The System finally caught on. I hadn’t broken the male lead. I hadn’t tortured him. Instead, I’d fallen in love with him, and we’d had a child. For that, I was forcibly ejected from the mission world. But now, it’s back. 【Your son is a violent, twisted mess, and he’s blocking the heroine from taking her rightful place.】 The System’s voice echoed in my mind, cold and synthetic. 【You have to fix him. Straighten him out so the main storyline can proceed.】 When I returned, my sweet little boy was gone. In his place stood a cool, defiant teenager. I watched him from a distance, laughing and joking with a classmate. Lying piece of junk, I cursed the System silently. My son is just as sweet as I remember. Then, in a flash, I saw him grab the other boy’s head and slam it into the graffiti-covered wall. Before I could even process the shock, he was standing in front of me, a lazy, arrogant smirk playing on his lips. “Hey, beautiful. Can I get your number?” My jaw dropped. Brawling and hitting on girls? I grabbed his ear and twisted. “You little monster! I’m your mother!” 1 It had been three years in the real world since I was torn away. I never thought the System would contact me again. It told me my son, Liam, had become unhinged and violent. Not only was he preventing the designated heroine from taking my place, but he had also hurt her multiple times. I believed the part about him hating her—that I could understand. But hurting her? I had my doubts. When I left, he was only five. A tiny, sweet-faced boy. The heroine had already made her appearance back then. What could a five-year-old possibly do to a grown woman? “I’ll go back,” I told the System, my voice firm. “But on one condition. I get to stay there. Permanently.” A long, crackling silence followed before it finally conceded, with a single, unbending rule: I was forbidden from interfering with the love story between the male and female leads. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Twelve years had passed in this world. A stack of high school textbooks sat on the desk in front of me. I fumbled inside the desk, my fingers closing around a small compact mirror. The face staring back was young, fresh, and completely unfamiliar. I forced a smile. “System, can’t you just make me a teacher? It would be so much easier to get the mission done.” The System’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 【Oh, I’m sure. Easier to complete the mission, or easier to seduce the male lead again?】 【I’m warning you,】 it continued, 【Don’t even think about it. Ethan belongs to the heroine.】 I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to remind me. I’m over him.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He’d only married me back then because of our son, out of a stubborn sense of duty. He’d never once said he loved me. Whatever fledgling feelings might have been there were surely eroded by twelve years of absence. My only focus now was my son. The System informed me he was on the basketball court, and my heart hammered with excitement as I rushed over. I couldn’t wait to see what my clingy, adorable little boy had grown into. I spotted him before I even set foot on the court, a tall, impossibly cool teenager who commanded attention without trying. His handsome face was a perfect echo of my own, especially his eyes. Recognition hit me like a tidal wave. A swell of pride filled my chest. “See, System? Look how gorgeous my son is. I make good-looking kids.” I watched him walk over to a classmate, gently adjusting the boy’s collar. “And he’s so kind to his friends. You see? He’s not violent at all.” The next second, I watched Liam grab that same classmate by the back of the head and smash his face into the graffiti-splattered wall. The System’s voice was dry. 【Right. So very ‘kind.’】 2 I stood frozen, convinced my eyes were playing tricks on me. By the time I snapped out of it, Liam was standing right in front of me, radiating pure bad-boy energy. “Hey, beautiful. Can I get your number?” My mind short-circuited. Fistfights and now flirting? Without a second thought, I grabbed his ear and gave it a sharp twist. “You little monster! I’m your mother!” His face contorted in a pained grimace as he wrenched his ear free. “You’re crazy. Get help.” “Speaking of help,” I shot back, undeterred, “you’ve got a little birthmark on your left butt cheek. I used to draw a flower around it and take pictures. I’m sure you’ve seen them.” Liam’s expression shifted from annoyance to stunned disbelief. “Who the hell are you?” I sighed, letting my shoulders slump. “I really am your mom. Ever hear of time travel? That’s me. I’ve jumped forward from the past.” I held up my hands. “I know it sounds insane, but I’m not lying.” His eyes, a complex storm of emotions, stared at me for a long moment before he turned and walked away. I reached for him. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped, batting my hand away. The rejection stung. I stood motionless, watching his retreating back. He might believe me, but my sudden disappearance all those years ago had clearly left a deep wound. But time was on my side now. I would spend the rest of my life healing that wound. I made my way to the nurse’s office and found the student Liam had assaulted. His forehead was freshly bandaged. I took the opportunity to ask him what the fight was about. It turned out he’d accidentally knocked a cheap, childish-looking watch out of Liam’s hand and stepped on it. My breath caught. It had to be the Disney watch I’d given him for his fifth birthday. It was the last gift I ever gave him. To think he’d treasured it for over a decade… a lump formed in my throat. I paid for the student’s medical expenses and apologized profusely on Liam’s behalf. Once I was sure he wasn’t seriously hurt and wouldn’t press charges, I headed back to class. 3 The System had assigned me the identity of a new transfer student in her senior year, in a different class from Liam. After talking to a few classmates, I quickly learned that my son was the school’s reigning bad boy. Skipping class and getting into fights were his trademarks, and even the teachers were too scared to rein him in. “What about his father? Doesn’t he do anything?” I asked a girl sitting near me. “Ethan? Rumor is, he spoils Liam rotten. Lets him do whatever he wants.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I also heard Ethan has this woman he’s been seeing for over ten years, his old flame or something. But because Liam can’t stand her, they’ve never made it official.” Spoils him? That didn’t sound like Ethan at all. The Ethan I knew was a strict, almost unyielding father. He’d started Liam on multilingual lessons and all sorts of skill-based training courses before he was even in kindergarten. Whenever Liam came crying to me, begging for a break, Ethan would just lecture him. We fought constantly over how to raise our son. Well, I fought. He would just listen quietly and then do exactly what he’d planned anyway. A few times, I got so fed up I packed a bag for myself and Liam and stormed out. He’d just assume we were out for a little trip and come pick us up a day later without a hint of remorse. Had my disappearance changed him that much? If so, I was going to give him a piece of my mind. Veering from one extreme of parenting to the other—from iron-fisted discipline to total neglect—was just reckless. After school, I went to the mall and picked out a new, sleek watch for Liam. I spent all of the next day at school looking for him, but he never showed up. That evening, the System finally informed me that he’d gone off with a group of street racers to ride motorcycles. My head spun. He didn’t even have a driver’s license! What was he thinking? I rushed to the spot they used for their races, a winding mountain road, and arrived just as one race was ending. A chorus of cheers erupted as Liam was swarmed by a celebratory crowd. He pulled out a wad of cash and threw it into the air, sending everyone scrambling. I nearly ground my teeth to dust. Little brat. Then, a girl with a face full of filler slinked up to him, pressing the cigarette she’d been smoking to his lips. Liam, without a hint of disgust, leaned in to take a drag from her hand. 4 I finally pushed my way through the crowd and smacked the cigarette from the girl’s hand. “This isn’t for you,” I said, grabbing Liam’s wrist. “We’re going home.” He seemed dazed for a moment, letting me pull him a few steps before he came to his senses. “What are you doing here?” “Trying to keep you from getting yourself killed,” I hissed. The System had warned me about this group. A few of them had criminal records, including a heavily tattooed guy named Marco who had it out for Liam. He’d already tampered with Liam’s bike, planning to make him crash tonight. On these treacherous mountain roads, a crash like that would be fatal. Thankfully, I’d arrived before his race with Marco was scheduled to start. We’d barely taken another step when Marco himself blocked our path. “Win one race and you think you can just leave?” he sneered, his face a mask of aggression. “That’s not how it works.” He looked dangerous. I tried to de-escalate. “Sorry, we have a family emergency. He really can’t stay.” I tried to step around him, but one of his cronies moved to block me, his hand reaching out to shove me. In a flash, Liam yanked me behind him. He tossed a bank card at Marco’s feet. “Keep the winnings from the last race. Now tell your guys to get out of the way.” Marco let out a cold laugh, his eyes raking over me with a slimy gaze. “You want to leave? Fine. But first, she’s gotta make me happy.” Before the words were even fully out of his mouth, Liam’s fist connected with his face. The scene exploded into chaos. The guys who were friendly with Liam jumped into the fray, and a full-on brawl erupted. “I’ve already called the cops! Stop fighting!” I screamed, my voice lost in the pandemonium. Seeing he was losing the fight, Marco pulled a knife and lunged at Liam. Without thinking, I grabbed a heavy rock from the side of the road and slammed it against the back of Marco’s head. The wail of sirens cut through the night. Marco’s eyes widened as he stared at me, then he collapsed. I looked down at the blood on the rock and dropped it with a clatter. 5 I grabbed Liam’s arm, my voice trembling. “Is he… is he dead?” “Can I still run? Will they catch me?” “Liam, if I go to jail, will you visit me?” “It’s okay if you don’t. Just… just take care of yourself.” “And stop skipping school and fighting, okay? You have to study hard.” My rambling came to a halt, and I looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Can you… can you call me Mom?” Liam shot me a look that was pure, unadulterated exasperation. Then he turned and kicked the unconscious man on the ground. Marco, who had been utterly still a second ago, yelped and clutched his leg in pain. I blinked. This brat. He’d completely lost his childhood charm. The little boy I knew would have been crying and asking for a hug by now. This new version was just… a jerk. At the police station, a dozen or so of them were lined up against the wall, waiting for their parents to come bail them out. A few of the guys standing across from me started chatting. “You look like a good girl, but you’ve got guts,” one of them said with a grin. “You guys are pretty brave too,” I replied, trying to sound friendly. “Thanks for having my Liam’s back. I’ll treat you all to dinner sometime.” Their expressions immediately turned to ones of nosy curiosity. “So what’s the deal between you and Liam?” “I’m his…” “Sister,” Liam cut in before I could finish. My eyes lit up. Did that “sister” mean he was starting to accept me? I smiled and nudged his arm. “Liam, give me your hand.” He frowned. “What for?” “I have some candy for you. Want some?” He turned his head away, his voice cold. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t eat candy.” “Okay, fine. I’ll ask someone else then…” 6 I made a show of turning toward the other boys, and Liam immediately thrust his hand out in front of me. I couldn’t help but chuckle. This stubborn, awkward teenager was so much like his father. I took his hand, turned it palm-down, and gently fastened the new watch I’d bought around his wrist. “Do you like it?” He had turned back to face me at some point, his gaze fixed on the watch. For a split second, his eyes reddened. He pressed his lips together, and after a long moment, he held out his hand again. “Where’s my candy?” He really wants it? I thought, surprised. But he just said he didn’t eat candy. Feeling a pang of guilt, I gently closed his fingers into a fist. “I’ll buy you some as soon as we get out of here.” Just then, an officer called out our names. “You two can go. Your guardian is here to pick you up.” A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I leaned closer to Liam and whispered, “You didn’t tell your dad who I am, did you?” “No. He just thinks you’re a classmate.” I let out a breath of relief. “Good. Keep it that way. Don’t tell him.” Liam gave me a questioning look, the word why practically written across his face. I avoided his gaze and blurted out the first excuse that came to mind. “I’m still young. I’m not into older men.” He nodded thoughtfully, seeming to accept it. I followed him out of the station, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs. Standing by the curb was Ethan, dressed in a tailored black suit. Even from behind, his tall, powerful frame was as captivating as a magazine cover. My pulse quickened. Get a grip, I scolded myself. You can’t fall apart over a silhouette. Liam stopped and called out in a lazy tone, “Dad.” Ethan turned, and I immediately dropped my gaze to the pavement.

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In my fifth year of pursuing Daniel Lutz, I gave birth to his child through IVF. But his affection level, which had reached 99, not only refused to budge to 100 but began to fluctuate wildly. Dragging my weary, post-partum body to find him, I was stopped by a burst of cruel laughter from inside his study. “She has no idea the egg wasn’t even hers, does she?” “The second the kid was born, Daniel dropped her affection score straight to zero.” “So what if she finds out? She should be grateful she has a face so much like Lily’s.” Then, Daniel’s voice, laced with a bored sigh. “Playing with her for this long… I’m getting tired of it.” It was only then that the horrible truth crashed down on me. What I thought was my hard-won happy ending was nothing but a punchline. I turned away, my voice a hollow whisper to the System in my mind. “Arrange my death. I want a new world.” 1 Are you sure, Host? The System’s voice echoed in my mind. Your mother is very ill. If you start over in a new world, she might not live to see you succeed. A wave of bitter sorrow washed over me. Five years ago, to save my mother from cancer, I accepted this mission. At first, it was deceptively easy. I fell into the trap of Daniel’s charm, losing myself in his manufactured tenderness. But reality soon delivered a brutal slap. All because I moved a photo album of his long-dead first love, Lily, and failed to wear a red dress he’d laid out for me—Lily’s favorite color. For that, he abandoned me in the slums of a foreign country and took my passport. I was nearly stripped naked by a group of men before I escaped onto a street and was hit by a car. It was only from a hospital bed that I was able to call him. His voice was glacial. “If you didn’t look so much like Lily, do you think I would’ve ever given you a second glance? Consider this a small punishment. When you’ve learned your lesson, I’ll come get you.” That was just the beginning. He made me kneel up thousands of stone steps to a remote temple to pray for Lily’s soul. He had his friends strip me and abandon me at a ski resort on a freezing mountaintop. He kicked me, a non-swimmer, into the ocean, forcing me to retrieve a bracelet he’d dropped. He called it “testing my sincerity.” Then he’d turn around and laugh with his friends, placing bets on how many “pranks” it would take to make me finally give up and leave. A few months ago, everything changed. He softened, telling me he wanted a child with me. I watched his affection score soar and naively believed my suffering was finally over. Now, the laughter from his study was deafening. “Daniel, including the baby, that makes an even 100 pranks, right?” “I bet she still won’t leave. The kid might not be hers, but it’s yours, man. She’s put up with everything else. What’s one more lie?” “Totally. Every time you throw her a few affection points after a prank, she comes crawling back like a pathetic puppy wagging its tail.” Each word was a scalpel, carving open my heart. So, he knew. Daniel knew I was a Host, and he could manipulate my system’s affection meter at will. “These disgusting mission-runners… just watch. I’m going to break her.” “This is gonna be good.” Daniel’s voice, dripping with amused contempt, was the final blow that extinguished the last flicker of hope within me. I closed my eyes, forcing the tears back. A bitter smile touched my lips. “I’m sure,” I told the System. “Arrange my death. The sooner, the better. I’ll find a new target in a new world.” After the System confirmed, I returned to my hospital room and stared silently at the sleeping infant in the bassinet. To bring him into this world, I’d endured countless hospital visits, so many hormone injections that my stomach was a canvas of bruises. The memory of the thick needle piercing my body for the egg retrieval still made me shudder. And it was all for nothing. I was just an incubator for his dead girlfriend’s frozen eggs. “Elara, what are you doing out of bed?” Daniel and his friends strolled into the room. “We’re here to pack your things. The doctor said you can be discharged. Oh, right, I brought you some seafood chowder. You should eat.” His affection level flickered, then settled back at 99. But when I looked into his eyes, I saw no love. Only the same mocking cruelty I saw in his friends. They were waiting. Waiting for me to pretend I wasn’t deathly allergic to seafood and obediently eat it, just like I always did. I smiled and thanked him. But this time, I ignored the soup. I packed my own bag and walked out of the room first. “You can carry the baby,” I said over my shoulder. His smile froze, his eyes darkening instantly. One of his friends nudged him with a smirk, and he forced the smile back onto his face. “Of course. I’ll carry him.” 2 When we got back to the villa, a woman was standing in the center of the living room. She wore a red dress. Her hair was long, black, and straight, with perfect bangs. Her smile was a gentle curve. I froze. She was the spitting image of Lily. Even the dimple at the corner of her mouth was identical. “Elara, let me introduce you,” Daniel said smoothly. “This is Janice. I’m sponsoring her. She’s going to stay with us for a while as our… nanny.” His friends snickered, drawing out the word “nanny” with lewd insinuation. Daniel chuckled, his gaze fixed on the girl, his desire and satisfaction utterly undisguised. This was a familiar scene. Though he called me his girlfriend, Daniel never tired of collecting Lily’s substitutes, and he especially loved parading them in front of me. Last time, I was sick with a fever, and his friends brought him a substitute dressed as a nurse. As I burned up in my room, I could hear them together in the room next door. The time before that, he took me to a gala and picked the most Lily-like woman from a line-up of aspiring starlets. Afterward, he would always placate me. “You’re still the best one. The most like her.” Then he’d toss me a few affection points like a scrap of meat to a dog. And I, desperate and broken, would swallow my pain and force a smile as I saw his latest conquest out the door. He’d been more restrained while I was pregnant, but I knew he still had a mistress tucked away somewhere. And now, he couldn’t even wait a day to flaunt this new one in my face. “You’re good at making desserts, right? Janice loves them,” Daniel said, smiling at the girl beside him. “She’s allergic to mango, prefers chocolate. Use that expensive French chocolate, the one she likes. Oh, and Janice rescued a stray cat. She can bring it here to live with us.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude. “Daniel, I only mentioned that once. I can’t believe you remembered.” “Of course. When something is important to me, I pay attention.” The irony was so thick I could have choked on it. He could remember all that, yet he pretended not to see the hives that broke out all over my face every time I forced down seafood for him. He couldn’t remember that I had a deep-seated fear of cats after being badly scratched as a child. But then, I wasn’t important. I was just his favorite toy. That night, I went to our bedroom to change and found the two of them already in our bed. Janice was curled in Daniel’s arms, her face flushed an unnatural red. Daniel’s eyes were dark with a storm of passion. Seeing me standing there, he dropped all pretense. A lazy smirk played on his lips. “Janice didn’t have anything suitable to wear. The things in your closet fit her perfectly. You can sleep in the guest room tonight.” Janice pulled back a corner of the duvet, revealing the pale pink silk of my nightgown. Her smile was a triumphant, mocking slash. “I’m sure my sister won’t mind,” she purred. “This lingerie was never meant for her anyway,” one of Daniel’s friends chimed in from the doorway, leaning casually. “It belongs to whoever fits it best.” I understood his meaning. Every piece of clothing in that closet had been chosen by Daniel to match Lily’s taste. Now that someone who looked more like her had arrived, I was being replaced. “Go get some sleep, Elara,” Daniel said, his tone laced with that familiar, cruel amusement. He was so confident. “Don’t worry. In my heart, you’ll always be number one. You know how much I love you.” He was certain that with his affection score at 99, I wouldn’t dare say a word. I would just be his good little dog, grateful for any scrap of affection he threw my way. I did exactly as he expected. I turned and walked away without a word. The moment the door clicked shut, a series of messages lit up my phone screen. They were from Daniel’s group chat. “Didn’t you guys say bringing in a new girl right when she thought she was safe would be the ultimate mind-fuck?” “We practically did it right in front of her, and she still didn’t make a peep.” “Haha, Daniel, aren’t you planning something even bigger? You’ll never get rid of that leech.” “Shit, Daniel, wrong chat! Recall! Recall!” I watched as the messages vanished one by one. My breath hitched, and a sharp pain lanced through my numb heart. I used to believe that 99 was real. I was so happy, so terrified of losing it. I tiptoed around him, treasuring every rare crumb of kindness he offered. But it was all a lie. The rising affection score was just another tool to torture me. They were watching me like a play, entertained by my struggle and my pain. 3 A few minutes later, Daniel called. He wanted me to bring Janice a glass of milk. “You didn’t happen to look at your phone just now, did you?” he asked, testing me. “No,” I said, feigning ignorance. “I was about to check on the baby.” He sounded relieved. When I brought the milk, he even gave me a rare compliment. The next morning, the baby’s cries woke me. I rushed to the nursery to find him on the floor, having crawled out of his crib and fallen. He was screaming, his face red and tear-streaked. The baby bottle next to him was empty, and he was instinctively trying to suckle from it, clearly ravenous. Daniel stood by, looking completely helpless. Even though he wasn’t my biological son, the sight sent a pang of distress through me. I quickly prepared a bottle and picked him up to feed him. “What’s all that noise?” I looked up. Janice was leaning lazily over the second-floor railing, her silk nightgown hanging loosely, revealing a constellation of dark marks on her neck. “Oh, whoops. I forgot about the baby,” she said with a dramatic yawn. “It’s all Daniel’s fault. He kept me up all night.” She shot me a glance, her eyes glittering with smug satisfaction. “I really need to have a talk with him. I was hired as a nanny, but he can’t keep exhausting me like this.” She blushed, feigning shyness. She dangled a torn piece of silk over the railing and let it flutter to the floor. “Sorry, sister. Daniel got a little carried away and ripped your nightgown.” She giggled, waiting for my reaction. But I just held the baby, my face a blank mask. I didn’t even look at her. I had grown accustomed to silent endurance. The last time I’d shown any displeasure—spilling tea on one of his substitutes—Daniel had “punished” me. Believing his affection score was my lifeline, I had let him pour boiling water on my thigh. The skin there was now a permanent, puckered scar. After settling the baby, I went out to hire a proper, professional nanny. When I returned that afternoon with the new nanny, I found the baby asleep in his crib. But his face was an unnatural, flushed red, his features contorted not in peaceful slumber, but in pain. The experienced nanny’s face paled. She rushed forward, checked the baby, and gasped. “He’s been given a sleeping pill. A significant dose,” she whispered in horror. “And I think he’s having an allergic reaction. It looks like anaphylactic shock.” My heart seized. I scooped the baby into my arms. “We have to get him to a hospital. Now.” As I reached the front door, Janice blocked my path. “Where are you going, sister? And why are you taking the baby?” “You fed him sleeping pills? Are you trying to kill him?” The words tore from my throat, raw with fury. Janice flinched, her eyes darting to the baby’s discolored face. A flicker of panic crossed her features. “He wouldn’t stop crying! I just gave him a tiny piece. It just helps him sleep, what’s the big deal…? No, you can’t go! He’s fine! You’re just trying to tattle on me to Daniel!” I let out a cold laugh. I thrust the baby into the nanny’s arms, grabbed a fistful of Janice’s hair, and yanked. “Mrs. Davis, take a cab to the hospital. Go!” Janice shrieked in pain, flailing her arms. She knocked a glass off the coffee table. It shattered, and a shard flew up, slicing her cheek. “Stop!” Daniel’s voice was like cracking ice. He strode into the room, his eyes locking on the cut on Janice’s face. His chest heaved, a volcano of repressed rage about to erupt. He raised his hand to strike me, but hesitated, his eyes catching on my face—Lily’s face. Instead, he drew back his foot and kicked me, hard, in the abdomen. The force sent me flying. A tidal wave of agony engulfed me. Daniel glared down at me, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re just jealous of her face, aren’t you? I’ve been too nice to you lately. It’s made you arrogant.” He then turned, gently taking Janice’s arm, and led her away. 4 Mrs. Davis and I rushed the baby to the hospital. He was treated in time and was going to be fine. I, however, had to be admitted for a few days. The kick had torn open my C-section incision. Other than his affection score dipping and then climbing back to 99, Daniel had no reaction. When I returned to the villa, the front door was ajar. I could hear Daniel and his friends laughing inside. “She actually hit Janice! Can you believe it? I guess getting her score to 99 really did make her arrogant. At least it’s something new. The pathetic doormat act was getting boring.” “It’s a shame, though. Janice was the best look-alike yet, and now her face is ruined.” “Hey Daniel, you’re not even going to check on her? The kid’s in the hospital too, you know.” Daniel just smirked. “No need. With the affection score as leverage, she’ll come crawling back like the dog she is.” I felt a bitter mix of amusement and despair. He had no idea. I didn’t care anymore. I walked in, placed the baby’s medical report on the table in front of him without a word, and went upstairs. “Ooh, someone’s got an attitude. Aren’t you going to go smooth things over, Daniel?” “She’s the mother of your child now. She’s got more leverage. Gotta act like the lady of the house, right?” I ignored their jeers and shut my bedroom door, curling into a ball on the floor behind it. The tears I had held back for so long finally broke free, falling in heavy drops onto the hardwood. I cried out all the years of humiliation, grief, and pain. I cried until my eyes were dry and sore. Suddenly, the System’s voice returned. Host, your request has been approved. We can take you away immediately. Your next world has already been selected. I sat there, stunned, for a long moment. Then, fresh tears began to fall. But these were different. These were tears of relief, of liberation. “Good,” I whispered, and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. It should have been the most peaceful night I’d had in years. But in the middle of the night, I woke up choking on thick smoke. My eyes flew open to a terrifying sight. Flames were climbing the walls, licking greedily at the ceiling. Primal survival instinct surged through me. I covered my mouth and nose and ran. The moment I burst through the front door, I saw Daniel on the ground, gasping for air. He saw me, his face a mixture of shock and relief, which quickly turned to panic. “The baby! I think the baby is still inside!” he yelled. “Elara, get out of here! The fire’s too big, we can’t go back in!” My heart plunged. It felt like a giant hand was squeezing my throat, suffocating me. “It’s okay. I’ll go back. I know where he is,” I said, my voice steady. And without a second thought, I turned and ran back into the inferno. I gritted my teeth against the searing pain as flames kissed my skin and threw my body against the nursery door until it splintered open. The crib was empty. I stared, disbelieving. I searched the entire room, then the rest of the house, a frantic, desperate scavenger hunt. A cold dread washed over me. “Jasper! Where are you?” My voice was a raw, trembling croak, lost in the roar of the fire. I searched everywhere, but he was gone. As despair threatened to consume me, an image flashed in my mind, courtesy of the System. It was a view of the lawn below. Daniel and his friends were there, huddled together. “Move, let me see!” one of them said, snatching a pair of binoculars. “She’s still looking! She has no idea the baby’s not in there.” He laughed. “Man, Daniel, this is your cruelest prank yet. Cost you a whole villa, though.” Daniel just shrugged, a smirk on his face. “Whatever. I bet she still won’t leave me. She hasn’t completed her mission.” “I’ll take that bet. This is a new level of messed up. It’s psychological warfare.” The System broadcasted their casual cruelty directly into my mind. I stood there, surrounded by fire, an icy cold spreading through me that had nothing to do with fear. The flames illuminated my deathly pale face. My phone rang. It was Daniel. His voice was laced with amusement. “Sorry, Elara. The baby isn’t in there. And by the way, he isn’t yours. I used Lily’s eggs.” “You didn’t really think I fell in love with you, did you? I’ve been planning this little show for over a year.” “Surprise.” As his words landed, the affection score on my system interface plummeted from 99 to 0. This was his grand finale. To strip me of every last shred of hope. But I was about to disappoint him. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. Instead, I let out a soft laugh. “Yes,” I said. “Thank you. Thank you for finally setting me free.” I hung up the phone. “I’m ready,” I told the System. “Let’s go.”

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I’m dying. A ghost in life, a stray spirit in death. But I’ve always been considerate. The thought of my body being left undiscovered in my apartment for too long is… unsettling. The smell, the decay, the rot, the maggots. I don’t mind messing up my own place, but to haunt the building’s property values and ruin my neighbors’ appetites? That’s a sin I’m not willing to commit. So I called my ex-boyfriend, the one I hadn’t spoken to in seven years. “When I die, could you do me a favor and collect my body?” Silence stretched for a long, heavy moment on the other end. Then, his voice, cold as ice. “Sure. My dogs are hungry.” 1 I lowered the phone, a hollow ache of disappointment settling in my chest. In this age of instant gratification, you can get food delivered, errands run, even a designated driver at 3 a.m., but you can’t find a service for posthumous body collection. I’m dying. The kind of dying there’s no coming back from. After the initial shock, the terror, the rage, and the complete breakdown, I’ve found a strange sort of peace with it. I have no family, no one to lean on. Death is just… a change of address for my loneliness. But the logistics are a nightmare. I’m terrified of dying at home and no one finding me for weeks. My body, left to the slow, merciless work of decomposition. The putrid smell, the liquefying flesh, the swarming maggots… an unholy stench creeping through the vents. My corpse would probably only be discovered when the entire floor of the apartment building was under a full-scale biohazard assault. That would be too late. Call it vanity, but I don’t want my last public appearance to be a grotesque spectacle for a crowd of gawking strangers. And call it civic duty, but I refuse to turn my home into a house of horrors, a stain on the neighborhood that tanks property values and makes people lose their lunch. The housing market is already a disaster; the last thing the mortgage-slaves in this building need is more bad news from me. I could, of course, check into a hospital and pass away peacefully under the sterile, fluorescent lights. But I can’t stand the smell of antiseptic. So, I needed someone. Someone to make sure that, after my last breath, I was turned to ash as quickly as possible. Clean, efficient, and sanitary. After turning it over and over in my mind, only one name surfaced from the wreckage of my past: my ex-boyfriend. I fished his number out of my blocked list and dialed, praying he hadn’t changed it. It connected. I could hear the soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing, but he said nothing. “Leo… Leo?” “It’s… It’s Hazel…” I wasn’t sure if he still had my number, so I had to introduce myself. Click. He hung up. Yep, that was definitely Leo. Anyone else would have at least muttered a “wrong number.” Swallowing my pride, I dialed again. This time, it rang a dozen times before he picked up. Fearing he’d hang up again, I rushed out the words in a single, desperate breath, like a speed-reader rattling off a list. “Don’t hang up! I know you hate me, but I’m dying! For real! Can you just pick up my body? Think about it, watching me die right in front of you… it’d be satisfying, wouldn’t it?” The words tumbled out, and this time, he didn’t hang up. After seven long years, a voice that was both achingly familiar and chillingly strange came through the line. “You’re only dying now?” he scoffed. “You’ve been dead to me for years.” The words were meant to sting, but I was a woman who no longer feared death. What power could mockery possibly hold? “Your wishing me dead was just that—a wish. This time, it’s real. I’ve got three months, tops. You should treasure this opportunity to see me off yourself. You’ll never get another chance like this, no matter how much money you throw around.” I pleaded my case like a seasoned salesman pushing a once-in-a-lifetime deal. “Hahahaha!” A sudden, harsh laugh erupted from him. “Hazel, you really will stop at nothing to get my attention, won’t you?” His voice was dripping with schadenfreude. “You might have dropped off the face of the earth for me, but I’ve kept tabs on you. I know things went south. Your family went bankrupt, your father took a nosedive off a skyscraper, your mother ran off with her boy toy, and you got divorced. Thrown out by Julian Shaw. All alone now, aren’t you? No one in your corner. It must be pathetic.” He paused, letting the venom sink in. “I’m starting to think you’re a black widow. Everyone who gets close to you ends up miserable. But the ones who leave you? They thrive. Look at me. Successful, respected, on top of the world.” Even through the phone, I could picture the sneer twisting his features, the bitter triumph in his eyes. “So now you’ve hit rock bottom and you come crawling back to me? Playing the dying swan to get my sympathy? You think I still have a soft spot for a two-faced, manipulative woman like you? Think again. Your sob story doesn’t work on me. Because if you actually dropped dead in front of me, the only thing I’d do is chop you up and feed you to my dogs.” I gave it a moment of serious thought. Being dog food was grim, but… it was still better than rotting into a puddle of maggot-infested goo, right? Besides, I’ve always liked dogs. “Could you make it a Border Collie? I’m not really a fan of Huskies,” I suggested earnestly. “You…” He was speechless. He must have thought I was mocking him, because he hung up again. I didn’t call a third time. There’s a limit to even my reserves of humiliation. I started searching for crematoriums on my phone, wondering if they took adPitt bookings. But then, he was at my door. Leo. He actually knew where I lived now. “The world turns, and the pauper can become a prince.” That was something Leo had told me back in college. He was always quoting those epic fantasy novels, telling me I was a “Level 10 beauty.” Reality had turned out to be stranger than any fantasy. It didn’t take thirty years, just seven. In seven years, Leo’s life and mine had completely inverted. Seven years ago, he was a poor college kid, scraping by on student loans. I was the wealthy heiress, born with a silver spoon. He had loved me with a desperate, all-consuming passion, loyal and humble as a knight serving his queen. And I had crushed him. Kicked him, played him, and thrown him away. “Leo, we’re not right for each other. We’re from different worlds.” “This was just a game to me, and honestly, I’m bored now.” “You didn’t actually think I’d marry you, did you?” “Hahaha! I couldn’t stand the embarrassment!” “Get out. Poverty doesn’t get to have an opinion on love.” I watched him break in front of me, saw the tears stream down his face as the fire in his eyes slowly flickered and died. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I had personally murdered the innocence and love within him. Seven years later, he was a self-made tech mogul. At an age when most rich kids were still living off their parents, he had built his own empire and landed on the Forbes list. He was mature, confident, powerful. And I was a ghost. The shine of the heiress was long gone, and now I lived in a cramped, 500-square-foot apartment in an old, rundown building. Jobless, friendless, family-less. And, most importantly, dying. I was asking him to collect my corpse. The story of us felt like a sick joke written by the devil himself. “You don’t look so good,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, one hand casually tucked in his pocket. “Tired.” He’d always been handsome, but now money had chiseled his features into something sharper, more magnetic. The Armani suit and the Vacheron Constantin on his wrist radiated a quiet, lethal success. A world away from the faded, washed-out clothes he’d worn through his sophomore year, the ones I’d tried to replace but he always insisted were too expensive. “Is it because the family money dried up? Having a tough time adjusting to being poor?” He was smiling that cruel, triumphant smile again, his eyes scanning my tiny, shabby apartment. “It’s small, but clean. I have to admit, I was kind of hoping you’d be living on the street.” I looked around the small space with a pang of affection. One room, a small living area. It was the third home I’d had in my twenty-five years. The smallest, the oldest, the most pathetic. Nothing like the mansion I grew up in, and certainly nothing like Julian’s sprawling estate. But it was the only place I’d ever felt safe. Truly warm. It was mine, bought with the last of my savings, money I had earned myself. I was content to die here. Which was exactly why I didn’t want my death to defile it. “Thank you for coming,” I said, opening a drawer and pulling out the deed to the apartment and a handwritten agreement. “I don’t have much left. This place is all I own.” “After I’m gone, please sell it for me. The money should be enough to cover a burial plot and the funeral expenses. Whatever’s left over… maybe a hundred grand or so… just donate it to a charity. I don’t have any family to leave it to, and I know it’s pocket change to you.” I laid out my final wishes calmly, but Leo’s face darkened with rage. He lunged forward, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me back against the wall. His face was inches from mine, his eyes blazing, his breath hot on my skin. “I don’t know whether to applaud your acting or condemn your shamelessness,” he snarled, his voice a low, vicious growl. “A venomous woman like you doesn’t just die. And even if you did, you, donating to charity? You, who got off on trampling on the dignity of the poor?” A muscle twitched in his jaw, his expression a mask of vengeful glee. “And then you became one of them. That’s karma, Hazel. That’s justice.” He leaned in closer. “I was actually afraid you would die. That would be too easy, an escape. You deserve to live a long, miserable life. To suffer for what you did.” His grip was bruising. I tried to explain it wasn’t an act, that I was really sick, even holding up my medical file. He dismissed it as a prop I’d faked from some online template. Finally, my patience wore thin. It was my life, my death. Why did I have to prove it to him? I suddenly remembered old Mr. Hemlock, the kind, simple-minded junk collector who came by the complex. Maybe I could ask him. I could leave him everything in the apartment, and in return, he could just… recycle me along with the rest of it. “You’re hurting me,” I gasped, struggling to push him away. “If you don’t want to do it, fine. Just forget I asked. You can go.” But he wouldn’t leave. He stared at me like a predator toying with its prey, a cold light glinting in his eyes. “You love playing games, don’t you? Fine. I’ll play.” A cruel smile spread across his lips. “I’ll collect your body. I guarantee it.” He leaned in, his voice a menacing whisper. “You said three months, right?” His gaze was sharp, pinning me in place. “What happens if, at the end of three months, you’re not dead?” “I can’t wait to see you then. The pathetic little liar with nowhere left to run.” “If you have a single shred of shame left, you’ll kill yourself to make it true.” He laughed then, a low, triumphant sound, as if he’d already won. But I smiled back. It was him against me. And I had Death on my team. Poor Leo. He never stood a chance. My plan was simple: Leo would just need to show up and collect my body after I died. We agreed to check in every three days to confirm I was still alive. If he didn’t hear from me, it meant the time had come. He already had a key; he’d come over and handle the arrangements. With the summer heat, time was of the essence. But Leo found this arrangement far too boring. The very next day, he was back at my apartment. “Get dressed. We’re going out.” “Where?” “Cemetery shopping,” he said with a strange, unnerving grin. “Told you I’d feed you to the dogs, but that was just talk. Dogs are man’s best friend; they shouldn’t eat garbage.” “So, I figured I should at least get your opinion on where we’re going to plant you.” I knew what he was doing. He was convinced this was all an elaborate performance, a desperate plea for his sympathy. He was using the morbid task of buying a burial plot to mock me, to call my bluff. Fine by me. I didn’t find it morbid at all. When you’re dead, you’re dead. A patch of dirt is a patch of dirt. But I wasn’t about to spoil his fun, so I got into his Porsche and we toured every major cemetery on the outskirts of the city. At each one, Leo would announce loudly to the salesperson, “We’re here to buy a plot. For her.” I would simply smile politely and say, “So sorry for the trouble.” It made the salespeople incredibly awkward. One moment they’d be waxing poetic about the pristine landscaping and excellent feng shui, the next they’d be stammering, thrown off by the presence of the future occupant. “It’s alright, please continue,” I’d have to reassure them. “It sounds lovely.” After we’d chosen a plot, on the drive back down the hill, Leo couldn’t hide his frustration at my composure. “Doesn’t this bother you at all?” “You’ve been very thorough,” I said, gazing at the lush, green surroundings of my future resting place. “I bet I won’t have any trouble sleeping there.” He was trying to get under my skin, but my nonchalance was clearly getting under his. He slammed his foot on the brake. “Fine! You don’t care about that?” he snapped. “We’re not done! We’ve got the plot, but what about a casket? An urn? Have you even taken a funeral portrait?” “Don’t worry,” he sneered. “I’ll arrange everything.” “Oh, and we need to book the entertainment. A funeral band. Got to give you a proper send-off.” Leo was a man of his word. He dragged me to arrange every last detail. He bought seven different burial outfits, one for every season. The urn was carved from pure jade, intricately detailed with dragons and phoenixes. The funeral portrait session was a minor disaster. The photographer initially thought we were there for an engagement shoot. When he heard it was for a funeral, his face soured. “Sorry, I don’t do that kind of work. You’ll have to leave—” Leo held up three fingers. “Thirty grand. Yes or no?” “Right this way!” the photographer chirped, suddenly accommodating. “What kind of mood are we going for? Stoic acceptance? Lingering regret? We can do it all!” “I want her to look like she got what she deserved,” Leo said coldly.

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After I lost my memory, I forgot I was the villain. I sent a group text to my close contacts: [Sorry, I have amnesia. Who is this?] My phone immediately buzzed with four new messages. From the aloof childhood friend I used to bully: [Is this another one of your new ways to torture me? Your food is downstairs. Remember to eat it.] From the loyal stepbrother I used to torment: [Still mad at me? I transferred you some spending money. I’ll be home tonight to keep you company.] From the cool female lead I used to mess with: [Putting on an act again? If you have amnesia, go back to sleep. I signed you in for class.] Me: “?” Was I secretly the beloved main character all along? 1 The hospital room was a blur of doctors and nurses, the air thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic. I pushed myself up, my head swimming. Nearby, a doctor was speaking with a middle-aged man. “How is she doing now?” “Miss Shen’s amnesia isn’t too severe at the moment. She just seems to have forgotten specific people…” I blinked, trying to process their words. Amnesia? How could I have amnesia? “I don’t think I have amnesia!” I interjected. “I remember my name is Ava Shen. My father is Robert Shen, and my mother is Olivia Song.” The middle-aged man turned to me, his expression patient. “Well, do you remember my name, Miss Ava?” I nodded eagerly. “Of course. You’re our butler, Mr. Peterson.” He was silent for a long moment, his face a mixture of emotions. “Miss… I’m your family’s driver. And my name is Mr. Miller, not Peterson.” Me: “?” He sighed and turned back to the doctor. “Please, do whatever you can for her. I need to go contact her parents.” From their brief conversation, I gathered that I had slipped on the library stairs, fallen unconscious, and been brought to the hospital by a classmate. After they left, it finally sank in. I started scrolling through my phone. If it weren’t for my parents’ names in my contacts, I’d think I had picked up a stranger’s phone. Just then, two messages popped up from someone saved as “Cold-Hearted Monster.” [Come downstairs in thirty minutes to get your takeout.] [I’m not paying extra for delivery to your door.] I racked my brain, but I had no idea who this person was. I typed back: [Are you buying me lunch?] The reply was swift, each word dripping with sarcasm. [It is my duty to procure lunch for the great Miss Shen.] [But next time you want something from off-campus, could you perhaps provide some advance notice?] [I just wasted thirty minutes in line. Wouldn’t want to delay your precious mealtime.] Well, he’s certainly polite, I thought. But food wasn’t my main concern right now. [No need. I’m not eating today,] I replied. The other end went silent. I couldn’t see his face, but I could almost feel the waves of irritation radiating through the screen. [Is this because you didn’t like the breakfast I brought you this morning?] [So you’re throwing another tantrum?] I quickly tried to explain. [No, it’s not that. I have amnesia. qwq] He scoffed. [Is this the latest method Miss Shen has devised to torture me?] Me: “?” Was I really that awful? Worried he wouldn’t believe me, I sent him a photo. [I’m not lying. See? I’m still in a hospital bed.] A long time passed with no reply. He had probably fainted from anger or just couldn’t be bothered with me anymore. I scrolled through our chat history. This “Cold-Hearted Monster” seemed to be my personal assistant, fetching my meals, picking up my packages, and buying my bubble tea. He even tutored me and let me copy his answers on exams. But my attitude toward him was appalling. My messages were demanding and imperious. A wave of guilt washed over me. How could I talk to a classmate like that? “Ava—” The door to my room burst open, and a boy rushed in. He was wearing a simple white shirt, but his features were sharp and elegant. Even the fingers gripping the takeout container were long and pale. I found myself staring. Some people lose their memories, but their appreciation for beauty remains unchanged. My standards for my ideal type certainly hadn’t wavered. I looked up at him and asked cautiously, “And you are?” His body went rigid. He pressed his lips together, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You don’t remember who I am?” I frowned, trying hard to recall. “Are you the Cold-Hearted Monster?” His expression was complicated. “…My name is Eddie.” Eddie reached out as if to check the wound on my forehead. “You fell down the stairs? Is it serious?” Seeing me flinch, he awkwardly dropped his hand, his tone turning cold again. “I’m not worried about you. I’m just afraid you’ll hit your head and find a way to blame it on me.” His words painted a vivid picture of a selfish, spoiled brat. My guilt deepened. When I didn’t say anything, he asked again, his voice softer, “You really don’t remember me?” “I don’t,” I answered honestly. “But from our chat history, it looks like you’re the one who runs all my errands.” “…Not exactly,” Eddie said. I looked at him, puzzled. He took a deep breath. “We’re childhood friends.” When I remained silent, he added coolly, “And, well, our parents arranged for us to be married.” I was shocked. “What? But our chats don’t look like that at all…” I thought he was just a classmate I barely knew. Eddie’s anger turned into a bitter laugh. “If we weren’t engaged, who do you think would be willing to run your errands every single day? Who would buy your meals and save you a seat in class?” “But you just said it was your duty,” I argued, confused. Eddie’s eyelids flickered. “Yes. My duty as your fiancé. Is it not?” Just then, Mr. Miller, the driver, walked in. He looked surprised to see Eddie. “Eddie? What are you doing here?” Eddie stood up politely. “I came to see how she’s doing.” Mr. Miller was about to sit down when Eddie’s next words made him jump back up. “By the way, Mr. Miller, Ava doesn’t believe we grew up together. Can you tell her? That we’re already engaged.” Mr. Miller’s eyes widened. “Huh?” He glanced from Eddie’s dead-serious face to my bewildered one. After a moment of thought, he gave a slow, complicated nod. “Yes… that’s true.” 2 Mr. Miller was the first person I saw when I woke up. He had been running around handling my paperwork and contacting my parents, so I had already started to trust him. And Eddie didn’t look like he was joking. A secret part of me was thrilled. My ideal type had just turned into my fiancé. I felt like I’d hit the jackpot. I guess even with amnesia, you still fall for the people you were meant to like. When Mr. Miller stepped out to take a call, Eddie placed the food container on the bedside table and handed me a bowl and chopsticks. “Eat up.” I glanced at the food and smiled. “What a coincidence. These are all my favorite dishes.” Eddie ladled some soup into my bowl, his voice flat. “It’s not a coincidence. This is the menu you specifically requested this morning.” “Oh…” I said, my guilt returning. “Was it a lot of trouble for you?” He wiped his hands with a napkin, his tone detached. “It’s not like today was the only day you’ve been trouble. I’m used to it.” A pang of sympathy hit me. I tugged on his sleeve. “Why don’t you eat with me, then?” Eddie’s body tensed. He touched his nose and cleared his throat. “I only bought one serving.” “Don’t we usually eat together?” I asked, confused again. He turned to look out the window. “…We do. I just already ate today.” I didn’t doubt him and started my meal. While he was drinking some water, I started chattering away. “You know, Eddie, the moment I saw you, I felt like I was starting to remember things.” He choked on his water, coughing violently. For a moment, he completely lost his composure. “You’re remembering?” His voice sounded strained, a far cry from the cool demeanor he’d had just moments before. I nodded. “Yeah. The second I saw you, I just knew we were perfect for each other. It must be because we’re engaged. My fated husband.” I beamed at him. “And even though I have amnesia, my standards for my ideal type haven’t changed a bit. The husband I imagined looks just like you.” Eddie: “…” A faint blush spread across his handsome face, and the tips of his ears turned a deep crimson. He shot up from his chair so quickly he almost knocked over the table. Me: “?” Eddie struggled to regain his composure, but his flushed cheeks betrayed him. He held up his phone. “Uh… I just got a notification from my study group. I have to go back. I need to submit something to my advisor this afternoon.” “Oh, then you should go!” I said, trying to be understanding. “I’m feeling much better. I’ll just rest this afternoon and I should be fine.” He nodded, his voice softer. “I’ll come back to see you later tonight.” He practically fled the room. Wow, being a grad student must be tough, I thought. A message from an advisor is like a summons from the grim reaper. Mr. Miller came back in just as he left. “Eddie’s gone already?” I nodded, smiling. “Yeah. He said he’ll be back later.” Mr. Miller looked relieved. “The doctor thinks it would be best if a family member came to the hospital,” he said. “Your parents are abroad and can’t get back right away. Should I contact your brother?” Brother? I have a brother? Seeing my blank expression, Mr. Miller looked unsurprised. He took my phone, tapped the screen a few times, and handed it back. “This is your brother.” I looked down. The profile picture was a beagle wearing sunglasses. The contact name was “Human Wishing Well.” Our chat history was sparse, consisting almost entirely of money transfers from him to me, and him immediately offering to “take care of” anyone who made me upset. He was faster than Amazon Prime. “Ava, you probably don’t remember, but Ethan is your brother. Not by blood, though. Your parents adopted him,” Mr. Miller explained. “He’s three years older than you and always takes good care of you.” That made sense. I sent him a message. [Brother.] He replied almost instantly with a string of fifty question marks. I had no idea what he was so surprised about, but I typed on. [Are you free right now?] Human Wishing Well: [Of course! What’s wrong? Who’s bothering you this time?] Human Wishing Well: [Send me their info. I’ll take care of them.] Human Wishing Well: [Need some money? I’ll transfer it right now.] Human Wishing Well: [And what did you just call me? Can you say it again? TvT…] What a strange brother. And what a strange request. But I humored him. [Brother, can you come to the hospital?] Another row of question marks appeared, followed by an incoming voice call. I’ve always hated phone calls. Amnesia hadn’t changed that. I ruthlessly declined it. Human Wishing Well: [? Why didn’t you answer? What’s wrong?] Human Wishing Well: [Is this a scammer?!] Human Wishing Well: [Scammers should rot in hell. Give her phone back or I’ll hunt you down.] Me: […Don’t feel like talking. Too lazy.] Human Wishing Well: [Oh, it’s you.] Me: [I have amnesia.] Another long string of question marks. It fit his profile picture perfectly. Human Wishing Well: [Do you still remember who I am?] I was starting to get annoyed. [Yes, you’re my brother, aren’t you?] Human Wishing Well: [Yes!! Yes!! I’m your favorite brother!!] Please stop adding weird adjectives yourself, I thought. I pretended not to see it. [If you’re free, can you come to the hospital? The doctor needs to speak with a family member.] Human Wishing Well: [Send me the address.] After I sent the location, I added, [Don’t worry, it’s not serious,] just in case he was worried. Human Wishing Well: [Okay, I’m on my way ^^.] [No rush,] I typed. [Mr. Miller is here with me. And my fiancé came to visit earlier.] There was a moment of silence. Then, a new, even longer row of shocked question marks. Human Wishing Well: [Fiancé?? Who the hell is that!!?] 3 It wasn’t long before Ethan arrived, looking flustered. He was still in a suit and tie, but his short, stylish hair and the single earring in his left ear clashed with the formal attire. “Ava…” he began, sitting by my bed, his face a mixture of excitement and emotion. “So, after losing your memory, I’m the only one you remember?” “Uh, actually, I don’t remember you either…” Ethan: “?” I handed him my phone. “Mr. Miller told me the person with this profile picture is my brother.” Ethan took the phone and glanced at the screen. His mouth twitched. “Why did you save my name as ‘Human Wishing Well’?” I felt like everyone I’d met today belonged in a hospital bed more than I did. “If I knew that, would it still be called amnesia?” “Good point…” Even though my stepbrother seemed a little unreliable, he was the only family I had right now. I tugged on his sleeve and whispered, “Brother, can I be discharged? I want to go home.” Ethan’s heart melted. “Of course! I’ll go take care of the paperwork right now!” He strode to the door, then turned back and cleared his throat. “Oh, by the way, Ava, there’s something I forgot to tell you.” I looked at him, curious. He took a deep breath and said in a low, serious voice, “At home, you’ve always called me ‘Big Bro’.” … Half an hour later, I was in the car on the way home. Ethan kept fussing over me. “Want a drink? How about a snack?” I shook my head, smiling. “No, thank you, Big Bro.” “Ah… Music? A game?” “I’m good, thanks, Big Bro. You don’t have to go to any trouble.” Ethan savored the title, a satisfied look on his face. As I scrolled through our chat history, a question popped into my head. “Big Bro, I get the feeling we didn’t get along very well before.” Ethan bristled like a stray dog. “Who said that! Who said that!” I showed him my phone. “I saw it myself. And my tone with you was… not very nice.” Tears welled up in Ethan’s eyes. “What do you mean, not nice? I thought it was great.” Me: “?” Are you okay, bro? In our chats, I treated him like a dog. If he did anything to displease me, I would chew him out. And he would just take it, never arguing, only saying, [Don’t be mad. It’s all my fault. I transferred you some money. Go buy yourself a nice bag.] How could I have been so awful? But Ethan started listing my virtues. “Look, whenever someone bullied you, you’d tell me to go beat them up. Isn’t that just you being concerned about my health, afraid I’d get a beer belly, making sure I got some exercise?” “And you made me give you money every week. Why? Because you knew I’d just waste it! You were stopping me at the source! And you didn’t buy junk, you bought gold and luxury bags. What’s that? An investment! You were managing my finances for me!” “And sure, sometimes you were a little blunt, but who cares? We’re family! They say the people who love you the most hurt you the most. You love me the most, so I totally get it.” Me: “?” The car pulled into a gated community of villas. As I got out, Ethan held a parasol over my head. “By the way,” he said suddenly, “you mentioned your fiancé came to see you. Who is he?” I smiled. “He said his name is Eddie. Do you know him?” Ethan fell silent. After a long moment, he ground out, “Damn it. My house has been robbed.” “Don’t you dare believe a word he says,” he hissed. “He looks all innocent on the outside, but he’s rotten to the core. A total liar.” Just as he finished, a cynical laugh echoed from the front steps. “Are you introducing yourself?”

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It was a game of “King’s Command,” and my husband’s best female friend drew the penalty card. “Reveal a secret about the King,” the card read. Liam was the King. Her eyes flickered to me, and she gave a sly little wink. “Every time Liam sleeps with you, sis,” she announced to the room, “he has to get my permission first.” The air in the room turned to ice. She licked her lips, a smug smile playing on them. “Oh, don’t be so awkward, everyone! It’s Liam’s birthday! I thought we were all adults who could take a joke.” 1 “Alright, alright,” someone muttered, trying to break the tension. “Let’s just say she failed the challenge.” Melanie, Liam’s friend, picked up her glass. But before she could take a sip, a large hand covered the rim. Liam. He looked around at the silent, stone-faced crowd. “Why isn’t it a secret?” he declared, his voice booming. “Melanie passed. The game continues.” Melanie’s smile widened. She set her glass down, her gaze sliding over to me, deliberately provocative. “See? Liam always has my back. You guys are no fun at all.” A few people forced a laugh. Others, the more sober ones, shot nervous glances my way, trying to smooth things over. “Melanie and Liam have known each other since they were kids,” one of them stammered. “It’s normal for them to be close. We… we get it…” Their laughter was hollow. “Okay, next round, next round!” I drew a card. My smile was serene, almost detached. “Alright. Then for the next penalty, let’s have the last two people who drew cards… do it. Right here, in front of everyone. Oh,” I added, my voice dripping with honey, “and no need to get permission.” Silence. Absolute, deafening silence. Liam’s face turned into a thundercloud. “Ava, are you insane?!” No one spoke. Melanie’s eyes welled up with tears. “Sis, you’re obviously targeting me. We all agreed it was ‘no holds barred’ for the birthday. I just played my card. What did I do to you?” I picked up the bottle of expensive liquor from the table. The golden liquid sloshed into a glass. “I hear you two have been close since you were kids,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “So close he needs your permission to sleep with his own wife. I was starting to think your relationship was a lot more… physical.” “So let’s see it. For entertainment.” No one moved. I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Unwilling?” I pushed the full glass in front of Melanie. She shrank back, clutching Liam’s arm, her lip trembling in a perfect picture of wounded innocence. I smiled. “Fine. You can take the penalty drink instead. Choose. Either you drain this entire bottle, or…” I paused, letting the words hang in the air. “…I smash it over your pretty little heads.” 2 The room was frozen. I looked around at the faces, their forced smiles now plastered on like grotesque masks. “Why did everyone stop laughing?” I asked sweetly. “I thought it was a birthday. No holds barred, right?” “Ava—!” Liam’s voice was a roar. His face was livid. “Sit down. This isn’t a joke anymore. We’re playing a game, and you’re turning it into some kind of—” He cut himself off. I arched a brow. “Some kind of what? Realizing how trashy your little games are? Don’t be a sore loser. Either you do it, or you drink. Your choice.” People started getting up, trying to pull me away, to diffuse the situation. Melanie shot to her feet, her face beet red. “You have no right to humiliate me like this! We’re all adults here! What’s it to you if we play a few risqué games? No one even invited you!” Her eyes filled with tears again. Liam immediately jumped up, placing himself between her and me. “Ava, have you lost your mind?!” His friends swarmed around me, a chorus of appeasement. “Come on, Ava, Melanie didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just a kid.” “Yeah, we don’t even think of her as a girl. She’s just one of the guys. Liam definitely doesn’t see her that way.” “Two guys can’t… you know… do it.” Crash. In the scuffle, someone bumped the table. The open bottle of Louis XIII toppled over, spilling its expensive contents all over the floor. I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. I picked up a greasy plate and a bowl from the table and, with two swift movements, hurled them at the adulterous pair. “Since none of you seem to have a problem with this,” I announced, my voice ringing with clarity, “when you get home, I’ll have a little chat with your wives. Maybe they should start getting permission from other men before they sleep with you, too.” Liam’s face contorted with rage. He screamed my name, then scrambled for napkins to wipe the food off Melanie’s face. I grabbed my purse. I walked out, and just before the door closed, I did them the courtesy of locking it from the outside. Then I called the police. “Hello? I’d like to report a possible orgy and prostitution ring.” 3 I never knew Liam’s world was this sordid. If Melanie hadn’t insisted on throwing this disastrous birthday party, I would have continued to believe his friends were just your typical drinking buddies. I had no idea what kind of “flesh” they were actually interested in. The word “permission” echoed in my head, making me dizzy with rage. But divorcing him wasn’t an option. Our families were business partners. Our marriage was the glue holding several multi-million dollar projects together. It was disgusting, but I had a responsibility to more than just my own feelings. I took a deep breath just as a text from my mother-in-law came through. 【How is the birthday celebration going, you two? Sweet, I hope!】 【Your father wanted to have you over for dinner, but I told him young people need their own space. Didn’t want to bother you.】 【How about coming over to the main house for a visit tomorrow, after you’ve had your fun?】 I stared at the screen, unsure how to reply. Then my phone rang. It was Liam, his voice raw with fury. “Ava, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you know it’s illegal to file a false police report?!” I hung up on him and replied to his mother. 【Liam isn’t having a very good time. He went out with some friends to play games.】 【I heard from some people that there was some trouble with a woman, and the police got involved. I can’t reach him now.】 【Mom, what should I do? I’m so worried…】 4 I tried calling Liam back. As expected, his line was busy. I wondered if I’d still have to go to the main house tomorrow. He came home in the early hours of the morning. The smell of alcohol was mostly gone, replaced by an air of indescribable frustration and anger. He paced the living room for a few minutes before finally stopping in front of me. “It was just a joke from a young girl. Did you really have to make such a scene?” “A young girl?” I asked, my voice innocent. “I thought you didn’t see her as a woman.” He was speechless. Finally, he ground out, “You hit her, and then you had her hauled off to the police station. She was just trying to do something nice for my birthday, and you humiliated her, over and over.” “Ava, just because your family has money doesn’t give you the right to bully a normal girl.” I almost laughed at his twisted logic. “A normal girl? Her family’s company is on the verge of bankruptcy. Is that my fault, too?” “That’s not the point!” he snapped. “The point is you hurt her, and you scared her! Can’t you understand that?!” I just stared at him, my expression unreadable. He slowly lost his steam, his gaze shifting away uncomfortably. “It was just a game…” he mumbled. “Our whole group swore we’d never get married. I was the first one to break the pact. Melanie… she was heartbroken. She cried so much.” “Besides, she would have given permission anyway. It doesn’t actually affect you, Ava. There’s no reason for you to be upset.” The only sound in the dark room was the ticking of the clock. After a long silence, I nodded. “You’re right. That makes sense.” A flicker of relief crossed his face. I continued, “So from now on, before we do anything, I’ll need to get permission from my own male best friends. And my female ones, too.” He froze. “That’s different. This is about us. What does it have to do with them?” I just looked at him. He fell silent, his expression slowly souring. “Ava… you’re really something else.” 5 The aroma of food woke me. I opened my bedroom door to find the dining table laden with an exquisite dim sum breakfast. I recognized the style immediately—it was from Yu’s, my mother-in-law’s private teahouse. The family housekeeper bowed respectfully. “Madam, the young master ordered this for you.” The shrimp dumplings on my side of the table were translucent, topped with delicate crab roe. The congee in the bone china bowl was fragrant and savory. There were lava buns and coconut chicken soup. All the things I’d ever shown a slight preference for in front of his mother. The guest room door opened. Liam stumbled out, looking dazed. When he saw me, his eyes slowly cleared. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he came and sat opposite me. “Morning, honey. I had this made especially for you. Your favorites, right? Last night… you know I was drunk. I said and did a lot of stupid things. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re… you’re not still angry, are you?” He was practically groveling. I stirred my congee, the spoon clinking against the bowl. His smile faltered. The housekeeper discreetly placed a bowl in front of him. “Young master, your mother is expecting you both.” Liam let out a breath. “Look, I was out of line. I’ll talk to Melanie. I’ll make sure she never pulls a stunt like that again, okay?” He placed a shumai on my plate. “I’m apologizing. Come on, honey, at least acknowledge my effort.” I put down my chopsticks. “Are we still going to the main house or not?” 6 The mess last night had ended at the police station. I had no doubt it was my mother-in-law who had pulled strings to get Liam out. True or not, the last thing she would tolerate was a scandal that could tarnish the family name. As for our marriage, I suspected her attitude was simple: if we could be happy, great. If not, keep it quiet. Don’t make a scene. That was how most people in our circle operated. When we arrived at the main house, she greeted me with a brilliant smile, as if nothing had happened. “Ava, darling! Your father and I have been waiting for you.” Then she turned and slapped her son. “You brat! I told you to bring Ava home yesterday, and you insisted on going out with your friends. What’s so important that you had to upset your wife? You’d better not make Ava unhappy, or you’ll have me to deal with!” With those words, she effectively shut down any complaint I might have made. She pulled me to the sofa, all warmth and affection, and opened a wooden box. “Look, Ava. I saw this at an auction the other day and thought of you.” Inside was a stunning lavender jade bracelet. It was clearly worth a fortune. Before I could respond, there was a commotion at the door. Melanie bounced in, holding a Maltese puppy. “Liam! I saw your car! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back to the main house? That’s not cool, leaving your friends in the dark. I wasn’t even mad at you for what happened, you know.” She feigned a pout, set the dog down, and made a playful grab for his crotch. The puppy, freed, darted around the room before suddenly making a beeline for the coffee table where the gift box sat. Crash. A teacup shattered, the pieces hitting the dog on the head. The puppy yelped. Melanie’s face changed in an instant. She rushed over, scooping up the dog, tears welling in her eyes. “Sis, how can you be so cruel to a helpless animal?! This is Liam’s family home, not yours! Even if you hate me, you don’t have to take it out on—” She didn’t get to finish her performance. “I’m the one who threw the cup,” my mother-in-law stated, her voice like steel. Melanie froze, a half-formed tear clinging to her eyelash. “Auntie…?” Her voice rose. “Who let this dog in here? Have I not made it clear that I am allergic to dog hair?!” 7 The ground floor fell silent. The servants exchanged nervous glances. I calmly picked up a new teacup and began to rinse it with hot water. “It’s just a mutt. No need to get so worked up over an uninvited guest, Mom.” Melanie’s face flushed with anger. “Who are you calling a mutt?!” I ignored her, continuing to prepare the tea. Liam finally snapped out of his trance and hurried over. “Come on, the bracelet wasn’t broken. Melanie didn’t mean for this to happen.” The dog’s name was “Lulu.” Which sounded exactly like “Lew,” Liam’s nickname. Realizing her slip, Melanie quickly corrected herself, tugging on his sleeve. “Auntie, Liam gave Lulu to me when he got engaged. He said he was afraid I’d miss him and cry, so Lulu was supposed to be a substitute…” The fragrance of the tea filled the air. I closed my eyes. Perhaps I was a fool for ever having faith in Liam. I slipped the lavender jade bracelet onto my wrist. It was cool against my skin. I smiled softly. “Mom, let’s just say Liam and I are even now.” Liam’s gaze fell on my wrist. His expression froze, and he stared at me in disbelief.

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The first crack in our decade-long relationship appeared one night when I found George drunk, leaning on another woman. We had our worst fight—my hysterical questions met his venomous accusations. “Just drunk, nothing happened,” he slurred, blocking her number with red-rimmed eyes. I believed him. Ten years was too long to throw away, especially with our wedding approaching. Six months later, I overheard his friend ask: “You’re really marrying her? What about my sister?” That night, I unlocked his phone. My chat was muted; pinned at the top was a kitten avatar—a young girl he replied to eagerly, while my messages vanished into silence. I smiled bitterly. If his care belonged to someone else, then I didn’t want this fiancé anymore. 1 It was three in the morning. The bedroom door opened, and George sat down on the edge of the bed. He just sat there, head bowed, lost in thought. After a long silence, he placed a small box on my nightstand. When I heard the shower start, I opened my eyes and looked at his phone on the pillow beside me. The screen lit up with a new message notification. As if possessed, I reached over and swiped it open. As I scrolled through his chat history, my blood ran cold. Just as I’d suspected, my messages were muted. He had nothing left to say to me, but for this other girl, he had endless words. In just six months, he’d gone from cold indifference to patient replies, which had blossomed into a daily exchange of life’s tiny moments. 【Are you asleep? Thanks for driving me home.】 【Let me buy you dinner to say thank you! [cute.jpg]】 【Goodnight, sweet dreams ~】 The mattress dipped beside me. The phone’s light cast flickering shadows across the room. He was silent for a moment before he turned and wrapped his arm around me. “You’re awake?” “I’m sorry,” he murmured into my hair. “Something came up today. I couldn’t make it to the wedding dress fitting.” “My partner had an emergency, so he asked me to drive his sister to the next city for a dance troupe audition. He said it was a huge deal for her future… I really thought I’d make it back in time.” His excuses felt flimsy, a transparent attempt to cover his tracks. My hand clenched into a fist, but there was no strength in my fingers. It felt like trying to hold onto sand, watching helplessly as it slipped away. The bitterness was a physical ache in my chest. My eyes stung, and a tear slid down my cheek, landing on the back of his hand. He flinched as if burned. He sighed, pulling me closer and burying his face in my neck. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I’ll be more careful from now on. I’m sorry.” “We’ll reschedule the dress fitting. And once this project is done, how about we go abroad for our wedding photos?” His breath was warm against my skin as he peppered my neck with soft kisses, the temperature in the room slowly rising. But my next words shattered the fragile intimacy. “George, do you even want to marry me anymore?” 2 I met George when I was eighteen. After graduating high school, I felt like I’d finally won a victory for my mother. I had outshone the child from her failed first marriage—my half-sister, the ghost who had haunted my entire childhood. It seemed the only way to earn a sliver of my mother’s attention was to be better, smarter, more successful than the daughter of the man who had hurt her. But I always seemed to disappoint her. In my junior year, a short story I wrote was adapted for the school play. Watching my classmates bring my words to life on stage planted a seed in my heart. As I went through the motions—practicing the violin I didn’t love, learning skills I didn’t care for—an idea began to sprout. I wanted to choose something for myself. Just once. I didn’t apply to the respectable, stable career paths my mother had laid out for me. For the first time in my life, I defied her. The price was being thrown out of the house. I had less than a hundred dollars to my name. She was sure this would break me, that I would come crawling back, ready to follow her script for my life. If it wasn’t for my best friend, I probably would have ended up on the streets, just as she’d predicted. To pay for tuition and rent, I slept four hours a night and worked every other waking moment. Early mornings at a breakfast diner, afternoons at a boba tea shop, late nights at an internet café. It was exhausting, but I’d never felt so free. Then, on an ordinary afternoon, he appeared. The summer air was thick with the drone of cicadas, shadows danced under the trees, and a wind chime tinkled softly. A boy, bright and intense as the summer heat, burst into my life. 3 When I woke the next morning, his side of the bed was empty. Staring out at the sunlit street, my mind replayed last night’s scene. After my question, there had been a long, heavy silence from George. Then, his lips were on mine, hot and insistent, swallowing the words caught in my throat. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools. The unspoken question died between us. I rubbed my throbbing temples. A flash of light caught my eye. Sometime during the night, he had slipped the contents of the box onto my ring finger. The diamond glittered, catching the morning sun and refracting it into a blinding star. Maybe the light was just too bright. It made my eyes water. … George seemed determined to put my mind at ease. No matter how busy he was, he came home for dinner every night. We’d curl up on the sofa and watch cheesy primetime dramas. On weekends, he took me to plays and late-night movie premieres, and we’d walk home under the stars. For a little while, it felt like we had traveled back in time. Back to a long, long time ago. My mother once told me I probably couldn’t even bake a cake properly, unlike my sister, who excelled at everything she tried. Our tenth anniversary was just a few days away. I suddenly had the urge to bake a cake for George with my own hands. That night, after he was sound asleep, I snuck into the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients I’d bought. Following a tutorial video, I carefully measured and mixed, step by step. Slowly, a cake took shape under my hands. It turned out I wasn’t completely useless after all. 4 The morning of our anniversary, as I was reminding George to take the wedding invitations with him, I glanced at his phone and saw a restaurant reservation confirmation. My heart gave a little flutter of anticipation. The sun was perfect. I hummed to myself as I pruned the dead leaves from the jasmine on the windowsill and gave it some water. I dressed with care, picked up the cake box, and headed to his office. Since the company had taken off, George had become impossibly busy. I hadn’t visited him at work in a long time. So long, in fact, that the new receptionist stopped me at the door. “Hi, I’m here to see George.” “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Hayes?” she asked, her expression odd, her tone subtly shifting. I shook my head. Her brow furrowed as she glanced at the cake box in my hand. “If you don’t have an appointment, you’ll have to leave.” I was taken aback by her baseless hostility. Frowning, I pulled out my phone to call George. No answer. She rolled her eyes and started texting someone. When she saw me trying to call again, her voice sharpened. “Please leave. You’re disrupting our work environment.” Suddenly, George’s best friend, Ryan, stepped out of the elevator behind me. The receptionist’s face lit up. “Hey, Ryan!” Ryan smiled back, then his eyes landed on me. He stopped short, a flicker of surprise on his face. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” “Am I not allowed?” I asked, forcing a smile. He seemed to realize how his question sounded and gave an awkward laugh. “Of course, you are. I just haven’t seen you here in ages. Why are you waiting out here?” His eyes darted between me and the receptionist. “Come on, let’s go in.” “Ryan!” the receptionist protested. “She doesn’t have an appointment…” Ryan’s face darkened. “This is George’s fiancée. She doesn’t need an appointment.” The receptionist’s eyes widened in shock. I gave her a quizzical look and followed Ryan inside, faintly hearing her making a frantic phone call behind us. In the hallway, I asked casually, “When did she start? Is she someone’s relative or something?” “A friend asked me to give her a job,” he said, rubbing his nose. “She’s new. Don’t mind her.” 5 As we entered the main office area, a sweet, sugary scent hung in the air. On nearly every desk sat an exquisitely decorated dessert. Two women in the corner were whispering. “This is amazing! Did Chris’s sister make these?” “Yeah, this is the second time this month, right?” “Don’t forget the cookies she brought last week.” I turned and walked into George’s office. It was empty. On his desk sat a half-eaten slice of cake and a bag of almond cookies. My fingers tightened on the ribbon of my cake box. “You’re here.” George looked surprised to see me, a strange emotion flashing in his eyes. “Why didn’t you call?” “I did. You didn’t answer,” I said flatly. He patted his pockets, finding them empty. He walked over, took my hand, and led me to the small sofa. “Sorry, I was in Chris’s office. I left my phone on my desk.” His gaze fell on the cake box. Just as he was about to speak, a bright, cheerful voice came from the doorway. “George! Time for lunch! When are we leaving?” Without waiting for an answer, a young woman with a beaming smile pushed the door open. When she saw me, she froze, the smile stuck on her face. I looked her over. Fair skin, a pure, pretty face, and an infectious, youthful energy. “And who is this?” I asked, turning to George, though I already knew the answer. He squeezed my hand, his eyes downcast. “This is Chris’s sister, Ivy,” he mumbled. I stared at him for a long moment, a cold laugh bubbling in my throat. I turned my attention to the girl, who was now looking flustered. “You must be Chloe,” she said, forcing a smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you. George talks about you all the time—” I cut her off with a sharp smile of my own. “And where are you two going?” Ivy looked at George in a panic. George stood up, pulling me with him. “Just grabbing lunch. You haven’t eaten, right? Join us.” Ivy took a half-step forward as if to protest, but then her eyes fell on our joined hands. Her shoulders slumped, and she forced another smile, her disappointment poorly hidden. 6 In the parking garage, George opened the passenger door for me. As he did, his eyes instinctively flickered toward Ivy. My feet felt rooted to the spot. It was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head, extinguishing the last embers of the fantasy I’d been living in. My throat felt tight, clogged with cotton. The car ride was suffocatingly silent. The three of us were trapped in our own thoughts. A sad, soulful song played on the radio. I found myself wondering… who was the real third wheel in this relationship? … The restaurant was a new, trendy fusion place. It was so popular you had to book a table weeks in advance. We knew each other so well; a single glance was enough to read the other’s mind. As he held the door for me, he didn’t even spare Ivy a glance. “Welcome. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked. George showed him the text from that morning. It felt like a cruel joke, mocking my hopeful gesture with the cake. The host smiled and led us to a private room. Almost every dish on the table was garnished with almonds. Neither George nor I liked almonds. It was painfully obvious who did. My heart sank, stone by heavy stone. Dropping all pretense, I leaned forward, resting my chin on my clasped hands, and looked directly at Ivy. “Do you two have lunch together every day?” Ivy stammered, completely flustered. “Uh, I… I just graduated, and I haven’t found a job yet. My brother’s been busy at lunchtime, so…” George cut in, his brow furrowed. “Her brother has a new girlfriend he’s been seeing at lunch, so he asked me to look after her. I saw she was alone at the office, so we just started eating together.” Ivy nodded eagerly. “Chloe, please don’t misunderstand—” “Do you know he has a fiancée?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. “Do you think it’s appropriate to have lunch every single day with an engaged man?” She fell silent, her head bowed. George’s face turned thunderous. Before he could speak, I fixed my eyes on him. “And you, George,” I said, each word a carefully aimed dart. “Have you forgotten you have a fiancée?” His face went dark, a nerve twitching in his jaw. “Can you stop overthinking everything?” he snapped. “Is it a problem for me to have lunch with anyone now?” “Of course it’s a problem!” My voice rose, the anger finally breaking through. “You’re an engaged man, spending every day with another girl! How is that normal?! You promised me!” Ivy tried to defend him. “It’s just that George felt sorry for me—” Suddenly, her phone rang, shattering the tense standoff. She quickly excused herself to take the call. A moment later, she burst back into the room, clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles were white. Her eyes were red-rimmed with panic. “George! The dance troupe just called. There’s a mistake on my application, and I have to get the corrected forms to them by five o’clock today! It’s the deadline! Can you please, please drive me home to get them? I won’t make it in time!” Her voice trembled with desperation. George shot up from his chair and went to her, completely forgetting I was even there. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you right now.” I grabbed his wrist, my grip like iron. “You can’t go.”

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1 My sister, Elara, who had always been the epitome of cool composure, was acting like a completely different person lately. She forbade me from even talking to boys, her possessiveness was off the charts, and she’d even… introduced me to certain adult toys. I was completely baffled. It wasn’t until I overheard a heated argument between her and a friend that the terrifying truth finally clicked into place. The person she was in love with… was me. Her own sister. This had to be wrong. … I woke up with a splitting headache, the ghost of last night’s party still pounding against my skull. Stumbling out of bed, I shuffled to the living room. Elara was already there, eating breakfast. She glanced up, her expression softening. “Feeling rough? Here, drink this. It’ll help.” Gulping down the hangover cure in a daze, it suddenly hit me how strange this was. Elara hadn’t yelled at me. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, pre-emptively. “I shouldn’t have been drinking. It won’t happen again.” “It’s fine,” she said, a cryptic smile playing on her lips. “You can drink more often from now on.” I didn’t get it, but as long as she wasn’t mad, I was relieved. I picked up my fork and stabbed at a fried egg. “Yeah, I guess I needed the liquid courage,” I mused aloud. “It’s the only way I’d ever have dared to kiss him.” Elara’s hand froze mid-air. “You… you wanted to kiss your crush?” I was too lost in my happy memories to notice the shift in her tone. “James! You know, the heartthrob of the art department. I can’t believe I actually got him to come to my birthday party.” I sighed dreamily. “His face was so soft… and his lips… I just want to do it again.” “Stella.” Elara set down her fork and turned to face me fully, her eyes sharp and cold. She was older than me, smarter, more experienced. Her gaze always had a way of making me feel small and clumsy. “What is it?” “You can’t.” “Huh?” I was completely lost. “Well, that’s up to him, isn’t it? It’s not like he’s my boyfriend yet.” The word “boyfriend” seemed to trigger something in her. She shot up from her chair, her hand clamping around my wrist like a vice. Her face was a thundercloud of fury. “Boyfriend? No. Not even him.” A surge of anger flared inside me. This was insane. “What gives you the right? Not even my own mother is this controlling!” I snapped, yanking my arm free. “It was one thing when you said it would affect my grades, but I’m in college now! Just because you’re single doesn’t mean I have to be single with you forever!” Elara just stared at me, her expression a strange mix of anger and… hurt. She was hurt? I was the one who was hurt! Fuming, I spun around and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled. 2 Starving and irritable, I sat through my 8 AM lecture, the fight replaying in my head. Elara was my stepsister. My mother had remarried when I was ten, creating a new family with my stepfather. But their happiness was short-lived. A few years later, they were both killed in a car crash, leaving me and Elara, six years my senior, to fend for ourselves. From that day on, she was the only constant in the shifting landscape of my life. I remember waiting for her after my elementary school classes let out, long after all the other kids had gone home. She was just starting high school, but she learned to cook for me. The first few attempts were always burnt, but I’d eat every last bite with a grin, telling her she was a genius. I knew she wasn’t my real sister, and a part of me was terrified that one day she’d decide I was too much of a burden and leave me. I never asked for pocket money for snacks. When a classmate bullied me, stomping on my homework until it was a crumpled mess, I just told Elara I’d tripped. But she saw right through it. She marched me straight to the principal’s office to demand justice. I hid behind her small frame, watching in awe as she calmly and rationally argued with the teachers and the other kid’s parents, displaying a maturity far beyond her years. On the way home, she took me to a corner store and bought me a huge bag of all my favorite snacks. That was the day I knew. I would never be abandoned. She was the one who came to every parent-teacher conference. For my eighteenth birthday, she bought me a beautiful princess gown I’d been dreaming of but could never afford. She was the best sister in the world. She was also intensely possessive, hating it when anyone else got close to me. When I received my first love letter in high school, she found it and tore it to shreds. If she saw me holding hands with a friend, she’d give me the silent treatment for days. She was just terrified of losing me. She didn’t have many friends of her own and had never dated. Her entire world revolved around me. Thinking it through, my anger softened into a pang of sympathy. She was probably just scared that if I found a “heartthrob,” I’d leave her behind. As if I ever could. I decided to talk to her tonight, have a real heart-to-heart, clear the air, and reaffirm our sisterly bond. That evening, after my shower, I padded over to Elara’s room. Just as I raised my hand to knock, I heard it. A soft, breathy moan from inside. I froze, every muscle in my body tensing up. 3 I tried to tiptoe away, but the door creaked open. Elara stood there in a white silk nightgown, her hair a dark cascade around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. The moment she saw me, her eyes turned to ice. “What do you want?” Her coldness stung. Forgetting my embarrassment, I stepped forward and took her hand, swinging it back and forth like I used to when I was little. “Elara,” I pleaded, “please don’t be mad at me. I was just running my mouth earlier. Don’t take it seriously, okay?” Her expression remained unreadable, but the frigid wall around her seemed to thaw slightly. “Come in.” The room was filled with the warm, floral scent of incense. I flopped onto her plush bed, my mind replaying that sound. Elara had been… Then I remembered I was still holding her hand. The hand she must have just been using. A hot blush crept up my neck, my fingertips tingling. It was like discovering a secret, intimate side to someone you thought you knew completely. My face was on fire. It took me a moment to remember why I’d come. I rolled onto my side. The warm lamplight softened the elegant lines of her face. “Sis,” I said, my voice serious, “I love you.” Her eyes widened in surprise, but the look was fleeting, replaced by a shadow of sadness. “No matter who I fall for in the future,” I pressed on, “you will always be the most important person in my life.” “Mm,” was all she said. Sometimes, I couldn’t figure her out. We were closer than anyone, but I could never quite decipher the complex emotions swirling in her eyes. She moved closer, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek and tucking it behind my ear. The faint perfume from her skin filled my senses, and my thoughts started to scatter again. The heat made my cheeks burn, and I buried my face in the duvet. “Sis,” I mumbled, “just now… you were…” Her eyes flickered. “You heard?” “Yeah.” She gently pulled the duvet away from my face, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Stella, don’t tell me you’ve never… taken care of yourself?” My face turned a shade of crimson I didn’t know was possible. I yanked the covers over my head, my voice muffled. “I just don’t like it! I’m a monk! All I care about is my studies!” I heard her low, throaty laugh from outside my fabric cave. God, this is so embarrassing. Suddenly, the covers were ripped away, and Elara slid into bed beside me. Our hair tangled together as her hand began a slow, deliberate journey down my body. A hot breath ghosted across my ear. “Here,” she whispered. “Let me show you.” A shiver, sharp and electric, shot through me. My legs instinctively clamped together. My mind turned to mush. Something about this felt wrong, so incredibly wrong. But… Elara had taught me everything. How to tie my shoes, how to ride a bike, how to face the world. So, this… this was probably okay too, right? 4 The sheets were a mess. Elara stripped the bed and put on a clean set while I hid in the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to cool the inferno raging within me. My heart was a runaway train, threatening to burst from my chest. My body still thrummed with the phantom sensations of pleasure, my mind filled with the scent of her skin and the memory of her touch. I covered my face, mortified. Was this the difference six years made? Elara was an expert. She seemed so cool and detached, but she must have practiced… a lot. I crept back to my own room, but a message from her buzzed on my phone before I could even close the door. Elara: Embarrassed, huh? Huh, my ass, I thought, resisting the urge to throw my phone. Who do you think you are, some kind of CEO from a romance novel? I hammered at my screen, my thumbs flying. Me: No. I just prefer sleeping alone. Elara: Really? When you were little, you were so scared of the dark you’d stand outside my door clutching your teddy bear until I let you in. You wouldn’t sleep unless I held you. Elara: Are you sure you don’t want a hug, Stella? The problem with knowing someone your whole life is that they have an endless supply of blackmail material. Annoyed, I bit back a grin and typed furiously. Me: If you want someone to hug so badly, go find a boyfriend! Be careful or you’ll get finger cramps from all that ‘practice’! She didn’t reply for a long time. I considered it a victory. With my path to conquering James’s heart now clear, I felt a smug satisfaction. She didn’t have anyone. Hmph. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, my screen lit up. A new message from Elara. Elara: I already have someone I like. Smack. The phone slipped, smacking me square in the face. Elara liked someone? Who? How did I not know this? Why didn’t she tell me?! I fired off a series of angry, knife-wielding emojis, but she never revealed who it was. The thought kept me awake all night, my mind racing as I mentally scrolled through every person she knew. Nothing. She had someone she liked. She would get married one day. Have a cute baby. And I would just be… the aunt who visits on holidays. For some reason, a strange tightness constricted my chest. It was probably just from staying up too late. 5 From that day on, Elara started avoiding me. The anger I felt was quickly being replaced by a familiar panic, the same cold dread I felt as a child, terrified she would leave me. So, that weekend, I asked James to the movies. He was tall and lean, with fair skin and delicate features. A simple white shirt and black pants were enough to turn heads wherever he went. The first time I saw him at the art club, my heart had done a backflip. But so many girls liked him, I’d never had the confidence to make a move. Until my birthday party, when I finally worked up the nerve. We had both been drunk… I wondered if he even remembered the kiss. “James…” “We have about half an hour,” he said, his voice gentle. “Want to walk around for a bit?” I swallowed the rest of my sentence. “Okay.” We walked side by side, a careful ten-centimeter gap between us. I found myself drifting closer, my hand inching towards his, my fingertips just about to brush against his. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a notification. It was Elara. Elara: Where are you? Elara: Your roommate said you went on a date. Elara: Why didn’t you tell me? I raised an eyebrow. Wasn’t she the one giving me the cold shoulder? Why the sudden urgency? “Stella?” James’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Everything okay?” I quickly shoved my phone back in my pocket. “Yeah. I was just saying, that handbag shop looks nice. Want to go in?” “Who was that?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “You looked pretty focused.” “My sister,” I said, a self-deprecating smile on my face. “She’s a bit… strict.” James just smiled warmly. “You two must be really close.” 6 After Elara’s texts, my mind was elsewhere. James, however, was fully engaged, earnestly discussing options with the sales associate. He picked out a few and presented them to me. He looked a little shy, but his gaze was sincere. “This is my first time picking something out for a girl. Do you… want to try them on?” I glanced at the price tags and was about to refuse—it felt a bit much for a first date. But then my eyes landed on a sleek, minimalist black bag. It would look perfect on Elara. “Okay,” I said, changing my mind. Standing in front of the mirror, I pictured Elara wearing it. It suited her even more than I’d imagined. I hated myself for it, for thinking about her at a time like this. She didn’t deserve it. “I’ll take this one,” I heard myself say. When it came time to pay, James and I entered into a polite but frantic battle, each of us trying to scan our own payment code before the other. After a few breathless rounds, we were both laughing. I leaned in and whispered, “Let me get this one. I want to give it to my sister.” James finally conceded. “You two really are close.” I pulled up my payment screen again, but before I could present it, a hand holding a credit card sliced through the air between us. “I’ll pay.” The voice was cool and achingly familiar. I whipped my head around. There stood Elara, looking impossibly chic and formidable in a white pantsuit. What was she doing here? Before I could even process her presence, she let out a cold snort. “A man who makes a girl pay for her own bag? Is that the best you can do?” James’s face flushed crimson as he tried to explain, but I instinctively clapped a hand over his mouth. Seeing this, Elara’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You like him that much? One kiss wasn’t enough, you’re already desperate for a second?” James’s eyes widened in confusion, looking at me. “Elara, shut up!” I hissed, mortified. I shot James an apologetic look and gestured for Elara to follow me outside. She shot him one last withering glare, her voice dripping with contempt. “You don’t deserve her.” Then, she turned on her heel and strode out of the store, leaving a stunned James in her wake. 7 Elara’s heels clicked furiously on the pavement as she stormed ahead, somehow looking even angrier than I felt. When we got into the back of a waiting car, I noticed a man with glasses and a scholarly air sitting in the driver’s seat. He kept glancing nervously between us in the rearview mirror, clearly sensing the tense atmosphere. I felt numb. Every single fight Elara and I ever had was because I got close to someone else. “How did you know where I was?” I asked flatly. Her gaze swept over me, cool and detached. “I have a tracking app on your phone.” For a second, I thought she had to be some kind of psychopath, a literal stalker. But before I could explode, she spoke again, her voice low. “That year in middle school, when you were almost kidnapped… I’ve been terrified ever since. So every time you get a new phone, I install it.” My anger deflated, replaced by a wave of warmth. I was about to say something to smooth things over when she delivered her next line like a command. “Don’t see him again.” The order, devoid of any consideration for my feelings, made me tremble with rage. I met her cold gaze with a defiant smile. “And what if I want to?” “I said, you are not to see him.” “And I never agreed to that.” She faltered, looking away as if she’d been struck. “Stella, you were always so good,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “When did you stop listening to me?”

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I had a crush on my best friend’s cousin the moment I saw him. I sent her a message, half-joking: “Your cousin is so hot. Does he have a girlfriend? What do you think about me becoming your sister-in-law?” For the first time ever, she replied with just a single question mark. Followed by: “You want to be my cousin’s girlfriend? Then what does that make me?” I thought she was just being possessive and jealous, so I typed back without a second thought: “You’re my number one best friend in the whole world! My dearest, closest bestie!” Her reply stunned me: “Aren’t we dating?” Me: “Who told you we were dating?!” Her: “If we’re not dating, then why are you always kissing and hugging me?!” Isn’t that just… normal stuff best friends do??? 1. Staring at the messages from Audrey, I sat bolt upright in bed, my mind a complete blank. My brain kicked into overdrive, trying to figure out if she was joking or being serious. Before I could formulate a careful, probing question, my phone rang. It was her. The ringtone was the special one I’d set just for her. I jolted, and my thumb reacted on pure instinct, declining the call. The screen now showed “Call Ended.” A cold dread washed over me. Whether this was a joke or not, the fact was, I had hung up on her. If this was all a misunderstanding, I was so, so screwed. The last time I hung up on her was back in high school. Some girl in our class had claimed to be her best friend, and Audrey, convinced the girl was trying to invade our friendship, went into a jealous rage and started a fight. I got mad at her for being so reckless and gave her the cold shoulder. That night, she sent me a text. I didn’t reply. She called. I didn’t answer. At midnight, my doorbell rang. There she was, standing on my doorstep with a thunderous expression, asking if I really wanted to end our friendship. She looked like a ghost, her hair all wild and unkempt. Honestly, she scared the crap out of me. Of course, with my mom’s help, we made up and walked to school together the next day. I never hung up on her again. It always felt like if I did, she would swim across the Pacific Ocean just to materialize in front of me a second later. My phone buzzed with a new message. Babe: You dare hang up on me? I scrambled to reply. “It was an accident! I hit the wrong button! Were you calling to tell me it was all a joke?” I threw in a cute emoji to soften the awkwardness. Babe: No. Tears welled in my eyes. I tried one last time. “Audrey, stop scaring me. If you keep joking like this, I’m going to get mad.” Babe: Not joking. I’m coming over. Me: Don’t you dare!!! The words flew out before I could stop them. Today’s conversation had completely shattered my understanding of reality. I had never, ever had feelings for Audrey that were more than friendship. I had no idea when she started seeing me differently. I buried my face in my hands, a desperate thought occurring to me. Maybe she’d been misled by something she saw online, misinterpreting her own feelings for me. Neither of us had ever been in a real relationship before. The line between friendship and love can be blurry. It was entirely possible she was just confused. My hands trembled as I typed out a long, rambling explanation, deleting and rewriting it over and over. She must have seen the “typing…” indicator flickering on her end for ages without receiving anything. Another message from her arrived. “I’m not kidding, Chloe. I really like you. I always thought we were dating.” “I thought you felt the same way about me. Otherwise, why didn’t you ever stop me when I kissed you?” I groaned, the memory of how we gave each other our first kiss flashing through my mind. It really was an accident the first time. We were fooling around on my bed, and our lips just… brushed against each other. I felt awkward, but Audrey didn’t seem to mind. She even licked her lips, as if savoring the moment. Noticing my discomfort, she’d said breezily, “What’s the big deal? Neither of us has a boyfriend. What’s wrong with a little kiss?” She’d added, “Besides, that doesn’t even count as a real kiss. Real kisses involve tongue.” But by the summer after we graduated high school, her tune had changed completely. 2. After our final exams, our class threw one last big party. High school sweethearts were popping up everywhere, finally able to be open about their relationships right under the teachers’ noses. As Audrey and I left the classroom, we even saw a couple making out in a corner, just for the thrill of it. It was like a dam of repressed hormones had burst. Audrey scoffed, calling the guys horny animals just trying to get one last grope in before we all went our separate ways. “Look at that guy. Remember him? The one who confessed to you in sophomore year.” Audrey made a gagging motion, then quickly covered my eyes before I could look. “Don’t look at the filth.” All I could do was listen to her description of the make-out session. “After you rejected him, he immediately got with another girl. This is, like, his nth girlfriend now. Ugh, what a ‘devoted’ man he is~” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She’d been bad-mouthing that guy for nearly two years, all because he’d had the nerve to confess to me once. She even nicknamed him “Mr. Deeply-In-Love” because he always pretended to be completely smitten in every relationship before seamlessly moving on to the next girl. I covered my ears, just hoping we wouldn’t run into anyone else we knew. “Hey, why are you covering your ears?” Audrey whined. “Are you sick of me?” At the party, buoyed by the atmosphere and our own curiosity, we both had a little to drink. A couple next to us started kissing amidst the cheers of the crowd. Even though we tried not to stare, we couldn’t help but catch the details—the stringy saliva, the tangled tongues, the wet sounds… That night, Audrey stayed over at my place. We were lying on my bed, talking about everything and nothing, from our future college lives to the events of the day. Suddenly, she asked, “Is kissing really that good?” I didn’t have an answer. In the twelve years before I met Audrey, my world consisted of books and studying. After I met her, my world consisted of books, studying, and Audrey. The books never mentioned whether kissing was enjoyable or not. It was a topic two romance-clueless girls couldn’t possibly figure out. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Go get a boyfriend and find out.” A look of disgust crossed Audrey’s face at the thought of those guys. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, she blurted out, “Hey, why don’t we try kissing?” That woke me up instantly. I stared at her, my expression clearly asking, Are you serious? The more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. She looked at me defiantly. “Neither of us has a boyfriend. And a kiss between friends doesn’t count as a real kiss, right?” I instinctively propped myself up, backing away slightly. But she scooted closer. “People in other countries kiss as a greeting. We’re this close. What’s the big deal?” I wanted to tell her that was completely different, that she was talking nonsense. But she just pounced, pinning me down. “Just one kiss.” She must have been drunker than I thought. When she leaned down, she misjudged the distance and bumped her lips hard against mine. It hurt. But she didn’t let up, holding my hands down firmly. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, as if tasting something. “Sweet,” she declared. “Again.” I squirmed. “No, no, no! Audrey, get off me! Stop being a drunk idiot!” “I didn’t even use my tongue,” she argued. “It’s perfectly normal for best friends to kiss.” But the second time, she tentatively slipped her tongue into my mouth. I guess she liked the taste, because she explored deeper, our tongues tangling together. My struggles weakened under her assault. Flashes of the couples from the party came to mind. We were just like them now, lips pressed together, tongues intertwined. Audrey bit my lips until they were sore, kissing me until I was breathless. My whole body went limp, like water, my brain slow and fuzzy from lack of oxygen. The new, strange sensation was so intoxicating we both got lost in it. After the kiss ended, the effects of the alcohol had mostly worn off. We just stared at each other, our faces flushed. Audrey mumbled an apology. The second I said it was okay—after all, I had enjoyed it too—she was back to her old self. “See? I told you it was good, right?” “Want to go again? Don’t you think it’s kind of addictive?” I grabbed a pillow and covered my face, muttering a muffled, “No.” I think a part of me felt that doing this with Audrey wasn’t right. In my mind, kissing was for partners, not for friends. Audrey, sensing my hesitation, tried to comfort me. “It’s totally normal for friends to kiss. Look at guys, they jerk each other off all the time. Isn’t that way weirder?” “We’re just kissing.” I pressed the pillow harder against my ears. Where did she learn to say things like that? I couldn’t handle it anymore. Either I’d have to explain myself, or I’d have to pretend this never happened. But Audrey wasn’t letting it go. She was relentless, and I was cracking under the pressure. The fight, the confusion, her sudden confession—it was all too much. I needed to understand what was happening, what I was feeling, before I could face her again. This wasn’t just some silly argument; it felt like our entire world was shifting on its axis, and I was terrified of where we would land. 3. Honestly, everything Audrey said was bullshit. First, she brainwashed me with the “it’s normal for friends to kiss” line, and before I knew it, I had accepted it as our new normal. She would kiss me whenever the mood struck, and sometimes we would find a private place for a more intense make-out session. I had other friends besides Audrey, but none as close. She would get upset if I got too close to anyone else. My interactions with other people were, naturally, different from how I was with her. We were best friends, after all. But even so, I had a nagging feeling that kissing every day wasn’t normal, but I didn’t want to change it. First, kissing Audrey was nice. She was a really good kisser. Second, if I said no, she would be unhappy, and when she was unhappy, I was unhappy. So, ignoring that little nagging feeling and continuing to kiss her seemed like the best option. But now everything was different. Audrey had laid her cards on the table. She wanted to define our relationship. This wasn’t the mutually supportive friendship I had envisioned. All those memories of kissing were now tinged with a new, romantic intimacy that made my face flush and my heart race just thinking about them. That had never happened before. Audrey sent me several more messages, all asking to meet up. I either refused or pretended I hadn’t seen them. So, of course, she showed up at my house unannounced. Babe: Open the door. My heart sank. I was starting to develop a phobia of my phone’s notification sound. Every time it went off, I just assumed it was her—and eighty percent of the time, I was right. I saw the message and died a little inside. I quickly flipped my phone face down, grabbed a book, and pretended I had been too absorbed in reading to see her text. Babe: I know you’re home. A thud from the balcony, followed by a soft rustling sound, was impossible to ignore. I turned my head and saw a scene straight out of a horror movie—Audrey was climbing the tree outside my window, trying to jump onto my balcony. My eyes widened, my heart leaped into my throat. I didn’t know whether to be panicked or worried. I slid open the glass door. “Are you insane? Get down from there!” She clung stubbornly to the tree trunk, glaring at me before sizing up the distance between the branch and my balcony. “Not unless you open the front door,” she said. I gritted my teeth. “No. Go home.” She scoffed, testing her weight on the branch. “Then watch me climb up.” “You’ll fall and kill yourself!” I yelled. “This is the second floor! You’ll probably just break a leg, so I’m not going to bother saving you!” I grabbed the railing, trying to create an obstacle to convince her the jump was impossible. But Audrey has always been fearless. She never thinks about the consequences. I underestimated her audacity. Before I was ready, she took a running start on the branch and leaped. The words died in my throat. My mind was screaming— Oh god, she’s going to be crippled. Oh god, it happened on my balcony, my parents are going to kill me. They’ll probably make me her 24/7 caretaker. But she landed on the balcony. Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, she lost her footing and started to teeter backward. I reacted instinctively, lunging forward and grabbing her, pulling her toward me with all my strength. She grabbed my hand, swung herself over the railing, and landed squarely in front of me. Her crisis was over. But as I looked at her set jaw, I realized… My crisis was just beginning. I had personally pulled a wolf who wanted to devour me into my den. The next second, the wolf lunged. I turned and ran, trying to slide the glass door shut and trap her on the balcony. But she was too fast, sticking her foot in the way. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, afraid of hurting her, and that was all the opening she needed. She yanked the door open. “Audrey, wait, let’s just talk about this calmly.” Her eyes were terrifying. “You want to talk calmly now?” she roared. “Who was it that was ignoring all my messages?” “You’re the one who was talking crazy,” I muttered. “Was I wrong?” “About what? Everything you said was a lie! I am not dating you!” She stared at me in silence. Or rather, she was staring at my lips. Alarm bells went off in my head. I knew that look. We’d kissed so many times that I could tell what she wanted from a single glance. There were times we’d be watching TV on the couch, and she’d suddenly go quiet. When I’d look over, her attention would no longer be on the screen, but on my lips as I spoke. She’d grab my hand, pull me into my room, and kiss me where my parents couldn’t see. I swallowed hard and took a step back. “My mom’s home,” I warned in a small voice. “Don’t try anything.” She tore her gaze away from my mouth. “So, you’re saying everything I said was a lie? We never hugged? We never kissed?” “We did that as friends!” “What kind of friends hug and kiss with tongue?” My face was on fire. “You… you were the one who said those guys…” I stammered. I couldn’t bring myself to repeat her crude words. She had used those examples to trick me into kissing her, and now she was just watching me, a smug look on her face, as if to say, Let’s see you talk your way out of this. And she was right. It was a pathetic explanation. Now that I thought about it, her examples were completely insane. But at the time, I was so caught up in the moment I couldn’t think straight. And our daily life was so… normal. Or rather, it was the normal we had created since we were kids. I never saw anything wrong with it. But the truth was, no normal best friends acted like we did. Before I could sort out my jumbled thoughts, she hit me with another question. “You didn’t enjoy it when we kissed?” I couldn’t argue with that. “No, I didn’t,” I lied. She launched another surprise attack. In the instant I was distracted, she closed the distance and kissed me. I came to my senses and pushed her away. “Don’t kiss me!” She grabbed my hands, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “You said you didn’t enjoy it. Then why did you just use your tongue?” It was a reflex from kissing her so many times! I shoved her away, humiliated and furious. “If you come near me again, I’m telling my mom!” As if on cue, there was a knock on my door. “Chloe, honey?” my mom called out. “What’s all the commotion in there? Can I come in?” I looked at Audrey, who was still practically on top of me, and pushed her off. “You can, Mom.” My mom saw Audrey and paused. “Audrey? When did you get here? I didn’t see you come in.” That’s because she didn’t use the door, I thought. “I just got here, Mrs. Evans,” Audrey lied smoothly. “Chloe let me in. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.” I kept my mouth shut, refusing to look at her. My mom looked from her to me, sensing the strange tension in the room and probably connecting it to the loud noises she’d heard. “Did you two have another fight?” she asked with a weary sigh. “Do you need me to mediate?” The memory of Audrey showing up on our doorstep in the middle of the night was still fresh in my mom’s mind. She always tried to intervene when we argued. But you can’t fix this one, Mom. If you did, you’d be the one having a breakdown. “Yes, please, Mrs. Evans,” Audrey said shamelessly. “Chloe’s mad at me. She won’t talk to me or answer my messages. I’m trying to talk to her, but she’s ignoring me.” I whipped my head around to stare at her, my jaw dropping. She tattled on me. She actually tattled on me to my mom.

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My brother had just ascended the throne. He was consumed by paranoia, convinced that every soul alive coveted his crown. As his last surviving brother, I played the part of a useless, hedonistic fool. I lived for pleasure, even taking a dozen male companions into my household. And yet… The way my brother stared at me grew darker, more sinister. “Sometimes,” he said, his voice a low growl, “I have the urge to break your legs.” Remembering the gruesome fates of my other brothers, the hair on my neck stood on end. Later, after I faked my own death and was dragged back, my brother showed me exactly what he meant by breaking me… in his bed, he nearly tore me apart. 1. When Damien uttered those words—that he wanted to break my restless arms and legs—a tremor of pure fear shot through me. On the desk lay several official reports, all detailing my transgressions. One minister accused me of scandalous depravity, of spending my nights drunk in the city’s pleasure districts. Another claimed to have witnessed me harassing the nation’s top scholar in the street. I was accused of using my status to bully the sons of officials, of forcing scribes to pen lewd and obscene stories… Damien lounged on the imperial divan, a lustrous black panther pelt draped over his legs. His expression was a mask of shadows. I shamelessly scurried forward and, just as I had when we were children, buried my face in his lap. I tilted my head back, my eyes wide and pleading. I put on my most innocent, most pathetic face. “Brother, let me explain! Hear my totally plausible defense!” “It’s not what it looks like! I was just there to listen to the music! And that idiot from the Sun family was bullying someone else, I was just serving justice…” A ghost of a smile played on Damien’s lips as he slowly raised his right hand. I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut and instinctively nuzzling his leg like a frightened kitten. “Brother, I was wrong! Please don’t hit me.” His fingers closed around my neck. “Insolent. Let go.” Only then did I realize that in my panic, my own hand had gone rogue. Hidden beneath his imperial robes, I had wrapped my fingers around Damien’s pale, slender ankle. A terrifying mistake. I snatched my hand back, muttering under my breath, “Brother, you’ve gotten thinner again. Haven’t you been eating properly? I’m going to tell the Queen Mother on you…” Damien’s expression remained as placid and unreadable as ever. “Tomorrow, you will move into the palace.” A jolt went through me. I shook my head frantically. “No! I’m not done having fun yet! Besides, my companions at the estate will miss me.” The pressure on my neck increased. “Hm?” I let out a pathetic wail. “I’ll do as you say, Brother.” 2. It was common knowledge that Emperor Damien suffered from a touch of madness. He was known to be cruel, his moods as unpredictable and violent as a storm. But to me, my brother had always been like a celestial being from a painting, his complexion touched with an ethereal, almost unhealthy pallor. He had been frail since birth, a sickness carried from the womb. When I was a child and he held me, his robes always carried the faint, bitter scent of medicinal herbs. I grew so accustomed to it that later, when I couldn’t sleep in my own manor, I had perfumers create a sachet with a similar scent. I kept it by my pillow every night, the only thing that could grant me peace. I’d never actually seen him have one of his “fits.” I suspected the “madness” was just an excuse he used to kill people. My brother wasn’t my real brother. Is that something I should even say? To put it simply: when our mother was pregnant with her second child—with the boy who was supposed to be me—a rival consort, in a last desperate act of court intrigue, managed to poison her. The child was born a stillborn monstrosity. Mother’s most trusted matron devised a plan. The dead infant was swapped with me, a foundling of unknown origin. And so I, the cuckoo in the nest, became Prince Julian, the trueborn, full-blooded younger brother of Damien. There were three years between us. Mother and Damien were both delicate and sickly, while I was robust, with an appetite that far outstripped other children my age. Heh, I used to think to myself, I’m definitely not one of them. I’d clench my fists, flexing the baby fat on my arms. At least I could protect my brother. By the time I was old enough for the Royal Academy, I had shot up in height and build, towering over him to the point where I could completely shield his slender frame with my own. The old matron would joke that I was a leaf meant to shelter him. My world revolved around Damien. I clung to him, obeyed him, but I could never truly understand him. And I feared him. 3. Of course, the moment I realized my feelings for him were… unnatural, my rebellious phase began. I stopped listening to him, deliberately defying his every word. I cultivated the persona of a fickle womanizer, falling for a new face every week, and I put as much distance between us as I could. I was terrified he would sense the truth of my heart and be disgusted. Even more, I was terrified he would discover I wasn’t his real brother. 4. After moving into the palace, I was assigned an attendant named Sam, the apprentice of the Lord Chamberlain, Felix. “Your Highness! Please, you must practice! You can’t keep scaring away the instructors!” Sam pleaded, his face a mask of worry. We were on the royal training grounds. “The Emperor has decreed that if you don’t hit the bullseye today, you won’t be served dinner.” Tch. Threatening me with dinner? Did he still think I was a child? I ignored him, strumming the bow like it was a lute. At first, Damien had tried to make me study history and policy, but the words just gave me a headache. He relented and gave me books on military strategy, but my brain turned to mush. Finally, realizing I had nothing but brute strength, he commanded me to learn archery. I knew what he was doing. He was testing me. Testing to see if I posed a threat to him. How cruel. “I wonder how Seven is doing. I miss hearing him play,” I mused aloud. Seven was one of the prettiest of my companions. There was no reply. The training ground was unnervingly silent. I turned my head and saw Damien approaching, wrapped in a heavy white wolf-pelt cloak, his presence as cold as the winter frost. He stopped a few feet away, his dark eyes seeming to swallow the light. “Still can’t do it?” he asked, his voice low. I shook my head, blinking innocently. “It is my own foolishness, Brother.” A faint, unfamiliar scent of musk drifted from him as his tall frame moved to stand directly behind me. One hand settled on my waist, correcting my posture, while the other covered my own on the bowstring. Ah! Too close! My ears instantly turned a burning red. The wind blew a strand of Damien’s long hair against my cheek, tickling me. I have no idea when the arrow was released. His cool lips were right beside my ear, his breath a warm whisper against my skin. “What are you thinking about?” I stammered, unable to form a coherent reply, and bolted. Why had my brother’s scent changed? Did he switch his incense? And his body… it felt so much stronger than I remembered… On the way back to my chambers, my mind a chaotic mess, I ran into the top scholar, Tristan Thorne. We had met last year, when I helped his ailing mother find a good physician. “How is your mother’s health?” I asked. “She is well, thanks to Your Highness’s concern,” Tristan replied, his posture impeccable, a gentle smile on his lips. “It’s quite a coincidence. My mother recently finished embroidering a new sachet for you.” Back then, he and his mother had been so insistent on repaying my kindness that I finally relented and asked her to make me a few small trinkets. He produced a small, cyan sachet from his robes, a green bamboo stalk stitched onto its surface. I took it and lifted it to my nose. My eyes widened. I smiled. It was the scent of my brother from my memories. “This is wonderful. Please thank your mother for me.” Tristan’s gaze lingered on me, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. “I’m glad Your Highness likes it.” From a shadowy corner nearby, half of Damien’s face was obscured. His black eyes were like a deep, tranquil pool, but the stillness was terrifyingly cold. 5. After my panicked escape that day, I was even more careful to keep my head down. But my brother suddenly became incredibly busy. The southern provinces were being ravaged by torrential rains and floods. Reports flew into the Emperor’s study like a blizzard of snowflakes. The lights in his study often burned until dawn. The atmosphere in the palace grew heavier with each passing day. Perhaps this was my chance to “be good.” A perfect opportunity to show that, while I might be a fool, I still knew how to worry about my brother. I put down the kite I was making from parchment and personally carried a food box toward the Emperor’s study. Outside the hall, Lord Chamberlain Felix saw me and his eyes lit up. “Your Highness,” he whispered, “His Majesty just had a terrible fit of temper. Several ministers were dismissed. He’s suffering from a headache right now.” A pang of worry shot through me. “Has my brother eaten?” Felix sighed, gently pushing the door open. “No appetite. The food was sent back untouched. He’s eaten very little recently. Your Highness, please try to persuade him.” The hall was dimly lit. Damien was slumped in the massive dragon throne, one hand pressed to his temple, his brow deeply furrowed. His thin lips were pressed into a bloodless line. He’d gotten even thinner in just a few days. My heart ached. I tiptoed inside. “Brother, the Queen Mother had some new pastries made. Would you like to try one?” He slowly opened his eyes, a profound weariness dulling their usual sharpness. “They’re very sweet!” I said, opening the box and holding a delicate lotus pastry to his lips. Damien’s gaze fell on my fingers, his Adam’s apple moving slowly. Wait. Why isn’t he eating? They’re delicious! He doesn’t think I’ve poisoned them, does he? My mind raced. I swallowed nervously. He didn’t open his mouth. The tips of my fingers, holding the pastry, started to feel numb. Just as I thought he was about to scold me for being “insolent” or “improper,” he let out an incredibly soft sigh. It was as light as a feather, but it landed on my heart with a heavy thud. He turned his head slightly, his voice raspy. “My head hurts.” I froze. Those three words were like a key, unlocking a dusty box deep within my memory. When we were children, whenever the damp, rainy weather triggered his old illness and his headaches became unbearable, he would lean against me just like this, close his eyes, and murmur, “Julian, my head hurts.” And I, with my clumsy, chubby little hands, would carefully massage his temples. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I put down the pastry, wiped my hands on a handkerchief, and moved behind his throne. My fingers, hesitant and gentle, found his temples. The moment my fingertips touched his cool, tense skin, my heart leaped into my throat. Bad idea! This was far too intimate! I tried to pull my hands back, ready to cover my tracks with my usual buffoonery. “Ahaha, brother, look at my memory, when we were kids…” “Don’t move,” his low, raspy voice cut me off. It was a command, but it held a trace of undeniable vulnerability. I froze, my fingers hovering at his temples, trapped. “Press,” he ordered, the single word leaving no room for argument. He slowly closed his eyes again, his thick lashes casting a faint shadow on his pale skin. I held my breath, applying a steady, gentle pressure. Under my touch, the tense line of his brow slowly, almost imperceptibly, began to smooth out. Something slammed into my heart. Ever since I’d understood my own feelings, I had avoided my brother, suppressing the dark desires within me. But the moment I got close to him, my treacherous heart refused to obey. In that instant, time seemed to stand still. The only sound in the vast hall was the soft whisper of our breathing. The disaster relief efforts in the south, under Damien’s near-tyrannical supervision, finally stabilized. The oppressive atmosphere in the palace eased slightly. My recent performance as a “well-behaved” brother seemed to have relaxed his guard a little. At least, the leg-breaking glint in his eyes had faded considerably. Our relationship had settled into a fragile, temporary peace. After dinner one evening, Sam approached me with a conspiratorial air. “Your Highness, a message from the Emperor. He requests your presence at the Imperial Baths.” Since that day in his study, Damien had taken to summoning me to massage his temples. But this time was different. The Imperial Baths were his private sanctuary. My stomach twisted into knots, but I went. The vast, steam-filled chamber was empty save for the echo of my own frantic heartbeat. Damien was leaning against the edge of the pool. His back was to me, his long, ink-black hair plastered wetly against his smooth, broad shoulders. The dim, yellow light sculpted the sharp lines of his shoulder blades. The taut line of his waist was a tantalizing shimmer beneath the water’s surface. Just his back alone radiated an incredible, aggressive power and a… fatal allure. This… this was nothing like the thin, pale, herb-scented brother of my memory! That strange musky scent was stronger here, carried on the hot, humid air, invading my senses and tangling my thoughts. “What are you standing there for?” Damien’s cool voice cut through the steam. It was laced with a languid quality from the heat, but it still held its customary authority. “B-brother…” My throat was dry. My voice cracked. “Come here.” Two words, simple and powerful, like stones dropped into the lake of my heart. I moved forward like a puppet on a string, my steps unsteady. The closer I got, the more overwhelming his presence became. I tripped on something—or nothing—and plunged headfirst into the pool with a huge splash. “Ugh!” Damien, as if he had known it would happen, moved with lightning speed. His hand shot out, grabbing my waist and steadying me in the water. My face was inches from his pale collarbone. My eyes, of their own accord, slid downwards. The rippling water, the shifting light… the hard lines of his chest, the faint outline of his abs beneath the surface. A searing heat rushed to my head. I let out a muffled groan and clapped a hand over my nose, a warm, sticky wetness instantly seeping between my fingers. Blood! I was having a nosebleed! A tidal wave of shame and panic crashed over me. I was finished. Staring at the Emperor while he bathed was bad enough, but getting a nosebleed… this was a death sentence! I fumbled, trying to staunch the flow, too terrified to look up at him, too mortified to look down. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. “Heh…” A soft, amused chuckle echoed through the steam. I froze, my face burning. I didn’t even care about the blood seeping from between my fingers. I just wanted to die of embarrassment. No, stay in character! I bit my lip. “Brother, you keep me locked up in this palace,” I said, my voice deliberately petulant. “My heart yearns for release, but finds none. That’s why this happens…” “Julian.” He used my full name. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the steam with a chilling, terrifying scrutiny. “When your male companions at the manor bathe, are you this concerned? Do you watch them with such… heated passion?” I gaped, speechless. His tone shifted again. “You like this sachet so much you wear it every day?” What sachet? I followed his gaze and saw the cyan sachet—Tristan’s gift—floating on the water’s surface. I immediately snatched it up, a wave of disappointment washing over me. The water would ruin the scent. “You truly are…” I looked up and met Damien’s eyes. They were filled with a bone-deep chill and a barely suppressed, violent rage. Oh no. He’s going to kill me. One thought screamed in my mind: Run! Now! Immediately! “Forgive me, Brother! I… I am unable to perform my duties for you today! I take my leave!” I babbled, clutching my bleeding nose like a scalded cat. Without a second glance, I scrambled out of the pool and fled, a clumsy, pathetic mess. 7. I stumbled back to my chambers, soaked to the bone, blood smeared across my face, looking like a drowned rat. Sam shrieked in terror. “Your Highness! What happened?!” He frantically helped me clean up and change. Afterward, I threw myself into bed, pulling the covers over my head and cocooning myself in the blankets, my mind racing. I could explain away the nosebleed as a result of the dry weather, but the sachet… Tristan’s sachet! The look in Damien’s eyes… a cold dread spread from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. Would he think I was conspiring with Tristan? That I had ulterior motives? I drifted into a fitful sleep, dreaming that I was being constricted by thick vines. I struggled, I begged, but they only tightened their hold, toying with me. I woke with a start to find a damp patch between my legs. I stared in disbelief. Damn my wretched desires! “Sam! Sam!” I yelled. “Quick! Go tell the Emperor that the Prince… uh… that I’ve caught a cold! My head is spinning! I won’t be able to pay my respects for a few days!” Sam looked miserable. “Your Highness, your voice is loud enough to bring the roof down…” “Shut up! Just go!” I hurled a pillow at him. But I couldn’t hide forever. The Queen Mother sent a messenger, summoning both me and my brother to her apartments for dinner. She was a kind and perceptive woman. Was she trying to mediate between us? I had to go. The Queen Mother’s rooms were warm and fragrant, the dishes exquisite. She sat at the head of the table, a gentle smile on her face as she looked from me to Damien, who was dressed in simple black robes, his expression remote. “Damien is so busy with matters of state, and Julian is always causing trouble. It’s rare for the three of us to share a peaceful meal.” She personally placed a piece of chicken on my plate and served Damien a portion of steamed fish. “Look at you two, both getting thinner.” I kept my head down, shoveling rice into my mouth, wishing I could disappear into my bowl. “You’re right, Mother,” I mumbled. Damien merely grunted in agreement, elegantly picking the bones from his fish. But the oppressive aura around him seemed to chill the warm air in the room. “I am old now,” the Queen Mother said, her gaze shifting between us, a hint of worry in her eyes. It finally settled on me. “All I want is for you two to live in harmony. Julian, you’re not a child anymore. Those… companions in your manor are not a long-term solution. Is there anyone you have your eye on? Perhaps a young lady from a good family, or a gentleman? I can arrange it for you.” My hand tightened around my chopsticks. The secret I’d guarded for so long felt like it was about to burst from my chest. My heart hammered against my ribs. My brother was sitting right there! His eyes were on his plate, but I could feel the weight of his attention crushing me. I forced myself to look up, plastering the most exaggerated, idiotic grin on my face—the perfect expression for my foolish persona. “Oh, Mother! Why worry about such things? Your son is still young!” I waved my hand with a flourish, affecting a carefree, roguish air. “Aren’t the beauties in my manor enough to keep me busy? Marriage? How boring! Why would I want to be tied down to one person when I can be free and happy like this?” I snuck a glance at Damien. He was lifting a piece of perfectly deboned fish to his lips, his movements seamless, as if he hadn’t heard a word. But I could feel the air around him grow colder. “Right now,” I said, puffing out my chest, “I love my freedom! There is no one I like! And I have no intention of getting married! So please, Mother, spare me!” I added, “Besides, my brother isn’t married yet. What’s my hurry?” Silence descended on the room. The Queen Mother’s smile faded slightly. She sighed, assuming I was simply immature. “You and Damien… honestly.” Damien finally lifted his eyes. His gaze was like a shard of ice, pinning me in place. There was no anger, no accusation. Just a bottomless, suffocating darkness. His lips parted, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, but his words struck me like a hammer blow. “Is that so? There’s no one you like?” The question was light, but it sent a sheet of cold sweat down my back. I struggled to maintain my smile, my face feeling stiff. “Of course! Brother, do I look like a liar?” He didn’t look at me again. He lowered his gaze, picked up a silk napkin, and began to slowly, methodically wipe his long fingers. The gesture was silent, but it carried a terrifying, suffocating weight. The rest of the meal was tasteless. The moment the Queen Mother retired, I leaped to my feet and practically ran from her apartments. Outside, a light rain had begun to fall. The cold droplets on my face did little to calm my frantic heart. That last look from my brother… it was terrifying. He didn’t believe me. He didn’t believe a single word.

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I put a bullet in my boyfriend, the city’s most feared crime boss. And I got a medal for it. The next second, I saw him again. Eighteen years old, cornered in an alley by a pack of thugs, his face a bloody mess. I grabbed the nearest brick and charged. To save him? No. To claim him all over again. This time, I decided on a different way to be a hero— I would mold him into a model citizen, a straight-arrow. And if the little wolf cub misbehaved? I’d hold him when he cried, kiss him until he surrendered, and lock him away to teach him slowly. Still not enough? Then I’d rip his clothes to shreds, throw him onto the bed, and show him who was in charge… 1. When Aiden fell, his eyes were locked on mine. There was no hatred in them, no fury. Just a dead, hollow void and a flicker of understanding. It was as if he’d always known this day would come. That look burned me, so hot my hand holding the gun began to tremble. The medal of honor pinned to my chest felt like a shard of ice against my skin. 2. When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t blinded by the flashbulbs of a press conference. I was assaulted by the greasy stench of garbage, the acrid sting of cheap cigarettes, and the sickening, wet thud of fists hitting flesh. “Fuck! This little bastard’s tougher than he looks!” “Shit, where’s the money? Can’t pay up? Then we’ll beat it out of you!” A filthy back alley. In the dim, failing light, a group of thugs circled a crumpled figure on the ground. He was painfully thin, his tangled mess of straw-blond hair matted with grime and blood. He was curled up, protecting his head, his body convulsing silently with each brutal impact. The air froze in my lungs. That face… It was Aiden. A younger Aiden? 3. My mind was a blank slate. But my body moved faster than my thoughts. The instincts from my years undercover were etched into my very bones. I snatched half a brick from the filthy ground and lunged. The brick connected with the back of the lead thug’s neck with a sickening thud. He went down without a sound, his body folding like a puppet with its strings cut. “Who the hell is this kid?” the others snarled, spinning around in shock and rage. I didn’t stop. Block, elbow strike, knee to the gut. My movements were a blur of instinct, fueled by a reckless, desperate ferocity. There was only one thought in my head: They hurt Aiden. They all deserve to die. Chaos. Fists and feet flying. A sharp, searing pain shot up my arm. I was hit, but the fire of it only fueled me. They were worse off. Stunned by my kamikaze attack and with one of their own down for the count, they scrambled, cursing as they dragged their unconscious friend away. “Dammit, what a waste of time! You got lucky, you little shit. Next time, you’re dead.” The alley fell silent, the only sound our ragged, desperate breaths. 4. I stood there, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath. The brick slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the pavement. Only then did the stinging pain in my arm and on my cheek register. But I couldn’t care less. My eyes were fixed on the blond kid on the ground. He was still curled into a ball, like a wounded animal on the verge of death. Blood from a gash on his temple mixed with dirt, streaking down his face. His tattered t-shirt was torn open, revealing a cage of ribs covered in fresh, angry bruises. He looked nothing like the fearsome crime lord whose name made the city tremble—Aiden. So, did I… travel back in time? A huge, peeling poster on the alley wall caught my eye. A date was printed in bold numbers: September 1, 2015. I was ten years in the past. I glanced down at myself. I was wearing a standard-issue blue and white uniform from Northwood High, complete with a pin for Class 12-B. I was back in my senior year. I was eighteen again. Which meant Aiden was only eighteen, too. Eighteen. Perfect. So young. So weak he couldn’t even win a back-alley brawl. So… manageable. I walked over and crouched down beside him, reaching out to touch him. He flinched. He tried to push himself up, the movement pulling at his wounds. A sharp hiss of pain escaped his lips. His eyes, like those of a cornered wolf cub, shot up to meet mine—fierce, wary, and full of raw distrust. “Who are you?” he rasped, his voice thick with hostility. “You looking to die, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?” Such a ferocious little wolf. Too bad I wasn’t afraid of him. He tried to scramble away, but I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight. “What the f—” He never finished the word. Because my mouth was on his. 5. The little wolf in my arms instantly froze, turning to stone. He thrashed violently, but the more he fought, the harder I kissed him. I had to admit, even at eighteen, as ferocious as he was, Aiden’s lips were incredibly soft. Kissable. I kissed him until he was breathless, until the coppery taste of his blood filled my mouth. Only then did I pull away. He stared at me, dumbfounded. “You… you… you…” “Me what?” I wiped the blood from my lips with the back of my hand. “Want another one?” I leaned in as if to kiss him again. He scrambled backward, his eyes wide with panic. “Are you insane? Who the hell are you?” “I’m your future husband.” 6. “Hus… Husband? You’re a psycho.” Aiden spat the words, glaring at me with utter disgust. He shoved me aside and tried to bolt. But he’d been beaten too badly, and at eighteen, he was so poor he was lucky to eat once every three days. He was no match for me. I caught him easily, wrapping my arms around him from behind. He was warm. Alive. He was really, truly alive. A gut-wrenching sob tore from my throat. I started bawling. “Come with me, or I swear I’ll cry myself to death right here in your arms.” “Let go—” He struggled, jabbing an elbow back into my ribs. Pain shot through me. But I only held on tighter, burying my face in the sweat-and-blood-soaked fabric of his shirt, my wails growing louder. My high-pitched shrieks attracted attention. One by one, curious onlookers started wandering into the alley. Aiden hated being stared at; I could feel his body tense. I tightened my grip on his shirt, my voice rising to a new level of theatrical despair. “You wore me out so bad last night the bed nearly broke, and then you had the nerve to blame me for your three-second performance! And now you’re running off to find some other girl? Oh, the injustice! The cruelty! Waaaah!” “I gave you my everything at eighteen, I followed you, and you promised you’d love me forever! It hasn’t even been a day and you’re already sick of me! I… I…” Tears streamed down my face like a broken faucet, soaking his thin, ragged t-shirt. The murmuring crowd went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. They looked like they’d just stumbled upon the scandal of the century, their eyes practically popping out of their heads. Aiden’s lips were trembling. He was so furious he was literally speechless. It was clear the eighteen-year-old Aiden had never encountered someone as utterly shameless as me. “You told me love knows no gender, no age! You said you’d love me until the end of time! I skipped school for you, and this is how you repay me? By running off with someone else? You… you…” I punctuated my cries with little punches against his chest, playing the part of the heartbroken lover to perfection. But the truth was, I really did want to cry. In my last life, I was torn between the man I loved and the country I served. I had no choice. I had to… The truth is, in that life, Aiden knew I was an undercover agent. He knew, and he had started trying to change for me. He was shutting down his criminal enterprises one by one, moving into legitimate businesses. He even started collaborating with the police, acting as an informant. But once you’ve walked that dark path, how can you ever truly wash yourself clean? He wanted out, but his so-called “brothers” would have rather dragged him back into the mud with them. That last shot… he begged me to take it. I… “Wait, aren’t those two boys?” someone in the crowd whispered loudly. “My eyes aren’t deceiving me, are they?” “They are! Two boys… together? This is… this is shameless! What is the world coming to?” “Tsk, tsk. So young and already all over each other in public.” “Exactly! And look, the one crying is wearing a Northwood High uniform. Does anyone have the number for the school? Someone should call a teacher.” The chatter grew louder, the judgment harsher. I could feel Aiden’s entire body go rigid with humiliation. Just as I was about to launch into another tirade, Aiden’s voice, tight and seething, cut through the air. “Shut up. I’ll go with you. Just stop talking.” 7. Suddenly, blinding headlights flooded the alley entrance. A group of men in sharp black suits marched in, their footsteps echoing off the brick walls. They quickly and efficiently dispersed the crowd of gawkers. “Master Ross? Is that really you? Oh my god, what happened? Are you hurt? Your clothes are torn! Which son of a bitch dared to lay a hand on you? I’ll… I’ll…” It was Arthur, my family’s loyal and long-suffering driver. He must have gotten worried after I was gone for so long. At eighteen, I was still Ross Croft, the pampered young master of the Croft family. My clothes were always immaculate, every button fastened, every hair perfectly in place. I was the picture of clean-cut, privileged youth. But now, here I was, hair a mess, uniform dirty and torn, face streaked with tears and suspicious bloodstains… clinging for dear life to a blond-haired thug who screamed “trouble.” The color drained from Arthur’s face. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “What are you all standing there for?” he yelled at the suited men. “Get Master Ross away from him! My poor boy, did this hoodlum hurt you?” The bodyguards, assuming Aiden was the aggressor, surged forward to grab him. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand and stepped in front of Aiden. “Arthur. I’m fine. This… this is Aiden. He’s my friend.” 8. Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the plush leather backseat of a Rolls-Royce, filthy from head to toe. Next to me, pressed against the opposite door like a cornered animal, was Aiden. He radiated a “stay the hell away from me” aura, looking as out of place as a dirty dishrag on a silk pillow. His eyes darted around the car’s luxurious interior before landing on me, his expression a mixture of suspicion and profound contempt. He was probably thinking, What asylum did this psycho rich kid escape from? Arthur, in the front seat, kept shooting nervous glances at Aiden in the rearview mirror, as if expecting him to pull a knife at any moment. When we arrived at the villa, Arthur pulled me aside. “Master Ross, you have too soft a heart. You can’t just bring a street punk like that home with you. Your parents will be furious if they find out. Why don’t we let him stay in my quarters? Please, don’t bring him into the main house. I’ve heard about these types… they’re violent, unpredictable. You’re so fragile, what if he—” “Arthur,” I cut in calmly. “I like him. I’m pursuing him. He’s my future husband. He won’t hurt me, I promise.” Arthur stared at me for a solid thirty seconds, then grabbed my hand, his eyes bulging. “Master Ross, have you lost your mind? That… that hoodlum is a boy! You’re a boy! Or have your eyes gone bad? Did you not notice he’s a—” “I know he’s a boy, Arthur. And you can relax. The whole world could turn against me, but he never would.” I was anxious to get Aiden inside. He was probably hurt worse than he was letting on. I brushed past Arthur and hurried into the house. I pushed Aiden into a guest room on the ground floor, one with its own bathroom. “You’re filthy. Go clean up. There are clothes for you inside.” I pointed to a fresh set of pajamas and loungewear I’d laid out. He didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe, his wet blond hair dripping a mixture of water and blood down his neck. He smirked, a bitter, mocking twist of his lips. “Heh… If you rich kids have a screw loose, you should see a doctor. Don’t play this ‘saving the troubled youth’ game with me. I don’t need your charity.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Troubled youth? What, did you get yourself into some real trouble? Did you—” “Get out!” He shoved me out of the room. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. Little wolf cub has quite the temper. Saving the troubled youth? Please. I don’t have time for that. I’m just saving my future husband from taking a bullet. And saving him is just the first step. If he doesn’t cooperate, I’ll just lock him up and teach him. The process doesn’t matter, as long as I get the result I want. 9. This villa was a gift from my mother. To be more precise, it was something she bought for me just before she died. She passed away in an accident when I was fifteen. Not two months later, my father remarried. My new stepmother came with a slow-witted son of her own. I couldn’t stand living with them, so I moved here. Arthur had been my mother’s driver, brought over from my grandfather’s estate. He came with me when I moved. My stepmother was furious. She’d whine that her son, who was my age, didn’t have a thousand dollars to his name while I had an entire villa. She demanded my father transfer the deed to her son. Luckily, my father wasn’t completely senile yet and refused. But from that day on, my stepmother hated me. She was always trying to cause trouble, from trying to poison my food to leaving snakes in my room. It drove Arthur to tears more than once. I didn’t care. I just threw the snakes back into her room and slipped the poison into her son’s bowl. As my father got older, though, his mind started to slip. He began to believe my stepmother’s lies—that I was mentally unstable and needed to be sent to a psychiatric hospital. Fed up, I joined the military. I came back a few years later with a police uniform on my back. Arthur was so proud he told everyone he met that I was a man of the state now, a public servant. Someone untouchable. After that, my stepmother didn’t dare say a word to me. I thought that was how my life would be. But then I went undercover, and somehow, I ended up in Aiden’s bed. It wasn’t my fault. Some intel you can only get up close and personal. I got the intel. And Aiden got a bullet from my gun. 10. “Arthur! Get Dr. Evans over here with his medical kit, now!” I called out. “Master Ross, are you hurt? Oh, my goodness, what do we do? I’ll call him right away!” Arthur panicked, slapping his thigh with one hand while fumbling for his phone with the other. I quickly posted a job listing online: top-tier one-on-one private tutors wanted, high salary. After that, I opened the app for the city’s most exclusive restaurant. Aiden had a heavy palate—he loved spicy food, but his stomach was sensitive. I ordered: • Nourishing Stomach-Soothing Soup x2 • Spicy Crab (his favorite) x2 • Sichuan Boiled Beef (extra spicy, extra numbing) x2 • Sautéed Seasonal Greens x1 • Braised Pork Belly x1 • Crab Roe Soup Dumplings x2 baskets. • Note: RUSH DELIVERY! Dr. Evans arrived quickly. But Aiden wasn’t cooperating. He’d locked himself in the guest room. I retrieved a thin piece of wire from my secret stash. A few deft twists, and the lock clicked open. Arthur and Dr. Evans exchanged a wide-eyed look. They clearly had no idea their well-behaved young master was skilled in the art of lock-picking. Inside, Aiden had managed to quickly wash himself. He’d thrown on the gray cotton pants I’d left for him but was shirtless, his lean torso exposed. He was frowning at his reflection in the mirror, examining the bruises on his back and shoulders. When the door swung open, he whipped around. “Get out,” he growled. “Dr. Evans, examine him. Treat his wounds,” I commanded, ignoring his fury. “I don’t need it!” Aiden grabbed his dirty, damp t-shirt, but the movement pulled at his injuries, making him wince. “Bodyguards, hold him down,” I said, my voice flat. Two of my men stepped forward. Aiden reacted instantly, swinging a fist. But he was injured and exhausted, and my men were professionals. In seconds, they had his arms pinned behind his back, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed. “Which mental hospital did you escape from? Are you sick in the head? Do I even know you? Why are you doing all this—” He couldn’t finish his sentence. Because I was kissing him again. I bit his lip, kissing him so thoroughly his eyes went wide with shock. Dr. Evans leaned over to Arthur and whispered, “Is this some new game Master Ross is playing?” Arthur sighed. “I have no idea. I’m sure that blond hoodlum must have corrupted him. Our Master Ross is such a good boy.” Dr. Evans nodded gravely. “Indeed.” “You ungrateful little— my master saves your life, and you—” Arthur started. I broke the kiss. “That’s enough, Arthur. You can go. Dr. Evans, you can stay.” Aiden looked like he was about to start cursing again. I smiled. “Keep struggling, and I’ll kiss you again. And this time, I’ll have my men take pictures. We can send them to all your little friends.” Aiden fell silent. He stopped fighting. But as he stilled, a deep blush crept up his neck, turning his ears a shade redder than a tomato. It was kind of cute.

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