The first thing I did after being reborn was switch my newborn daughter with another baby. I know how it sounds, but in my last life, that decision would’ve saved me. Days after my daughter was born, a blood test showed she was type AB. The problem? I’m type B, and my husband Joel is type O. Genetically, we couldn’t have an AB child. Joel exploded. He demanded a paternity test. The results were a nightmare: the baby was mine, but not his. He slapped me, his voice trembling with a pain worse than the hit. “I gave you everything, Eve. I loved only you. Is this how you repay me?” His mother’s wails filled the hall, accusing me of cheating, tricking her son, planting a bastard to steal their fortune. My world collapsed. I was completely lost. I knew Joel had to be the father. It couldn’t be anyone else. Instantly, I was branded a cheater, a whore. Joel divorced me and took his story online, playing the heartbroken victim. Strangers attacked me with poisonous words. With a baby and nowhere to go, I fell into depression and jumped. Until the end, I never understood what went wrong. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back in the hospital, the day my daughter was born. … 1 “Eve, you did so well. You must be exhausted,” Joel’s voice, soft and gentle, washed over me. He was cradling our daughter, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated love. “Why don’t I take her for her check-up?” A jolt, electric and sharp, shot through me. I was back. It was real. There was no time to think, only to act. “No,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected. “I’ll take her. You said you had that big project at work, didn’t you? You don’t need to stay here.” Joel paused, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Are you sure? You just gave birth…” The more he hesitated, the more a frantic urgency clawed at my throat. I held out my arms. “I’ve rested all day. I’m fine. I want to take her myself.” Last time, it was after this very check-up that the AB blood type was discovered. It was Joel who had brought me the news, his face a storm of fury, his accusations already formed. He’d demanded the paternity test, seasoning his demand with cruel insinuations that poisoned everyone against me before the results even came back. He’d driven me from our home, penniless, and smeared my name until I had nothing left. The memory of his lies still sent a chill down my spine. Before Joel could hand the baby over, his mother, who was standing beside him, let out a sharp, derisive snort. “Some people pop out a girl and think they’re the queen of the world,” she said, her voice dripping with acid. “Making my son run around like a servant when he should be at work. All you do is eat and sleep. You couldn’t even give the family a boy. You’re nothing but bad luck.” Ever since Joel and I had married, his mother had treated me with relentless contempt. I had always tolerated it for Joel’s sake—he was a devoted son—but my patience only seemed to fuel her arrogance. She spoke as if the hospital room were her private living room, her venomous words echoing in the shared space. The other new mothers in the room exchanged uncomfortable glances. “What kind of thing is that to say? Of course a father should help with his own child,” one of them finally piped up. “You’re a mother, you know how hard it is,” another added, frowning at her. “How can you talk to your own daughter-in-law like that?” “Seriously, it’s the 21st century. That whole ‘must have a boy’ thing is just toxic.” Used to being the unchallenged matriarch at home, Joel’s mother’s face flushed a blotchy, angry red. Joel quickly stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “Mom, please. Eve is my wife. It’s my job to take care of her and our daughter,” he said smoothly. Then he turned to me, his expression a perfect blend of loving concern and apologetic frustration. “Honey, Mom and I will go home and make you some chicken soup to help you get your strength back. We’ll be right back.” He was so good at it—playing the poor guy caught in the middle, trying to please everyone. The sympathetic looks from the other patients returned. I just watched him, my face a cold, unreadable mask, as I finally took my daughter into my arms. I saw the tiny mole on her finger and my heart clenched with certainty. This was her. This was my child. So far, nothing had changed. Joel hadn’t swapped the baby. He wasn’t insisting on taking her for the check-up himself. So where did the AB blood type come from? And that damning paternity test? My mind raced. Filled with a cold dread and a flicker of a plan, I called my parents and asked them to come. When they arrived, I handed my daughter to them. A short while later, after making a quiet inquiry, I learned of a baby girl abandoned at the hospital earlier that day. A baby with type O blood. I arranged a temporary foster placement, and just before the check-up, I carefully slipped my daughter’s hospital bracelet onto the other infant’s tiny wrist. This time, I thought, a bitter smile touching my lips, let’s see how you frame me now, Joel. 2 When I returned to the room with the baby, it wasn’t long before Joel and his mother reappeared, carrying a thermal container. “Eve, I made your favorite chicken soup myself,” Joel announced, his voice booming with affection as he opened the container, releasing a fragrant cloud of steam. He handed me a bowl of rice. “If you like it, I’ll bring it every day. Don’t ever worry about a thing. My paycheck goes straight to you, remember? Buy whatever you want.” He gazed at me with such adoration, such tender concern. The other women in the room sighed with envy. “You’re so lucky. It’s rare to find a man who dotes on his wife like that.” “A man who’s a good provider and a family man? You hit the jackpot.” I glanced at Joel, his eyes shining with sincerity. He was playing the part of the perfect, doting husband flawlessly. This was how he’d done it last time, crafting this image of a blameless, devoted man so that when the time came, everyone would believe him without question. I slammed my chopsticks down on the bedside table. “Cut the crap, Joel,” I said, my voice cold and sharp. The room fell silent. “You talk a good game, but you ordered this soup from a restaurant using my hospital meal card. You act so generous, giving me your credit card, but you interrogate me like a criminal over every single charge. You wanted a line-item report for a two-dollar coffee last week. And every time your mother starts in on me, you just tell me to ‘be patient’ and ‘let it go.’ You’ve never once actually cared about me, have you?” Every eye in the room swiveled to Joel, their expressions shifting from envy to suspicion. He looked completely blindsided, his jaw slack. “Eve… honey, what are you talking about?” he stammered, his performance crumbling. Just then, a nurse bustled into the room, holding a clipboard with several test reports. Joel looked as though he’d been thrown a lifeline. “Oh, the results! Here, I’ll take those,” he said, practically leaping to intercept her. His mother crowded in right behind him, their bodies forming a subtle barrier, shutting me out. Watching their eagerness, a pit of ice formed in my stomach. A terrible premonition washed over me. A second later, Joel’s eyes went wide. “What is this? Why is the baby’s blood type AB? That’s impossible!” His mother let out a piercing shriek. “My son is type O! How could he have a type AB daughter?” She whirled on me, her finger pointing like a dagger. “Eve! What have you done? This child isn’t a part of the Collins family!” A doctor, drawn by the commotion, entered the room with a stern frown. “Ma’am, please, this is a hospital. Keep your voice down.” This only fueled her fire. She grabbed his white coat, her face contorting into a mask of theatrical grief. “Doctor, you have to help us! The mother is type B, the father is type O, but the baby is type AB! How is that possible?” The doctor’s frown deepened. “Well, typically a B and O pairing cannot produce an AB child, but there are extremely rare exceptions—” “I knew it!” his mother screeched, slapping her thigh for emphasis and cutting him off. “It’s all her fault! That cheating bitch!” Joel, ever the actor, let his face fall into an expression of devastated disbelief. “No, Mom, it can’t be. I trust Eve. There must have been a mix-up. They must have given us the wrong baby!” The nurse who had brought the results chimed in immediately. “That’s impossible. Our hospital has very strict protocols. Every baby is tagged with a bracelet at birth. There are no mix-ups.” It was a perfectly rehearsed play. The three of them, in a few short lines, had already declared my guilt. Joel’s mother glared at me, her eyes filled with venom, and began to wail. “What a cruel joke! To let a woman like this into our family! Sleeping around with some stranger and passing off his bastard child as ours! The shame of it all!” The room buzzed with shocked whispers. Joel turned to me, his face a thunderous mask of righteous anger. “Eve,” he demanded, his voice shaking. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this? Why would you betray me?” 3 I just stared at him, speechless for a moment. We had been married for years, and I had waited for this child with so much hope, so much love. Now, I was watching him shatter that beautiful dream with his own hands, forcing me to see that the dream had only ever been mine. Seeing my silence, a flicker of triumph flashed in Joel’s eyes. His mother, emboldened, continued her tirade, her words already cementing the narrative. “I knew you were trouble from the start! Always prancing around the house, trying to catch someone’s eye. And all those male doctors in the delivery room! Shameless! No wonder you weren’t embarrassed—you’re used to being passed around!” she shrieked. “We are not letting some outsider steal our family’s money!” Her voice was a shrill drill boring into my skull. I ignored her, my eyes locked on Joel. “Is that what you believe, too?” His expression was cold, unforgiving. “Even though you’re my wife, this is something I cannot accept,” he declared, his voice ringing with false piety. “I have given you everything. I have catered to your every whim during this pregnancy. You took my love and threw it in the dirt. I will not be made a fool of!” He spoke with such passion, as if he were the one suffering an unbearable injustice. I finally let my own performance begin. I covered my face, my voice trembling with manufactured hurt. “You’re condemning me based on a blood test? After all these years… I was so wrong about you, Joel. Why? Why are you doing this to me?” The other patients and their families, having witnessed his mother’s vulgar display and now seeing Joel’s cold condemnation, began to rally to my side. Their belief in his ‘perfect husband’ act was shattered. “A blood type isn’t proof of anything. Accusing her of cheating like this is just cruel.” “You should double-check before you say something that could destroy your marriage.” “I thought you were so in love with your wife. Turns out you’re just a mama’s boy with zero trust in her.” Joel didn’t flinch at their criticism. In fact, a glint of satisfaction appeared in his eyes. He seized the opportunity they’d given him. “Fine,” he announced, his voice booming. “Then we’ll get a paternity test. If the blood type isn’t enough, a DNA test will prove once and for all whether or not this is my daughter!” He turned his fiery gaze on me. “And when the results come back, I want you out of my house with nothing. Do you dare?” A cold smile touched my lips. “Who’s the one who should be scared? Let’s do it right now. And if it turns out you’re wrong, you’re the one who leaves with nothing.” Joel’s face was a canvas of smug triumph, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of a plan perfectly executed. We went to the testing center that very same day to give our samples. Along the way, Joel was already on his phone, broadcasting the story. He posted multiple videos, tearfully recounting his tale of love and betrayal, and his posts quickly went viral. Calls from relatives started pouring in. Reporters, catching wind of the drama, followed us from the hospital to the clinic. Joel welcomed the attention, playing the part of the tragic hero to a captivated audience. I watched it all unfold, my mind racing. I knew for a fact that the baby I had taken for the check-up was type O. For the test to come back as AB, something had to have happened during the testing process itself. And yet, Joel was completely unafraid of a paternity test. What gave him that confidence? Suddenly, a theory, wild and terrifying, sparked in my mind. I quickly pulled out my phone and sent a discreet text to my parents. As we walked out of the testing center, Joel looked like a conquering king. “You’re going to pay for this, Eve,” he sneered. “You brought this all on yourself.” I met his gaze, my expression serene. He was so certain of his victory. He had no idea. This time, no matter what the results said, he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. 4 While we waited for the results, I moved out of our house and hired a lawyer to prepare for the divorce. When Joel found out, he laughed. “You should save the money you’re spending on a lawyer for living expenses. You’re going to need it when you’re out on the street.” He was glowing, energized by the outpouring of online sympathy. In just a few days, he had cultivated a loyal army of followers. He hosted live streams, weeping about his betrayal, and his audience ate it up. A few people questioned why he was so certain of the outcome before the results were even in, suggesting it was all for show. But they were quickly drowned out by his defenders. 【What do you know? A man can feel when his wife has cheated. He’s probably known for a long time but couldn’t take raising another man’s child anymore.】 【He wouldn’t be airing his dirty laundry in public unless he was pushed to the absolute limit!】 【The blood type is all the proof you need! Cheaters deserve to be thrown out with nothing!】 My own social media accounts became a cesspool of curses and threats from these self-proclaimed warriors of justice. I didn’t respond. Instead, I had my lawyer quietly gather evidence. I was preparing to settle the score. Last time, these were the people who had hounded me, who had found my address, sent threatening packages, and vandalized my door until I broke. This time, I wouldn’t let a single one of them get away with it. The day the paternity results arrived, Joel set up a live stream to open the envelope. The viewership was massive; everyone was waiting for the final verdict. When I appeared on camera, the comment section exploded with hate. 【Go to hell, you cheating bitch! How could you do that to a man who loved you so much!】 【Just sign the papers and go be with your secret lover! Our boy Joel deserves so much better!】 【You wanted to use a bastard child to steal his family’s money! You’re disgusting!】 Joel’s eyes shone with manic excitement. “It’s too late for apologies now, Eve,” he said, his voice dripping with condescending pity. “Just you wait.” His mother stood behind him, preening for the camera. “That’s right! My son is a famous influencer now. He’s way too good for the likes of you. Today, everyone will see you for what you are, and you’ll leave with nothing. And we want all the jewelry back, too! Every penny you spent over the years!” Even the nurse from the hospital was there, adding her own sanctimonious commentary. “We all saw how devoted Mr. Collins was to his wife. It’s such a tragedy he gave his heart to the wrong person. I can personally vouch for the accuracy of the blood test, and I’m sure the paternity test will be just as conclusive!” Beaming with triumph, Joel ripped open the first envelope. The report inside was stark, printed in black and white. It stated that he and the child shared no biological relationship. He held the paper up to the camera, his face a mask of fury. “Here it is! The proof that Eve cheated! This child is not mine!” The chat erupted. A tidal wave of vitriol washed over me, a digital mob calling for my head. Joel struggled to contain his glee, masking it with a performance of heartbroken rage as he tore open the second envelope—the one with my results. “And now, family, you’ll see… when you put these two results together, it’s just…” His words choked in his throat. He stared at the newly opened report, his bravado instantly evaporating. He froze, his face draining of all color, becoming a ghastly, pale white.

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The new intern suggested a team-building event at my family’s cherry orchard. Ignoring my pleas, they set up barbecues, chopped down trees, and stripped the branches bare. The damage was catastrophic. Even the Queen Cherry, our most prized tree, was scorched and left for dead. Faced with massive breach-of-contract fines and their livelihood destroyed, my parents saw no way out. They drank pesticide and died in the orchard they had loved. My eyes burning with grief, I went to confront the intern, Jessica, to demand an answer. But she just played the victim, collapsing into the arms of the mayor’s son, Patrick. “Molly, we paid you for the venue,” she sobbed. “You can’t try to extort more money from me now.” Patrick rallied the other townspeople to his side. “This is your family’s mismanagement, Molly. It has nothing to do with Jessica. You can’t take advantage of her good nature like this.” Outnumbered and alone, I backed away, step by agonizing step, until I stumbled and fell into the nearby pond. I drowned with their accusations ringing in my ears. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day the intern invited everyone to my family’s orchard. 1 “Hey, doesn’t Molly’s family own a cherry orchard?” The voice of the new intern, Jessica, sliced through the office chatter. I glanced at my phone, my heart seizing when I saw the date. I was back. I had been reborn. “I even got the boss to approve a huge budget for it!” she continued, her voice bright and bubbly. “There’s going to be food, drinks, games, and even cash prizes!” Jessica had a talent for whipping up enthusiasm. She turned to me, her smile wide and innocent. “And don’t worry, Molly. The company will pay you a generous venue fee. Your family won’t lose out.” A colleague nudged me, whispering, “Wow, Molly, easy money. You’d better treat Jessica to a nice dinner for setting this up.” It was happening all over again, a perfect, nightmarish replay. My breath caught in my throat. In my last life, heavy rains had led to a bumper crop for everyone in the region, driving prices down. The idea of having the team from work consume some of the surplus while bringing in extra income had seemed like a godsend. I had agreed without a second thought. But the moment they arrived, they set up barbecue pits without asking. Under Jessica’s direction, they turned it into a competition: who could chop down the most branches for firewood, who could pick the most cherries. I had tried to stop them, but Jessica just blinked her wide, innocent eyes at me. “Molly, you have more cherries than you know what to do with. Don’t be so stingy.” My other colleagues had chimed in, grumbling that I was being a killjoy. “We paid to be here. What we do with the cherries is our business.” They ignored my protests, their destruction growing more reckless by the hour. By the end of the day, they left the orchard a complete wreck, bragging about their “achievements.” But their carelessness had a deadlier consequence. An ember from a barbecue pit, left smoldering, caught the dry grass. The fire spread with terrifying speed. By the time we got it under control, our most valuable asset, the ancient Queen Cherry tree, was nothing but a charred husk. Without the Queen’s unique harvest to fulfill our most important contract, we were facing financial ruin. And with the tree gone, any hope of rebuilding was extinguished. My parents, staring at the devastation, had simply given up. They shared a bottle of pesticide and left me alone in the wreckage of our lives. The memory of their bodies, of the acrid taste of pond water filling my lungs, solidified into a cold, hard resolve. I gritted my teeth and looked Jessica dead in the eye. “My family doesn’t welcome outsiders,” I said, my voice cutting through the office buzz. “And we don’t need your money.” A wave of groans and complaints rippled through the room. “It’s just a few stupid cherries. What’s the big deal?” “Honestly, if Jessica hadn’t suggested it, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that backwater town.” “She’s offering you money and you’re turning it down? What a waste of Jessica’s kindness.” Jessica, ever the performer, pressed on. “Molly, if the budget is the issue, I can talk to the boss and see if we can get more.” I shot her a withering look. “My family’s orchard is worth over a million dollars. Is that in your budget?” Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Molly, if I did something to offend you, you can just tell me. This was a project the boss approved. If I have to change it last minute, it could affect my performance review… my chance to become a permanent employee.” Her display of vulnerability immediately rallied the others to her defense. “Are you trying to sabotage her, Molly? Are you jealous that the new girl is getting noticed?” “My god, are you that greedy? A million dollars? Get real.” I let out a short, cold laugh, standing my ground. “The price is two million. Upfront. Otherwise, stay the hell away from my home.” 2 I couldn’t get home fast enough. The sight of my parents, still vibrant and alive, working among the trees, sent a wave of relief so powerful it brought tears to my eyes. I made a silent vow: this time, I would not let the tragedy happen. Just then, my phone rang. A private number. It was a telemarketer. “Hello, are you interested in learning more about property damage insurance?” My finger hovered over the hang-up button, then froze. “Tell me more,” I said, my voice urgent. “Does it cover any and all property damage? What if… what if an orchard is intentionally vandalized?” “As long as the beneficiary isn’t committing fraud, we cover all forms of property loss,” the agent replied. Adrenaline surged through me. “Sign me up,” I said, my voice trembling with excitement. “Give me the highest possible coverage you offer.” After securing a multi-million dollar policy on the orchard, a weight I didn’t know I was carrying lifted from my shoulders. No matter what Jessica and her cronies pulled, my family wouldn’t be ruined. When I hung up, my parents greeted me with a proud smile. “The Queen Cherry is having her best year yet,” my father said. “If she wins at the state fair, we can double our prices for the whole harvest.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest, remembering the magnificent tree reduced to ash. I wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. On a hunch, I made another call, this time to a renowned horticulturalist, a leading expert on rare fruit varietals, asking if he would be willing to come out for an official appraisal of the Queen Cherry. To my surprise and relief, he revered the Queen Cherry by reputation alone and happily agreed. Now, all the pieces were in place. Let them come. This time, I was ready. Just as I predicted, despite my firm refusal at the office, a convoy of cars pulled up to our orchard early Saturday morning. Jessica led the charge, a whole company of my colleagues in tow. She put on her sweetest smile for my parents. “We’ve heard so much about your amazing cherries! We were just so excited to come and see for ourselves.” My parents, flattered by the praise, welcomed them with open arms, telling everyone to eat as much as they liked. Hearing this, my colleagues started snickering behind my back. “Two million dollars? I wouldn’t pay two hundred bucks for this dump.” I trembled with a rage so deep it was almost paralyzing. They were taking my parents’ simple, heartfelt generosity and twisting it into something pathetic, something to be mocked. They would gorge themselves on our hospitality, destroy our livelihood, and leave without a backward glance, pockets full of company prize money. And it was all Jessica’s fault. Just you wait, I thought, a cold fury settling in my heart. Just wait until the expert gets here and tells you exactly what that tree you’re about to destroy is worth. My parents soon left for a growers’ training seminar in the city. I stayed behind and quietly set up a tripod and camera in a discreet corner of the orchard. Jessica noticed me fiddling with the equipment and sauntered over, dripping with condescension. “The boss put me in charge of the main event, so I guess that leaves you on grunt work, huh, Molly?” A few others laughed. “You’re just so capable, Jessica. The boss was smart to put you in charge.” “Yeah, not like some people who are just greedy and try to pass off garbage as treasure. Can you imagine her in charge? She’d probably pocket all the prize money.” “Make sure you take the lens cap off, Molly. Wouldn’t want you to screw up the one easy job you have.” I gritted my teeth. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I’m going to capture every single thing you do today.” 3 Under Jessica’s direction, they started the barbecue pits. Then came the “games”—chopping down branches for firewood and stripping trees of their fruit in a race to see who could gather the most. Last time, I had held onto a sliver of hope that they would see reason, so I hadn’t physically stopped them. A fatal mistake. They had left without properly extinguishing the coals, and the resulting fire had consumed everything. No one had offered sympathy. We were officially reprimanded for failing to protect our property and endangering the neighboring orchards. When I confronted Jessica, she denied everything, accusing me of starting the fire myself to frame them for insurance money. Patrick, her partner in crime, had turned the whole town against us. Remembering that, I watched them now, my face a cold mask. I raised my phone and started recording. I walked over to the colleagues manning the barbecue. “It’s really dry,” I said. “Starting a fire here is incredibly dangerous.” One of them shoved a hot coal in my direction with a pair of tongs, forcing me to jump back. “Get lost, you buzzkill! Don’t you have something better to do?” The hot metal grazed my hand, raising an instant blister. Biting back the pain, I went to the group competing to chop down branches. “You don’t need that much firewood,” I pleaded. “Please, stop.” I turned to the ones pulling down cherries by the handful. “If you’re not going to eat them, don’t pick them. You’re just wasting them.” They were high on the thrill of competition. Annoyed by my interruption, one of them chucked a handful of cherries at me. “These things are worthless anyway. Who cares?” Even with the insurance policy, watching them destroy what my parents had spent their lives building was agony. I found Jessica. “There are a million other team-building activities. Why did you choose ones that specifically involve destroying my family’s property?” She raised her voice so everyone could hear, but her tone was that of a wounded bird. “Oh, Molly, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to steal your thunder.” “It’s just that everyone is so tired of the same old boring corporate events. I wanted to do something new and fun for everyone.” “If I’ve upset you, I can tell everyone to leave right now.” That was the cue for her defenders to rush over. “What is your problem, Molly? Everyone’s having a great time except for you.” “Don’t say that, she’ll get upset,” Jessica said, then turned to me, her eyes pleading. “Molly, I just want to do a good job so I can pass my probation. I really didn’t mean to make you angry.” Her supporters demanded I apologize to her. I couldn’t stand their hypocrisy. I just snorted in disgust. That set one of the more hot-headed guys off. He slapped the phone out of my hand and shoved me to the ground. “Apologize to Jessica. Now.” I spat at his feet. His response was a brutal kick to my side. I curled up, dirt and grit scratching my eyes, forcing hot tears to stream down my face. Jessica knelt beside me, feigning concern for the audience. “The competition isn’t over yet, guys. Let’s get back to it.” When the others had dispersed, she leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “It’s useless, Molly. Stop fighting.” “You can’t escape your fate.”

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Everyone calls me a pathetic doormat. When my husband Tristan gets intimate with other women in front of me, I just hurry over like a puppy and hand them a condom. “Use this,” I say with concern. “It’s safer.” Eventually, even Tristan sneered, “Moria, is this really love?” I’d nod, then shake my head, finally whispering, “Tristan, you’re mine.” That only made him call for more “takeout.” Their moans filled the air right before me. Afterward, he’d ask, “Am I still yours?” “Of course,” I’d reply, as if it were obvious. He’d scoff, “You’re a master of self-deception.” Later, while he slept, I’d gaze at his handsome face and lick my lips. “Delicious,” I’d whisper. “So delicious.” “The more wicked, the better they taste.” He doesn’t know I’m a succubus with a damaged bloodline. I can’t gain energy from sex—I have to eat promiscuous men. Their corrupted energy repairs my bloodline and restores my power. Tristan? He’s the prize hog I’ve been fattening for slaughter. … When Tristan woke up, I was curled up in his arms, studying a cookbook. The human world had its flaws, but the sheer variety of recipes was mind-boggling. He pushed me away. “What are you looking at a cookbook for?” I looked up, my smile innocent and pure. “To make you breakfast.” He just chuckled and got up to dress, not even glancing around the room. He didn’t need to. After every one of his… sessions, I meticulously cleaned everything and tied up all the loose ends. The “takeout” girls had already left; I’d even paid their final fees. As they were leaving, their faces were etched with contempt. “I’ve never seen a wife who orders escorts for her own husband.” I just offered a placating smile and bowed repeatedly. Once they were gone and I was sure Tristan wouldn’t be disturbed, I scurried after them, my posture subservient, my expression fawning. “Could I get your contact info? For next time.” They stared at me, dumbfounded, but gave it to me anyway. As they walked away, I heard one of them mutter, “Takes all kinds, I guess.” Back inside, I scrolled through my phone, calculating. Five more times. That’s all it would take. Then Tristan would be ripe for the picking. He’d cheated 9,995 times. The quality of his essence was about to reach its absolute peak. One more time after that, and he’d turn sour and rotten. Tristan noticed me zoning out and sighed with impatience. He’d always found me boring. A woman who never fought back was no different to a man than an inanimate toy. He held out his arms, and I stood to help him with his jacket and tie. After smoothing out the lapels of his suit, I felt a surge of satisfaction. My prize hog looked exquisite. The quality of his essence was practically radiating off him—firm, juicy, perfect. My mouth began to water. Tristan’s brow furrowed in disgust. He always assumed my drooling was some pathetic form of lust. “I’m going out,” he said, his voice low. “I won’t be back tonight.” I nodded. “Are you going to see Selene?” Selene was his mistress, the one he claimed to truly love. They were a perfect match—equal in status, looks, and background. A match made in high-society heaven, everyone said. Tristan, for all his wild behavior, was only ever reckless in front of me. He’d given me strict instructions: “Playtime is playtime, but no one, and I mean no one, is to ever upset Selene.” I had nodded vigorously, patting my chest in a solemn promise. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep a close eye on them for you.” One of his friends had been there and burst out laughing. “Why don’t you just divorce him and let Selene have him? Maybe then he’ll finally settle down.” But I had just shaken my head stubbornly. “Tristan is mine.” And so, the story spread throughout the city: I was hopelessly, tragically in love with Tristan. Willing to let him turn my world into his personal playground. Whenever I heard the rumors, all I could think was that a wild horse, allowed to run free, makes for better meat. The same was true for Tristan. “Wild thing… you make my heart sing…” I hummed a human tune as I started cleaning. Human songs were interesting. I felt like the horse tamer, and Tristan was my wild stallion. He might run wild and free, but in the end, every stallion must return to the ranch. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I peeked through the peephole and saw a young college student, her face streaked with tears. Another one of Tristan’s messes, no doubt. I opened the door. The student sobbed, her words coming in hiccuping gasps. “Are you… Mrs. Thorne?” I nodded, my eyes drawn to her swollen belly. Damn it. He didn’t use a condom again. This must have happened when I wasn’t there to supervise. The student clutched her stomach. “Ma’am, I had no one else to turn to. I’m pregnant.” She sniffled. “Tristan blocked my number. He just told me to come find you.” I sighed internally. That was Tristan all over—leaving me to clean up his filth. I ushered her inside, expertly brewing a cup of tea and setting out some pastries. The girl eyed the teacup suspiciously. I took a sip from my own cup. “It’s not poisoned.” She gave a weak, embarrassed smile but still didn’t drink. Human women were so strange. So guarded against other women, but so utterly defenseless against men. She pulled a wad of tissues from her purse and started crying again, a heart-wrenching display. “Mrs. Thorne,” she choked out, “what am I going to do?” I took a tissue of my own and wiped the spittle that had sprayed onto my face. This was a real headache. They never asked for my help when they were in bed with him, but as soon as their bellies started to swell, they came crying to me. Seeing that she was about to unleash another flood of tears, I pulled out a credit card. “There’s ten million on this. You can have the baby, you can get rid of it—your choice. Just don’t ever bother Tristan again.” As for keeping her mouth shut, it didn’t matter. Tristan’s reputation was already ground meat. She snatched the card and stuffed it into her pocket, but her words were dripping with melodrama. “It’s not about the money! I love Tristan! I just want to be with him! Please, I’m begging you, let us be together.” Every one of them thought I was the one standing in their way. If only they knew how little I cared. I shook my head and pulled out my tablet. “It’s not me, sweetie. He’s just bored of you.” I scrolled through page after page of names until I found hers. “There were five other girls at the same time as you. Tristan’s always like this. He plays with his toys, and then he throws them away.” The color drained from her face. “Are we just playthings for you rich people?” she whispered, her voice trembling with rage. She grabbed her teacup to throw it at me, but it wouldn’t budge. After 99 near-misses with flying liquids, did she really think I wouldn’t be prepared? She stared at the immovable cup, then grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa to hurl at me instead. That didn’t move either. I had spent a whole night sewing the pillows to the couch. And besides, why was she yelling at me? I wasn’t the one who’d played with her. In the end, she left in a storm of tears, clutching her millions and her broken heart. I touched my cheek, still baffled. Humans were so bizarre. Their hearts screamed for money, but their mouths declared, “I want love.” Yet, if you offered them a life of love in poverty, they’d run for the hills. As a succubus, I could see the greedy delight sparkling in her soul. Just as I was clearing the table, a text from Tristan came through. “Get to the hospital. Now.” “Something’s happened to Selene.” … When I arrived at the hospital, Selene was pale as a ghost. Blood was trickling from a long gash on her delicate wrist, and a team of doctors was scrambling to treat her. “She’s lost too much blood,” one of them announced. “She needs a transfusion.” All eyes turned to me. Everyone knew that Selene and I shared the same rare blood type. A fact I had, of course, fabricated. I was regretting that little lie now, but it was too late. Tristan grabbed my arm and threw me to the floor. “Take her! Drain her!” he roared. Spoken like a true alpha CEO. So commanding, especially with helpless women. A doctor pinned me down, and a needle slid into my arm. I was about to fight back, but then I saw it. The number above Tristan’s head had ticked over to 9,999. Wow. An afternoon with his true love, and he’d managed to get it on four times. Impressive. Since he was ripe for the eating anyway, I relaxed and let them take my blood. They transfused it into Selene, and she recovered almost instantly, a healthy flush returning to her cheeks. She opened her eyes, her gaze shattered and tragic. Tristan knelt by her side. “Selene, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me. I’ll never mess around again.” Oh, this is getting good, I thought, scrambling to my feet to get a better view of the drama. Who had spilled the beans about Tristan’s escapades to Selene? Selene’s voice was a weak, choked whisper. “Don’t. I’m not your wife. I have no right to tell you what to do.” Aaaand here we go, I thought. Back to me. Tristan clutched her uninjured hand, his voice thick with emotion. “As soon as you’re better, we’ll get married. You’ll be my wife, officially and publicly. Selene, I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me.” My eyes widened. How was this my fault? Selene closed her eyes, a single, perfect tear tracing a path down her cheek. A much more effective angle than the standard 45 degrees, I noted. As expected, Tristan dissolved into a blubbering mess. “I was wrong! I was so, so wrong!” They clung to each other, sobbing, and within minutes, all was forgiven. The next time I looked, they were cooing at each other like lovebirds, Tristan feeding Selene pieces of fruit from a platter. The sharp click of dress shoes announced the arrival of his assistant. “Sir, we’ve traced the anonymous tip. It was sent from inside your villa.” Tristan’s head snapped around, his eyes like daggers. And just like that, the hunter became the hunted. That clever little college student had played me. She had come to me feigning helplessness, all while secretly sending the evidence to Selene to frame me. Smart girl. Tristan didn’t even bother to ask for my side of the story. He just kicked me to the ground. I scrambled back up and gave him a thumbs-up. “Nice kick! Great form!” He froze, a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like exasperated disappointment in his eyes. I must have imagined it. Selene’s expression was one of profound sorrow. “Why would you send me those things?” I leaned over the assistant’s shoulder to look at the phone. Wow. High-definition. A big-budget production. All of Tristan’s greatest hits were there: one-on-ones, group battles, team competitions—the works. I stroked my chin thoughtfully. “Honey, your quality and speed seem to be declining.” The room fell silent. The doctors quietly slipped out the door. The assistant stood frozen, holding the phone like a hot potato. Selene’s face was ashen as she stared at Tristan with utter disillusionment. Tristan’s eyes were spitting fire. He lunged at me, his hands closing around my throat. He squeezed, and I stopped breathing, just for effect. Then I remembered—I didn’t actually need to breathe. He choked me for a full minute, my face remaining perfectly calm and composed. The assistant finally snapped out of his trance and grabbed Tristan’s arm. “Sir, stop! You’ll kill her!” Tristan let go with a cold snort. “I told you, no one upsets Selene. I can’t believe I ever thought you were harmless. Moria, if you don’t want to be Mrs. Thorne anymore, then you’re fired.” He pulled out his phone to call his lawyer and file for divorce. I clutched my neck, coughed dramatically a few times, and then shouted at the top of my lungs. “Oh, heavens above, judge the innocent and the guilty!” A clap of thunder rattled the window, and a flash of lightning illuminated my grief-stricken face. “Darling, it wasn’t me! I’m completely devoted to you! Why would I ever stand in the way of you finding happiness with others?” The assistant looked like he’d been struck by the lightning himself. Even Tristan seemed at a loss, pressing a hand to his forehead. Selene, who was meeting me for the first time, just stared, utterly dumbfounded. She had heard of my reputation, but she had never witnessed a live performance. I dropped to my knees, snot and tears streaming down my face, and began my tale of woe. “A college student came to the house today! It must have been her!” The assistant nodded. “That’s right, sir. I was just about to say that.” My performance came to a screeching halt. I shot him a murderous glare. Didn’t his mother ever teach him to get to the point? Tristan looked uncomfortable, a rare flicker of guilt in his eyes. But all he said was a dismissive, “Oh.” I understood. Alpha CEOs don’t apologize. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a credit card, and tossed it at me. “This is for your trouble.” I was ecstatic. “Your divorce settlement,” he added. Years from now, I’d be sitting in my rocking chair, telling my grand-demons, “I was just one away from a full meal. If I’d eaten him, you’d all be high-level succubi by now.” Just kidding. If I didn’t eat Tristan, I wouldn’t have any grand-demons. So, I immediately dropped back to my knees, tears erupting from my eyes like geysers. “Darling, don’t leave me! I was wrong! Next time, I’ll be more careful! You can run the background checks, and I’ll check their phones!” Tristan’s face turned beet red. He glanced nervously at Selene, who was now glaring at me, all traces of her fragile vulnerability gone. The assistant covered his ears and stared at the ceiling. “Darling,” I wailed, “can’t we just wait until you’ve cheated one more time? At least let me catch you in the act!” That was the last straw for Tristan. “Get out!” he roared, kicking me away. I obediently rolled a few times, right back to his feet. For a good meal, a little humiliation was nothing. He gritted his teeth and had the assistant drag me out of the room. From the hallway, I could hear him on his knees, begging and pleading with Selene. Then came the sound of her soft sobs, and the fateful words, “Let’s break up.” The assistant lowered his voice. “Ma’am, do you really love him that much?” My eyes filled with tears. “Of course. I’ve watched him grow up, after all.” From 0 to 9,999—I had put in so much effort. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a struggle from inside the room, followed by a muffled grunt and a soft moan. The assistant’s face turned bright red as he pulled out a pair of earplugs. My eyes lit up. I pressed my ear to the door, listening intently. This was it. It couldn’t be more than one. Just one was all I needed. Selene’s moans grew louder, culminating in a final, sharp cry and a low male growl. Then, silence. I tried the door. It was locked. Focusing my energy into my leg, I kicked it open. There, shimmering above Tristan’s head, was the glorious, golden number: 10,000. I saw the two of them on the bed, preparing for round two, and I rushed over, pulling them apart. Taking a deep breath, I delivered the line I had been rehearsing for five years. “Tristan, you have disappointed me for the last time!” “You cheated on me!” They stared at me, stunned, clutching the sheets to cover themselves. I whipped out my phone and started snapping pictures, uploading them to the internet. As the flood of negative comments transformed into streams of corrupt energy and flowed into Tristan’s body, I could see the quality of his essence changing, ripening. I stretched out my hand. “Tristan, you have hurt me and betrayed me. Now, it’s time to pay your debt.” Silence. Then, a low growl from Tristan. “What kind of crazy act are you pulling now?”

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1 The world shattered in a screech of metal and glass. I was driving to my final check-up when suddenly I was rushed into the ER alongside another pregnant woman from the other car. “Her water broke! We need to move — now! Get the husband to sign the forms,” a nurse yelled urgently. As they wheeled me toward the OR, I gasped, “My husband’s busy… I can sign myself!” Just then, the other woman’s husband burst in, his face bloody. “Help her first!” he shouted, pointing to the other gurney. “She has a heart condition — she’s worse!” His face was panicked and dirty, but I knew him. My heart stopped. Alberto. That’s my husband. He turned to the medical team with sudden professional calm. “I’m Dr. Alberto Hayes from Metropolitan General OB/GYN. Trust my judgment.” I reached out, trembling, trying to touch him. He swatted my hand away without looking. “But this patient’s water has broken,” a nurse said, gesturing at me. Alberto gave me a cold, dismissive glance. “She’ll be fine. I’m her husband. I’ll sign a waiver.” … The crash had thrown the hospital into chaos, and doctors were stretched thin. An operating room had been a precious, life-saving lottery ticket, and I had just won it. But because my husband was a respected authority at Metropolitan General, the staff deferred to him. They trusted his “professional judgment.” They delayed my surgery. As my gurney was pushed aside, Alberto didn’t even look at me. His focus was entirely on the other woman, Bella. He held her hand, his touch gentle, all his fear and tenderness laid bare for her. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing promise. “I’ll get approval, and I’ll perform the surgery myself. I’ll make sure you get off that table safely.” The raw devotion in his eyes was a spike through my heart. With no available beds, I was left in the hallway, forced to watch the man I married pour his soul out for another woman. All around me, patients were surrounded by family, their hands held, their fears soothed by a loving presence. My own loving presence had just secured permission to personally save his true love. He walked past me on his way to scrub in. He paused for a fraction of a second but never turned his head. His steps were firm, resolute, leaving behind nothing but a cold, clipped sentence that drifted back to me. “You’re not going to die. Please, trust my professional judgment.” I don’t know how long that surgery took. Waiting in the cold, chaotic hallway, I drifted in and out of a pained, hazy sleep. The next time I was jolted awake, it was to the sound of panic. A crowd of scrubs and white coats swarmed around my gurney. “Patient is experiencing an acute amniotic fluid embolism! Now! Get the blood bank on the line!” “Where is Dr. Hayes?! Get him here! He’s the only one in the entire city who’s successfully treated an AFE! None of us have the experience!” The frantic thud of footsteps echoed around me as several orderlies grabbed my gurney and started running. “It’s going to be okay,” one of them said, his voice strained with false confidence. “Your husband is the best OB/GYN in the city. He’s handled two of these cases before, ninety-nine percent success rate. You’re young, you’re healthy, your blood type is common. You have a great chance.” They burst through the doors of an operating room. The blinding white light seared my eyes. Voices called out my vitals, a strange mix of clinical calm and rising panic. “No! Her O2 stats are dropping too fast! She’s not going to make it! Where the hell is Dr. Hayes?” my attending physician yelled, his hand gripping mine, his skin cold and clammy. A nurse nearby answered, her voice trembling. “Dr. Hayes… he left after finishing Bella’s surgery. He said she woke up craving the soup he makes, and he went home to cook it for her.” “Then call him!” “We did! He’s not picking up…” “The baby! Fetal heartbeat is gone! The mother has no will to live, we’re losing them both!” My doctor squeezed my hand, his voice firm and close to my ear. “They assigned you to me, and I don’t give up on my patients. You hear me? Don’t you dare give up on yourself! Get Pediatrics in here for the infant resuscitation! We are saving them both, do you understand?” Okay… I managed a weak flutter of my eyelids. Someone in this world still wanted me to live. I had to try. The interns were still frantically trying to reach Alberto. My doctor and a team of senior surgeons began a desperate, racing battle against time to save me. I watched bags of blood, full and red, being hung, then taken down, empty and pale. I saw the sweat pouring down their faces, their brows furrowed in intense concentration. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. Just then, an intern held up my phone, his voice filled with relief. “Dr. Hayes is calling her! He’s calling back!” The call was put on speakerphone, his voice echoing through the tense silence of the OR. It wasn’t a voice of concern. It was sharp, impatient, and angry. “Lia! Where the hell did you put your hospital go-bag? It’s not like you’ll be needing it anytime soon. I’m taking it for Bella to use.” 2 I saw my attending physician’s brow furrow in disbelief. His face hardened as he handed his instrument to another surgeon and strode over to the intern, taking the sterilized, bagged phone. “Dr. Hayes,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Your wife has suffered an acute amniotic fluid embolism and is currently in critical condition. You have experience in this area. We need you at Riverside Community Hospital immediately to assist with saving her life.” Beep. Beep. Beep. He had hung up. “What the— Is he insane?!” one of the younger doctors exploded. “His wife is dying, and he’s worried about a go-bag for his mistress? Some top doctor! He’s nothing but a world-class scumbag!” The outburst was loud enough for everyone to hear. I almost laughed. The attending physician, realizing his colleague’s words might affect me, quickly apologized. Through the fog of anesthesia, I tried to move my eyes to show him it was okay. Because he was right. In that single, sharp moment, despair washed over me, a black tide that swallowed the last flicker of my will to fight. “Her O2 is crashing! Get more units from the blood bank!” Riverside Community began making emergency calls to every hospital in the city, pleading for plasma. The news of a woman battling an AFE spread quickly, even making it onto the local news reports. Finally, Metropolitan General sent over another doctor who had previously assisted with an AFE surgery. He rushed in, still breathless. “What a coincidence! Dr. Hayes’s wife just gave birth over at our hospital too. I was just stopping by to visit when I heard about your emergency. I got special permission to come over and help.” Dr. Hayes’s wife? My attending physician shot a quick, confused glance in my direction. But Alberto’s colleague, having worked with him on these cases before, was relatively calm. He helped stabilize the situation. As my vitals slowly returned to normal, he tried to lighten the mood with some chatter. “When I was on my way over, I saw the pediatric team had resuscitated the newborn. A healthy, chubby little boy.” He chuckled. “But they kept calling for the dad, and no one showed up. Is she a single mom or something?” My doctor cleared his throat loudly. The man didn’t catch the hint. “And it’s strange, you know? Alberto’s wife is in Room 303 right over at Metropolitan, but he didn’t come here to help you guys out. He’s the authority on this stuff! Did he turn down a chance to save a life because he was too worried about his own wife giving birth?” He kept rambling until an intern couldn’t take it anymore. “Dr. Evans,” she snapped, “the woman lying in front of you is Dr. Hayes’s wife, Lia.” Dr. Evans chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous, kid. I’ve worked with Alberto for years. I think I know who his wife is. It’s Bella. Not some Lia.” “We’re screwed,” my doctor muttered, watching my monitor as my once-stable vitals began to plummet again. He turned on Dr. Evans, his voice laced with fury. “Why would we lie to you about that? This is Lia Thorne, Alberto Hayes’s wife! He admitted it himself! She had a sliver of a will to live, and now, after what you just said, it’s completely gone!” Dr. Evans slapped his forehead. “I thought you were all joking!” At that moment, the faint sound of a baby’s cry cut through the tension. “The baby!” my doctor yelled to the pediatricians across the room. “Bring the baby to the mother, let her see him!” I forced my heavy eyelids open. A tiny, purplish infant was brought into my line of sight. A weak smile touched my lips. He was so wrinkled and ugly. He looked just like Alberto. But I loved him. An instinctive, biological mother’s love that I couldn’t control, even as it disgusted me. After a grueling twenty-four hours and a transfusion of what felt like the city’s entire blood supply, I survived. When I was finally moved from the ICU to a regular room, the maternity nurse I’d hired was already there. She looked incredibly awkward, holding a used diaper in her hand. I knew instantly what had happened. “Ma’am,” she began, avoiding my eyes. “Mr. Hayes insisted that I go and take care of Miss Bella first. I… I couldn’t really say no.” 3 Before I could respond, Alberto’s voice boomed from the doorway. “Maria, hurry up! The baby spit up again, and Bella is too weak to hold him.” He pushed the door open and froze, clearly surprised to see me there, awake and alive. Our eyes met for a moment before he adopted an air of nonchalant dismissal. “Our son is still in the NICU, so Maria isn’t needed here yet,” he stated, not asked. “I’m just borrowing her for Bella. I’m sure you don’t mind.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh, by the way, I called your parents. They’re on their way. I’m exhausted from taking care of Bella, so I really don’t have the energy to look after you too. Hope you understand.” Just then, a group of his colleagues arrived, their arms laden with gift baskets and flowers. “Alberto, what are you doing in here?” one of them asked. “Your wife is looking for you!” “Bella needs something?” he asked, his immediate assumption that “wife” meant Bella sending another pang through me. He rushed out to her. His colleagues followed, leaving only Maria standing there, utterly bewildered. “But you’re Dr. Hayes’s wife, aren’t you?” she whispered. “I thought Bella was just his friend. Why does everyone call her Mrs. Hayes?” I managed a weak, bitter smile. “I guess it’s just a misunderstanding.” Maria tossed a washcloth onto the counter in frustration. “Doesn’t he have a mouth? Can’t he correct them when they’re ‘misunderstood’? It seems to me Dr. Hayes has a wandering eye and is more than happy to let everyone think Bella is his wife.” Even a stranger could see Alberto’s intentions so clearly. Bella was his high school crush, the goddess he never had the guts to ask out but whose pedestal he worshipped at from afar, very publicly. I wouldn’t have known the depths of his obsession if he hadn’t dragged me to a class reunion once. I saw a side of him I never knew existed—this proud, arrogant man, so subservient and meek in her presence. Facing Bella, he was always looking down, like a scolded puppy. His old roommates had joked with the newly divorced Bella, “You really have bad luck, goddess. If you’d just said yes to Alberto back then, you’d be Mrs. Dr. Hayes, the wife of Metropolitan General’s top specialist. Someone else wouldn’t have gotten the chance.” And I was that “someone else,” sitting right there, trying to saw through a tough piece of steak. None of his friends liked me. They saw me as the obstacle between Alberto and Bella. Without me, their goddess would have had her rightful place. And Alberto believed it, too. After that reunion, he started giving me the silent treatment. He used work as an excuse, coming home once a week at most and refusing to accompany me to a single prenatal appointment. Meanwhile, he became a fixture in Bella’s social media posts, lauded as her “amazing male friend.” Bella, for her part, never corrected the assumptions about their relationship. She’d just smile, a silent, all-accepting refusal to clarify. Alberto was the same. He basked in the glory of people thinking the vibrant, beautiful Bella was his wife. We fought about it once. He told me the “truth would speak for itself” and there was no need to prove anything. He told me to respect his right to have friends. When it came to Bella, his confidence evaporated. The slightest hint of affection from her, and he’d come running like a dog. But with me, he was always so sure. He thought I was his for the taking. If I couldn’t leave him before we had a child, I certainly wouldn’t leave him now. That certainty made him reckless. He forgot one crucial thing. Unlike him, I wasn’t a dog who would keep coming back for scraps. Bella’s room was right next to mine. A steady stream of visitors flowed in and out—Alberto’s colleagues, his old classmates, and even Dr. Evans, the surgeon from my operation. “Alberto, what you’re doing is disgusting!” I heard Dr. Evans’s voice, sharp and clear even through the wall. “Bella isn’t your wife, but you never correct anyone! You let all of us colleagues make fools of ourselves, calling her ‘Mrs. Hayes’ day in and day out! Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was during your real wife’s surgery?” There was a long pause before Alberto finally replied, his voice flat. “I told you all to just call her Bella. You were the ones who insisted on calling her ‘Mrs. Hayes.’” 4 “Are you f—king kidding me? You couldn’t just say ‘she’s my friend’? Besides, your wife just survived an AFE! She was literally knocking on death’s door, and you’re in here playing nursemaid to Bella? Aren’t you afraid your wife is just going to leave you?” I heard the sound of a hand slapping against my door, as if Dr. Evans was trying to shove Alberto into my room. But the sound was followed by the firm click of Bella’s door being shut. “Afraid?” Alberto’s laugh was a cold, cruel thing. “I wish she would. She was the one who chased me for years, a pathetic backup plan who finally got lucky. She’d never leave. And now with the baby? She’s trapped.” The sound of his mocking chuckle sliced through me. “She’s not like Bella. Bella has a heart condition; she’s fragile. Lia was an athlete. An AFE is a big deal for other people, but for her? It’s a minor inconvenience.” “Have you lost your mind? You’re a damn OB/GYN! Do you not know the mortality rate for an AFE?” Dr. Evans shot back, his voice thick with disbelief. “That patient who died on your table last year was an athlete, in perfect health! An AFE took her in less than thirty minutes. Your wife is just lucky. Maybe Death took one look at her miserable marriage and took pity on her.” Dr. Evans argued until he was hoarse, but Alberto never came into my room. Instead, I got a notification on my phone: a wire transfer for twenty thousand dollars with a curt message to take care of myself. I blocked his number. I deleted every form of contact. That evening, my attending physician, Dr. Cole, stopped by. He told me that since my recovery was going well, a local news station wanted to interview me. Surviving an amniotic fluid embolism, with its ninety-nine percent mortality rate, was a miracle. “Don’t worry, the interview will be quick,” he assured me. “Afterward, the heads of Metropolitan General and a few other major hospitals are going to hold a postpartum consultation for you. It’s a good thing.” “Okay,” I agreed without hesitation. On the day of the interview, Alberto showed up. He was dressed in a sharp suit, standing confidently among the hospital administrators. He spoke at length about the challenges he faced performing my surgery, the immense pressure of operating on his own wife. Dr. Evans stood nearby, head down, looking miserable. The leadership from Metropolitan General beamed at Alberto with pride, murmuring words of sympathy. “The hardest thing for a surgeon is to operate on a loved one,” his direct supervisor proclaimed for the cameras. “And in this case, Dr. Hayes was faced with the lives of his wife and unborn son. It took incredible strength and a will of iron to achieve such a perfect outcome.” The supervisor gave Alberto a pointed look. Alberto strode through the crowd and stopped in front of my bed. “You know I’m up for a promotion,” he whispered, his voice low. “This is a huge opportunity.” He leaned closer. “Thank God it was you they were saving. If it had been anyone else, this wouldn’t have been so easy to arrange. When they ask you questions, don’t say the wrong thing. Remember, I was the one who performed your surgery. Just me. My superiors have already taken care of the narrative.” He reached out and ruffled my hair, an old gesture of affection. But I hadn’t washed it since giving birth, and it was greasy. He quickly wiped his hand on his trousers with a flicker of disgust. The interview began. Dr. Cole arrived late and was blocked from entering the room by staff from Metropolitan General. A reporter pushed a microphone toward my face. “Ms. Thorne, after such a near-death experience, what is the most important thing you want to say?” I paused, gathering my thoughts, then took the microphone. “I want to thank the doctors for their absolute refusal to give up on me, especially when I was about to give up on myself. They never faltered.” The reporter, sensing a story, glanced from me to Alberto and back again. “And is there any particular doctor you’d like to thank the most?” I saw Dr. Evans by the door, already turning to leave. I raised my hand and pointed past the crowd. “My attending physician, Dr. Cole, and from Metropolitan General…” Every camera swiveled to Alberto. He puffed out his chest, a prepared speech already on his lips. “…Dr. Evans!” I finished. The room erupted in confused murmurs. Alberto stared at me, his eyes wide with fury. He fumbled for his phone, probably to text me, but the failed delivery notification only made his expression darker. Dr. Evans, singled out, looked utterly stunned, his eyes welling up with tears. The reporter, flustered, tried to regain control. “Is there… anyone else?” I smiled, a wide, bright, unforgiving smile. “Of course. There is one more person. I want to thank my husband most of all.”

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My stepbrother hated my guts. But that never stopped me from clinging to him. He paid me two thousand dollars to walk home from school without him. Thirty thousand to transfer out of his class. Each time, though, I’d eventually find my way back to him. After graduation, he wired a huge sum of money into my account. His voice was cold as ice. “That’s five million dollars. Go study abroad. And don’t ever show your face in my family’s house again.” My eyes welled up. I lowered my head and whispered, “Okay.” Yes. He finally took the bait. 1. I walked in on Glenn and the scholarship girl almost kissing. In the dim light of the private room, he was slumped wearily in a corner sofa, his eyes closed. The shadows obscured the sharp, handsome lines of his face. A girl in a white dress stood over him, her hands braced on either side of his head. She leaned in tentatively, her face getting closer and closer to his. That’s when I pushed the door open. She jumped, whirling around to face me with a panicked look. Her eyes were wide and glistening, like a startled fawn. “Alicia, I…” I walked right past her, straight to Glenn. “The driver’s here for me. Dad told me to bring you home, too.” He grabbed his jacket from the sofa, threw it on, and followed me out. The hallway was mostly empty at this hour. He pulled the door shut behind him but didn’t move. He just leaned against it, his posture lazy and loose. “She was about to kiss me.” “…” I said nothing. A note of annoyance crept into his voice. “She’s shy. It took a lot of courage for her to do that.” I unlocked my phone and showed him the time, along with the text from my stepfather. “Dad really did tell me to come get you,” I explained in a small voice. He glanced at the screen and gave a dismissive grunt. “Oh.” “I’m an adult now. I’ve graduated. He can’t control me anymore. Tattling to him won’t do you any good.” The swirling, multicolored lights from the club swept over us, illuminating his face. His cheeks were flushed. He was drunk. I clenched the fabric of my sleeves, my voice barely a whisper. “But…” He cut me off. “Just go home by yourself.” “And one more thing—” His thumbs tapped rapidly on his phone screen. “That’s five million dollars. Go study abroad. Don’t ever show your face in my family’s house again.” “Let’s just not see each other anymore.” “Alicia, I really, truly hate you.” He never wanted to see me again. My eyes instantly turned red. I ducked my head, choking back a sob. “Okay.” Glenn turned, walked back into the private room, and slammed the door shut behind him. I opened my banking app and checked the balance. The number was correct. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I squatted down, clamping a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Yes. He finally took the bait. 2. Glenn had hated me for a long time. He was convinced that my mother and I were just gold diggers, after his family’s money. He wasn’t wrong. When I was fourteen, he put two lizards in my bed, trying to scare me into leaving. It worked. I burst into tears. To comfort me, my stepfather gave me some extra allowance. The sight of the money cheered me right up. When I was sixteen, Glenn and I were placed in the same high school, in the same homeroom. He couldn’t stand the thought of it, but he also didn’t want our father to punish him and then console me. So, he skipped a few steps. “Thirty thousand dollars.” “Transfer out of this class.” Freshman year, I left. Sophomore year, I came back. He never specified a time limit. When I walked back into the classroom with my backpack on, Glenn’s face was thunderous. The boy sitting in front of him grinned. “Dude, your stepsister is persistent.” Glenn’s voice was frigid. “She is not my sister.” A few people snickered knowingly. Glenn’s glare found me, his brow furrowed. “What will it take for you to just disappear?” My eyes welled with tears. “Do you really hate me that much?” He held up a number of fingers. I bit my lip. “Sorry, wrong classroom.” 3. I had discovered a gold mine. Glenn was loaded. His mother, who lived abroad, had already paved his entire future for him. When he played golf, I’d tag along as his personal hype squad, holding his water and his jacket. He’d confront me. I’d just look up at him with stars in my eyes. “I just admire my big brother. Is that so wrong?” He’d send me money. “If you have nothing better to do, go shopping. Just stop bothering me.” I was more than happy to oblige. I spent over a year sticking to Glenn like glue. Everyone knew about his clingy stepsister. They even made jokes about our… complicated family dynamic. After a while, Glenn couldn’t even be bothered to explain anymore. He just kept throwing money at me to get lost. But I would never abandon my personal ATM. On his eighteenth birthday, he got drunk. When he stumbled home from the hotel, I was waiting with a cup of sobering tea in one hand, ready to support him with the other. I was hoping he’d be so drunk he’d add an extra zero to his next transfer. He squinted, his eyes drifting down to me. “Alicia,” he slurred, a hint of mockery in his voice, “you’re really something else. So calculating.” My foot froze on the step. Insults cost extra. Suddenly, he grabbed my waist, flicked off the lights, and pinned me against the railing of the spiral staircase. My world went dark. All I could see was his face, impossibly close. His breath was a storm, hot and fierce, as his lips crashed down on mine. Shocked, I shoved him away. The bowl in my hand clattered to the floor, rolling down the stairs with a series of loud thuds. From the top of the stairs, my stepfather called out, “Alicia, what’s wrong?” I suppressed the tremor in my voice and put on my usual wounded act. “It’s Glenn! He’s drunk and throwing a tantrum. He smashed my bowl.” In the darkness, Glenn leaned against the railing, silent. My stepfather sighed. “That’s just how he is. He gets crazy when he drinks. Don’t mind him. You go on to bed. I’ll help him up.” I fled to my room. At 3 a.m., I got a text from Glenn. [Sorry.] [I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought you were someone else.] It was the first time he’d ever apologized to me. And it was a complete humiliation. It came with a money transfer. I didn’t accept it. I didn’t reply. 4. Later, I found out who that “someone else” was. One of Glenn’s many admirers: Lila, a scholarship student who was consistently in the top ten of our year. She was timid and insecure, content to worship him from afar. And for some reason, Glenn noticed her. “She’s just like Alicia,” he’d said once. “Always putting on that pathetic, pitiful act.” “Who does she think she’s fooling?” He hated it in me, but he seemed to enjoy seeing it in Lila. One day, after school, I was waiting in the car for him. I saw him walk out, followed by a girl in a school uniform. The car door opened. He didn’t get in. He was holding her backpack. He just raised an eyebrow at me and said, “Get out.” I froze. Lila gently tugged on his arm, her voice soft. “It’s fine, Glenn. I can get home by myself.” He didn’t budge, his tone turning colder. “I’m taking her home.” “I’ve sent you the money. Take a cab.” Why not send enough for me to buy my own car? Whatever. I knew when to quit while I was ahead. I gave a humiliated nod, bit my lip, and clutched my backpack straps as I climbed out of the car. The evening rush had faded. I stood alone on the sidewalk, staring at my shoes as tears dripped onto the pavement, one by one. Only after the car had disappeared in the opposite direction did I finally wipe my eyes and check the notification from Glenn. $2,000? Good thing I didn’t check that in front of him. I wouldn’t have been able to cry. 5. Glenn’s five million dollars came too late for me to apply properly for the fall semester. I hadn’t prepared for the GMAT or anything. I had to cancel most of my summer plans and lock myself in my room to study vocabulary. Meanwhile, Glenn was downstairs, throwing a party with his friends. The music was blasting. I took off my headphones and went downstairs. “Could you guys turn it down a little?” One of Glenn’s friends patted the empty spot next to him on the sofa. “Alicia, you’re home! Why don’t you join us?” I smiled shyly. “I’m studying upstairs.” “Studying?” Someone finally turned off the music. “I thought people who grind this hard only existed online.” “Even Lila’s here. Come on, take a break.” Glenn didn’t even look up. Lila was sitting next to him. She gave me a gentle smile, then looked at me with faux concern. “Alicia, you’re not planning to retake the year, are you?” I didn’t know her that well. Her using my first name so casually meant things were probably getting serious with Glenn. “It’s okay if you didn’t do well,” she continued. “Your dad is so rich, I’m sure you have plenty of other options.” The room went quiet as everyone sensed the tension. I kept my voice even. “You’re right. My family is rich. It doesn’t matter how I do on some test.” I looked at her. “Lila, are you worried you didn’t do well?” Her face went pale. Glenn finally looked up and patted the back of her hand reassuringly. “Alicia, that’s out of line.” I nodded. “You’re right.” “I’m going back to my room. Please keep it down.” I put my headphones back on and walked up the stairs, feeling several pairs of eyes burning into my back. 6. On the day the exam results were released, Lila was at our house again. This time, her excuse was that her family’s ancient computer had broken down. Even though Glenn knew our province sent results via text, he indulged her and brought her home. Around three in the afternoon, I heard sobbing coming from his study. I couldn’t tell if they were tears of sorrow or joy. The text message didn’t show the total score. Glenn was sitting there with a calculator, adding up her scores subject by subject. I was heading out for a class and walked past his study. The door was open. He was leaning against a bookshelf, reading out the number. “Six seventy-two.” He said it just loud enough for me to hear. He knew I was walking by. He didn’t even look up. “What about you?” he asked, though he wasn’t looking at me. Lila was confused. “What?” I paused at the bottom of the stairs, pulling on my shoes, and called back casually, “Six eighty.” I’d done better than expected. I just waited for him to ask. There was a sudden, sharp clatter from the study, as if something had been dropped. 7. “My dad wants you to apply to NYU.” That evening, Glenn was standing outside my bedroom door. My stepfather was traditional. He valued education and believed his children attending top universities was a reflection on him. I gripped the doorknob, wanting to shut the door in his face. “But you told me to go abroad.” “…” Glenn was silent for a moment, then he smirked. “So you’re actually going to listen to me for once?” I took the money, didn’t I? Though, in the past, I usually only listened halfway. He’d tell me to get lost, I’d get lost for an hour, and then I’d come right back. But this time was different. Five million dollars. I promised myself I’d take it and disappear for good. My mom and I could even have holiday dinners at a separate table. “So you’re not going to listen to my dad?” he pressed. I’d spent years playing the part of the good, obedient daughter at home. I lowered my head, bit my lip, and fidgeted with the hem of my skirt, feigning meekness. “Give me your password,” he said. “I’ll fill out your applications for you.” I looked up at him weakly. “Don’t exile me to some college in Alaska.” Glenn let out a soft chuckle. “You know I wouldn’t.” I didn’t know that. And I didn’t care. I was already planning to accept an offer from a university in the UK. 8. To be safe, Glenn applied to NYU’s agricultural science program for himself. For Lila, he chose mechanical engineering. His mother had more than enough money and connections to sort out his career. He just needed the degree from a prestigious school; the major was irrelevant. As for my applications, he filled out all eighty slots with universities in or around New York City. I had to go back and delete every single one. He and Lila were both accepted. He really didn’t seem to care about her future either. My stepfather was thrilled and started planning a celebration dinner. At the table, he opened a bottle of expensive red wine and toasted my mom. Glenn came downstairs, mentioning casually, “Is Alicia having her party with me?” We’d had a joint celebration after middle school, too. My stepfather smiled. “Not yet for Alicia.” “She’s decided to study abroad. To make sure she didn’t take a spot from another student, she deleted all her domestic applications.” “We’ll celebrate for her next year.” The faint smile on Glenn’s lips vanished. His expression turned dark. “Abroad?” I kept my head down, quietly eating and occasionally taking a sip of the ten-thousand-dollar wine. It wasn’t to my taste, but every sip was money in the bank. I’d certainly never buy it for myself. My stepfather frowned. “Yes. It was a bit of a sudden decision, but I fully support her.” He looked at Glenn. “Why the long face on such a happy day?” Glenn’s eyes were downcast. “I’m not happy.” My stepfather was baffled. “You’re the one who said you wanted to go to the same university as the person you like. You got in, and it’s NYU. What’s there to be unhappy about?” “The major isn’t great, but you can always transfer. It’s not like we’re actually going to make you a farmer.” “Your mother is thrilled, too. She wants you to visit her for a month this summer.” “Which country?” Glenn asked. My stepfather slammed his chopsticks down. “You don’t even know which country your own mother lives in?” Glenn’s gaze shifted to me. “I was asking Alicia.” My stepfather quietly picked his chopsticks back up. I set down my wine glass and cautiously met his eyes. “I haven’t decided yet.” 9. That night, Glenn sat in my room, using my computer to look up information. His was broken. When the acceptance letters came out, Lila had gotten so excited she’d knocked a glass of water all over it. Honestly. A grown woman, playing with water in a study. He was in my desk chair, so I had to sit on my bed. The room was silent except for the clicking of the keyboard and mouse. “Go to the US,” he said suddenly. “Why?” He paused. “It’s far away from me.” But it was where his own mother lived. “…” I glanced at him, then scooted further away on my bed. He shot me a look, and the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a ghost of a smile. “Come look at this university.” He was playing the big brother again. So unpredictable. The AC was on high. I stepped onto the cold floor, then immediately pulled my foot back, looking for my slippers. Glenn casually tossed the jacket that was draped over his chair onto the floor. “Step on that.” “…” He was starting his nonsense without even being drunk today. I ignored him, tiptoeing around it to get to the desk. His expression didn’t change as he moved the mouse. “What do you think?” “It’s fine,” I said. He clicked through a few different web pages. I just kept repeating myself. “It’s fine.” “They’re all fine.” Glenn stopped clicking. He leaned back in the chair and stared at me. The truth was, I had already made my choice. I just didn’t want to tell him.

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On my wedding day, I was waiting in my gown for Bill to pick me up. But with the ceremony about to start, he finally called. “Cora gets carsick. She can’t ride in anyone else’s car, only my Cullinan.” “I’m driving over to get her now. It’s out of the way to swing by for you, so just grab a bike-share and head to the hotel. You ride one to work all the time, anyway.” On our wedding day, the groom wasn’t picking up his bride. He was picking up his childhood sweetheart. It was a slap in the face, plain and simple. I opened a group chat called “The Kingmakers” and sent a selfie of me on a bike-share, wedding dress and all. An hour later, the heirs to the city’s most powerful families started arriving at the wedding, all of them on bicycles. My own childhood friend, Sebastian, the wealthiest man in Seacliff City, dismounted with a grim expression and knelt before me on one knee. “Marry me instead. I’ll buy out his company and give it to you as a wedding gift.” 1. The ceremony was in an hour. If Bill didn’t show up soon, I was going to be late. Just then, my phone rang. It was him. I snatched it up, my voice tight with anxiety. “Honey, where are you? Why aren’t you here yet?” Bill’s voice was laced with a casual apology. “Sophia, I don’t think I can make it to you. Cora gets carsick—she throws up in any other car. She’s only okay in my Rolls-Royce Cullinan. I just picked her up, and your place is completely out of the way. Why don’t you just grab a bike-share and meet us there? It’s not like you don’t ride one every day.” I froze, a hot surge of anger rising in my throat. “Bill, are you insane? Today is our wedding, not yours and Cora’s! You’re ditching your bride to go pick up your little sweetheart? Who exactly are you marrying today?” “I’m in my wedding dress! You want me to ride a bike-share in my wedding dress?” A heavy sigh came through the phone. “It’s just a mode of transportation, Sophia. Look, I know you come from a poor family and you’ve never been in a luxury car before. You just want to ride in my Cullinan to show off to your friends that you married a rich guy, right? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. You’re getting a little materialistic.” Then, a delicate, timid voice piped up in the background. “Bill, is Sophia mad? Maybe you should just drop me off here. I can call someone else. I might get sick, but I don’t want her to misunderstand. Today’s supposed to be a happy day. You should just give in to her.” “It’s all my fault,” she continued, her voice trembling. “I knew she gets the wrong idea about me, but I still got in your car.” Bill’s tone softened as he soothed her. “It’s not you. She’s just being materialistic, wanting to show off the car to her work friends. I’m not going to enable that kind of behavior.” His voice hardened again as he addressed me. “The only reason she even needs a monthly pass for the bike-share is because she’s always hunting for coupons. Marrying her is my way of pulling her out of that pathetic life. She shouldn’t get entitled and think that just because I agreed to marry her, she can do whatever she wants.” After comforting his precious Cora, his voice turned to ice. “Sophia, we’re getting married today. I don’t want to fight. If you still want to marry me, you’ll ride your bike to the hotel. If you keep throwing this tantrum, you can deal with the consequences yourself.” He hung up. I stared at my phone, at the wedding group chat he’d created. It was filled with his and Cora’s friends. Someone had posted a video. The procession of luxury cars was cruising down Central Avenue, led by Bill’s gleaming Cullinan. “Bill would still drive an hour out of his way for Cora. He can’t stand to see her suffer for a second.” “Sophia’s so dramatic. Marrying Bill is the biggest upgrade of her life. What more could she possibly want?” “I always said she wasn’t good enough for him. If Cora hadn’t gone abroad, she never would’ve had a chance. The one who isn’t loved is always the other woman. Everyone knows Cora is the one Bill truly loves.” Cora quickly sent a voice message. “Guys, don’t say that. Sophia’s in the chat.” She then tagged me directly. “@Sophia, don’t mind them. They just think Bill and I are a better match. No, no, that’s not what I meant! I mean, once they get to know you, they’ll see you two are perfect for each other too.” 2. A moment later, Cora posted a selfie of herself and Bill in the group. She was leaning against his shoulder, her eyes tinged with red, her lips swollen and glistening. The caption read: Let me be selfish one last time. After tomorrow, you’ll be another woman’s husband. Those were the unmistakable lips of someone who had just been thoroughly kissed. The intimacy was suffocating. I let out a bitter laugh. This was his innocent childhood friend? No wonder he’d drive an hour out of his way to pick her up. I sent a voice message, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “What a pure and innocent friendship. Do you two seal it with a kiss, Bill? Truly eye-opening.” The chat erupted. Cora immediately replied with a tearful voice note. “Sophia, please don’t misunderstand that picture. I just bit my lip, that’s all. I know I was his first love, and I know it hurt him when I went abroad and he got with you, but he promised to marry you and take responsibility. I truly wish you both the best.” Her voice was thick with manufactured sobs. Immediately, his friends started piling on. “See? People from the gutter have no class. Can’t take a joke, so thin-skinned.” “How did Bill end up with a wife like this? Hope he doesn’t bring her around us.” “Exactly. Every time she’s here, she makes Cora feel awful. What right does she have? Doesn’t she realize she’s the one who broke them up?” Blood rushed to my head. Bill’s friends had looked down on me from day one, constantly putting me down to feel superior. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I typed furiously: All of you need to shut up. You love simping for Cora so much? Well, now’s your chance. Bill’s getting married, so she’s single. Go shoot your shot, you pathetic lapdogs. Bill immediately started a voice call in the group. “Sophia, apologize to my friends right now. You have no class.” I scoffed. “Oh, so you’re alive now? Where were you when they were tearing me apart a minute ago? You were playing deaf then, but now you want me to apologize?” Bill’s voice rose to a yell. “Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting Cora? She’s a pure soul from a sheltered home. She’s not like you, who grew up fighting for scraps in some slum. She’s not from your world! Do you realize the damage your words can do to someone like her?” In the background, I could hear soft weeping. It was Cora. “I just took a ride in your car,” she whimpered. “Why is she saying such awful things about me and my friends? I only see them as friends.” “Why would she slander me like this? Just because I rode in your car? But her apartment is so close to the hotel, a bike ride would be faster and there’s no traffic. Is her vanity really so important that she has to hurt people like this?” Bill’s voice was a low murmur, comforting her. “Don’t worry. If she wants this wedding to happen, she will apologize to you and my friends. Otherwise, she doesn’t have to show up at all.” Then, turning his attention back to the call, he addressed me. “Sophia, this is your last chance. Did you hear me? Apologize to Cora and my friends before the ceremony, or this wedding is off.” I laughed, the sound sharp and brittle. “Fine. Wait for my apology at the venue.” Cora’s voice, now laced with a triumphant little giggle, purred in the background. “Bill, she really does love you. The moment you get angry, she gets scared. Looks like she’s desperate to marry you.” I ended the call and glanced at the chat, where his friends were already gloating. “Who’s the real simp now? Sophia, willing to lose all dignity for a payday.” “She was acting so tough a second ago. Bill threatens to call it off and she folds instantly.” “Well, marrying into the Thorne family is probably the luckiest thing that will ever happen to her family. They probably think they’ve hit the lottery.” I closed the wedding chat and opened another one: “The Kingmakers.” I snapped a picture of myself in my wedding dress, perched on a bike-share, and sent it with the hotel’s address. Then I typed: My wedding. All guests are requested to arrive via bike-share. The group exploded. “Holy crap, Princess, you’ve been off the grid for two years and this is how you resurface? How’s life as a commoner treating you?” 3. “Anything you say, boss. But… bike-shares? Is that some new trend we missed?” “Quit asking so many questions. If Sophia says we ride bikes, we ride bikes.” “On my way. I’ll be there.” Only Sebastian, my childhood best friend, sent me a private message. “Who are you marrying? Bill Thorne? He’s not worthy of you.” He clearly knew exactly what I’d been up to for the past two years. I typed back: If a certain gentleman were to show up on a bike and propose, I might just say yes. I put my phone away and grabbed the long, heavy skirt of my wedding gown. With a satisfying rip, I tore the fabric, transforming it into a short, rebellious dress. This gown was Bill’s choice—or rather, Cora’s. When it had been delivered, I’d frowned at the style, which was nothing like what I wanted. “This isn’t the short dress I picked out.” Bill had waved it off. “Cora picked this for you. She said it would suit you best. You have to trust her taste; she’s a fashion designer. You can’t possibly know better than a professional. It’s haute couture. You’ve never worn designer brands, so you just don’t get it. Just listen to Cora.” Cora had added, with a sickeningly sweet smile, “Sophia, you might not understand what’s fashionable in our circles. It’s different from your world. You’ll just have to adapt. This dress is the most suitable for you.” Suitable for me? She’d deliberately chosen a style that highlighted all my flaws. And by having it delivered the day before the wedding, she’d made sure I had no time to change it. She wanted me to look ridiculous. I’d met Bill at the Sterling Corporation. He’d pegged me as a low-level employee from the start. It was the company’s Family Day, so we were allowed to bring guests and dress casually. I had just ridden a bike-share back from the store with a huge bag of snacks for my colleagues’ kids. At the entrance, my bike scraped against his car. He claimed it was love at first sight and began pursuing me, insisting my background didn’t matter. At the time, I was in the middle of a two-year bet with my father. He didn’t think I had what it took to handle hardship. So, I’d agreed to work my way up from the bottom of our own company, Sterling Corp, under an alias. If I could last two years without quitting or getting fired, I would prove my worth and become the official heir. The rules were strict: no help from my old life, no contact with my friends. I lived on my entry-level salary in a tiny apartment, commuting by bike-share every day, grinding away in different departments. But it worked. I learned the ins and outs of the company, earned my superiors’ respect, and was even promoted twice. Bill had been good to me, relentlessly pursuing the “ordinary office worker” he thought I was. I’d let my guard down. After a year, he proposed, and I accepted. Today was supposed to be the end of the two-year bet. Today, I could finally reveal who I really was. I had planned to tell Bill, too—to let him know that the Sterling connection he was so desperate to forge was already his. But now? Now I was grateful I hadn’t. A man like him would never be a partner to Sterling Corporation. Riding a bike in a wedding dress drew stares from everyone on the street. In the distance, a car sped toward me, deliberately swerving to plow through a large puddle at the side of the road. A wave of filthy water erupted, drenching me. I swerved to avoid it and tumbled to the pavement. Scrambling up, I heard a chorus of cruel laughter. I looked up and saw Bill’s wedding motorcade. The car that had splashed me was driven by one of Cora’s friends. It was intentional. They wanted to humiliate me. By the time I arrived at the hotel, disheveled and riding a mud-splattered bike-share, Bill’s Cullinan and the rest of his pristine procession were just pulling up to the entrance. I locked the bike, and a loud, electronic voice announced: “LOCK SUCCESSFUL.” The sound drew their attention. They turned, saw me, and burst out laughing. “No way. She actually rode a bike-share here.” 4. “Whoa, did you take a swim in a sewer? You have no shame, showing up in public like that.” “Bill, your girlfriend is really committed. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a bride arrive on a rental bike.” “Is that dress ripped? Did you tear it just so you could ride that thing? How embarrassing, hahaha!” Cora, dressed in a designer cocktail dress that made her look more like the bride than I did, clung to Bill’s arm and wrinkled her nose. “Sophia, you look like a mess. I should have just sent one of the cars for you. It’s all my fault. This only happened because of my carsickness.” She tilted her head. “But… why didn’t you change before coming out? You’re not planning to get married looking like that, are you?” I gritted my teeth. “This is your doing.” She stepped forward, reaching for my hand. I yanked it away. Her eyes immediately welled with tears. “Sophia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were too cheap to even call a cab. It would have been, what, twenty dollars? Why be so frugal? Doesn’t Bill give you enough money?” Her voice dripped with false concern. “And showing up like this, on a bike… there are reporters everywhere. What will people think of Bill when they see the pictures?” “He has business partners to meet. They’ll laugh at him! You just don’t understand. If you’re going to marry Bill, you need to learn how to support him, not drag him down.” She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “A broke nobody like you thinks you can marry into the Thorne family? Dream on. That position belongs to me.” Then, she grabbed my hand again, her long, red nails digging into my arm as she turned to Bill and his friends with a bright smile. “Bill, don’t Sophia and I look like sisters in our matching outfits?” One of his friends snorted. “Sisters? More like a lady and her maid.” “Yeah, she’s got that desperate, working-class vibe down perfectly.” I ripped my hand from her grasp. “Enough. I’ve had enough of your toxic act for one day.” Cora stumbled back dramatically. “Oh! Sophia, I’m sorry, I was just joking! I didn’t want Bill to be in an awkward position, I thought if we could be friends, he’d be happy.” Bill rushed to her side. “Cora, are you okay?” She shook her head, grabbing his arm before he could turn on me. “Don’t be mad, Bill. She’s the bride, and she had to ride a bike to her own wedding to save money. It’s only natural she’d feel a little humiliated.” She opened her clutch and pulled out a necklace. “Your dress needs a little something extra. I picked this out for you. Let me help you put it on.” She dangled it in front of me. “Be careful with it. It’s worth over a million dollars.” I glanced at the strand of cheap glass. “Is that so? Your family must pay a lot for glass if you think this is worth a million.” One of her friends jumped in. “You’re just a broke girl, what would you know? Apologize to Cora right now!” Bill’s voice was stern. “Sophia, I don’t care what you’re upset about, but you need to act with some grace. Apologize to Cora. Now.” I looked at him, pointing to the scrapes and bruises on my legs from my fall. “You see me like this, and you still don’t know why I’m angry?” He flinched at the sight of my injuries, a flicker of concern in his eyes, but Cora’s words had already taken root. His face hardened. “Go inside and change. Haven’t you caused enough of a scene? If the paparazzi get a shot of this, our PR team will have to clean up your mess.” He looked at Cora. “You’ve always been so sweet. After the ceremony, I’ll have her serve you tea as an apology.” Cora bit her lip, the picture of demure grace. “It’s fine. I’ll be staying in the country now, so I can take some time to teach her proper etiquette. I’m just worried she’ll embarrass herself during the wedding.” I laughed coldly. “Whether I embarrass myself at my own wedding is none of your business.” “That’s enough, Sophia!” Bill snapped. “Where are your manners? You’re acting like a shrew. My patience has its limits. If you don’t apologize to Cora this instant, the wedding is canceled.” I stared at him. “Cancel your wedding? What does that have to do with me? I’m not marrying you.”

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I am the daughter of a tragic romance novel’s female lead. At four years old, I finally understood the strange comments that floated before my eyes: 【The female lead is working herself to the bone to support her daughter, no idea she already has cancer. If she waits any longer, the kid’s gonna lose her mom!】 【If either of the main characters knew how to talk, the whole ‘secret baby’ plot wouldn’t even exist.】 【I feel so bad for their daughter. She loses her mom at six, and the male lead never even finds out she died or that he had a child. He just ends up alone.】 【Our little baby has it the worst. She has a billionaire for a dad but ends up in an orphanage…】 Mommy is going to die? I stared at my beautiful, gentle mother. No way! If they won’t talk, I will! One sunny afternoon, outside a towering skyscraper, I spotted a man in a sharp suit and immediately hugged his leg. “Daddy, give me money! I have to save Mommy!” 1 My name is Aria. Ever since I can remember, I knew I was different. Strings of strange symbols would always drift in front of my eyes. I thought everyone could see them, until the day I pointed at the air and asked my mommy about them. A look of confusion crossed her face. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?” she asked. I soon realized that only my world had these scrolling, dense lines of text. After a while, I got used to them. Until I learned to read. The scrolling symbols started to look more and more familiar. My mommy knew I was smarter than other kids, so she had started teaching me to read and count when I was very young. This year, at four years old, I finally understood the strange symbols, the things called【The Comments】. 【The female lead is working herself to the bone to support her daughter, no idea she already has cancer. If she waits any longer, the kid’s gonna lose her mom!】 【If either of the main characters knew how to talk, the whole ‘secret baby’ plot wouldn’t even exist.】 【I feel so bad for their daughter. She loses her mom at six, and the male lead never even finds out she died or that he had a child. He just ends up alone.】 【Our little baby has it the worst. She has a billionaire for a dad but ends up in an orphanage…】 Female lead? Like the main character in the shows Mommy watches? I didn’t quite get it. I scratched my head with my chubby little hand. When Mommy came home from work that evening, she had a conflicted look on her face. “Aria, Mommy has to go on a business trip to another city for a few days. How about you stay with Auntie Carole? She can take you to kindergarten.” The strange comments flared up again: 【I can’t even watch. If she just went for a check-up now, they could definitely treat it in the early stages.】 【This business trip is her last chance to meet the male lead again, and she just walks right past him. I’m literally crying.】 【Evelyn, please go to the hospital! Forget about your stupid job! T_T】 【Little Aria is so good. She’s worried about her mom working so hard, with no idea how loaded her real dad is.】 【OMG when she finally gets diagnosed with stomach cancer, it’s already terminal. She gives up on treatment just to leave more money for her daughter. This is killing me, my tears are worthless…】 【…】 I froze. Evelyn. That’s my mommy’s name! Is my mommy the one who’s sick? I whipped my head around to look at her. She was still as beautiful and gentle as ever, but… maybe she was a little thinner. And she hadn’t been eating much lately. Is that because she’s sick? Mommy’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Sweetheart, you’re zoning out again. Did you hear me? Is it okay to stay with Auntie Carole?” “No!” I blurted out. 2 Mommy didn’t expect me to refuse. She opened her mouth to reason with me. “Aria, honey, Mommy has to go to work…” I threw my arms around her legs and looked up, my eyes red. “Mommy, can you ask for a day off for me from school? Take me with you. I promise I’ll be good.” “Aria,” Mommy said, stroking my cheek. “Why are you so sad? I’ll only be gone for a few days. You have to be a good girl and go to school.” “I don’t want to!” I insisted. “I already know everything the teachers are teaching. Please take me with you, Mommy, please…” Mommy could never resist when I begged. Her eyes lit up, clearly charmed by her own daughter. After a moment of hesitation, her resolve crumbled. She called my kindergarten to let them know I’d be absent. “Aria,” she said seriously, “you have to promise to listen to Mommy. When I’m working, you can’t run off, okay?” I nodded vigorously. And so, Mommy took me with her. It was my first time visiting another city. Mommy was always so busy that she usually hired a nanny to look after me. On the way there, the Comments scrolled across my vision: 【Little Aria is going on the trip! I hope she can find her dad and they can be a happy family.】 【I know, right? They’re so in love but so stubborn. I wish I could just jump in there and ask them if their pride is more important than life and death!】 【The company she’s visiting is right next to the Aytes Corporation headquarters! They have a chance to meet!】 【Ugh, I just really want the male lead to know he has a daughter!】 Find my daddy? I knew all the other kids at kindergarten had dads. Mommy told me my daddy was in a very faraway place. I thought that meant he was dead. But maybe not? It was okay not having a dad. But the Comments said Mommy was having a hard time raising me. Daddies are supposed to help raise kids, too! I made up my mind. I was going to find my daddy. If they won’t talk, I will! “Mommy, what does my daddy look like?” It was the first time I’d ever asked. The smile on Mommy’s face stiffened and faded. Her eyes held an emotion I couldn’t understand. “Aria, why are you suddenly asking about that?” “I just want to know.” After a long pause, Mommy finally said softly, “Your daddy is very handsome. But he has a bit of a bad temper.” That must mean a very bad temper. If even someone as gentle as Mommy couldn’t handle him. But having a bad temper doesn’t get you out of raising your kid! 3 Mommy didn’t feel safe leaving me in the hotel alone, so she took me with her to the office building she was visiting. She and her colleague had to go upstairs for a meeting, and it wasn’t convenient to bring me. She checked my kids’ smartwatch over and over. “Call me if you need anything,” she instructed. “Don’t trust strangers. If something happens, you can ask the nice lady at the front desk for help, understand?” I nodded seriously. The moment Mommy disappeared into the elevator, I hopped off my seat and walked out of the building. The Comments were scrolling frantically: 【Aria, see that black Rolls-Royce pulling up? That’s your dad in there!】 【AHHHH I don’t care if this isn’t how the plot is supposed to go! Did the author rewrite this? Let her meet the male lead!】 【Aria! In a second you’re going to see a man radiating pure CEO energy. Don’t hesitate. That’s your dad. Go and claim him!】 【…】 I looked toward another skyscraper that scraped the clouds. A black car was pulling up to the entrance. The car stopped, and two men got out. The one in front had a handsome, cold face and walked with the speed of a storm. The Comments: 【Kiddo! AHHHH that’s him! Go, run, hug his leg! That’s not just your dad, that’s your ticket to a trust fund!】 I didn’t hesitate. I sprinted forward on my short little legs and, with lightning speed, latched onto the man’s leg. Then I tilted my head back and yelled: “Daddy!” “Give me money!” “I have to save Mommy!” Daddies raise kids. Kids save mommies. The logic was flawless. For a moment, the world went silent. Then, a gruff, impolite voice sounded from above me. “Where did this chubby kid come from?” Chubby kid? Me? I jerked my head up to see a man who seemed impossibly tall. He was looking down, meeting my eyes. Just like Mommy said, he was very handsome. But he also looked very mean. “I’m not chubby,” I corrected him. Mommy said I was just growing, and that I was cute and cuddly. Another man in a gray suit beside him wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead. “Mr. Aytes, perhaps she’s one of the employees’ children.” He crouched down to my level, his voice gentle. “Little one, can you tell me who your mommy and daddy are? I can help you find them.” I looked back up at the man whose leg I was holding. “But my daddy is right here.” “Who?” the man in gray asked, confused. He pointed at the man I was hugging. “You mean… Mr. Aytes?” I nodded emphatically. The man in gray stood up and stammered to his boss, “Mr. Aytes, I… uh…” The man called Mr. Aytes looked down at me and scoffed. “Hey, chubby kid, did your parents ever teach you that you can’t just go around saying whatever you want? Since when do I have a daughter your size?” “Well, I’m telling you now, so now you know,” I replied. “…I’m not.” “But you are my daddy!” “Who told you that?” he asked, crouching down to look me in the eye. “Do you even know my name, or are you just picking random dads?” “Of course I know. Your name is Leo Aytes,” I said. The Comment ladies told me. He blinked, surprised. “You know me?” “You’re my daddy. Of course I know you.” He stared at me for a long moment, then a smirk played on his lips. “Alright, chubby kid, who put you up to this scam?” “My name is not chubby kid. You can call me Aria.” “Fine, Aria. Look, I don’t have time for games. Go with this man, and he’ll help you find your parents, okay?” “No. Are you abandoning your daughter?” I stared at him. “Mommy said you weren’t that kind of person. Were you lying to her?” A few other adults, who I guessed were my dad’s employees, were standing nearby, their faces lit up with the thrill of office gossip. He looked like he was about to laugh from sheer frustration. “Fine. You tell me who your mother is. I’d love to know who I supposedly had such a big daughter with.” “My mommy’s name is Evelyn.” 4 The air went still again. “You said,” he began slowly, his voice suddenly tense, “your mother’s name is Evelyn?” I nodded. “Yup!” His gaze sharpened, studying my face as if searching for a ghost. The next second, before anyone could react, he scooped me into his arms and strode forward. “Mr. Aytes? Sir?” the other man called out, confused. I was carried into an elevator, my arms wrapped around the neck of the man who was supposedly my father. He wasn’t very good at holding children, so I had to wiggle around to get comfortable. “What are you squirming for?” he grumbled. “Daddy, you’re not holding me right.” He fell silent and let me adjust myself in his arms. “There.” The man named Leo Aytes stared at me. After a moment, he asked, “How old are you?” “Daddy, I’m four.” He went silent again. Then he said, “Are other four-year-olds this heavy?” I got a little mad. “Mommy never says I’m heavy when she holds me. And I’m not complaining that you’re bad at holding kids.” The other man who had followed us into the elevator stood silently in the corner like a statue, though his eyes looked like they were screaming. The elevator doors opened, and I was carried into an office. We passed several people who stared with wide, shocked eyes. I heard someone whisper behind us, “Mark, whose kid is that with Mr. Aytes?” The man called “Mark” just shook his head. I was placed on a sofa, and the man and I stared at each other. He got a pen and paper. “You said your mom is Evelyn, right? Here. Write her name.” The man who had followed us couldn’t help but interject. “Mr. Aytes, a four-year-old might not know how to write…” Before he could finish, I picked up the pen and wrote “Evelyn” on the paper. The letters were a little wobbly, but I would never get Mommy’s name wrong. My dad stared at the name for a long time, then his eyes returned to my face. “Did your mother tell you I was your father?” I shook my head. He scoffed again. “Then how did you know? Maybe she had you with some other guy. Why else wouldn’t she bring you to me?” The Comments popped up again: 【He’s so stubborn! He’s totally freaking out with excitement on the inside, though.】 【This is why he’s fated to be single forever. So damn stubborn.】 【Just get a DNA test, dude! Aria, honey, pull out a few of his hairs for him. Make sure you get the roots!】 【LOL he’s probably already decided to keep her whether she’s his or not!】 【…】 I thought for a moment, then reached up and started pulling at his hair. One. Ouch. Two. Ouch… My dad grabbed my hand. “What are you doing?” Tears were welling up in my eyes from the sting. I placed the small clump of hair in his palm. “Daddy, go get a test. Then you’ll know if I’m your kid.” He froze. “Who taught you that? Your mother? Where is she?” “Mommy’s at work.” “Do you know her number? Call her and have her pick you up.” My dad seemed very insistent on seeing my mommy. I shook my head again, looking at him with disapproval. “I already told you, Mommy is working. You shouldn’t bother her.” “Is she at work, or is she just too scared to see me?” “Mommy didn’t do anything wrong. Why would she be scared to see you?” I heard him scoff again. This dad really did have a bad temper. 5 His phone on the desk lit up. I glanced over and saw the screen was a photo of two people. “Wow,” I said in surprise. “You have an old picture of Mommy!” The mommy in the picture looked so young, and she was wearing what looked like a school uniform. Before my dad could say anything, I showed him the wallpaper on my smartwatch. “Look, I have a picture with Mommy, too.” On the tiny screen was a photo of Mommy holding me when I was two. She was looking at the camera with a gentle smile. My dad stared at the photo for a long time. Then he suddenly asked, “Why did you think I was your father, and not someone else?” “Because Mommy cries when she looks at your picture,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. That part wasn’t from the Comments. I’d seen it myself. Mommy had someone in her heart who made her sad. When I was younger, she would sometimes look at a photo on her phone late at night and cry. “Mr. Aytes,” the man beside him prompted, “it’s almost time for the meeting.” He stood up, looking down at me for a moment before turning to his assistant. “Have Sarah from my office come and watch her. And don’t let anyone pick her up until the meeting is over.” Soon, I was alone in the huge office with a pretty lady. She brought me lots of snacks and smiled. “Hi, sweetie. Want me to play with you?” “Okay!” Sarah, the secretary, patted my cheek, and then patted it again, apparently liking how soft it was. “So, honey,” she whispered conspiratorially, “what’s your relationship with Mr. Aytes?” “He’s my daddy.” Her hand froze on my cheek. She cupped my face, her voice filled with a mix of envy and resentment toward her capitalist overlord. “Him? He can produce a daughter this cute?” I could tell Sarah suffered a lot under her boss. Mommy’s work was taking longer than expected. When I got bored, I sent her messages on my watch so she wouldn’t worry. About an hour later, my dad returned to the office, his face as cold as ever. “Mr. Aytes,” Sarah said, standing up. My mouth was full of potato chips. “Daddy!” I mumbled. My dad looked at Sarah. “You can go.” “Yes, sir.” The office door clicked shut. He walked over and sat down in front of me. “Hasn’t your mother contacted you yet? Don’t tell me she abandoned you and just dumped you on me.” Excuse me? I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. “Leo Aytes, you are not allowed to talk about my mommy like that!” “No respect,” he muttered, reaching over to wipe the chip crumbs from my mouth. “Weren’t you just calling me ‘Daddy’ a minute ago?” “Mommy likes you, so you’re my daddy. If Mommy liked someone else, he could be my daddy,” I said, full of righteous logic. “Mama’s girl,” he sneered. Mommy’s precious girl? I puffed out my chest and nodded. “That’s right! I am a mama’s girl!” “…” As dinnertime approached, I patted my tummy and tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy, I’m hungry.” “Didn’t you just eat a mountain of snacks? You’re hungry already?” He poked my belly, as if to check if I was telling the truth. “Snacks are snacks. Dinner is dinner,” I said seriously. “Such a little know-it-all,” he mumbled, but he picked up his phone and ordered food to be delivered. It was the first meal my dad and I ever shared. For some reason, he kept staring at my face. He even tried to feed me at first, but I’m a big kid. I can eat by myself. After dinner, Mommy still hadn’t come. Her work must have been really tough. I was getting sleepy and hadn’t seen any new messages from her. I leaned against my dad and drifted off. Sometime later, my smartwatch started ringing. In a sleepy haze, I felt someone answer it. I vaguely heard Mommy’s voice on the other end, but my eyelids were too heavy. Someone gently shook me. “Aria, your mommy is coming to get you.” I instinctively snuggled closer. “Daddy, I’m so sleepy.” The voice stopped. The next thing I knew, I was being lifted into a pair of strong, broad arms. 6 I woke up to the sound of arguing. I opened my eyes from the sofa and saw Mommy. “Leo, I already told you, Aria is not your daughter.” In the dim light, Mommy looked so small and fragile standing across from my dad. “Not your daughter? Then why did she run up and call me ‘Daddy’?” I heard my dad scoff. “She said she’s four. If she’s not mine, that means you cheated on me, Evelyn. So tell me, who’s the bastard?” “What’s the point of talking about this now?” Mommy’s voice was weary. “It’s all in the past, Leo. She’s not your child. I’m taking her home.” “You say she’s not, and that’s that? I took her for a DNA test this afternoon. We’ll see who’s lying when the results come in.” Mommy flinched at his words. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. “Mommy,” I called out. “Aria,” Mommy’s attention finally shifted to me. She rushed over and hugged me, her eyes red. “You scared Mommy to death.” I snuggled into her cheek. “I’m sorry, Mommy.” She kissed my face. “No, I’m sorry. It was my fault for being so busy with work. I should have watched you better.” An ill-timed voice cut in from the side. “So, is this a touching mother-daughter reunion? What does that make me, the villain?” I looked over. My dad’s handsome face was dark with anger. “Mommy,” I asked her, “why did you ever like someone so mean?” “…” The silence was mutual. I blinked, looking between them. “Aria, let’s go home,” Mommy said, picking me up to leave. But my dad reached out, his voice still cold. “Let me hold her. I don’t know how you’ve been managing these past few years, but you’ve gotten so thin. Don’t you know how heavy she is? You’ll throw out your back.” “Daddy, I’m not heavy,” I reminded him. He bounced me in his arms and snorted. “Looks like all your food money went to feeding this one.” I decided not to talk to him anymore. Mommy walked silently beside us, her expression complicated as she watched me and my dad. In the elevator, my dad finally spoke. “Evelyn, you were the one who broke up with me without a word and disappeared. Why?” Mommy looked down, silent. “If you really didn’t care about me, why did you have my child?” The Comments started scrolling again: 【AHHHHH MALE LEAD YOU FINALLY ASKED! FEMALE LEAD I’M BEGGING YOU, FOR MY SAKE, PLEASE TALK!!】 【My friend said she’ll die with regrets if you two don’t clear up this misunderstanding!】 【Because your mom gave her five million dollars to leave you, you idiot! And she didn’t even take the money, that’s what makes me so mad!】 【And do you remember your supposed fiancée from five years ago? Evelyn probably thinks you’re married by now! Explain yourself!】 【…】 I blinked. “Daddy, are you married?” The arms holding me lifted, and I was suddenly face-to-face with my dad. His expression was flat. “Who taught you to spread rumors about your father like that?” “Daddy, are you not married because no one likes you?” I tilted my head. “Lots of people like my mommy.” “Is that so?” He seemed to glance at Mommy. “And with so many admirers, your mom isn’t married either, is she?” “That’s different!” I corrected. “My mommy doesn’t like them. You’re the one nobody likes.” “Okay, Aria, that’s enough,” Mommy said, covering my mouth with her hand.

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“Mario, you listen to me and you listen good,” Sophia said, her voice cutting through the chatter of the company dinner. “I will never, ever have children. There isn’t a man on this planet worth putting my body through nine months of hell for!” I left the party under a hail of awkward, pitying stares. When I got home, a courier package was waiting for me. Inside was Sophia’s pregnancy report. She was one month along. I’d been out of the country on business for the past two months. I had only gotten back yesterday. Presented with undeniable proof that my wife was cheating on me, I should have felt a tidal wave of grief. Instead, all I felt was… relief. A deep, profound exhalation of breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding for seven years. I called her. When she picked up, my voice was unnervingly calm. “We need to find some time to sign the divorce papers.” “Mario, what is this now?” Her tone was laced with disgust. “You’re going to divorce me just because I won’t give you a baby?” Before I could answer, a syrupy, effeminate voice chirped in the background. It was her childhood best friend, Ron. “Sophia, sweetie, look at these tiny little socks! Wouldn’t they be perfect for our baby?” 1 The line went dead. I looked around the house I had once considered my home, a place I had built for us, and let out a long, weary sigh. I’d bought this place outright before we were married, but now, staying here felt… sickening. I decided to pack my things, move out, and sell it. I was taping up a box when the front door swung open. Sophia swept in, with Ron clinging to her arm. “Mario, where are the slippers?” she demanded, her tone that of a queen addressing a servant. “Ron’s feet get cold. Go fetch him a pair.” Ron shot me a look of pure, triumphant provocation, though his voice was soft as silk. “Thanks so much, Mario. You’re the best.” I ignored them, carefully placing a stack of design blueprints into my suitcase without a word, without a glance in their direction. The sight of them together churned my stomach. The nausea was physical, like the queasy roll of a hangover on a bumpy car ride, trapped with the cloying scent of cheap perfume. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. “Are you deaf?” Sophia snapped. When I didn’t respond, she kicked off one of her stilettos and hurled it at my head. I dodged it easily, finally meeting her gaze with a look of cold indifference. Still, I said nothing. Her eyes finally landed on the packed suitcase. She frowned. “What’s the meaning of this?” “I told you on the phone,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of any emotion. “We’re getting a divorce.” I had once loved her down to my very bones. But when disappointment piles up, layer by agonizing layer, love can vanish in a single, silent instant. “Mario, honey, are you throwing a tantrum because of me?” Ron cooed, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “But I’ve told you before, I’m not into women. Sophia and I are just like sisters!” He simpered. “Look, I’ll apologize. Please don’t be angry. I’ll try my best not to see Sophia anymore, okay?” “Ron, what do you have to be sorry for?” Sophia immediately jumped to his defense. “It’s Mario’s own fault for being so petty and jealous! It has nothing to do with you!” She shot me a look of pure loathing. “And he’s only acting like this because I won’t have his baby! Mario, if I had known you were this kind of man, I never would have agreed to marry you!” “It’s not too late to fix that mistake,” I said, zipping the suitcase shut. I did a quick check of my drafting equipment, then started for the door. “I’m listing the house with a realtor. You should find a new place soon.” “You’re selling our home?” Her voice rose to a shrill shriek. She grabbed my arm. “Mario, is this really just because I won’t have your child? We agreed! You promised you would never pressure me. So you bring it up in front of everyone at the dinner tonight, I say a few words back, and now you want a divorce?” “Don’t touch me,” I said, shaking her hand off like it was something unclean. “You’re filthy.” 2 “Filthy?” Her pride, always her most prominent feature, was clearly wounded by my open disgust. “Mario, are you insane?” “Am I wrong?” I shot back. “And for the record, it was Mr. Harrison who brought up the topic of kids tonight, not me. But even if it had been me, you should have shown me some respect in public. You didn’t. In your eyes, am I just some piece of trash with no dignity?” “Everyone knows you and Harrison are close! He was just speaking for you!” she retorted. “Besides, what dignity do you need? I’m the CEO of the company. Being my husband is what gives you dignity. What will you have once we’re divorced?” Her face was a mask of derision. I stared at her, speechless. It was hard to believe the woman standing in front of me was the same one I had married. Seeing my silence, she mistook it for submission. She pointed a finger at me. “Now, you will apologize to Ron. Immediately. Or I will never forgive you.” “Sophia, it’s okay,” Ron interjected, his voice a study in magnanimity, even as his eyes danced with victory. “Mario loves you so much. It’s only natural for him to be a little jealous. He doesn’t need to apologize.” “You hear that, Mario?” Sophia sneered. “Ron is so kind and understanding. And you? You’ll always be petty and small-minded!” She let out a bitter laugh. “You know, if Ron actually liked women, I might never have chosen you. You’re such a disappointment.” Seeing I still wasn’t responding, Ron’s voice took on a wounded, quavering tone. “Please, Sophia, don’t make things harder for Mario. You know what? I’ll apologize to him. If it makes him feel better, I’ll even get on my knees.” And with that, he actually knelt before me. “Mario, it’s all my fault,” he whimpered. “Even though I’m not attracted to women, I know I’m still a man in everyone else’s eyes. Me being so close to Sophia all the time… it must have been embarrassing for you. That was thoughtless of me.” Tears started to stream down his face as he spoke. “I am formally apologizing, and I promise, I will cut all ties with Sophia from now on!” He then proceeded to bow, touching his forehead to the floor. The lengths he would go to were truly pathetic. This performance only enraged Sophia further. She lunged at me, her hand raised to slap me. I caught her wrist, my grip firm, and stared them both down with cold fury. Were they serious? After what they’d done, she thought she could hit me? “You dare to stop me?” she gasped, her face a picture of disbelief. I looked her dead in the eye. “Sophia, I was on a business trip for two months. You are one month pregnant with another man’s child. I’m genuinely curious, where in the hell do you get the audacity to come in here and yap at me?” As I spoke, I pulled the pregnancy report from my pocket and slapped it against her face. The color drained from her cheeks, her eyes wide with panic. But only for a second. The fear was instantly replaced by a hardened fury. “Mario! I am your wife! How could you investigate me? Do you have zero trust in me?” I almost laughed. “You’re pregnant with another man’s baby and you have the nerve to talk about trust? You’ve really set a new standard for shamelessness.” I held up the envelope. “And for the record, I never investigated you. This report was delivered by courier an hour ago.” Ron started sobbing again. “Sophia, it must have been me! I probably put the wrong address on the form. This is all my fault, that’s why Mario is so angry.” “It’s not your fault!” Sophia snapped, her eyes fixed on me. “And it’s not a big deal! He has no right to be angry over something like this. Mario, your mind is just so dirty, you see filth everywhere you look!” So now I was the dirty one? 3 Honestly, when I first found out, alongside the anger, there was a wave of relief. Because I didn’t love her anymore, I didn’t truly care. But her complete and utter lack of shame… that was starting to genuinely piss me off. “Enlighten me,” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “How exactly is my mind dirty?” “The baby is Ron’s,” she said, “but it was done through IVF. We never did anything.” “And?” I prompted, on the verge of laughter. “What do you mean, ‘and’?” she shot back. “Mario, do you have any compassion at all? Ron’s family has been putting immense pressure on him because of his orientation. He wanted a child of his own to appease his parents. We grew up together! It was my duty to help him! Or would you rather just watch him suffer under all that pressure?” She spoke with the righteous indignation of a saint who had just performed a great miracle. I laughed again, a harsh, humorless sound. She really was something else. The logic was breathtakingly twisted. “Sophia, we’ve been married for seven years, and you refused to have a child with me. Just tonight, you announced to the entire world that no man was worthy of you carrying his child. But as you said those words, you were already carrying another man’s baby.” I smiled coldly. “Where is your shame?” She glared at me. “See? This is still about me not giving you a baby! You’re so childish, Mario. I am so disappointed in you!” “Alright, that’s it,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’m done. I’m not going to waste my time trying to reason with insanity.” I waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up as soon as possible. And you need to be out of this house.” As I turned to leave, Ron started crying again. “Sophia, if you get a divorce, our baby will be born into a single-parent home!” He was clearly hoping she would turn to him, declare she’d marry him instead, and solve the “problem.” But instead, Sophia grabbed my arm again, her eyes filled with that familiar disgust. “Mario, stop this nonsense. You heard him. If we divorce, this baby won’t have a father. You can’t be that heartless!” “So what’s your plan?” I asked, wanting to pry open her skull to see what was inside. “We stay married, and I help you and Ron raise your baby?” Ron, ever the helpful one, chimed in. “You don’t have to worry, Mario. After the baby is born, I’ll come over often to help take care of it.” “And the four of us will live happily ever after?” The sheer absurdity of it was making me giddy. He actually nodded. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Mario?” “Nice for who?” I finally snapped. “Are you an idiot? Do you think I am? What normal man would be okay with his wife carrying another man’s child?” I wrenched my arm from Sophia’s grasp and strode toward the door. “Mario, that is so classless! How could you use that kind of language?” she shrieked, grabbing me again. I turned, my voice dropping to an icy whisper. “Sophia, we’re adults. Have some dignity. Get your affairs in order for the divorce.” Then I walked back to where Ron was still kneeling, took one look at his smirking, tear-streaked face, and drove my fist into it. There was a sickening crunch as blood exploded from his nose and mouth. He collapsed, howling in pain. “That,” I said, looking down at him, “was a warning. Don’t push me.” I leaned in closer. “If I were you, I’d take your little tramp and build a life together. But stay the hell away from me.” I turned to walk away. “Mario, you’re crazy! You can’t just hit people!” Sophia screamed, clawing at me. “And who are you calling a tramp? I’m your wife!” My hand moved on its own, a sharp crack echoing in the silent room as my palm met her cheek. She stumbled back and fell to the floor, stunned. “Listen to me, Sophia. When I loved you, I tolerated a lot. But I don’t love you anymore. So you need to take a good long look at yourself, and maybe you should remember exactly how we got together in the first place.” For the first time, she seemed to realize I was serious. The disbelief in her eyes was replaced by a flicker of genuine fear. 4 I left the house and drove to my penthouse apartment near the office. I’d owned it for a while but rarely stayed there. After a quick shower, I threw myself into my work. The firm had a massive project in the pipeline, and the final blueprints were due. In the past, a fight with Sophia would have left me emotionally crippled, unable to focus. But now, with the love gone, all I felt was a sense of liberation. I worked through the night, finishing the project just as the sun came up. After a few hours of sleep, I headed to the office. A project this big required a final presentation to the board of directors. I was in the middle of my report when the boardroom door was thrown open with violent force. Sophia marched in, followed by Ron and a dozen security guards. Ron was wearing a tailored suit, the effeminate act replaced by an air of smug superiority. He pointed a finger at me, his voice ringing with authority. “Mario, you’re fired. Get out. Now.”

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On Valentine’s Day, my mother-in-law was stabbed twenty times and left for dead. I took the killer to court. But my wife, a star attorney, chose to represent him, arguing for his acquittal. When I confronted her, my voice shaking with rage, she brushed it off with an infuriating calmness. “Derek’s brother is just a college kid, Jacob. Can’t you show a little compassion?” She continued, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Derek and I will bring him by to pay respects to your mother. Then you’ll drop the lawsuit. Don’t wait to lose in court and embarrass me.” I looked at the photograph of the mutilated corpse, a sound clawing its way up my throat. It wasn’t a sob. It was a laugh, dark and hollow. She still didn’t know. She had no idea it was her own mother who was dead. I had just arranged for the body to be taken to the funeral home when my wife, Miranda, arrived with Derek and his younger brother, Dylan. Derek surveyed the simple viewing room I was setting up, his face a mask of disapproval. “Come on, Jake,” he said, shaking his head. “I know Miranda makes good money, but you can’t just throw it away on a dead person like this. It’s such a waste.” Dylan, the killer himself, was even more brazen. He stepped forward and spat, a glob of saliva landing squarely on the shrouded form. “You think you deserve this, you old hag?” he sneered. A bolt of pure fury shot through me, and I lunged forward. Miranda shoved me back, hard, shielding the two of them behind her. “Derek and his brother are just speaking the truth,” she snapped. “Your mother is dead. What’s the point of wasting another dime on her?” I stared at Miranda, a cold wave of disbelief washing over me. It was surreal. From the moment her mother had been murdered, Miranda hadn’t asked a single question, hadn’t shed a single tear. Instead, when I sued the killer, Dylan, she announced she would be his defense attorney. She’d even pulled strings—and spent a small fortune—to get him out on bail. I had assumed Derek had somehow brainwashed her, twisted her logic until she was unrecognizable. But it was so much worse than that. So much more insane. She thought the victim was my mother. The absurdity of it was almost suffocating. Derek, wearing a smug grin, continued to needle me. “Seriously, Jake, you should go get a refund. This setup must have cost a few thousand, right?” He clicked his tongue. “Your mom was always trying to squeeze money out of Miranda when she was alive. Are you trying to do the same now that she’s dead?” A look of pure disgust twisted Miranda’s features. “What else would you expect? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” She didn’t even glance at the body. “A woman as vicious and greedy as your mother… getting stabbed was probably what she deserved.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “My mother has never done a single thing to wrong you. Don’t you dare insult her.” Miranda ignored me completely, turning to the funeral home director. “Cancel the service and refund the money. We’re not doing this. You can dispose of the body however you see fit.” Derek pointed towards a filthy drainage ditch that ran behind the building. “Miranda, honey, we should still be respectful of the dead,” he said with mock solemnity. “Why don’t we just place the body over there for a simple farewell? After cremation, we can scatter the ashes right into the ditch. A return to nature! We’d even save on an urn and a burial plot.” He turned to me, his eyes gleaming with malice. “What do you think, Jake?” Miranda scoffed. “He should be thanking you for your kindness.” Without another word, she ordered the staff to move the body to the edge of the foul-smelling ditch. I tried to stop them, but her men held me back, their grips like iron. I watched, helpless, as they placed my mother-in-law’s body beside the sludge and grime. My heart ached for her. Miranda’s father had died when she was just a child, and it was her mother who had worked herself to the bone to raise her, taking on the role of both parents. Her mother would eat nothing but stale bread for days just so Miranda could have tutors and attend the best schools. And this was her reward? To be denied even a dignified funeral? With a sickening thud, Dylan kicked the body. It tumbled over the edge and splashed into the murky water. He shot me a defiant look, his expression purely wicked. “Oops, my foot slipped. You’re not gonna get mad, are you, old man?” Before I could even speak, Miranda shot me a venomous glare. “It was an accident, Jacob. Just get some water and rinse it off yourself. There’s no reason to get so upset.” I looked at the desecrated body, floating amidst the filth in the ditch, and the rage inside me curdled into a chilling calm. A slow, terrifying smile spread across my face. “You will regret this, Miranda.” I hoped she would remember this moment—remember these exact words—when she finally learned that the corpse she was treating like garbage was her own mother’s. … “What could I possibly have to regret?” Miranda said, refusing to spare another glance at the body. She switched to her sharp, lawyerly tone. “I’m here for a pre-trial settlement conference. I don’t want to waste any more time on this nonsense.” She gestured towards Dylan. “You will sign a forgiveness letter for Derek’s brother. He’s a college student. We can’t let one mistake ruin his entire life.” My voice was ice. “Never.” My mother-in-law had been killed for no other reason than she’d caught Dylan stealing from Miranda’s house and tried to stop him. He had stabbed her twenty times. To prolong her suffering, he had deliberately avoided any vital organs, letting her bleed out in agony. How could a monster like that ever deserve forgiveness? And how could Miranda, a lawyer and her own daughter, so callously defend the man who murdered her own mother? The thought was sickening. Her mother would never rest in peace. Miranda’s patience snapped. “Jacob, this isn’t a negotiation. It’s a last chance!” she hissed. “I’m a star attorney. Even if this goes to trial, I have a dozen ways to get him acquitted. I’m just trying to spare you the humiliation of losing in my courtroom. It reflects poorly on me, you know. Everyone knows you’re my husband.” I remained unmoved. “If you’re so worried about me embarrassing you, let’s get a divorce.” Her face flushed with fury. “Jacob! How dare you? You’re threatening me with divorce over this petty issue?” She pointed at Dylan, who was now “helping” by poking at the body in the ditch with a stick. “So he accidentally kicked your mother into the ditch! Look, he’s trying to clean her off now. He’s showing remorse! He deserves forgiveness!” I followed her finger and my blood ran cold. Dylan wasn’t cleaning the body. He was urinating on it, a triumphant, wicked grin on his face. I looked back at Miranda, at her contorted, ugly expression. She was a stranger. To call that vile act “cleaning”… what had happened to her? Where was the young, idealistic lawyer who once swore to fight for justice? It all started when Derek became her intern. Derek, who ignored evidence and built cases on pure conjecture. Miranda had covered for him, twisted the truth, and sent innocent victims to prison just to protect his fragile ego. I had warned her, told her it was wrong. She’d just claimed she was “mentoring a promising young talent.” My disappointment was a physical weight in my chest. “I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up. You’ll have them by tomorrow.” Derek stepped in, feigning concern. “Jake, come on. Miranda only spent Valentine’s Day with me because she felt sorry for me being single. If that’s what this is about, I apologize. Please don’t scare her with talk of divorce. She’ll take it to heart.” His words were gasoline on the fire. Miranda’s hand flew up and a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. “You are being completely unreasonable, Jacob!” she shrieked. “And let me tell you something. Not only will I not divorce you, but I will also exercise my right as your wife to issue a forgiveness letter on behalf of the family!” She immediately had someone bring her a pen and paper. Right there, in front of me, she scribbled out the letter, signing her name with a flourish. “And I will make sure you never even get a chance to testify,” she snarled, her eyes burning with a cold fire. “You brought this on yourself, Jacob.” After Miranda left, I paid a small fortune to have my mother-in-law’s body recovered and properly cleaned. I hired new staff to prepare the viewing room again. Then, I had a lawyer draft the divorce agreement and called Miranda, telling her to come sign it. Derek answered the phone. In the background, I could hear Miranda’s soft, breathy moans. “Jake, buddy,” Derek said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Miranda’s a little busy right now. Can’t come to the phone.” He paused, letting me hear a particularly loud cry from her. “She told me to tell you, don’t even think about using a divorce to invalidate the forgiveness letter.” He didn’t hang up. He let me listen. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I recorded the call before ending it. If she wouldn’t sign, I’d file for divorce. I submitted the application online, took a screenshot, and sent it to her. “See you in court.” The day of the murder trial, I arrived at the courthouse to a notification on my phone: my divorce filing had been rejected. Of course. It had Miranda’s fingerprints all over it. Then, another call came through. It was the funeral home. They told me the viewing room had been vandalized and the body had been forcibly removed. The director sent me a video. I opened it, and my vision went red. My mother-in-law’s body was gone from the refrigerated coffin. In its place was the carcass of a large pig. Flanking the coffin were wreaths bearing my mother’s name, with condolence ribbons covered in vile, obscene insults. Miranda and Derek arrived, fashionably late. She saw the video on my phone, and her voice was laced with pure malice. “This is what happens when you refuse to listen, Jacob.” Her threat was clear. “If you insist on testifying today, you will never see your mother’s body again.” Derek pointed at the pig in the coffin on my screen. “See? A perfect match for your mother, don’t you think? It took Miranda and me ages to find a replacement with just the right look.” He chuckled. “Now all your relatives can kneel and bow to a pig. It’s all the same, really. You’ll get your real mom’s body back after my brother is acquitted.” I never imagined they could sink this low. It was all a desperate attempt to stop me from testifying because they thought the victim was my mother. As the direct next of kin, my refusal to forgive would override any letter Miranda wrote. My control snapped. I swung, my fist connecting with Derek’s jaw. “You’re less than human!” Miranda shrieked, throwing herself in front of him. “Jacob! Don’t make me have you thrown in jail, too!” My eyes, burning red, locked onto hers. “The only ones who belong in jail are you two! Desecration of a corpse is a felony!” She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Did you forget who I am? I’m the lawyer here. I’ll never see the inside of a cell. Your threats are meaningless.” Her voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “So you need to decide. Do you want to testify, or do you want your mother’s body back?” A cold, mirthless smile touched my lips. “Miranda, has it ever occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t my mother’s body we’re talking about? Maybe it’s yours.” Miranda just rolled her eyes. “My mother is a kind, decent woman. She would never be so horrible that a sweet college kid would feel compelled to stab her to death.” She pulled out her phone and started a video call. “One word from me, and your mother’s corpse will be food for maggots.” The screen flickered to life. It showed my mother-in-law’s body being dragged toward the edge of a septic tank. As they moved her, a large, old burn scar on her forearm became visible. She’d told me about that scar once. When Miranda was a little girl, she’d knocked over a kettle of boiling water. Her mother had shielded her with her own arm, receiving a terrible burn. To keep Miranda from feeling guilty, she’d always told her it was just a birthmark. Derek’s eyes widened for a split second before he recovered. “Wow, Miranda,” he said quickly, pointing at the screen. “Jake’s mom was a real copycat. It was bad enough she was always trying to dress like your mom, but now she even fakes a birthmark to match? How pathetic.” The flicker of doubt in Miranda’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by her usual disgust. “Mine is a birthmark. Is that one a burn scar she got on purpose? The lengths some people will go to are just disgusting,” she sneered. “I can’t believe my mother ever called that woman a friend.” My mom, a copycat? The truth was, my mother always felt sorry for my mother-in-law, raising a child on her own. Whenever she bought new clothes or jewelry for herself, she would buy a matching set for her. It was my mother-in-law who, out of gratitude, had always treated me with such kindness. A bitter wave of sadness washed over me. I had to stop this. “That is your mother, Miranda! And that isn’t a birthmark. It’s a burn she got protecting you!” Derek leaned in, whispering to Miranda, “It’s bad luck, having a dead woman with the same ‘birthmark’ as your mom. We should get rid of it.” He took the phone and spoke to the men on the other end. “Do it.” I lunged for the phone, but Miranda swung her handbag, the heavy metal clasp striking my forehead. “Derek is right! Leave him alone!” Blood trickled down my face. On the screen, I saw a knife flash. They were carving into the already damaged arm, turning the scar into a grotesque, bloody mess. I was shaking with a rage so profound it left me breathless. “Miranda! Do you have any humanity left?” “The only one without humanity is you!” she screamed back. “You’re the one trying to send an innocent boy to prison! I gave you a chance, Jacob. You’re the one who threw it away!” She snatched the phone back and yelled into it, her voice cracking with fury. “Throw the body in the septic tank! Now!” Then she shoved the phone in my face, forcing me to watch as my mother-in-law’s body disappeared into the filth. Satisfied, she looked at my face, twisted in anguish, and smiled like a conquering hero. Then, head held high, she took Derek’s arm and walked into the courthouse. The trial began. The judge started by reading the facts of the case. “The defendant, Dylan Evans, following a conflict arising from a burglary attempt, did repeatedly stab the victim, Laura Collins, resulting in her death.” Miranda’s triumphant expression evaporated. Her face went blank. Laura Collins was her mother’s name. She shot to her feet, interrupting the judge. “Your Honor, there must be a mistake in the victim’s information. That name… that can’t be right.” The judge frowned, looking at her with a strange, piercing gaze. “The victim’s identity has been confirmed, counsel. The deceased is your mother, Laura Collins.” Every muscle in Miranda’s face froze. She stammered, asking to see the case file. The judge slid it toward her. There, in black and white, was the name. Her mother. The victim. A smile, more gruesome than a grimace, stretched her lips. “But… my mom’s fine. She’s alive. How could she be… dead?” Her hands trembling, she fumbled for her phone and dialed her mother’s number. From the evidence table, a phone inside a plastic bag began to ring. The ringtone was a cheesy pop song Miranda had set for her mom years ago as a joke. Tears finally streamed down her face. She spun around, her eyes wild, and shrieked at me. “Jacob! What did you do? How did you bribe all these people to lie to me, to play this sick joke?” Her voice broke. “She was just talking to me a few days ago! She was going to bring me lasagna! How can she be dead?” I met her gaze from across the courtroom, my own eyes cold and hard. “I don’t have that kind of power, Miranda. And last I checked, slander is a crime. You’re an officer of the court. You should be careful with your accusations.” I had told her. More than once, I had tried to tell her the truth. She was the one who refused to believe it. She was the one who had committed those unspeakable acts.

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On my daughter’s fifth birthday, Cynthia posted a photo on Instagram with the caption: 【My little one was fussy before bed, wanting her daddy, and Super Dad dropped everything to rush right over.】 The man lying in bed with her, smiling at the camera, was my husband—Chris. I glanced at the text message I’d received just ten minutes earlier: 【Something came up at the office. Don’t wait up for me and Mia.】 I liked the post. Then I dialed my divorce lawyer. 1 It was two in the morning when Chris finally came home. The harsh glare of the hallway light spilled into the room, and my first instinct was to shield my daughter’s eyes. Chris leaned against the doorframe. “Honey, I’m home. Let’s wake Mia up. I can celebrate her birthday with her now.” I used to be obsessed with these family rituals. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, even kindergarten events—I always insisted that Chris be there. I didn’t want Mia to grow up like I did, seeing her father mostly through video calls. But now— I straightened the covers, my voice flat. “That won’t be necessary.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Chris’s face. “Clara, I just went over there to put Leo to sleep. Don’t misread the situation. This is exactly why I can’t be honest with you, because you’re always so suspicious.” I wasn’t misreading anything. And from now on, I wouldn’t be suspicious, either. “If there’s nothing else, you should go to your own room. Don’t wake Mia. She has school in the morning.” Chris let out a cold laugh. “Fine, have it your way. Just don’t come crying to me later, accusing me of being absent from Mia’s childhood.” I turned my back to him, switched off the lamp, and gently patted Mia, who had started to stir from the noise. His absence didn’t matter anymore. After all, Mia’s birthday wish this year was: “I don’t want to see Daddy anymore.” The next morning, after breakfast, Chris didn’t leave for work immediately as he usually did. Instead, he sat on the sofa, watching the morning news. Just as we were about to leave, he grabbed his keys and walked over, ruffling Mia’s hair. “Daddy’s taking you to school today.” He was speaking to our daughter, but his eyes were locked on me. Two years ago, when Mia first started kindergarten, Chris drove her every single day. But after Cynthia came into the picture, he started leaving earlier and earlier, claiming his morning meetings had been moved up. I believed him. Until three months ago, when Mia transferred to a new school. I was standing by the gate when I saw him. The man who was supposed to be in a meeting was leaning over, lifting a little boy out of the back seat of his car. It wasn’t that he didn’t have time to take his daughter to school. It was just that he had something more important to do. We had a massive fight that night. The next day, Mia stopped asking for him to take her. Even though I’d already decided on a divorce, he was still Mia’s father. I considered it for a moment and didn’t refuse. A small smile played on his lips as he bent down and scooped Mia into his arms. When he opened the car door, I froze. The back seat was cluttered with someone else’s life. A superhero water bottle, a wooden toy bow and arrow, a woman’s shawl… And hanging from the back of the passenger seat was a “family photo.” Chris’s expression tightened when he saw where I was looking. “Cynthia just hung that there. She said it makes Leo happy. Don’t start a fight over something so trivial.” The old me would have torn that picture to shreds and tearfully demanded to know where Mia and I stood in his heart. But the new me just nodded. “It’s a nice photo.” Chris stared at me, a strange look in his eyes. “You’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But for some reason, my heart was a flatline. I almost wanted to laugh. Did Chris, always so sharp and calculating, really not see through such a clumsy, transparent ploy? The truth was simpler. He just didn’t care. “We should get going. Mia’s going to be late.” At my prompting, Chris’s lips thinned into a tight line, and he opened the driver’s side door. Just as I was about to lift Mia into the car, his phone rang. The ringtone was a child’s voice singing, “My Daddy, my hero…” On the other end of the line, a little boy was crying hysterically. “Daddy! Daddy! Where did you go? Are you leaving Leo and Mommy?” Chris hung up and, without a single glance in our direction, scrambled into the car. “Leo’s crying for me. I’ll have the driver take you today.” The black Maybach sped away, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. Worried about Mia, I knelt down to comfort her. “Daddy has something important to do today. Next time he’s free, we’ll have him take you to school, okay?” Mia’s face held a maturity far beyond her years. “Daddy will never be free, Mommy. All his time is for Leo and his mom.” 2 That evening, Chris called. “Clara, I’ll be home late. Leo is sick…” “Okay.” I agreed so quickly that his prepared explanation caught in his throat. He must have thought I was being difficult, because his tone hardened with irritation. “Clara, don’t be like this.” Then he hung up. Ten minutes later, I received a series of texts. 【I’m so sorry, Clara. Leo has been really clingy with his dad lately.】 【But really, Chris shouldn’t have just abandoned you and Mia the second I called.】 【I’ll be sure to scold him. Please don’t be mad.】 The last text was punctuated with a giggling emoji. It was Cynthia. The messages weren’t an apology; they were a declaration of war. I had no interest in fighting her for him. I deleted the texts and blocked her number. A moment later, Chris called again. “Clara, what is your problem? Cynthia apologizes to you, and this is how you act?” I could faintly hear the sounds of a woman and child sobbing in the background. I said nothing. After a long silence, his voice came back, low and heavy. “Clara, how did you become like this? I’m so disappointed in you.” Cynthia was the one who had provoked me, but the moment she cried, Chris laid all the blame at my feet, as if I were some kind of wicked villain. When I got home, I started packing. While Chris had been on the phone, I’d been consulting with my lawyer. In a divorce, I was entitled to at least 30% of the shares in Chris’s company. And since our parenting conditions were comparable, custody of our daughter would likely be awarded to me, the mother. My last hesitation vanished. Clothes, bags, jewelry, Mia’s favorite toys—they were all coming with us. As I sealed the last box, my hands trembled. For a moment, I paused, then I broke the dusty wax seal on an old chest in the corner. It was filled to the brim with love letters—from the Chris who was seventeen, all the way to twenty-two. I opened the one on top. It began: 【To the twenty-seven-year-old Clara, this is the seventeen-year-old Chris.】 【This is the first love letter I’ve ever written to you. As we promised, we will open this together in ten years.】 【By then, we’ll definitely be married. Maybe we’ll even have a beautiful child.】 My phone rang. On the other end was the twenty-seven-year-old Chris. “Clara! Do you have any idea that Cynthia took Leo and ran away from home? If anything happens to them, I will never forgive you.” My eyes fell to the last line of the letter. 【Signed: The Chris who will love his Clara forever.】 A sharp pain lanced through my chest, like something delicate had finally shattered. I hung up the phone and tossed the entire box into the fireplace. 3 Chris didn’t come home that night. I didn’t frantically call him over and over like I used to, crying and promising I would never give Cynthia a hard time again. My daughter didn’t ask about her father either. She just quietly took the framed photo of her and Chris from her room while I packed. Chris and I were locked in a cold war. It lasted a week, until Mia’s kindergarten needed a parental consent form signed, which required facial recognition. I tried calling Chris, only to find he’d blocked my number. With no other choice, I took the form and went to his office. I hadn’t been waiting long when I saw a familiar figure slip into Chris’s office. The assistant pouring water nearby looked guilty. “Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne gave instructions that Ms. Cynthia can enter his office whenever she likes.” That special privilege was, in a way, my fault. Back when I still brought Chris lunch every day, we would eat and talk for an hour. One day, Cynthia showed up, but the assistant at the time stopped her at the door. By the time Chris walked me out, Cynthia and her son Leo were shivering in the hallway, their lips blue from the cold. That was the first time Chris ever truly lost his temper with me. He yelled, saying my daily lunch deliveries were a waste of his time. The assistant who had stopped Cynthia was fired. From that day on, everyone knew Cynthia was the one who held Chris’s heart. I never came to the office again. I gave the new assistant a small smile and walked straight toward the office. Chris was indeed in a meeting. He looked surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?” Cynthia was perched on the armrest of his chair, their bodies so close they were almost touching. He noticed my gaze and faltered. “Clara, don’t get the wrong idea. Cynthia just happens to know a little about this project, so…” I nodded and handed him the tablet. “Mia has a field trip. It needs a parent’s signature.” “You came all this way just for that?” “What else?” The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. I didn’t know why, but I knew Chris well enough to recognize he was in a foul mood. Cynthia scoffed lightly. “What a complicated way to get a signature. Chris, she just wants to make up with you. You’ve been staying at my place for days. It’s about time you went home to see Mia.” The tension in Chris’s brow eased. He tossed the tablet onto the coffee table and gave me a smirk. “Clara, so now you’re using our child as an excuse.” “Apologize to Cynthia. Otherwise, I’m not signing this.” Hearing those words used to infuriate me. I’d be furious that he didn’t care about his own daughter, and even more furious that he was doing it for Cynthia. But now, I felt nothing. My only thought was that without his signature, Mia would miss her field trip, and she would be disappointed. I looked at Chris, and at Cynthia still sitting on his armrest, then turned and walked out of the office without a word. I could just tell the teacher that Mia didn’t have a father. I’d only taken a few steps when a clear, masculine voice called out. “Ms. Thorne, if you don’t mind, perhaps I could sign it for you.” It was the other man from Chris’s meeting. “After all, I’ve been an audience to your family drama for some time now.” I finally got a good look at him. He was dressed in a sharp black suit that radiated a cool authority, his features handsome and severe. He clearly came from money and power. I simply handed him the tablet. The verification went through instantly. Three elegantly written words appeared on the screen: 【Kyle Cole.】 4 The divorce papers were drafted. I unilaterally ended our cold war and told Chris to come home that evening. When I went to pick Mia up from kindergarten, his Maybach was already waiting. The window rolled down, revealing Cynthia’s triumphant smile from the passenger seat. “Clara, here to pick up your child, too? This is an elite kindergarten, you know. Are you still wearing last year’s coat? Aren’t you afraid Mia will be embarrassed?” I couldn’t be bothered with her and moved a little farther away. Cynthia turned to the driver’s seat, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Chris, did I say something wrong again? I think I made Clara angry.” For once, Chris didn’t respond. He just stared at my thin coat, his voice stiff. “Clara, it’s windy out. Get in the car.” I moved even farther away. I don’t know when it started, but the distance between us had grown so vast that even a simple word of concern sounded forced and hollow. As we neared the school gate, a scuffle broke out in the line of children. I frowned, and my heart sank when I saw that one of them was Mia. I rushed over and pulled them apart, only then realizing the other child was Leo. He froze when he saw me, then immediately threw himself on the ground and began to wail. “Waaah! The mean lady hit me! It hurts, it hurts!” Chris and Cynthia hurried over. Cynthia swept her son into her arms, her face filled with indignation. “Clara, I know you don’t like me, but you can’t take it out on a child. They were just playing. There was no need to get so aggressive.” Chris looked at me with disapproval, completely forgetting that Mia was his own flesh and blood. The teacher looked torn. “Mrs. Thorne, Mrs. Cynthia, the children both saw Mr. Thorne and started insisting he was their father. They argued, and then they started fighting.” It was dismissal time, and the area was crowded with parents. The whispers started immediately. “What a mess. Two kids fighting over a dad? Must be the wife and the mistress.” “That guy looks loaded. Maybe the little boy is just a liar, trying to show off. Who knew the real daughter would be right there?” “A little gold-digger in the making. What are they teaching him at home?” Leo was still crying, clinging to Chris’s neck and screaming “Daddy.” But Mia… she just held my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on Chris, unblinking. The other children chimed in curiously. “Mister, who’s your real kid? You have to tell us! The one who’s lying has to apologize.” Chris opened his mouth. “I’m Mia’s…” At that exact moment, Cynthia gave his sleeve a gentle tug, her eyes pleading. In an instant, I knew. He was wavering. Just like countless times before, all it took was one look from Cynthia, and my daughter and I became his second choice. I gritted my teeth, my voice like ice. “Chris, your answer right now will affect Mia for the rest of her life. Think very carefully before you speak.” His body went rigid. His eyes were downcast, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice that was quiet but loud enough for everyone to hear, he said: “I’m Leo’s father.” He looked at Mia. “I think you’re mistaken, little girl.” My heart seized, as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. This is our daughter. The crowd of parents immediately turned on Mia. “Little girl, why would you lie about who your dad is? And then hit his real son?” “Yeah, the truth is out and she’s not even apologizing. No manners at all.” “She’s just jealous he’s rich. Wants to be a rich man’s daughter.” “Her mother doesn’t look like a good person either, all done up like that. Probably taught her daughter to call rich men ‘daddy’ to try and trap one.” “Chris, you’re not even human…” I started to say, but a sharp pain in my palm cut me off. Mia was biting her lip, her grip on my hand astonishingly tight. The light in her eyes was fading fast. “Mom, let’s just go.” Then she turned woodenly to Chris and bowed. “I’m sorry, sir. I was mistaken.”

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