1 My brother gave me a diary in which he could see everything I wrote. In my first life, that diary was filled with my love for him, with all my depravity. He despised me, abandoned me, and as I stood on the ledge of a twenty-eighth-floor rooftop, he demanded I wish him a “happy wedding.” Reborn into this life, I’ve learned my lesson. The day I got the diary, I wrote: 【I hate my brother so much. I wish he would just disappear from my life.】 But later, my brother knelt before me, stripped bare. “Everyone else has a sister who loves them. I’m the only one who doesn’t.” “Stella,” he begged, “can’t you find it in your heart to feel just a little bit sorry for me?” … I can’t remember the last time my brother, Leo, smiled at me. I remember even less the last time he held me. The weight of the diary in my hands feels impossibly heavy. Leo is wearing a blue floral apron, cinched tight around his slender waist. He looks as though he could snap in two. “What, cat got your tongue?” he teases. “I know you like it, but don’t…” His playful tone falters. Because I’ve launched myself at him, burying my face in his chest. My fingers clutch the fabric of his apron, still warm and smoky from the kitchen. I’m trembling. In my last life, at some point I can no longer pinpoint, my brother suddenly began to distance himself from me, to despise me. On the day of his wedding, I stood on the rooftop of a twenty-eight-story building. The moment I leaped, he shielded me with his own body. He shattered on the pavement before my eyes. As we fell, he had held me just like this, so tightly. Even the warmth of his body and the faint scent of cedar are the same. I’ve returned to ten years ago. It’s a miracle. Ten years ago, my brother isn’t dead. And he doesn’t yet know about the obsessive, twisted love I have for him. Just two hours ago, I was at my brother’s funeral. The woman who was supposed to be my “sister-in-law” was weeping hysterically. The moment she saw me in the memorial hall, she looked like she wanted to shove me into the coffin with him. “Stella, who else but you would have such a disgusting obsession with your own brother!” What kind of sister tries to kill herself on the day her brother is closest to happiness? That would be me. I couldn’t stand to see him happy, because the person standing beside him wasn’t me. She had thrown out the wish diary my brother gave me ten years ago. It was filled with every one of my vile thoughts. 【I love my brother so much. Can he stay with me forever?】 【Sometimes I wish my brother were blind, so his eyes would never hold another woman. Is that so wrong?】 【He’s starting to avoid me. I won’t allow it.】 【Just die! Everyone should just die!】 He gave me that diary ten years ago. From the moment I wrote the first word, he began to hate me, to avoid me, to resent me. But the one thing I could never understand was why. After so many years of loathing me, why did Leo abandon his own grand wedding to come find me? He was the only one who died in that fall. His skull shattered. He was always so composed, so immaculate. But when he ran up those twenty-eight flights of stairs, his hair was matted to his face with sweat. The moment he grabbed me, he whispered, “Stella, if there’s a next life, don’t do this again.” I knew what he meant. If there’s a next life, don’t cross that line. Don’t let your love for me become something more than what a sister should feel. My old, stubborn self would never have agreed. But now, looking at my brother—alive, breathing, human enough to reach out and wipe a tear from the corner of my eye, to gently scold me, “Crying again. Stella, what did I do in a past life to deserve you?”—I feel something shift. I push him away, turn, and close the door behind me. Tears fall freely, uncontrollably. I uncap the pen and write. 【I hate him. I hate my brother so much.】 【Can he just disappear from my life completely?】 I’m lying. I would rather never see my brother again for the rest of my life than watch him die so horribly on his wedding day. My brother was adopted. My parents brought him home from an orphanage. He wasn’t the child they had intended to choose. But I pointed at the gloomy boy in an apron, baking cookies by the oven. “Mom, Dad,” I said, “I want him to be my brother.” Leo was stunned. He had a limp. He didn’t know how to say the right things to charm adults. His only handsome feature, his face, was hidden behind a curtain of long hair. He just stammered. My almost pathological fascination with him had already begun. Even when the director of the orphanage insisted he wasn’t the right child, I clung to his leg and refused to let go. “He is. He’s beautiful.” My parents couldn’t win against my stubbornness. They agreed to take him home for a “trial period.” That’s how adults are. They weigh the pros and cons, hoping everything comes with a return policy. But my brother is a person, not a product. I would never let them send him back. In three months, I transformed him. I secretly slipped notes under his door with hints about my parents’ preferences. I spoke the words he couldn’t say, building him up in their eyes. By the time I was twelve, we finally looked like a real family of four. But our happiness was short-lived. My father was laid off, and my mother was scammed out of all our savings. One night, they turned on the gas. My brother, always the lightest sleeper, pulled me from my room just in time. My parents were gone. My brother became my father and my mother. After the funeral, he had only twenty dollars to his name. When I cried that I was hungry, he bought a can of peaches from a corner store. It was a big can. He held my hand and told me, “Stella, wait for me. I’ll come back and we’ll leave this place together.” I waited for three days. Everyone told me he had abandoned me. They said he was heartless, that I shouldn’t wait. I didn’t believe them. When I was hungry, I ate the canned peaches. Three days later, my brother returned, walking through a gauntlet of cold, judgmental stares. His fingernails were black with coal dust. In his pocket was the fare for a train to the city. He lifted me onto his back. He limped, his steps unsteady, but he refused to put me down. After that, taking care of me became a part of his DNA. In my last life, the first wish I wrote in that diary was: 【I want my brother to be with me forever.】 He quit a high-paying job in City A without telling me. He bought a large apartment near my university and started his own business. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, my favorite dishes were always on the table. And so was he. He was like a magical wishing tree. Whether I wanted newly released shoes and bags, or a 4.0 GPA for the semester, he always found a way to make it happen. I suspected. I even asked him. “Leo, do you sneak into my room and read my diary when I’m not here?” He just tweaked my ear and replied shamelessly. 2 “Who do you take me for? Can’t it just be that your brother is your soulmate?” I was a freshman in college that year. Boys and girls, fresh out of their simple high school lives, were all falling in love. Someone cornered me once. “Stella, don’t you want to date someone?” “All you ever talk about is your brother, your brother. Don’t you get sick of it?” When Leo came to pick me up, I took the gift bag a boy who was pursuing me had offered and dangled it in front of him. “Leo,” I asked, “do you think I should date him?” His hand on the steering wheel tightened. His face darkened. “That piece of trash thinks he’s good enough for you?” That night, I read a steamy romance novel. The heroine was pressed against the hood of a car, ravaged by the male lead. The face that appeared in my mind was my brother’s. My love for him was anything but pure. I wanted his love to be mine and mine alone. The diary was like a subtle, hidden metaphor. A thin veil over a truth about to be exposed. I remember that night, my brother made crispy sweet and sour pork. I believed that any wish made in the diary would come true. I was naive, and with a heart full of love, I wrote: 【I want to fall in love. With my brother.】 Outside my door, I heard the crash of a shattered bowl. Things spiraled out of my control. He started avoiding me. He started to despise me. For ten long years. I had noticed it, of course. When I wrote something like that, he wouldn’t show up the next day. He had always prioritized me above everything else. But I never thought he would be so absolute. At the dinner table, my best friend Ruby, who he had asked to be my roommate, asked me softly, “Stella, did you and your brother have a fight?” “He bought a ticket for a red-eye flight to City A. He told me he’d be busy with work from now on and couldn’t come back often, so he asked me to stay with you.” My brother had fought tooth and nail to afford this apartment. But now, just to put distance between us, he was starting over in a new city. Sometimes I really wondered. He was willing to give up everything important in his life for me. So why couldn’t he just love me? But I will never forget the time in my last life when, emboldened by alcohol, I sat on his lap and swayed against him. “Brother,” I’d whispered, “help me, please?” “I’ll do anything. Anything at all.” He had dragged me by the wrist and shoved me under a cold shower. He hadn’t been drinking. He wasn’t sick. He just stood there with me, under the freezing water, for what felt like hours. He cupped my face. “Are you sober now?” “Look at me, Stella. See who I am.” Fueled by desperation, I’d laughed. “But you’re the one I want, Brother.” After that, my brother moved out. He never spent time alone with me again, not even for holidays. The fastest way to push him away was to tell him I hated him. The second fastest way was to tell him I loved him, that I was going crazy with it. Now, I’ve tried both. My relationship with my brother seems to be a dead end. But hating him seems to offer a longer-lasting existence in this life than loving him. My brother let me live on my own. But I think he overestimated me. He overestimated the body that had been so coddled under his care that it would collapse at the slightest breeze. When the thermometer spiked to 102 degrees, my vision blurred. I knocked over the glass of water on my nightstand. Ruby was out on a date with her boyfriend. I was home alone. My insides felt like they were on fire. On instinct, I fumbled for my phone and called my brother. It rang twice before he picked up. I heard him say my name. “Stella?” “Mhm,” I managed. In my last life, after he moved out, he rarely answered my calls. When he did, it was usually just three short phrases. “Busy.” “In a meeting.” “I’ll call you back.” He had gotten very used to using those lines on me. I deserved it. But there were times when the medicine didn’t work. I once ran to his office building in a downpour, clutching a can of peaches. He always worked late. Perhaps that was how he’d climbed to the top so quickly. He’d looked at me coldly, not even offering me an umbrella. He watched as I struggled to open the can. Rainwater dripped into the syrup. I held it up to him. “Leo,” I said, “have some.” He didn’t take it. He pushed me, not hard, but enough to make me collapse onto the wet ground. Covered in mud, I held my arms out to him. “Brother,” I pleaded, “look at me.” “You used to love me most. And you loved canned peaches most.” He didn’t turn back. A black car pulled up in front of him. Its tires sent a spray of water arching through the air. When the silence returned, the ground was littered with scattered slices of peach. Burning with fever, I can’t tell if the sound outside my window is the rain from that night or if this is the present, before the final break with my brother. I mumble into the phone, my voice thick and slurred. “Leo, you finally decided to answer my call?” “You used to go out and buy me peach nectar every time I had a fever.” “Leo, you’re not home. I’m scared.” On the other end of the line, I imagine his fingers tightening around his phone. Slowly, I lose my strength. The phone slips from my hand and lands on the pillow beside me, my breathing heavy. In my dream, it feels like the front door opens. It feels like my brother came back. When I open my eyes again, there are two cans of peach nectar on my nightstand. Ruby is looking at me with a pained expression. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a fever?” My nose is so stuffy. I can’t tell if the faint scent of cedar is in the air. Clutching a can, I ask Ruby, “Was my brother here?” She shakes her head instantly, frowning. “Are you delirious? He’s in City A. By the time he bought peach nectar and brought it here, you’d have burned to a crisp.” From City A to my home is a four-hour train ride, not counting travel time to and from the stations. And I had called him at three in the afternoon. It’s now seven. Even if he flew, he couldn’t have made it that fast. But I can’t risk even that sliver of a possibility. I throw both cans into the trash can and wash my hands. My face is cold as I tell Ruby, “Good. I don’t like canned peaches anymore anyway.” “It’s a poor man’s food. Too pathetic, too sweet.” She just stares at me, stunned. Autumn in City B is long. To break free from the withdrawal symptoms of my separation from my brother, and to completely extinguish any desire to disturb his life again, I dress warmer than anyone else. I go to bed early and wake up early. I eat three meals a day on time. I will not get sick again. I will not be vulnerable again. I will not instinctively reach for my brother in moments of powerlessness. But I never expected the university to invite him back as a distinguished alumnus to give a speech. All freshmen are required to attend. I can’t escape. He’s on stage, seated in a chair that hides his limp. Questions, interviews—he answers them all fluently. Many in the audience are just staring at his face. The host guides him toward an interactive session. His dark eyes sweep silently across the thousands of seats below. I shouldn’t think he’s looking for me. I shouldn’t think he’d be able to spot me in this crowd. But the girl who gets called on is sitting just in front of me. She clutches the microphone, her voice trembling with excitement. “Leo,” she asks, “are you single?” The entire hall erupts. 3 My brother freezes for a moment, his gaze flickering over me. When I was eighteen, he had promised me. “If you ever want to date someone, you have to get my permission first, Brother.” He had laughed at me then. “In that case, I’ll probably have to be single for the rest of my life.” On stage, he stands up. He takes a few steps, deliberately slow, his gait uneven. This is my brother. While nodding, he is also clearly telling everyone: I am flawed. I have a limp. It is a polite, distant refusal, one that lays his own imperfection bare. As if it doesn’t hurt him at all. The girl in front of me sits down with a sigh, but the girl next to me grows even more excited. “Oh my god, don’t you think that kind of beautiful, broken vulnerability is the most attractive thing ever?” she whispers. “I am definitely getting his number after this.” Someone reminds her that I am Leo’s sister. A note is passed into my hand. “Come on, you wouldn’t say no, right?” She tilts her chin confidently, a proud, radiant girl. “I mean, there aren’t many girls as great as me out there,” she says. “If your brother dates me, I’ll treat him really well.” It takes all my strength not to crumple the note and throw it away. In my last life, this girl wouldn’t have even had the chance to talk about my brother in front of me. My brother deserves the best in the world. But after a moment of consideration, I nod slowly. “My brother doesn’t just add anyone. I’ll take you to him later.” “Great!” After all, the person standing by his side… It can be anyone but me. It has been almost three months since I last saw my brother. The auditorium is vast. As the crowd disperses, he stands quietly on the stage, waiting, his back straight. But I know his leg must be killing him. I find a pain-relief patch in my bag. Timing it perfectly, I lead the girl to him. “She has something to say to you.” My brother looks down, his long lashes casting a shadow. He didn’t sleep well last night. But when he sees the patch in my hand, a faint smile touches his lips. “Go on.” “Leo, you’re single, and I’m single,” the girl says, straight to the point, holding up her phone with a QR code. “Any interest in dating?” My brother’s eyes look past her, to me. There’s a stunned, cold emotion in his gaze. It reminds me of the time in my last life when I deliberately accepted a gift from another man in front of him. He finally speaks, his brow furrowed. “Is this what you want?” I dig my nails into my palm, look away, and nod. “Sure, why not? You’re all alone anyway.” “It would be good to have some…” Before I can finish, Leo takes out his phone, scans the girl’s code, and walks away. The lights of the long corridor illuminate his hasty, almost comical retreat. One by one, the lights in the auditorium go out. The girl beside me is practically jumping with excitement. “Thank you so much! When I become your sister-in-law, I’ll treat you to dinner.” I am silent, my fists clenched. Because I heard the words “sister-in-law,” and because… My brother is angry. I’m sure of it. What is he angry about? He has to find a girlfriend eventually. He can’t be my brother forever. What is he angry about? My brother stops coming to see me completely. Even on the anniversary of our parents’ deaths, all I ever see is the bouquet of flowers he leaves at their grave. No matter how early I go, hoping for even a glimpse of him, he is never there. Gifts for every holiday still arrive at my doorstep. Ruby stays over more and more often, becoming a sort of stand-in for “him.” But in the dead of night, I still dream of those misty, haunted eyes. Of him shattering a glass, grabbing my collar, and demanding, “Stella, look at me! See who I am!” In my dreams, I am always silent. I know that if I speak, even the chance to see him in my dreams will be gone. He will slam the door and leave, again and again. … The next time I see my brother is four years later. I think if he had known I would be at that party, he wouldn’t have come. He has changed a lot. His limp is almost unnoticeable. Broad shoulders, long legs, the ends of his hair slightly curled. With a face so cold and indifferent, it’s hard not to stare. And his power in City A is even more captivating than his face. My supervisor during my internship pushes me towards him, whispering urgently, “Go on, offer him a toast. That’s Mr. Leo Lin.” “An intern like you might not get another chance to meet him for years.” I lower my head, a sour feeling rising in my nose. It’s true. It takes a long time to see my brother now. My wine glass trembles, finally meeting the man’s palm. My brother’s Adam’s apple bobs before he says, “Don’t force her.” He is different in public than he is with me. The authority he exudes is suffocating. So when my supervisor asks in surprise, “Do you know him?” I answer instantly, “No.” The atmosphere in the private room chills. I see my brother raise an eyebrow at my words. He puts down the wine glass he had just lifted, and the already tense air practically freezes. Coincidentally, someone asks him, “Mr. Lin, I heard your sister is also studying in City B. Why didn’t you bring her along?” My brother looks down, his dark gaze sweeping over me. The straight line of his knuckles seems to suddenly lose its strength. “She hates me,” he says, his voice low and heavy. “She hates me very, very much.” Sometimes, all it takes to break a person is a single look, a single sentence. I suspect if I stay in this room any longer, if I see that cold, shattered look in his eyes again, I might just rush over and kiss him, and explain everything. Tell him all those ugly words I wrote in the diary were lies. But in the end, I can’t forget the black-and-white photo from his funeral. My fingernails dig into my palms. I stand up. “I’m going out for some fresh air.” I have this habit of smoking whenever I think of my brother. I don’t know when it started. It’s as if the nicotine can numb me, let me live in a haze where I can pretend he loves me. A small point of fire is extinguished between someone’s fingers. When I come to my senses, my brother is standing by the window. Four years. His features have matured, and his words have grown sharper. “Is this your idea of ‘fresh air’?” I choke, my eyes instinctively drawn to his curled fingers. “Does it hurt?” He laughs, his thin lips twisting into a cold arc. “Don’t we not know each other?” “Why would you care if I’m in pain?” He’s still holding a grudge about what I said in the private room. I stammer an explanation. “I don’t want to use your name to get ahead…” He cuts me off, his voice laced with irritation. “Got it. You still hate me.” “But can I ask why?”

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The moment I successfully completed my redemption task and was free to leave the world of the novel, the second male lead, Michael, confessed his love for me. I couldn’t bear the thought of him returning to the lonely, desolate life he’d lived before, so I chose to stay. We fell in love, a whirlwind romance just like any normal couple, and with everyone’s blessing, we walked toward the altar. Until our wedding day, when a girl crashed the ceremony. “Michael will betray you in the future! Don’t marry him!” she screamed. “Who are you?” Michael’s voice was firm, his eyes fixed on me, filled with nothing but adoration. “Allison and I are deeply in love. If you continue to spread these lies and ruin our wedding, don’t expect me to be polite.” The girl ignored him, her gaze locked on me, her eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “Mom,” she pleaded, “please, believe me… this man will not make you happy.” 1 Every guest in the hall froze. A few seconds later, the tense silence broke into a wave of poorly suppressed chuckles. I’m twenty-four. The girl looked like she had just turned eighteen. How could I possibly be her mother? But she seemed oblivious to the mocking stares, her eyes still fixed on me, pleading. “He won’t bring you happiness. He’ll only make you cry.” “He’ll tell you he’s busy with work on every holiday, but he’ll be spending them with someone else.” “He and that bitch, Samantha, have been tangled up for over a decade!” At the name “Samantha,” a chill ran down my spine. She was the original female lead of the novel, the woman Michael had been secretly in love with for years. How did this girl know about Samantha? “What nonsense are you talking about? I haven’t had any contact with her in years!” Michael’s voice was sharp, and he turned to me, his expression laced with anxiety. “Allison, don’t listen to her. We haven’t seen each other at all.” 2 Michael wasn’t lying. Samantha had moved abroad four years ago and had never come back. In those four years, our relationship had been wonderful. We had never once fought over the ghost of his past love. “I believe you,” I said. “Mom, he’s lying…” The hotel security finally arrived, unceremoniously hauling the girl out. “False alarm, everyone! Let’s continue, let’s continue!” “Now, where were we?” Friends and family raised their glasses, trying to salvage the atmosphere, but it was impossible. The floral arrangements were knocked over, the aisle was a mess, and the officiant, having never witnessed such a scene, stood there in a daze. The hotel manager came to apologize personally, offering to compensate us and reschedule the entire event. “What kind of security are you running here? You can’t even handle a teenage girl?” Michael’s face was dark, a rare flash of anger directed at someone other than me. Only after the manager left did his features soften. He rested his chin on my shoulder. “You’re not angry at all?” How could I not be? When the System had told me my task was complete, that I could go home, it also meant my story with Michael would end. 【You want to stay?】the System had asked. “Yes. Michael just confessed to me.” I’d always read fairy tales and imagined the prince and princess lived happily ever after. Now, someone had just crashed my own fairy tale to tell me the ending was a complete train wreck. My mind was a chaotic mess. That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. A pair of strong arms pulled me into an embrace. Michael, half-asleep, murmured as his hand moved down, finding my cold feet. “Did the cold wake you?” He expertly tucked my feet under his shirt to warm them, shivering himself from the chill but pulling me even tighter. Listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I just shook my head, trying to banish the chaotic thoughts from my mind. 3 Sensing my low spirits, Michael took charge of all the wedding arrangements. He told me to just relax and wait, promising he would give me the grand, once-in-a-lifetime ceremony I deserved. In the meantime, I went back to work. I didn’t expect to see the girl from the wedding—she’d called herself Thea—at the coffee shop downstairs from my office. I had wondered if she was a Tasker like me, but the System had been clear: there could only be one outsider in each book. Thea stared at me for a long time. “This is the first time I’ve seen you dressed like this.” It was just standard professional attire, but it seemed to trigger a flood of memories for her. “I’ve never seen you in heels. Your hair was always tied back in a bun, never down like this—it was inconvenient for housework.” “You never wore belted coats like that one. They’re too hard to maintain, and you never had anywhere to wear them.” Her gaze shifted to my wrist. “Your hands were always bare, except for a simple wedding band. You were devastated when you lost one earring, so you just wore plastic spacers to keep the holes from closing. Eventually, you got too busy and forgot even that. The piercings closed up.” I managed a small smile. “That won’t happen. I don’t like that kind of life.” “What is your life like now?” Although I was still an orphan in this world, the System had given me a proper identity. I had a history here—I went to college, pursued Michael, fell in love, and made friends. I had my own social circle, my own career, and I was about to start a family with the man I loved. “So I won’t end up like you described,” I said. “I’m very happy with my life right now. I love my job.” I picked up my bag to leave, but Thea grabbed the corner of my coat. “But what if you get pregnant?” 4 I froze, studying Thea’s face carefully for the first time. When she furrowed her brow, she looked so much like Michael. That night, Michael’s kisses trailed from my shoulders down to my waist, his touch a teasing fire through the fabric of my nightgown. The moment his fingers hooked the strap to pull it aside, I instinctively caught his hand. Michael smoothed my hair back, his lips moving to my ear. “I thought we agreed to just let nature take its course?” “If we have a child, who will take care of it? Will I have to quit my job? I’m up for a promotion right now, and I don’t want to miss this opportunity.” Michael stilled. After a long moment, he spoke. “Allison, you believed her, didn’t you?” I was taken aback. “Ever since that girl showed up, you haven’t been yourself. You believed what she said, that I would neglect our family, that I would be a bad husband to you.” I rubbed my temples. “If we let nature take its course, these are all things we have to consider.” Michael’s voice grew heavy. “She’s a complete stranger, Allison. But you’re already letting her words define our future.” In the darkness, I couldn’t see his expression. I lifted the covers and slipped into his arms, my face brushing against the stubble on his chin. He had been so busy, juggling work and replanning our wedding, that he hadn’t even had time to shave. But a sense of unease still plagued me through the night. I took a day off and went to the doctor. As I sat staring blankly at the test results, Thea appeared and sat down beside me. “My birthday is July 23rd,” she said softly. Nine months from now. The report in my hand confirmed I was already over a month pregnant. After we had decided to get married, we had stopped being careful. One of those times had planted this seed. “You compromised,” Thea said. “No,” I denied it instantly. “I have no intention of giving up my career.” Thea just looked at me. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” I froze, my mind flashing back to the night before, to the drawer I had opened and then closed. “You didn’t retreat all at once,” she whispered. “You gave ground, step by step.” 5 Looking at Thea, I was suddenly terrified of what she might say next. As I was leaving, she reached out and grabbed my arm again. “You still don’t believe me?” “We’re a couple about to get married. Getting pregnant is a perfectly normal thing.” As for what came after, we could work it out. It didn’t have to end up the way she described. “Give it two weeks,” Thea said, closing her eyes. “Decide whether you’ll tell him in two weeks.” I didn’t know what she meant by that. That night, Michael said something urgent had come up at the office and threw on his coat to leave. I followed him. His car didn’t go toward his office. It parked next to a restaurant. He sat alone for fifteen minutes before a familiar figure pushed through the door. Samantha. “It’s been a long time,” she said, extending a hand. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” 6 I hadn’t seen her in four years, but she was just as the novel described her: pure, gentle, and graceful. I unconsciously crumpled the menu in my hands, watching Michael’s reaction. His expression was cold, distant. “I forgot to tell you,” he said, ignoring her outstretched hand. Samantha awkwardly retracted it and was about to sit down. “I’m getting married.” The words came out in a rush. Michael’s hand moved instinctively toward his pocket for a cigarette, then stopped as he remembered he was in a public place. He looked calm, but I knew him. That small, aborted movement was a sign of immense turmoil. “Married?” Samantha nodded. “I heard. To Allison, right?” “Yes.” Michael seemed agitated, as if he couldn’t bear to stay a second longer. “I have to go. There’s something at the office.” Samantha grabbed the hem of his coat, her expression wounded. “Michael, I know it’s probably too late for me to come back now. But… can’t we at least be friends? You helped me so much in the past… If it’s okay, could you just… walk with me for a bit?” 7 The moment the words were out, Samantha seemed to realize her mistake. She let go of his coat, stood up first, and mumbled an apology before walking out of the restaurant. Through the glass door, I saw her raise a hand to wipe away a tear. Michael hesitated, then his steps toward the exit seemed rushed, almost frantic. He pushed the door open, then stopped dead in his tracks. He turned back and asked the waiter for a pack of tissues. I couldn’t hear what he said through the glass. I only saw his hand, holding his coat, lift as if to drape it over her shoulders, then fall back to his side. He didn’t give her the coat, but he stood in front of her, shielding her from the wind. He couldn’t bring himself to refuse her. They walked down a familiar street, golden leaves scattered like lonely confetti on the cobblestones. Before Samantha left the country, this was the street where Michael would “accidentally” run into her every day. His bright eyes would dim the moment he saw the male lead walking beside her. And every time, I would be trailing behind, waiting for Michael to turn around. “Why are you turning back? You got all dressed up, even got a haircut, just to walk down this lane, didn’t you?” The teenage Michael was stunned at being found out. “It would be a shame to leave now,” I’d said. “The person I was waiting for stood me up, too. Why don’t we walk together?” “I wasn’t waiting for anyone,” he’d retort, but his ears would be burning red. “Okay, okay, you weren’t waiting. Consider it my invitation, then.” The truth was, I had also worn my favorite dress and a new hairclip. But just as Samantha never saw him, Michael never saw me. He refused my invitation, but that didn’t stop us from becoming partners in misery on that lonely lane. After it happened enough times, Michael finally snapped. He stopped and turned to me, his voice harsh. “I will wait for her. I am waiting for her. Stop wasting your time.” I looked him straight in the eye. “And I will wait for you.” Michael froze. And so did I. 8 The truth is, I had fallen for Michael long before the System brought me into this world. So when I was tasked with his redemption, I was ecstatic. Every day, my only thought was to make him a little happier, just a little bit more. The first time we walked down that lane together, we didn’t say a word. The second time, the third, the fourth… we finally started walking side by side. Then came holding hands, then kissing. We used the fallen leaves as our wedding confetti as he whispered his confession in my ear. He had faced so much disappointment. I wanted to fill every empty space, piece by piece. One day, I thought, he would finally see me. I would make him see only me. A dry twig snapped under my foot with a sharp crack— I came back to the present and stopped walking. Michael and Samantha were walking side by side, not speaking. He was just silently accompanying her down the entire length of the street. Their silhouettes blurred in my vision. 9 When Michael came home, he brought a box of raspberry mochi. I had once told him it was my favorite, but the private dessert shop that made it was in the next city over. He took off his coat and came over, his hands closing around my cold ankles. “Why are you standing barefoot on the floor again?” He gently put socks on my feet and tucked them into my fuzzy slippers. I looked down at his gentle face. “Where were you?” “I had a last-minute meeting.” “Do they sell this mochi in your conference room?” The air went still. Michael rubbed his brow. “What are you trying to say?” I just stared at him, not speaking. He seemed to grow irritated under my scrutinizing gaze. “How long are you going to let those baseless accusations make you paranoid?” My heart felt like it was being squeezed, a sour, painful ache spreading through my chest. “You didn’t meet with Samantha?” Michael froze, then his face filled with disbelief. “You followed me?” 10 He let out a long sigh. “She came back a few days ago. I only found out today. She was just catching up with old classmates, not just me.” “You should have told me.” “I was afraid you’d overthink it.” He reached for a cigarette again, then glanced at me and stopped. “Since you saw everything, you know we just met for a moment.” “Just met?” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Michael’s brow furrowed. “Can you stop with the sarcasm? Did we kiss? Did we flirt? Did we sleep together?” No. None of that. Not even a touch of hands. To anyone else, it would look exactly like two old friends catching up. Nothing more. Was I being too possessive? Too petty? I had seen Michael with Samantha before, when his crush on her was at its peak, and I’d never felt like this. “But this is different.” “How is it different?” “How could you walk down that lane with me, and then walk down it with someone else?” “It’s just a street, Allison!” Just a street. Is that all? I waited on that street for him. For so, so long. Through wind and rain, thunder and scorching sun. I waited for so long just for him to finally turn around. And in his eyes, it was just an insignificant road he could walk down with anyone? “Then why did you wait on that street every single day back then?” Michael suddenly fell silent. “You understand, don’t you?” I whispered. “You were just like me.” He knew it was different. 11 I can’t remember the last time Michael and I gave each other the silent treatment. But this time, our friends were more anxious than we were. After the disastrous first wedding, they were all eagerly awaiting the second one, for a sense of finality. “He met with Samantha,” I told my best friend over the phone. There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a cautious, “What did they do?” I realized I didn’t know how to explain it. It seemed everyone would think it was just a walk, no big deal. That I was being overly sensitive. “That doesn’t seem like a huge deal, does it?” Her response was exactly what I’d expected. “If they walked together in broad daylight, doesn’t that prove they’ve really moved on? Allison, honestly, are you letting what that girl said get to you?” They told me to think about the good times. When it came to Michael and me, my friends were always full of stories. On Christmas Eve of our first year together, Michael took an overnight train just to bring me a single, perfect candied apple. To experience the first snow of winter with me, he stood outside my dorm for hours until I came down, bleary-eyed for my 8 AM class, and pulled me into his arms. “Michael? What are you doing here?” “You said so,” he’d murmured, repeating a message I’d sent him about an old saying—that to be covered in the same snow meant growing old together. Michael was clumsy with his hands, but because I loved embroidery, he learned to use a needle, often pricking his fingers until they bled. He even designed and hand-embroidered my wedding shoes, staying up for nights on end, nearly exhausting himself into a stupor. When my friends recounted these memories, their faces would light up, as if it all happened yesterday. They were right. We had so much history. They just met once after four years and took a walk. It didn’t mean he didn’t love me. 12 I recounted these stories to Thea, my voice bright and animated. “Did you know? That winter, he stood in the snow for—” “For hours, just to see the first snow with you,” Thea interrupted, finishing my sentence. “He also used to go to the next city over to buy you your favorite raspberry mochi. And he knitted you both matching scarves. You were once sharing one while walking down the street and almost got hit by a car. He held you so tight and rolled with you to the curb to save you.” She spoke with such familiarity, as if someone had told her these stories a thousand times. I stopped, taking a sip of coffee. “We were happy after we got married, weren’t we?” Thea suddenly went quiet. It was the first time I’d seen her so silent. “You always use these stories to prove to me that you were in love,” she said softly. “But Mom, how can a person live their whole life on memories?” “If you were really so in love, why did you have to keep telling these stories?” I realized my hand, holding the coffee cup, was trembling. I gripped the spoon tightly and stirred. “Them meeting… did I tell you about that, too?” Thea shook her head. “You never said a bad word about him in front of me.” She wrote a string of characters on a napkin and slid it across the table. “I saw it here.”

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To save a buck, I rented a notoriously haunted apartment. The first night, the faucet turned on by itself. I yelled into the empty air, “You’re paying the water bill!” The water shut off instantly. I thought that was just the beginning… I just never expected that the next day, I’d find a three-course meal waiting for me on the dining table. 01 The note was written in what looked like blood. Crimson, with a faint metallic tang in the air around it. The handwriting was sharp, elegant, radiating an air of non-negotiable, C-suite authority. I, Chloe, a perpetually broke optimist just trying to outrun my rent and bills in the big city, just stared at that slip of paper for a solid thirty seconds. My brain did a quick calculation. Three dishes and a soup. A perfect balance of meat and vegetables, plated beautifully, wafting a soul-snatching aroma. A meal like this from any restaurant would set me back at least fifty bucks. Going Dutch, that’s twenty-five. Worth it. What is fear, anyway? To someone who’d been living on instant noodles for three days straight, “fear” was just an adjective that couldn’t fill my stomach. I picked up my fork and speared a piece of glistening, braised short rib. I put it in my mouth. Rich but not greasy, it melted on my tongue. So good I nearly swallowed my own tongue. As I devoured the meal like a starved wolf, I mumbled at the air between mouthfuls. “I mean, seriously, Mr. Ghost? You’re a little cheap, don’t you think? You’re already dead, what’s with all the penny-pinching? Lighten up a little, will you?” The air was silent, filled only with the sound of my chewing. After I finished, I let out a satisfied burp. Staring at the greasy plates, my inner sloth took over. As a little test, I piled them in the sink and left them there. Consider it a little experiment to probe my new “roommate’s” boundaries. The next morning, I was woken by the faint clinking of pots and pans. I tiptoed to the kitchen doorway and peeked in. The dishes in the sink were sparkling clean, stacked in a perfectly neat pile, like a row of soldiers awaiting inspection. Next to them was another note. Not in blood this time, just a standard black pen. The handwriting was still impossibly elegant, but the message was ice-cold. “Dishwashing Fee: $5 per service. To be settled at the end of the month.” I burst out laughing. Unbelievable. Truly. I, Chloe, in my twenty-odd years of life, had never met a ghost with such a strict moral code. My competitive spirit was officially ignited. So, he wanted a battle of wills? Fine by me. Game on. I deliberately left a full garbage bag by the front door, blocking half the entryway. Let’s see you take this out, I thought. The next day, the garbage bag was gone. A sticky note was on the door: “Errand Fee: $10.” I came home late one night after working overtime, dragging my half-dead body through the door and fumbling for the light switch in the dark. Click. The living room lamp turned on by itself. It was a warm, gentle glow from the floor lamp, soft and easy on the eyes. For a moment, a corner of my heart softened. And then, a slip of paper fluttered down from the lampshade. “A light left on for you. Electricity bill to be calculated separately.” That tiny spark of warmth was instantly crushed by the words “ELECTRICITY BILL.” I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. This guy. A giant man-child whose corporate habits followed him even into the afterlife. The days trickled by in this ridiculous, comical “war.” I gradually started to figure out my ghost roommate’s personality. His name was Sebastian. That was the answer he finally gave me after I spent a week writing “What’s your name?” on sticky notes. Two elegant, blood-red words appeared beneath my question. Sebastian. He was a neat freak. If I shed a single hair on the floor, it would float its way into the trash can. He had OCD. If a single book on my shelf was out of height order, the entire thing would be perfectly reorganized by the next morning. He was a master chef but held a grudge like no one I’d ever met. I complained once that a dish was too salty, and he served me nothing but plain boiled vegetables for the next three days. He was also brutally honest. I bought a dress on sale and was twirling happily in front of the mirror. Words slowly condensed in the steam on the glass: “Questionable aesthetics, questionable taste, and an even more questionable wallet.” I stomped my foot in frustration, yelling at the air, “Who asked you? You’re a penny-pinching cheapskate who wants to go Dutch even in death!” The words on the mirror changed: “Right back at you.” I started getting used to his presence. I even started to enjoy it. At least I never had to eat instant noodles again. At least, in this cold, sprawling city, there was now a “person” who would leave a light on for me. Even if I had to pay for it. One day, my one and only best friend, Jessica, came to visit. I gave Sebastian a heads-up. “My best friend is coming over. She scares easily, so you behave yourself today, you hear me?” In the air, a magazine levitated off the couch and flipped open to a page with a giant “OK” printed on it. The second Jessica walked in, she took an exaggerated sniff. “Chloe, did you win the lottery? Did you hire a maid? This place is way too clean to be yours.” I let out a dry laugh. “Just turning over a new leaf.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the TV, which had been playing a reality show, suddenly flickered and switched to the business channel. A crisp, articulate male voice began analyzing stock market charts. Jessica jumped. “Where’s the remote?” “Probably… a loose connection,” I said, straight-faced, as I changed the channel back. We were chatting when the cup in front of Jessica slid a few inches across the table on its own. “Ah!” she shrieked, a sound that could shatter glass. “The cup! The cup just moved by itself!” I calmly slid the cup back and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. That’s just my roommate. He’s a bit of a prankster, but he makes great food.” Jessica stared at me in horror, her eyes screaming that she was looking at a crazy person. “Chloe…” Her lips trembled. “Are you… are you under too much stress? Are you hallucinating?” I sighed. I knew there was no explaining this. After sending a thoroughly spooked Jessica on her way, I slumped onto the couch, feeling a little dejected. See? An encounter like this was destined to be a lonely one. No one would ever believe me. The light in the living room dimmed slightly, becoming softer, warmer. I turned and looked toward the huge floor-to-ceiling window. The evening sun coated the glass in a layer of gold. And for the first time, the tall silhouette of a man in a white shirt appeared before my eyes, clearer than it had ever been. He was still translucent, like a walking mist, but I could make out his neat, short hair and his ramrod-straight back. He was holding a cloth, meticulously wiping a smudge on the window I’d missed that morning. His movements were focused, deliberate, with an almost obsessive elegance. Suddenly, my friend’s worry, the world’s disbelief… none of it mattered. In this massive, lonely city, I finally had a home. And a very, very unique family member. 02 The good times didn’t last. The cold winds of corporate downsizing finally blew their way to a low-level worker like me. Layoffs. A sterile email, a few lines of soulless corporate jargon, and just like that, the meager salary I endured a two-hour daily commute for was gone. I walked through the crowded streets, clutching a cardboard box of my personal belongings, feeling for the first time like a piece of discarded trash. Back home, I threw myself onto my bed and pulled the covers over my head. All the frustration and anxiety I’d been suppressing finally broke through. I cried my heart out, as if trying to purge every single hardship I’d endured in this city over the years. I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, the faint, soaring melody of a classical piece drifted in from the living room. It was Dvořák’s “New World Symphony,” my favorite. I had mentioned it once over dinner, just talking to the air. “This piece is so beautiful. It makes you feel like you can get through anything.” I sniffled and dragged my heavy feet out of the bedroom. On the dining table sat a plate of steaming Coke-glazed chicken wings, my absolute favorite comfort food. Next to it, a note lay quietly. It had only two words. “On the house.” Tears, traitorous and hot, streamed down my face again, splashing onto the dark wood of the table. This time, they weren’t tears of self-pity. They were tears of warmth. I ate and cried, and for the first time, I spoke to the empty room with genuine sincerity. “Thank you, Sebastian.” It felt as if a faint sigh echoed in the air. With a full stomach came renewed strength. I wiped my tears, opened my laptop, and started blasting out my resume. Reality was harsher than I’d imagined. The resumes I sent vanished into a digital black hole. The few interviews I landed all ended in rejection after the final round. The number in my bank account dwindled daily. Rent, utilities, and Sebastian’s meticulously kept “ledger” of my debts felt like mountains pressing down on me, suffocating me. Anxiety gnawed at my nerves. I started having sleepless nights. Finally, I received an interview notice from a company I’d only dreamed of working for. It was the endgame in my career plan. I dug out the only decent suit I owned from the back of my closet, ironing it again and again, terrified of a single wrinkle. On the day of the interview, I woke up extra early. I was so nervous that when I bought breakfast at the coffee shop downstairs, my hand trembled, and I spilled an entire cup of scalding Americano all over my crisp white shirt. In that instant, my world collapsed. I ran home in a panic, threw the stained shirt on the sofa in despair, and stared at my red-eyed reflection in the mirror. I wanted to die. The interview was in an hour. There was no time to buy a new one. Was this it? Was I going to have to give up? I sank to the floor, defeated, tears welling in my eyes. Just then, I heard the low hum of the washing machine starting up in the laundry room. I froze. I scrambled over and saw my coffee-stained shirt tumbling inside the machine. Twenty minutes later, the wash cycle finished. The dryer kicked in. Another twenty minutes passed. A clean, warm shirt, smelling faintly of fresh linen, appeared on a hanger, dangling from my bedroom doorknob as if held by an invisible hand. I stared at the pristine shirt, feeling like I was in a dream. I threw it on and bolted out the door. The subway station was a nightmare of rush-hour traffic. I watched the seconds tick by, sweat beading on my forehead. Just as I was about to give up and try to fight my way onto a bus, the subway turnstile directly in front of me beeped, the light turning green as the gate swung open. I didn’t have time to think. I darted through. On the platform, the doors of my train were slowly sliding shut. It’s over, my heart sank. But just as the doors were about to meet, they seemed to catch on something. A harsh alarm blared, and they sprang open again. I practically fell onto the train. I gasped for air, my heart hammering against my ribs. It was all too much of a coincidence. A coincidence that felt like someone was clearing a path just for me. I arrived at the company five minutes before the interview was scheduled to start. Sitting in the conference room, every second I waited for the interviewers felt like an eternity. My turn. I took a deep breath and walked in. Four interviewers sat in a line, their expressions grim. My palms were sweating. The self-introduction I had practiced so many times completely vanished from my mind. My brain had just blue-screened. As I stood there, mortified and wishing the floor would swallow me whole, a black pen on the table suddenly rolled to a stop right next to my hand. I instinctively picked it up. The cool touch of the metal helped to calm my racing heart. I glanced down and saw a single, tiny but clear word meticulously carved into its side. Steady. My heart settled instantly. That one word was like a shot of adrenaline straight to my soul. I looked up, met the lead interviewer’s gaze, and offered a confident smile. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Chloe…” I have never aced an interview like that in my life. A week later, I got the offer. The day I got my first paycheck, I rushed to the supermarket, bought a good bottle of wine, and a ton of fresh ingredients. Back home, I cooked up a feast. I filled two glasses with wine, raised one to the empty living room, and declared loudly, “Sebastian, this one’s for you! Thank you for being my five-star support system!” In the air, the other wine glass trembled slightly, clinking against mine with a soft, clear sound, as if in response. I smiled, but my eyes were wet. I knew, without a doubt, that I wasn’t alone. I had an invisible guardian angel. 03 After landing the new job, my “cohabitation” with Sebastian entered an era of unprecedented harmony. I was the breadwinner, and he was… well, he was the one who kept the house in immaculate order while using his elite corporate logic to supervise my spending and plan my finances. I even started to savor this unique companionship. Coming home to a hot meal every day; having a “CFO” help budget my salary each month; finding relevant books and materials mysteriously appearing on my desk whenever I hit a wall at work. He was like a silent mentor, an all-powerful butler, a… a complete stranger I knew better than anyone. I knew nothing about his past. And as our silent partnership grew stronger, so did my curiosity. Sebastian, how did he actually die? The vague online news report said he died from an “accidental gas leak.” But it never sat right with me. A man with such intense OCD that he arranged books by color and height, a man obsessed with rules and order to a pathological degree… how could he make a rookie mistake like forgetting to turn off the gas? I tried to ask him. “Sebastian, how did you die?” The lights in the room flickered. The cup on the table vibrated. He seemed to be trying to communicate something, but it was as if some force was holding him back, preventing him from getting the message across clearly. The more violently he reacted, the more suspicious I became. I decided to start with the apartment itself. I found the real estate agent who had rented me the place, a man named Marcus. I asked to meet him at a nearby café, using the excuse of wanting to discuss renewing my lease. Marcus was the same as I remembered, warm and friendly, with sincere-looking crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. “Ms. Chloe! How are you settling in? I told you, didn’t I? Great location, great layout. It’s just… you know, what happened before. Not everyone can handle it. But you look so well, I knew you’d be fine,” he said, making easy small talk. “It’s been great,” I smiled, then casually brought it up. “I was just a little curious about what actually happened here. I looked it up online, but the news was so vague. Just said the owner passed away in an accident.” Marcus took a sip of his coffee. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second. “Ah, well, that’s all in the past. Just an accident. You’re young, don’t dwell on things like that. Just enjoy the apartment. It’s actually got great feng shui, you know. Look at you, you haven’t been here long and you’ve already landed a better job. Your luck is turning around!” He expertly changed the subject, repeatedly advising me not to overthink it, not to dig into it. His friendliness, right now, felt jarringly off. A normal agent would only care about rent and contracts. Why was he so concerned with my “psychological well-being,” so insistent on stopping me from learning about the apartment’s history? The meeting, far from easing my doubts, sent my internal alarms screaming. That night, I had a dream that terrified me… In the dream, I was standing in a thick, white fog, unable to see anything around me. I heard two voices arguing fiercely. One was familiar, yet strangely different. It was Sebastian. His voice was laced with fury and disappointment. “…I treated you like a brother, and you touched that money! Marcus, are you insane?!” The other man’s voice was muffled, a mix of pleading and viciousness. “Sebastian, just help me one more time, just this once! I swear I’ll pay it all back!” “No! That’s client money! What you did is a crime!” “So you’re just going to let them destroy me?”

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It was our wedding anniversary. My husband, Marcus, told me an urgent M&A deal had come up and he had to fly to Paris. So I went alone to one of the city’s most exclusive galleries. I’d decided to buy myself the Modigliani I’d been coveting for months as my own anniversary gift. I’d barely sat down in the VIP lounge with a cup of tea when I saw him. Marcus, who was supposed to be in Paris, was standing there with his new assistant, Jenna—the one who always looked at me with a barely concealed sneer. Jenna had her eyes on the very painting I was there to see. She sashayed over to me, and in front of several collectors I knew and the gallery director, she took a crumpled hundred-dollar bill and flippantly tucked it into the folds of my Hermès scarf. “Mrs. Thorne, first time seeing a Modigliani? Are you sure you can… appreciate this level of artistry?” Her voice was sickly sweet, dripping with contempt. … When I remained seated, not even glancing at the money, she scoffed and looped her arm through Marcus’s, pressing her entire body against him. “Marcus, look how stubborn she is. She just won’t listen. She doesn’t know the first thing about art, but she booked the viewing first. She’s just trying to spite you.” Marcus showed no trace of guilt at being caught. “Bianca, go tell the gallery you’re canceling your appointment, and then leave. Now.” I looked at him, motionless. I was getting that painting today. Jenna’s eyes darted around the room, finally landing on my face, full of malice. “So, the lady won’t yield. Then how about we let our wallets do the talking? A friendly auction?” The gallery director’s eyes lit up, his gaze turning to me expectantly. I raised an eyebrow. “If you want to play, I’ll play.” A triumphant look crossed Jenna’s face. “Then let’s make a little wager, shall we? The loser—the one who doesn’t get the painting—has to kneel and crawl out of the gallery. That Chanel couture you’re wearing is lovely, Mrs. Thorne. It would be a shame to get it dirty.” A few muffled snickers rippled through the room. A couple of the other wives exchanged amused, expectant glances. Marcus watched me with cold eyes, saying nothing. They thought this would be enough to make me fold. I suppressed the icy smile that threatened to form on my lips. “Just crawling? Where’s the fun in that? If we’re going to play, let’s play for real stakes.” 1 The atmosphere in the VIP lounge instantly turned to ice. Marcus, Jenna, the collectors, the gallery director—a dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly fixed on me. Before becoming Marcus’s assistant, Jenna had supposedly been a jewelry appraiser at some auction house. She’d climbed her way up to Marcus by leveraging her looks and her ability to read a room. The idea that I would not only accept her challenge but raise the stakes was, to them, utter madness. “Has Mrs. Thorne lost her mind? Picking a fight with the assistant in front of everyone? What’s the point?” “Well, after what Jenna said, who wouldn’t be angry? But you have to know when you’re outmatched…” “Please. Everyone knows Mrs. Thorne is just a pretty face. She knows nothing about her husband’s business except how to spend his money. Jenna is Marcus’s right-hand woman, he trusts her completely. What could she possibly have to play with?” “Why can’t she just be a good trophy wife? A man as successful as Marcus is bound to have a few women on the side. Why make a scene?” “Poor Marcus. Not only is she useless, she causes trouble for him.” The whispers reached my ears. Marcus’s face darkened with impatience. “Bianca, stop making a scene!” he hissed, his tone that of a man scolding a petulant child. “Jenna is young and impulsive, she didn’t mean anything by it. Why are you stooping to her level? I have important investors with me today. Don’t you dare embarrass me. Go home.” I shifted into a more comfortable position, leaning back against the velvet chair, my gaze perfectly calm as it met his. “I reserved this painting a week ago. The gallery’s policy is first come, first served. If the price is right, I can purchase it directly. There is no reason I should yield to you. Your assistant wanted to play a game, and I have graciously agreed. I suggest you don’t push your luck.” My defiance seemed to enrage him. He leaned in close, his voice a low, threatening growl. “Bianca, have I spoiled you too much? Don’t you forget who pays for your entire existence. You’re not a somebody. When I tell you to get lost, you get lost.” My eyes narrowed, lingering for a moment on his body pressed tightly against Jenna’s. “Marcus, the bet has been made. The only decision you need to make today is whether you’re standing with her, or with me.” He sneered at me, his tone growing uglier. “Who the hell do you think you are? What do you do all day besides shop and drink tea? Every single thing you own, I bought. Don’t you dare pull this act with me. A trophy wife should know her place. Get out, and I’ll forget this happened. But if you insist on making things difficult, then you can get ready to crawl.” So, he had made his choice. My voice turned to ice. “I’m buying that painting today.” 2 Marcus was about to explode, but Jenna stopped him, giggling and shaking his arm. “Marcus, honey, don’t get angry with her. She’s just a kept woman, completely dependent on you. Why let someone so clueless get under your skin? If Mrs. Thorne wants to play, I’ll play with her. Think of it as free entertainment for our guests.” She sighed dramatically. “She’s only acting out like this because she’s jealous of me being by your side… Maybe I should be the one to leave.” She made a show of turning away, and Marcus immediately pulled her back into his arms. “She’s the one who should leave, not you. If she wants to crawl, we’ll let her.” They were acting like love-struck teenagers right in front of me, his wife. A wave of disgust washed over me. A portly, balding man—a Mr. Harrison—clapped Marcus on the shoulder. “No wonder you take Ms. Jenna everywhere, my boy. Not just beautiful, but smart, too.” At the compliment, a smug look appeared on Marcus’s face. Jenna shot me a triumphant, provocative glare. “So, how high are we playing, Mrs. Thorne? A million a hand?” “A million? Don’t make me laugh,” Mr. Harrison snorted, tapping his fat fingers on the armrest. “Playing for small stakes is boring, Mrs. Thorne. Let’s do this: when the public auction begins, whoever wins the painting gets ten percent of the final sale price from the loser, in cash, on the spot. What do you say? Do you have the guts?” Jenna’s expression faltered. Ten percent. If the painting sold for ten million, that was a million dollars. While she had Marcus, a sum like that in cash… “Mr. Harrison, isn’t that… a bit much?” she hesitated. Harrison, enjoying the drama, waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t you worry, Ms. Jenna. I’ll cover your bet. I just feel for my friend Marcus here. So young, so successful, and married to… well, a decoration.” Jenna beamed, thanking him profusely before turning back to me, her eyes gleaming like a predator’s. “Well, Mrs. Thorne? It’s not too late to back out and apologize.” 3 Every eye in the room was on me. I didn’t look at Jenna, addressing Harrison instead. “With so many witnesses, can we take you at your word, Mr. Harrison?” “Of course! It’s all about the thrill,” he said, puffing out his chest. I nodded and turned to the gallery director. “Please prepare a formal betting agreement, and have a notary present. Once the agreement is signed, we can begin the auction.” Marcus looked stunned. “Bianca, are you insane? Where are you going to get that kind of money? Don’t expect me to pay a single cent for you if you lose.” I laughed coldly. “The word ‘lose’ isn’t in my vocabulary.” Jenna gave me a smug look. “Don’t forget, Mrs. Thorne. The loser has to crawl.” “That’s exactly what I was about to say to you,” I retorted. Jenna’s smile widened as she turned to Marcus, her expression now one of wounded innocence. “Marcus, will you be angry with me for making this bet? She is your wife, after all. If she crawls out of here, it will be a humiliation for you, too.” “She eats my food, lives in my house, and still dares to give me attitude? Crawling is getting off easy. She should be on her knees, begging for your forgiveness.” “Oh, Marcus, she’s still your wife. I would never humiliate you like that. Let’s not get angry with this simpleton.” She looked back at me. “Mrs. Thorne, this is a game of money. You’re so used to spending Marcus’s, you’ve probably lost all concept of what it’s worth.” I looked at Marcus. “Are you sure you want to foot the bill for Jenna’s bid?” “Of course. Unlike you, she has been a huge asset to my career. If she wants it, I’ll get it for her. As for you, don’t expect a dime from me.” I scoffed. So, it was just about who had more money. I wasn’t worried. The notary arrived, the papers were signed, and the auctioneer took the stage. After a brief introduction, the bidding began. Jenna raised her paddle first, her voice crisp. “Five million.” “Excellent! Ms. Jenna starts off strong!” Harrison cheered from the side. I lifted my teacup, feeling its warmth against my fingertips, and said nothing. The room grew quiet. “Five million, going once…” the auctioneer called. “Giving up so soon, Mrs. Thorne?” Jenna simpered, covering her mouth with her hand. “I thought she had more fight in her,” Harrison chimed in. “Turns out it was all a bluff. Well, looks like a sure win for Ms. Jenna. My money was well spent. A little live entertainment to cap off the evening.” Jenna’s triumphant smirk was practically glowing. She stood to get a glass of champagne, and as she passed my chair, the pointed toe of her stiletto “accidentally” snagged the hem of my dress. “Really, Mrs. Thorne. Why do this to yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to leave with some dignity? If you crawl out of here like a dog, you’ll be a laughingstock in your little social circle.” Her voice was a low, venomous hiss. 4 Marcus frowned, his patience worn thin. “Bianca, stop embarrassing yourself. Many of these people are my most important partners. You’re humiliating me. Get out now, and I’ll let this go. I won’t even cancel your credit cards. Otherwise, I will cut you off completely.” He was red in the face with anger. Jenna nestled against him, fanning the flames. “Marcus, sometimes I just feel so sorry for you. You’re so brilliant, so successful, running this massive company… and yet… your wife is good for nothing but spending money. It breaks my heart.” I raised my eyes, my gaze like daggers. “It sounds like you care a great deal for my husband.” Jenna paused, then adopted a look of profound devotion. “Yes. I admire him. And I would rather spend my life supporting him and helping him achieve greatness than be a leech, like some people. A shameless leech who publicly humiliates him.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “How noble. But the man you admire has a wife. Isn’t it a little pathetic to be so obvious about it?” “Bianca, watch your mouth!” Marcus finally exploded, slamming his hand on the table. “Jenna is innocent and dedicated! How dare you slander her with your filth! She’s not like you. Know your place.” “I never loved you,” he snarled. “If my father hadn’t seen some value in your family’s old connections, I never would have married you. What do you have besides a pretty face? You’re not worthy of me.” “Push me again, and I’ll throw you out on the street today. Without me, you’d have to sell yourself to survive.” I stared at his face, twisted with rage, and the last ember of warmth in my heart died. I had agreed to this arranged marriage because I saw his drive and ambition when he was starting out. I thought he was different from the other lazy, entitled heirs. I never imagined he would be so foolish as to be manipulated by a shallow assistant and publicly humiliate me. Seeing Marcus leap to her defense, Jenna shot me a triumphant look and began to gently pat his back. “Marcus, don’t be angry. It hurts me to see you upset.” She turned her blazing eyes on me. “If I win, I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you to crawl. I want… his freedom.” My voice was flat. “Freedom? You mean, you want us to divorce?” Jenna looked at Marcus, her eyes full of love and a desperate, reckless courage. “Marcus, I am willing to fight for your freedom. Are you willing… to break free from this cage?” Marcus looked at Jenna’s young, beautiful face, then at the smirking faces of his “partners.” A wave of vanity and reckless impulse washed over him. As everyone watched, he slowly, deliberately, nodded. 5 My hands, resting on my lap, clenched into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. A feeling like hot oil seared through my chest. My marriage was a joke. Someone let out a low whistle. A voice called out, “Go, Jenna! True love wins!” “Marcus deserves to be free!” “She’s a beautiful woman, though. If she’s single again, maybe we can have a taste…” Hearing this, a sly look entered Jenna’s eyes. “Bianca, I’m raising the stakes again. If you lose, you not only have to divorce Marcus, you also have to…” She paused, her voice turning sinister. “You have to spend a night with Mr. Harrison. For free.” Harrison glanced at Marcus, who remained impassive. His lecherous gaze then shifted to me. “So, Bianca. Do you still dare to play?” The room erupted in jeers. “I’m in on that! If she loses, she spends a night with me too!” I looked at Marcus’s cold, indifferent face. A chilling smile spread across my own. “Alright. But if I’m the prize, you’d better be prepared to offer a prize of your own.” If they were going to serve their faces up on a platter, I was more than happy to slap them. I was going to show Marcus and his disgusting partners exactly what it cost to insult me. 6 Amidst the jeering crowd, Marcus finally spoke. “Bianca, I never knew you were such a shameless, degenerate woman. Using your own body as a bargaining chip. Win or lose, a woman like you is not fit to be my wife. Since you insist on this, sign the divorce papers first. My wife will not be a whore.” Jenna was the one who made the bet. I accepted, and suddenly I was the degenerate. His bias was breathtaking. I looked at him, my eyes cold. “Are you sure? You don’t want to reconsider?” “If you leave right now, apologize to Jenna, and treat her with respect from now on, I’ll let this go,” he said, his tone one of magnanimous condescension. “But don’t forget, today’s bet is about who wins the auction. It’s about money. You are guaranteed to lose.” I smiled. “Then please, bring me the divorce papers.” He stared at me in disbelief. “What did you say? Do you have any idea what will happen if you lose? I’m giving you one last chance. Answer me again.” His shock was becoming tiresome. “That’s my business. You won’t need to worry about it, ex-husband-to-be. Weren’t we signing something? Let’s get it over with.” Marcus was stunned into silence. Perhaps he never imagined that the woman he thought of as his dependent could have such a spine. I could tell the divorce was just a threat, a tool to control me. But now, he was trapped. Jenna must have sensed his hesitation. She leaned in and whispered, “Marcus, she’s bluffing. She just wants you to back down. If you do, what will your partners think? She’s a housewife who you support. She’d never leave you. She’s just trying to scare you. Look, they’re all watching.” Her words seemed to solidify his resolve. He looked at me, his eyes cold. “Fine. If you want to debase yourself, I’ll help you.” The auction was paused. A lawyer, conveniently on hand, quickly produced two copies of a divorce agreement. I looked at Marcus with amusement. “You’re sure about this?” He signed without looking at me. So ruthless. Harrison sidled up. “Shouldn’t we get our little bet in writing, too?” The man was so legally ignorant it was almost funny. But to put them at ease, I signed his paper as well. The wager: fifty million dollars. If I lost, I was theirs for a night. If I won, they paid. The thought of several hundred million dollars appearing in my account out of thin air… I really had Jenna to thank for all this. The auctioneer, seeing our business was concluded, resumed the proceedings. Jenna, full of confidence, pushed the price to eighty million. “Go, Jenna! The painting is worth every penny!” Harrison cheered. He shot a greasy look my way, an air of certainty about him. I lifted my teacup, tapping a finger against the rim. My gaze swept over Harrison. “Is this how your company makes its investment decisions? Blindly, based on the whims of an assistant?” Harrison’s face turned a blotchy purple. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that? If it weren’t for Marcus, you wouldn’t even be allowed in this room. The old man of the Thorne family must have been senile. Marcus has such a bright future, and you’re just a stone around his neck. But I guess it makes sense. A woman who would bet her own body isn’t exactly high-class. Don’t you worry. Tonight, I’ll take good care of you.” So this was the caliber of Marcus’s partners. His bankruptcy was well-deserved. My own family’s investment in his company, however, was now at risk.

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It was my son Bobby’s third birthday, and my mother-in-law, a few glasses of wine in, wouldn’t stop fussing over him. She pinched Bobby’s chubby cheeks, her words slurring as she spoke to my husband, Mark. “This boy… it’s uncanny.” “He has your eyebrows, your eyes… but his nose, his mouth…” She paused, squinting at my sister, Chloe, who was sitting beside me, quietly peeling an apple. “His nose and mouth,” she declared loudly, “they’re the spitting image of Chloe!” The air in the room instantly froze. The only sound was the cheerful din of cartoons playing on the TV. Chloe’s hand jerked, the paring knife slicing into her finger. Mark’s face went rigid, the color draining from it in an instant. He shot up from his seat, his voice sharp. “Mom! You’re drunk, stop talking nonsense!” I sat on the sofa, watching the scene unfold, and smiled. “She’s not wrong, though.” I tilted my head, my gaze shifting between my ashen-faced sister and my panicked husband. “I’ve always wondered why Bobby looks so much like his aunt.” 1 Mark’s reaction was more violent than I’d anticipated. He practically dove across the room to snatch Bobby from his mother’s arms, as if terrified I might look at our son for a second longer. “Don’t listen to her, Grace. She’s getting old, her eyes are playing tricks on her.” He kept his back to me, his voice strained. He didn’t dare meet my gaze. Chloe scrambled to her feet, forcing a smile that was more painful than a grimace. “Grace, she was just kidding. Kids change every day, you can’t really tell who they look like.” Can’t you? The seed of a doubt I had buried three years ago, a terrible thought I never dared to examine, burst into venomous bloom. I had carried Bobby for ten months. I had nearly died giving birth to him. He was my son. But from the day he was born, he never looked like me. Everyone said he just took after his father. And I had lied to myself, believing them. But as he grew, as his features sharpened, the shadow of Chloe on his small face became impossible to ignore. The same almond-shaped eyes. The same dimple in the same spot when he smiled. Even the way his lips pouted slightly in his sleep was a perfect mirror of my sister. I had told myself it was just the magic of shared blood. We were sisters, after all. But today, my mother-in-law’s drunken words had ripped away the comforting lie I’d wrapped myself in. “Alright, everyone, calm down.” I stood up calmly, pulled a tissue from the coffee table, and walked over to Chloe. I took her hand, which was still bleeding, and gently pressed the tissue against the cut. “You have to be more careful.” My voice was soft, but my eyes were fixed on her pale, stricken face. She couldn’t look at me. “I… I’m fine, Grace,” she stammered. Mark stood frozen, clutching our son. I smiled and turned to him. “Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you take Bobby to wash his hands?” My voice was so normal, so utterly untroubled, it was as if the last five minutes had been a hallucination. Mark looked like a man granted a pardon. He fled to the bathroom with the child. The atmosphere at the dinner table was suffocating. My mother-in-law, apparently realizing her mistake, ate with her head down, silent. I was the only one who acted as if nothing had happened. I served Bobby his favorite vegetables, ladled soup for Mark, and even made cheerful conversation with Chloe about her job. The calmer I was, the more haunted they looked. The meal was an exercise in torture. Afterward, Mark insisted on doing the dishes, and Chloe announced she had an urgent work matter, hastily getting ready to leave. “Wait a second.” I called out to her. She froze in the entryway, her body stiff. I went to the fridge, took out a container of fresh cherries I’d bought that afternoon, and poured them into a large bag for her. “Here, for the road. I know they’re your favorite.” Her hand trembled as she took the bag. She wouldn’t look up. “Thanks, Grace.” “Don’t be silly.” I reached out and smoothed a stray strand of her hair, blown messy by the wind. I leaned in close, my lips next to her ear, and whispered in a voice only she could hear: “Chloe, next time you come over, don’t wear that perfume.” “Bobby’s allergic to it. Did you forget?” A violent tremor shot through her body. Her pupils dilated in sheer terror. I stepped back, patting her shoulder with a serene smile. “Drive safe.” The moment the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from my face. The sound of running water came from the kitchen. Mark was at the sink, his broad back turned to me. A back that had once been my greatest source of comfort. I watched him for a moment, then spoke. “Mark.” He stopped moving. “Do you remember when I was in labor with Bobby? I was hemorrhaging. The doctors told you I might not make it.” He didn’t turn around. His voice was muffled. “I remember.” “I was lying in that hospital bed, thinking I was going to die. I held your hand. Do you remember what I said to you?” His shoulders began to tremble. I continued, my voice flat and empty. “I said, if I die, you have to raise Bobby well. He’s our son. I’m giving my life for him…” “Stop it!” He spun around, his face a mask of anguish, his eyes bloodshot. “You weren’t going to die! We were going to be fine, our family!” I looked at him and, suddenly, I laughed. “Mark,” I asked, each word deliberate and sharp, “is there something you’ve been hiding from me?” 2 Mark’s eyes darted away. He slammed the faucet off, and the sudden, total silence in the kitchen was deafening. “What are you talking about now?” He moved toward me, reaching for my hand. I pulled away. His hand hung awkwardly in the air. He forced a weary smile. “Look, I know what Mom said upset you, but it was just drunk talk. You and Chloe are sisters. Is it really so strange that Bobby looks a little like his aunt?” He was trying to soothe me with logic, to reason away the horror. Before today, I might have believed him. But now, his words were just noise. “Is it?” I stared directly into his eyes. “Then let me ask you this. Why did you transfer twenty thousand dollars to Chloe last month?” The blood drained from his face. “How did you know about that?” he blurted out. I gave a cold, humorless laugh. We were married. His bank account was linked to my phone. I got a notification for every large transaction. I’d never paid them any mind before because I trusted him. But in the instant my mother-in-law had spoken those words, every overlooked detail, every strange inconsistency from the past three years had replayed in my mind like a horror film. The notification was one of them. His excuse at the time had been that Chloe had gotten scammed by a boyfriend and was caught up in some bad online loans. As her brother-in-law, he had to help. I believed him. I’d even called Chloe, full of sympathy. She had cried and told me it was all sorted out, that the money was paid back. Looking back, it was a truly masterful performance. “It’s not what you think!” Mark said, stepping forward, desperate to explain. “That money was really—” “To pay off her debts, right?” I finished for him. He nodded vigorously, clinging to the explanation like a lifeline. “Yes! That’s exactly it! It’s not easy for a young woman out there on her own. I didn’t go into detail because I didn’t want you to worry.” Such a good brother-in-law. Such a thoughtful husband. I watched his frantic attempts to lie, a sheet of ice forming around my heart. “Mark, we’ve been married for five years.” My voice was eerily calm. “When did you start lying to me?” He froze. “I didn’t…” “You did,” I cut him off. “When you lie, you can’t even look me in the eye.” He fell silent, his head hanging in defeat. I took a deep breath, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat. “I won’t ask about the money again.” His head snapped up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “I only have one condition,” I said. “From now on, I want Chloe to visit us less.” The relief on his face curdled into a subtle panic. “Why? She’s your sister…” “Precisely because she is my sister,” I said, my voice clear and cold, “I don’t want any unnecessary misunderstandings to come between us.” I held his gaze. “Can you promise me that?” He opened his mouth to argue, but under my glacial stare, he finally, painfully, nodded. “…Okay.” That night, we slept in separate rooms for the first time in our marriage. I lay in Bobby’s room, holding my son’s warm little body, and stared into the darkness all night. My mind raced, replaying memory after memory. I remembered when Chloe first graduated from college and lived with us for six months. During that time, Mark was kinder to her than he was to me. He’d make her a separate sandwich in the morning; he’d watch her favorite cheesy dramas with her at night. I thought he was just treating my sister as his own. I remembered the last trimester of my pregnancy, when I was huge, miserable, and short-tempered. It was Chloe who was by my side every day, massaging my swollen feet, taking walks with me, showing more patience than Bobby’s own father. The day I gave birth, she waited outside the delivery room, crying harder than anyone. After Bobby was born, she was at our house constantly, burying him in mountains of toys and clothes. Everyone told me how lucky I was to have such a wonderful sister. I had believed them. I had felt so blessed. Now, those warm memories were a thousand tiny knives, twisting in my heart. When did it start? During those six months she lived with us? Or even earlier? The little sister I had cherished and protected her whole life. The husband I had sworn to love for eternity. How could they? How dared they? The next morning, I got up and made breakfast as if nothing was wrong. Mark emerged from the study with dark circles under his eyes. He sat at the table, cautiously watching me. “Grace… are you still angry?” I pushed a glass of milk toward him and smiled. “No. I thought about it. Mom was right. We’re all family, it’s normal to look alike.” He visibly relaxed. “I’m so glad you feel that way.” I nodded, sipping my oatmeal and mentioning casually, “By the way, Bobby’s hair is getting a little long. I was thinking of taking him for a haircut. He has that little birthmark on the back of his head, and the barber always seems to nick it. I want to find someone more careful.” As I spoke, I reached over and gently plucked a few strands of hair from Bobby’s head. “Look at this,” I said, holding them up. “So dark and thick. Just like yours.” I rolled the small cluster of hairs between my fingertips. Then, as he watched, I carefully placed them into a small, transparent Ziploc bag. 3 The instant I looked up, the color drained from Mark’s face, leaving it the color of ash. He stared at the tiny bag in my hand, his eyes wide with a terror he couldn’t hide. “What… what are you doing with his hair?” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Just a keepsake.” I slipped the bag into my purse, my tone as light and breezy as if I were discussing the weather. “Bobby’s turning three soon. I want to save things from each stage of his life. His first tooth, a lock of hair, his first pair of shoes. It will be a precious memory for him when he’s older, don’t you think?” The excuse was flawless. I almost believed it myself. The bloodshot veins in Mark’s eyes seemed to pulse. I didn’t look at him again. I took Bobby’s hand. “Say bye to Daddy, sweetie. Mommy’s taking you for a haircut.” “Bye-bye, Daddy!” Bobby chirped, waving his little hand. Mark remained frozen in place. As the front door clicked shut behind me, I thought I heard the sound of a choked, ragged gasp. I didn’t go to a barbershop. I took Bobby straight to the largest genetic testing center in the city. In the taxi, I held my son, my palms slick with cold sweat. Bobby was quiet, content to sit in my lap and play with his fingers, occasionally looking up to give me a sweet, trusting smile. I looked at his face—Chloe’s face—and my heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. The pain was suffocating. The center was quiet. I calmly filled out the forms, paid the fee, and submitted the samples. In addition to Bobby’s hair, I submitted another sample: a few long strands of hair I had found on the sofa last week after Chloe had visited. On a strange impulse, I had saved them. Looking back, it seems fate was already sending me signs. The lab technician took the two samples and asked, in a routine, professional voice, “And what type of relationship analysis will this be?” I looked at her and took a deep, steadying breath. “Maternity.” The technician paused, her eyes flicking up to meet mine with a flash of curiosity. But she said nothing, simply ticking the corresponding box on the form. “Very well. The results will be ready in seven business days. We can mail them to you, or you can pick them up in person.” “I’ll pick them up.” 4 As I stepped out of the testing center, the world tilted violently. I had to brace myself against the wall to keep from falling. What was I doing? I was entertaining the possibility that my husband and my own sister had betrayed me in the most grotesque way imaginable. I was questioning whether the son I had nearly died for was even mine. If… if the results confirmed my fears, what would I do? I couldn’t let myself think about it. The next week was a blur of hollow motions. Mark and I maintained a fragile peace. He became unnervingly attentive, taking over all the housework, cooking elaborate meals, coming home from work on time every single day. He even left his phone unlocked for me to check at will. The more he tried, the colder I felt. This wasn’t atonement. This was the frantic scrambling of a guilty conscience. Chloe didn’t visit, and she barely called. My mother called once to ask if we had fought. I laughed and said no, we were just busy with work. My mom sighed. “Chloe has always been so close to you. You need to take good care of her.” Take care of her? Yes. For over twenty years, I had cared for her like she was the most precious thing in the world. And how had she repaid me? On the seventh day, I got the call from the center. I locked myself in my room, steeling myself for what felt like an eternity before I finally found the courage to leave the house. When I arrived at the center, Mark was standing at the entrance. He looked like a ghost—gaunt, ashen, with dark, hollowed-out eyes. The moment he saw me, he stumbled forward and grabbed my arm. “Grace, let’s just go home, please?” His voice was a raw, pleading rasp. “We don’t have to look. We can tear it up, pretend this never happened… We can go back to how things were…” I looked at him and felt a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. “Mark,” I asked quietly, “what are you so afraid of?” He flinched as if I’d struck him. His grip on my arm went slack. I ignored him and walked inside. The report was in a manila envelope. It was thin, but it felt as heavy as a gravestone. I didn’t open it there. I walked past Mark, who didn’t even dare to try and stop me, and went home. I locked myself in the bedroom. Mark pounded on the door, his voice shifting from pleading, to shouting, to finally, a broken whimper. I heard none of it. I slid down with my back against the door, my fingers trembling as I tore open the seal. I stared at the single line at the bottom of the page for a long, long time, until the words burned themselves onto the back of my eyes. [Regarding Sample A (Chloe) and Sample B (Bobby)]: [Support for a biological mother-child relationship is found.] [Probability of maternity: 99.9999%]

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Jack was insatiable in bed, so I did the only thing I could: I broke his heart and ended it. The next second, a rear-end collision wiped my memory clean. Gone was the memory of Jack’s relentless stamina, of being pushed to my limits night after night. Gone was the vow I’d made to myself: I’d rather date a boring, vanilla guy than ever get back with Jack. Later, when friends and family came to visit me in the hospital, Jack was among them. The moment he walked into the room, I gripped my best friend’s arm, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Oh, crap,” I whispered. “That one’s definitely my type.” 1 When I woke up in the hospital, my mind was a perfect, pristine blank. It took ten minutes of questioning the woman at my bedside—who claimed to be my best friend—to learn that a car accident had landed me here. She pointed at her own chest, her expression a mask of disbelief. “It’s me, Anna! Your best friend! You seriously don’t remember me?” I shook my head. I didn’t even remember my own name, let alone hers. The doctor assured us my health was fine and suggested Anna fill me in on my past. He said the memories might just click back into place one day. Anna, ever the woman of action, immediately pulled a chair up to my bed. “Okay, so: You’re Lillian Hayes. Your parents are scientists—super busy, as you’ve probably guessed, since they haven’t rushed here yet. “We’ve been best friends since high school. Oh, and you have a boyfriend. His name is Jack Vance. I’ve already called him.” Jack Vance. I rolled the name over in my mind, but it sparked nothing. Not a single flicker of recognition. By the time night fell, this Jack Anna had told me about still hadn’t shown up. “What the hell is Jack’s deal?” Anna grumbled, pacing the small room. “You were in a car crash! I mean, yeah, it wasn’t life-threatening, but he’s your boyfriend. He should at least come see you, right?” She threw her hands up. “He always acted so completely obsessed with you before!” Her words meant nothing to me. With no memories, I had no basis for judgment. My phone had been totaled in the wreck, so I couldn’t even try to contact him myself. For the next few days, Anna was my rock, my sole caretaker at the hospital. Through her stories, I started piecing together a mosaic of my past self. I learned that Jack and I had been together for three years, and our relationship had always been passionate. “You have no idea, Lily,” she said, her eyes wide. “The guy was like a human octopus, completely touch-starved. He was always all over you. All our friends were sick of your PDA. “I remember this one time you hid out at my place for days just to get a break, and when Jack finally found you, his eyes were bloodshot…” Seeing my spirits dip, Anna quickly tried to reassure me. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m sure he’s just tied up with something important. I’ll give him another call and see what’s up.” But I’d overheard her call to him yesterday. I had heard Jack’s voice, cold and sharp through the speaker. “Lillian and I are over. Her life has nothing to do with me anymore. Please tell her to stop trying to contact me.” Anna was probably just trying to protect my feelings by not telling me. 2 I had no idea why Jack and I would have broken up. Even my closest friend didn’t seem to know. But hey, there are plenty of fish in the sea. I decided not to dwell on it. The day before I was discharged, a group of friends and family arranged to visit. As a crowd of unfamiliar faces drifted toward my bed, all I could do was offer a weak smile and a nod. I didn’t recognize a single one of them. Then, a man appeared at the back of the group, a man whose good looks weren’t just about vibe or style. He was the kind of handsome that would stop you in your tracks, even in a plain white shirt. It was a raw, undeniable beauty that pulled your gaze and held it captive. I dug my nails into Anna’s arm. “I’m screwed,” I breathed. “I really, really like that one.” Anna shot me a look that was a complicated mix of pity and exasperation. “Well, that proves it. You’ve definitely lost your memory.” I blinked, confused. “What do you mean?” She sighed, a heavy, world-weary sound. “That’s Jack.” My world crumbled. Sure, there were plenty of men out there, but my heart had just zeroed in on him and him alone. Jack was here, but he didn’t approach me, didn’t say a single word. He hung back, a silent, brooding statue. My frustration simmered. When he stepped out to take a call, I slipped out of bed and followed him. From down the hallway, I could faintly hear him talking about something taking too long, mentioning medication as a solution… I waited until he hung up, then rushed over, forcing a bright smile. “Hi! Anna told me you’re my boyfriend?” Jack’s gaze locked onto mine, his eyes cold. “Wrong,” he corrected flatly. “Ex-boyfriend.” “Haha.” The laugh was dry and brittle in my throat. “No way. If you were my ex, why would you even be here at the hospital?” At that, a flicker of pure derision crossed his face. “What kind of game are you playing now, Lily?” “Huh?” What was he talking about? “You must have heard,” I said, my voice softer. “I don’t have any of my old memories.” I took a small step closer. “But I feel like… if I had a boyfriend who looked like you, I probably wouldn’t break up with him unless it was for a really good reason.” I mumbled the last part, unsure if he even heard me. Gaining a bit of courage, I reached for his hand. “So… can we get back together?” The next second, he jerked his hand away as if my touch had burned him. He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Lillian, what kind of man do you take me for?” He turned to leave. I scrambled to block his path. “Then at least tell me why we broke up!” My question seemed to ignite something in him. He looked even angrier, his jaw clenching so tight I could see the muscles flex. For a long moment, he just glared, a storm brewing in his eyes, but not a single word escaped his lips. 3 A terrible thought began to form in my mind. Jack had refused to see me after the accident. He only showed up, putting on this show of concern, after he heard I had amnesia. My voice was tight with suspicion. “It was because I found out you were cheating, wasn’t it? That’s why I broke up with you.” Jack froze for a second, then laughed. It wasn’t a sound of amusement; it was the sound of something breaking. He ground out the words through clenched teeth. “I wish it were that simple.” “What?” Could it be… that I was the one who cheated? Looking at the raw, barely-contained fury on his face, the flicker of hatred in his eyes, a wave of guilt washed over me. “Uh… sorry. My mistake. Never mind.” I scurried back to my room. The next day, Anna helped me check out of the hospital. In the car, she finally spoke, her voice hesitant. “So, uh… Jack called me last night. He said you should come by and pick up your things when you have time.” So he was really eager to cut all ties. It seemed more and more likely that I was the one at fault. I had to ask. “Anna, was I getting close to any other guys recently? Besides Jack?” Anna thought for a moment, then her face lit up with recognition. “Well, there was your senior from college, Leo.” I didn’t dare ask any more questions. 4 That evening, when I went to Jack’s apartment to pack my things, he was sitting on the sofa, a dark cloud hanging over him. But even with that grim expression, his handsome face was still enough to make my head spin. Does anyone understand this specific kind of despair? Finally finding your perfect type, only to wake up and discover he’s already your ex-boyfriend? I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and bursting into tears. “I’m so sorry! I was wrong!” I sobbed into his shoulder. “Jack, please forgive me, okay? I’ll never do it again! “I swear, no other man out there is half as good as you. Please, let’s not be broken up, okay?” I lifted my tear-streaked face to look at him. His expression was a mask of strained control. He stared into my eyes for a long, searching moment, as if trying to decipher if my words were real or just another performance. I sniffled pathetically, tightening my arms around him. “Jack, just give me one more chance, please? I promise, I’ll only love you from now on.” But before he could answer, the front door, which had been left ajar, swung open. A beautiful woman in a white dress stood in the doorway. “Jack,” she said, her voice soft. My eyes shot to Jack, and I caught the flash of panic in his gaze. My heart plummeted into an icy abyss. It looked like Jack had already moved on. So what did that make me? A desperate, pathetic fool. Shame washed over me in a hot wave, and I scrambled off his lap. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” My voice was a choked whisper. “I’m so sorry to bother you. I won’t come back again.” With that, I covered my face and fled. It wasn’t until I was downstairs that I remembered what I’d come for. My stuff was still up there. I glanced up at his window. Two silhouettes stood close together. As I watched, their shadows drew closer, finally melting into one. The sight was a dagger to my eyes. I wrenched my gaze away. Forget the stuff. Did I really want to humiliate myself any further? I climbed back into Anna’s car, sobbing. Seeing me empty-handed and my eyes swollen shut, Anna assumed Jack had been cruel to me. She started rolling up her sleeves, ready for battle. “That’s it, he’s gone too far! You’re broken up, does he really need to be such a jerk about it?” I grabbed her arm. “No, it’s not like that. He didn’t do anything to me.” “Then what is it? Just tell me!” Anna’s patience was wearing thin. I wiped my face, resigned to the truth. “It’s me,” I said quietly. “I think I’m still in love with him. Seeing him with his new girlfriend… it just really hurt.” Anna’s jaw dropped. “What? You just broke up and he already has a replacement? Are you sure he wasn’t cheating on you the whole time?” “That’s what I thought at first,” I mumbled. “But with my memory gone, I have no way of knowing the real reason we broke up.” All I knew was that my mind, and my heart, were a complete mess. 5 Seeing me mope around for days, Anna dragged me to a bar to lift my spirits. I ordered a round of shots, ready to drink myself into oblivion, but Anna snatched the glass from my hand. “Not so fast,” she said with a mysterious grin. “Someone else is coming.” The person she was talking about was a mild-mannered guy with glasses. I stared at him for a long moment, but his face drew a complete blank. Anna slapped her forehead. “God, my brain! I keep forgetting about the amnesia.” She gestured to him. “Lily, this is Leo, your senior from college. He helped us out a ton back in the day.” I quickly stood up to greet him. “Leo, I’m so sorry, I really don’t remember.” Leo took my hand, his smile warm and reassuring. “I heard about your accident. Don’t worry about it, of course I understand.” But not long after we sat down, I started to notice Leo’s gaze lingering on me a little too often. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. Oh God, did I already have something going on with him? But even with amnesia, I was still me. And looking at Leo, I felt… nothing. Absolutely nothing. Surely the old me wouldn’t have been that clueless, right? As my mind spiraled, Anna nudged me with her elbow. “Well, look who it is.” I followed her gaze. Jack and a group of his friends were walking into the bar. The woman in the white dress was with him. My mood instantly soured. Anna, ever the loyal best friend, read my mind. Her expression shifted to one of disgust. “Wow, he’s not even trying to hide it anymore. What a pig.” She leaned in, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, bestie. You feel like getting a little revenge? Rattle his cage a bit?” I slumped onto the table, my head in my arms. “How? He obviously doesn’t care about me anymore.” “You don’t know that until you try.” A wicked smile spread across her face. She grabbed my hand and Leo’s and pulled us toward the dance floor. Leo seemed to understand her plan perfectly, staying close to me, his body a warm shield against the crowd. I tried to escape a few times, but Anna held me firm. “You wanted to know if he still has feelings for you, right?” she whispered in my ear. “If he does, seeing you this close to another guy will drive him insane.” So I stayed. I forced myself to dance, feeling awkward and exposed, but Jack’s group never once glanced in our direction. A wave of defeat washed over me. In that moment, I knew. He really, truly didn’t care anymore. The spark of hope I’d been clinging to died out. I excused myself to go to the restroom and left the dance floor. 6 I splashed cold water on my face, the shock of it clearing my head slightly. As I stared at my reflection, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. I was such an idiot. I decided then and there: I was done with Jack Vance. But as I walked out of the restroom, a hand shot out, grabbing my arm and shoving me into a dark corner by the wall. I opened my mouth to scream, but a familiar voice cut through the air from above me. “Stay away from Leo.” I looked up. Jack. His face was a thundercloud, his eyes blazing with a barely suppressed rage. What was his problem? One minute he’s ignoring me, the next he’s cornering me and giving me warnings? Was he afraid his new girlfriend would see and get jealous? A surge of anger propelled my words. “Why should I? Leo is a perfect gentleman. He’s kind and considerate. I like him. What business is it of yours?” Jack’s gaze lingered on my face for a moment before he let me go. He pulled out his phone, swiped a few times, and then held the screen up for me to see. “Leo. Kicked out of college for his ‘chaotic private life.’ Juggled multiple girls at once. The one who exposed him was pregnant with his child, and he bullied her into dropping out.” He lowered the phone. “This stuff isn’t just online. You could ask any of our old classmates, and they’d tell you the same thing. You wouldn’t be singing his praises if you knew the truth.” How could this be? The articles on his screen confirmed everything he said. I bit my lip, shame and humiliation burning my cheeks. But I didn’t want to lose. I wanted to win. “And what about you?” I shot back. “Ditching your new girlfriend to come lecture your ex? How does that make you any different from him?” Jack looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. He took a half-step back. “Lillian,” he said, his voice laced with a new kind of coldness. “I shouldn’t have bothered.” My eyes stung with unshed tears, but my voice remained hard. “Who asked you to? Keep your pity for yourself. Since you’ve chosen someone else, you should be treating her right, not breaking her heart.” His face was a mask of disappointment. “So, you’re still going to be with him?” “Whether I am or not,” I declared, “has nothing to do with you.” 7 “Jack.” As the tension between us crackled in the air, the woman from that night appeared. She walked right up to Jack and gently offered him a tissue. “You’ve got some sweat on your temple. Here, wipe it off.” Jack snapped back to reality and took the tissue. Standing together, they looked so perfectly matched. A handsome couple. Looking closer, they even resembled each other a bit. I lowered my head. No wonder he chose her. Her emotional intelligence alone was something I could probably never hope to achieve. Jack didn’t look at me again. He put his arm around the woman and started to lead her away. But then, she stopped and turned to walk toward me. In the few seconds it took for her to cross the distance, my mind raced through half a dozen dramatic confrontation scenarios. I’d heard about people like this—they seem nice on the surface, but they’re masters of passive aggression. Fearing I was no match for her, I clenched my fists, ready to bolt. But her first words were, “I think we’ve met a few times before, but you don’t seem to recognize me?” So they did know each other before. He worked fast. Jack was a real piece of work. “Sorry,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “I have face blindness. I don’t really remember people I haven’t seen much.” The woman simply nodded. “My name is Isabelle,” she said politely. “I hope you’ll remember me next time we meet.” That was it. I broke. How could she be so… so damn graceful? I was supposed to be her rival! I had lost. Utterly and completely. I ran. I fled from the bar like a coward. “Waaahhh…” I clung to Anna, crying so hard I could barely breathe. She hovered over me, completely helpless. “Lily, you have to tell me what’s wrong! How am I supposed to comfort you if I don’t know what happened?” I couldn’t speak. I just wailed. There was no way I was telling her about my total and complete humiliation. Anna, out of ideas, suggested that Leo take me home and try to console me. At the mention of his name, something clicked. I immediately refused. I wiped my tears and forced a cheerful tone. “Suddenly, I feel much better!” Leo, to his credit, didn’t press the issue. He just smiled his gentle smile. “Alright then. You two be careful. Call me when you get home.”

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1 The day I found out my mother was having an affair with my piano teacher, my father was eerily calm. All he said was that he wanted to hear me play one last piece. But as the final note faded into silence, he leaped from the roof of our three-story home. I watched him fall. I saw his body shatter against the flagstones, his blood staining the white roses in the garden a sickening crimson. From that moment on, the piano became my deepest, darkest nightmare. That’s why, on my wedding day, I told my wife, Aurora, “If you ever want to divorce me, just play a song on the piano.” Back then, she was just an unknown cover artist. She wrapped her arms around me, her embrace tight and fierce. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “There will never be a piano in our house.” Five years later, Aurora was a sensation—a chart-topping singer-songwriter. When a top-tier luxury brand offered her a massive endorsement deal that required her to play piano in their commercial, she refused without a moment’s hesitation. Watching the press conference, seeing the unwavering resolve in her eyes, I thought to myself, this is what true love looks like. A year after that, I came home early, clutching the sheet music for a new song I’d just finished for her. But as I walked up the driveway, I heard it. A melody, flowing from the open windows of our mansion. The sound of a piano. I found Aurora seated at a grand piano I had never seen before. A young man in a crisp white suit stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her as their fingers danced and intertwined across the black and white keys. When she saw me, Aurora’s expression didn’t change. She just gestured casually. “Ethan, this is Leo. He’s your half-brother. He came to connect with family.” I stared at her, and a slow, cold smile spread across my face. “My father only had one son.” In that instant, I knew. Our marriage was over. 2 I sat before my father’s grave for three hours, the silence broken only by the wind whispering through the cypress trees. The sky was a heavy, oppressive grey, a cruel echo of the day he left me. In my head, a phantom concerto played on a loop. The piano. It used to be my world. Ten years ago today, my mother ran off with my piano teacher. And my father, my quiet, gentle father, ended his life to the soundtrack of my playing. After that, the piano became a ghost that haunted my every waking moment. A nightmare I could never escape. I’ve always believed I was the one who killed him. If I had never learned to play, if I hadn’t touched the keys that day… maybe he would still be here. And now, ten years later, my own wife had invited the son of that monster into my home, sat him down at a piano, and let him tear open my oldest, deepest wound. The most bitter irony? The piece they were playing was a melody I recognized—a variation of the breakout hit I wrote for Aurora, the song that launched her into stardom. The ladder I had painstakingly built for her, plank by painful plank, had just become the blade she plunged into my back. Finally, I stood up to leave, my joints stiff and cold. As I walked away from my father’s final resting place, my phone rang. It was Aurora. “It’s late. Why aren’t you home?” she asked, her tone flat. I said nothing. The old me, the Ethan of yesterday, would have been bursting with excitement. I would have told her the new song was my best work yet, that it would solidify her legacy, take her to heights she’d only dreamed of. But now, the words felt like ash in my mouth. Silence stretched between us. When I didn’t answer, her voice sharpened, climbing a few degrees. “Did you hear me? I’m talking to you.” “I’m at the cemetery,” I said, my voice hollow. A pause on her end. Then, with a sigh of impatience, she said, “You’re not seriously upset about me playing the piano with Leo, are you? It’s been ten years, Ethan. Don’t you think it’s time to let it go?” I wanted to scream, to rage, but a vicious cramp suddenly twisted my gut, so intense that the phone slipped from my grasp and clattered onto the pavement. Aurora must have heard the thud, because her tone shifted instantly. “Is it your stomach? Are you having an attack?” she asked, a flicker of concern in her voice. “Stay right where you are. I’m coming to take you to the hospital.” All those years, locked away in my studio, pouring my soul into her music… I’d forgotten to eat, to sleep, to take care of myself. The relentless pace had shredded my health, leaving me with a severe stomach condition. My hands trembling, I fumbled in my bag for my medication. I dry-swallowed the pills, and after a few moments, the razor-sharp pain began to dull. I pushed myself to my feet and started walking again. Just then, a sleek black car—Aurora’s car—screamed past me. It didn’t even slow down. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a text. [Leo twisted his ankle. It looks bad. Rushing him to the ER.] [Take your meds. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.] I stared at the screen, my face a blank mask. I wasn’t surprised. Of course. Leo would never miss a chance to monopolize her attention. And Aurora… she knew his little games. She understood his manipulations perfectly. But she enjoyed them. She thrived on being needed, on being the center of his world. Because she didn’t give a damn about mine. Fine. It didn’t matter anymore. Because from this moment on, I didn’t give a damn about hers either. I scrolled through my contacts until I found my lawyer’s number. “I’m getting a divorce,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “And I want you to immediately terminate all free-use licenses of my songs for Aurora Vance. Effective immediately.” She was the star of the label, the queen of the charts. I was the chief songwriter, the ghost in the machine. She glittered in the spotlight; I toiled in the shadows. For ten years, I had taken a nobody from a dimly lit club and molded her into a superstar. But somewhere along the way, the love we shared had faded into nothing. 3 Aurora didn’t come home that night. She didn’t call, either. Naturally, I didn’t ask. The next morning, I heard a key turn in the lock. She walked in, looking exhausted, dark circles smudged under her eyes. “Leo’s ankle was sprained pretty badly. He couldn’t manage on his own, so I stayed with him at the hospital,” she explained, her voice weary. “It got too late, so I just crashed on a cot in his room.” “Oh,” I said, my eyes not leaving the divorce agreement my lawyer had emailed over. It didn’t matter. Soon, we wouldn’t be husband and wife. She could have all the freedom she wanted. Her life would no longer have anything to do with me. My indifference seemed to throw her off. She paused, a flicker of surprise on her face, as if she wanted to say something more. After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled a single ticket from her pocket. “You always said you wanted to see one of my concerts live,” she said, holding it out. “It’s the day after tomorrow. Eight p.m.” In the ten years we’d been together, I had written hundreds of her hits. She performed hundreds of shows a year. But not once had she ever invited me. She used to apologize, her eyes filled with a carefully practiced regret. “Ethan, I’m so sorry. I just can’t. My career is at such a critical point. Half my fanbase thinks of me as their girlfriend. If news got out that I was married… it would destroy everything.” And I understood. I accepted the life of a shadow. I learned to date in a mask and a baseball cap. I learned to walk in the opposite direction when the movie credits rolled, leaving her to face the world alone so I could slip away unnoticed. But then Leo came along. And suddenly, there he was, sitting in the front-row VIP section, basking in the spotlight. I watched from a pirated stream as Aurora sang the songs I wrote, her smile directed only at him. I saw her take his hand and pull him onto the stage. The camera flashes I had hidden from for a decade exploded, capturing them together. Aurora Vance, the star who famously had zero scandals, was finally in the gossip columns. Not with her husband, but with Leo. That’s when I finally understood. The rules were never for the one she loved. They were only for me. The one she didn’t. My gaze flickered over the ticket. It was for her one-thousandth concert, a landmark event. All her oldest fans would be there. It was meant to be the most important night of her career. When I made no move to take it, she froze. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Let’s have dinner tonight,” she said finally, her voice softer. “After all, it’s our tenth anniversary.” I nodded. No reason to refuse. It seemed fitting. A perfect day to put a final, decisive end to a decade of my life. 4 I arrived at the restaurant on time, the freshly printed divorce papers tucked safely in my briefcase. When I pushed open the door to our private room, I saw him. Leo. Sitting right next to Aurora. I turned to leave, but she grabbed my wrist. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Leo is a good person. He genuinely wants to make things right with you. He just wants you to let go of the past.” A tremor ran through me. My nails dug into my palms, the pain a welcome distraction. Let it go? She wanted me to forgive them? The father and son duo who had destroyed my world? Forgive the man who drove my own father to his death? Never. Not in this life. If he truly meant no harm, then why did he help shatter a marriage? Why did he back my father into a corner with no way out? And why, why did he and my mother move so quickly to build their new life while my father’s body was barely cold in the ground? Suppressing a wave of violent rage, I pulled the divorce agreement from my briefcase and threw it in her face. The papers fluttered down onto the table between us. “Sign it,” I bit out. The words “DIVORCE AGREEMENT” stared up at her. Her face paled, then hardened. “Ethan, what is the meaning of this?” What could it possibly mean? It means we’re done. Beside her, Leo shot her a nervous glance, his voice trembling pitifully. “Sister Aurora… it seems brother still won’t forgive me. Maybe… maybe I should just leave. I don’t want to be the cause of any trouble between you two.” He sniffled, his eyes growing red-rimmed. “I know. In his heart, I’ll always be a sinner. He won’t even give me a chance to atone.” That was all it took. Aurora immediately sprang to his defense. “The sins of the past have nothing to do with him! He’s just a kid, Ethan. Why do you have to cling to it so obsessively?” He’s just a kid? And what was I? When my father died right before my eyes, wasn’t I just a kid, too? “Think whatever you want,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “Just sign the papers.” Seeing my resolve, her expression turned to ice. She glared at me, then snatched a pen and scrawled her name across the signature line. “Fine,” she snapped, shoving the document back at me. “If you want to play hard to get, I’ll play along.” As I walked out of the room, I could hear her voice, soft and soothing, comforting Leo as he began to sob. Once, that sound would have ripped my heart out. Now, all I felt was a profound, liberating sense of relief. My lawyer called a moment later. “The copyright reclamation agreement is drafted. We’ll serve it to her representatives the day after tomorrow.” The thought of Aurora receiving that notice on the day of her one-thousandth concert, her crowning achievement… I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh.

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The day before Valentine’s, my fiancée—who feared water—announced she was taking swimming lessons. I knew instantly: she’d fallen for the instructor downstairs. I went to one class, then gave her an ultimatum: call off the wedding or cut ties with him. Vivian stormed out and didn’t return all night. The next day, she came back exhausted and aching, but swore I was the only one from then on. At our wedding, as the officiant said, “You may kiss the bride,” she shoved me away. “I can’t kiss someone I don’t love,” she choked out. “I can’t lie to my heart.” In a flash of white silk, she ran from the altar straight into the weeping instructor’s arms in the crowd. The room erupted. Cameras flashed like a supernova. I became the city’s laughingstock overnight. The top trending video was their passionate kiss at my wedding. My heart turned to ash. Since you chose to betray me again, don’t blame me for burning your world down. … Watching her run, the last ember of hope inside me died. I swept my arm across the champagne tower, sending a cascade of crystal and glass shattering to the floor. My voice was a blade of ice. “If you walk out that door right now, my family, the Blackwoods, and yours, the Crosses—from this day on, it’s war.” Vivian faltered, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice carrying across the stunned silence. “But I can’t betray my heart. I’ll make it up to you someday.” Within thirty minutes, the headlines were everywhere: Heiress Vivian Cross Abandons Wedding for True Love. The internet comments were brutal. 【LOL, is this guy for real? Sounds like a villain from a cheap romance novel! Getting dumped is exactly what he deserves!】 【If he’s this arrogant in public, imagine what a monster he is in private. Someone should investigate the Blackwood family!】 【Go Vivian! Women shouldn’t be sacrificed for family alliances!】 In a flash, the Blackwood name became a joke. And Vivian, the architect of my humiliation, was hailed by the media as a modern heroine, bravely chasing her heart. I scrolled through the screen, my face a mask of stone. Then I saw her latest post, an “apology statement.” 【While this decision has deeply hurt Donovan, I simply cannot accept a marriage without love, to spend the rest of my life in a numb stupor… The fault is all mine. I beg you all not to direct your anger at him.】 The accompanying photo was of her, eyes swollen from crying. What truly stung was the cheap silver ring on her finger. It wasn’t the one I’d given her. Then, Dylan, the instructor, poured gasoline on the fire: 【Vivian feels terrible, she’s lost so much weight over this. You can’t force love. I hope we can all still be friends.】 A laugh, raw and furious, tore from my throat. If she had been honest with me before the wedding, I would have let her go. I would have given her my blessing. But she hadn’t. She chose this moment, in front of the whole city, to grind my family’s dignity into the dust. And now she thought she could use public opinion to force my forgiveness? Never. “Get on the phone now,” I snapped to my assistant. “Pull all Blackwood investments from Cross Industries. Terminate every single partnership.” “Then, use every resource we have to fund their direct competitors.” “If the Cross family isn’t bankrupt by the end of the year, I’ll change my name.” Sweat beaded on my assistant’s forehead. “Mr. Blackwood,” he ventured cautiously, “the public opinion is catastrophic for us right now. If we make a move like this, it could backfire…” “Backfire?” I cut him off, my voice sharp as broken glass. “A backstabbing parasite who repays kindness with betrayal doesn’t deserve to be taught a lesson?” “We’ll make an example of the Cross family. Let’s see who dares to challenge the Blackwoods after this.” I rubbed my throbbing temples as memories assaulted me. Years ago, when Vivian’s grandfather died suddenly, his illegitimate son had swooped in, poised to seize the family fortune. Vivian had knelt in a torrential downpour for a day and a night, begging for my help. “Mr. Blackwood, if you save my family, I’ll do anything you ask for the rest of my life!” In a moment of weakness, I had proposed a marriage alliance. She had agreed without hesitation. After our engagement, I kept my promise. I not only helped her reclaim her company and sent the illegitimate son to prison, but I personally mentored her, transforming Cross Industries from a small local business into a corporate titan. But slowly, things began to change. She started resisting my touch, rejecting my advice, yearning for some so-called “pure love.” Then Dylan, the swimming instructor, appeared. And she poured every ounce of her passion and affection onto him. I had given her one last chance, just two weeks ago. “Vivian,” I’d warned her. “If you still want this wedding to happen, you need to remember your boundaries.” She had just laughed it off. “We’re just a student and a teacher. You’re the one with the dirty mind, seeing filth everywhere.” “Honestly, Donovan, are you so guilty about your own cheating that you have to project it onto me?” My voice had dropped, turning cold. “If you cross the line, I will take back everything I’ve given you.” She had flinched then, her tone finally softening. “You’ve misunderstood. There’s nothing between Dylan and me. I won’t see him again.” For a moment, I actually believed her. I thought we could go back. But in the end, she betrayed my final shred of trust. And for that, there would be no mercy. The next morning, Vivian burst into my office with a swarm of reporters. The moment she was through the door, the waterworks began. “Donovan,” she sobbed, “I’ve already apologized publicly… please, I’m begging you, let me go. Let my family go…” She held out a document with a trembling hand. It was a termination of our engagement contract, but with one unbelievable clause: all Blackwood investments and partnerships were to remain in place. She had trampled my family’s honor, dragged me through the mud with a media circus, and now she had the audacity to demand we continue funding her? Did I really look that weak? “Vivian,” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “You humiliate my family, you play the victim online, and you still expect my money and resources after you walk away?” “Do you take me for a fool?” With a dramatic cry, she threw herself to the floor and began banging her head against the marble, her tears mixing with the blood trickling from her forehead. “Donovan, it’s all my fault! Please don’t take it out on my parents…” she wailed. “You can hit me, you can scream at me, I won’t say a word!” Dylan, the instructor, rushed forward and pulled her up, shielding her behind him. He leaned in close to me, his voice a low, venomous hiss. “Don’t push it, Blackwood. I have a thousand ways I can make you get on your knees and beg Vivian to forgive you.” “Some people, you just can’t afford to cross.” I met his gaze, unblinking. “I’d like to see who dares to touch the Blackwood family.” A muscle twitched in Dylan’s jaw. He raised his fist to strike, but Vivian suddenly lunged forward, grabbing my legs, smearing blood and tears on my custom-made shoes. “Donovan, I couldn’t control my heart! I fell in love with Dylan!” she cried. “Do whatever you want to me, but please, don’t hurt an innocent man…” My eyes lifted, scanning the flashing cameras. My heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles. Finally, one word escaped my lips, laced with utter contempt. “Get. Out.” Vivian stumbled backward as if I’d struck her. Dylan caught her, then spun around and slapped me hard across the face. “You dare push her?!” A searing sting erupted on my cheek. I licked the corner of my mouth and laughed, a sound devoid of all humor. Dylan’s voice was as cold as a snake’s. “The Blackwood Corporation is finished.” “All those years you forced her to run the company, to entertain clients, you made a fortune off her back! Her debt to you is paid!” “She’s a human being, not your personal ATM!” My gaze, sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, cut to Vivian. “Mentoring you, bringing you into the world of business—in your eyes, that was just using you for money?” “Putting your parents in the best care facility in the country—was that just a way to control you?” “Vivian, where is your conscience?” Her eyes were red, but she couldn’t meet my gaze. A bitter, broken laugh escaped me, tears burning my eyes. “Vivian, you don’t have a heart.” She threw herself at my feet again. “Donovan, I’ll repay your kindness, I swear… Just please, let us be happy…” Her hand trembled as she placed it on her flat stomach. “The baby is innocent. He can’t grow up without a father…” The words hit me like a physical blow. I staggered back, my legs threatening to give out. They had a child. Of course, they had a child. That night, Vivian went live online, “exposing” me to the world. She cried so hard she could barely breathe. “For a business deal, he forced me to wear those kinds of clothes to please a client… When I refused, he… he burned me with a cigarette…” Dylan held her protectively, his eyes blazing with fury. “Donovan Blackwood! Are you trying to kill her? Is that what you want?!” Vivian frantically tried to cover his mouth. “Donovan, I’m sorry, Dylan is just upset, he didn’t mean to be disrespectful. But if you don’t end this engagement… I don’t think I can go on living…” Dylan pushed her hand away, his voice cracking with emotion. “You won’t let her go because you’re afraid you’ll lose your cash cow, aren’t you? You’re nothing but a parasite, sucking the life out of a woman!” Vivian then shoved him aside and, facing the camera, began slamming her head on the floor again. “Donovan, he’s just worried about me, please, don’t destroy us…” The comment section was a waterfall of hatred. 【DONOVAN BLACKWOOD MUST DIE! SCUM! VAMPIRE!】 【RUN, VIVIAN! WE SUPPORT YOU!】 【So the great CEO is just a coward who hides behind a woman!】 Finally, Vivian announced through her sobs that she and Dylan would be getting married abroad next month. “I need to live for myself, just this once.” The livestream ended, but the storm was just beginning. Blackwood stock plummeted. Partners fled. I was public enemy number one. I stared at the pathetic, tear-streaked face on the screen, a cold, absurd emptiness filling me. Hatred, like a thorny vine, wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed. I pressed the intercom, my voice devoid of all warmth. “Tell every executive to be in the main conference room. Immediately.” The room was full. I threw a thick stack of documents onto the table. “Vivian Cross is in severe breach of contract and has maliciously damaged the Blackwood reputation. File the lawsuit immediately.” “At the same time, freeze all assets of the Cross family.” When we’d formed our partnership, I had included ironclad penalty clauses. I could lift her to the heavens, and I could just as easily smash her back to earth. “And release these bank statements to the press.” For the past six months, Vivian had been embezzling funds, setting up shell companies, and evading taxes. The total was nearly thirty million dollars. And almost every cent of it had been funneled to Dylan. Our CFO glanced at the first page and audibly gasped. “Finally,” I said, my voice dropping. “Publish the termination agreement she tried to force on me. In full.” If she had the gall to demand such terms, she could bear the consequences. “I want everyone to see who the real parasite is.”

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When I came back to life, the first thing I did was order fifty pounds of ground meat and gather my family to make ravioli. I did this because, in my last life, my stepmother, Brenda, had an affair and got pregnant by another man. To hide her betrayal from my father, she orchestrated a public spectacle. She went to a chaotic Black Friday sale, intentionally got into the scrum for a discounted coffee machine, and let herself be knocked to the ground, inducing a miscarriage. When she came home, she collapsed into my father’s arms, sobbing. “It was Mia,” she cried. “She’s so cheap, she insisted we go fight for that stupid sale. If she hadn’t dragged me there, I wouldn’t have fallen. I wouldn’t have lost our son…” I tried to explain, but my own fiancé, Caleb, stepped forward to drive the nail into my coffin. “Mia, I am so disappointed in you,” he said, his face a mask of disgust. “I’ve tolerated your cheapness—scamming free meals, shoplifting snacks from the bulk bins—but this? Forcing your stepmother into a dangerous crowd just to save a few bucks, causing her to lose a child? I can’t do this anymore. The engagement is off.” My father exploded. He chased me through the house, his rage a storm of slaps and curses. Afterward, he had me committed to a corrupt psychiatric facility upstate. I was locked away, mistreated, and left to die from a septic infection after a botched medical procedure. It was only after I died that I learned the truth. Caleb had been sleeping with my stepmother all along. Our engagement was just a convenient cover for their affair. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the morning of the day Brenda went to the Black Friday sale. 1 I was curled up in bed, tears soaking my pillow, when the phone rang. I answered it instinctively. It was Brenda. “Morning, sweetie,” she chirped. “It’s Christmas Eve, so I’m going to do a little shopping, treat myself. I won’t be home to cook today, so you can handle the housework and make dinner for your dad and grandparents, okay?” She said it not as a request, but as a statement of fact, giving me no room to refuse. “And don’t tell your dad where I am. You know how he hovers. A girl needs her breathing room.” Her voice was syrupy sweet. “You’re such a good girl, Mia. You’re my little helper. I’ll bring you back something nice!” Then she hung up. I tried calling her back—five, six times. Every call went straight to voicemail. She’d already blocked my number. The repeated dial tone shocked me back to the present, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin. I was back. I had been given a second chance. In my last life, Brenda had married my father thinking he was wealthy. She was sorely disappointed to find out he was just a retired tradesman with no pension. All the nice things he’d shown off during their courtship—the car, the apartment—were actually mine. She felt trapped, but she stayed, her resentment simmering just beneath the surface. Last time, on Christmas Eve, she had made the same call. I’d agreed to her request, but then got called into the office to handle a crisis. I worked all day, only getting home late for dinner. I walked into a house thick with a terrifying silence. My father stood in the living room, his face a thundercloud, while Brenda wept at his side. “Mia, it’s all your fault,” she’d sobbed. “If you hadn’t been so cheap, if you hadn’t dragged me to that horrible sale, I wouldn’t have been pushed. I wouldn’t have lost the baby.” I was floored. “What are you talking about? I was at work all day. I have timestamps, emails…” Before I could pull out my phone, Caleb snatched it from my hand, threw it to the floor, and stomped on it. “I can’t believe you,” he’d spat. “I’m done. We’re done.” His betrayal was all the proof my father needed. He saw the loss of his unborn son as the ultimate failure, and I was the one to blame. He dragged me out of the house that night. I now knew the child she’d lost wasn’t my father’s. It was Caleb’s. They’d been careless, and this elaborate, cruel performance was their way of erasing the evidence. Brilliant, really. Utterly monstrous, but brilliant. This time, things would be different. A cold smile touched my lips. I wasn’t going anywhere. I ordered fifty pounds of ground meat for delivery. Then I sent a text to my boss. Family emergency. Requesting to work from home for the holiday. I was the backbone of my company. My boss trusted me implicitly. The reply came back in minutes: Approved. Take care of things. With my alibi established, I got up and took a long, hot shower. By the time I was sitting at the breakfast table, the doorbell rang. The butcher delivered the meat. My father and grandparents stared at the massive containers in disbelief. “Where on earth did all this come from?” my grandmother asked. I passed the buck to my boss. “A client defaulted on a payment, so they paid the company in product. They’re a meat distributor.” I shrugged. “So, instead of a cash bonus this year, my boss just gave us all a share of the meat. Said we should all go home and make ravioli for Christmas.” “Fifty pounds?” my grandma gasped. “We’ll be making ravioli until New Year’s!” “Well, there go my plans for chess with the guys,” my grandfather sighed. I turned to my father. “Dad, we can’t let all this meat go to waste. Grandma and Grandpa are in. You’re not going to sit this out, are you? Go wash your hands.” Muttering curses about my boss under his breath, my father rolled up his sleeves and started chopping onions and garlic, soon sweating with the effort. On Christmas Eve, while other families were decorating trees and wrapping presents, ours was an assembly line of misery. My father, the strongest among us, chopped, mixed, and kneaded dough until he was panting like a dog. By noon, everyone was starving. My father remembered his absent wife. “It’s twelve-thirty. Where’s your stepmother? Why isn’t she here making lunch?” I feigned innocence. “I don’t know. I tried calling her this morning, but I think she blocked me.” I put on a worried expression. “Do you think she’s mad at me? Maybe you should try calling her, Dad.” He frowned and dialed Brenda’s number. He tried three times. No answer. His temper flared. “Did you two have a fight? Why isn’t she answering my calls?” He glared at me. “You’re twenty-five years old, Mia. Stop acting like a child and provoking your mother.” I put on my best wounded expression and played the call recording from that morning. “Dad, you’re blaming me again. But this time, you’re the reason she’s not home.” The whole family listened as Brenda’s cheerful voice filled the room, ending with the line about needing “breathing room” from my hovering father. His face went dark. He lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter in silence. While my grandparents tried to soothe him, I ordered four large pizzas. “Mom’s not here and we’re busy,” I said brightly. “Let’s just get takeout.” My grandparents praised me for being so thoughtful. My father just sat there, stewing in a black mood that lasted the rest of the day. By evening, all fifty pounds of meat had been turned into countless trays of ravioli. Our hands were cramping. My dad went out for another pack of cigarettes while my grandparents started boiling the water for dinner. I sat on the sofa, scrolling through my phone, and allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. I hadn’t left the house. I had been with my family all day. There was no way Brenda could pin her “miscarriage” on me this time. Just as I thought that, the front door burst open. Caleb was supporting a pale, weeping Brenda. The moment she saw me, she let out a wail. “Mia! You monster! After I treated you like my own daughter, how could you do this to me?” Before I could even speak, Caleb joined in. “I can’t believe your cruelty, Mia. You are a heartless snake. I am so disappointed in you. We are through!” I looked at them, my face a mask of pure confusion. “What are you talking about? Brenda, you were pregnant? When did this happen? Why didn’t I know?” My feigned ignorance only made Brenda cry harder. “So this is how it is! All those times you were sweet to me, it was all an act! You’ve hated me all along!” She pointed a shaking finger at me. “I told you the good news last night, and what do you do? You drag me to that sale this morning, you push me into that crowd, and you get me trampled!” Her voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “I barely survived, and you stand there acting like you know nothing? How could you be so cruel?” Our old house was in a tight-knit courtyard community. On Christmas Eve, the shared yard was full of neighbors building snowmen and lighting firecrackers. Hearing the commotion, they all started to gather at our doorway. Brenda, ever the performer, made sure to stand right on the threshold, her voice carrying across the entire courtyard. The neighbors began to murmur, their eyes turning on me. “I can’t believe it. Mia seems so sweet, but she intentionally caused her stepmother to have a miscarriage?” “You never know what’s in a person’s heart. We watched her grow up, and this is what she becomes?” One woman shook her head. “I’m telling my son to stay away from her. Who knows what she’s capable of.” The murmurs grew into a chorus of condemnation. I felt tears welling in my eyes. But this time, they weren’t tears of helplessness. They were tears of pure, unadulterated excitement. The show was about to begin. Seeing my tears, Brenda thought she had me cornered. She doubled down, regaling the neighbors with more fabricated details of my cruelty. Caleb, meanwhile, grabbed me by the shoulders and tried to force me to my knees. “Children are meant to respect their parents! You will get on your knees and you will apologize to Brenda for the child you murdered!” He tightened his grip. “As your fiancé, it’s my job to teach you some discipline!” He shoved my head down, forcing me to bow again and again until my forehead was scraped and bleeding. “That’s not enough,” he declared. “An apology can’t bring back a child. You need to compensate her.” He looked at me, his eyes cold and greedy. “Give Brenda your year-end bonus so she can buy supplements. And sign over your new apartment to her, so she has a quiet place to recover. That is the only way to show you are truly sorry.” I almost laughed out loud. It was so absurd, so brazen. And suddenly, it all made sense. This wasn’t just about covering up their affair. It was about getting rid of me and taking everything I had. No wonder Caleb had suddenly started pursuing me so intensely, right after Brenda realized my father wasn’t her ticket to a life of luxury. I looked up at Caleb and spit directly in his face. “You want my bonus and my apartment for a bastard child you knocked up? In your dreams.” They were both stunned, then furious. “Caleb, don’t,” Brenda sobbed, playing the victim. “She’s never liked me. It’s no use.” She turned dramatically. “A stepmother is never welcome. The world hates me, my own family tries to kill me… I might as well be dead!” She made a show of running towards a tree as if to bash her head against it. Caleb rushed to stop her. “Don’t worry, Brenda. I’ve already called Frank. He’s on his way. He’ll make this right.”

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The first person I saw after stepping off the plane at JFK was a ghost from a past I had buried seven years ago: my ex-fiancé’s sister. She cornered me by the baggage claim, her arms crossed. “It’s been seven years, Elara. Don’t you think it’s time you apologized to my brother?” Her brother, Julian Vance, was the man I almost married. Seven years ago, at our engagement party, in front of everyone we knew, he had shattered my world. He’d publicly called off our wedding, accusing me of carrying another man’s child. He wished me a long and happy life with my “lover” before taking his young assistant’s hand and walking out, leaving me in the ruins. But there was no lover. There never had been. The wound he’d carved into my soul had been so deep I’d fled New York that very night. And now, his sister, Jessica, stood before me, suggesting I should be the one to crawl back and beg for a second chance. A dry laugh escaped my lips. “Apologize? For what? My daughter is already in kindergarten. The time for reconciliation is long past.” 1 Jessica’s perfectly made-up face stared back at me in disbelief. “What did you say? You… you’re married?” Her voice was a stuttered whisper, as if she couldn’t process the words. “And a child? A… a four-year-old?” I gave a curt nod, having no desire to get dragged back into the Vance family drama. I tried to step around her, but she grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “You’re joking, Elara. This has to be a joke!” Her voice climbed to a shrill pitch, drawing stares from fellow travelers. “You would never marry someone else! You couldn’t possibly give up on Julian!” She leaned in, her voice dripping with a venomous pity. “Everyone in our circle knew you lived and breathed for him. A shadow. You threw away that incredible career opportunity, a job anyone would kill for, all for him. How could you possibly marry another man?” Her eyes widened with a sudden, crazed realization. “And the child! She’s not four! She’s seven! She has to be Julian’s daughter!” I felt a familiar headache begin to throb at my temples. I couldn’t believe she was dredging up my past devotion as proof of her insane theory. It was true, I had loved Julian. I’d loved him so much that everyone saw me as an extension of him, not as his partner. But that was a lifetime ago. “Why would I lie to you?” I asked, my voice flat. “And as for Julian’s child… I took care of that seven years ago.” The implication of my words seemed to ignite her. Her grip tightened, her nails digging into my skin. “Impossible! Tell me, who is your husband? Is he as handsome as Julian? As tall? I bet he’s not even six feet.” The questions came in a torrent, each one a thinly veiled insult. “What does he do? Where does he work? Does he even clear six figures a year?” Her words were laced with a hostile certainty that by leaving her brother, I had doomed myself to a life of mediocrity. I had no interest in wasting my breath on a woman so blinded by a cult-like devotion to her brother. “Jessica,” I said calmly, “this has nothing to do with you or your family anymore.” I began to pry her fingers off my arm, one by one. She wouldn’t let go. “Is that it, Elara? Did you marry some lesser man just to spite my brother? Do you have any idea what he’s been through? He nearly destroyed himself looking for you!” She puffed out her chest, a triumphant gleam in her eye. “He runs Vance Corporation now! He’s powerful, handsome, and rich. Women dream of being with him! And you, you foolish girl, threw him away out of stubborn pride!” By the end of her speech, she was practically beaming, as if the world contained no other man of value. As if I were a blind fool for not wanting him back. She lifted her chin, looking down her nose at me. “It’s not too late to apologize. We Vances aren’t completely unreasonable.” The sheer audacity made me want to laugh, but all I felt was a wave of nausea. 2 Seven years ago, I stood on a stage in a pristine white dress, my hand outstretched, ready to begin the rest of my life. Instead, Julian, my groom-to-be, took the microphone and shattered it. He threw the diamond ring that was meant for my finger to the floor. “I gave you so many chances to be honest with me, Elara, but you kept lying!” I was bewildered. “Lying about what?” “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the stunned crowd, “I regret to inform you that the wedding is off. It seems Ms. Hayes here has found comfort in another man’s arms. The child she is carrying is not mine!” With that, he flung a stack of photographs at my face. They scattered across the floor at my feet—intimate, compromising pictures of me in bed with a man I had never seen before. A gasp rippled through the guests. Julian’s parents wore masks of fury, while my own parents’ faces burned with shame. “Those aren’t real!” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “I don’t know that man!” But Julian’s eyes were cold steel. “The Vances have a legacy to protect. I will not marry a woman with a divided heart, and I certainly won’t raise another man’s bastard child!” He turned, took his young assistant’s hand, and walked off the stage. The groom was gone. The wedding was over. My parents, after slapping me hard across the face, rushed after the Vances, leaving me alone amidst the scattered lies, the target of a hundred pairs of judging eyes. The day before I left New York for good, Julian’s mother requested a meeting. She surveyed me from across a small café table, her expression unreadable. “Julian’s behavior was in poor taste,” she began, her tone measured. “This was a private matter that should have been handled discreetly, not turned into a public spectacle.” She paused, taking a sip of her tea. “And yes, we know the photos were doctored. Julian is a good boy, but he can be naive. He was manipulated. His father and I have taken him to task for his outburst.” Her tone shifted, becoming sharp as glass. “However, the damage to his reputation is done. You know Julian is the sole heir to the Vance Corporation. He cannot afford the slightest hint of scandal. He needs a partner who supports him, who is unimpeachable.” I understood her meaning perfectly and said nothing. She slid a bank card across the table. “This is three million dollars. Get rid of the baby.” I stared at the card. “What does he think?” I managed to ask. A small, thin smile touched her lips. “My son? Did you see his assistant at the party? Melissa Monroe. A Cambridge PhD. She will be Julian’s future wife. As you know, our family has traditional values. We cannot have a daughter-in-law with your… history.” But I knew. It wasn’t about my manufactured history. It was about securing a powerful alliance. Even if it meant sacrificing their own grandchild. 3 “Elara, are you even listening to me?” Jessica’s angry voice pulled me from the memory. “My brother is a huge success, and he’s still obsessed with you. All you have to do is say you’re sorry, and you can have it all back.” I looked at her, this woman so lost in her own self-serving fantasy, and felt nothing but pity. “No, thank you,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “I’m very happy now. And I don’t need your brother’s forgiveness.” With that, I turned and walked toward the taxi stand. “You’ll regret this, Elara!” she screamed after me. “Without my brother, you’re nothing! You’ll be stuck with that poor, pathetic husband of yours for the rest of your life!” I didn’t look back. Everyone once thought I couldn’t live without Julian Vance. But the world keeps spinning, with or without any single person in it. Soon, I arrived at the preschool. Across the street, I saw my daughter, Lily, laughing as she and her friends played with a jump rope. Her smile was pure sunshine. A warmth spread through my chest, and I started to cross toward her. Suddenly, I was slammed against a brick wall. “Elara, I can’t believe you’d stoop to such a childish game just to get back at me.” I looked up. The man pinning me to the wall was impossibly handsome, dressed in a tailored suit that looked like it had just come from a boardroom. It was my ex-fiancé, Julian. Seeing him after seven years was disorienting. We’d grown up together, our houses separated only by a quiet suburban street. We were inseparable. He’d transformed himself from a slacker to a top student just to get into the same university as me, even turning down a scholarship to study abroad. Everyone said he was crazy about me. And I, in turn, had given up a lucrative career to support his. When his work became all-consuming, I was the one who brought him home-cooked meals, who listened to his frustrations, who made sure he never had to worry about a thing. Slowly, in the eyes of others, I went from his girlfriend to his devoted follower. We used to laugh it off. Then Melissa Monroe appeared. His new assistant. Capable, gentle, beautiful. At first, I paid her no mind. Julian had always been surrounded by impressive women, but his eyes had only ever been for me. Until they weren’t. Their private messages became more frequent. One afternoon, I left my phone at his office by mistake. When I went back to get it, I heard Melissa’s voice from inside his office. “Julian,” she was saying, holding my phone, “Elara’s phone is here. I accidentally saw a new message… from someone saved as ‘My Darling’.” She looked up and saw me, then had the audacity to feign embarrassment. “Oh, Elara, I am so sorry! I wasn’t trying to snoop, I was just curious.” Julian’s face went dark. “She’s a female friend,” I explained. “She uses a male profile for her work.” I even played a voice note from our chat to prove it. But as the clear, feminine voice filled the room, Julian just stared at me, his face an unreadable mask. After that, a wall of ice grew between us. My attempts to talk were always brushed aside with the excuse of “work.” Meanwhile, Melissa was always there, offering him comfort and support. The day before our engagement party, she sent me a photo: Julian, asleep beside her, dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes. Melissa’s expression in the photo was one of smug triumph. A voice message followed. “Julian’s been under so much stress with work lately,” she cooed. “Try not to upset him.” My mind reeled, but I told myself he was just exhausted from work, that he’d had too much to drink. I spent right up until the ceremony trying to bridge the gap between us, unwilling to let a misunderstanding destroy a twenty-year history. I never imagined he would use a stranger’s lies to publicly humiliate me, to abandon me on what should have been the happiest day of my life. And now, here he was, his eyes bloodshot with a terrifying intensity. “You run off with my daughter for seven years, Elara, and you have nothing to say for yourself?” “Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice cold, “the child you’re referring to is gone.” “Enough, Elara!” he snarled, his composure cracking. “Not only did you cheat on me with some lowlife, you took my mother’s money and left me, and now you’re trying to make my daughter call another man ‘daddy’!” Before I could react, he lunged past me and snatched Lily. “What are you doing?!” I screamed, my blood running cold. He ignored me, turning to my terrified, sobbing daughter. “Shh, don’t cry,” he crooned. “Daddy’s taking you home.” Lily’s cries intensified into heart-wrenching wails. “You’re not my daddy! I want my mommy!” She struggled in his arms, her face turning red as she gasped for air. A spear of panic pierced my heart. “Julian, give her back to me!” I lunged for her, but he shoved me hard, sending me stumbling to the pavement. He looked down at me, his face twisted with rage. “You ran away with my child. Why should I give her back to you now?” Ignoring the scrape on my knee, I scrambled up and charged toward him again. This time, an arm shot out and grabbed me. It was Jessica. She sneered, her eyes filled with contempt. “I’ve seen your type before, Elara. Using a child to claw your way back into wealth. You’re just playing hard to get.” She tightened her grip. “I’m telling you, you are not taking a Vance child anywhere today!” As she spoke, Julian moved toward his car, still holding my screaming daughter. Just as he reached for the door handle, he glanced back at me. “If you want your daughter back, divorce that nobody. No daughter of mine will call another man father.” In that same instant, a black Rolls-Royce appeared out of nowhere, speeding directly toward Julian’s car. My heart leaped into my throat. Julian froze, his legs visibly buckling. His grip on Lily slackened for just a second, and it was all she needed. She wriggled free, stumbling toward me, crying “Mommy!” as I rushed to scoop her into my arms and shield her with my body. The Rolls-Royce screeched to a halt, its bumper less than an inch from Julian’s car. The driver had incredible skill. Julian, recovering from the shock, immediately tried to approach us again. He plastered a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. “Come here, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “Daddy will take you to Disneyland. We’ll go to the aquarium restaurant and see the dolphins.” It was a pathetic attempt. What he didn’t know was that these things were not extravagant treats for my daughter; they were part of her normal life. More importantly, my husband and I had drilled stranger safety into her from the moment she could talk. Even if she’d never been to Disneyland, she would never go with him. His plan was doomed. Seeing that his false kindness wasn’t working, the mask fell away. He lunged for us. I shut my eyes, clutching Lily tightly as she let out a terrified shriek. But the impact never came. I opened my eyes. A man stood between us and Julian, his hand clamped firmly on Julian’s arm, stopping him cold. The man was tall and impeccably dressed, with a face so handsome it seemed carved from marble. It was my husband, Adrian Hale.

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