight with arrogance and fury. Her well-maintained face was ablaze with anger. She slammed an envelope onto the table in front of me, making a crisp sound. “Lilith Winters! You jinx! Here’s a million dollars, now get out of A City immediately and never show your face to Alfred again!” 3 I unhurriedly finished the last sip of my cola, then accurately tossed the empty can into a nearby bin with a soft clunk. Only then did I look up at Mrs. Moran, my gaze calm as a deep pool. “Mrs. Moran, long time no see. Still as fiery as ever, I see.” Mrs. Moran was clearly unprepared for my reaction. She’d expected me to either timidly apologize or pale and offer explanations, as I used to. She paused, then her anger flared hotter, her cheeks flushing. “You have the nerve to say that! Alfred ended up in the emergency room right after breaking up with you! Doctors say he’s in excruciating pain, but they can’t find a cause! Did you, you poisoner, do this?!” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? He ends up in the ER after a breakup? Mr. Moran’s constitution must be awfully delicate. So, should I understand that Mr. Moran loves me so much he can’t live without me, and is literally dying from a breakup?” “You…you’re talking nonsense!” Mrs. Moran’s chest heaved violently, like a bellows. “Alfred loves Vivian! If it weren’t for you clinging to him, they’d have ridden off into the sunset long ago!” “Mrs. Moran, have you forgotten who knelt and begged me not to leave Alfred?” Mrs. Moran’s face instantly turned ghastly pale, like white paper. That was shortly after the system binding. Alfred’s miraculous recovery had caused a huge stir in the Moran family. They had brought in countless renowned doctors and experts, none of whom could explain the medical miracle. Finally, they called in a spiritual medium named Samuel. Samuel circled Alfred and me a few times, then pointed at me and declared, “This young lady is Mr. Moran’s destined benefactor. With her, Mr. Moran will have a smooth and prosperous life, free from illness. Should she leave, Mr. Moran’s luck will run out, and there will be a severe backlash with dire consequences.” From that day on, the Moran family’s attitude towards me did a complete U-turn. Mrs. Moran herself came to my door, taking my hand, abandoning her usual harshness, and tearfully implored me to stay by Alfred’s side. “Lilith, dear, I was wrong before, I apologize. As long as you stay with Alfred, you’ll be the future lady of the Moran family!” Thinking back, they didn’t believe in me as a person, but in the identity of a destined benefactor, like a lucky charm. Now, Alfred was successful, and I had become a sickly burden. They likely felt my value as a benefactor had expired, and I could be discarded at will. “Why bring up the past!” Mrs. Moran’s eyes darted away as she tried to save face, her voice sharp. “That was then, this is now! You’re a liability! You’ll only hold Alfred back!” “I’m sorry, Auntie,” a frail voice came from behind Mrs. Moran. Vivian Summers emerged, her eyes red-rimmed and tearful. “It’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have let Alfred break up with Lilith for me. Auntie, don’t blame Lilith; she’s just not thinking straight…” As she spoke, she made a show of trying to take my hand, her fingers cold. “Lilith, please, just say something to Alfred. The doctors say he has a strong will to live, but he won’t listen to anyone right now, just keeps calling your name… He’s barely hanging on!” I subtly shifted my hand, avoiding her touch, as if evading a viper. “Oh really? Wasn’t he sick of my half-dead appearance? What, now that he’s the one half-dead, he remembers me?” My words were like a thorn, piercing Vivian’s composure. Her face paled, and a flicker of panic crossed her eyes. She bit her lip, tears streaming down her face, looking utterly wronged, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice. “Lilith, how can you say that… Alfred is just so tired, he doesn’t not love you, he just…” “He just loves your fresh face and the status you bring him more, doesn’t he?” I cut her off, mercilessly exposing her hypocrisy. Vivian’s father was a key partner in Alfred’s billion-dollar project, which was one of the reasons Alfred felt emboldened to cast me aside so shamelessly. Vivian’s face cycled between green and white; she was speechless, as if choked. Seeing this, Mrs. Moran immediately shielded Vivian, pointing a finger at my nose. “Lilith Winters! Don’t push your luck! The Moran family owes you nothing! You’ve eaten and used enough of our resources these past three years! Now take the money and get out! Or don’t blame me for being less than civil!” “Less than civil? How exactly do you plan to be ‘less than civil’? Like three years ago, when you had someone tie me up and throw me into the ocean?” Mrs. Moran’s pupils abruptly constricted. Her face went deathly pale. She had done that deed in utmost secrecy, believing it to be flawless. I watched her terrified face, my smile growing wider, a hint of chill in its depths. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Moran. I have no interest in the Moran family, or Alfred, anymore.” “I’m just here to tell you one thing.” “Go back and tell Alfred: his good days are over.” With that, I didn’t spare her pale face another glance. I walked past her, pushed open the door, and exited, like a free breeze. Outside, a black Bentley was parked. The window rolled down, revealing a handsome but slightly fatigued face. It was Alfred’s rival, another business titan of A City: Lucius Carter. He looked at me, his eyes complex, carrying an indefinable mixture of inquiry and pity. “Get in, I’ll drive you.”

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Roxy North was the entertainment industry’s resident tough girl. When she was photographed getting a little too friendly with several male celebrities, her response was sharp: “We’re just bros. A dirty mind sees dirt everywhere.” When the tabloids caught her seemingly breaking up the golden couple—A-list actor Owen Scott and the angelic Isabella Vance—she scoffed. “He’s like a brother to me. Girls are always so dramatic and suspicious. That’s why I can’t hang out with them.” Not long after, my sister, Isabella, tried to kill herself. Hounded by reporters, Roxy turned the tables. “What does her suicide have to do with me? Don’t try to pin this on me just to squeeze some money out of it.” Owen was crucified online, branded a two-timing cheat. My sister was dragged for being a drama queen who brought it on herself. Even my family was cyberbullied, accused of faking our grief for a payout. Through it all, Roxy’s tough-girl persona held strong. She built her fame on my sister’s grave, capitalizing on the tragedy to become a household name. Three years later, I entered the industry, my face an uncanny reflection of the sister I had lost. And now, I was on a reality show with Roxy North. 1 The moment the cast for the new challenge-based reality show was revealed, the internet exploded. “Whoa, that face… she’s a dead ringer for Isabella Vance!” “Is this what they mean by a ghost from the past? The resemblance is insane!” “My heart just stopped. For a second, I thought my angel was back. The likeness is unreal.” “It’s not just her face. Even her name is similar.” “Wait, isn’t Roxy North on this season too? Oh, this is going to be good.” “My girl Roxy is on the show! I’m so here for this!” Roxy’s reputation preceded her. Three years ago, she and the heartthrob Owen Scott were on a dating show. Her edgy, no-nonsense attitude next to his gentle, humble demeanor created a shipping frenzy. After the show wrapped, paparazzi snapped them together constantly. She’d visit his movie sets; they’d be seen entering the same hotel, one after the other. Shippers dug up photos of them wearing matching bracelets and using identical phone cases. They even found vacation photos, posted separately, that were clearly taken in the same spot. The final nail in the coffin was a picture Roxy posted on her social media: a thermos of steaming hot chicken soup. The caption read, “Thanks to a certain someone for the homemade broth.” That post sent their names trending worldwide. The shippers went wild. “OH MY GOD, MY SHIP IS REAL!” “Is this it? Is this the official announcement?” “I love this dynamic. She’s the powerhouse, and he’s the supportive one at home. Roxy is such a boss!” But Owen, the supposed other half of this romance, repeatedly set the record straight. “Please don’t believe everything you read online. Ms. North and I are just colleagues.” Every time he did, Roxy would be the first to comment. “Don’t listen to the rumors, guys. I see Owen as a brother, and we work for the same agency. It’s not what you think.” Her non-denial denials only fanned the flames. “We get it, the studio won’t let you go public!” “Owen, why are you so shy? Be a man like Roxy!” “‘Just colleagues.’ Riiight. Suuuure.” As their fame skyrocketed, a bombshell dropped: Owen was already living with someone. That someone was my sister, the ethereal beauty, Isabella Vance. Isabella had been by his side since the beginning, long before he won his first major award eight years ago. Fans quickly realized all the “couple’s items” Owen owned were actually matching sets with Isabella, not Roxy. The shippers couldn’t handle it. They turned on Owen, savaging him for leading them on. They launched a brutal hate campaign against Isabella. Owen tried to fight back, releasing photos and statements proving he and Isabella were the real couple. But to his heartbroken fans, it was all lies. His attempts only enraged them further. Buried under an avalanche of online hate and real-world doxing, Isabella sank into a deep depression and retired from acting. But the harassment didn’t stop. Someone leaked her home address. Tormented by strangers at her door, Isabella finally broke. She slit her wrists, ending her life. Devastated, Owen quit the industry and vanished from public life. And Roxy, the third point in this tragic triangle, faced the cameras with tears in her eyes, playing the innocent victim. “I’ve always been one of the guys, that’s just who I am. What does her suicide have to do with me? I’m a victim here too, you know. Don’t abandon your conscience just to get a payout.” She was talking about my family, implying our fight for justice was nothing but a cash grab. Roxy took a six-month “healing” break, while the world condemned my sister for being weak and Owen for being a cheater. When Roxy returned, her fanbase hadn’t just recovered; it had grown. She had successfully profited from a tragedy, her tough-girl image stronger than ever. She used every handsome co-star as a stepping stone, manufacturing rumors to climb higher and higher. And now, here we were, Roxy and I, standing together in front of the cameras. When the producer yelled, “Let the challenge begin!” I heard a death knell tolling. It was for Roxy. Your time is up, Roxy. This is where your story ends. 2 The first event was a three-round challenge. In the first round, we’d draw lots. Whatever we drew, we had to touch it, blindfolded, for a full minute to win. The loser would face a penalty. There were supposed to be three female contestants, but one dropped out due to illness. Roxy, her competitive streak showing, immediately picked me as her opponent. Beating the new girl who looked so much like her old rival would be a satisfying victory for her. As we prepped, she shot me a smug look, chin high. “Annabelle, honey, I know you’re new here, but a competition is a competition. I won’t go easy on you.” My face was a mask of indifference. I gave her a look one might reserve for a particularly stupid insect. Then, I turned to a staffer and asked for a blindfold, slipping it over my eyes without another word. I was afraid another look at her would make me puke. The show was broadcasting live, every move captured for the world to see. The comments section was already buzzing. “Roxy’s competitive fire is on full display! Go, girl!” “She’s so focused this time. I feel bad for the other girl, she might actually cry if she loses.” “What’s with this Annabelle girl’s attitude? Roxy is a veteran. Show some respect.” “People like her don’t last long in this business.” My coldness seemed to momentarily throw Roxy off, but it only fueled her desire to win. “See? This is why I don’t get along with girls,” she said, loud enough for the mics to pick up. “But I’m not like those guys who go soft on a pretty face. Don’t come crying to me when you lose.” She waved a hand, letting a crew member tie on her blindfold before striding to the table with feigned confidence. If I hadn’t overheard her bribing the director’s assistant for an easy draw, I might have actually believed she was fearless. But she had no idea this show, and its director, David Shaw, were famous for one thing: authenticity. Shaw was notoriously fair and unbribable. I wondered what her face would look like when she realized her challenge was very, very real. Fear thrives in the unknown. With your sight gone, every other sense screams. I felt a cool, scaly sensation on my forearm. A slender body slithered up my arm, a forked tongue flicking against my bare skin. I heard the faint, tell-tale hiss. I knew instantly what it was. A small smile touched my lips. How fun. I held out my other hand, and as if it understood, the small snake glided onto it. For the next minute, I and the little creature moved in a quiet, harmonious dance for the cameras. When the timer buzzed, I slowly removed my blindfold. A small, pink corn snake was coiled peacefully around my wrist. I affectionately rubbed my cheek against its head. It didn’t react with aggression, only a gentle flick of its tongue. On the other side of the stage, Roxy’s turn was just beginning. The moment her fingers brushed against the object, she shrieked and snatched her hand back. “What the hell is that thing?!” Her voice trembled with undisguised terror. Realizing her overreaction, she quickly tried to play it off. “Whoa, it’s cold! But I’m fine, I’m fine.” Despite her words, her hand felt like it was weighed down by lead. She couldn’t bring herself to reach out again. Behind the cameras, Director Shaw’s brow furrowed. He had no patience for time-wasting. “One full minute of contact, or you forfeit the round.” A staffer began a loud, public countdown. Forced, Roxy gritted her teeth and extended her hand again. This time, she lasted a single second before a full-blown scream tore from her throat. “Get it off me!” She seized the small lizard on the table and hurled it across the room like a grenade. In that instant, the director’s calm voice announced, “Annabelle wins.” I felt no joy in the victory. I walked slowly to the corner where the stunned lizard lay. Though they are cold-blooded, these were pet-grade animals, completely harmless. I gently scooped it into my hands. After the trauma it had just endured, the tiny creature gave my finger a weak, harmless bite. I asked my assistant to take it to a vet. That small act of kindness completely shifted the mood in the live chat. “Holy crap, Annabelle has nerves of steel!” “Did you guys see that? She didn’t even flinch. She smiled!” “Okay, but was anyone else horrified by Roxy? Who just throws a living creature like that?” Of course, Roxy’s die-hard fans rushed to her defense. “Seriously? What girl isn’t scared of reptiles?” “LMAO, that’s a normal reaction for any girl.” “She was just startled, give her a break.” “But… hasn’t Roxy always bragged about being a tough girl? Didn’t she say she loved cold-blooded animals?” “She said she likes snakes, not lizards! It’s different!” Even now, her fans were trying to spin it. 3 Holding up my wrist, with the pink corn snake still coiled around it, I walked slowly toward Roxy. The snake lifted its head, its tiny, black-bead eyes fixed on her. “Roxy,” I said sweetly. “I heard you love snakes. Want to pet him?” The live chat was already a warzone over her reaction. Roxy’s face was pale. A glance at her manager’s thunderous expression told me she knew she’d screwed up. She had been exposed. But I kept advancing, step by step. If her blindfolded panic could be excused as fear of the unknown, her reaction now, with her eyes wide open, would be far more telling. If she flinched, if she refused, her entire tough-girl persona would shatter. Roxy squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep, fortifying breath before shakily extending a hand. Just then, the snake flicked its tongue out. Mistaking the movement for a strike, Roxy shrieked and yanked her hand back, a raw sound of terror escaping her lips. Even then, she tried to salvage it, forcing a pained smile. “He’s cute. So… pink.” Her fans immediately latched onto it. “See! She’s a total badass! Anyone who doubted her can shut up now!” “She touched it! Are the haters happy now?” In a spot the cameras couldn’t see, Roxy was frantically scrubbing her hand with a sanitary wipe. When she caught my eye, she shot me a look of pure venom. I couldn’t help but smile. The fun was just getting started. Because Roxy lost, she had to face the penalty. I looked at the director, my eyes wide with feigned anticipation. “I wonder what the punishment is?” Director Shaw waved a hand, and a staffer walked out carrying a large black box. I caught the brief, meaningful look that passed between Roxy and the staff member. Sure enough, a moment later, Roxy pulled a slip of paper from the box and announced with forced cheerfulness, “It’s the water balloon challenge!” One of the male contestants stepped in. “Isn’t that a little harsh? You can’t have a girl’s makeup get ruined on live TV.” But Roxy just laughed, as if she had it all under control. “It’s just a water balloon. What’s there to be afraid of?” Her fans roared with approval. “Our Roxy isn’t like those other divas who are scared of showing their bare face!” “Exactly! She’s a natural beauty! She’s said publicly she hates wearing makeup!” “This is nothing for her!” Since her debut, Roxy had cultivated an image of being an all-natural, tough-as-nails girl. She’d claimed on talk shows that she’d never had a pimple in her life and hated the sticky feeling of foundation on her skin. When a host asked about her skincare routine, she’d proudly declared she used nothing but a cheap, drugstore lotion. The reality? Her makeup routine took four hours. She was obsessed with achieving a “no-makeup” look, and she terrorized makeup artists over the tiniest imperfection. While everyone was distracted, I slipped backstage, pulled a large bottle of a mysterious liquid from my bag, and poured its contents into the water balloon tank. Let’s show the world the real you, Roxy. She sat on the stool beneath the balloon, watching with a confident smirk as it filled with water. Seconds later, it burst with a loud POP. Water cascaded over her. Drenched, she tried to play it cool, slicking her hair back and wiping her face with a hand. But then she noticed the silence. Everyone was staring at her, their expressions a mixture of shock and disgust. “What? What is it?” She looked down at her hand. It was covered in a thick, beige sludge. Her foundation. She brought her hand to her nose and sniffed. A faint, chemical scent clung to her skin. Makeup remover. I’d poured an entire bottle into the water. The online audience, now seeing Roxy’s real face for the first time, went into an unprecedented frenzy. “Who the hell is that?!” “Her skin looks older than my mom’s!” “I thought she said she never wears makeup…” “IS ANYTHING ABOUT HER REAL?!” Roxy, seeing her own disastrous reflection in a monitor, clutched her face and fled the stage.

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When we were little, my parents let my sister and me choose a piece of jewelry. Lying on the table were my mother’s gold ring and her silver one. I chose the gold. My sister chose the silver. My parents then took me away for a two-day trip. As I lay in the motel bed that night, I overheard them talking. “She’s just too greedy. So calculating for a child. Why can’t she be more like her sister?” “Well, we can’t afford both of them. The sooner she’s gone, the less we have to worry about.” I knew what they meant. Huddled under the covers, I was paralyzed with fear, silent tears streaming down my face. It was my sister who had told me she was allergic to gold. She said touching it could kill her. That’s why I let her have the silver one! I buried that secret deep inside me for over a decade. Until I was accepted into the local state university. There, in a crowded lecture hall, I saw my sister again. 1 The moment I stepped into the classroom, I spotted Olivia Reed. She had grown up, far more beautiful than I remembered. The clothes she wore were obviously expensive. She must have recognized me too, because she drifted over, a deliberate, cloying warmth in her soft voice. “You’re so pretty. You look just like a friend I had when I was little.” I looked at her perfectly made-up face, and a memory flashed through my mind: Olivia, secretly dabbing on our mother’s cheap makeup, then tearfully blaming me when she was caught. Shifting every ounce of blame onto my shoulders. I didn’t look up, my voice barely a whisper. “You mean the sister you got rid of?” Her voice died in her throat. In my peripheral vision, I saw her freeze for a few seconds. The smile on her face was glued in place, her eyes wide with shock. Her hand, which had been reaching out to me, hovered awkwardly in mid-air. I ignored her and focused on my textbook. I found out later that my biological family had struck it rich. They were a world away from the hand-to-mouth existence I remembered. It took Olivia a long moment to recover, a flicker of something dark crossing her eyes before it vanished. After class, I was heading back to my small rental apartment when Olivia blocked my path. She leaned against the wall, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Chloe. My parents know we’re at the same school. They want you to come over for dinner. You wouldn’t say no, would you?” Without a second thought, I shook my head. “No, I’m busy.” She immediately closed the distance, linking her arm through mine. “It’s just dinner. It’s not like we’re going to eat you.” I looked at her fake smile and laughed inwardly. I knew exactly why she was so insistent. She wanted to show off. To flaunt her perfect life, to rub my nose in the fact that our parents adored her. I wanted nothing to do with them. But she wouldn’t let go, her grip tight and cloying. Fine. I agreed. It was time to make a clean break, once and for all. She led me to the campus entrance where a silver Maserati was parked. “My eighteenth birthday present,” she said, her voice casual but laced with pride. “From Mom and Dad. It was only a little over a hundred grand.” “Oh,” I said, not offering another word. I opened the door, slid inside, and stayed silent. As the car moved, I stared out the window. It had been twelve years since I’d last traveled this road. Back then, I was in the back of a rickety old pickup truck, sobbing my heart out as they drove away without a single glance back. Now, sitting in a luxury car, I felt nothing but a hollow numbness. The car pulled up to a sprawling villa. As I stepped out, I saw two faces—one achingly familiar, the other completely strange. They had aged, their hair streaked with gray. Their entire demeanor had changed, softened by wealth. But looking at them, I felt no flicker of emotion. They stared at me, their gazes fixed and unblinking. “The resemblance is uncanny,” one of them murmured. “She looks just like…” Olivia walked over, tucking her arm into her mother’s. “Mom, Dad, this is Chloe Fisher, the student I was telling you about. Doesn’t she look familiar?” Mrs. Reed snapped out of her trance and hurried toward me. She grabbed my hand, her voice overflowing with synthetic warmth. “Come in, come in! It’s cold out here.” The inside of the villa was opulent, a palace of marble and crystal chandeliers. A far cry from the drafty shack of my childhood. Mrs. Reed produced an elegant gift box and held it out to me, her face alight with expectation. “My dear, it’s our first time meeting, but I wanted to give you a little something. I hope you like it.” I took the box and opened it right there. Inside was a solid gold ring. Judging by the weight, it must have cost a few thousand dollars. So, they were replaying their old trick. Trying to stage the same scene all over again. I handed the box back to her and smiled politely. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reed. I’m allergic to gold.” 2 Mrs. Reed froze, her hand hovering in the air. The eager anticipation on her face curdled into confusion. I glanced at Olivia, whose expression was stiff and unnatural. Mr. Reed quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “That’s all right. If you’re allergic to gold, we’ll pick something else. Just tell us what you like.” I shook my head. “That’s not necessary. I just came for dinner. I’ll be leaving right after.” Mrs. Reed opened her mouth, then closed it. But Olivia muttered just loud enough for me to hear, “So pretentious.” We sat down to a table laden with food. “Chloe, I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made a little of everything,” Mrs. Reed chirped. “I hope you find something you enjoy.” My eyes scanned the table. Roast pork, glazed fish—all my childhood favorites. Back then, we were so poor we only had food like this on holidays, and even then, I only got the leftovers. “Thank you, but I prefer spicy food now.” As if she hadn’t heard me, she placed a large piece of pork in my bowl. “Eat up. You’re too thin. You need to build yourself up.” I stared at the perfect cut of meat in my bowl and didn’t touch my chopsticks. “What’s wrong?” she asked, a concerned frown on her face. “Don’t you like it?” She took a bite from the serving platter herself. “The taste is fine. It’s just like I used to make it.” I put down my chopsticks and cut to the chase. “Let’s be honest. You didn’t invite me here just for dinner, did you?” The couple exchanged a look, their expressions complex. Mr. Reed spoke first. “You’re overthinking it. We just wanted to have a meal with you.” I wasn’t a fool. I knew what this was about. But twelve years was a long time. Some things couldn’t be undone. “I know you’ve guessed who I am, and I won’t deny it. I was once your daughter,” I said, my voice even. “But I sincerely hope you won’t try to interfere in my life again. Let’s just consider this our last meal together.” Mrs. Reed grabbed my hand, her voice urgent. “Sunny, we…” I pulled my hand away, cutting her off. “My name is Chloe. Not Sunny.” The name Sunny died the day they sent me away. Suddenly, Mr. Reed’s face hardened. “Is that any way to talk to your parents?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Your mother was up at dawn, cooking and thinking about you all morning. And this is how you repay her?” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I fought back the wave of grief and anger that threatened to overwhelm me. “And did you ever do right by me?” My question silenced them. Olivia chimed in from the side, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You fought so hard to get back here. We all know what you’re really after. Who do you think you’re fooling with this righteous act?” “Olivia, that’s enough!” Mrs. Reed hissed. Olivia pouted. “What? Am I wrong? This is who she is!” I was done arguing. I stood up to leave. “Stop!” Mr. Reed called out. He pulled a bank card from his wallet and tossed it on the table in front of me. “There’s fifty thousand dollars on that. For your college expenses.” I didn’t even look at it. I walked out of the villa without a backward glance, leaving everything behind me. I heard Mrs. Reed start to follow, but Olivia stopped her. “Mom, don’t you see? It’s not enough for her. She wants so much more than that!” Mr. Reed’s voice was cold and hard. “Giving her up was the best decision I ever made.” I heard every word. I told myself not to care, not to let it hurt. But a sharp pain twisted in my chest, tight and suffocating. Was that really how they saw me? As something cheap and manipulative? All I wanted was to live my life in peace. Was that so wrong? I got back to my apartment and collapsed on the sofa, trying to let the emotional and physical exhaustion wash over me. Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open and three masked men rushed out. They moved fast. One clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling my scream. Another grabbed my arms, his grip brutal, and started tearing at my clothes. The third one held up a phone, a sick grin on his face, snapping pictures and spewing disgusting filth. After the photos, they moved to assault me. My vision turned red. I fought back with everything I had. I remembered the small fruit knife I kept tucked under the sofa cushion for protection. My hand found it. I pulled it free and slashed wildly. “Get out! All of you, get out!” I screamed, my voice raw. “If you don’t get out, I’ll kill you!” At first, they laughed, trying to wrestle the knife from me. But my desperation gave me strength. I was a cornered animal. One of them yelped as the blade sliced his arm. Cursing, they finally backed off and fled. My hands shaking, I bolted the door and checked every corner of the apartment. Only when I was sure I was alone did I sink to the floor, my clothes in tatters. And then, the tears finally came. I called the police that night, thinking the worst was over. It wasn’t until I opened my phone the next morning that I realized it had just begun. The university’s online forum was flooded with my pictures.

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1 Three in the morning. My neighbor Kevin pounded on my door with a group of people, shouting that I was a hit-and-run driver. The man leading the charge grabbed me by the collar of my pajamas and roared, “It was you! I wrote down your license plate. You hit my dad and just took off. Ran a red light! What kind of monster are you?” “I’m telling you, my dad’s in the ICU right now, in a coma! You’re going to pay for this!” He shoved his phone in my face. The picture showed a car speeding through an intersection. His wife stood beside him, clutching their child and wailing. I was still half-asleep, my mind struggling to catch up. “What does this have to do with me?” The other neighbors started chiming in. “She can sleep after hitting someone? That’s terrifying!” “How can we have a murderer living in our building?” Hitting someone? I’m colorblind. I don’t even know how to drive. … “Sir, please calm down,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “I haven’t left my apartment all day. I think you have the wrong person.” Kevin lived on the floor below me. We’d always been civil, a polite nod in the hallway. But right now, he looked like he wanted to tear me apart. He thrust the phone back at my face. “Wrong person? Is this your license plate or not?” On the screen was the rear of a Porsche Panamera, the plate clearly visible: A123. I squinted for a second, then nodded. “That’s my car, but I…” “So you admit it!” he yelled to the other neighbors. “You all heard her! It’s her car!” The hallway erupted. “Typical rich people. Hit someone and then deny everything.” “Look at her face. She’s putting on a good act, playing innocent.” His wife pushed through the crowd with their child, dropping to her knees on my welcome mat. Her cries were heart-wrenching. “Please, my father is on a ventilator. The surgery is fifty thousand dollars.” Her voice was choked with sobs. “That’s nothing to you, but it would ruin our family. You can’t just leave him to die!” My scalp tingled with anxiety. I rushed to help her up. “Ma’am, please get up. We haven’t even figured out what happened…” “We know exactly what happened!” Kevin grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “I saw it with my own eyes! It was your car that ran the red light and sent my dad flying twenty feet!” The last traces of sleep vanished, replaced by a surge of anger. “I haven’t driven that car all day! You can’t just say I hit him and make it true!” “Fifty thousand? Why not ask for five hundred thousand? This sounds more like a robbery to me!” The words had barely left my mouth when his hand cracked across my face. The force sent me stumbling back a step, a high-pitched ringing in my ear. “Bullshit!” he screamed, jabbing a finger at my nose. “My father is dying!” “If you don’t pay up, I’m calling the cops and you’ll go to jail! I’ll make your life a living hell!” Someone in the crowd egged him on. “Good! She deserved that! People like her need to be taught a lesson!” The neighbors grew more agitated. “Don’t waste your breath on her, just call the police! Lock her up!” His wife was sobbing hysterically on the floor, and their child started screaming. Camera flashes went off in my face, blinding me. I clutched my stinging cheek and slowly straightened up. “Fine. Call the police.” Kevin froze. “You heard me. You wanted to call them? Go ahead.” I wiped a smear of blood from the corner of my mouth. I turned, walked to my nightstand, and grabbed something. Then I walked back and slapped it against his chest. “And while you’re at it, let the police see how a colorblind woman who can’t even drive managed to hit your father!” 2 Kevin stared down at the official colorblindness certificate in his hand, stunned into silence for a long three seconds. The angry shouts from the hallway died out instantly. Someone whispered, “Colorblind? Doesn’t that mean she can’t get a license?” “Hey, Kevin, you don’t think… you actually got the wrong person, do you?” I pointed at the document he was holding. “See it clearly? It has an official seal. You can read, can’t you?” Kevin’s face flushed, then paled. A second later, he threw the certificate on the floor. “You think a piece of paper is going to fool me?” “You can afford a Panamera, but you don’t have a license?” He took a menacing step closer. “Besides, if you really are colorblind, that means you were driving without a license! That’s even worse!” A wave of understanding washed over the crowd. “He’s right! We almost fell for her little trick!” “No wonder she ran a red light. She can’t even tell the difference!” I was done arguing with them. “Alright,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Like I said, let’s get the police involved. We’ll see if I’m lying, or if you’re trying to shake me down.” “Go ahead! Call them! Let’s see who they arrest when they get here!” Kevin snarled. I dialed 911 and gave them the address and a brief summary of the situation. After hanging up, I leaned against the doorframe, silent. Kevin was still ranting. “Calling the cops now is just a stall tactic to let my dad die!” “Don’t think you can get away with this. No matter what, I’ll see you behind bars.” “Just shut up,” I said, my voice cold. “Your father isn’t dead yet. Why are you in such a hurry to mourn him? Worried you’ll get less money if he pulls through?” Kevin’s face twisted in fury. “What the hell did you just say?” He lunged at me, but his wife grabbed him and held him back with all her strength. I was about to say more when the sound of sirens cut through the night. Kevin scrambled toward the officers as if they were his saviors. “Officers, it was her! She ran a red light, hit my dad, and won’t admit it!” The officer looked me over. “Are you the owner of the vehicle with license plate A123?” “Yes.” “Did you hit someone?” “No.” Kevin became frantic. “It was her, I saw it with my own eyes!” The officer held up a hand to silence him, then turned back to me. “Ma’am, you claim you didn’t hit anyone. Do you have any proof?” I picked up my certificate from the floor and handed it to him. The officer opened it and paused. “Colorblind?” “Yes,” I confirmed. He frowned. “Then how did you acquire the car?” “It was an inheritance from my father,” I said, my voice quiet. “I can’t drive it, so it’s always parked in the garage. The only time it moves is when the dealership sends someone to pick it up for routine maintenance. They have records of everything.” Kevin scoffed. “Nice story. Keep spinning it! You think the police are going to believe you?” The officer ignored him and turned to the building’s security guard. “Get property management on the line. I need to see the security footage.” The guard scratched his head. “Oh, man. You know that big snowstorm we had a couple of days ago?” “It shorted out some of the wiring. The cameras in the parking garage are down. We haven’t had a chance to fix them yet…” My stomach dropped. What a coincidence. Kevin’s face lit up. “The cameras are broken? I guess your proof just disappeared! Happy now?” The officer’s brow furrowed. “Sir, please remain calm.” “We have procedures for this. Until there is clear evidence, I’ll ask you to show this woman some respect.” He turned back to me. “Ma’am, does your car have a dashcam?” “Yes.” “Do you mind if we take a look?” I nodded, grabbing the car keys from the console table by the door and handing them to him. We all went down to the underground garage. The officer had just reached the front of the car, his hand on the door handle, when Kevin suddenly bolted forward. He threw himself across the hood, his voice cracking with excitement. “Officers! You have to see this!” He pointed at the front bumper. “What is this?” I moved closer, using my phone’s flashlight to see what he was pointing at. On the right side of the bumper, there was a fresh scrape. And smeared across it was a dark stain of what looked like blood. 3 The crowd gasped. “Well, that’s it! She’s caught! Look at the size of that dent!” “She was still trying to deny it. Let’s see what she says now!” Kevin’s wife rushed forward, her child still in her arms. She pointed at the smear. “That’s my father’s blood… What do you have to say for yourself now?” A roaring sound filled my ears. Impossible. I hadn’t driven the car. The officer crouched down, shining his flashlight on the mark, his brow furrowed. “Ma’am, how do you explain this?” I opened my mouth, but my throat was dry. “I don’t know… I swear, I haven’t driven the car.” Kevin sneered. “You don’t know? It’s your car, the blood is right there, and you ‘don’t know’?” The officer stood up and looked at me. “Ma’am, we need to collect a sample for lab analysis. We’ll also need you to come with us to the station to cooperate with our investigation.” My instincts screamed at me that if they took me in now, things would only get worse. Could someone else have taken my car and caused the accident? “Okay,” I nodded. “But I have one request. Let me make a phone call first to confirm something.” The officer agreed. I took out my phone, dialed the service manager at the dealership, and put it on speaker. “Mr. Davis, it’s Anna. I have a quick question. Has anyone moved my car recently?” There was a two-second pause on the other end. “Ms. Anna? Your car? No, ma’am.” “The last service was two weeks ago. After we finished, we returned it to your designated parking spot. The key has been with you the whole time. None of our staff have touched it.” “Are you sure?” “Absolutely. We have a strict policy. Every vehicle’s entry and exit is logged.” I ended the call. The officer was watching me, waiting. I clutched my phone, my mind racing. Where did the scrape come from? Where did the blood come from? The murmurs from the crowd grew louder. Kevin was gloating. “Given up yet? It couldn’t have been anyone else!” He grabbed my arm. “Let’s go! To the station! You’re going to cough up that fifty grand today, one way or another!” He yanked me forward, and I stumbled, crashing against the car door. My head hit the window frame, and for a second, my vision went black. In that fleeting moment, my eyes caught a glimpse of a small black box mounted on the inside of the windshield. The dashcam! “Wait!” I gripped the car door, refusing to be moved. “I demand to see the dashcam footage right now!”

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My father, John, announced out of the blue that he was going on a trip with an old army buddy. But then, I found a little note tucked into the travel itinerary. “Little One wants to go to Disney.” I assumed he was talking about me, that he’d somehow included me in the plans. I walked into the kitchen, the itinerary in my hand. “Dad, I’m way too old for Disney. I’m past that age.” His hand jerked, and the spatula clattered into the pan. “Oh, right, honey. Look at me, getting old and forgetful. I just keep remembering how you used to beg to go when you were little.” This time, it was my turn to freeze. When I was little… I had never even heard of Disney. I didn’t call him out on it right then. Instead, I quietly looked up the other ID number on that travel itinerary. It wasn’t his old army friend, Uncle Ben. It was a familiar name. Gloria Hayes. Our neighbor for over a decade, living right next door. A single mother raising a twelve-year-old daughter. I didn’t tell anyone. I just secretly made a copy of the itinerary. 1 The next day, as soon as my dad left, I knocked on Gloria’s door. When Gloria opened it, she was as warm and friendly as ever. “Anna? Come in, come in!” She was wearing a comfortable tracksuit, her hair casually tied back. “My mom asked me to borrow some cold medicine. We’re all out.” I lied. She turned and walked further into the apartment, glancing back at me as she went. “Don’t just stand there, come in and sit down. There’s fruit on the coffee table, help yourself. I’ll find that medicine for you.” I continued my lie, my eyes slowly taking in everything in the room. On the TV stand, there was a row of photos of her daughter, from a newborn portrait to recent professional shots, lined up like a display of extraordinary achievements. On the coffee table was a plate of freshly washed strawberries, each one large and plump. I recognized the variety; they sold for over twenty dollars a pound at the supermarket. My mom had looked at them for a long time last week but ultimately hadn’t brought herself to buy them. My gaze swept across the living room and then stopped at the TV stand. A gold necklace lay there. It was an old-fashioned gold necklace, with a traditional cloud-shaped pendant. The style was at least twenty years old. It looked familiar. I walked over, picked up the necklace, and examined it. Sure enough, beneath the pendant, I saw a small bite mark. It was from when I was a child. I’d been watching a TV show and bit the gold, copying the way they tested it. I’d bitten so hard that I’d left a distinct mark. This necklace was the only piece of jewelry my dad had given my mom as a wedding gift. My mom had kept it for over twenty years. Aside from that bite mark, it was almost as good as new. One year, we were so broke that we barely had food to eat. Someone offered a high price for it, but my mom refused to sell. She said money could be earned again, but sentiment couldn’t be replaced. She had always kept it so carefully, but a few years ago, the necklace disappeared. My mom turned the house upside down, crying and saying she must have lost it. My dad had hugged her, comforting her. “Out with the old, in with the new. I’ll buy you an even better one later.” Footsteps suddenly sounded behind me. I put the necklace back, stepping back to stand by the coffee table. Gloria came out with the medicine, smiling as she handed it to me. “Here, cold medicine. How’s your mom doing lately? I heard her back was bothering her a while ago. Is it better?” “Much better.” I took the medicine, looking at her. Her skin was well-maintained. There were a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. I had seen that face in our apartment complex for over a decade. Each time, we’d exchange polite nods, and occasionally, if we met in the elevator, she’d ask about my mom. “Aunt Gloria.” I spoke suddenly. “Hmm?” “That gold necklace of yours is lovely. Where did you buy it?” She paused, then chuckled. “Oh, this? A friend gave it to me. Why, do you like it? I’ll ask them where they got it and let you know.” “No, that’s alright. I was just curious.” I turned to leave. As the door closed behind me, I heard her say, “Take care, Anna. Come visit again!” I stood outside her door, clutching the cold medicine in my hand. Just then, my mom came back from grocery shopping. Seeing the medicine in my hand, she asked if I was sick. I forced myself to sound calm, my voice low. “Just a bit of a cough. I borrowed some from Aunt Gloria.” My mom didn’t detect anything amiss. Instead, she said warmly, “Aunt Gloria has it tough raising a child by herself. Let’s send her some fruit later.” Looking at the oranges on the dining table, my eyes welled up slightly. I had bought them two days ago, and she hadn’t touched them, saving them for me. She was wearing an old sweater she’d bought years ago, the cuffs a little fuzzy. Her hair was home-dyed, with uneven color near her temples. She had always been like this her whole life, never splurging on herself, always prioritizing my dad and me. When my dad said he wanted to travel, she was happy for days, helping him pack, reminding him to be careful. I suggested she go with him. But she said she didn’t like soaking in hot springs. Lost in my thoughts, my mom walked over and waved a hand in front of my face. “What are you thinking about? Go deliver those oranges.” I looked at her. Her neck was bare. “Mom.” “Did you ever find your gold necklace?” My mom’s hand paused. She looked down at her own neck, unconsciously touching it, then sighed with a smile. “No, not yet. Oh well, maybe it wasn’t meant to be mine.” She smiled, but all I wanted to do was cry. 2 Soon, it was time for their trip. I took annual leave and booked a ticket on the same high-speed train, quietly trailing behind them. When they first boarded, my dad was still pretending not to know Gloria. But the moment the train started moving, he put his arm around her shoulders. I saw the little girl lean forward, as if saying something to my dad. My dad playfully pinched her cheek. The little girl cuddled up to both of them, calling them “Daddy” and “Mommy.” I had suggested many times after starting work that we go on a family trip. But each time, my dad would say he was too busy, or he’d use my mom’s frugality as an excuse. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve never once traveled with my parents. I gently lifted my sunglasses and wiped away the tears that had spilled over. I sent a message to a friend. “Can you pull up my dad’s bank statements? As far back as you can, at least fifteen years.” My friend didn’t ask any questions, just replied with “Got it.” After we got off the train, I followed them to the resort. In the parking lot, I saw my dad helping Gloria with her luggage. The little girl skipped excitedly toward the lobby, and my dad quickly called out, “Slow down, Little One.” “Little One.” The nickname my dad had called me for over twenty years was now for someone else. I adjusted my mask and sunglasses and walked into the lobby. They had booked a family suite. Thirty-eight hundred dollars a night. For a week. I gave a self-deprecating smile. I had never stayed in a hotel that expensive myself. But my dad swiped his card without a moment’s hesitation. It was clear this wasn’t their first trip together. I stood behind a pillar a short distance away, clenching my fists. The moment the elevator doors closed, I saw my dad’s hand on Gloria’s waist. A gesture I had never seen him make at home. My dad and mom always walked side by side, never touching. Sometimes, my mom would try to link arms with him, and he’d pull away, saying they were too old for that, it would make people laugh. Now, he clearly wasn’t worried about being laughed at. As soon as I entered the room I’d booked, I received a message from my friend. It was a seventy-plus-page document. I meticulously went through it, line by line. My dad’s payroll account showed a fixed income every month and fixed transfers out. The recipient was my mom’s account. Every transaction seemed perfectly legitimate. Groceries, clothes, supermarket purchases. Even the online shopping records seemed fine. Until I noticed that every month, he had a fixed transaction at a particular supermarket. I circled that transaction and sent it to my friend. “Can you tell me what this transaction is for?” The reply came quickly. “No specific details. It appears to be a transfer.” I thought for a moment, then looked up the owner of the supermarket. Gloria’s brother, David Hayes. I repeated the name several times. Then I suddenly realized why he’d managed to keep it a secret for so long. Besides the obvious hiding in plain sight, he had covered every single track. I continued scrolling down, highlighting all the monthly transfers to the supermarket. I discovered that for the past ten years, my dad had been making these monthly payments to this supermarket. Initially, the amounts were small, a few hundred or a thousand, then three to five thousand. Eventually, it became a fixed transfer of fifteen hundred dollars every month. And the earlier, smaller amounts added up to exactly fifteen hundred a month. I understood. My dad’s payroll went to my mom’s account—that was the legitimate money, clean and clear. But he had other sources of income. Bonuses and side jobs before he retired, then a re-hiring salary after retirement. He never mentioned that money. He channeled all of it, disguised as daily expenses, through Gloria’s brother’s supermarket. At first, he was afraid of being discovered, but later, he didn’t even bother to hide it. Fifteen hundred dollars a month, eighteen thousand a year. One hundred eighty thousand dollars over ten years. Enough to buy Gloria’s daughter many strawberries, many pretty clothes, many Barbie dolls. And the house Gloria was living in now. No wonder she never had to work. Yet she had a membership at the beauty salon downstairs and could afford to send her daughter to the best middle school. It was all my father providing for them.

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I just got back from the hospital. I hadn’t even sat down yet when my wife, Evelyn, started rattling off a to-do list. “Why are you just standing there? Go mop the floor, it’s sticky after days of neglect!” “And the shoe rack, it’s covered in dust!” “Oh, and don’t forget to scrub the toilet. No one’s done it since you were hospitalized!” She didn’t ask if my arm still hurt. She didn’t ask if I was still dizzy. I didn’t move. I stood in the entryway, my arms crossed, surveying the absurd scene. Before, I was the undisputed backbone of this family, tirelessly earning money and handling all the household chores. But this recent accident caused me to lose my memory. My mind had reverted to my carefree single days. Faced with my unfamiliar wife’s bossy demands, my ungrateful son’s disrespect, and my materialistic mother-in-law’s constant meddling, I decided I was done. … “Mark, did you hear me?” Evelyn’s brows furrowed when I remained still. I took off my jacket, hung it on the rack, then leaned back on the sofa, hands clasped behind my head. “I heard you, but I’m not doing it. I just got back from the hospital; I deserve at least a few days to rest!” “Besides, I’ve been in the hospital these past few days. The grime on the floor, the dust on the shoe rack, the stains in the toilet — none of that has anything to do with me. Whoever made the mess can clean it!” The living room fell into an eerie silence. Evelyn’s face flushed crimson at a visible rate. She puffed out her cheeks in anger. “Mark, say that again?” I wasn’t intimidated. I merely glanced at her. “What, do you need me to write it down? Or perhaps we can create a family chat group, and I’ll post it there, tagging everyone.” “You—” Evelyn stormed over to me, her finger practically jabbing my nose. “You dare to speak to me like that? Fine, absolutely fine. Your allowance for this month is gone, not a single penny!” “Whatever!” I walked past her, heading straight for the study. At twenty-five, I earned twelve thousand dollars a month and spent my money as I pleased. At thirty-five, I needed to ask my wife for an allowance. This world truly has a sense of humor. “Mark, you stop right there!” I closed the door, ignoring the screams behind me. The guest room desk was piled with documents: mortgage statements, car loan details, my son’s tutoring fees, and so on. On top was a calendar. Yesterday’s date was circled in red, with a note beside it: “Tenth Wedding Anniversary.” I picked up a pen and drew a large ‘X’ through the red circle. The next morning, at six-thirty, just as dawn was breaking. The study door was knocked on—no, pounded on. “Mark, what time is it? Aren’t you getting up for work?!” My mother-in-law’s voice boomed from outside the door. I yawned as I opened the door, a nagging thought in my head. “Has the sun risen in the west? My mother-in-law is actually calling me to get up early out of kindness.” In the living room, my mother-in-law was already fully dressed. A dark green embroidered dress, pearl earrings that dazzled the eye, and a face thickly powdered as if whitewashed. “What are you dawdling for? Hurry up, you’ll be late!” She clutched her small handbag, impatiently urging me on. Ten minutes later, I was showered and ready, heading to the underground parking garage for my car. As soon as I settled into the driver’s seat, the passenger door clicked open, and a heavy scent of perfume wafted in. My mother-in-law had already efficiently buckled her seatbelt. “First, take me to East Lake Park. Aunt Sharon and her friends brought their new sound system today, and I need to get there early to claim a spot.” It was only then that I realized why she’d woken me up so early. I gripped the steering wheel, turning my head to her in exasperation. “I’m going to work. The park is in the opposite direction.” “I know. Don’t you always drop me off before you go to work?” My mother-in-law applied lipstick in the sun visor mirror, her tone utterly matter-of-fact. Getting up early for work and then having to be my mother-in-law’s chauffeur? The thirty-five-year-old me actually tolerated this? I scoffed inwardly, but on the surface, I remained calm. “Could you please get out for a moment? I’ll adjust the passenger seat for you; it’ll be more comfortable.” As I spoke, I unbuckled her seatbelt. My mother-in-law paused, grumbling, “Always making a fuss,” but she still got out of the car. The moment her feet touched the ground outside the car door, I slammed it shut. I turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. “Hey! What are you doing—” My mother-in-law realized something was wrong and frantically pounded on the car window. I pressed the accelerator, driving away. Leaving my furious mother-in-law behind. At six in the evening, I got home from work. I had just set down my briefcase and sat on the sofa, hoping to catch my breath. “Bang!” A heavy backpack practically grazed my nose before slamming onto the coffee table. The glass top shook, groaning under the impact. I looked up to see my son, Chris, standing in front of me, one hand in his pocket, the other outstretched. “Old Man, give me money.” His tone was rude and arrogant. I narrowed my eyes, masking the anger within, and forced a smile. “How much do you want? What for?” Chris’s voice was loud and self-righteous. “Five hundred bucks! Ben in my class has this super-cool transforming robot, it’s awesome, and I want it too, the golden collector’s edition!” “Don’t you have enough toys at home? You already have transforming robots. You’ve barely played with that new ‘Bumblebee’ I bought you, have you?” “That’s outdated!” His voice suddenly escalated, with the sharp edge unique to children. “Are you going to give it to me or not? If not, fine, I’ll go ask Mom and Grandma!” He started to turn, as if certain I would give in, or at least call him back to bargain. “Stop right there,” I said loudly. He froze, turning half his face toward me, a hint of a triumphant smirk on his lips. “I’ll say it again: no.” My voice turned cold, with an unmistakable finality. “First, you don’t have a valid reason for that five hundred dollars. Second, even if you did, you should earn it by showing good behavior, not just demanding it. Third—what did you just call me? ‘Old Man’? Who taught you that?” Chris was stunned. “Why won’t you give it to me?!” He violently kicked over the dining chair next to him. “My classmates have it, but I don’t! Are you trying to embarrass me at school, you cheapskate, you loser!” I looked at the overturned dining chair, then at his angry, distorted young face. He was only eight, yet he had already learned to define self-worth through material comparison and vent frustration by insulting his own family. It seemed I needed to exercise my paternal rights properly. “You little brat, it seems reasoning with you is useless.” I slowly rolled up my shirt sleeves, approaching him. “What are you going to do?” He took half a step back, a flicker of panic in his eyes, but his tone was still defiant. “You wouldn’t dare hit me, would you? I’ll tell Mom! I’ll tell Grandma!” “Go ahead and tell them, but before that—” My movements were faster than I expected. Before he could react, I had already grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and tripped him. He yelped as he lost his balance and was firmly pinned to the floor. “Let go of me, you jerk, let go!” He struggled desperately, his face red and neck bulging, tears and snot streaming down, but more than anything, there was anger and disbelief. I held him down with one knee on his back, controlling my strength to avoid injuring him, but not allowing him to break free. “Listen, I’m not giving you the money. If I hear you curse again, next time I won’t be so polite. Also, if you want something, figure out how to earn it yourself. The world doesn’t owe you anything, and I certainly don’t!” Just then, a shriek rang out. “Let go of my grandson!” The scream almost pierced my eardrums. The front door had opened unnoticed, and my mother-in-law and Evelyn stood there. My mother-in-law rushed forward first, trying like a madwoman to push me away. Evelyn, on the other hand, was pale, her lips trembling, her finger shaking as she pointed at me. “Mark, you… are you even human? What are you doing to our child?” I clapped my hands, stood up, and pulled out a tissue to wipe them. “Didn’t you see? I’m disciplining him.” Chris immediately scrambled behind my mother-in-law, crying even louder, adding fuel to the fire with every sob. “He said he was going to kill me… I just wanted a toy, and he wouldn’t buy it for me, and he hit me…” Evelyn’s chest heaved violently. “Discipline? Is that how you discipline a child? You’re barbaric, brutal! What era are we in? Experts say it should be ‘happy education,’ ‘love and freedom’! Look what you’ve done to the child!” My mother-in-law hugged the sobbing Chris tightly, cooing endearments, while shooting me a venomous, resentful glare. “How dare you! How could you lay a hand on him? What’s wrong with a child wanting a toy? It’s only five hundred bucks! Isn’t a happy childhood more important than anything else? Our Chris is so smart, he just wants a new toy, is that so much to ask?!” “Mark, you’ve disappointed me so much. You’re not like a father at all. Get out, get out now and live somewhere else. I don’t want to see you!” Evelyn’s voice was choked with tears, but mostly filled with hysterical accusations. The living room was filled with women’s curses and the child’s wails. Strangely, as I stood there, my heart was utterly calm. I even felt a slight urge to laugh. “Fine, I couldn’t ask for anything more!” I pulled a suitcase from the wardrobe, casually threw in a few changes of clothes, and left without looking back. Just a few days had been enough to reveal the full picture of this family. My wife, Evelyn, was a classic self-serving individual, viewing my contributions as her rightful due. My son, Chris, a seven-year-old brat, was spoiled rotten; “brat” was practically a compliment. My mother-in-law, with her unique talents, managed to enjoy the convenience of my financial support while simultaneously trampling my dignity with the most cutting remarks. This so-called “family” was essentially an exploitative system disguised as kinship, and I was the core component, forbidden to have my own will. I had only experienced a few days of this, and it already felt utterly absurd. I couldn’t imagine how the “me” of thirty-five had endured this for seven whole years, day after day. Even a Ninja Turtle would feel inferior. I picked up my phone and sent a message to my college friend, Mike. Soon, my phone vibrated. Mike replied, “The room’s ready for you, come over anytime. Plenty of beer.” I replied with three words: “On my way.” At Mike’s place, I woke up naturally every day, went out to find good food after work, played a few games with him in the evenings, and went camping and hiking in the mountains on weekends. Carefree and free, this was what life should be. However, five days later, my peaceful and comfortable life was interrupted. Evelyn called me. This was the first time she had initiated contact since I moved out. I let it ring for over ten seconds before slowly picking up. “Mark! Get to City Hospital Two now!” Her voice was sharp and urgent, the background noisy. “Mom was attacked! She’s in the emergency room!” Despite my reluctance, I rushed to the hospital immediately. In the emergency room, my mother-in-law sat on the hospital bed, sighing dramatically. “Oh, my arm… it hurts… it must be broken…” Evelyn stood beside her, her face ashen, harshly scolding a seemingly honest middle-aged couple. “What’s wrong with you two? How dare you assault an elderly person, my mother? If anything serious happens to her, you’ll spend the rest of your lives in prison.” The man of the couple looked distressed, and the woman tried to explain but was drowned out by Evelyn’s loud voice. I examined my mother-in-law. Although her hair was disheveled and her clothes were dusty, her voice was loud, and she seemed full of vigor. Aside from some redness on the back of her hand, there were no signs of serious injury. The doctor who arrived shortly after confirmed my assessment. “The examination results are in. It’s just a superficial scratch, not even a minor injury.”

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To force me to break off our engagement, my fiancée orchestrated the bankruptcy of my father’s company, leaving him with millions in debt. The shock triggered a heart attack, and my father was rushed to the emergency room. As I knelt, begging my fiancée for help with the surgery costs, my childhood friend, Sarah Grant, suddenly returned from abroad. She arranged for a doctor for my father and stayed by his bedside day and night with me. But a week later, my father suffered another sudden heart attack. To let him depart in peace, Sarah knelt by his hospital bed, vowing to marry me and love me for the rest of her life. After the funeral, heartbroken, I canceled my engagement to my fiancée and married Sarah. But five years later, I accidentally overheard a conversation between my ex-fiancée and her. “Your trick was brilliant, wasn’t it? Making Mark, that leech, willingly give me up. Do you think if he knew that you were the one who caused his father’s death, he’d want to kill you?” … My hand, pushing open the private room door, froze. Inside, my ex-fiancée’s taunting voice continued. “You really are heartless. Mark grew up with you, treated you like his own sister. I bet he’d never in a million years guess that you were the one who ruined his father’s company.” “If it weren’t for Julian, I wouldn’t have taken the blame for you all these years. As much as I dislike Mark, I would never do something that would literally cause someone’s father to die.” A wine glass was set down heavily on the table. Sarah, her voice tinged with drunken anger, retorted, “I’ll spend my entire life making it up to Mark. I helped you back then because I wanted Julian to be happy. If you ever dare to hurt Julian, to make him shed a single tear, I’ll end your life.” The woman across from her chuckled, clicking her tongue in admiration. “Such devotion. Too bad Julian met me first. You should just focus on your Mark, after all, you caused his father’s death. Be careful not to be haunted in your midnight dreams.” A glass “bang” against the door, shattering. Footsteps approached rapidly. I took a deep breath and bolted downstairs to the bar. I grabbed a glass and downed it in one go. I never drank, and the burn brought tears to my eyes. The words I had just heard echoed repeatedly in my mind. The person who caused my dad’s company to go bankrupt wasn’t my ex-fiancée, but Sarah, the woman who had paid for his surgery. And my father’s second heart attack a week later? That was also because of something Sarah said. No wonder my dad stared fixedly at Sarah just before he passed. At the time, I naively thought it was his gratitude and a final entrustment. My wife, who had shared my bed for five years, whom I held in the palm of my hand, was the indirect cause of my father’s death. And these years of marriage, this fabricated love, were merely her supposed “compensation” born of guilt. It was utterly ludicrous. Sorrow and fury surged within me. My gaze fell on the glass in my hand when Sarah suddenly embraced me gently from behind, burying her head in my neck, her voice soft with a touch of drunkenness. “Mark, why did you leave for so long? I missed you so much… Let’s go home. Mark, I love you so much… so, so much…” Over the years, whenever Sarah got drunk, she would mumble her love for me. Her friends always said that drunken words were honest words, and that Sarah truly loved me deeply. But now, all of it seemed exceptionally ridiculous. I subtly pushed her away and helped her into the car. Sarah lay on my lap, her brow unfurrowed, her breathing even, as if asleep. “Julian… Julian… why didn’t you choose me, why…” This time, I finally heard it clearly, the name that appeared countless times in her dreams. Julian. Julian Harlow. The man who stole my ex-fiancée, and Sarah’s true love. So Sarah had never forgotten him. She had even married me and pretended to be loving for his sake. I had underestimated her love for Julian. The phone clattered from the woman’s pocket. I bent down to pick it up, and a message notification popped up on the screen. “Sarah, thank you for helping me with drinks tonight. I can’t accept the necklace you gave me, it’s too precious.” The next second, I saw Julian Harlow’s social media post: “Love is priceless.” The accompanying image was an incredibly dazzling necklace, precisely the unique one in the world that a mysterious rich man had bought for a hundred million dollars, according to the news. I knew Julian Harlow had posted it specifically for me to see. This week, Sarah had been so busy she didn’t have time to eat, which led to a sudden stomach illness and a trip to the emergency room. But the moment she opened her eyes, she flew to England. I was furious and heartbroken then, thinking she was sacrificing her life for work. Only later did I learn she went to an auction. Even if she was in so much pain she couldn’t stand straight, she still went to bid on the world’s most precious necklace, to offer it to her true love. Against my better judgment, I entered the lock screen password. After typing the last digit, it unlocked successfully. It was Julian’s birthday. Sarah never let me look at her phone, saying we needed to give each other personal space. The moment it unlocked, Julian Harlow’s bright, handsome smiling face appeared. No wonder Sarah’s eyes would soften mysteriously every time she unlocked her phone. I tapped on the photo album. It was filled with consistently named folders. “Julian at Ten,” “Julian at Eleven,”… “Julian at Twenty-Five.” Each album documented Julian Harlow’s smiling face at different stages of his life. Among thousands of photos, not a single one was of me, not even of her. Only Julian. Just like her heart, from beginning to end, it only held Julian Harlow. I opened the notepad and found Sarah’s diary. [20XX, Sunny. Julian cut his leg on a branch today. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have planted trees in the yard.] [20XX, Sunny. Julian got married today. As long as he’s happy, anything I do is worth it. I live to make him happy.] [20XX, Rainy. I got married. The moment I saw Julian in the audience, how I wished he was the one standing beside me.] The car pulled into the driveway. Looking up at the bare yard, I felt cold all over. Originally, there were two peach trees in the yard, which Sarah had specifically transplanted from my family’s old estate. My father had planted them for me when I was ten years old. Whenever I saw them, I felt as if my father had never left, that he was still with me. But suddenly one day, the roots of those two trees, once full of peaches, inexplicably rotted. Sarah had held me as I cried for three days and three nights. Now I knew. It was also her who destroyed the only memento my father had left me. Her assistant’s message popped up. “Ms. Grant, as per your instructions, your will has been prepared. All assets will be left to Mr. Julian Harlow. It’s ready to take effect once you sign it.” Through blurry tears, I thought I saw the woman who, at the funeral that year, had held me tenderly and promised, “Mark, I will give you a home. Everything I have belongs to you.” I placed Sarah on the bed, but unlike before, I didn’t take off her shoes or care for her. I turned and went straight to the guest room. Closing my eyes, my mind was filled with the image of her loving me all these years. The morning sun streamed over me. Opening my eyes, I met Sarah’s gentle gaze. She leaned over and lightly kissed my forehead. “Mark, were you angry last night? I’m sorry, I drank a bit too much at dinner. I promise it won’t happen again.” Her tender demeanor was as always. I gently hummed in response, pushed her away, and went into the bathroom, washing away the lingering warmth from my forehead. The table was laden with breakfast. In the past, I would have been overjoyed. But after reading Sarah’s diary, I couldn’t feel happy anymore. This entire spread was Julian Harlow’s favorite. The sound of a key in the lock echoed from the entryway. Julian Harlow walked in, dressed in a sharp, clean suit. He naturally took a seat at the dining table and offered me a slight smile, as if explaining, “Mark, sorry to intrude. Sarah and I have a photoshoot this morning, so she asked me to come for breakfast.” I said nothing, merely looking at the identical key chain in his hand. Sarah, acutely aware of my mood, leaned in and whispered, “Julian is our best friend. It’s normal for him to have a key to our house…” Before she could finish, her tone changed abruptly. She stood up anxiously and snatched the soy milk from Julian’s hand. “Julian, you can’t drink soy milk. After all these years, why can’t you remember?” Julian pursed his lips and smiled, his voice full of amusement: “Yes, it’s a good thing I have you all these years.” They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes, like long-time lovers. I had no interest in watching their affectionate display. As I prepared to leave, Julian called out to me. “Mark, I remember you studied photography. Could you please photograph today’s shoot for me? I don’t trust the new photographer.” Since my father’s death, I had not touched a camera. Whenever I picked one up, I would think of my father, who had taught me photography since childhood. My mind would be filled with his unyielding, vulnerable face as he passed away. I no longer had the courage to press the shutter. Sarah knew this. She had locked all my cameras in a cabinet, telling me not to force myself, that she would help me through it slowly until I was ready to pick up a camera again. But at this moment, before I could speak, she pushed me into the back seat of the car. “Mark, you know Julian gets carsick, so I’m sorry to make you sit in the back.” But she had forgotten that I got even worse carsick. After barely eating any breakfast, my stomach was churning the entire ride. Upon arrival, Sarah carefully straightened Julian’s suit and walked arm-in-arm with him into the studio. I leaned against the car, taking deep breaths of fresh air. “Mark, the shoot is about to start. Be good, don’t be stubborn, and take good pictures. This shoot is very important for Julian and for Grant Industries.” Sarah suddenly pulled me into the studio with force. I lost my footing and almost fell. Picking up a camera again after five years felt strange and terrifying. My hands trembled slightly. I struggled to control the surge of sadness in my heart, pressing the shutter again and again. During a break, only Julian and I were left in the studio. He flipped through the photos, a mocking smile on his lips. “Mark, you really are useless, just like your father. You can’t do anything right. Truly, like father, like son.” My fingernails dug hard into my palms. My body trembled slightly, and I felt my anger about to erupt. “Slap!” A searing pain suddenly flared on my cheek. Julian shook his hand, looking down at me with disdain. “Mark, you are truly shameless. I never thought you’d latch onto Sarah so quickly after your engagement was called off. What makes you think you’re worthy of her? I’m telling you, both your ex-fiancée and Sarah—they’re mine.” “You don’t deserve either of them.”

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1. The moment I was released from prison, waiting for someone to pick me up, I scrolled through a local trending post with a familiar profile picture. [My biological sister stole my foster sister’s jewelry, so I taught her a little lesson by sending her to jail for three years. She’s being released today. It’s the punishment she deserved, so why do I feel this overwhelming guilt?] The comments section exploded in outrage. [This ‘righteous’ act feels a bit… extreme, doesn’t it? For a biological sister? Going to jail can ruin a life forever.] [Clearly, the poster’s heart is completely biased, stretched across the ocean.] [Hard to say. Isn’t the ‘forbidden love with a foster sibling’ trope popular now? The foster sister sheds a few tears, and the brother is just heartbroken.] [To the comment above: he hasn’t replied to you yet, probably because you hit the nail on the head.] However, less than two seconds later, the poster replied with a smiling emoji: [Is stealing such a small thing? My company is a Fortune 500. Do you really think I can’t cover for her?] Soon after, a luxury SUV, a Cullinan, pulled up in front of me. Liam’s eyes were red as he reached out his hand. “Do you finally understand your mistake? Come on, let’s go home.” I simply stepped back, unemotionally, avoiding his hand. I’d found a new brother inside. … My brother, Liam, looked startled that I had avoided him. But his hand didn’t retreat; instead, it swiftly and firmly reached for me again. “Why are you avoiding me, Anya? Did someone bully you inside?” His voice was hoarse, like his throat was stuffed with sponges. I tried to pull my hand away several times without success, so I just said flatly, “No.” He visibly relaxed, tightening his grip on me. “That’s good. I heard online that it’s a terrible place, so it’s good you weren’t bullied…” Watching his relieved expression and his eyes growing redder, I gave a bitter, mocking laugh inside. Brother, weren’t you the one who went to such lengths to put me in there? What good is your concern now? He forced a smile, pulling me towards the car in a placating manner. “Don’t you love a good celebration? I’ve prepared a welcome home feast for you.” “Come on, let’s go home.” I looked back at the prison. Inside, I’d met a new brother, named Julian. He was locked up for a white-collar crime he was falsely accused of, and he wouldn’t be out for another month. We’d already made a pact: in a month, I’d pick him up, and we’d start a new life together. Thinking of Dad’s belongings, which were still at the house, I finally got into the car with Liam. On the way, he half-warned, half-admonished me, stroking my buzzcut. “Anya, you can’t steal anymore. This is your lesson.” I clenched my fingers. For three years, I’d sent countless messages to him through the guards. Telling him I hadn’t stolen anything from Anna, that she’d framed me. But he never believed me. So this time, I wasn’t going to explain again. I just nodded obediently, agreeing with him. “Got it.” He smiled, satisfied, and took me home. As soon as he opened the door, there was a boom, and confetti rained down. Anna, whom I hadn’t seen in three years, was holding a party popper, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “Sister, welcome home!” She acted incredibly affectionate, her eyes practically overflowing with longing. Completely unlike the malicious, hateful look she’d given me when she’d falsely accused me of stealing. I ignored her, brushing past her shoulder and walking inside. Her smile froze, and she awkwardly looked to Liam for help. “Why isn’t Anya talking to me? Is she still mad at me?” Liam affectionately ruffled her hair. “Anya just got out, she might still be adjusting. It’s not your fault.” I was already in the bedroom, pulling open the drawer under the bed. Seeing Dad’s old photos and ring still there, I breathed a sigh of relief. Liam stood at the doorway, calling softly to me. “Anya, come out and eat? You’ve lost so much weight, I can see your ribs.” I closed the drawer and followed him out. At dinner, Anna casually asked: 2. “Sister, what was it like inside? I heard it’s really chaotic, is that true?” “Not chaotic. We could read books and newspapers daily, then return to our dorms after dinner.” “Oh, that sounds pretty decent then. Not as tough as I imagined.” As she spoke, a flicker of disappointment crossed Anna’s eyes. Liam peeled a shrimp for me, chuckling softly. “Now that you’re out, let’s not dwell on what happened inside. Just consider it an experience and move past it.” Anna’s expression darkened, and she said no more. A moment later, as if remembering something, she hurried back to her bedroom and returned with a small, elegant box, offering it to me. “Sister, this is a gift I prepared for you. Congratulations on your release!” I didn’t take it, just continued eating my meal. She didn’t seem to mind, smiling as she opened the box. A string of pearl necklaces lay quietly inside, looking incredibly opulent. But one glance, and my pupils constricted, blood draining from my face, a sudden chill engulfing me! Anna pushed the necklace closer to me, her face gradually twisting into a grotesque, chilling smile. “What’s wrong, Sister? Didn’t you love this necklace the most? Enough to even steal it?” “Now I’m giving it to you. Aren’t you happy?” That pearl necklace was a gift Liam had given to Anna. It was also the very thing that had sent me to prison for three years. After Dad was killed in action, Mom took the bereavement benefits and ran off, leaving Liam and me to fend for ourselves. He dropped out of high school, took countless wrong turns before finally succeeding in starting his own company. Once he made money, he adopted Anna, who had also lost her father, and brought her home. At first, I disagreed, but Liam persuaded me: “Anna is just as unfortunate as us. At least you have me; she has nothing.” “Anya, be more generous. It’s just one more plate at the table.” But despite his words, Liam treated her even better than he treated me. It was as if he wanted to raise a sister all over again, giving her everything he hadn’t had the chance to give me. Jewelry, accessories, designer bags—whatever Anna wanted, she got. In just two years, he spent millions. That was money he’d earned through sheer effort, so many nights he had to go out for business dinners, throwing up until he was sick but still forcing himself to drink more. I worried about his money and always urged him not to spend too much. As a result, Anna resented me. She hid the jewelry under my pillow, then cried to Liam, claiming I had stolen it. Liam exploded in rage, making me kneel in the rain to admit my mistake. “How could the Reynolds family produce a daughter like you? Dad was a soldier, and I’ve always been upright, never done anything wrong.” “Of all people, why did you have to take after that mother who ran off with all the money?” “Did I ever starve you or deny you clothes? Why would you steal?” I developed a high fever, crying and explaining that I hadn’t stolen anything, but he refused to believe me. The next day, he hired the best lawyer and sued me. He was my own brother, yet in court, he argued vehemently on Anna’s behalf, acting as her witness. Ultimately, I was sentenced to three years, branded a thief. Before I went in, relatives, friends, and even the lawyer advised him not to be so serious. I was a girl, after all, and three years in prison would ruin my life. But Liam was determined, choosing to alienate them rather than give up on sending me in. “Anya won’t be ruined. I work hard to make money for her. Even if she is ruined, I can support her for the rest of her life.” “But she stole, and she has to be taught a lesson!” During those three years, he visited me every month, asking if I understood my mistake. And I never showed my face, only relaying messages through the guards: “I didn’t steal any money.” 3. Every time he left, the guard would sigh and tell me: “Your brother doesn’t believe you.” One disappointment after another, slowly, imperceptibly, turned into despair. I felt as if the whole world had abandoned me. I used to have my brother’s love, but now even that was gone. Seeing that pearl necklace again, I completely broke down, overturning the box. The pearls scattered onto the floor, the string snapped, clattering and rolling away. Anna froze, flustered, and Liam’s face instantly darkened. “Anna kindly gave you a gift, and she doesn’t even blame you anymore. What are you doing?” I sat in the chair, trembling uncontrollably, my face frighteningly pale. He pulled me up. “Do you think just because you’re out, you can throw a fit? Pick up those pearls right now and apologize to Anna!” How could I apologize? I shoved Liam hard, pushed open the door, and ran out. The biting wind outside matched the churning knot of injustice and sorrow in my heart. I didn’t want to come home. If it weren’t for Dad’s belongings, I wouldn’t have returned with him. I never wanted to be wrongly accused again, never wanted to suffer another shred of injustice! Liam quickly chased after me from behind, grabbing my wrist. His brows were tightly furrowed, and he spoke with a tone of reproach. “Where are you running off to? Three years in jail and your temper hasn’t changed?” I couldn’t take it anymore. I shook him off, my eyes red, and retorted: “Whether she gave me that necklace out of kindness or malice, Liam, can’t you see it?” “I’m your biological sister. You’ve already sent me away once with your own hands, what more do you want?” “It was for your own good!” His voice grew cold. “If you dare to steal, you must accept the punishment. Otherwise, how will you ever change this habit?” “Am I supposed to watch you make mistakes without doing anything, just letting you go down the wrong path?” His words felt like a heavy pickaxe, carving a deep chasm in my heart. When had I ever stolen anything, growing up? What reason would I have to steal a necklace from Anna? Why couldn’t he just think, why wouldn’t he believe me! Tears of injustice streamed down my face, the despair and pain of three years washing over me. I gave up on explaining once again. Liam looked at my buzzcut, then softened his voice, as if admitting defeat. “Anya, everything I’ve done has been for you. Even though you spent three years in prison, I’ve still paved the way for your future.” “My company will be yours one day. I truly just wanted to give you a small punishment, nothing serious.” “Come home with your brother. Don’t run off like this again.” He took my hand, leading me back toward the house. I followed his steps numbly, not saying another word. When we pushed open the door, Anna’s eyes flashed with surprise to see Liam bringing me back. She hadn’t expected him to still be willing to let me come home, even after all this. But I felt utterly exhausted, retreating into my bedroom and not coming out again. Late that night, Anna crept into my room. I sharply opened my eyes, but she thought I was still sound asleep. She fumbled, lifted my pillow, and slipped something underneath. I said nothing, nor did I take it out. Anna was in such a hurry, repeating her old trick the moment I returned. I wanted to see if Liam would choose to believe me this time. Sure enough, the next morning, she cried to Liam, claiming I had stolen her necklace again. “Sister, if you liked it, you just had to tell me. I even gave you the necklace yesterday, but you didn’t want it.” “Do you just enjoy petty theft?” Liam’s face was dark, his gaze fixed on me, teeth clenched. 4. “You just can’t change, can you?” My heart dropped with a thump, plummeting into a bottomless abyss. Liam’s words were like a sharp sword, severing the last ties of family between us. I gave a self-deprecating smile. “No, I can’t.” “Smack!” As my words fell, Liam suddenly raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face. The fury and disappointment in his eyes threatened to spill over. “How could I have a sister like you!” I was silent for a moment, then, covering my face, I let out a cold laugh. “I don’t know why I have a brother like you.” “You!” He pointed at me, his hand trembling, too furious to speak. Before his second slap could land, I dropped to my knees with a thud and bowed my head. “Thank you for dropping out of school to take care of me. From now on, I have no brother.” With that, I stood up, retrieved Dad’s belongings from under the bed, and turned to leave. His face was grim as he snatched the photos and ring. “These are Dad’s things. You have no right to them!” Then so be it. I nodded, resignedly preparing to leave. Liam’s voice, tight with suppressed anger, called out from behind me. “You’re an ex-con. What can you do without me? Starve?” My steps didn’t falter. “Don’t trouble yourself.” After leaving the house, I sat in the neighborhood park for a whole day. This time, Liam didn’t come after me. He must have been utterly disappointed and disgusted, unwilling to care anymore. I had no money, so I looked for a job that offered room and board. But as soon as they heard I’d been to prison, not a single company would hire me. Left with no choice, I went to a construction site. The foreman scrutinized me from head to toe, then slowly frowned. “A woman? Our work is very tough. Can you handle it?” I forced a pleading smile. “Please, sir, just give me a chance. Don’t let my size fool you; I’m actually very strong.” He was still hesitant, until I started working without further ado, moving quickly and efficiently. He finally nodded, agreeing to let me stay. “Room and board included, a hundred a day.” “But our project is short-term, only a month.” I nodded happily. That was enough. Julian would be out in a month, and I’d have somewhere to go. So I worked at the construction site for about twenty days. When Liam found me again, he was so shocked he barely recognized me. My hair had grown out considerably, becoming a frizzy mess. My clothes were covered in dirt, flaking off with every step. He watched from a distance, his eyes slowly turning red. After a long while, he rushed over and grabbed my wrist. “How did you end up here? Anya, do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?!” “Come on, let’s go home. You can’t do this kind of work!” I shook him off and picked up another stack of bricks from the ground, pretending not to know him. His lips were tightly pressed together. He stopped trying to persuade me, turning to talk to the foreman instead. I don’t know what he said. Soon, the foreman walked up to me, his face grim. “Anya Reynolds, why didn’t you mention you’d been to prison for stealing? We can’t have someone like that on our site. You’re fired!” “And I can’t pay you your wages. You need to leave now!” I was shocked, quickly begging the foreman for another chance. “I was framed for that. I never stole anything and I never will. Please, just let me stay!” “That’s your biological brother, isn’t it? Would he frame you?” The foreman interrupted me with a sneer. “We can’t have dishonest people. Go, go!” Then, impatiently, he shoved me. I lost my balance and stumbled backward, only to be caught steadily by Liam.

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My DINK husband and I had both retired. Just as we were planning a world tour together, he suddenly laid down his cards. “I’ve publicly claimed to be DINK for thirty years for you, but now it’s time to bring my two children, who’ve been living elsewhere, home!” I had expected this, though, and smiled meaningfully. He thought I was crazy and continued, “It’s natural for a man to carry on his lineage. If you couldn’t have children, I could play along with the DINK pretense. But now, I need to give my children an explanation!” He proposed divorce, wanting to take his son and daughter, along with their mother, on a family trip. I immediately agreed, graciously stepping aside and leaving. 1. The DINK Dilemma After news of the divorce spread, everyone felt sorry for me. An elderly neighbor, empathizing, said, “At this age, to be abandoned by her husband… a bleak old age, how tragic.” “Charles Reynolds, that old scoundrel, what a jerk! Back then, he swore they’d never have kids, just live a life for two. Now look, his own son and daughter are old enough to give him grandkids!” A young college student from the same complex fumed on my behalf. Chatting with old friends, they couldn’t help but lament, “You were so brilliant in your youth, successful in your career, living so freely. But you had to be DINK, and now you’re old and lonely…” My parents also tried to persuade me, “As long as you don’t divorce, his children are your children. They’ll still care for you in your old age. When we’re gone, we’ll have peace of mind.” They all thought I was forced into divorce, that I was heartbroken, that I was facing a lonely old age, having lived my life as a joke. I didn’t explain, nor did I bother to refute them one by one. How our situation truly played out, they would eventually learn when the time was right. Charles, on the other hand, was basking in his glory. He posted a family photo on social media with the caption: “From today on, I finally have a real family.” In the photo, he stood in the middle, with a young man and woman flanking him, their faces beaming with undisguised vigor. And the woman who could carry on his lineage held his arm, smiling sweetly and demurely. The family of four looked happy and warm—this was probably the domestic bliss Charles had always yearned for. It was as if the years he spent with me had never existed, as if they had always been this small family unit. “Look at that, now that’s a life winner,” someone commented. Yes, Charles had won big. In his youth, he enjoyed a life for two with me, living freely for decades, never enduring the hardship of late-night feedings or diaper changes. Yet in his old age, he now had a son and a daughter, to dote on him. How could he not be considered a life winner? Now that he was finally retired, his career and reputation wouldn’t be affected. He could at last legitimize the woman he’d kept hidden for decades, welcome his children home, and experience the warmth of family. And I, at my age, abandoned by my husband, left to face a lonely and unsupported fate, would inevitably draw sighs of pity. But they didn’t know that I had been prepared all along. This marriage was never a one-sided act. 2. The Farewell Home The divorce proceedings went quickly, almost too quickly for me to fully grasp. Charles personally drove me to the registry office. When signing the papers, his hand didn’t tremble at all. Instead, it seemed as if a burden had finally been lifted, making his movements quick and decisive. He smiled at the clerk and said, “Can’t be helped. We’re both old now, and the love just died. But thankfully, I have a son and a daughter to keep me company, so I’ll still enjoy some family happiness.” The clerk looked at me apologetically, her eyes full of sympathy and comfort. I smiled back but didn’t say anything. After the divorce, he waved his hand, hiring people to clear out the bedroom I’d lived in for over thirty years. He was impatient to bring Elaine and his two children home. I didn’t fight or argue, didn’t even bother to hire a lawyer. I simply took my half of the savings and a few important personal items, then decisively moved out. On the day Elaine moved in, I returned to pack up the last few things. The front door opened, and I immediately saw brand new photos displayed in the living room. My wedding photo with Charles had been replaced. In its place was a family portrait of the four of them. Charles sat in the middle, Elaine linked arms with him, and two young, similar-looking adults stood on either side, appearing to be in their twenties, full of youthful spirit. When they saw me enter, the lively atmosphere instantly chilled, as if to declare their unwelcome. Elaine, however, smiled and called out, “Oh, Anya, did you forget something? Let me help you find it.” She completely took on the air of a hostess greeting a guest. “Just a few last things. I’m taking them all today,” I said calmly. Charles sat on the sofa, head still down, casually flipping through a newspaper, as if waiting for me to take the hint and leave. Sarah and Tom stood to the side, their eyes filled with undisguised distance and wariness, treating me like a strange intruder. “Mom, this house’s decor looks a bit old, doesn’t it? The living room is a bit dark. Why don’t we redecorate and change the style?” Sarah said casually. “Yeah, the sofa needs replacing too. It’s so dated. How did Dad manage to live in a place like this?” Tom chimed in. I listened to their nitpicking, watching Charles remain silent, and felt a slight urge to laugh. This was the home Charles and I had lived in for thirty years. Every piece of furniture had been meticulously chosen, yet now they were deemed worthless. Elaine intimately linked arms with Charles. “See how opinionated the children are? This house needs a complete overhaul. We can’t shortchange ourselves.” Charles finally slowly raised his head and glanced at me. “Anya, are your things packed? Take everything at once. No need to keep coming back for this and that. It saves everyone the awkwardness.” His meaning was clear: once I left this time, don’t come back, don’t be an eyesore to their family of four. I averted my gaze, picked up the bag I’d just packed, and stood at the doorway, taking one last look at this house that had once been mine. Elaine was delicately leaning on Charles, peeling an orange. Her two children sat side-by-side on the sofa, watching TV. The three of them laughed and chatted occasionally. It was as if this home had always been this way, made up of their family of four, with no place for me. Charles’s gaze towards Elaine held the respect for the mother of his two children, the guilt for keeping her hidden all these years. As for me, I was merely an old woman they both found irritating, without children or grandchildren to support me, destined to fend for myself. A cold laugh echoed in my heart. Fine. Since you want to drive me away, I’ll leave decisively. So you can fully enjoy this fleeting charade. Because in a few days, it will be you all hating and fighting each other. I turned and left the house without looking back. 3. The Lonely Sunset After the divorce, I moved into an apartment, not far from my old home, but now two different worlds. I didn’t feel any particular difficulty adjusting. Without Charles at home, I found a sense of peace. But outsiders didn’t see it that way. “No matter how capable and free-spirited you were in your youth, you still lost in the end.” This was the common opinion among my friends and relatives. My mother, seeing me, couldn’t help but wipe away tears: “Anya, you’re living alone now, no one to take care of you. What if you fall ill someday?” “Before, when you said DINK, you meant DINK. You insisted on it. Now what? How wonderful it would be to have a child, at least you wouldn’t have ended up like this.” My father sighed, his face full of regret: “We really shouldn’t have let you have your way back then. If we had tried harder to persuade you, you wouldn’t be living like this now.” All their words implicitly blamed my insistence on being DINK for losing my husband’s heart. The most ridiculous part was my friends, who also felt Charles had done nothing wrong. “Men, you know, they need children. Charles was willing to play along with you for so many years, that’s already more than enough.” “You were too stubborn back then. All these years, I’ve never understood what you were aiming for.” “Exactly. If you ask me, since you’re both old now, Elaine would still call you ‘older sister.’ Why not just try to make it work, all living together?” I thought they would at most advise me to accept Charles’s children, but I never expected them to even suggest I share a husband with Elaine. But they didn’t consider that those two children had no blood relation to me. Even if I had stayed, how many good days could I have truly had? When I first insisted on being DINK, I faced pressure from everyone, declaring my absolute decision not to have children, and was criticized as selfish and unfilial. Charles’s parents pressured him to divorce me, but he claimed he didn’t mind and just wanted to live a good life with me. Moved by this, I became even more resolute in my decision. For decades, I compromised, taking all the blame myself, preserving his reputation, and even his own masculine confidence and dignity. Only to discover that he had brought me nothing but utter deception. He didn’t pressure me to have children for him because I wasn’t his only woman. If I didn’t have kids, he could just have other women do it. And he could still maintain a reputation for loving and protecting his wife, and even gain my parents’ trust and support. Why wouldn’t he? When I discovered the truth, I never imagined that the husband I’d always thought was gentle and refined could be so deeply manipulative. I was wrong, but my mistake wasn’t in not having children. It was in taking it upon myself to preserve his masculine dignity. For this, I was even willing to give up my right to be a mother. Therefore, I plotted for years, just waiting for the moment he could no longer keep up the act, to strike him a heavy blow.

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During our annual leave, my husband and I went abroad for our honeymoon. Coincidentally, a new virus broke out—infection meant death within three months. Desperate, and due to my specialized profession, I received the only two return tickets available. I touched my belly, where my child was less than three months old, and excitedly told my husband, “Liam, we don’t have to die.” But on the day we were supposed to leave, Liam said, “I gave the tickets to Sienna. She’s seven months pregnant.” Sienna was the one he’d loved and lost in his youth, his “white moonlight.” For the sake of the baby in my belly, I knelt and begged him to get the tickets back. He hesitated for a second, then coldly refused me. “Sienna and her baby need those tickets more. Your baby is only a month along; it doesn’t count as a life yet!” In the end, I watched helplessly as he took Sienna and boarded the plane, while I, and the child in my womb, died in a foreign land. When I reopened my eyes, I found myself holding two tickets! 1. Half an hour ago, I had called the embassy and, due to my specialized background, had secured these two sole tickets. Memories of my past life flashed before my eyes like a film. They stopped at the scene of me, connected to a ventilator, dying in despair on a cold hospital bed. My body turned to ashes, scattered with thousands of other deceased souls on foreign soil. When I returned to the hotel, it was twenty minutes earlier than in my previous life. I overheard Liam on the phone in the bathroom. “Sienna, don’t be afraid. I’ll find a way to get tickets.” “For the sake of our unborn baby, you must be strong. You’re a strong mother. Trust me, I won’t let you or the baby die.” Liam’s voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. From the other end of the line came intermittent sobs. “Oh, Liam, thank you for still being so good to me. If I hadn’t been born into such a parasitic family, I never would have left you.” Then Sienna’s voice turned a bit sour. “By the way, Liam, are you in Florence for your honeymoon this time?” Liam hummed, then eagerly added, “But also to see you. I heard you got divorced, and I was worried about you being alone.” I gripped the tickets, sitting on the sofa, and scoffed. So, among all those countries, Liam’s insistence on coming to Florence was for Sienna. It was laughable that before we left, he’d given the reason that Florence was a romantic city and he wanted to give me a romantic trip. Only now, reliving it, did I realize it was all a lie. The doorknob to the bathroom turned, and Liam saw me. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, but he quickly composed himself. He smiled and sat beside me, wrapping his arms around me intimately, as he always did, burrowing into my embrace. “Honey, when did you get back?” Our bodies were pressed tightly together, but I no longer felt the warmth I once did. Instead, a chill seeped into my bones. I pushed him away, calmly saying, “I just got back and sat down when you came out.” He didn’t think much of it, nor did he notice my changed demeanor. Instead, he let out a sigh of relief, then his voice dropped. “Honey, if we can’t leave this time, I’ll die with you.” I said nothing, but scoffed inwardly. With Sienna, he was careful to comfort her and promise she wouldn’t die. With me, he said he could die with me, yet in the previous life, he took the ticket and boarded the plane with Sienna. I still remember how he resolutely flung my hand away, feigning agony as he said, “Eleanor, I’m an only child, and I come from a single-parent home. If I die, my mother won’t survive. But don’t worry, I’ll treat your parents as my own.” 2. But he seemed to forget, my parents only had me, and I was their late-in-life child. My name is Eleanor Vance. My parents said they hoped I would be as precious as pure gold, that my name embodied all their love. Who isn’t a treasure in their parents’ hands? Even now, I can’t bear to imagine how my parents, nearing seventy, would spend their old age if I were gone. After dinner with Liam, he excused himself to go downstairs for a cigarette to clear his head. I stood silently by the window, watching him hail a taxi and drive away. In the empty hotel room, the news reported the daily updated death toll: “Today, twenty-one deaths from infection…” The presenter’s voice was cold as she recited the numbers, but I knew deeply how painfully those lives behind the statistics awaited death. On the first day of infection, the entire body would itch. On the second, rashes would break out everywhere. Those rashes would be painful and itchy, oozing pus. On the third day, internal organs would feel like they were being gnawed away. This agonizing pain would not subside until the very moment of death! Thinking of this, I touched my belly and said softly, “Good baby, next life, choose a good father and mother. I can’t… keep you. Mommy doesn’t want you to be born into an incomplete family!” After all, Mommy also came from a complete and loving family. Mommy hopes you can have that double portion of love too! Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. I saw it was my father calling. As soon as I answered, my father’s choked voice came through the line. “Hello, Eleanor, I saw the news that a virus broke out in Florence, and all flights are grounded. My dear daughter, don’t be afraid. Dad will buy a ticket and come to be with you.” Then, from the other end of the line, came my mother’s suppressed sobbing. “Old man, I’m going too. Buy my ticket as well. You think you’re the only one who misses our daughter? Don’t I?” “Your health isn’t good. Just wait for good news at home, I’ll bring our daughter back safely.” “No, if she comes back, we come back together. If not, it’s better to die together.” Hearing my usually gentle parents argue over me, my eyes silently welled up with tears on my end of the phone. To keep them from worrying, I suppressed my choked voice and quickly said, “Mom and Dad, don’t worry. I called the embassy, and the country gave me return tickets. I’ll be back tomorrow.” My mother, hearing this, quickly snatched the phone. “Really? That’s wonderful! Your father and I will go to the airport to pick you up tomorrow.” I wiped away my tears and smiled. “No, I have a mission when I return home this time. Just rest assured at home and wait for me to come back.” After hanging up, I realized Liam had returned at some point. He looked at me with delight. “Eleanor, you got the tickets, didn’t you?” I had told him when I called the embassy. Now that I think about it, his confident words to comfort Sienna were probably based on the assumption that I would get the tickets. Since he knew, I no longer concealed it, but when I spoke, I deliberately said, “I got the tickets, but there’s only one.” Hearing this, the hopeful light in his eyes instantly dimmed. After a few seconds of silence, he frowned, anxious. “One? How could they only give one? Didn’t you tell them you have family?” “Talk to them again, ask them to make an exception. Someone like you, an unsung hero, couldn’t possibly only get one ticket, could they?” He was right, of course. Life-saving tickets were meant for partners and family. So when I explained the situation to the embassy, they gave me two return tickets without hesitation. But now, faced with Liam’s questioning, I still insisted, “At times like this, tickets are even more scarce. Most of those who can board planes now are the pillars of the country, serving our nation.” He remained noncommittal to my words. Seeing his silence, I deliberately asked, “Honey, don’t you want me to return home? You must know how many lives my identity could save if I returned.” He snapped back to reality, forcing a smile. “I… of course I want you to go back.” Late at night, I pretended to be asleep. Sure enough, he quietly searched for the tickets. I hadn’t deliberately hidden the tickets; they were just in a box on the nightstand. But I had hidden my own ticket. Liam, knowing beforehand that I had only secured one ticket, didn’t suspect anything. With the ticket in hand, he immediately went to the bathroom and made a call. “Sienna, I got the ticket from Eleanor. You can go through the special channel and board the plane tomorrow.” “Really? Oh, Liam, that’s wonderful! Now my baby and I won’t die!” Liam heard the laughter from the other end of the line and joined in her joy. After a moment of excitement, Sienna suddenly remembered something and quickly asked, “Liam, are you coming with me? I want… I want you to be my baby’s father.” If it were the previous life, Liam would have jumped for joy, because this was the lifelong regret he couldn’t overcome. But at this moment, knowing there was only one ticket, he said bitterly, “Sienna, don’t worry about me. If I survive, I’ll definitely come back to marry you.” “Eleanor, such a talented person, wouldn’t only get one ticket, would she? You can talk to her, tell her to give you her ticket first. After you and I leave together, the country, valuing her abilities, should give her another one.” I secretly listened to their conversation. So that was her plan. She still wanted to fly off with him, leaving me to die in a foreign land, just like in the previous life! At this moment, Liam, having heard her words, could only say helplessly, “Eleanor only managed to get one ticket, but don’t worry, I might not die. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to live until a cure is found.” Sienna suddenly started crying after hearing this. Liam comforted her tenderly for a while before coming back to sleep. After turning off the light, Liam held me and whispered behind me, “I’m sorry, Eleanor. I… I’ll be with you, even in death. Let it be my atonement to you!” A chill spread through me. My heart ached as if pricked by needles. Liam and I, though we met through an arranged marriage, After marriage, he was caring, gentle, and romantic, fulfilling all my expectations for a husband. I gradually fell in love with him. When I heard all flights were grounded, I had even thought of dying with him, but his love and his true heart had never been given to me! Since that was the case, in this life, let him bear the pain of separation by death himself! The next day, when I woke up, Liam was nowhere to be seen.

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