I was in a rush to change out of my sewage-splashed clothes, but the sales associate blocked my way to the fitting room. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but you can’t try on a white blouse with makeup on. It would be a shame if you got foundation or lipstick on it.” I frowned but understood the policy. “Fine. I’ll just buy it, then. I’m in a hurry.” She quickly snipped off the tag but then made no move to take my card. Losing my patience, I tried to grab the blouse to change, but she blocked me again. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but you haven’t paid yet!” I shoved my credit card in her face, my voice rising. “Well, maybe you could actually take my money, then?!” Her face remained a mask of professional courtesy. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but I don’t have the authorization to process payments. If you could please wait for about forty minutes…” … 1 While waiting at a red light, a speeding car hydroplaned through a puddle right at the crosswalk. I was standing at the very front. I took the full force of the splash. My white silk blouse was instantly a mess of splattered ink, and even the hair on the left side of my head was dripping. “What the hell!” “Jerk must be late for his own funeral!” “This is insane! Every time it rains, I get splashed at this intersection!” “Son of a… did anyone get the license plate? Let’s report that bastard…” The other pedestrians who’d been hit started cursing a blue streak. My own blood was boiling. But my client’s flight was about to land, and I was in a rush to get to the airport. I didn’t have time to chase this down. Going home to change was out of the question. Luckily, there was a boutique just ahead. I walked over, dabbing at my hair with a tissue. I had barely stepped over the threshold when a young woman in a sharp black suit greeted me warmly. “Welcome, ma’am. My name is Angela, your personal sales consultant. How may I help you today? Would you like a recommendation—” “No, thanks. I’m in a hurry. I can manage on my own.” Angela’s smile tightened at being cut off. I paid her no mind, grabbing a white blouse off the rack and heading for the fitting room. But Angela stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but you can’t try on a white blouse with makeup on. It would be a shame if you got foundation or lipstick on it.” I frowned. “It’s a button-down, not a pullover. It won’t touch my face. Besides, I’m in a rush. If it fits, I’m wearing it out of the store. I’m not just trying it on for fun.” “I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am.” Seriously? My first instinct was to turn and leave. But a quick glance around revealed… there were no other clothing stores nearby. As I hesitated, I met Angela’s eyes. They held a hint of a smirk. “Ma’am, you’re quite dirty, and your hair is still dripping. You’ll definitely stain the new clothes if you go in like that. And if you came out and claimed the blouse was already dirty, well, I’d have no way to defend myself, would I?” The corner of her mouth twitched downward. The anger that had been simmering inside me all morning finally erupted. “Well, yeah! The only reason I’m here buying a new shirt is because mine got ruined! I’m trying to give you my business!” “And obviously, I’d clean myself up before I change, but first you have to let me into the fitting room! Or what, you want me to stick my hands up my shirt and wipe myself down in the middle of your store? You want me to strip right here? Huh?!” Angela just smiled, not saying a word, continuing to block my path. Furious, I threw the blouse down. “Okay, fine! I won’t buy it. I’m leaving. Happy now?” “Wait…” Angela’s hand landed on my shoulder. I slapped it away instinctively. “Don’t touch me! What is this, a hostage situation?” “Ma’am, you’ve misunderstood me. That’s not what I meant…” “I don’t care what you meant! Get out of my way!” I stormed out, pulling out my phone to call a cab. Suddenly, a hand gripped my wrist. Angela was blocking me again. “What is wrong with you?” I seethed, wrenching my arm free and turning to let her have it. But Angela let out a little cry and collapsed onto the floor. In her hand was a hairdryer. “You…” When she looked up, her face was a mask of tearful vulnerability. “Ma’am, you misunderstood. I was trying to tell you that we have towels and a hairdryer. You could dry your hair here first…” I froze. Angela scrambled to her feet and solicitously guided me to a chair, ready to blow-dry my hair herself. Snapping out of my daze, I quickly stopped her. “I’m so sorry, I completely misunderstood. I can do it myself.” 2 The drone of the hairdryer couldn’t drown out my embarrassment. Maybe I was just so on edge that everything seemed like an attack. I took a few deep breaths, silently calming myself down. Once my hair was dry, the mud on my blouse had hardened into an ugly cement-gray. I handed the hairdryer back to Angela, apologizing again for the misunderstanding, then picked up the blouse and headed for the fitting room. But once again, Angela grabbed my wrist. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but store policy prohibits trying on white garments with makeup on.” My heart sank, and my expression hardened. Angela seemed not to notice, continuing with a cheerful explanation. “It’s a store rule, there’s nothing I can do. This blouse is a hundred dollars. As a simple sales associate, I can’t afford to take that risk. I hope you can understand.” Fine. I exhaled slowly. For the sake of the hairdryer, I’d let it go. I pushed the blouse toward her. “Okay, I’ll pay for it first. Can you please hurry? I’m in a rush.” “Of course.” Angela agreed sweetly, took the blouse, swiftly snipped the tag, and started to put it in a shopping bag. “Wait, don’t bag it. I’m going to change into it now.” “Of course.” I raised my phone to scan the QR code for payment. A hand suddenly covered it. Angela smiled. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, that code is no longer in use. We’re currently only accepting credit cards via the POS terminal.” “…Fine.” I pulled out my credit card and held it out. But Angela didn’t take it. She just kept fiddling with the computer. A minute passed. “Is there a problem?” I asked. “Is your internet always this slow?” She gave a weak smile. “Yes, it can be a little sluggish.” Two more minutes passed. Angela remained glued to the screen, the sound of her mouse clicking away like a time bomb in my head. I had run out of patience. I reached for the blouse. “You keep working on that, I’m just going to go change…” “You can’t.” Angela’s hand shot out, pressing down on the blouse. She looked up, her eyes locking with mine. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. You haven’t paid yet.” A vein throbbed in my temple. I waved the credit card I’d been holding for the last five minutes. “Well, then maybe you could actually take my money?!” “I’ve been standing here this entire time with my card out! Am I the one who’s not paying?!” Her voice remained infuriatingly calm. “If you could just be patient for a few more moments, ma’am.” More frantic clicking. Fine. I’d wait. I watched the second hand on my watch go around, and around, and around. Finally, I snapped. I spun the computer monitor around to face me. “Let me see this. What kind of ancient computer and dial-up internet are you running that it takes this long to process a simple—” The moment I saw the screen, I almost choked on my own rage. It was covered in the classic, green-felt background of a game of Spider Solitaire. I stared at Angela, dumbfounded. “You’ve just been sitting here, clicking away, playing a game this whole time?! Are you messing with me?” Unfazed, Angela maintained her polite smile. “I do apologize, ma’am. I truly don’t have the authorization to process payments. You’ll have to wait for the store manager to return to assist you.” 3 I almost laughed. “Are you insane? Or do you just not understand English? I keep telling you I’m in a hurry! If you can’t take my payment, why didn’t you say so from the beginning?” Angela looked wounded. “Well, you didn’t ask…” Ha. This was absurd. I was the crazy one for even engaging with her this long. Angela continued her robotic soothing. “The manager will be back shortly. If you could please just wait a little longer. Would you like a cup of chamomile tea to calm your nerves? We also have lemon water, rosehip…” I glanced at my phone. “How long is ‘shortly’?” “Hmm… if you could please wait for about forty minutes,” she said with a bright smile. I turned and walked away. Angela scrambled out from behind the counter and grabbed my arm. “Wait! Ma’am, you can’t leave! You haven’t paid!” “I don’t want the blouse anymore. Get off me.” “No, the tag has been cut! You have to buy it!” I scoffed, pulled my arm free, and strode toward the door. “Don’t you move! If you leave now, that’s theft! I can call the police!” “Go ahead,” I said with a sneer, grabbing the handle and pushing. Huh? It wouldn’t budge. The glass door rattled in its frame but remained firmly shut. Angela was no longer in a hurry. She strolled leisurely up behind me. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. The tag on the blouse has been removed. You cannot leave the premises until payment has been made.” Something inside me snapped. My God! It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pay! It was this psycho who wouldn’t let me! “I must have been cursed to walk down this street and into this store…” I muttered, running a hand through my hair in frustration. Just as I was about to unleash a tirade, a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Angela had darted a quick glance toward the upper right corner of the room. A faint red light glowed from a security camera. I paused. When I met Angela’s dark eyes again, a chill shot up my spine. She was deliberately trying to provoke me. Perhaps disappointed that I hadn’t exploded yet, she took two steps closer, her voice dripping with provocation. “You don’t seem to be in that much of a rush. Surely forty minutes won’t make a difference. Please, just be patient. The moment our manager returns, I promise you’ll be the first person she helps.” My voice was a little hoarse. “So, if I pay, you’ll open the door and let me leave?” “Of course.” I put my phone away and dug through my purse, pulling out a wad of cash from a birthday card. “Fine. The blouse is a hundred dollars, right? Here. Cash. You must be able to take cash. Now open the door and let me out!” But Angela just smiled and pushed the money back. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. I truly, truly do not have authorization to process any payments. Please don’t make this difficult for me.” Enraged, I threw the money at her. “What is wrong with you? I’ve given you the money! Why won’t you let me go? What do you want?” Just as I suspected. The more agitated I became, the more triumphant she looked. She raised an eyebrow, her smile unwavering. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Even with cash, you’ll have to wait for the manager. For now, you cannot leave.” I clenched my jaw. “So you don’t have authorization to take my money, but you do have authorization to illegally detain me?” “Why have you locked the door? Why are you forcing me to wait for your manager? Are you doing this on purpose? Or… are you a human trafficker?” “What?” Angela’s fake smile froze on her face. I feigned a sudden realization, dramatically knocking over a clothing rack. “That’s it! It all makes sense now! You’re traffickers, and this is your den! That’s why you were stalling, making excuses, trying to keep me here! You’re waiting for your accomplices to come and kidnap me! You monsters, where are you planning to sell me? How many other victims are there? I’m calling the police! I have to get out of here!” Angela stared at me, her face a mask of disbelief. “What are you talking about? Are you delusional? No, what are you doing?! Put down the fire extinguisher! Ma’am, stop—”

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I was driving my husband’s new Tesla to the airport to pick up a client. I connected my phone to the Bluetooth, intending to play some music, but a memo popped up on the center console screen instead. The title was “Notes on Caring for My Little Kitten.” My little kitten loves strawberry-flavored candy, not mint. My little kitten needs to be held when she sleeps, or she’ll cry. When my little kitten is on her period, buy her painkillers and a hot water bottle in advance. I scrolled through the list, one item at a time, until I reached the final note, written in bold, red font: “Crucial! Next month, take the little kitten for her prenatal check-up.” My face was a mask as I closed the memo and dialed my husband’s number. “Honey,” I said, my voice deceptively sweet, “what brand of painkillers does your little kitten like? I can pick some up for you on my way.” 1 On the other end of the line, my husband, Hugo Walter, paused for a beat. “Emma, what are you talking about, honey?” His voice was the same deep, steady, and gentle tone I had listened to for five years. “What little kitten? I don’t follow.” He let out a soft chuckle, his tone laced with a fond, patronizing helplessness. “You’re the only little kitten I have.” My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I watched the river of traffic ahead and smiled. “The one from your memo,” I said lightly. “The little kitten who needs a prenatal check-up.” His tone instantly brightened with a feigned flash of understanding. “Oh, that! That’s for Leo’s cat. She’s pregnant.” “His phone was broken yesterday, so he borrowed mine to jot down some notes. He thought he deleted it, but I guess it synced.” It was a perfectly crafted excuse. Leo was his best friend, the best man at our wedding. He was sure I would believe him. “You know how he is, so forgetful,” Hugo continued smoothly. “I’ll have a word with him. Can’t have him leaving random notes on my phone and making my wife worry.” “Is that so?” I murmured. “Well, Leo must really love his cat, remembering her prenatal appointments and all.” Hugo played along seamlessly. “Tell me about it. I’m almost jealous.” “Emma, don’t let your imagination run away with you. You’re the only one for me. What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll get everything ready.” “Don’t bother. I’m picking up a client. I have a dinner meeting tonight.” I hung up, pulled the car over, and took a picture of the memo. Less than half an hour later, Hugo was home. The moment he walked in, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin in the crook of my neck. He still carried the faint chill of the evening air. “Emma, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I rescheduled with my client and came straight home.” He cupped my face, his eyes filled with sincerity and a deep, aching concern. “Have I been too busy lately? Have I been neglecting you? Is that why you’re feeling so insecure?” “When I heard that tone in your voice on the phone, my heart just dropped. Work isn’t as important as you are.” “It’s all my fault.” He took all the blame, shouldering every ounce of responsibility, painting me as the irrational, paranoid wife. Looking at the face that had once made my heart race, a bitter wave of sorrow washed over me. “No,” I said, my voice soft. “Maybe I was just being too sensitive.” He let out a visible sigh of relief. “You silly girl.” He tapped the end of my nose. “Alright, let’s not think about it anymore. I’ll go make dinner.” He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it casually onto the sofa. I watched him walk into the kitchen, then picked up the jacket to hang it properly. A folded receipt slipped from the pocket. I unfolded it. It was from a high-end maternity and baby boutique. 2 The list of items was long, from imported formula to a custom-made crib—all for a newborn. At the bottom, a handwritten delivery address. It wasn’t our home. Nor was it his friend Leo’s. Clutching the receipt, I called my best friend, Whitney. She was a top-tier private investigator with connections that ran deep. “Whitney, I have an address. I need you to run a check on the resident. Find out if she has any connection to Hugo Walter.” For the next few days, Hugo was almost sickeningly perfect. Morning kisses, goodnight hugs, chauffeuring me to and from work, taking over all the household chores. He acted like a man terrified by a near misunderstanding, desperately trying to make amends. On Wednesday night, my mother-in-law called. After a few perfunctory pleasantries, her tone shifted. “Emma, you and Hugo have been married for five years now. Isn’t it about time we heard some news?” “You know how men are, they all want children. You need to put in a little more effort.” “Our Hugo is successful, he’s a family man. You need to hold on to him tightly.” Every word was a needle—not painful, just a sharp, irritating prick. I gave her some vague answers and hung up. Hugo emerged from the kitchen with a plate of sliced fruit and sat down beside me. “Was that Mom, pushing for a baby again?” I nodded. He sighed, pulling me into his arms. “Don’t listen to her. We’ll let it happen when it happens.” “Whether we have children or not, I’ll always love you.” His words were so beautiful. I leaned against his chest and smelled nothing but the stench of rotting lies. On Friday, Whitney called. “I found her.” Her voice was ice. “The resident is Isla Croft. Twenty-two years old. She started at Hugo’s company two months ago.” “She has that innocent look, but she’s a sweet-talker, knows how to play the game.” “Most importantly, I found an appointment record from a private maternity hospital.” “The appointment was made by Hugo Walter. For patient Isla Croft.” A sharp pain shot through my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. Whitney let out a cold laugh. “And it gets worse.” “I hacked her social media. She has it set to private, viewable only by a select group.” “It’s a highlight reel of her love affair with Hugo.” I hung up and opened the screenshots Whitney had sent. Isla’s handle was PamperedKitten. The most recent post was from three days ago. [Mr. W says I’m his most precious treasure, that he’s going to give me and our baby a real home.] [He has a surprise for me at the family banquet next month.] The accompanying photo was of a lavish jewelry box. Inside lay a diamond necklace I had never seen before. The brand was one Hugo had mentioned just last week, when he told me he’d bought a “small gift” for an important female client. I scrolled down. [Period cramps are the worst. Mr. W came over in the middle of the night with a hot water bottle and painkillers and held me all night.] [He said he’ll never let me be in pain again.] The photo was of Hugo’s profile as he slept soundly, one arm draped over Isla’s waist. The location was our spare bedroom—the room I had set up specifically for him to use when he worked late and didn’t want to wake me. I kept scrolling. [Mr. W has such good taste. This white Tesla is gorgeous! He said it’s the first stroller for our baby~] The photo showed her sitting in the passenger seat, making a peace sign at the center console. On the screen was the very same memo I had discovered. The phone slipped from my trembling hands and clattered to the floor. 3 I curled into a ball on the sofa, all the strength draining from my body in an instant. Ten years. Ten years, from high school sweethearts to husband and wife. The sweet nothings he had whispered, the things he had done for me—they all transformed into razor-sharp blades, slicing through my memory again and again. He said he loved me, yet he held another woman in our home. He said he was busy with work, yet he was running to another woman’s side in the middle of the night. He said having children would happen when it happened, yet he had already gotten someone else pregnant with his child. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until only bitter acid remained. Why? What had I done wrong? Hugo, how could you do this to me? My heart felt like it had been ripped in two. I couldn’t breathe. I sank to the floor and sobbed. But as the tears flowed, a laugh bubbled up from my throat. I stood up and wiped my eyes. Pain wouldn’t break him. And my tears? They were worthless. Hugo, I thought, you want a family, do you? Fine. I’ll help you get one. Just then, Hugo walked in. His face changed when he saw me. “Emma? What’s wrong? You look terrible.” He rushed over, his hand flying to my forehead to check for a fever. I looked up, my eyes red and swollen. “Hugo,” I whispered, “I think… I’m sick.” He froze, his face a perfect mask of concern and heartache. “Where does it hurt? We’re going to the hospital right now.” He moved to grab his car keys. “Don’t.” I stopped him. “It’s just… my heart. It hurts.” Hugo stopped moving. He knelt before me, taking my hand in his, his face a portrait of self-reproach. “It’s all my fault. I’ve been so focused on work, I haven’t been taking care of you.” “Emma, listen to me. Work doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but your health.” “I’ll take time off tomorrow. We’ll go to the Maldives, okay? You’ve always wanted to go.” As if all my pain was simply a result of his neglect, not his betrayal. I looked at him and, suddenly, I smiled. “Okay,” I said. “Whatever you say.” 4 The family banquet next month was for his mother’s sixtieth birthday. The Walter family was well-known in our city, and the party was an extravagant affair, held in the grand ballroom on the top floor of a five-star hotel. As the favored son, Hugo was the center of attention. He wore a custom-tailored white suit, looking sharp and confident as he moved through the crowd of guests. My mother-in-law stood beside him, dripping with jewels, a proud smile plastered on her face. “Emma, come here,” she beckoned. I walked over, and she pulled me aside, lowering her voice. “Everyone who is anyone is here tonight. Don’t you dare walk around with that long face. People will think the Walter family is mistreating you.” “And another thing,” she hissed, “you’d better get that womb of yours in gear!” “Let me tell you, our Hugo is a real catch. There are plenty of younger girls out there who would kill to have his baby! If you can’t produce an heir, you should get out of the way. Don’t just warm the seat!” Her words were venomous and cruel. I stared at her, my face a blank canvas, and said nothing. She was about to say more when Hugo walked over. “Mom, what are you talking to Emma about?” he asked, smoothly wrapping an arm around my waist and smiling at his mother. “Emma’s not feeling well today. I told her to rest and not talk too much.” He was always like this, always defending me in public, always preserving my dignity. My mother-in-law sniffed and turned to greet another guest. Hugo leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Don’t mind her. You know her bark is worse than her bite.” I smiled, my gaze drifting over his shoulder to a familiar figure. 5 Isla was wearing a pale pink maternity dress, draped in a white Chanel cardigan. Her long hair was perfectly styled, her makeup flawless, and her face glowed with a shy, blissful smile. One hand rested protectively on her stomach. She stood near one of Hugo’s friends, looking as if she were his date for the evening. Hugo’s eyes fell on her, too. For just a second, before he looked away. But in that one glance, I saw it all—the tenderness, the affection. It was unmistakable. Halfway through the party, it was time for the presentation of gifts. As the son, Hugo went first. He walked onto the stage and took the microphone. “Today is my mother’s sixtieth birthday. As her son, I didn’t prepare anything too extravagant.” He paused, his eyes sweeping across the room before they finally settled on me. “I just want to tell you that very soon, you’re going to be a grandmother.” The room was silent for a moment, then erupted in thunderous applause and congratulations. “Congratulations, Mr. Walter!” “Mrs. Walter, what a blessing!” My mother-in-law gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. She rushed onto the stage, grabbing Hugo’s hand excitedly. “Hugo! Are you… are you serious? Does this mean Emma is…” She whirled around to look at me, her eyes shining with an unprecedented fervor. I stood rooted to the spot, an outsider at my own life’s drama. In the crowd, Isla rested a hand on her belly, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. Hugo didn’t answer his mother. He just smiled, held the microphone, and continued. “This child… was not easily conceived.” “And so, I’d like to take the opportunity of my mother’s birthday to make another announcement.” His gaze finally left my face, turning cold and resolute. “I, Hugo Walter, will be dissolving my marriage to Ms. Emma Sterling.” The room exploded in a chorus of gasps and murmurs. “What? A divorce?” “So the baby isn’t hers?” “My God, what is happening? He’s announcing their divorce in public?” My mother-in-law’s face fell. She tugged at Hugo’s arm. “Hugo! What nonsense are you talking about?” He shook her off, his voice like ice. “I’m not talking nonsense.” “Emma and I have irreconcilable differences. Our marriage has been broken for years.” “For years, she has used every excuse in the book to avoid having children. Out of respect for our marriage, I tolerated it.” “Until I met a woman who was willing to give me everything. A woman willing to bear my children.” He turned and extended a hand toward Isla. “Isla, come up here.”

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My brother was the story’s villain—a frail, brooding soul plagued by an eating disorder. In the original novel, the heroine used gourmet food to wrap him around her little finger. Once she grew bored, she tossed him aside like trash. He ended up starving to death, all alone in our mansion. But now, he has me. His bratty, food-loving, grudge-holding little sister. I won’t touch food that’s a touch too bland or a pinch too salty. I won’t swallow rice that’s a grain too hard or a second too soft. No takeout. No frozen meals. And if he didn’t make it with his own two hands? Forget it. I was his personal, one-man wrecking crew. So when the story’s heroine arrived at our door, a gourmet basket in hand, ready to tame her gloomy little puppy… She shrieked, her composure shattering at the sight of the mountain of a man expertly flipping a skillet in our kitchen. The chat comments that had been scrolling beside me for the last five years trembled with laughter. 【LMAO, the mermaid in the pond turned out to be a megalodon. Who wouldn’t have a meltdown?】 1. When I opened my eyes on the hospital bed, a chaotic stream of text messages floating in the air gave me a splitting headache. 【WTF, wasn’t the villain’s sister supposed to die young? Why is she still alive?】 【Who knows. Even alive, she’s just a burden. The villain is a senior in high school, and their parents died in a car crash last year. How is he supposed to take care of a sick two-year-old?】 【Don’t be so harsh. Everyone knows Fred Blackwood treats his sister like she’s his whole world. He’s been running to the hospital every day since she was born.】 【Totally. In the book, he dropped out of school after his sister died. No parents, no friends, no college. He just spent his days street racing and skydiving until he wrecked his legs and went back to the mansion to die. That is, until the heroine showed up with her food to win him over…】 【Pfft, please. He only survived because he latched onto our Stella. The cripple was lucky to get a decent meal. And he still had the nerve to ask her why she left him before he died? Pathetic.】 My eyes snagged on the words “decent meal.” I glanced down at the delicate platinum bracelet on my wrist, easily worth a few million, and smacked my lips in confusion. Why wouldn’t my brother get a decent meal? Are we poor? 【Quit fighting! He’s here!】 【Damn, no cap, Fred Blackwood’s face is a masterpiece. The whole room just got brighter.】 【Broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs for days. That girl Stella is eating good!】 “Willow?” A pair of gloomy, intense eyes met my own wide, curious ones, and suddenly, the boy’s entire being seemed to spark with life. He dropped his backpack and rushed toward my bed, his long legs covering the distance in three quick strides. He carefully scooped my tiny, soft body into his arms and gently nuzzled his cheek against mine. Pure joy radiated from him, his lips threatening to split his face with a grin. “Willow! You’re awake!” “Thank God, you’re awake.” A warm drop landed on my cheek, and his choked whisper hung in the air. “I thought… I thought you were going to leave me all alone, too…” The noisy chatter of the floating comments fell eerily silent. I grinned, patting my brother’s face with my clumsy baby hands. Starving? Legs broken? Hmph! Not on my watch. 2. After no less than a dozen check-ups, my brother, Fred, was finally allowed to take me home. The doctor instructed him to start me on some soft, pureed foods. “Open up, Willa. Here comes the airplane…” Fred held a tiny spoon, patiently trying to feed me some creamed chicken porridge. I obediently opened my mouth and took a small taste. A smile touched his lips. My sister is so good. The next second, I spat it all out. A mess of saliva and porridge dribbled down my chin and onto my clothes, leaving a nasty stain. Fred fumbled for a napkin, frantically trying to clean me up. The comments exploded. 【Dude, get the kid a bib! Toddlers are messy!】 【Why’d she spit it out? Was it too salty?】 【No way, the cook didn’t add any salt.】 【See? I told you she was a burden. Can’t even eat properly.】 【If you don’t like it, get lost. Don’t ruin the mood.】 【Maybe it was too hot? My puppy spits out his food when it’s too hot.】 【Nah, I saw Fred check it with a thermometer before he fed her.】 Fred frowned, staring at the bowl in his hands. He’d had an eating disorder since he was a kid. More than once, he’d survived only thanks to an IV drip. Getting him to willingly eat something was harder than pulling teeth. But his sister had just rejected the food. After a long hesitation, he still couldn’t bring himself to try it. He waved over the butler, Mr. Evans, who tasted a spoonful. “Not too hot, not too salty, perfectly smooth. There’s nothing wrong with it, Master Fred.” Fred cautiously offered me another spoonful. I took it into my mouth, and then promptly spat it all out again. His expression slowly darkened. He stared at the bowl of porridge with the intensity of a man facing his executioner, a storm of emotions churning in his eyes. The floating comments were already placing bets on whether he’d actually taste it. My flailing hand slapped him across the cheek. He let out a long, defeated sigh. With a look of pure resignation, he opened his mouth and swallowed a large spoonful of the porridge. Before I could even celebrate, his face turned pale. He shot up from his chair and bolted for the bathroom. I could hear the violent sounds of him retching from the living room. When Fred returned, his eyes were ringed with red. Seeing my curious gaze, he forced a smile and brought the spoon to my lips again. “It’s okay, Willa. Big brother tried it, it’s really yummy. How about one more bite?” I stared at him, obediently took a mouthful, and spat it all out. The living room plunged into a dead silence. 3. The comments flickered nonstop. 【Oh god, don’t tell me his sister has an eating disorder too. She’s so frail, she’d never survive it. Is the villain doomed to be alone forever?】 【Please, Willow, just one bite! Your brother has no one else left! He’s so scared right now his lips are turning white!】 【Ahhh what do we do?! Can the heroine show up early and save her?】 【Maybe she just doesn’t like chicken porridge? What about a different flavor?】 Fred suddenly leaned in and kissed my cheek, his own face a ghostly white. He managed a strained smile. “I get it now. Willa doesn’t like the chicken porridge, does she?” “It’s okay, I don’t like it either. How about I go make you something else?” I calmly played with my fingers, ignoring him. Under the guidance of our cook, Mrs. Gable, my clumsy brother managed to prepare a small bowl of butternut squash puree. His nerves were stretched so taut that he instinctively bypassed his own aversion, scooping a bit into his mouth to test it first. Sweet, smooth, and perfectly soft. Fred’s hand trembled as he extended the small spoon toward me. Please, Willa. Please don’t be like me. Don’t… don’t leave me all alone. Mr. Evans and Mrs. Gable watched with bated breath. The comments bounced around, praying to every deity they could think of. Meeting my brother’s anxious gaze, I opened my mouth, let the puree slide in, paused for two seconds, and slowly swallowed. A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Mrs. Gable chuckled. “Well, what do you know. It seems our little miss will only eat what her brother makes for her.” Fred’s tense shoulders relaxed, and a brilliant smile bloomed on his face as he offered me another spoonful. I tilted my head, my big eyes blinking up at him. The next second, the butternut squash puree came right back out. The smile on my brother’s face froze. The comments, which had just been cheering, went completely silent. “Willa, what’s wrong…? Is… is something not right?” His smile was more painful than a grimace. I stared at his spoon, saying nothing. He wrung his hands, thinking hard for a long moment. Then, he picked up his own spoon, took a large bite while fighting the urge to gag, and hesitantly offered the small spoon to me again. With everyone watching, I slowly swallowed the puree. He repeated the process three more times. And each time, I obediently swallowed my bite. Mr. Evans slapped his forehead in a moment of revelation, his voice shaking with excitement. “Master Fred! She’s copying you! She’s learning how to eat from you!” “From now on, just take a few bites yourself before you feed her, and she’ll eat without a problem!” The comments whispered amongst themselves. 【Is it just me, or does it feel like the little sister is doing this on purpose?】 【You know, you might be onto something. When has the villain ever eaten this much? This is probably more than he eats in a month.】 【Don’t be ridiculous, she’s only two years old.】 【I think it’s possible. Don’t forget, this is the kid who was supposed to die.】 【True… so all this back and forth was intentional? That little rascal! She’s playing us!】 【Hahaha, this is great! Finally, someone can handle the villain. He never thought that after all his stubborn fasting, he’d one day be on his knees begging his little princess to eat.】 【Wait, no! If he keeps taste-testing everything, his anorexia will be cured! Then how is our Stella supposed to win him over?】 【That’s disgusting! Why should Fred have to starve to death just to satisfy your heroine’s power trip?】 【Exactly! His eating disorder, his parents’ death—it was all just a setup for her special ability. Hasn’t the villain suffered enough?!】 … 4. The comments argued endlessly while I grew up, bite by bite, on the delicious food my brother personally fed me. On my first day of preschool, I was four years old. Fred, now a sophomore in college, held me at the school gate and wailed like a fire hydrant had burst. “Waaaah… my precious Willa, what will you ever do without me?” “Sob… I know you’re picky and greedy and have a bad temper, and you hold grudges and are vain and petty, but I still love you so, so much! Waaaaah…” I saw the barely suppressed laughter from the people around us and his two best friends. Beside me, the comments were practically distorted with hysterics. I deadpanned and gave him a solid thump on the arm. He wasn’t wrong, though. In the past two years, I’d grown teeth and learned to talk, and my palate had become even more demanding. A touch too bland, a pinch too salty—nope. A grain too hard, a second too soft—forget it. No takeout, no frozen meals. I ate only what Fred made himself. The portions were small, but the variety had to be extensive. My cravings were endless; if I saw it, I wanted it. Every dish that landed on my table was something he’d learned, step by step, from Mrs. Gable. If I wasn’t satisfied, he had to remake it. If he was too slow, I’d bite him. And if he dared to get angry, I’d give him the silent treatment for three days. Over time, he learned to just take the pain. But with Mr. Evans, Mrs. Gable, and his friends Mason and Silas, I was always perfectly polite. He was the only one I tormented. What can I say? The day I first learned to call him “brother,” he dropped to his knees, hugged me with tears streaming down his face, and swore he’d cook for me for the rest of his life. I patted his arm, which was no longer so frail. All that forced taste-testing and pan-flipping over the years had built some serious muscle. “Brother, just leave the lunchbox and go. Study hard, and no street racing or skydiving with your friends, you hear me?” “Okay,” Fred sniffled, rubbing his cheek against mine one last time. “But Willa, you haven’t told me you love me most today.” In front of everyone? No way. I leaned forward, my face impassive, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Alright, you can go now.” Fred, finally satisfied, slung his arms around his friends and left. 5. When I started elementary school at seven, Fred was in his first year of grad school. Mason was still his roommate, while Silas had already adopted a serious haircut and taken over his family’s corporation. My brother had also made two new friends through a programming competition. The number of people picking me up from school grew from one to three, then back to two, and finally to four. “Willa, sweetie!” Fred waved a brawny arm, running over to scoop me up and plant a big kiss on my cheek. “Haven’t seen you in a week! Did you miss your big brother?” I hung limply in his rock-solid embrace, not saying a word. “Whoa, what’s this?” Mason peered at me curiously. “Who dared to make our little princess unhappy?” Two unfamiliar handsome faces leaned in, their eyes filled with curiosity. “Fred, is this the precious sister you never shut up about?” Fred grunted in confirmation, lifting me out of his hug to hold me up high. He frowned at my red-rimmed eyes. “Willa, who bullied you? Tell me, and I’ll go sort them out!” The tears finally spilled over. “Brother,” I asked miserably, “am I a bad kid with no parents and no manners?” The words hung in the air, and the smiles on all four young men’s faces instantly vanished. The comments had already gone ballistic. 【Willa, don’t listen to that little bully! He’s just jealous your family is rich! Tell your brother to teach him a lesson!】 【Yeah! Tell your brother he started it! He snatched your notebook and deliberately smashed your favorite ceramic bear!】 【Trash kids come from trash parents. Those two foul-mouthed parents of his are no better! Willa, don’t go easy on them. Have your brother get a lawyer and make them pay and apologize!】 【Don’t be sad, Willa. You’re the sweetest, kindest little girl we’ve ever seen! It’s all that biased teacher’s fault, and that awful family’s!】 【Exactly! She was so scared of distracting her brother during his competition that she didn’t even call him after being bullied. She let those monsters get away with it!】 … 6. His face a dark storm cloud, Fred hugged me tighter. The five of us stormed the principal’s office like an avenging army. After reviewing all the security footage, Fred said nothing. He simply grabbed the trembling teacher, Ms. Albright, and dragged her out the door. Mason and the others sat me down on a chair, a united front making it clear they were here to back me up. When Principal Wallace opened his door, he saw the heirs to four of the city’s five great families—the ones every financial journalist dreamed of interviewing—sitting right there. The only one missing was Silas. His heart sank. He trembled, about to fall to his knees and beg for mercy, but Fred grabbed him by the collar with one hand and hauled him away. Mason followed them out. The little bully who had tormented me was now bawling his eyes out, while his mother, the woman who had pointed a finger at me and called me mannerless, was slumped on the floor in a stupor. I nervously peeked out from behind the two new brothers, but they just smiled and gently covered my eyes and ears. The air grew thick with a strange, metallic scent. When I opened my eyes again, the lead attorney who was always with Silas was smiling down at me. “Hey there, Princess Willa! Long time no see!” I never saw the bully, his family, or the condescending Ms. Albright ever again.

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At Janice’s bachelorette party, I watched her—a woman with crippling mysophobia—casually sip from her mentor’s glass. In that moment, I knew I’d lost her. I stayed quiet as they talked effortlessly about projects and personal matters. That night, alone, I gave her an ultimatum: call off the wedding, or I’d ruin his academic career. She vanished overnight. The next morning, she returned, pale and exhausted. “The wedding will go on,” she said. But at the ceremony, in my tuxedo, I watched something break in her. She sobbed, “I can’t marry someone I don’t love. I never should have let him go.” Before anyone reacted, she posted a statement online, turning me into a joke. Within an hour, photos of her in her wedding gown kissing her mentor at the airport were everywhere. Every decision has a price. Ten minutes later, Mason Industries’ stock dropped ten points. If she chose public betrayal, she can’t blame me for her ruin. … My phone screen was still lit up, displaying Janice’s latest social media post. The caption was short: This time, I choose love. The photo accompanying it showed her, radiant in white, throwing herself into Lucas Thorne’s arms at the airport terminal. Below it, comments from our mutual friends flooded in. [Janice is so brave! How mortifying for Liam Sinclair.] [Ditching the groom at the altar to run off with her mentor? Wow. Liam deserved better.] [Is Janice insane? She’s going to bankrupt her family over a guy?] I dragged my gaze away from the phone and looked down at the wedding rings resting on the table. Our initials were engraved on the inner band. Janice had designed them herself, embedding tiny, powerful magnets into the settings so that when brought close, they would click together, inseparable. It was her symbolic gesture. Because of her severe mysophobia, she couldn’t always handle physical intimacy. The rings, she claimed, were proof that her heart would always overcome her condition, always gravitate toward me. I never pushed her. I respected her boundaries. But then I saw it with my own eyes at the party: her lifting Lucas Thorne’s glass, drinking without a moment’s hesitation. When Lucas noticed me staring at the glass in her hand, he actually turned to me with a dismissive little laugh. “We get stuck in long meetings for hours. We just share whatever water is around. It’s a habit. You don’t mind, do you, Liam?” Before I could answer, someone else slung an arm around my shoulder. “Mind? Come on, Liam Sinclair is bigger than that. Don’t insult the man’s character.” They worked in tandem, painting me into a corner where any objection would make me look petty and controlling. But how could I not mind? When I confronted Janice about it later that night, she flushed with embarrassment and apologized profusely, promising to be more careful next time. Looking back now, it was all a lie. She wanted the backing of the Sinclair fortune, and she wanted to keep her lover. She wanted everything. My assistant knocked and entered. “Sir, Chairman Mason is on line one. Will you take the call?” I glanced at the blinking light on the console. “What’s the damage report?” “Down seven points. Market cap loss approaching forty million.” Not enough. Not nearly enough to balance the public humiliation I’d endured. “I see,” I said, my voice flat. “Tell the Chairman to control his daughter. If he won’t, someone else will do it for him.” “Understood. And shall I have the PR department manage the online narrative?” “No.” I looked back at the photo of Janice, her expression one of almost religious sacrifice for love. “She chose love. Let everyone see just how much her love is worth.” The assistant retreated. I rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights were beginning to ignite, outlining the cold, glittering skyline. The assistant must have relayed my message, because Chairman Mason didn’t call back immediately. I hadn’t anticipated how much leverage he still thought he had. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was Janice. The name I once had pinned to the top of my contacts flashed on the screen. I ignored it, letting the call ring out until silence returned. Seconds later, a text message illuminated the screen: [You’re ruthless, Liam. Just because I chose Lucas, you’re going to destroy my family? You’re that pathetic a loser?] Another one followed immediately. [I know I hurt you, but you can’t force feelings that aren’t there. Why can’t you just be a man and let me go with dignity? Why resort to these dirty tricks? You disappoint me more than I can say.] I paused, a humorless smirk touching my lips. She could have ended things cleanly. But for the sake of the merger benefits, she chose to perform this charade. She, with her debilitating mysophobia that made her flinch from my touch, had no issue sharing saliva with Lucas Thorne. She, who had looked me in the eye and promised to proceed with the wedding, had chosen the most humiliating method possible to abandon me. She thought she could play us both, a delicate game between two powerful men. She nailed me to a cross of public ridicule, making me the butt of every joke in the city. And now she dared lecture me about dignity? I sent a message to my assistant. [Accelerate it. I want a full ten-point drop by morning.] After receiving the confirmation, I swiped away from the airport photo and watched the live feed of Mason Industries’ stock value evaporating. I trusted Chairman Mason would eventually understand the gravity of the situation. My phone lit up again. Janice. Her tone had shifted dramatically. [Liam, please, can we talk? This chaos isn’t helping anyone. My parents are frantic. I’ll come back. I won’t run away again. Just give me one more chance, please?] [I know I embarrassed you today. I can fix it. I’ll do whatever you want, any punishment you choose. Just stop going after my father. This has nothing to do with him.] My fingers tapped lightly on the screen as I replied. [If you’re asking for a truce, then show some sincerity.] The reply came back almost instantly. [Okay. I know what I have to do.] Reading that line, a strange feeling pricked at me, but I dismissed it. After finishing up at the office, I drove toward my private villa. Halfway there, my closest friend called, his voice tight with panic. “Liam, where are you?” “Just left the office, heading home…” “Turn around. Get back here now. Janice Mason is on the roof of the Sinclair tower. She’s threatening to jump, telling everyone you drove her to it. She just posted about it, and the press is already here. You need a strategy, fast. The entire narrative has flipped against you.”

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My relationship with Bob Croft started in college. We were together for eight years, and with our wedding just around the corner, he dropped a bombshell. He wanted his one true love, Monica Bell, to marry him as well. He wanted two wives. I fought back a surge of rage. “Are you telling me you want to make the love of your life your mistress?” Bob just shook his head. “She wouldn’t be the mistress,” he said softly. “You would be.” I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Had he lost his mind? Did he really think he could make the sole heiress to the Crestwood fortune his mistress? … Seeing my silence, Bob must have thought I was considering it. His voice softened, turning persuasive. “Monica is just so gentle, and her family is… modest. If she were the one on the side, she’d be miserable.” “So you’re suggesting I take that position?” The fury was a jackhammer against my temples, but my voice came out eerily calm. Bob frowned, clearly annoyed by my question. “Vivian, I don’t want it to be this way. But Monica… she doesn’t have anyone. I have to look out for her. Don’t worry, you’ll both be my women. I’ll treat you both equally. Monica is incredibly kind; she’d never make things difficult for you.” When he first pursued me, he swore he would marry no one else, that his heart had room only for me. Now, on the eve of our wedding, he was dreaming of having us both, a perfect little harem. What a joke. A mistress is a secret, a lover hidden in the shadows. I took a step back, my disgust for him a physical thing. “Mr. Croft, please leave. Since you’ve found love elsewhere, our engagement is off. There’s nothing more to discuss.” He sighed, a look of weary frustration on his face, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “Vivian, the invitations have been sent. The venue is booked. If you call it off now, what will happen to your reputation? Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I trembled with rage. So that was their game. Monica and he had been carrying on for years, but she chose to make her move now, right before the wedding, because she knew I was backed into a corner. “So, by your logic, I should be thanking you for not just bringing her to the wedding as a surprise?” Bob’s face darkened. “It’s just a title! You’re Vivian Vance. Who would dare look down on you? Why are you being so petty?” “Besides,” he continued, his voice dripping with condescension, “what successful man has only one woman? I know you’re better than this. I know you love me. Show me the gentle, understanding woman I know, and don’t act like some bitter shrew.” I closed my eyes, trying to contain the inferno inside me. I couldn’t. I slapped him. Hard. I put all my strength into it, and the imprint of my hand immediately bloomed red on his cheek. Bob clutched his face, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Vivian! Are you insane?” “The invitations are out! Everyone in Crestwood knows you’re marrying me! If you back out now, who do you think will ever want you?” he snarled. “I’m telling you, you’re marrying me whether you like it or not! And if you want any standing in the Croft family, you’ll go home and tell your parents you’re voluntarily giving up the position of wife!” My expression was glacial. So that was it. He’d come today because he knew my parents were out of the country on business. He thought he could force me to submit, keep his own hands clean, and get everything he wanted. A thought struck me. “What’s my name?” I asked suddenly. Bob blinked. “Vivian Vance? Has the anger scrambled your brain?” I waved my hand, and the security team that was always stationed discreetly nearby came jogging over. “When we were dating, I didn’t mind you calling me Vivian,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips as I remembered his outrageous words. “But now, I’d like you to address me with the respect I’m due. Call me Miss Vance.” “Throw him out.” Two towering guards grabbed him by the arms and began dragging him away. Bob stared at me in shock. “You can’t do this! I’m your family’s future son-in-law!” I scoffed. “Can’t I? If I wanted to, the line of eligible bachelors willing to marry me would stretch from here to Paris. Who the hell do you think you are, Bob Croft?” “Today, you’re going to get a very clear lesson on why Vivian Vance does whatever she wants in this city.” I raised an eyebrow at the guards and added, “Throw. Him. Out.” … Bob, seething, arrived home just in time to run into his mother, who had heard the news and rushed over. Seeing the furious look on his face, Mrs. Croft was about to ask what happened when Bob burst out, “This is all your fault! You’re the one who insisted I marry Monica! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been humiliated at the Vance estate today!” After hearing the whole story, Mrs. Croft’s simmering dislike for me boiled over. She secretly vowed to put me in my place once I was married into the family, but for now, she soothed her son. “That Vivian is just spoiled, not at all like our sweet, sensible Monica. Everyone in Crestwood knows what a temper she has. She’s lucky to be marrying into our family.” “She’s just young and foolish. In a few days, I’ll personally invite her over and explain the benefits of having Monica join the family. Once she understands, she’ll come crawling back to you, begging for forgiveness.” … After having Bob thrown out, I immediately had my assistant place an overseas call to my parents in Europe. Still fuming, I then had my driver take me to my grandfather’s estate on the hillside to vent. I assumed that would be the end of my dealings with the Crofts, but a few days later, an invitation to a party at their home arrived. My secretary and assistant both advised me not to go. But I wasn’t having it. “I’m not the one who did something wrong. Why should I be the one to hide?” When I arrived at the Croft manor, I had barely stepped out of my car when a woman in a delicate white dress approached me. It was Monica. She looked the picture of fragile beauty. Her brow was furrowed with concern as she glided towards me. Her voice was soft, but her words were laced with venom. “Miss Vance, everyone who’s anyone in Crestwood is here tonight. Why would you come dressed so… casually?” “Even if you’re upset with me, you shouldn’t embarrass Bob and the Croft family like this.” I gave her a single, dismissive glance and ignored her. In Crestwood, I wear what I want. No one but my own family would ever dare to comment on my attire. With a cold smirk, I pulled my phone from my clutch and made a call. “Manager Wallace? I believe the venue for the Croft’s party tonight is one of my family’s hotels, is it not?” “Clear the room. Immediately. Bill all losses to my personal account.” The color drained from Monica’s face. Bob rushed out from inside just in time to hear me. He shot a pained look at the teary-eyed Monica before turning his glare on me. “Vivian! Monica was just trying to welcome you! How can you treat her kindness like this?” I glanced at the growing crowd of guests, who were now pointing and whispering. I let out a chilling laugh and looked between the two of them. “Welcome me? In what capacity? As the future Mrs. Croft? Anyone who didn’t know better would think he’s already married her.” A murmur went through the crowd as faces shifted with intrigue. “Isn’t that the Miss Bell who’s always with Mr. Croft? When did things become official?” “Even if she’s his girlfriend, it’s not her place to greet guests. That’s against all protocol…” “His actual fiancée is standing right there, and she’s already playing the lady of the house?” Bob’s expression turned grim. He reached for my hand, but I snatched it away. “That’s enough, Vivian!” he hissed under his breath. “Do you have to be so aggressive? Are you trying to ruin Monica’s reputation?” Just then, Mrs. Croft bustled out, ever the peacemaker. “Goodness, whatever misunderstanding has occurred, can’t we discuss it inside? Must we make a scene at the front door for everyone to gossip about?” She then turned and made a show of scolding Monica. “And you! Vivian can wear whatever she pleases. It’s not your place to comment.” A flicker of resentment crossed Monica’s face, but she maintained her gentle facade and curtsied to me. “It was my mistake, Miss Vance. Please, forgive me. Don’t be angry with Bob.” Her performance of a long-suffering victim made Bob’s heart ache for her, and his anger toward me intensified. He decided then and there that after the wedding, he would give me the cold shoulder to teach me a lesson. Mrs. Croft was trying to frame the entire conflict as a simple lover’s quarrel. Some of the guests started to chime in. “Come now, Miss Vance, let it go. For my sake, let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill.” Another, a woman with a sanctimonious air, clucked her tongue at me. “Miss Vance, one must know when to be merciful. A young lady should be more magnanimous.”

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1 Hayden Cole and I were a match made in hell, famous in our circles for it. After a decade of mutual torment, we’d finally called a truce. But on the very first day of his return to the country, he trashed my bar, all to win a smile from some new girl. So I split his lip. “Tch. Smashing up your place felt good,” he’d sneered, dabbing at the blood. “Name your price for the damages. Anything you want.” What does a dying woman have to ask for? It wasn’t until my final check-up that I knew my time was officially up. In the hospital corridor, a mother and daughter who’d recovered from the same ward looked at me with pity. “That poor thing. So young, and in the end, there won’t even be anyone to collect her body.” Sitting on that cold bench, I finally dialed the number I’d kept saved for ten years. “If you really want to compensate me,” I said, my voice flat, “then you can be the one to collect my body.” … Rain lashed against the windows of the bar that night, driving away most of the customers. The TV on the wall was broadcasting a news segment about Hayden’s triumphant return. I was just about to lock up when a young girl burst in. She shook out her umbrella, her eyes bright with excitement as she pointed at the top-shelf liquor behind the counter. “I want all of those.” Following her was Mason, Hayden’s closest friend. He froze when he saw me. “Uh,” he stammered, “maybe we should try another place?” “No, this is it,” the girl insisted, her voice light and cheerful. “I bought Hayden a bottle from here once. He absolutely loved their signature blend.” She turned her sparkling eyes to me. “Ma’am, I’m booking the whole place for tonight. Get those bottles ready for us, will you?” I managed a nod, my head bowed to hide the tremor in my hands as I scooped ice into a shaker. It wasn’t nerves, and it certainly wasn’t anticipation. It was the illness, a relentless disease for which there was no cure. “Mason, can you help me light these candles?” the girl chirped. “Hayden will be so happy when he sees this, don’t you think?” Mason didn’t answer. He knew as well as I did that the sight of me was the last thing that would make Hayden Cole happy. On the television, Hayden smirked into the camera. “I’m sure she’s watching. And believe me, I’m looking forward to our reunion, too.” The camera angle highlighted a faint, silvery scar above his brow. I put it there with a kitchen knife. There was no grand reason. I was in a bad mood, so I swung. Just as the jagged scar on the back of my own hand was a souvenir from him—a wound he’d torn open with his bare hands and let fester until it scarred over. The reporter on screen was breathless. “So, where are you headed now? I see you have roses. Are you on your way to see your girlfriend?” He paused, his smirk softening just a fraction. “My fiancée.” The young girl, who was meticulously arranging the candles, glanced up at the screen. “Mason,” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity, “did you ever meet her? The first love he spent ten years with?” I kept my head down, the rhythmic rattle of the cocktail shaker filling the silence, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mason’s gaze flicker towards me. “Hayden!” the girl suddenly cried out. She darted outside, forgetting her umbrella in her haste. “Lily,” Hayden’s voice, deep and familiar, drifted in. He angled his large black umbrella to shield her from the downpour. She stood on her toes, her face alight with pure, unadulterated joy, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. For a split second, Hayden flinched back. And in that fleeting moment, through the rain-streaked glass, our eyes met. Lily tried to follow his gaze, but he caught her chin, tilting her face up to his and deepening the kiss, turning it into a passionate, public display. I looked away, dropping a sprig of mint into a glass. Mason was already at the bar. He hesitated, then finally spoke, his voice low. “Please, Avery. Don’t make things harder for him.” He paused, then added, as if to twist the knife, “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Reminds me of you, when you were younger. She’s only nineteen.” I nodded, feeling a strange sense of detachment. “Yes. She’s very beautiful.” The couple stepped inside, Hayden collapsing his wet umbrella by the door. “Are you two… complimenting my fiancée?” he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance. Then, his gaze, heavy with a decade of history, landed squarely on me. 2 Mason held his breath, watching me. He had no idea if I was about to fly into one of my infamous rages. But I simply placed the cocktails on the counter. “Your drinks are ready. Enjoy.” Lily cupped her face in her hands, her eyes twinkling with adoration for the man across from her. “Hayden, try it. It’s the one you said you loved.” Hayden took a sip, his fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “Bitter and sharp,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on me. “Yes, this is definitely my favorite.” Lily looked puzzled and took a sip herself. “It’s sweet! You’re teasing me again!” She didn’t see the way he was looking at me, his gaze dark and intense. Suddenly, the bar door was kicked open. “Bro! Welcome back!” A group of guys swaggered in, but their boisterous energy evaporated the moment they saw me behind the counter. Their eyes darted from me to Mason, their faces a mixture of confusion and alarm. I brought over their drinks, but as I handed them out, they flinched back in unison, throwing their arms up as if to shield their faces. I guess my decade-long war with Hayden had included some collateral damage. I hadn’t thought much of it, but clearly, they remembered. “Mason, what the hell is going on?” one of them whispered. Mason just shrugged. “Enjoy your drinks,” I said coolly. I turned to walk away, but Lily grabbed my hand. “Ma’am, could you take a picture for us?” “No.” I brushed off an imaginary speck of dust from my shirt. As I took a step, Hayden’s voice cut through the air from behind me. “Everyone in business has their price. Name it.” When I didn’t respond, he threw a wad of cash at me. “Is that enough?” I turned back just in time for the bundle of bills to smack me squarely in the face. “Hayden… don’t…” Mason started. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Lily said, rushing to my side. “My fiancé has had a little too much to drink.” I bent down, picking up the scattered bills. “Two cocktails wouldn’t get him drunk,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “He has a better tolerance than that.” From above, I heard a contemptuous snort. “Man, look at her, still scrambling for cash,” one of his friends, Seth, sneered. “Three years and she’s still the same piece of trash.” I suppose I’d been playing nice for too long if he thought he could get away with saying that. I picked up the last of the ten bills, now crumpled and smeared with bar floor grime. Then, I walked calmly over to Hayden. He held out his phone, a confident smirk on his face, as if my newfound composure amused him. I balled up the wad of cash, pried his jaw open with my other hand, and shoved it all inside. To make sure he really got the message, I grabbed the two cocktails and poured them down his throat after it. Then, I turned and slapped Seth hard across the face. “Keep that mouth of yours shut,” I hissed, “or I’ll sew it shut for you.” The bar fell silent, the only sound the drumming of the rain outside. Only Mason seemed unfazed, leaning back and downing his drink with a heavy sigh. “Ma’am, you can’t run a business like this!” Lily cried out, her voice trembling. “We were wrong first, but you can’t just hit people! He—” I spun around and slapped her too. Hayden licked his lips, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “You can hit me,” he said softly. “But laying a hand on my fiancée? That crosses a line. Lily, darling, how do you want to get even?” Lily clutched her stinging cheek, tears welling in her eyes. Hayden’s gaze swept across my small, lovingly curated bar. “Nice place,” he said. “How about we tear it down for you, Lily?” As she nodded, a team of his bodyguards filed in, armed with crowbars and bats. The windows, the island bar, the overhead lights—all of it was shattered. Rain and wind whipped through the broken panes, spattering against my face. Hayden stepped through the wreckage and gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re not wrong, Avery,” he whispered, his eyes greedily tracing every line of my face. “But I have to make my fiancée happy. Think about what you want for compensation. I’ll give you anything.” I jerked my head away from him and started coughing, a wracking, uncontrollable fit. I scrambled desperately through the debris, searching for my pill bottle. He glanced at the label with a dismissive sneer. “Six tranquilizers in one go. You’re not afraid of killing yourself?” He picked up the bottle and casually tossed it into a growing puddle of rainwater before wrapping an arm around Lily and striding out into the night. I collapsed next to the puddle, fished the bottle out of the murky water, and swallowed two more pills. They weren’t just for calm; they were for the pain. It had started with half a pill. Now, even eight barely took the edge off. The bottle was almost empty. My life was being drained along with it. 3 Three years ago, my mother died. All she left me was this bar. For a moment, standing in the ruins, I had no idea where to go. A wave of pain, sharp and searing, washed over my entire body, making it impossible to even think about moving. I just sat there, in the middle of the wreckage, and let the rain soak me to the bone for the rest of the night. By morning, Harbor City was buzzing with the scandal: Hayden Cole had returned, only to violently retaliate against his first love. As the sun rose, I prepared to leave. But first, I knelt before the wreckage and bowed my head three times, a final farewell. I didn’t realize Hayden was there until he was standing right in front of me. He stepped over a pile of broken wood and hauled me to my feet with one hand. “It’s just a damn bar, Avery. You don’t have to destroy yourself over it.” I dusted off my hands, planted my feet firmly on the ground, and slapped him three times, hard, across the face. “My mother’s memorial plaque was in there,” I said, my voice hollow. “I can’t find it. So yes, I had to pay my respects.” He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Is that so? Three slaps in exchange for your mother’s plaque. Sounds like a fair trade.” I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the desolation that had once been my life. He wouldn’t shut up, following me and spewing a stream of vitriol designed to get a reaction. “Avery, I’m talking to you.” I kept walking as if I hadn’t heard him. He rushed to catch up. “Don’t pretend you don’t care. Do you have any idea how awful you look right now? Stop the act.” “I was sick for a while,” I shot back, finally turning to face him. “It took a toll. But don’t flatter yourself. You really think you have the power to affect me anymore?” One thing was clear, though. He had come back specifically to make my life a living hell. If I were healthy, I wouldn’t have minded breaking a few more of his bones. But now… I just didn’t have the energy. … At the hospital, a panel of doctors studied my scans, their faces grim. “How many of the last pills I gave you are left?” my primary physician, Dr. Evans, asked. “None.” “None?!” He stared at me, aghast. “That was a three-month supply! You finished it in a week?” Dr. Evans had been managing my case from the beginning. The moment he started hedging, using vague language about my prognosis, I knew. I knew my time was short. “Where are… your parents?” he asked gently. “Dr. Evans, you of all people should know better,” I said with a wry smile. “We’ve known each other a long time. It’s just a few more years of suffering, then a handful of dust. I can handle it.” He adjusted his glasses, his expression pained. “Your emotional state was stable for three years. What happened this past week to cause such a drastic change?” I glanced at the news notification on my phone. Sometimes, the person you care about the least becomes the very thing that seals your fate. “Your condition is deteriorating rapidly,” he finally admitted. “Without the medication… it could be a week, a month, maybe three. There’s no way to know.” “Take this,” he said, pushing a new bottle of pills toward me. “When the pain comes, take three. Remember, no more than three at a time…” He didn’t get to finish. I twisted the cap off and poured a handful of pills into my mouth. I didn’t care how many. I’d take however many I needed until the pain stopped. A week or three months, it was all the same to me now. Afterward, I found an empty corner in the hospital and huddled there, my back pressed against the ice-cold wall, as wave after wave of pain and sweat washed over me. For ten minutes, I listened to the muffled sounds of prayers and whispered pleas drifting from a nearby surgical waiting room. The most desperate bargains with God are always made outside an operating theater. “Mommy, is that the lady from before?” a little girl’s voice piped up. “Now that we’re all better, should we go say goodbye to her?” “Her illness isn’t going to get better, sweetie,” the mother whispered back. “We shouldn’t bother her. Poor thing. No mother, no father, and so sick. She might die without anyone even there to claim her body.” The little girl looked up, confused. “But her mommy and daddy… isn’t there someone in the world who cares about her?” I stared down at the blurry screen of my phone, rubbing my eyes. It was a text from Hayden. He’d been messaging me since last night, relentlessly asking about compensation. No one who cares, I thought. But maybe someone to claim the body. I pulled up the contact I hadn’t called in a decade and pressed the button. He answered almost immediately. “Made up your mind?” he asked, his voice laced with impatience. “If you really want to compensate me, Hayden,” I said, “then you can collect my body.” 4 There was a three-second pause on the other end of the line, followed by a scornful laugh. “Someone as vicious as you, Avery? People like you live forever. But fine. If you do manage to die before me, don’t worry. I’ll give you the grandest funeral this city has ever seen. I’ll light a candle for you on every street corner in Harbor City.” With that promise, I hung up, satisfied. As I left the hospital, I saw the mother and daughter from the corridor. The little girl was puffing out her chest defiantly. “See? Someone does care about her! I care about her!” “Alright, alright, let’s go or we’ll miss the bus… oh, there it is!” her mother exclaimed, and they hurried off. I walked to the parking garage. When I drove out, they were still waiting at the bus stop, so I pulled over. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” I dropped them off downtown, their grateful thanks still ringing in my ears. As they walked away, I saw a familiar group coming out of a nearby restaurant. “Well, well, look who’s doing good deeds,” Seth sneered, spotting me. “Guess she’s trying to earn some good karma before it’s too late.” They were all drunk. Lily’s eyes, however, were sober and sharp as she stared at me. I had no desire to engage. I was about to drive off when Lily stepped forward and pressed her hand against my window. Her lips were curved into a sweet smile, but her eyes were cold as ice. “Avery, I just found out about your history with Hayden. I… I hope I didn’t offend you yesterday.” I tried to roll up the window, but she held it down firmly. “I have something for you,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “I really don’t have any hard feelings.” “I’m not interested in your act. Get lost.” Lily suddenly let go. Just as I was about to hit the gas, she pulled a small urn from her designer handbag. “I heard your mother’s memorial plaque was destroyed in the bar,” she said sweetly. “I was afraid you’d have nothing left to remember her by, so I went back this morning and gathered a handful of ash from the site.” She leaned in through the open window and, right before my eyes, tipped the urn over, pouring its contents onto the pavement. “Oh!” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “You didn’t catch it! You’re not mad at me, are you?” I watched her pathetic performance, a cold fury building inside me. Fine. She started this. The guys on the sidewalk were clueless, praising Lily’s magnanimity. “Wow, Lily, you’re so big-hearted. Talking to her without getting disgusted, and even bringing her a gift.” Lily shot a triumphant look over her shoulder as she walked toward the Porsche parked in front of me. She dangled the keys, a small celebration of her victory. I looked past her, my eyes landing on Seth. “I have a gift for her, too.” Seth scoffed. “What could you possibly give her?” I clicked my seatbelt into place. “A ride to hell.” Before the last word left my lips, I floored the accelerator.

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I sent a message to my aloof stepbrother. [Hey hubby, you on tonight?] My fingers had slipped. I meant to type “Hey bro, cooking tonight?”. To make matters worse, he was in a meeting, his phone screen mirrored on the main projector. The entire conference room went silent. The man on screen paused for a fraction of a second, then calmly closed the chat window and typed something on his phone. A moment later, my phone buzzed with his reply. A single sentence. [I am.] I froze. He meant… cooking, right? 1 It was that time of day again—my sacred slacking-off hour. I expertly opened my pinned chat and sent a message to my ice-king stepbrother. [Hey bro, cooking tonight?] The moment I hit send, a colleague came over with a question. We talked for maybe two minutes. When I looked back at my phone, Leah from the design department had spammed me with a frantic series of messages. [OMG! I think Mr. Pei is dating someone!] [And trust me, the texts are SPICY!] My heart leaped into my throat. My fingers moved faster than my brain, clicking on the video she’d sent. On screen, Timothy Pei was dressed in a deep red shirt and a black vest, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing the faint tracery of veins. The black sleeve garters he wore added a touch of roguish charm to his usually stoic vibe. It sent a fire low in my belly. Damn it. The things I’d do to get a piece of that… I pushed the thought down and followed the camera as it panned to the large screen behind him. He was screen-sharing. And someone had just messaged him. The profile picture looked familiar. It looked like… mine. But his contact name for me wasn’t “sister,” or my name, Autumn, but a bizarre chemical term: “Phenylethylamine.” I frowned, not having time to decipher its meaning before my own message popped into view. In that instant, I almost jumped out of my chair. I’d meant to ask, [Hey bro, cooking tonight?], but in my haste, I’d made two critical errors. “Bro” had become “hubby,” and somehow, I’d completely omitted the word “cooking.” [Hey hubby, you on tonight?] The accidental message was so explosive that the entire conference room fell into a stunned, awkward silence. The department heads shot subtle glances at Timothy, their faces screaming, You look so prim and proper, but you’re into this kind of stuff behind closed doors? Timothy recovered from his initial shock. He didn’t explain. He simply lowered his gaze, calmly closed the chat window, and tapped twice on his phone. “Sorry about that,” he said, his voice smooth and steady. “She’s a bit of a handful.” His deep, magnetic voice resonated through my headphones, sending a pleasant tingle down my spine. Blood rushed to my face, turning it a shade of crimson I didn’t know was possible. The video ended there. Timothy’s tone had been perfectly level, but Leah was convinced it was dripping with affection. Great. Now my face was even hotter. [I wonder which lucky girl landed a catch like Mr. Pei. She’s eating well!] [Wait a second!] [Why does that person have the same profile pic as you?] [Autumn, don’t tell me…] I frantically cut off her speculation. [No! Not me! I barely know Mr. Pei!] I’d hidden my relationship with Timothy since starting at the company, and we always kept our distance at work. My quick denial was clumsy, but Leah bought it. I let out a long sigh of relief and swiped out of my chat with her. And there it was. A small red dot next to my pinned chat with him. My eyes drifted to the message preview. I didn’t even have to open it. Timothy’s reply was right there. A single sentence. [I am.] My mind went completely blank. While watching the video, I’d wondered what he could have possibly typed with just two taps. A question mark? An ellipsis? I never imagined it would be this. So… he was talking about cooking… right? 2 I had no idea how to reply. My original seven-word message had two catastrophic errors. It was hard to believe it wasn’t intentional. Desperate, I turned to the internet for help. Title: Accidentally texted my stepbro “Hey hubby, you on tonight?” instead of “Hey bro, cooking tonight?” and he replied “I am.” What do I do now? User A: [Was it really an accident though?] User C: [Finally, some good food. Where can I find Part 2 of this story? Asking for a friend.] User D: [If he’s not into you, I’ll eat my hat.] User E: [Wait, aren’t you the same person who posted “What do you do when you meet your dream guy at a family dinner and he’s your new stepbrother?” a few years ago?] …I can’t believe someone remembered that. 3 Before I was sixteen, everyone in my village used to say my mom was a hopeless romantic. As a young woman, she’d turned down a perfectly good college graduate to run off with a man who had nothing to offer but his handsome face. That is, until she divorced him and married a tycoon who had nothing but money. And just like that, in my senior year of high school, I became a rich heiress with a capital city residency. The only downside? At the first family dinner, I met my dream guy. My aloof, devastatingly handsome stepbrother—Timothy Pei. He was only four years older than me, still studying abroad at the time. He sat across from me at dinner, his hair a stunning platinum blond that gave him an almost ethereal, boyish look. Every time I looked up, our eyes met. But Timothy didn’t seem to like me. He would adjust the black, half-rimmed glasses on his nose, a subtle move to break my gaze. It stung, but only for a second. Then I’d get distracted by his elegant, long-fingered hands. Or the hint of his collarbone peeking out from the neck of his sweatshirt. Or the tiny mole on his throat that bobbed when he drank champagne. Sweet mother of… I was a sheltered country girl, uncorrupted by the temptations of the internet. I had never seen a walking temptation like him in my life. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. That teenage crush simmered for three years. I shamelessly tried to get closer to him, but I never crossed the line. I was so well-behaved that his friends would tell him how lucky he was to have a sister like me. Timothy, however, still didn’t seem to like me. He’d frown whenever they said that, the coldness in his dark eyes intensifying. “I don’t see her as a sister.” His words were a polite, but brutal, rejection. I was so hurt I avoided him for weeks. But we lived under the same roof. We were bound to run into each other. Sometimes it was at the pool, when he was wearing nothing but swim trunks. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, an eight-pack, and pale, perfect skin. My eyes would go wide again. Other times, I’d find him leaning against his black-and-white motorcycle by the front gate, his face hidden by a helmet, only his deep, intense eyes visible, fixed on me. The early summer breeze would rustle the wall of roses behind him and tug at the hem of his white t-shirt. It wasn’t the wind moving, it wasn’t the roses… it was my heart. An old quote surfaced in my mind. I clutched my backpack straps, torn. Finally, I ended my one-sided cold war and put my “good little sister” mask back on. “Bro,” I’d said, my voice small, “can you give me a ride to school?” That was the day I made that online post. It got so popular I had to hide it, terrified someone we knew might see it. 4 And now, someone had brought it up again. I sighed, scrolling through the gleeful comments. I decided the best course of action was to ignore the situation entirely. I had no idea why Timothy had replied the way he did, but given his usual coldness, he probably didn’t want me clinging to him over a typo. But then, after work, I ran into him in the elevator. His gaze was heavy, fixed on me. I braced myself and stepped inside, turning my back to him. As more people crowded in, I was forced backward, step by step, until my back was pressed against his warm chest. A second later, he slipped something into my hand. I recognized it instantly by touch. His apartment key. Oh, god. This was basically him handing me a hotel room key. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to discreetly pass the key back to him before we reached the ground floor. My hand fumbled behind me, searching for his, but instead, it brushed against something firm and decidedly not his leg. A muffled grunt from behind me drew the attention of everyone in the elevator. I snatched my hand back, my entire body turning the color of a boiled lobster. “You stepped on my foot,” Timothy said, his voice a low rasp, saving me. “Sorry, so sorry,” I mumbled, going along with it. The doors opened, and I scrambled out with the crowd. It wasn’t until I was in my car that I realized I still had his key. Just then, my phone lit up. Timothy: [That’s my only key.] Well, damn. Looks like I was going to his place after all. 5 Timothy beat me there. He was leaning against the wall by his door, arms crossed, watching me inch my way down the hall. The short walk felt like it took a century. When I finally reached him, I kept my head down, my voice barely a whisper. “Your ke—” Before I could finish, he produced another key as if by magic and unlocked the door. I stared. “You lied to me?” “Mhm,” he said, completely unapologetic. He held the door open, his dark eyes intense. “Coming in?” The suggestive undertone of his words made me flinch. I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, I’m good!” He didn’t push, just coughed into his fist, a soft, weak sound. He looked… sick. I stopped my retreat. “Are you not feeling well?” “A bit of a fever,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. He looked so vulnerable. On pure instinct, my heart ached for him. I reached out to feel his forehead. He took a sharp step back. “Just go home. Don’t worry about me.” His voice was cold, and he turned his head away, a picture of self-pity. That did it. I marched into his apartment, shutting the door behind me, and headed for the TV console. “Bro, your first-aid kit is in here somewhere, right?” I rummaged through the drawers, missing the slow, triumphant smile that spread across Timothy’s face as he watched me. He sank onto the sofa, loosening his tie. “No idea.” He sounded like a petulant child, and I assumed it was the fever talking. “Don’t be difficult,” I cooed, walking over to try and check his temperature again. The next thing I knew, he had grabbed my wrist. A gentle tug, and I stumbled, landing right in his lap. My mind went blank. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. His usually cool eyes were turbulent, dark with something I’d never seen before. His voice was a raw whisper. “Bad Autumn. Teasing me like a dog on a leash and then taking no responsibility…” His hot breath ghosted across my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. The feeling was electric, a current that shot straight to my core. I bit my lip, flustered. “It was an accident, I can explain…” Timothy pulled back, leaning against the sofa cushions. But his eyes, intense and possessive, never left my face. “Mm,” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “I’ll listen patiently to my bad little Autumn’s explanation.” He drew the words out, the suggestive tone turning the air thick with unspoken things. This Timothy, this predator, was pushing all my buttons. God help me. I felt my resolve melting. Timothy was ridiculously well-proportioned. His long legs meant that on a normal-sized sofa, his knees were elevated. As my body went pliant, I started to slide down his thighs. When I didn’t say anything, a wicked glint appeared in his eyes. He bounced his leg slightly. “Cat got your tongue, my bad little Autumn?” The movement sent me sliding right onto his lap, my hands flying out to brace myself against his chest. The feel of his firm muscles under my palms made my head spin. I gave an involuntary squeeze. Timothy froze for a second, then let out a low, husky laugh. “You little devil.” That snapped me back to reality. I snatched my hands away, my ears burning. “The text this afternoon was a typo. I meant to call you bro…” “Mhm,” he nodded calmly. “And the second part?” Here we go. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I… forgot to type the word ‘cooking.’” Silence. The charged atmosphere began to dissipate. Seizing my chance, I pushed against his chest to get up, trying to change the subject. “Can you let me up? Your belt buckle is digging into me.” Timothy’s gaze darkened, becoming deeper than the night sky outside. “I’m not wearing a belt.” …Oh. Well. The atmosphere was officially back. I was so confused. Wasn’t he supposed to be the cold, aloof stepbrother who hated me? What was with this sudden change? He must have seen the conflict on my face. He lowered his gaze, the raw desire in his eyes softening into something that looked like disappointment. “So… you don’t feel that way about me?” He looked so dejected, all traces of the confident man who had just been seducing me gone. Damn it. This vulnerable act was just as irresistible. All I could think was, Sweet mother of… This time, it wasn’t just an expression. I was genuinely trying to summon the image of my mother to stop myself from doing something stupid. She had suffered for so long with my biological father before finding a man who adored her. I couldn’t ruin her happiness by making a mistake with Timothy. And I had worked so hard, for so long, to hide my feelings and play the part of the perfect sister. I couldn’t let one typo destroy everything. The thought was like a bucket of ice water. My spine straightened, my legs found their strength, and my brain cleared of the fog of lust. I shot to my feet and held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Stop! I don’t know why you’re suddenly acting this way, but we are brother and sister! We can’t do this!” Timothy stared at me. He gently took my wrist and guided my hand to his cheek, his eyes blazing with a desperate, wild light. “But I don’t want to be your brother!” “I feel—” It was strange. I had dreamt of this moment for years, fantasized about him finally returning my feelings. But now that it was happening, all I wanted to do was run. I couldn’t let our relationship reach a point of no return. I couldn’t tear this family apart. I cut him off, my voice sharp and cruel. “Actually, there was no typo in my message.” He froze, his eyes lighting up like a puppy waiting for a treat. Until I delivered the final blow. “I sent it to the wrong person.” He went rigid. His grip on my wrist slackened. I pulled my hand free. The movement was slight, but it made him stumble, his lips turning pale. I grabbed my bag from the sofa and rushed to the door. “I’m sorry about tonight,” I said, not looking back. “Please don’t say anything. I don’t want him to find out. He gets so jealous, and then I’m the one who has to calm him down.”

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I’d made Caleb angry. So angry that nothing I did could fix it. Even when I told him I was sick, he wasn’t worried like he used to be. After I got off the train, I called him. “Caleb? I’m in Seaport City for a heart check-up. Can you… can you take me to the hospital?” His voice was a razor’s edge. “Your heart condition was fixed years ago. Leo, stop playing the victim!” A dull ache bloomed in my chest. “It’s just a follow-up,” I whispered. He let out a cold laugh. “Fine. You wait there.” I curled up in a corner of the train station and waited. And waited. Until my heart gradually slowed to a stop. And Caleb… he never came. 01 Before I closed my eyes for the last time, I never imagined I would die so suddenly, so unceremoniously, in a train station waiting hall. All I felt then was a deep, pulling drowsiness. I’ll just rest for a little while, I thought. Just a little while, and then I would see Caleb. I pictured him standing over me, scolding me for not staying put at home, for running off to Seaport City to cause more trouble. I slowly closed my eyes, rehearsing my excuses for needing him to take me to the hospital. Because you were always the one who took me to my appointments. Because all the registration info is on your phone. Because if the doctors ask about my childhood surgery, you know the details better than I do. Yes, that was it. It had nothing to do with how much I missed you. Nothing at all. But when I opened my eyes again, I saw my own body, slumped in the corner of the loud, crowded waiting hall. My head was tilted against the wall, my eyelashes resting peacefully on my cheeks, perfectly still. As if I were just sleeping. Suddenly, my phone vibrated, slipping from my hand and clattering to the floor. I reached for it instinctively, but my hand passed right through it, grasping at nothing. I stared at my translucent fingertips. My mind, slow and thick, finally processed the truth. I was already dead. I had died quietly, invisibly, in the middle of a bustling train station. Died while waiting for Caleb to come and get me. The phone screen lit up, displaying a message Caleb had sent a minute ago. [Still waiting?] [Guess that proves you’re not sick at all.] [Leo, you lied again.] I didn’t lie. I said the words, but no sound came out. It was real. I wasn’t feeling well. I was born with a congenital heart defect, which was surgically corrected when I was six. But for the past three months, the dull ache in my chest had returned, along with occasional bouts of cyanosis—my lips and fingertips turning blue from lack of oxygen. If this had happened before… that incident, Caleb would have been frantic with worry. He would have rushed me to the hospital without a second thought. But he didn’t trust me anymore. He was convinced I was a manipulator, someone who would do anything to get what I wanted. Because I’d been frail my whole life, Caleb had become a surrogate parent by the time he was a teenager. He was mature, serious, and meticulously protective. He worried if I might get hurt, if I might catch a chill. He controlled the thermostat in my room, the layers of clothes I wore when I went out. A single cough, a slight frown from me, and he would be on high alert. I basked in his attention, his care. I was spoiled by it. I would cling to his side and declare petulantly, “I’m never getting married.” Then I’d wrap my arms around his waist, squeezing tight. “And you’re not allowed to get married either, Caleb. You have to stay with me forever!” He would just laugh and ruffle my hair, his voice soft. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But then, seeing my pout, he’d quickly relent. “Alright, alright. I’ll wait until after you’re married. How about that?” I wouldn’t say anything. I’d just tilt my head back and gaze at him, wishing that moment could last forever, but also secretly hoping for something to change. Something did change. Just not in the way I’d imagined. I should have looked at you longer then, I thought, staring at my own corpse. I never even got to see him one last time. People streamed past me, their suitcases rattling on the floor, but no one gave my body a second glance. A person sleeping in a waiting room was the most normal thing in the world. Just then, I saw a small hand reach down and pick up my phone. 02 It was the little girl who had been sitting next to me. While I was still conscious, we had chatted for a bit and exchanged nicknames. She called me “the pretty boy,” and I called her “cutie-pie.” Cutie-pie looked at the lit-up screen, seeming to read the messages. But at only five years old, she didn’t know many words. She frowned, then looked at me with her big, serious eyes for a long moment. Finally, she placed the phone back in my hand. “Pretty boy,” she whispered, as if not to wake me, “you dropped your phone. You should hold it tight.” When I didn’t respond, she scampered back to her mother’s arms. A few minutes later, the phone buzzed again. Caleb’s name flashed on the screen. [I’m at City General already.] [If you want to come, take a cab yourself.] But you told me to wait. Why aren’t you coming? A sudden thought struck me. Is Caleb the one who’s sick? The thought propelled me upwards. My spirit shot through the air, and in an instant, I was at City General Hospital. The first person I saw was Caleb. He was wearing a dark gray, bespoke suit, his back to me as he stood by a glass wall, talking on the phone. He looked as handsome and composed as ever, completely unshaken. I floated closer, planning to give him a little scare, when I heard him say, “The doctor is examining Finn now. It should be nothing serious, don’t worry.” Finn? What’s he doing here? The next second, the door to the examination room opened. Caleb hung up and walked over. “Are you okay?” he asked the person who came out. “Caleb, the doctor said I’m fine,” Finn said, grabbing Caleb’s hand and frowning. “But I still feel sick. Will you stay with me?” That drama queen. He’s faking it! I thought, so furious I could have screamed. I swooped forward to throttle him, but my hands passed straight through his neck. I was trapped between them as I saw Caleb’s lips curve into the faintest of smiles. “Of course,” he said, his voice gentle. Caleb was tall and built, with sharp features and intense, cold eyes. When he wasn’t speaking, he had an intimidating air about him. But whenever he smiled at me, I felt he was the kindest person in the world. He hadn’t smiled at me in a long time. “But,” Caleb’s gentle expression faded slightly. “Leo is coming over later. I need to be here for his heart check-up.” A flash of resentment crossed Finn’s face before he quickly masked it with a smile. “Caleb, you’re the best, kindest person I know. Leo isn’t even your real brother, and after how he lied to you, you’re still so good to him.” The mention of me seemed to trigger something in Caleb. His face darkened. “This is the last time,” he said. “If he ever pulls a stunt like this again, I’m done with him.” I hovered in the middle of the stark white corridor. A cold draft from the window passed right through me. Strange. Why does my heart still hurt? “It really is the last time,” I murmured to the empty air. “Caleb.” “I won’t bother you again…” Because I think I’m already dead. Finn, satisfied with Caleb’s answer, tugged his arm toward the exit. Before they reached the door, Caleb’s phone rang. I floated to his side as he answered. “Hello, Mr. Kane,” a voice on the other end said. “I was wondering, have you heard from Leo?” 03 “Leo is no longer my brother.” Recognizing the voice, Caleb’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “I hope you’ll stop using him as an excuse to contact my family.” The caller was my birth mother. Maybe it was the illness, or maybe it was the guilt, but she was silent for a moment before her voice came back, weak and choked with tears. “It was my fault. I never should have… switched Leo and Finn all those years ago. But Leo is innocent. Can’t you… can’t you treat him like you used to?” It was a cliché straight out of a soap opera. I was the wrong son, the cuckoo in the Kane family’s nest. I was born with a severe congenital heart defect. My birth mother, afraid I wouldn’t survive, had secretly swapped me with the Kanes’ newborn son. It wasn’t until she was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer that she confessed the truth. She had dragged Finn to the gates of the Kane estate, kneeling and sobbing. “I was wrong! And now I’m paying for it! I’m giving Finn back to you… please, just let me see Leo. He’s my real son!” But when she finally saw me, she’d said, “The Kanes paid for your treatment, so you didn’t lose out. You had twenty years of luxury. Now it’s Finn’s turn.” I wasn’t hurt. She was right, after all. The second night after Finn moved in, he came to my room, feigning reconciliation. He said he would beg our—his—parents to let me stay. Like a fool, I blushed and told him, “I want to stay too. But… not as Caleb’s brother anymore.” And so, I confessed to Caleb. I told him I was both heartbroken and relieved. I told him I’d known for years that what I felt for him was far more than brotherly affection. I told him I wanted to be with him forever. I watched him, my heart pounding with a mix of terror and hope. But his face was a mask of cold disappointment. “Hah,” he sneered. “Be with me forever? You mean you want to stay in the Kane family and live a life of comfort forever.” He pulled a small voice recorder from his pocket. My voice filled the air, speaking words I’d said to Finn the day before. But they were all wrong. It was my voice, but twisted into something ugly. “I have a way to stay. If I can get with Caleb, the Kanes will never kick me out. I was always so close to him on purpose. Now, it’s finally time to use him.” The wail of an ambulance siren outside the hospital doors ripped me from my memory. An ER doctor rushed past, accidentally bumping into Caleb. “Sorry,” the doctor said over his shoulder. “Got a cardiac arrest coming in, sorry for bumping you.” Caleb paused for a second, then shook his head, accepting the apology. He turned his attention back to the phone. “You want me to treat him like I used to? You mean watch him pretend to be innocent and pitiful while he uses me all over again?” A cruel laugh escaped his lips. “I guess cheap tricks run in the family. Otherwise, how could he even think of confessing to his own brother?” A nurse’s voice suddenly cut in from the background of the call. “Bed 3, if you don’t pay the hospital bill, we’re going to have to stop her medication…” Caleb heard it, and his voice became hard with certainty. “He didn’t come here for a check-up. He came to get money from me for you, didn’t he?” Without waiting for an answer, he hung up. He immediately opened his messages and started typing. [Leo, don’t bother coming.] [I’m not giving you a single cent.] I didn’t come for your money. I’ll never ask you for money again. Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, I took a step back. I wanted to put some distance between us. Because I could feel it. He truly, deeply disliked me. So much that he could only imagine me as the worst kind of person. “He’s not coming. Let’s go.” When he got no reply from me, Caleb stalked out of the building, fuming. As he got into the car, the ambulance screamed past them, pulling up to the entrance. A gurney, covered by a white sheet, was wheeled inside. Caleb saw it in the rearview mirror, frowned, and looked away. The Rolls-Royce began to move, but just as it reached the hospital gate, the driver stopped. Someone was knocking on the rear window. Caleb lowered it to see the same ER doctor who had bumped into him earlier. “Can I help you?” he asked. 04 “Excuse me, I think this might be yours?” The doctor held out a cufflink. Matte platinum framing a perfectly cut piece of black onyx. It was the birthday gift I had given Caleb last year. He recognized it instantly. “Yes, it is.” He took it. “Sorry about that,” the doctor said. “It must have caught on my coat when I bumped into you. It fell right into my pocket.” Caleb closed his fist around the cufflink, nodded his thanks, and raised the window. The car moved on. On the way, Finn chattered away, trying to make conversation. Caleb was mostly silent, offering only short, clipped replies. The hand holding the cufflink never opened. I sat on the far side of the back seat, looking past the babbling Finn at Caleb’s profile. I wondered if he was remembering his birthday last year. The cufflinks were from a famous independent designer, and they were absurdly expensive. I wanted to buy them with my own money, so for six months before his birthday, I had worked day and night, painting and selling every piece I could create. At the stroke of midnight, I snuck into his room. He was frowning over a financial report, but his face broke into a smile the moment he saw me. “Be serious. No smiling,” I commanded, standing before him. I ordered him to close his eyes. He obeyed, but the corners of his mouth were still turned up, refusing to be contained. The room was silent. I stared at his handsome face and felt my mind go blank. My ears roared with a sound I couldn’t place—his heartbeat, or mine. “Leo?” Caleb’s voice was soft. He must have gotten tired of waiting. Flustered, I thrust the velvet box into his hands. “You can open your eyes now.” He opened it, and his surprise was genuine and bright. “Help me put them on,” he said with a grin. I took one out, but my fingertips were trembling. I shoved the box and the cufflink back into his hands, mumbled, “Happy birthday,” and fled from the room. Back in my own bed, my mind replayed the scene over and over. One moment I was sure I hadn’t hidden my feelings well enough, the next I was convinced I’d acted like a clumsy child. A soft knock came at my door. Caleb came in, pulled me out from under the covers, and said fondly, “What are you running for?” I looked up at him, wanting to say, You have no idea, but the words wouldn’t come. He handed me a large gift box. Inside was a custom set of paints I had wanted for ages, along with a vintage paintbrush. Either one was worth far more than the cufflinks. Outside, the spring night air of Seaport City drifted in, carrying the rich, heady scent of magnolia blossoms. It was so thick it felt like it was smothering me. “Do you like it?” Caleb asked, playfully messing up my hair. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. His gaze was so pure, so unguarded. “I love it,” I whispered. The Rolls-Royce pulled into the Kane estate, driving down the long, tree-lined lane to the main house. Mom was waiting at the door. “How is he? Is Finn alright?” she asked, her face etched with worry. Caleb assured her he was fine. Finn put on his act again, clinging to Mom and complaining that he still felt awful. She offered a few awkward words of comfort before sending him off to rest. But Mom’s worried expression didn’t fade. “Mom, is something wrong?” Caleb asked. She pressed a hand to her chest. “I know Finn is fine, but… my heart is racing. I have this terrible feeling.” “Do you think… do you think something’s happened to Leo? The place he’s staying now… it might be cold. That’s not good for his heart. Caleb, please, will you go and bring him home?”

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The moment I found my boyfriend’s private account, he had just posted a new thread: What are some good cities for a couple’s getaway? As a joke, I anonymously recommended a historic town upstate that I’d always wanted to visit but had never gotten the chance. Ten minutes later, he replied to my comment. “Thanks, but my little girl and I already went there for the midsummer festival this year.” “She didn’t like it.” 1 My finger froze over the screen. I clicked again on the profile picture—a jumble of random numbers and code—and scrolled through his feed. There weren’t many posts, but every single one was undeniable proof that this was my boyfriend, Bob. The custom watch I’d given him. The unique hydroponic plant on his office desk. My own hand, wearing our anniversary ring, from a photo taken on our fifth year together… I took a steadying breath and reread his reply. My little girl. I was two years older than Bob. He had never, not once, called me his little girl. And the midsummer festival… This year, during the festival, he and his team were on a business trip. He’d been so busy he hadn’t even called. I calmly messaged my assistant, asking her to pull the list of everyone from the tech department who went on that trip. Three minutes later, I had my answer. Chloe. The only female intern on the list. A “little girl” who had just graduated from college a year ago. Of course, it was her. My mind flashed back to last night, when I’d brought up taking a vacation next week to unwind. The massive project he was leading was finally wrapping up, and the coming week was supposed to be his first real break. But before I could even finish my sentence, he’d looked up from his computer screen and said flatly, “I have another business trip next week. No time.” “If you want to go, just go with your friends.” In six years together, it was the first time he had ever refused to take a vacation with me. Ever since we started working at the same company, we had always synced our annual leave. And until I found his private account, until I saw that post, I had clung to a sliver of hope that he was just planning a surprise for me. “Director Hayes, VP Barry submitted his vacation request three days ago,” a colleague from HR informed me. “Also on leave next week are the VP of Operations, someone from Legal, and… Chloe, the intern from the tech department. She’s taking a week of sick leave.” A bitter, silent laugh escaped my lips. Whenever Chloe’s name came up, people would pause, their voices trailing off. The day she started, rumors that she was the niece of a board member at corporate headquarters had spread like wildfire. Everyone treated her like a princess just there to pad her resume. Only Bob had put on a show of impartiality when he mentioned her to me. “She’s just an intern. They’re all the same in my eyes.” But over the past year, the “special treatment” he gave her had become painfully obvious. He’d worn the red string bracelet she gave him behind the custom watch I’d gifted him, claiming she’d gotten it blessed at a monastery and it was just for good luck. He’d placed the stuffed animal she gave him in the most prominent spot on his desk, insisting that everyone in the department got one and he didn’t want to be accused of singling her out. He forgot our six-year anniversary for the first time, yet he remembered that the next day marked Chloe’s 100th day at the company and had already booked a table at her favorite restaurant. And every time I questioned him about these things, he would dismiss it as me being paranoid. “Given who she is, it’s only natural for me to look out for her a little more.” “It’s just office politics, Claire. You’re a director, you should understand how this game is played.” It was because I understood all too well that I had let it slide, again and again. Until today, when I saw this post—this irrefutable proof. If before I had only sensed his heart slowly drifting away, now, I knew it was time to make a clean break. I sat in my office, numb, for the rest of the afternoon, then went home to wait for Bob to finish his overtime. “I saw your leave request at HR,” I said, lounging on the chaise. I heard his footsteps halt just inside the door. “You were investigating me? That’s my private information.” His voice was laced with anger. “Is it?” I said without looking up. “Does your ‘private information’ also include your little girl?” 2 In the six years we’d been together, I had rarely used such a tone with him. I remember when he first joined the company. I was already a team lead, having built a reputation for being efficient, decisive, and for keeping my professional and private lives strictly separate. Back then, he would hold me and laugh, saying that everyone else only saw my tough exterior, but only he knew my softer, more passionate side. From college until now, I had given him so much of that softness. So much that, eventually, he started to take it for granted. Since he no longer valued it, I no longer needed to offer it. “What’s the matter? You have the guts to do it, but not to admit it?” I stood up, facing the man I had loved for six years. The air grew thick with tension. Bob turned his face away, refusing to meet my eyes. “Next month, there’s a chance I could be transferred to the corporate headquarters overseas.” After a long silence, he finally spoke. I raised an eyebrow, setting my water glass down. “And what does that have to do with you cheating?” Bob’s brow furrowed in annoyance, clearly displeased with my choice of words. “What does it have to do with it? Claire, this is a special promotion, a once-in-three-years opportunity. Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve put in just to get on Chloe’s good side?” He sighed, his voice taking on a martyred tone. “Can’t you be more understanding for once? Can’t you see how tired I am?” What a magnificent, self-serving excuse. He wanted to use Chloe and her board-member uncle as his personal rocket to the top, but he also didn’t want the stain of being a cheater. So he was still trying to argue his way out of it. “In that case, you should go straight to your ‘little girl’ and ride your coattails to success,” I said with a faint smile. “Bob, I wish you all the best.” “Claire, you—!” His face flushed with humiliation, but as his eyes met my unflappable expression, he faltered. There wasn’t a single trace of sadness on my face. Just the calm, detached air of someone tossing out a bag of trash. I knew exactly what he was thinking. My indifference was bruising his ego. “Do you really not know why I’ve been trying so hard to get close to her?” he finally spat out, trying to regain control. “I can put up with it for the sake of our future, but you’re getting hung up on every little thing.” “Claire, you’re just too controlling,” he said, his eyes scanning me critically. “It was just a private account, a few lines I wrote to play the part. Is that really worth interrogating me like this?” He was desperately trying to save face, to provoke a reaction from me. Every word was designed to paint me as the suspicious, unsupportive partner, while he was the one making noble sacrifices. Too bad for him, that act didn’t work on me. The word “understanding” was not in my vocabulary. “Controlling,” however, suited me just fine. “You’re right, I am controlling,” I said. “Controlling enough that I can no longer tolerate my cheating ex-boyfriend standing in the house I paid for in full.” “Bob, get out. The moving company I called will be here soon. You’re welcome.” And so, against the backdrop of the wind howling outside and Bob’s furious curses, my apartment was finally quiet again by three in the morning. To avoid office gossip, Bob had never made our relationship public. I’d understood his reservations at the time, but looking back, it was clear he had never considered me his only option. Sure enough, three days after I unilaterally ended things, Bob and Chloe started appearing together everywhere, making no effort to hide their new relationship. It was like a declaration of war. Then, right on schedule, a box of candy appeared on my desk—the brand Bob always ordered for me. I have severe hypoglycemia and tend to get dizzy when I overwork myself. It used to worry him sick, so every month, he would have a box of my favorite candy delivered directly to my office. I looked at this ghost of our dead relationship, sighed, and was about to put it away when Chloe pushed my door open and walked in. “Director Hayes, sorry, but it looks like a delivery was sent to the wrong person.” She sauntered in, her eyes glinting with triumph. “Those are the announcement gifts Bob is giving out to our colleagues. Can I have them back?” 3 In all my years, I’d never heard of an “announcement gift.” The way she was acting, you’d think they were getting married tomorrow and were rushing to hand out wedding favors. It was so brazen it was almost comical. “I see. Well, go ahead and take them,” I said with a flick of my chin toward the box, then turned back to my computer. She froze, clearly taken aback that her provocation had completely failed to land. “I know you’re Bob’s ‘ex-girlfriend,’” she said, putting heavy emphasis on the last word. “But he’s mine now. So, Director Hayes, please learn to keep your distance. Don’t try to take what isn’t yours.” So young, I thought to myself, a wry smile playing on my lips. “Miss Shen, are you aware that when he asked you out, he was still in a relationship with me?” Chloe’s face went pale. So, she knew. Of course, she knew. “And you think,” I continued, my voice level, “that I would actually fight you for a man who cheats on his girlfriend and then has the audacity to beg for a gift back to use as an ‘announcement present’ with his new flame?” I shook my head slowly. “A man like that is beneath me.” Her expression turned ugly. She opened her mouth to say something else, but I cut her off. “And frankly, Miss Shen, so are you. Barging into a director’s office without knocking shows a profound lack of professionalism and basic manners.” “How did someone like you even get hired here? Tina,” I called to my assistant, “please show her out.” I think Chloe was crying as she ran out of my office. I didn’t particularly care. I had more important things to deal with. Later, Sarah, the general manager of the tech department and a personal friend, came to see me. She brought up the overseas promotion, her voice hesitant. The tech department had two Vice Presidents: Bob and a woman named Diane, who was equally qualified and also eager for the transfer to headquarters. “I thought it would be a fair competition between them,” Sarah said, “but now with Bob being so public with Chloe, he must have everything locked down. It’s disgusting watching him get his way like this.” She pursed her lips in distaste. “Claire, I know tech talent is a priority, but you’ve been here for seven years. Based on seniority alone…” Sarah knew about Bob and me, and she knew the advantage Chloe gave him. Her words were a mix of concern and indignation on my behalf. “It’s fine. I trust that headquarters will make a fair decision,” I said calmly, flipping through a file. “Besides, I’m not in the running for that position, so there’s no conflict.” We chatted for a few more minutes before I dove back into my work. A little later, I happened to see Bob’s new post on my social feed. A picture of the entire tech department, each person holding a gift, celebrating his new relationship. Most of the comments were congratulatory, people being polite after receiving a gift, but I could only imagine what they were really thinking. A flood of messages came in from friends who knew the real story, all asking what had happened. I gave them a brief rundown, and just before leaving for the day, I called my assistant in to book a flight for me. The words had barely left my mouth when, just like Chloe, Bob threw my door open without knocking. “Why are you booking a flight there? Are you trying to go to headquarters too?” He stood there, aggressive and greedy, a bitter glint in his eyes. He looked nothing like the earnest, handsome young man who had pursued me all those years ago. “You’re not actually thinking of competing for the promotion, are you?” His gaze turned pitying. “Claire, headquarters just promoted your predecessor last year. There’s no way they’d choose you again this year.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You embarrassed Chloe today, and now she’s throwing a fit, saying she needs to ‘reconsider’ who gets her uncle’s support. Just play along with this, Claire. As soon as I get the transfer, I’ll dump her. Don’t you want to work at headquarters? Once I’m in, I can pull some strings and get you in, too. It’ll be easy.” He paused, a look of magnanimous compromise on his face. “Just bear with it a little longer. For me.” 4 He looked so self-satisfied, as if he were bestowing upon me some great act of charity. I felt like I was watching a monkey perform at a circus. It was utterly baffling. Bring me in? The moment his plane touched down overseas, I’d be getting a breakup text. I had no doubt about that. “Next time, install a new keycard lock on my door. I’m tired of uninvited people barging in,” I instructed my assistant before finally turning my gaze to Bob. “Bear with it?” I repeated. “VP Barry, are you suggesting I should stay here and ‘bear with it’ so I have a front-row seat to your cheating scandal? Or perhaps so I can broadcast it to the entire company?” “I told you, I’m not cheating!” I noticed that whenever I used the word “cheat,” he would have an outsized reaction. If he had just been honest and admitted he was dumping me to climb the corporate ladder, I might have respected his candor. But this—this was just pathetic. “Not cheating? You and Chloe have booked hotel rooms dozens of times in the past six months, and just last week you were looking at villas to live in together overseas.” I smiled, a cold, sharp thing. “Bob, did you really think you could fool me?” The color drained from his face. He had no idea I’d dug that deep. “Fine, Claire. If this is how you want to end our relationship, then there’s nothing more to say.” His tone suddenly shifted, becoming threatening. “I admit, I approached Chloe with a goal in mind. But after getting to know her, I’ve realized she’s so much better than you.” He puffed out his chest, a final, swaggering display of power. “You’re just pushing me to make our act a reality. And you… the next time you come to headquarters, you’ll be the one knocking on my door.” “You’re going to regret this.” I watched him walk away and simply laughed. After the holidays, headquarters sent formal invitations to both Vice Presidents, Bob and Diane, to attend a farewell banquet for the outgoing Director of Technology. Everyone knew it was more than just a farewell party; by the end of the night, the successor would be unofficially crowned. When I entered the venue, Bob was on Chloe’s arm, gliding through the room, schmoozing with executives, a confident smile on his face. The other candidate, Diane, stood off to the side, looking isolated and alone. “Claire? What are you doing here?” Bob finally spotted me, his hand tightening around his wine glass. I ignored his question, exchanging pleasantries with a few senior managers. Just days before, right before his flight, he’d sent me a text message. It was a long, patronizing farewell, saying he was off to a new life overseas and that I should learn to let go. He really thought I’d booked my flight just for show. Chloe’s expression soured when she saw me, but she whispered something to Bob, and soon the confident smirk returned to his face. The banquet began. My position as a director was higher than his, so my seat was naturally closer to the head of the table. After a few rounds of drinks, the outgoing director finally raised the topic on everyone’s mind. “So, have we decided on the new transfer from the branch office? Will they be my replacement, or are we promoting internally and bringing someone up from another department?” Bob froze, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. A strange, unsettling feeling began to creep over him. Could it be? Is Claire actually here to compete with me? He sat up straighter, his posture rigid with tension. Just then, the General Manager, seated next to me, spoke up. “Of course, we’re prioritizing talent from the tech department. We have two excellent candidates this year.” The GM smiled warmly in my direction. “Besides, our chairman’s own daughter has been overseeing the domestic branch. She’s been there long enough to have a sharp eye for talent, and she’s the one who recommended this year’s candidates.” He then turned directly to me. “So, Claire. Have you chosen a worthy successor for your father?” There was a sudden, sharp CRASH from Bob’s direction as his wine glass slipped from his hand. He had it all wrong. I wasn’t there to compete with him. I was there to decide his fate. Smiling, I nodded at the GM. “I have. And my father has already reviewed my choice. He approves.”

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After my arranged-marriage husband went blind, I started walking around the house in my lingerie. Sometimes, nothing at all. He would just sit there on the sofa, a picture of calm silence. But the tips of his ears would always turn pink, and sometimes, he’d get a random nosebleed. Then one day, I heard his thoughts. 【Should I tell my wife I can actually see again?】 【God, her waist looks so damn soft.】 【I wonder what it would feel like to hold…】 【Her legs are so long.】 【I wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around my shoulders…】 “Stop it!” I lunged forward and clamped my hand over his mouth. 1 I stumbled home from the club, exhausted in body and soul. My father was sitting on the sofa, arms crossed, with a serene smile on his face. “I have some wonderful news.” “What?” “The company’s bankrupt.” I stared at him. “…Dad, has the grief driven you insane?” “Don’t be silly. I’m saying it’s a blessing in disguise.” “What kind of blessing?” I had a very bad feeling about this. “The Thorne family wants to arrange a marriage.” The Thornes? They only had one son. Adrian Thorne. But he’d been in a car accident a few months ago. He was blind. I was supposed to marry a blind man? No way. I wasn’t done living my life yet. “So you’re selling your daughter?” I looked at him like he was the enemy. “Dad, I’m a mess. I cheat, I’m fickle, I’ll bring shame to their family and they’ll break my legs. Besides, Adrian Thorne is blind—” “How dare you speak about your future husband that way?” my father roared. Three days later, I was practically shoved into the wedding car. At the ceremony, the officiant asked, “Mr. Adrian Thorne, do you take Miss Gigi Carter to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The man before me was devastatingly handsome, with deep-set eyes and a cool, distant air. The perfectly tailored black suit made him look like a star from a classic movie. “I do,” he said, his voice flat and cold. Ugh. Jerk. Ice block. You’ll never have me! Who cares if you’re handsome? The officiant turned to me. “And do you, Miss Gigi Carter, take Mr. Adrian Thorne to be your lawfully wedded husband?” “I DO NOT!” I screamed. “I DON’T, I DON’T, I—mmph!” A bodyguard standing behind me clamped a hand over my mouth. The officiant didn’t miss a beat, maintaining his professional smile. “Excellent. It seems the couple is in perfect agreement.” 2 That night, I was tossed onto the wedding bed, still trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. I’d cursed my father until my throat was raw, and I was just starting to drift off when the door creaked open. The sound of expensive leather shoes on the hardwood floor echoed in the silent room, each step a sharp tap against my eardrums. I was instantly awake. “Help! I’ve been sold against my will! Somebody help me!” “Gigi.” The man calmly adjusted his cuffs. His voice was like a cold winter rain, sending a shiver down my spine. “What do you want?” I watched, wide-eyed, as he moved closer. Help! Isn’t he supposed to be blind? Why is he walking so steadily? Where’s his cane? “Adrian! Please, let me go! You don’t like me, I don’t like you! It’s perfect! I can set you up with my best friend! She’s gorgeous and sweet, seriously!” I was practically begging. His face was now only inches from mine, his features radiating a cool indifference. His dark eyes, though supposedly unseeing, felt intensely focused, filled with a dangerous pressure. “But we’re already married,” he stated simply. He straightened up, reaching out as if to pat my head. I flinched away. “So what? We can get a divorce!” “But your father’s company needs the capital.” I froze. Right. If I went back now, the house, the cars—everything would be gone. I’d be in debt for the rest of my life. A shudder ran through me. My expression changed in an instant. “Oh! I was just kidding! Of course I’m happy to marry you! I mean… you’re so—” Rich. The word echoed silently in my head. Fine. Whatever. It was just a marriage. A husband I didn’t have to do anything for. Once my dad’s company was back on its feet, I could just leave. It was a perfect plan. I stopped struggling and flashed Adrian a brilliant smile. “Well then… hubby.” His entire body went rigid. “Don’t… call me that.” “Oh?” I leaned into it. “Hubby, hubby, hubby!” Then an idea struck me. “Since this is just a business arrangement, we need some ground rules. Rule number one: you can’t touch me. I get the bed, you get the couch!” “We have guest rooms,” Adrian said, rubbing his temples with a hint of weariness. “Then you sleep in a guest room!” 3 I woke up the next morning to find Adrian already gone, presumably to the office. So dedicated, even though he’s blind. How does he even work? As I was pondering this, I realized I was hot. The thermostat read 102 degrees. I searched everywhere for the remote. Where was it? “Hey Siri! Turn on the A/C!” Silence. “Alexa! Turn on the A/C!” Still nothing. Furious, I tore off all my clothes in a fit of frustration and flopped onto the sofa, falling back asleep. I was dead to the world when the front door suddenly opened. The familiar footsteps approached. I jolted awake. “Wait! Don’t turn on the lights! I’m not wearing anything!” All I had on was my underwear. Too late. Click. The lights flashed on. Adrian stood in the doorway, his gaze unfocused. Oh, right. I forgot. He can’t see. Heh. Relaxed, I sank back onto the couch. “You’re back. Good, hurry up and make dinner. I’m starving.” “You haven’t eaten all day?” For some reason, Adrian seemed… uncomfortable. His eyes darted away from me. He can’t see, and he’s still this shy? I decided to tease him. I padded barefoot across the floor and stood right in front of him, my body almost brushing against his. “Hubby, do you think I’m beautiful?” I took his hand and placed it on my waist. Adrian’s pupils constricted. A dark blush crept up his neck and flooded his face. “Beau… beautiful,” he stammered, turning his head away. “Tch. What’s the point? You can’t even see,” I said, disappointed, and turned to leave. Adrian’s confused voice followed me. “Can’t see? Who told you I can’t—” He stopped himself. “Right. The car accident. I’m blind.” “Well, you should get that fixed,” I called over my shoulder as I headed upstairs for a shower. After my shower, I was about to put on a robe, but then I remembered: no security cameras, and a husband who couldn’t see. Why bother? Sleeping naked was just too comfortable. Oh! Right! I pattered back downstairs and found Adrian sitting on the sofa. “Turn on the AC, I can’t figure it out. I’m dying of heat.” No reply. I looked down and saw him sitting there, perfectly still, the tips of his ears bright red. His head was bowed, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Did you hear me?” I reached out to grab his collar. Suddenly, a trickle of dark red blood dripped from his nose. ? 【Should I tell my wife I can actually see again?】 Wait. Who was that? Adrian? What did he just say? No, his lips didn’t move. I frowned, confused. 【But God, her waist looks so damn soft.】 【I wonder what it would feel like to hold…】 ? Am I hearing Adrian’s thoughts? 【Her legs are so long.】 【I wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around my shoulders…】

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