I sold my house and blew $990,000 on a card-breaking livestream. The whole internet thought I was insane, just waiting for me to lose everything. All I did was post a single comment in the chat. “You promised that if someone spent a million dollars and didn’t pull the grand prize, you’d pay out a hundred times the cost. Well, I didn’t just spend a million, I’ve just dropped another million. Let’s see how much you can afford to lose.” In my past life, my son stole my life-saving surgery money for that very card, a theft that led to my death. But that “ultra-rare card” had been stashed away by the streamer the entire time, gathering dust in a warehouse. Reborn, I would make them pay. I would leave them with nothing. 1 The streamer, “Ace’s Breaks,” and his co-host, Nina, couldn’t wipe the grins off their faces. “Alright, chat! Let’s give it up for our girl Serenity! Serenity, you’re already in for nine hundred and eighty grand!” Ace boomed, scooping up a pile of opened packs for an assistant to clear away. “Serenity, you should probably call it a night! Don’t get carried away! This solid gold chase card, the Golden Minotaur, there are only ten in the entire world. It’s not gonna be an easy pull!” Nina covered her mouth, giggling. “Don’t say that, Ace. What if Serenity is the chosen one? You got this, girl! Go for it! Nina’s rooting for you! The very next pack could be the one!” The chat was a waterfall of text. “HOLY S**T, is this woman for real or just crazy? $980,000!” “I did the math. The streamer’s opened 9,800 packs. At $100 a pack, that’s almost a million bucks! For one piece of cardboard?” “Probably some accountant who embezzled company funds.” On my side of the screen, my face was a mask of stone as I ordered another hundred packs. The purchase confirmation sent a shockwave through the livestream. Ace roared with laughter. “I’m impressed! Genuinely impressed! Serenity, to thank you for your incredible support, I’ll stay here all night if I have to. I’ll open every last pack myself!” Nina chimed in. “She’s an absolute legend! Chat, spam those good-luck emotes! Let’s send Serenity all our energy!” I watched the two of them, my eyes cold as ice. In my last life, they used the exact same lines to manipulate my son, Leo. Leo stole the fifty thousand dollars I needed for my heart bypass surgery and poured every cent into this stream. By the time I found out, it was too late. The shock sent me into a spiral, and I collapsed. My life ended on the cold tile floor of a hospital bathroom. After I died, I watched as my relatives pointed fingers at Leo, calling him a curse, a bad omen. And I watched as Ace and Nina, after their stream ended, retrieved the Golden Minotaur from their warehouse. They called their boss, gloating. “Boss, you’re a genius! This ‘Million-Dollar Payout’ promise is the perfect bait. Who’s crazy enough to actually spend a million on trading cards? With the card in our hands, we decide when—and if—it ever gets pulled.” When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn. This time, I sold my only house and scraped together three million dollars. You’re so sure no one would spend a million to call your bluff? I’m not just going to spend it. I’m going to spend until you have nothing left to your name. 2 “Lisa! Are you insane?! You actually sold the house?!” My sister Eva’s voice was a shriek over the phone. “That was the only thing you and your husband had left! What about Leo? Where are you going to live?!” I listened calmly to her desperate, uncomprehending cries. My eyes were fixed on the screen, on Ace, who was now mechanically ripping open packs like an automaton. A cold smile touched my lips. “Lisa, stop that creepy smiling! Did someone scam you? I’m calling the police right now!” Eva was on the verge of tears. “Eva, don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.” “You know what you’re doing? And that involves selling your house?” I hung up. I knew she meant well. After I died in my past life, she was the one who fought for me, who demanded justice. But Ace’s company smeared her as an extortionist, and she eventually succumbed to depression. This time, I wouldn’t let anyone I loved get hurt. Soon, another hundred packs were opened. Still no Golden Minotaur. When I didn’t immediately place another order, the tone of the chat shifted. “Where’d she go? The rich lady finally go quiet? Ran out of cash?” “LMAO, $990,000 down the drain. She’s probably waiting in line for a spot on the nearest rooftop.” Nina put on a worried expression. “Serenity, are you still there? Please don’t scare us. Card breaking is supposed to be fun, don’t do anything drastic.” Ace sighed, a perfect picture of fake sincerity. “Sigh. We always tell everyone to be responsible with their spending. This lady just wouldn’t listen. Nina, maybe we should call the police? If something happens, we can’t be held responsible.” In a flash, they had washed their hands of the situation, a move that earned them praise for being “conscientious streamers.” I transferred another million dollars into my account and placed my next order. “Ace… Serenity just bought ten thousand one hundred more packs of the Mythic Realms collector’s edition!” Nina’s voice trembled. The screen exploded with question marks and exclamations of “NO WAY.” Ace’s smile froze on his face. He never, in his wildest dreams, imagined someone would actually throw away over a million dollars chasing a single card. He swallowed hard, taking a huge gulp of water to steady his nerves. “Ahem… Serenity, what are you doing? This has to be a joke, right? I really think you should stop. I’ll have my assistant cancel the order for you.” His voice was now laced with a tremor he couldn’t hide. Seeing his panic, I initiated a paid video call, a premium feature on the platform that streamers couldn’t refuse. My voice filled the broadcast. “Don’t panic, Ace. The rules of your stream… I remember them correctly, don’t I? If a customer spends a million dollars and doesn’t pull the Golden Minotaur, you pay out one hundred times the cost of the packs. Am I right?” The chat, which had been mocking me moments before, fell silent. Everyone was stunned. Ace and Nina’s faces went white as sheets. “Ma’am, you… you can’t be serious. That’s just for show, you know? To make the stream more exciting…” Ace stammered, his earlier composure completely gone. “For show?” I pressed. “Behind you, on that wall, written in bold, crimson letters, are the words: ‘MILLION DOLLAR PULL OR 100X PAYOUT.’ And you’re telling me now that’s just for show?” As if remembering, Ace whipped his head around. The massive sign on his wall seemed to mock him, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. The viewers started catching on. “WHOA! He’s right! That rule is real! I always thought it was just hype!” “I remember that! Ace says it all the time, daring some whale to take the challenge!” “A hundred times a million… that’s a HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS!” “Oh my god! This is getting serious!” “The streamer’s not gonna back out now, is he? This is gonna be epic!” The tide of public opinion had turned. Ace stared at the chat, his lips trembling, unable to form a single word. He shot a desperate look at Nina, but she just lowered her head, avoiding his gaze. Just then, my son, Leo, burst into the room. He had clearly been watching the stream, and his face was flushed. “Mom! Is that you on Ace’s stream?! Have you gone crazy? Where did we get that kind of money?! Stop! Cancel the order, right now!” 3 It was the first time I had seen my son since being reborn. Looking at his distraught face, my heart felt like it was being twisted by a knife. But I pushed him away, my voice as cold as steel. “Get out. Now.” “Mom! The teachers said gambling is illegal! You’ll go to jail! I don’t want you to go to jail!” Leo sobbed, falling to his knees and clinging to my legs, begging me to stop. “Get out!” I roared. Leo froze, stunned by my outburst. I had never, ever been this harsh with him. But this was for his own good, to break his addiction to these cards, and to fuel my revenge. Steeling myself, I scooped him up, carried him out of the room, and locked the door. I ignored his frantic cries and banging on the door, my resolve unshaken. After dealing with Leo, I fought back my tears and turned my attention back to the livestream. Ace and Nina, having overheard the commotion, saw an opportunity. Ace’s face contorted into an expression of righteous indignation. “Serenity! That is unacceptable! How could you do something like this in front of your child? You’re teaching him to gamble! How can you call yourself a mother?” Nina’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. “Please, ma’am, stop this. Think of your son, look how scared he is. You can always earn more money, but you can’t replace your family! For his sake, please, stop this madness!” They had seized the moral high ground, painting me as a degenerate, unfit mother. The chat erupted again. “Wow, I’m sick. She’s using her kid’s money to gamble?” “What a psycho! She doesn’t deserve to be a mother!” “Streamer, call the cops! This is child abuse!” I watched the screen, a bitter smile on my face. In my past life, this is exactly what they said about me. I ignored their performance and pressed on. “Stop trying to pin labels on me. First, answer my question, Ace. One million dollars and no card means you pay me a hundred million. Is the promise you advertise every single day valid or not? If it’s not, then refund my money.” Backed into a corner, Ace knew he couldn’t talk his way out of it. He grit his teeth and forced a smile. “Alright! Serenity, since you’ve got the guts, then Ace’s Breaks will play along!” He slammed his hand on the table. “I’ll open them! I’ll open every single pack right here, in front of hundreds of thousands of people! If I don’t pull two Golden Minotaurs out of these next ten thousand one hundred packs, I will personally pay you two hundred million dollars! I, Ace, am a man of my word!” He was calling my bluff with a gamble of his own. He was betting that he could produce one Golden Minotaur from my next million-dollar order. They were clever, phrasing it as two cards for the combined two-million-dollar purchase. This would give them an excuse to go to the “warehouse” to get more stock, where they would insert the hidden card into a pack. If they pulled one, the crisis would be averted. If they didn’t, the hours it would take to open ten thousand packs gave them more than enough time to forge a card and reseal it. It would make for amazing television and get them out of the payout. It was a classic trick of theirs. I watched Ace’s face, twisted with a desperate excitement, and sneered internally. He’s finally taken the bait. He’s living up to the persona he created. The real show was about to begin.

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The city’s elite knew my nightly ritual: hunting for my husband, Asher Thorne, who slept in a different woman’s bed each night. He hated me for driving his first love to her death. I hated him for refusing to look at me for a decade. We were caged animals, tearing each other apart. But when a truck careened toward us, he shielded me with his body, coughing up blood but smiling. “My debt is paid,” he gasped. “Next life… let me go. I miss her.” I crawled from the wreckage, refusing to die with him. Later, I stood before my father. “I’ll marry into the Bartlett family.” This time, I’d give Asher what he wanted—his freedom, his love. All of it. 1 The grand crystal chandelier in the ballroom came crashing down again. But this time, Asher Thorne, the man I was supposed to save, shoved me out of the way. A flicker of relief crossed his face. The next second, to my horror, he was swallowed by a shower of shattering crystal. The deafening crash was followed by a wave of screams that ripped through the ballroom. I stared, numb, at the blood blooming across the pristine white carpet. I understood. He had been reborn, too. In our last life, I saved him. But I wasn’t fast enough to save myself. The chandelier had crushed my leg, leaving me with a permanent limp. I used that injury, that debt, to force him to marry me, even though I knew his heart belonged to my stepsister. This time, he chose to be buried under a ton of glass and steel rather than owe me anything. They carried him out on a stretcher, a bloody mess. Well-meaning guests pushed me towards the ambulance. “Go on, Vivienne! Asher needs you right now!” The words were a dagger in my heart. I turned and pushed my stepsister, Chloe, towards the open doors instead. “You go.” She gave me a surprised look, but before she could speak, the paramedics shut the doors and the ambulance sped away. The guests stared at me, bewildered. “Vivienne, why aren’t you going? He was trying to save you.” “Exactly! You two grew up together. How can you let someone else be with him at a time like this?” I didn’t answer. I just watched the ambulance disappear into the night. Twice now, he had chosen such a brutal way to sever our connection. I couldn’t understand it. What was it about me that he found so repulsive? After the disastrous gala, I returned to the family mansion. “You want to take Chloe’s place and marry into the Bartlett family?” my father asked, thinking he’d misheard. He knew how much I despised Chloe, the illegitimate daughter who had stormed into my mother’s hospital room during her final days. She’d stood over my dying mother and sneered that the one who isn’t loved is the real homewrecker. It was the final blow that broke my mother’s will to live. “Just yesterday you were swearing you’d marry Asher Thorne or no one,” he reminded me. I paused, avoiding the question. “Chloe came to you again today to try and break the engagement, didn’t she?” My father’s expression tightened. In our last life, around this time, Julian Bartlett, the sole heir to the Bartlett fortune, had a car accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. The Bartletts were not a family to be trifled with. Breaking the engagement at a time like this would bring ruin upon our entire family. After a moment of thought, his face grew grave. “The wedding is next month. You can change your mind anytime before then.” I hid a bitter smile. He was thrilled. He had always preferred the sweet-talking Chloe to me. If it weren’t for the fear of being seen as a man who mistreated his late wife’s only child, he would have forced me into this marriage from the start. By the time I left his study, my phone was blowing up with messages. Everyone assumed Asher had been injured saving me. Even if it was just for show, I had to go see him. When I pushed open his hospital room door, he was propped up against the pillows, a thick bandage wrapped around his forehead. Chloe was sitting by his bed. When he saw me, his voice softened. “Chloe, could you give us a minute?” She nodded obediently, murmuring a timid, “Sister,” as she passed me. The door clicked shut, and the room fell silent. His eyes scanned my legs, and a visible wave of relief washed over him. My mouth filled with a bitter taste. He was checking to make sure I didn’t have a broken leg to hold over his head this time. Seeing his pale, bloodless face, a lump formed in my throat. “Does it hurt…?” “Vivienne.” He cut me off, his voice weak but firm. “I saved you. Can you do one thing for me in return?” My heart sank. “What is it?” He took a deep breath. “Don’t force Chloe to marry Julian Bartlett. Your mother’s death had nothing to do with her. She was just a child.” My hands, hanging at my sides, clenched into fists. He hadn’t changed at all. He still thought I was forcing Chloe into a marriage with a disabled man out of spite. I managed a brittle smile. “Asher, you’re always so presumptuous.” He frowned, confused. “What do you mean?” He wanted to ask more, but I turned and left, giving him no chance. I wasn’t going to tell him that I was the one getting married now. I would let him wonder, let him worry, let him toss and turn in his hospital bed. I would let his heart hang in suspense. Until the day I married Julian Bartlett, he would suffer right alongside me. 2 A week later, I stood in front of a mirror, wearing the bespoke wedding gown from the Bartletts. I couldn’t bring myself to smile. In our last life, Chloe had worn this very dress when she jumped from the eighteenth floor of a skyscraper, dying right in front of Asher and me. It was the beginning of a decade of mutual torment. After the fitting, I went home and began to burn everything that connected me to Asher. My hand paused when I found a brightly colored beaded bracelet. We were just kids, playing house. Asher had gotten down on one knee, holding out this bracelet like it was a diamond ring. “This is our promise,” he’d said, mimicking the actors on TV. “When I grow up, I’m going to marry you.” The memory was so sweet that a small smile touched my lips. I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist without thinking. I was pulled from my thoughts by the butler, who informed me I had a guest. Asher was sitting in the parlor, the bandage still on his forehead. He sat ramrod straight, like he was here for a negotiation. “Vivienne,” my father said, his expression complicated. “Asher has come with a very generous offer from the Thorne family.” Several documents were spread across the table. Property deeds, project transfer agreements, even a stake in the Thorne family’s core business in the city. I scoffed. “Is this a marriage proposal, Mr. Thorne?” Asher looked up, his voice raspy. “Whatever the Bartletts can give your family, the Thornes can give more. Just call off Chloe’s engagement, and we can sign these today.” It was practically his entire net worth. He was really willing to risk it all for her. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the bitterness down. My father looked at me. “Vivienne, what do you think?” I stepped forward and coolly pushed the documents back across the table. “This alliance was decided long ago. To back out now, just because the Bartlett heir has had an accident… our family cannot afford to be known as dishonorable.” “Vivienne!” Asher shot up, grabbing my wrist. “Why do you have to interfere? You know what Julian Bartlett is like now! You’ll be the death of Chloe!” “Her death?” I yanked my arm free, my laugh sharp and humorless. “Her very name is the result of her mother sleeping her way into this family. A bastard child who has lived the life of a princess for years. Now she’s being asked to fulfill a promise, and you call that pushing her to her death? I don’t care if Julian Bartlett is disabled. Even if he were dying tomorrow, she would still have to walk down that aisle!” A soft sob came from behind the decorative screen. Chloe ran out, her eyes red and puffy. Asher’s face paled. He looked at me in disbelief. “You knew she was listening?” I tilted my head. “Of course.” Those words were for both of them. I hated her. If she hadn’t killed herself in our last life, leaving a permanent thorn between us, Asher and I might have had a chance. He ground his teeth. “When did you become so vicious?” He threw the words at me like stones before turning and chasing after her. My breath caught in my throat. I tilted my head back, forcing back the sting in my eyes. I thought the drama was over. But later, Asher cornered me in the garden. I don’t know what Chloe told him, but his eyes were blazing with fury. “Vivienne, she may be your stepsister, but she truly sees you as a sister. Your mother’s death was not her fault! How old was she? She has felt guilty about it to this day! I don’t understand how your mother, who was such a kind woman, could have given birth to such a cruel, selfish daughter!” SMACK. The force of my slap sent his head snapping to the side. My hand was trembling. “Asher Thorne,” I seethed, “you have no right to talk about my mother.” On her deathbed, my mother had entrusted me to him. And in return, he had turned his affections to the very person who had caused her so much pain. “I’m telling you now, I will never back down. If she has to die, she’ll die at her own wedding!” My words were like a lit match to gasoline. “Enough!” he roared. His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me, and I met his gaze without flinching. It was just like old times. But then, his expression softened. His eyes fixed on the colorful bracelet on my wrist. “…You kept it.” My heart lurched. The thorns I had so carefully erected around myself retracted. He was right. I didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of our past life. I let out a breath. “Asher… actually, I’ve decided to take…” Before I could finish, he lunged forward and ripped the bracelet from my wrist. The colorful beads scattered across the stone path with a series of sharp clicks. “Don’t use the past to manipulate me,” he snarled. “I won’t let you destroy Chloe! Vivienne, just you wait.” I stood frozen for a long time. Finally, I knelt and began to pick up the scattered beads, one by one. Tears fell, silent and unnoticed, onto the cold stone. It’s better this way, I told myself. A clean break. There shouldn’t be anything between us anymore. 3 In the days leading up to the wedding, the rumors started. “Did you hear? Vivienne is forcing her stepsister to marry that cripple from the Bartlett family.” “How could she? All for a few hundred million in investments.” “No wonder Asher Thorne has been avoiding her. He must have seen her for who she really is.” I sat at an auction, pretending not to hear. Then, Chloe appeared, greeting me with a cheerful smile. “Sister, what a coincidence! What are you doing here?” I gave her a cold look. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Oh, and about those rumors…” she said, her brow furrowed with fake concern. “Don’t worry, I’ll clear things up for you. After all, you’re the one who’s actually marrying into the Bartlett family…” The wedding was just days away. It was time she was told about the change of plans. I took a sip of champagne, a cynical smile on my face. “Aren’t you the one who started those rumors? What’s there to clear up?” Her innocent expression vanished, replaced by a cold hardness. “So what if I did?” she whispered, her voice dripping with venom. “It was supposed to be me from the start. The rumors aren’t exactly wrong, are they? All these years, playing the dutiful daughter for Father, the gentle soul for Asher, the gracious lady for everyone else. It makes me sick. You’re just like your mother. You both act so virtuous, but underneath you’re just a pair of hypocritical, conniving bitches.” I raised my hand to slap her, but my wrist was caught in a viselike grip. “Vivienne? What do you think you’re doing now?” Asher had appeared behind me. He shoved me, hard. I stumbled back, my high heel twisting, and I fell to the ground. My champagne flute shattered, sending shards of glass flying. “Sister!” Chloe cried out, rushing to help me up. “Don’t touch her! It’s all broken glass, you’ll get cut,” Asher said, pulling her back. But then he stepped forward and offered me his hand. I gritted my teeth and slapped it away, pushing myself up from the floor. My palm was sliced open, and the pain made my hand tremble. “Asher, she just insulted my mother. She called my mother a…” The words were too vile to repeat. He awkwardly withdrew his hand and turned to Chloe with a frown. Tears welled in Chloe’s eyes as she shook her head pitifully. “I didn’t… I just told her you came with me… I don’t understand why she would lie about me like that.” The doubt in Asher’s eyes vanished, replaced by a cold disgust. “You’re becoming more and more repulsive,” he said to me. “To frame Chloe, you’d even use your dead mother.” He took a step closer, looking down at my bleeding hand. “Look at yourself. You’re no different than a bitter, scorned shrew.” A wave of nausea washed over me. The auction’s opening announcement sounded, saving me. I shoved past Asher and returned to my seat. I had more important things to do today. Asher bought Chloe several small trinkets—a brooch, a hair clip. He was acting like he’d brought her here for a day of fun. Then, the final item was brought to the stage. “A jade pendant from the Qing Dynasty. Starting bid, five million.” I was about to raise my paddle when a gasp went through the crowd. “Mr. Thorne has lit the lantern!” I whipped my head around to see Asher staring at me, his eyes cold and hard. Whispers erupted around us. “Is he trying to outbid Vivienne?” “I heard they had a falling out over the Bartlett marriage. I guess it’s true.” I bit my lip, forcing back the wave of hurt and betrayal. This jade pendant was my mother’s most treasured dowry gift. The family had been forced to sell it when we were on the brink of bankruptcy. Now, finally, it was back. He knew what it meant to me. After the auction, I cornered him in the parking garage. “Why?” Before Asher could speak, Chloe jumped in. “Sister, I’ve been having nightmares lately, and I thought a protective amulet might help.” She glanced at me timidly. “But if it makes you unhappy, I can give it to you.” Asher frowned, pulling her behind him. “Chloe, you don’t have to do that.” He glared at me. “It’s because you always back down that she keeps pushing you.” I laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “I’m pushing her? Or are you two pushing me?” I pointed a trembling finger at Asher. “You knew that was my mother’s. How could you help her take it from me?” “Why do you think she’s having nightmares?” Asher retorted. “It’s because you’re forcing her into this marriage! She’s terrified! All she wanted was a symbol of peace. What’s wrong with that?” He paused, looking away. “Besides, it belonged to your mother. She was such a kind soul. I’m sure she would want her spirit to watch over Chloe.” What? The world went black for a second. The next thing I knew, my palm was stinging. I had slapped him, hard. Chloe gasped and rushed forward, clutching the jade pendant. “Sister, I’m sorry… please don’t be angry. I’ll give it back to you… Please don’t blame Asher…” She made a show of handing the pendant to me, but before I could take it, it slipped from her fingers and shattered on the concrete floor. The air froze. Chloe burst into tears, frantically trying to pick up the pieces. “How did this happen… Sister, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Asher pulled her up, afraid she would cut her hands. I stared at the broken jade, my body trembling. The world around me faded into a dull roar. The last thread of my control snapped. I ran to my car, jumped in, and slammed my foot on the gas. The engine roared to life. I aimed the car directly at Chloe. Her face went white. She screamed, her act of contrition forgotten, and scrambled backward. Asher’s eyes widened in horror. “Vivienne, are you insane?!” he roared, pounding on my window, trying to get me to stop. “If you kill her, I’ll hate you for the rest of my life!” I glared at him, then stomped on the accelerator. The car shot forward. Chloe screamed, crawling desperately across the pavement. Just as I was about to hit her, Asher’s SUV slammed into my car from the side. The world spun, and my vision was filled with the spiderweb crack of the windshield. Then, everything went red. Through the haze of pain, I saw Asher stumble out of his car. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was his desperate, heartbroken scream. “Vivienne!” I woke up to the stark white ceiling of a hospital room. Asher had kept a vigil by my bedside for seven days and seven nights. When he saw me open my eyes, a flash of joy lit up his face. Just then, his phone buzzed. It was the special ringtone he had set for Chloe. The light in his eyes died. He turned to me, his voice raspy and cold. “Vivienne, your mother asked me to look after you before she died, and I’ve never forgotten that. But if you ever try to hurt Chloe again, I won’t hesitate to destroy you myself. That cripple from the Bartlett family doesn’t deserve her. I will stop this wedding. Don’t interfere. This is your last chance.” He answered the phone and walked out without a backward glance. I slowly turned my head, letting the tears fall freely. On the pillow beside me lay the jade pendant, its pieces painstakingly joined together with gold. Because of my “accident,” the wedding was postponed for two weeks.

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After Genevieve’s 99th fight with her boy toy, she came to me in tears. “Kneel and apologize to him,” she said, smirking. “Our son triggered him.” I knew she meant it—last time I refused, she killed my dog and stopped my mother’s medical payments. I’d endured it all for our son. Until yesterday. She deliberately gave our son his deadliest allergen. Watching him go into shock in my arms, my heart turned to ash. As she berated me, I handed her divorce papers. “He’s bored of seeing me kneel,” I said softly. “Let’s try divorcing to please him.” She looked triumphant. “Finally learning to please me.” I smiled—not to please her, but to destroy her. For good. 1 “Don’t worry, as soon as Chase forgives me, we’ll get remarried,” Genevieve said as she signed the papers. She was so confident in my undying devotion that she didn’t even bother to read the agreement. But when the clerk handed us our official divorce certificates, she froze for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable on her face. She turned as if to say something to me, but at that moment, Chase swept her into his arms. “Genevieve, you actually divorced him for me! I love you so much,” he exclaimed, cupping her face and kissing her deeply. The courthouse employees exchanged awkward glances, their eyes settling on me with a shared look of pity. The poor bastard whose ex-wife was making out with her lover on the courthouse steps the very day of their divorce. I calmly averted my gaze and pushed open the doors. As I stepped outside, the sky erupted in a million-dollar fireworks display. Genevieve’s indulgent voice drifted from behind me. “I had them custom-made for you, Chase. When they burst, they’ll spell out your name.” I stood rooted to the spot. I had once dreamed of this for our own wedding. But back then, Genevieve’s company was just starting out, and money was tight. Not wanting to burden her, I had bought cheap, garish fireworks from a corner store myself. I remember smiling, perfectly content, as the low-budget sparks sputtered across the sky. Genevieve had teared up, hugging me tight and making a promise. “Liam, I swear I’ll make this up to you. One day, I’ll have them write your name across the sky.” We eventually made more money than we could ever spend. But that promise vanished, as if it had never been made. Watching the sky light up for another man, I finally understood. Her love hadn’t disappeared. It had just found a new place to bloom. “Daddy!” A cheerful shout pulled me from my reverie. My son, Leo, let go of his nanny’s hand and launched himself into my arms like an excited puppy. Today was his birthday. Genevieve and I had promised to take him to the amusement park together. I looked over at her, but the moment she saw our son, she froze. That same blank look. She’d forgotten. Again. I’d lost count of the times it had happened. Forgetting his birthday, missing his school plays. Each time, I would patiently explain to everyone, “Leo’s mom is just so busy. She’s away on a business trip.” Then I’d see her on some celebrity news channel, strolling through the streets of Paris with Chase. After six years of marriage, my face was numb from being metaphorically slapped. The pity in the eyes of our friends and family was a constant presence, but I’d taught myself not to care. But when other kids on the playground started pointing at my son, calling him a “bastard” with “no mom,” and he would bury his face in my chest and sob uncontrollably—that’s when I could no longer lie to myself. Genevieve didn’t love our son. And she certainly didn’t love me. 2 Still, for Leo’s sake, I wanted to try one last time. But before I could speak, a boy about Leo’s age hopped out of Genevieve’s sports car. It was Aiden, Chase’s son from his previous marriage. Chase gave me an oily smile. “Sorry, Liam. Genevieve insisted we all come along. Hope we’re not intruding.” I stood there, frozen. With one casual sentence, he had shattered the day my son had been looking forward to for an entire year. Genevieve glanced at my pale face, then guiltily looked away. “They’re around the same age. They can play together.” Leo’s eyes were glued to the sight of his mother’s hand intertwined with Aiden’s. A look of pure confusion clouded his small face. My heart clenched, and the words I wanted to say died in my throat. Aiden was dressed in a bespoke miniature suit, his hair perfectly styled, standing proudly between Genevieve and Chase. He looked like the guest of honor. And then there was my son, in his simple jeans and t-shirt, standing awkwardly by my side. Suddenly, I’d had enough. I scooped Leo into my arms and turned to leave. “Liam, what’s your problem?” Chase called out, stepping in front of me. He feigned a look of hurt. “Are Aiden and I bothering you?” His fingernails dug sharply into my arm, hidden from view. The pain was sharp, and I instinctively yanked my arm away. It wasn’t a hard shove, but Chase crumpled to the ground dramatically. “Liam, why would you hit me?” he cried out, his face a mask of bewildered innocence. “All I wanted was for us to get along!” My arm throbbed. I was shaking with rage. Before I could utter a word, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Genevieve had slapped me. “What kind of father are you?” she shrieked. “Beating someone up in front of your own son!” It was a vicious blow. The sharp edge of a key on her ring sliced across my cheek, and a warm trickle of blood ran down my face. Leo immediately scrambled in front of me, stretching out his thin arms to protect me. “Don’t hit my daddy!” he sobbed. I barely felt the cut. All I could see was my son’s small, trembling back, and beyond him, the woman who was supposed to be his mother, shielding her lover and his child. Something inside me snapped. Genevieve could neglect me. She could stop loving me. But how could she, again and again, be so cruel to our child? I stumbled forward, wrapped my arms around Leo, and covered his tear-filled eyes. I turned to walk away, my resolve hardening into steel. As I moved, Genevieve, having finished checking on her precious Chase, turned and saw the blood streaming down my face. Her eyes widened. She rushed over, her voice laced with panic as she tried to press a handkerchief to the wound. “Oh god, you’re bleeding so much. Liam, I wouldn’t have… if you hadn’t pushed him, I never would have…” I looked at her, my vision blurry, a profound and desolate sadness washing over me. It didn’t matter what I said. In her eyes, Chase was always the victim, and I was always the aggressor. Because of him, I had lost my pet, my wife’s affection, and even… my ability to have more children. The first time I caught them, I had brought her a home-cooked meal at her office, only to find them naked and tangled together on her desk. I went insane. I lunged at him, but Genevieve threw herself between us. I shoved her aside, and in the ensuing chaos, Chase delivered a savage kick to my groin. That single blow left me sterile. Seeing the single tear that escaped my eye now, Genevieve faltered, a flash of genuine pain in her expression. She reached out to wipe it away, but just then, Chase let out a choked sob from behind her. “I’m so sorry,” he wailed. “This is all my fault. I never should have come between you two.” Then, he turned and sprinted directly into the busy street. Horns blared. Tires screeched. Without a moment’s hesitation, Genevieve let go of me and ran after him. My son and I shared a quiet, knowing look. We got in the car. As we drove past, I saw Chase, perfectly safe, holding Genevieve in a tight embrace. He met my eyes over her shoulder, the guilt on his face replaced by a cold, triumphant smirk. He was telling me he’d won. But I no longer cared about the game. 3 That night, Leo and I moved into another one of our properties. But around eleven, Genevieve showed up uninvited. The cold, silent look on my face as I opened the door clearly annoyed her. “We’re just divorced, Liam, I didn’t say you could move out,” she snapped, striding past me. “We’ll be remarried in a few days anyway. Why make such a fuss?” She plopped down on the sofa, admiring the decor. Her eyes landed on the family portrait on the wall, and she froze. The photo that once held three people now only held two. Her image had been neatly cut out. A surge of irritation rose in her. She turned to yell at me but then noticed the bandage on my head from where she’d hit me. A flicker of guilt crossed her face. She reached out to touch it, but I stepped back, avoiding her hand. Her hand hung awkwardly in the air, her expression unreadable. I didn’t offer her the usual comfort or care. I just pointed to a guest room. “You can sleep there. Or you can go back to your own place.” I turned and walked into my bedroom. But as I went to close the door, she slipped inside, pressing her warm body against mine. “Honey,” she whispered, her voice husky. “It’s been so long since you’ve touched me.” She was completely oblivious to my resistance, acting as if I were the same old Liam, always at her beck and call. But this time, I shoved her away. Hard. And then, I slapped her across the face. Stunned, she reeled back, her shock quickly turning to fury. But as she raised her hand to strike back, her eyes fell on my left hand. She grabbed it, her voice trembling. “Where’s your ring?” Our wedding bands were simple silver rings. We were poor when we got married, but we wore them with so much joy. After she made her fortune, she bought me countless expensive, designer rings, but I never wore them. She knew what this simple silver band meant to me. In ten years of marriage, through all the fights and betrayals, I had never taken it off. Now, it was gone. Genevieve’s heart began to pound. A terrifying, unfamiliar panic seized her. “Let’s go get our marriage license back tomorrow,” she said, her voice tight. I pulled my hand from her grasp. My mother was gone. I had full custody of our son. She had no leverage over me anymore. “Leave,” I said. She stood frozen, as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “What did you say?” I put more distance between us. “You heard me.” Silence hung in the air for a beat, and then her eyes darkened as the reality of the situation finally crashed down on her. Her voice shook. “This was all a trick, wasn’t it? You used our divorce to force me to break up with Chase!” I almost laughed. Did she really think, even now, that this was about him? But my silence was all the confirmation she needed. “Fine,” she hissed, jabbing a finger at me. “Fine. Fine! I’ll be waiting for you to come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness!” She stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. The noise woke Leo, who wandered out of his room, rubbing his eyes. I scooped him up, held him close, and gently soothed him back to sleep. Looking at his peaceful face, a profound sense of contentment filled me. This was all that mattered now. The next morning, I woke up early for Leo’s parent-teacher conference. As we walked into the classroom, I saw them. Genevieve, Chase, and Aiden, sitting together. They looked like a perfect, happy family. In the seven years of Leo’s life, Genevieve had never once attended a school event. He’d been taunted for it, but he was always too considerate to tell me. But seeing it now, laid bare like this, was a truth he couldn’t ignore. Tears welled in his eyes, and he turned and ran from the room. Genevieve looked guilty and started to get up, but Chase put a hand on her arm, stopping her. My heart hammered in my chest. I turned and ran after my son. As I rounded the corner, Chase and a couple of his buddies caught up to me. He slammed his fist into my face. “Have some dignity, Liam,” he sneered. “You’re divorced. Stop using your kid to emotionally blackmail Genevieve.” His friends chimed in. “Yeah, what a loser. Like father, like son. Faking tears for attention.” “Pathetic!” they howled with laughter.

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My childhood sweetheart, Jasmine, was a knockout, the kind of girl who could be a movie star. The line of guys trying to ask her out could have stretched from our front door halfway to Paris. One day, I asked her if I could cut in line. She just rolled her eyes at me and said I was insane. “Fine,” I shot back, a reckless grin spreading across my face. “If I’m insane, then from this moment on, I’m going to be the psycho who personally destroys every chance you have at romance.” 01 And so it began. Whenever a new suitor tried to confess his feelings to Jasmine, I’d materialize out of nowhere to sabotage them. I’d shout at the top of my lungs, “You don’t want to date Jasmine! She goes weeks without showering! And she has the worst case of athlete’s foot you’ve ever seen. The second she takes off her shoes, the stench could knock a buzzard off a garbage truck from a mile away!” Every time I pulled this stunt, Jasmine would explode. “Leo, you have a death wish!” Jasmine and I grew up together, our houses separated by a single picket fence. She was the golden child, the one all the parents in the neighborhood compared their own kids to. Not only was she stunningly beautiful, but she was also a straight-A student. The stream of admirers was endless. Every morning, the first thing she’d do upon reaching her desk was to clear out the pile of breakfast offerings—croissants, muffins, smoothies—and toss them all to me. Thanks to her popularity, I saved a fortune on food, money I promptly spent on my growing collection of trading cards. Of course, it wasn’t a one-way street. I earned my keep. I’d often do her chores for her, scrubbing floors or mowing the lawn, just so she could have a quiet corner to study in peace. Sometimes, I even took the beatings meant for her. Her father was a drunk, a bitter man who’d always wanted a son. But her mother’s poor health meant Jasmine was their only child. Having a boy was out of the question. This failure, as he saw it, festered inside him. When he was drunk, he’d hit her mom. Even when he was sober, he’d find some excuse to lash out at them. His favorite line, spat out like poison, was always the same: “My life’s biggest mistake was marrying a woman who couldn’t give me a son, and ending up with a good-for-nothing girl like you who shames me in front of everyone.” But Jasmine had a spine of steel. Every time he said it, she’d fire right back. “My mom is the best mom in the world, and I’m not ‘good-for-nothing.’ The only failure here is you—a pathetic man who gets his kicks from hitting his wife and daughter.” And every time, his fists would answer her defiance. A storm of violence would follow. Her mother would always plead with her to just stay quiet. “Let it go,” she’d whisper, “he’ll be better once the alcohol wears off.” Jasmine would never back down, wiping away tears with a furious hand. “Mom, you’ve been ‘letting it go’ for years. Has he ever gotten better? Has he ever changed?” One night, her father unbuckled his leather belt, the metal buckle glinting menacingly under the dim kitchen light. He was coming for Jasmine. Without a second thought, I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around his waist, screaming for Jasmine to run. But she stood frozen, her jaw set. “No. I’m not running. If he wants to kill me, let him try.” Her father roared at me to let go, threatening to use the belt on me instead. I just held on tighter. In my world, protecting Jasmine was the only thing that mattered. The first lash of the belt bit into my back, sharp and searing. I cried out as angry, red welts rose on my skin, but I didn’t let go. The nightmare only ended when my own parents burst in, drawn by the commotion. Later, as my mom gently applied ointment to my back, she sighed. “Leo, you don’t have a lick of sense, do you? When someone’s coming at you with a belt, you run.” “I couldn’t,” I mumbled into my pillow. “If I ran, what would’ve happened to Jasmine?” My mom’s voice softened. “Oh, you little rascal. I know you like her. But couldn’t you have grabbed her and run together?” My face burned hot. “I don’t like her like that! I just… I couldn’t stand seeing her get hurt.” But she never blamed me for getting beaten for Jasmine’s sake. In fact, her heart broke for that girl. Whenever Jasmine came over to do homework, my mom would see the bruises peeking out from under her sleeves and her voice would crack. “Honey, does it hurt?” Jasmine would always put on a brave face. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Gable. I’m fine.” My mom would tend to her cuts and bruises, tears welling in her own eyes. But this was the nineties. In our small town, women didn’t have much of a voice. The word “divorce” was spoken in hushed, scandalized tones, as if it were a mortal sin. 02 Jasmine once begged her mom to leave him. To file for divorce. Her mother reacted with fury, slapping Jasmine across the face. “Are you trying to turn me into a shameless hussy? A disgrace?” Jasmine had endured countless beatings from that man without shedding a tear. But that one slap from her own mother broke her. The tears finally came, silent and bitter. After that day, she never mentioned divorce again. She stopped talking about how pitiful her mother was, or how unlucky her life had been. When it came time for college, Jasmine chose a school a thousand miles away, effectively cutting off all contact with her family. She paid her way with scholarships and a string of part-time jobs. She never came home for holidays, choosing instead to work and save money. My mom, worried sick about her, would always slip me extra cash. “Take care of Jasmine for me, Leo. That girl has it rough.” College changed Jasmine. Her natural radiance was replaced by a cool, melancholic air. There was a distance in her clear, guarded eyes that kept everyone at arm’s length. She was still breathtakingly beautiful—tall and graceful, with delicate features that could make the world fade into the background just by sitting still. On the university’s online forum, a “Campus Queen” poll made her the undisputed winner by a landslide. The line of guys trying to win her over was longer than ever. I could have funded a week’s worth of pizza just by selling the love letters she received as scrap paper. Since everyone on campus knew we were close—and had confirmed we weren’t a couple—I became the unofficial gatekeeper. Until that one fateful day, when I asked her, “Can I cut in line?” She gave me a long, searching look before declaring, “You’re insane.” And that’s when my new mission began. Anyone who came to me asking for her number got the same story: “Jasmine has a terrible case of athlete’s foot and rarely showers. The smell is… legendary. It’s incurable. Whoever ends up with her is in for a lifetime of misery.” The rumor worked like a charm. The flood of suitors dwindled to a trickle, and for a while, Jasmine seemed to enjoy the peace and quiet. But then, a post exploded on the campus forum. It detailed Jasmine’s tragic backstory: the alcoholic, abusive father; the constant fighting; the miserable childhood. It painted her as a brave, resilient girl who was putting herself through college all alone. The post went viral, shooting to the top of the forum’s hot list. Suddenly, my “athlete’s foot” rumor was forgotten. A wave of misplaced chivalry swept across campus. The number of guys pursuing her became a veritable army. Her dorm hallway was constantly clogged with guys offering to fetch her water, save her a seat in the library, or just straight-up hand her cash. Overwhelmed and furious, Jasmine finally snapped. She issued a campus-wide manhunt for me. She was convinced I had leaked her secrets. And I knew she wouldn’t let it go. Growing up, Jasmine was the undisputed leader of the neighborhood kids. Anyone who crossed her learned their lesson the hard way. 03 I’ve lived under the shadow of Jasmine’s “tyranny” my whole life. The second I heard about the manhunt, my first instinct was to hide. But I had severely underestimated her influence on campus. I thought I’d be safe in the all-male dorms, but I was wrong. Her legion of “suitors,” eager to curry favor, stormed my dorm and dragged me out like a prisoner of war. They shoved me in front of her, each of them preening like they’d just slain a dragon for their queen. Jasmine dismissed them with a wave and then grabbed my ear, parading me across the main lawn for all to see. She hauled me to a secluded spot behind the library and ordered me to get on my knees and apologize. “Jasmine, I swear on my life, you’ve got the wrong guy,” I pleaded. “I didn’t post that.” She stared at me, her eyes like chips of ice. “Do you really expect me to believe you, Leo? We’re a thousand miles from home. Who else here knows about my family? It was you. It had to be you.” “It wasn’t!” I insisted, desperation creeping into my voice. I had no way to prove it. She was right; I was the only one here who knew her secrets. I had followed her to this freezing northern city, a fact my mom loved to tease me about. “You wouldn’t have moved so far from our sunny little southern town if it wasn’t for Jasmine, you little rascal.” “Then who was it? Did you tell someone else about me?” she demanded. I knew how private she was. People had asked, but I’d never breathed a word. “No, Jasmine. I swear. I didn’t post it, and I’ve never told anyone your story.” Her expression shifted, a flicker of deep-seated hurt crossing her face. “Why should I believe you? I remember when we were kids. You sold out my hiding spot during a game of hide-and-seek for a single piece of candy. Why wouldn’t you sell my secrets now for a bit of attention or a few bucks?” Her words were a punch to the gut. That memory, twisted and ugly in her retelling, stabbed at me. She had been the hide-and-seek champion. No one could ever find her. But I knew her tells, her favorite spots. I could always track her down. One time, another kid offered me a piece of candy if I revealed her location. What she never knew was that it was a White Rabbit creamy candy, her absolute favorite. I’d betrayed her for it, and the guilt had eaten at me. She was so mad she refused to speak to me for days. I held onto that candy, waiting for the right moment. Later that week, on a bright, sunny afternoon while we were perched on the branch of an old oak tree, I gave it to her as a surprise. Her face lit up with a pure, unadulterated joy that made my own heart swell. She carefully smoothed out the edible rice paper wrapper and handed it to me. “Here,” she said, “you keep this for me.” I treasured that little piece of paper for years. But now, she was using that memory as a weapon against me. The pain was sharp and real. “Jasmine, you really don’t believe me?” I asked, looking up at her. Her eyes suddenly welled up, turning red at the rims. “Leo, this is the one thing I hate more than anything. I don’t need anyone’s pity. Not then, not now, and not ever. This time, you’ve really, truly crossed a line.” 04 With that, she turned and walked away without a backward glance. I watched her go, every instinct screaming at me to run after her, to make her understand. But my feet felt like they were nailed to the ground. She was too angry. Chasing her now would be useless. The only thing I could do was find the person who really wrote that post. My heart heavy, I trudged back to my dorm. I pulled up the forum on my computer and found the post. The user ID was deceptively simple: “A Classmate.” A surge of anger shot through me. It was obviously a setup, designed to point the finger directly at me. It had to be one of my “rivals,” some coward trying to win Jasmine over by playing dirty. The post had thousands of replies. I sent a private message to the original poster, asking to meet, but my message vanished into the digital void. I posted public replies, demanding they show themselves, but “A Classmate” remained silent. I knew I couldn’t let this fester. I had to talk to Jasmine. But she was ghosting me completely. Her roommates, who had apparently heard the “official” story, now gave me the cold shoulder, muttering about what a jerk I was. The weight of being falsely accused was crushing. The more it hurt, the more determined I became to prove my innocence. I spent days lurking outside her dorm, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she never appeared. Then, one day, a package arrived from my mom. It was filled with homemade specialties from our hometown, treats you couldn’t find anywhere in this cold northern city. My first thought was to share them with Jasmine. I sent her a text. Your favorite snacks from my mom just arrived. The message went unanswered. When she sent the package, my mom’s instructions were clear: “Make sure Jasmine gets some.” With no other option, I carried the box of food to her dorm, planning to ask her roommate to take it up. As I approached the building, my heart sank. There she was, standing near the entrance, but she wasn’t alone. She was with a guy. And not just any guy. It was Ethan Vance, the student council president and the forum’s officially elected “Campus Heartthrob.” I watched, paralyzed, as he gently wrapped a scarf around her neck. She didn’t pull away. Standing together, they looked like a perfect couple from a magazine cover. Next to a guy like Ethan, I felt like a cheap knock-off. He wasn’t just tall and handsome; he was a top student, charismatic, and everyone knew his family was loaded. If Jasmine were with him, she’d be taken care of. She’d be safe. Maybe this was it. Maybe it was time for me to finally bow out. A bitter wave of disappointment washed over me. I turned to leave. “Leo, stop right there.” The voice cut through the air, and I froze.

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1. A university junior contacted me for an interview about “Seven Years of Love,” referencing my past with Alexis Medlock—our romance still legendary on campus forums. “Are you still as in love?” she asked. “No,” I said. “We’re divorcing.” She looked crushed. “No chance to fix things?” Truth was, I only realized two weeks ago: Alexis had stopped loving me. It began with a small fight. My seasonal illness always required special medication—Alexis used to portion doses with care, leaving notes saying how many to take. That day, the drawer was empty. Since we’d graduated and entered the professional world, Alexis had been working himself to the bone. He was always busy, always stressed. I told myself he’d just forgotten. I tried calling him, but his line was busy. I sent him a text, asking him to pick up a box of my medicine on his way home. It wasn’t something you could get on a delivery app, and I was too dizzy to even get out of bed. Hours passed with no reply. I figured he was just swamped. I spent two agonizing hours wrestling with a fever and a spinning head. When Alexis finally came home, his hands were empty. “My medicine?” I asked, my voice weak. He frowned. “What medicine?” He checked his phone then and saw my message. I expected him to say he’d go out and get it right away, or at least order a courier. He did neither. Instead, he looked at me with an expression bordering on disgust. “Have you completely lost all ability to function?” he snapped. “It’s just a box of pills, Anna. Did you really have to wait for me to get it? I’m busy. Couldn’t you have just gotten it yourself? Can’t you be a little more considerate for once?” It was the first time I had ever seen him truly angry. His voice was harsh. I sniffled, my voice thick from my cold. “Okay. I get it.” Humiliation… helplessness… pain… The emotions crashed over me, suffocating me. I had tried so hard not to be a burden. I knew how busy he was. I rarely bothered him, terrified of being seen as a nuisance. When the lightbulb in the living room burned out, I watched a tutorial online and replaced it myself. My fever was raging. Alexis’s image blurred before my eyes, splitting into two. As my consciousness started to fade, I gripped the sharp corner of the bedside table, the pain a welcome anchor to reality. “Alexis,” I rasped, “could you please just call…” 911. I never got the word out. He cut me off. “I have to get back to the office. Don’t bother me with little things like making a phone call. My time is valuable.” My body went rigid. My eyes burned. When did it happen? When did asking him to make a simple phone call for me become an imposition? Alexis, what happened to you? 2. “So what happened? Who took you to the hospital?” the student asked, her pen poised over her notebook. I gave a self-deprecating smile. “I did.” After he left, I squeezed the sharp corner of the table so hard my hand started to bleed, but I didn’t let go. In that last sliver of consciousness, I managed to dial 911, gasp out my address and the door code, and then I blacked out. I woke up two days later. When I checked my phone, there wasn’t a single message from Alexis. That’s when I scrolled up through our chat history. With a dawning horror, I realized it was almost entirely me initiating contact. Looking at the dates, the conversation was grayed out for nearly the entire past year. “So, was it just that Alexis was too busy and neglected you?” she asked gently. I shook my head. “No.” After I woke up, the doctor gave me the all-clear for discharge. I was at the cashier’s office, waiting to pay my bill, when I saw him. Alexis. He was at the front of the line, paying for something. When he got his receipt, I followed him, silent as a shadow. For a wild moment, I entertained a fantasy, a plot twist straight out of a novel: maybe his sudden change in behavior was because he was secretly dying of some incurable disease. I trailed him to a hospital room. He walked over to a young woman with pigtails. Her face lit up when she saw him. “Alexis, thank you so much for this,” she said, her voice bright and cheerful. “You’re so busy at work, I feel bad making you run these little errands for me.” Alexis’s voice was impossibly gentle. “You just focus on getting better. I’m here for you.” A hot rush of anger surged through me. I threw open the door and stormed in. Alexis looked up, first with surprise, then with a deep frown. “What are you doing here?” “So this is your ‘busy schedule’?” I demanded, my voice shaking. I desperately wanted him to give me a plausible explanation, any excuse I could cling to. Honestly, I was ashamed of myself in that moment. I should have been the fiery heroine from a movie, slapping him across the face and spitting the word “divorce” at him. But I couldn’t. Alexis grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room. “Have you lost your mind? This is a hospital, not a place for you to make a scene.” “Make a scene?” I shrieked, all reason gone. “You told me you were busy with work! Is this ‘work’? Hanging out with another woman?” My voice echoed down the sterile hallway, drawing stares from passersby. Alexis was like a robot, his voice devoid of any emotion. “She’s my apprentice, a fresh college graduate. Is it a crime to help her out a little?” Help her out? All the suppressed emotions of the past few weeks erupted. “I asked you to get me one box of medicine, and you couldn’t be bothered! You said you were busy, that I was wasting your time…” “It’s not the same, Anna! You’re twenty-seven years old! You’re an adult!” A suffocating wave of despair washed over me. He was right. I had almost forgotten. We had been together for seven years, from the time I was twenty to the woman I was now. When I looked at him again, my eyes were so red they felt like they were bleeding. But there was no trace of sympathy or guilt on his face. Only impatience. In that instant, all my strength drained away. I had no fight left in me. I gave him one last look and walked away. 3. “Did he come after you?” I looked at her, my mind drifting back to that day. After leaving the hospital wing, I went back to the cashier, paid my bill, and left. In the taxi, an emotional advice show was playing on the radio. The host was discussing a familiar topic. 【What kind of couple can survive the seven-year itch?】 I had once asked Alexis about that. I told him how so many couples fall out of love before the seven-year mark, and I asked him what would happen if he didn’t love me anymore. He had turned to the crowded plaza we were in and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Alexis Medlock will love Anna Reed forever! For the rest of his life! What seven-year itch? I’m going to be with Anna forever!” He was so reckless, so unconcerned with the strange looks he was getting. In that moment, I truly believed we would be together for a lifetime, that the seven-year itch was something that happened to other people. But I got home that day, and Alexis never called. Instead, his apprentice did. “Anna,” she said, her voice dripping with faux innocence. “I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding. Alexis was just helping me out because he felt sorry for me. The company really is that busy. He wasn’t lying to you.” He hadn’t lied. But he hadn’t cared either. The old Alexis would never have abandoned me to take care of someone else. The old Alexis remembered every little thing about me. If he accidentally made me angry, he would rush out and buy me my favorite stuffed animal to make it up to me. When I was sick, his eyes would well up with tears and he’d whisper, “Why isn’t it me who’s sick?” He even tried to catch my colds by cuddling with me, earning a stern lecture from our doctor. His tenderness was reserved only for me. When a cousin’s daughter was in the hospital, and they asked him to watch her for one night, he refused. “I can give you money,” he’d said, “but I can’t stay. I have to take care of Anna.” Back then, he never found me annoying. He never treated me with the cold indifference he did now. But the Alexis of today… he didn’t even want to talk to me. He didn’t want to see me. 4. “Why were you so sure he didn’t want to see you?” My thoughts were pulled back to ten days ago. After our fight at the hospital, we both retreated into a stony silence. It was a cold war. The next time I saw him was when I was admitted to the hospital for a sharp pain in my abdomen. It was appendicitis. I needed minor surgery. The doctor told me I needed a family member to sign the consent form. That was the first time I called him since our fight. “Hello?” His voice was so distant, so detached. It felt like I was talking to a stranger, not the man I had shared a bed with for seven years. “I need surgery for appendicitis,” I said, my own voice flat. “The doctor needs a family member’s signature.” There was a long pause on the other end. Then, “I’m on my way.” He arrived about thirty minutes later. He didn’t ask how I was feeling. He didn’t ask if I was in pain. He didn’t seem to care that I was about to go under the knife. The old Alexis would have been a blubbering mess. “Where do I sign?” The doctor pointed to the line. Alexis scribbled his name. He looked at me then, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just turned and left without a word. I didn’t know if he was still angry about our fight, or if he just genuinely didn’t want to be there. It was probably the latter. The surgery was a success, but I had to stay in the hospital for a few days to recover. In the bed across from me was a middle-aged couple. The husband had brought his wife a thermos of soup. “I told you,” she grumbled, “I don’t want chicken soup.” “It’s good for you,” he coaxed. “I’ll make you something different tomorrow.” “You’d better,” she said, but she was smiling. Then she noticed me. “Dear, where’s your family?” “They’re busy,” I said. The truth was, my parents had emigrated with my younger siblings the year I turned eighteen. I hadn’t heard from them since. I could never bring myself to admit that they had abandoned me. For a long time, I thought fate had been fair. I had lost my family, but I had gained Alexis, a man who loved me with his whole heart. Now, I had nothing. “Busy or not, they should be able to spare some time for you,” the woman clucked sympathetically. Her husband gently shushed her. “Here, young lady,” he said, offering me a bowl of their soup. “Have some.” I was about to refuse, but the woman had already pressed the warm bowl into my hands. The moment I felt its heat, the dam broke. All the strength I had been clinging to for days crumbled. I was utterly, completely alone. 5. “What happened after that?” That was five days ago. The day I was discharged from the hospital happened to be the same day Alexis’s apprentice was discharged. He had been at the hospital with her the whole time, but he hadn’t visited me once. I watched as he carried her bags, carefully helping her into a waiting car, his every move radiating a nervous tension I hadn’t seen from him in years. Not with me, at least. Maybe I had been refusing to see what was right in front of me. There is only one reason a man changes so drastically: there’s someone else. I stood there for a long time, watching them. They never even noticed me. As the car pulled away, it finally hit me. It wasn’t that Alexis had changed. It was that he had given his love to someone else. My heart shattered into a million pieces. When I got home, the apartment was exactly as I had left it. Alexis had probably forgotten this place even existed. If he didn’t want this life anymore, why was I still holding on to it? I went through the apartment and gathered all of his things. I kept a few valuable items, but the rest I packed up and sold. The space felt so empty afterward, as if I had been living there alone all along. As if the last seven years had been nothing but a dream. That’s when the thought of divorce first entered my mind. And once it was there, it took root. I hired a lawyer and had a divorce agreement drawn up. My demands were simple: one million dollars and the apartment. I wouldn’t live in it, though. I’d sell it. I didn’t contact Alexis myself. I had the lawyer do it.

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I lost a party game and had to post this on my social media: 【Two months pregnant. Craving grapes, husband won’t buy them. Craving fancy grapes, husband won’t buy those either. Marriage over, hands parted, baby gone, grapes eaten. This woman no longer has a husband.】 The leading man in my ghost of a marriage was summoned back from overseas overnight by both sets of parents. After a family tribunal, the truth came out. The man who took the fall for my prank came home and bought me three crates of grapes and three crates of premium seedless ones. His face was like thunder. “Since you love them so much,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “you can eat them until you’ve had your fill.” 1 After hitting ‘post’, I tossed my phone onto the marble coffee table and leaned back, surveying the room with a lazy smile. “Well? Satisfied?” Everyone gave me a thumbs-up. Leo just swore, grabbing my phone to stare at the screen in disbelief. “Chloe, you’re a legend! You didn’t block a single person.” I waved off their flattery and shuffled the cards for the next round. I’d always lived by my own rules. The tsunami this post would inevitably cause when my parents and in-laws saw it was a problem for future me. As I dealt the cards, my friend Poppy sidled up to me, a knowing look on her face. “No one could force you to post that if you didn’t want to,” she whispered, evaluating my move. “This was a power play, wasn’t it? A brilliant scheme to get Mr. Ford back from overseas.” Poppy had read one too many romance novels and her brain was permanently stuck on a “billionaire falls for me” loop. I decided not to argue, offering a placid, “Sure, Poppy. You figured me out.” Whenever people in our circle talked about Alex Ford and me, they’d sigh and call our relationship a karmic train wreck. I met him our freshman year of college. I was Chloe Sutton, the untouchable queen bee of Kingsbridge’s elite, born with a silver spoon and an ego to match. His family, the Fords, were dismissed by everyone as tacky new money, desperately trying to climb a social ladder they didn’t belong on. Naturally, Alex was completely ostracized. I was the ringleader of the freeze-out. But at eighteen, Alex didn’t seem to care. He was the polar opposite of the man he is today—brash, flamboyant, and perfectly content in his own world. To knock him down a peg, I decided to make him my project. I put on the performance of a lifetime, pursuing him with feigned devotion for six months. The moment he was well and truly smitten, I dumped him. Publicly. Then my friends and I swooped in for the kill, mocking him for thinking a toad like him could ever land a swan like me. After a betrayal that deep, we should have become strangers for life. But fate has a twisted sense of humor. Three years ago, a financial crisis hit Kingsbridge, shaking the foundations of every old-money family, mine included. Desperate to secure a lifeline, my father swallowed his pride and went to the one family that had weathered the storm unscathed: the Fords. His proposal? A marriage alliance. I never dared to confess what I’d done to Alex all those years ago. I just held my breath, fully expecting my father to be thrown out on his ear. To my utter astonishment, the Fords agreed. At first, I was sure it was Alex’s revenge. The Fords were no longer just ‘new money’; their business empire had expanded at a dizzying pace, making them the untouchable titans of the city. Alex himself, now a high-ranking executive in the family company, was constantly flying all over the globe. Forget revenge; in three years of marriage, I’ve seen him a total of three times. The first year, I walked on eggshells, terrified that one wrong move would anger the man who held my family’s fate in his hands. The second year, flush with a generous allowance and living in a palatial marital home all by myself, I started to let loose. Poppy, of course, was lost in her fantasy. “It’s true love, Chloe, I’m telling you! Why do you think he works himself to the bone out there? It’s all so you can drop a fortune on jewels without batting an eye and rent out a private island for a party on a whim!” I didn’t say anything, but a few cards slipped from my hand and scattered on the floor. “I’m out. This round’s on me.” If I didn’t know that Alex was keeping a beautiful, bright-eyed girl in his exotic South African home, a hopeless romantic like me might have actually believed his tolerance was a sign of lingering affection. But over time, I’d figured it out. This marriage was a convenience for him. He’d married me to be a pretty little trophy on his shelf, a way to silence the gossips and fulfill his family duty. It didn’t have to be Chloe Sutton. It could have been Ashley, or Emily, or anyone else. 2 The housekeeper woke me. The price of a night of heavy drinking was a completely wrecked sleep schedule. By the time I surfaced, it was already evening. Twenty-three hours had passed since my infamous social media post. “Ma’am, the main house has sent a car to pick you up. It’s waiting downstairs.” I ran a hand through my tangled hair, trying to remember if it was some special occasion. After washing up, I finally checked my phone and my heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t just the dozens of frantic messages from my parents and in-laws. Even Alex, who I hadn’t heard from in five months, had sent me a single, ominous “?”. My hand trembled as I typed back another “?”. His reply was instantaneous: I’m at the main house. Get over here. My brain exploded. The holidays were still five months away. What in the world was Alex Ford doing back in the country? On the way to the family estate, I scrolled through my messages and finally remembered the game, the dare, the post. Alex’s time was so valuable that his assistant once timed his wedding vows. And now, because of my stupid, joking post, both our families had summoned him back from halfway across the world? When I stepped out of the car, my legs felt like jelly. The Alex I knew best was the arrogant, wild kid from college. The day he got his license, he wrecked a priceless supercar and didn’t even flinch. He just kicked a shattered headlight and sneered, “What a piece of junk.” He wasn’t this person—the formidable Mr. Ford everyone revered, a man so impeccably tailored from his cufflinks to his hair that every polished, executive movement seemed ingrained in his DNA, as if he were born to it. Right now, that polished executive was occupying a sofa all by himself. Opposite him sat our four parents, their faces grim, like an inquisition. The moment I walked in, my mother-in-law’s expression softened. She rushed over and took my hand, her voice full of warmth. “I’ve been so thoughtless. I had no idea you were going through such a hard time, Chloe, dear.” My own mother followed behind her, her eyes darting nervously toward my stomach. The man at the center of it all, Alex, remained perfectly composed. His gaze drifted over me, cool and detached, showing none of the emotion you’d expect from a husband seeing his wife after a long separation. “How many months along are you?” my mother asked. Thanks to my frequent globe-trotting vacations, which they’d mistaken for visits to see Alex, our families were blissfully unaware of the true state of our marriage. In their eyes, we might not have had a whirlwind romance, but we were a stable, harmonious couple. I opened my mouth, then closed it, before finally mumbling, “Mom… I’m not pregnant…” My mother, who knew me far better than my in-laws, immediately got a look on her face that said, I knew you were up to something. She crossed her arms, waiting to see how I’d dig myself out of this one. Three other pairs of eyes were now fixed on me, waiting for an explanation. I’d never faced a firing squad like this. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, I looked to Alex, silently pleading with the male lead of this farce to throw me a lifeline. He’d been dragged across the planet to take the fall for my prank, yet he showed no sign of anger. And from the looks of it, he hadn’t sold me out yet. The silence stretched on, so long that I’d given up hope and was starting to formulate an apology. Then, Alex finally spoke. “It was my fault,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “I’ve been buried in work and haven’t had time for Chloe. She was just acting out to get my attention. It was a misunderstanding. I apologize for making you all worry.” Alex was so brilliant and successful that his word was law in the family. As soon as he spoke, the four elders visibly relaxed, nodding in understanding. “Well, I suppose we did overreact,” my father-in-law said. “But since you’re back, son, make sure you spend some quality time with Chloe.” Alex nodded obediently. “Of course.” 3 I didn’t dare say a word the entire ride back to our apartment. Apologies swirled in my head but died on my tongue. My face was a mask of misery. When Alex strode toward the master bedroom, dragging his suitcase with one hand and loosening his tie with the other, I snapped out of my stupor and blocked his path. He looked at me, a question in his eyes. I forced a sheepish smile. “The room’s a bit of a mess. Why don’t you go shower first? I’ll bring your luggage in.” A “bit of a mess” was the understatement of the century. There wasn’t a single trace of Alex in the master suite. He only ever came home for one night a year. The last time, on New Year’s Day, the moment his car was out of sight, I’d packed up all his belongings and unceremoniously dumped them in the guest room. “I just need to change. I have a meeting later.” Of course he did. Even at nine o’clock at night, after being dragged across the globe, the man still had business to conduct. He sidestepped me with ease and opened the bedroom door. Before I could stop him, he was standing at the entrance to the walk-in closet, staring in stunned silence at the mountains of women’s clothing that had completely taken over the space. “Where are my clothes?” I offered a weak laugh. “I sent them out for professional cleaning and care. When they were returned, the delivery service mistakenly put them in the guest room. I haven’t had a chance to move them back yet.” I didn’t expect him to believe such a pathetic lie. He just gave me a long, searching look, then slipped off his suit jacket and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. As he shed the cold, corporate armor, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the old Alex, the boy I once knew. The doorbell rang. A moment later, Alex’s secretary was directing movers into our apartment, carrying crate after crate. When I saw what was inside, the room started to spin. My day of reckoning had finally arrived. Alex appeared behind me, nodding his chin toward the six massive crates of grapes. “Go on,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “You love them so much. I thought I’d let you eat your fill.” I was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” His face was stone. “I’ll be back in two hours,” he said, the threat unspoken. “You can finish them by then, right?” When Alex returned from his meeting, our home was in a state of chaos. The housekeeper was busy moving his things back into the master bedroom, and I was squatting on the living room floor, frantically stuffing my face with grapes. I had given it my all. I’d managed to finish half a crate. I thought my show of sincerity might earn me a sliver of forgiveness, but when he saw my chipmunk cheeks, his expression grew even colder. He’d clearly had a few drinks; his usual ironclad composure was slightly frayed. He strode over and looked down at me. “Chloe,” he said, his voice laced with something I couldn’t quite decipher, “where is your brain?” Honestly, for the past three years, no matter how much of a hell-raiser I was behind his back, I turned into a complete coward the second I was in front of him. A guilty conscience does that to you. “But I really tried,” I whimpered, my voice shaking. “I can’t possibly eat all of this.” Pathetic! So pathetic! He reached down and pulled me to my feet, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. “Get up. Go wash up and get ready for bed.” He was letting me off the hook. I let out a huge sigh of relief and practically skipped to the bathroom. But just as I settled into bed, my real punishment began. In the span of a single hour, I made three desperate trips to the bathroom. Alex, who had been sleeping beside me, was finally roused by the commotion. With a sigh of weary resignation, he got up, grabbed a blanket, and wrapped it tightly around my flimsy pajamas. “Get up. We’re going to the hospital.” I was in a state of utter misery, so weak and dehydrated I could barely stand. I waved a limp hand at him. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just find some medicine.” Alex’s patience had finally run out. Ignoring my protests, he swept me up into his arms. The last time we had been this close was on our wedding day. 4 My in-laws had planned the wedding. The Fords had a taste for tradition, so every part of it, from the groom’s procession to the banquet, was a grand, boisterous affair. At nine in the morning, the auspicious hour, I sat drowsily on my bed, the weight of the priceless tiara on my head feeling like a ton of bricks. The celebratory noise grew louder as Alex, surrounded by his groomsmen, expertly navigated the series of challenges my bridesmaids had set for him. He was smiling that day. For a fleeting moment, it made me feel like our marriage was more than just a cold business transaction. When he found the hidden wedding slipper, he lifted me into his arms with a tenderness that felt shockingly real. As the room erupted in cheers, a suspicious blush crept up his neck. For a moment, I forgot all our bitter history. I rested against his chest, my heart pounding like a drum. It was the only moment of genuine warmth in our three-year marriage. By the time the driver arrived, he had already been holding me at the entrance of our apartment complex for a good ten minutes. Miraculously, my churning stomach had settled down. I was surprisingly warm in his arms. After holding the same position for so long, I shifted slightly. He glanced down at me. It was too dark to see his expression, but I felt the hand on my waist pull me tighter against him. Emboldened, I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his neck, resting my head on his shoulder. “When is the driver getting here?” “Soon.” His voice was a low rumble, right next to my ear. His breath was a warm whisper against my skin. And just like that, my reckless, youthful heart was stirred by feelings it had no right to have. That ill-timed flutter of my heart lasted until the next day. The following afternoon, I woke up blushing as I replayed a rather explicit dream from the night before. When I opened my bedroom door, I froze. The man from my dream was sitting in the living room, dressed in casual clothes, a laptop balanced on his knees, his expression focused. “Why are you still here?” The surprise in my voice made it come out sharp and shrill. “Chloe,” he said without looking up, “my name is on the deed to this house too.” I flushed, realizing how that sounded. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” I stammered, trying to calm my racing heart. “I just meant, aren’t you going back?” “Back where?” “To South Africa.” In three years, I had never woken up to find Alex Ford still in the house. He continued typing, his voice casual. “I’m on vacation. For a month.” I was speechless. Alex was the head of a massive corporation, working around the clock. He was at the peak of his career. Taking a month-long vacation seemed impossibly extravagant. When I told Poppy, she valiantly defended him. “Even a machine needs maintenance, Chloe, but Alex never takes a break. He deserves this.” “You don’t understand what this means!” I lamented. “It means no more all-nighters! It means I have to be home for three meals a day, playing the part of the perfect, doting wife.” I glanced at the latest text from my mother-in-law and groaned. “It also means I might actually have to make a baby with him!” The text was a string of cheerful emojis, encouraging us to “get to work” and that she had “full faith in Alex.” I put down my phone and met Alex’s gaze. He had clearly just replied to a similar message from his own parents. For the first time, there was a flicker of something unreadable, almost awkward, in his eyes.

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I transmigrated into a novel as the adoptive mother of five future titans—a self-sacrificing saint destined to burn out for their success. Now, my most beloved son shielded his childhood sweetheart, accusing my mute biological daughter: “She pushed Vivian down the stairs!” The other four sons glared coldly as Vivian smirked from their protection. [WARNING: -20 FAMILY HARMONY! MAINTAIN SAINTLY PERSONA OR FACE PUNISHMENT!] I laughed, hurling a crystal ashtray at my “darling” son’s feet. “She’s mute! If you’re so heartbroken, get out!” Did you think my 20 years of sacrifice meant nothing? The show’s just beginning. 1 The crystal chandelier cast a cold, unforgiving light on every face in the living room. My eldest son, Ashton, the future titan of industry, stood at his full six-foot-two height, his body a formidable shield for the girl cradled in his arms, Vivian. Vivian’s knee was scraped, a minor injury she was milking for all it was worth, her face a mask of tear-streaked, damsel-in-distress fragility. Ashton’s accusing finger was nearly touching the nose of my biological daughter, Nina. “It was her!” “Nina! She’s the one who pushed Vivian down the stairs!” His voice was hoarse with rage, his eyes shot through with red veins. “She almost died!” My five-year-old Nina, born without the ability to speak, was trembling, her small face ghostly white. She tried to shrink behind me, her little hands making frantic, meaningless gestures as she let out choked, “Ah, ah,” sounds. She was trying to explain. But no one was giving her the chance. My second son, Caleb, the future superstar actor, leaned against the sofa, his gaze coolly detached. “Mom, this has gone too far.” My third, Dylan, the future genius doctor, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. “Nina needs psychological intervention.” My fourth, Ethan, the future master hacker, sat silently with his laptop, but the clacking of his keys had stopped—a silent, suffocating pressure. And my fifth, Leo, the future top lawyer, spoke with a voice as cold and hard as ice. “Mom, we need an explanation. Vivian is a guest. And she has a heart condition.” The five boys I had raised with my own two hands, the five future titans into whom I had poured all my blood, sweat, and tears, now stood like five icebergs, trapping my mute daughter and me in the center. Behind them, Vivian buried her face in Ashton’s chest and, for a moment, peeked up at me, a silent, victorious smile playing on her lips. [BEEP—SYSTEM WARNING!] [HOST BEHAVIOR DETECTED. DEVIATION FROM “SAINTLY MOTHER” PERSONA. FAMILY HARMONY RATING: -20.] [IMMEDIATELY APPEASE ADOPTED SON ASHTON, AND REQUIRE NINA TO APOLOGIZE TO VIVIAN TO MAINTAIN FAMILY HARMOnY.] [WARNING! FAILURE TO COMPLY WITHIN TEN MINUTES WILL INITIATE LEVEL-ONE ELECTRIC SHOCK PUNISHMENT!] The cold, mechanical voice in my head was a death knell. I laughed. The sound was jarring in the dead silence of the room. Everyone stared at me, stunned. I slowly rose to my feet, walked to the coffee table, and picked up the heavy, crystal ashtray. Ashton watched, his eyes wide with disbelief, as I raised my arm and hurled it at his feet. CRASH! Crystal fragments flew everywhere. A shard sliced through the expensive fabric of his trousers. He jumped back, shocked. Everyone was frozen in astonishment. “Are you blind?” My voice was quiet, but it was like a poison-tipped needle, piercing the ears of everyone present. “She’s mute. How is she supposed to explain anything to you?” “With sign language? Which one of you bastards even knows sign language?” I pointed a trembling finger towards the front door, each word a slap across Ashton’s face. “Since you’re so heartbroken over her, since you have so little faith in me, in this family…” “Get out.” “You and her, get out of this house together!” [WARNING! WARNING! HOST BEHAVIOR SEVERELY DEVIATING FROM PERSONA! FAMILY HARMONY RATING: -50!] [PUNISHMENT INITIATED!] BZZZT— A sharp, agonizing current shot through my body, convulsing every muscle. The pain was so intense it felt like it was coming from my very bones. My vision swam with black spots. I bit down hard on my back teeth, the taste of blood flooding my mouth. I gripped the table for support, refusing to let myself fall. Ashton’s face was a storm of shock, rage, and utter incomprehension. “Mom, are you crazy?! You’re kicking me out? For a mute?” “I’m your son!” I forced a cold laugh past the pain. “My son? A son of the Sterling family wouldn’t point a finger at his own sister and play the blind and deaf fool for an outsider.” “Butler!” I yelled, my voice sharp. The butler scurried in, his face a mask of alarm. “Ma’am…” “Pack up the young master’s and Miss Vivian’s things. All of them. And throw them out. Now!” “Freeze all his credit cards. Take back his car. From this day forward, he has nothing to do with the Sterling family!” The electric current continued, each wave more intense than the last. Cold sweat poured down my back, soaking my dress. But I stood ramrod straight. Vivian finally dropped her act. She stepped out from behind Ashton and walked towards me, tears streaming down her face on command. “Auntie, please don’t be angry. It’s all my fault. It has nothing to do with Ashton…” As she spoke, she leaned in close, whispering in a voice only I could hear, “You can’t win against us, old woman.” Her eyes were full of taunting disdain. I looked at her pitiful, angelic face and felt nothing. I just pulled my terrified, near-fainting daughter into my arms, holding her tight, gently patting her back. Nina is my biological daughter. In the original story, she was my only “weakness.” Now, she is my sharpest weapon. 2 Ashton was, in fact, thrown out of the house. When the butler dumped his suitcases and Vivian’s handbag on the curb outside the villa, he still couldn’t believe it. “Mom! You’ll regret this!” he screamed at me. I ignored him, simply signaling for the guards to close the heavy, ornate iron gates. The four remaining sons looked at me as if I were a stranger. “Mom, you’re playing favorites,” Caleb, the actor, said first, his voice laced with undisguised disappointment. “Ashton was just worried about Vivian. You didn’t have to take it this far,” Dylan, the doctor, added with a frown. Leo, the lawyer, was more direct. “Legally speaking, you can’t unilaterally terminate an adoption.” I held Nina close, turned, and faced them. “Favorites?” I smiled. “Fine. I’ll show you what playing favorites really looks like.” That night, the news of Ashton being kicked out spread like wildfire through their social circle. The next day, the internet exploded. #SuperstarCalebSterlingAllegedlyAbusedByStepmother #RichStepmotherFavorsBioDaughterDrivesOutAdoptedSon The hashtags shot to the top of the trending lists. It started on a live-streamed variety show. The host asked Caleb if anything was bothering him lately. He looked into the camera with his famously melancholic eyes and sighed. “It’s nothing. Just… some minor friction at home. I guess since I’m not her real son, there’s always going to be a distance.” He didn’t say much, but it was more than enough to set his fans off. They immediately began concocting elaborate stories of a wicked, abusive stepmother. My social media accounts and my company’s official website were instantly flooded with furious comments. Vicious woman! He thought of you as a mother, and you treated him like a slave? My heart breaks for Caleb! Just because he’s not your biological son, he deserves to be bullied? That mute daughter is probably no good either. Bet she’s a manipulative little snake! My PR manager’s phone was ringing off the hook. “Mrs. Sterling, what do we do? The company’s stock is starting to drop!” I was in the garden, enjoying the sun with Nina. My voice was calm. “Do nothing.” I hung up and scrolled through the vile, hateful comments on my phone, completely unfazed. I made another call, this time to the manager of my private trust fund. “Mr. Davies, I need you to prepare the documents for the trust funds I set up for my five sons. I want to make them public.” “Each one is worth ten million dollars. They can access a portion upon reaching adulthood with proof of identity, and they get full control at twenty-five.” Mr. Davies was confused, but he did as he was told. Half an hour later, a notarized copy of the trust fund documents was released by a well-known financial influencer. EXCLUSIVE! The “wicked stepmother” from the rumors, Susan Sterling, established a ten-million-dollar trust fund for EACH of her five adopted sons years ago, accessible upon adulthood. The documents are verified and can be authenticated by any legal institution. Public opinion flipped on a dime. Ten million. For each of them. Five times over. What did that even mean? Holy crap! Ten million each! That’s fifty million! This is abuse? This is loving them with her whole life! I hereby declare that this is my real mother! Mom, are you looking for another son? One who can feed himself? Get in line! She’s MY mom! So what is Caleb even complaining about? For a mom who gives me ten million, I’d wash her feet every day on my knees! Wait, I think I get it. The biological daughter probably doesn’t have one, right? So the brothers feel like their mom is being unfair and want to stand up for their sister? This family’s relationship is so good! Caleb’s management team was in a full-blown crisis. He had tried to cultivate a “tragic but talented” persona, but with one move—my “superpower” of overwhelming cash—I had turned him into an ungrateful brat who was biting the hand that fed him. His agent scrambled to release an apology, claiming Caleb was just in a bad mood and spoke without thinking, and had absolutely no intention of criticizing his adoptive mother. Caleb himself was forced to repost the apology. He returned home looking defeated, and when he saw me doing a puzzle with Nina, his face was, for the first time, tinged with unease. “Mom.” I didn’t look up. “Have you learned your lesson?” He fell silent. “I did nothing wrong,” he muttered stubbornly. “You kicked Ashton out. You’re still playing favorites.” I finally raised my eyes to meet his. “Caleb, you need to remember something. What I give you is a gift. It’s given out of love. And I can take it back anytime I want.” “Including everything you have now.” His face went pale. Just then, Vivian arrived, carrying a fruit basket. “Auntie, I came to see you. Caleb, please don’t make Auntie angry,” she said, playing the peacemaker. She walked over to Nina, crouched down, and smiled sweetly. “Nina, I’m sorry. The other day was my fault. I was clumsy. Please don’t hold it against me.” As she spoke, she reached for the pot of hot soup on the table, as if to serve Nina a bowl. And then, her hand “accidentally” slipped. The scalding hot soup tipped, heading straight for Nina’s hand! My eyes flashed. In a split second, I grabbed Vivian’s wrist and twisted it, hard. “Ahhh—!” A scream ripped through the air. The bowl of hot soup splashed all over the back of her own hand. Her fair skin instantly turned a blotchy, angry red. “Vivian!” Caleb and Dylan, who had just walked in, both cried out and rushed over. Vivian was in tears from the pain, looking at me with disbelief. But I was “panicked” even faster than she was. “Oh, Vivian! How could you be so careless!” I cried, grabbing her burned hand, my face a mask of “concern.” “Quickly! Dylan, you’re a doctor, take a look at her!” I shouted, all while squeezing her wound, my words full of feigned worry. “Oh, Vivian, I know you feel wronged. I know you wanted to show everyone your resolve, but how could you hurt yourself just to frame Nina?” “Nina doesn’t understand anything! You’re going to scare her!” My voice was filled with “heartbreak.” Caleb and Dylan were frozen. They looked from Vivian’s rapidly blistering hand to my daughter, cowering in my arms, the picture of innocence. Vivian’s lips were white with pain. She shook her head frantically. “No… Auntie, you… you accidentally…” “Yes, yes, it’s my fault. I couldn’t stop you,” I immediately “blamed” myself. “It’s all my fault I couldn’t prevent you from hurting yourself. Please, don’t ever do this again. It breaks my heart.” Dylan, the doctor, immediately began emergency treatment for Vivian’s burn. His gaze, for the first time, shifted back and forth between Vivian’s pale, protesting face and my own “concerned” expression. A tiny seed of doubt had been planted.

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When I was ten, for my sister’s birthday, she wanted a porcelain doll. My father said, “Go on, slap your sister, and I’ll buy it for you.” And so, I took a hard slap across the face. When I was seventeen, my father sent my sister to study abroad but refused to pay for my college. I begged him for days. He threw fifty dollars at me. “I don’t owe you a damn thing, Elara.” When I was twenty-seven, my sister returned from overseas, took a liking to my husband, and began to subtly, and not-so-subtly, flirt with him. My father sneered at me. “If you can’t keep a man, that’s your own failure.” Yes, they all preferred my sister, Rosalie. The one with the fancy degree and the sweet-talking tongue. Even my own son. On his fifth birthday, my son, Leo, wanted to go to the amusement park, but not with me. He said I was too bossy. My husband, David, joked with him. “Go give Mommy a slap. If she gets mad, she won’t go. Then we can go with your Auntie Rosalie.” And my son really did walk over and slap me. The sound was sharp and loud. I just stood there, stunned. Until my son’s voice piped up again, “Daddy, is she mad now? Can I go to the amusement park with Auntie Rosalie?” 1 David took our son to the amusement park without telling me. When they came back, Leo was holding a small, cheap-looking stuffed toy. He held it out to me timidly, not saying a word. His eyes, however, kept darting toward David. As if to say: I did what you said to make her happy. Why is she still ignoring me? I was in the dining room, packaging the desserts I had just finished baking. David walked in and saw the scene, his brow furrowing in disapproval. “Elara, are you really going to stay mad at your own son this long over a joke?” He ruffled Leo’s hair. “He was thinking about you the whole time we were at the park today, and this is the look you give him?” I glanced down at the crudely made, cheap toy in Leo’s hands. On my phone, which was sitting on the table, was a message from my sister, Rosalie, sent just before they’d walked in: [Are you seriously jealous of me over Leo again? Why have you always had to turn everything into a competition with me, ever since we were kids?] [But I won’t hold it against you. We saw one of those scan-a-code-win-a-prize things at the park, so I had David get one for you. Just take it and get over it, okay?] David took the toy from Leo and pushed it toward me. “Elara, don’t be childish in front of him.” I sealed the last bag of cookies and finally looked up at David. “I’m not angry.” I took out a small cookie and offered it to Leo. “Help Mommy taste-test this, okay?” Leo looked at the rabbit-shaped cookie. “Mommy, you used to only make the little bear cookies I like.” “Oh. I got tired of those. Wanted to try something new.” I started for the door. David called after me, “Where are you going this late?” “I have some things to take care of.” I put on my shoes, not bothering to give him the usual detailed report of my whereabouts. I just told Leo, “Remember to brush your teeth after your dessert. Mommy won’t be here to tuck you in tonight.” 2 David texted me: [When are you coming home?] I pressed the button, and the screen went dark. I looked at my best friend, who was sampling my latest creation. “So? What’s the verdict?” Sadie took a delicate bite, her eyes widening in amazement. “Honey, I’ve been telling you for years we should open a dessert shop together. I am so, so happy you’ve finally come around.” She looked at me with a warmth that was both proud and relieved. “I was honestly starting to think you were going to be a housewife for the rest of your life.” “But,” she added, “my shop is in the next city over. Are you sure you can bear to be away from Leo?” I didn’t answer her question. My mind drifted back to the events of the day. Leo’s fifth birthday. I had woken up at dawn to prepare. I’d cooked a whole table of his favorite foods. Even the decoration on the cake—his beloved Spider-Man—was something I had painstakingly carved out of chocolate, detail by detail. But Leo hadn’t even glanced at it. He was used to my cooking. No matter how creative or delicious, it could never compete with the allure of fried chicken and soda from a fast-food joint. So he’d just given the table a cursory look and turned to David. “Daddy, it’s my birthday. Can Auntie Rosalie take me to the amusement park? I don’t want Mom’s food. I’m so sick of it!” And that’s when David had said it—”Go give Mommy a slap…” … How could I even begin to explain all this to Sadie? I had chosen my husband. My son was my own flesh and blood. Complaining about it felt pointless and self-pitying. I just looked at Sadie and sighed softly. “People really do change. I used to think all I ever wanted was a family of my own, that a husband and child were my destiny. When you told me a career was a woman’s real foundation, I didn’t agree. I even tried to convince you to get married.” “Sadie,” I said, my voice thick with emotion, “thank you for not holding that against me. And for still being willing to give me a chance.” Sadie looked at me, our decade-long friendship a silent language between us. She understood the words I couldn’t say. She squeezed my hand. “As long as you’re willing to change, it’s never too late.” 3 It was past nine by the time I finished talking business with Sadie. When I got home, I found my sister, Rosalie, sitting on the sofa with David. She was dressed in something light and revealing, and they were sitting very close together. When he saw me, a flicker of panic crossed David’s eyes. But it was quickly replaced by irritation. In the past, the mere sight of him with Rosalie would have sent me into a hysterical fit, making everyone miserable. So, out of habit, he immediately went on the defensive. “What are you thinking now? Leo wouldn’t go to sleep without someone comforting him, so I asked your sister to come over…” “Oh. Is he asleep now?” I cut him off. No accusations. No arguments. No temper tantrum. My calm unnerved him. He opened his mouth, then closed it, finally mumbling a sullen, “Just fell asleep.” “Good. I’m going to go wash up.” I started to walk past them. The annoyance on David’s face deepened. He suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Elara, I told you, your sister and I…” “Did I ask you anything?” I looked at him, genuinely confused. Why was he getting angry when I wasn’t even questioning him? Suddenly, Rosalie let out a sharp cry. David’s attention snapped back to her. “Rosalie, maybe you should head home.” Rosalie looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. “David, I think I twisted my ankle. Can you give me a ride?” David glanced back at me, checking my reaction. I pulled my hand from his grasp. “It’s late. It’s not safe for her to go home alone. You should take her.” David stared at me, his eyes searching my face. “Elara, you…” “What about me?” His brow, which had been tightly furrowed, slowly relaxed. “I’m glad you can be so understanding. It was my idea to have her come over, so I should be responsible for getting her home safely. But don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” “Oh, it’s fine,” I said, not wanting to drag out the conversation. “I’m tired. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to bed.” 4 David said he’d be right back, but a quick glance at Rosalie’s Instagram stories showed the two of them at a bar. Rosalie was dancing wildly. David was right there by her side, never straying. A deep exhaustion washed over me. I muted Rosalie’s account. Just then, Leo shuffled into the room, clutching his new toy, his eyes heavy with sleep. “Mommy, aren’t you sleeping with me tonight?” “No, sweetheart. Mommy is going to sleep in the guest room.” I looked at my reflection in the vanity mirror. At the faint handprint on my cheek that even makeup couldn’t completely hide. Sadie had been heartbroken when she saw it. But I hadn’t heard a single sincere apology from my husband or my son. They were acting as if nothing had happened. Leo’s lip jutted out. “Mommy, if you don’t sleep with me, then I’m not letting you take me to school tomorrow! And I won’t eat your food either!” Leo had night blindness; he’d been afraid of the dark since he was a baby. I met his angry gaze in the mirror. “Leo, if you’re so afraid of the dark, why don’t you ask your father to stay with you?” “Daddy has to work. You don’t do anything all day but spend Daddy’s money. Isn’t it your job to put me to sleep?” “So, if I stop spending Daddy’s money, does that mean I don’t have to put you to sleep anymore?” Leo let out a cold sneer, his tone a perfect imitation of his father’s. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. You’re not smart and successful like Auntie Rosalie. If you didn’t spend Dad’s money, where would you get any? From Grandpa? But even Grandpa says you’re the most useless person in the family!” 5 I had heard words like these my entire life. I wasn’t as brilliant as Rosalie. I wasn’t as educated as Rosalie. All the best things were meant for Rosalie. It was like our names themselves were a prophecy. She was Rosalie, the bloom. I was Elara, the block of wood. I was used to it. Numb to it. But I had never, ever imagined that one day, I would hear those same words from the mouth of the son I had carried for nine months, the son I had risked my life to bring into this world. My hands trembled. An icy chill shot up from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. I felt rage, and a deep, wounded sorrow. And then, all emotion receded, leaving behind a dead, still pool, incapable of even a ripple. I spoke to Leo softly. “Fine. Then make sure you get up early tomorrow. Mommy won’t be making you breakfast.” 6 I didn’t have to make breakfast for Leo. I didn’t feel the familiar pang of sadness over David once again staying out all night. I slept soundly. At five in the morning, I got up and packed a few essentials. As I dragged my suitcase out the door, Leo was still fast asleep, long past the time he should have been getting up for school. I took one last look at the home I had so carefully nurtured for so long. The clean clothes I had washed were drying on the balcony. The ivy I had tended to was thriving, its vines sprawling beautifully. The potted plants were lush and green. Except for a few cigarette butts that David had carelessly stubbed out in the soil of the succulents. We had fought about him doing that so many times. He never listened. And Leo had learned from his example. When he was bored, he liked to pull the leaves off my plants, leaving the once-healthy greenery tattered and torn. Getting angry at them had never worked. Looking at them now, I realized those plants were just like me. Objects to be treated with casual indifference. I stood there for a long time. I knew I would never come back here. And I knew that David and Leo would never be able to take care of them. After a long silence, I sent a message to my neighbor, who also loved gardening: [If you wouldn’t mind, could I give you all my plants? I’d love for them to have a good home.] 7 Nine hours later, the plane landed in Ardencroft. I turned on my phone. Dozens of missed calls and messages. All from David. [Where are you?] [What kind of mother are you? Leo was late for school, don’t you care?] [Elara, are you seriously still sulking about me and your sister? Are you insane? She’s your sister, what do you think is going to happen?] [How old are you, running away like this? You’re not even answering your father’s calls?] [Hah. No wonder your own father can’t stand you.] [You’ll just never be as good as your sister, Rosalie.] … I stared at the messages. My emotions, which I thought were long dead, stirred with a faint ripple of pain. Those ripples grew sharp barbs, clawing their way into my limbs, my heart beginning to ache with a thousand tiny pinpricks. I called him back. David’s voice was hoarse from a hangover. “Are you still mad about yesterday? It was a joke, and now you’re abandoning your son over it?” “David,” I said, my voice heavy with exhaustion, “it’s only a joke if the other person finds it funny. If someone slapped you, would you be laughing?” David was silent. I continued softly, “I’m going to be very busy for a while. You’ll have to take care of Leo.” 8 I said I was leaving Leo in David’s care. But after a long day of setting up the new dessert shop, I still couldn’t shake the worry. That night, I carefully typed out a long list of instructions and sent it to him. I reminded him: [Leo’s water bottle needs fresh water every day. Make sure he remembers to drink it at school.] David sent back a video. My fingers froze over the keyboard. I opened it. It was Rosalie, treating Leo to KFC. Leo was gnawing on a burger. “Auntie Rosalie, who cares if Mom doesn’t come back? I think you’d be a way better mom for me.” Rosalie glanced shyly at David, who was filming. “Don’t say things like that, sweetie. Your dad has to agree first.” The video ended. David texted: [Elara, do you regret it? Are you sad? What stupid business of yours is so important? See? You’ve been gone for one day, and your son has already replaced you.] Slowly, character by character, I deleted the long message I had been typing. I replied: [If one day can erase years of my devotion, then it’s my failure as a mother for not teaching him gratitude. And it is your failure as a father to not only allow it, but to revel in being fought over by two women. David, I think it’s time I seriously reconsidered our relationship.] 9 Was I sad? Ever since Rosalie had returned and slowly inserted herself into our lives, yes, I had been sad. I had been hysterical. I had screamed and fought. Countless times, I had acted like a madwoman, clinging to Leo at night, obsessively asking him why he liked Rosalie more than me. It got so bad that Leo refused to let me take him to school. He’d sling his backpack over his shoulder, his cold eyes a perfect mirror of his father’s, and ask me, “Mom, is there anything about you that’s actually impressive?” I had lived a barren, deprived life. I thought that by having David and Leo, my life would finally blossom. So I gave everything. I held nothing back. I thought that if I just kept giving, I would eventually earn the love I so desperately craved. That my life, like a flower, would one day bloom. But in the end, I discovered the truth. I planted flowers for the moon, and I scattered stars upon the sea. But the moon buried me, and the sea swallowed me whole. The only salvation in this life is to love yourself, fiercely and without apology. 10 I stopped paying attention to anything related to David and Leo. I poured all my time, all my energy, into the dessert shop I opened with Sadie. She provided the capital; I provided the skill. I was busy from sunup to sundown. A month later, David showed up at the shop. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, completely out of place in the shop’s whimsical, pastel-pink decor. When he saw me, his handsome face was etched with its usual frown. “You abandoned your home for a month for this little shop?” I tried my best to remain calm. “Is there something you need?” He was clearly dissatisfied with my tone. His frown deepened. “You’re my wife. Do I need a reason to come see you?” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. A whole month, and he was only just now remembering to find me? Was I just unimportant, or had he simply not cared? David loosened his tie. “Alright, I’m not going to waste my time. Leo is sick, in the hospital. It’s time for you to come home and take care of him like a mother should.”

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After three days of silence from my lawyer boyfriend, I drafted an apology text—just to get him to the courthouse for our wedding. But the moment I hit send, his childhood sweetheart posted their marriage license online: “After all this time, it’s still you.” Coworkers gossiped in the comments, waiting for my meltdown. I simply replied: “Invite me to the baby shower. I’ll bring a generous gift.” The post vanished. He called, voice sharp: “Audrey needed legal help. It’s just paperwork. Must you be so dramatic? Apologize publicly now, and I’ll marry you after she recovers.” He forgot this was his 67th cancellation. When he hung up, expecting me to beg during his usual breakup countdown, I didn’t play along. My resignation was already submitted. … After I ignored more than a dozen of his frantic calls, he finally sent a furious text: “Jena, have you lost your mind? How dare you hang up on me? You screwed up, and you think you have the right to be angry?” “You have five minutes to post an apology. Otherwise, we’re done.” In our ten years together, I’d heard threats like this a hundred times. And every single time, I was the one to cave, to apologize, to beg. This was the first time I’d ever just hung up on him. When I didn’t immediately respond, Dillon started his signature social media countdown. He had a rule: three days of silent treatment meant we were broken up by default. My devotion had made him arrogant, and he wielded this rule like a weapon, using the public pressure of the countdown to break me every time we fought. For ten years, it had worked perfectly. I would always crack just before the timer ran out. But this time was different. I was tired. I was done being his fool. Shortly after Dillon’s post, his childhood sweetheart, Audrey, posted one of her own, making sure to tag me. “It was just a little joke with Dillon, I didn’t mean for it to go public! I had no idea Jena would react so strongly. Now I’m almost afraid to talk to her in case I accidentally set her off again.” Dillon, who rarely ever touched his social media, was the first to like it. “That’s her problem, Audrey. Don’t blame yourself. And why set it to ‘friends only’? If you want to post something, post it for the world to see.” It was obvious who “her” was. Our mutual friends, all dependent on Dillon for business, quickly chimed in with their support. “Jena is so petty. Audrey, don’t let someone like that get you down.” “No wonder Dillon won’t marry her. I wouldn’t marry a woman that insecure either.” I let out a bitter laugh. He would bend over backward to defend Audrey, to shield her from the slightest discomfort. But me, his girlfriend of ten years? I was always met with cold indifference. Audrey could sneeze, and he would cancel our appointment at the courthouse. If I complained, he would get angrier than me, accusing me of being controlling and small-minded. And now, when I finally chose to let go and congratulate them, he was still the one blaming me, using his stupid countdown to force an apology. The truth was, there was no right or wrong here. The scales of love had tipped long ago. “Ma’am, the man on this ID is already legally married. Would you like to reschedule with someone else?” The clerk at the marriage license bureau looked at me with pity. I took the ID back with a small smile. “That’s an option to consider.” The young couple behind me cheered as I stepped out of line. It was Valentine’s Day, and appointments were impossible to get. I had been waiting here since dawn just to get a spot. But now, looking at the appointment form in my hand, I didn’t hesitate. I tore it into pieces and threw it in the trash. I had filled out that form 67 times. I had given him 67 chances. Each time, I had shown up just like today, full of hope, watching other couples come and go as I waited for him. And each time, just before our appointment, he would call with an excuse about an urgent matter at the firm. When I questioned him, he’d throw his clients in my face. “Jena, a client’s case is their entire life on the line. Are you really asking me to abandon them for a piece of paper? How can you be so selfish?” He would say it with such righteous indignation, his voice dripping with condescension. He never knew that after he ditched me for Audrey, she would send me taunting messages. “Dillon’s cooking is amazing. I bet you’ve never had it, have you?” “I walked a little too far today, and Dillon was so worried he bought me a luxury car. I seem to recall you’re still using a bike share, right?” And now, he had gone so far as to get a marriage license with her. It was time for our relationship to end. For good. 2 As soon as I walked out of the courthouse, I saw that my resignation request had been rejected. HR told me that Dillon hadn’t been in the office for days and couldn’t approve it. They gave me an address and told me to find him myself. Determined to leave properly, I gritted my teeth and went. The address was a pool hall. Audrey had posted earlier that she wanted to learn to play pool, and Dillon, the workaholic, had apparently been skipping work for days to teach her. When I found them, he was leaning over her, his body pressed against hers, guiding her shot. The moment Audrey saw me, a contemptuous smirk crossed her lips. A few of his office sycophants who were with them gathered around, nudging each other. “Well, well, look who’s here for Mr. Anderson.” “Told you. The three-day countdown wouldn’t even last one. She always comes crawling back.” “Our boss really has her whipped. One word and she’s on her knees.” “Alright, alright, enough talk. Pay up, losers.” I frowned. I’d heard these taunts countless times before, but they had never grated on me like this. “I’m not here to make up.” My words were met with a burst of laughter. “Oh, stop pretending, Jena. Everyone knows you’re Dillon’s ultimate lapdog. You couldn’t be chased away with a stick.” I ignored them and held out the resignation papers. “Dillon, I need your signature.” Just as he was about to look at the documents, Audrey whined, “Dillon, honey, how do I hit this one?” He immediately dropped the papers, pulled his personal seal from Audrey’s pocket, and tossed it to me. “Sign it yourself. And don’t come bothering me here again. I’m teaching Audrey.” Dillon was obsessed with his privacy. His safe was off-limits to me. He would shield his phone screen even when just entering a passcode. And his personal seal? He never let it out of his sight. But now, he had just given it to Audrey. He was so preoccupied with her that he couldn’t even be bothered with official company documents. I clutched the stamped resignation form, my heart feeling like a cavern with a cold wind blowing through it. I turned to leave, but Dillon called out to me. “Audrey’s busy for the next few days. You can handle her caseload for her.” He tossed a thick stack of files at me, each one with nothing but a title written on the front. I’d lost count of how many times he’d asked me to do Audrey’s work. All I knew was that every time I finished, she would take the credit. But if I made a single mistake in the rush, the blame would fall squarely on my shoulders. Sometimes, I’d lose my temper and refuse. He would then accuse me of being heartless, of not caring about him or the firm. He’d say if I didn’t do it, he would, and I, feeling guilty about his workload, would always cave. But all my sacrifices had only earned me his entitlement and contempt. But now, I was no longer an employee. The firm’s business was no longer my problem. “No. I’ve resigned.” Before I could finish, Audrey’s whiny voice cut in. “Dillon, it’s okay. If Jena doesn’t want to do it, I can do it myself.” Dillon immediately softened. “You just went through a divorce. You’re in no state to work. Go on, have fun. Don’t worry about it.” Then, his tone toward me turned to ice. “Don’t you understand? You’ve already upset Audrey enough with that social media stunt. Now I’m giving you a chance to make it up to her, and you’re refusing? You keep this up, and in three days, you could be on your knees begging, and I still wouldn’t take you back.” I almost laughed. My mother had passed away unexpectedly, and I had been so grief-stricken I’d fainted multiple times. All Dillon had said was, “When you’re done crying, get back to the office on time. There’s a lot of work to be done.” But Audrey? She’d been divorced for two years, and she could still use it as an excuse to skip work. “Then don’t take me back. I don’t care.” I turned to leave. Dillon’s face was a mask of shock. The coworkers were stunned into silence. Audrey, however, just chuckled. “Jena, if you don’t want to do the work, just say so. There’s no need to play these hard-to-get games.” At her words, the tension in Dillon’s face immediately eased, replaced by his usual confident smirk. His voice softened. “Alright, Jena, I know I’ve been neglecting you lately. Just be a good girl and finish Audrey’s work, and in three days, I’ll go with you to get the license, okay?” I scoffed. The same empty promises. But this time, I wasn’t buying. I didn’t answer. I just walked away. The coworkers started their snide remarks again. “What’s the point of pretending? Just watch, by tomorrow at the latest, she’ll be back, begging.” A wicked thought crossed my mind. I wanted to see them lose their bet. I smirked and looked back at them. “Fine. You just wait and see.” 3 With my resignation approved, I immediately joined my best friend’s law firm. In the legal world, your reputation follows you, not the firm you work for. My friend was so thrilled to have a top-tier lawyer like me on her team that she practically bowed down in gratitude. She offered me ten times the salary Dillon had been paying me and gave me a villa. I was finally able to move out of my dilapidated rental apartment. Many of my clients had been shocked to learn that a high-profile lawyer like me lived in such a rundown place. I always brushed it off, saying I was a minimalist and didn’t care about material things. The truth was, I had willingly taken a junior-level salary so that Dillon’s firm could grow. At first, he had been grateful. But over time, he came to see it as his due. Once, when the heating in my apartment broke in the middle of winter, I asked him for money to replace it. He called me extravagant, said I had changed, that I was only after his money. But for Audrey, he would buy a sprawling mansion without a second thought. Even her dog’s house had heating. The day I was moving, I ran into Dillon and Audrey. They were with his parents, a happy family of four enjoying a meal at a fancy restaurant. I froze for a second. I remembered the first time I had gone to his house. I had arrived with armfuls of gifts, but his parents had served me a table full of leftovers. When I awkwardly suggested we all go out to eat, they accused me of being a gold-digger, of mooching off their son and developing wasteful habits. In the end, I had to cook for the entire family. After I’d prepared a full meal, his mother had thrown down her chopsticks, complaining my food was too salty. She’d said only laborers ate such salty food, that it was what she’d expect from someone with my “rural” background. The gifts I had brought them ended up in the hands of the building’s cleaning lady. Compared to this scene, I felt like a complete clown. Dillon’s parents were enthusiastically piling food onto Audrey’s plate. “Audrey and our Dillon are just perfect for each other,” his mother gushed. “If you hadn’t been tricked by that other man all those years ago, you two would never have missed your chance. I think the time is right now. You two should just get together.” His father chimed in. “Exactly. Audrey has already landed several big clients for Dillon since joining the firm. She has a bright future ahead of her. Not like that useless Jena, who’s only good for cooking and cleaning.” I trembled with rage. I had been the one to land those clients. Dillon had just credited them to Audrey’s name. The money I earned had practically kept the entire firm afloat. But Dillon had never once praised me. Instead, he constantly belittled me, saying I was only successful because of the platform his firm provided. And now, faced with his parents’ slander, he said nothing to defend me. He just sighed and said, “Well, we’ve been together for so long, I guess I’ll just make do.” My heart plummeted. All these years, to him, I was just someone to “make do” with. His mother, however, was not satisfied with his answer. “Dillon, I’m telling you, that Jena is bad luck. Just look at how her parents died so young. Marrying her will bring you nothing but trouble.” Dillon didn’t respond, but I was already overwhelmed by tears. My parents had died giving blood to save his. Years ago, his parents were in a car accident and were in critical condition. My parents, who had a matching blood type, didn’t hesitate to donate. But they needed more blood than my parents could safely give. Dillon had been a sobbing mess. My parents, knowing how much I loved him, secretly donated more blood than their bodies could handle. In the end, his parents were saved, but mine passed away. The Anderson family had been consumed with guilt at first, promising to compensate me for my loss. But the compensation never came. Instead, I became the “bad luck” they whispered about. I couldn’t bear to listen to their vile talk any longer. I turned to leave.

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Harris Croft and I were both stolen children. When his wealthy parents finally found him, he clutched my wrist, his grip like iron. “I want her to be my sister,” he told them, his young voice fierce. “I’m going to protect her for the rest of my life.” But years later, I didn’t want to be his sister anymore. I had fallen hopelessly in love with him. “That’s not an option, Taylor,” Harris said, his voice gentle but firm. The love I felt for him was a fire growing wilder each day. I couldn’t bear it. So, with a shattered heart, I left. Five years later, we met again. My boss shoved me into the seat next to a man at a dinner table. “You look just like Harris Croft’s long-lost love,” he whispered urgently in my ear. “He’s been searching for her for years, driving himself mad.” He gave me a hard nudge. “This is your chance. Play the part of the stand-in. You were made for this role.” I shook my head so hard my neck ached, wishing the floor would swallow me whole. “Absolutely not,” I hissed back. “He’s not interested in me. Not like that.” 1 I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined I would see Harris again like this. I was accompanying my boss, Mr. Davies, to a dinner with potential investors. He’d told me there was a notoriously difficult billionaire tycoon—worth hundreds of billions—that only I could win over. He’d even promised me a promotion and a hefty raise if I sealed the deal. I thought he was banking on my negotiation skills. I didn’t realize he was planning on taking a much darker, more desperate path. The moment we entered the private dining room, he pointed to the back of a man sitting at the head of the table, his words a conspiratorial hiss. “That’s him. Tonight’s deal is all on you. I’ve done my homework—you’re a dead ringer for the woman on Mr. Croft’s phone wallpaper. This is your big break, the classic stand-in story. You got this.” I only needed to see his back. I knew him instantly. The youngest heir to the Croft Corporation. My brother, in name only. Harris. I shook my head, a frantic, silent plea, already backing toward the door. “No way, boss. Absolutely not. He’s not my type.” My mind raced for an excuse. “I—I have a sudden stomachache. I have to go. Don’t try to stop me.” But Mr. Davies’s hand shot out, his grip surprisingly strong. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me forward, his voice a low, insistent growl. “Don’t you dare run off. How do you know if you don’t even try? I’ve looked into this. Harris Croft is famous for being an ice king. Women throw themselves at him, and he doesn’t even blink. It was his best friend, Carter, who let it slip one night when he was drunk. He said, ‘You idiots have no idea how to get to him. If you want to give him a gift, find the girl on his phone screen. He’s been looking for her like a madman, calls out her name in his sleep.’” Mr. Davies tightened his hold, practically frog-marching me to the table. “If you didn’t look so much like her, this opportunity would’ve never fallen into your lap. Now pull it together. The investment is counting on you.” For a man who only ever drank herbal tea and never worked out, he had a shocking amount of brute force. He propelled me forward and pushed me down into the empty chair to Harris’s left. He pressed a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to stay seated, and plastered a greasy smile on his face as he began his sales pitch to Harris. He sounded like a pimp selling his prize girl. “Mr. Croft, this is the hidden gem of our company, Stella Crawford. Don’t let her age fool you; her capabilities are second to none. She’s the one who single-handedly cracked all of my toughest accounts.” My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I was sure everyone could hear it. I cursed myself for not checking my horoscope before leaving the house. From the corner of my eye, I couldn’t stop myself from stealing a glance at the man I had thought about every single day for five years. His face was still devastatingly handsome, a single look enough to make my defenses crumble. He wore a pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses that gave him an air of cool restraint, an ascetic appeal with a terrifying stillness that hinted at something wild just beneath the surface. My carefully constructed composure shattered. As I was frantically trying to figure out how to greet him after all this time, the man sitting to Harris’s right—his assistant—shot to his feet and glared at me. “Mr. Davies, what is the meaning of this?” he snapped. “Are you not aware of Mr. Croft’s rules? No woman sits next to him. Especially not one who’s surgically altered her face to look like… that. Are you that desperate to play the part of a substitute? Get out!” 2 He wasn’t wrong. I’d had plastic surgery. And I’d changed my name. I used to be Taylor. Taylor Croft. After I left the Croft family, I found my birth parents. Now, I was Stella Crawford. No wonder Harris hadn’t reacted when he heard my name. He sat there like an impassive stone statue, letting his assistant fend off the ambitious women who tried to get close, not even sparing me a single glance. The assistant, however, stared at my face as if he were examining a cheap forgery. “You’ve had work done, haven’t you, Ms. Crawford?” he sneered. “I studied medicine for a time. I can spot a scalpel’s work from a mile away. But you’ve all made a grave miscalculation. The woman in Mr. Croft’s heart cannot be replaced by some cheap imitation. If she could be, she wouldn’t be his one true love, would she? Mr. Croft doesn’t just avoid playing these pathetic stand-in games; he finds them utterly repulsive. You’ve walked right into a minefield. Now, are you going to leave, or do I have to have you thrown out?” I felt like I was sitting on a bed of nails. Why did everyone keep calling me his one true love? If only that were the case. In his eyes, I was only ever his sister. Nothing more. The truth is, Harris and I share no blood. We were both victims of child trafficking, and for three hellish years, we survived by clinging to each other. When I was beaten, he would wrap his arms around me, taking the sting of the whip on his own small back. When he was burning with fever, I would stay up all night, changing the cool, damp cloth on his forehead. When we were starving and managed to snatch a single packet of instant noodles, he would tell me to eat the noodles while he drank the broth. We lived in a place no better than a pigsty. One night, a snake bit me. Harris didn’t hesitate. He knelt, pressed his mouth to the wound on my foot, and sucked out the venom. “Am I going to die, brother?” I’d sobbed. He held me tight. “I won’t let you.” Then, his wealthy parents found him. I huddled in a corner, my world collapsing. This was it. We were going to be separated. But Harris clutched my hand, his knuckles white, and stubbornly told his parents, “I want her to be my sister. I’m going to protect her for the rest of my life.” His parents were hesitant. So he doubled down. “Then I’m not going back either. Where she goes, I go. No one is tearing us apart.” A wave of shock and joy washed over me. And just like that, I became the adopted daughter of the wealthy Croft family. Harris’s most beloved sister. And he did spoil me. He was just a boy himself, but he patiently taught me to read and write. Every tutor his family hired for him, he insisted they teach me too. He bought me the most beautiful clothes, the most popular toys. He even learned how to braid my hair. He transformed me from a dirty, scared little girl into a poised, eighteen-year-old young woman. Everyone in our social circle knew I was the girl Harris Croft held in the palm of his hand. They whispered behind our backs, “She’s not an adopted daughter; she’s the wife he’s been grooming since they were kids.” At the time, those rumors made my heart flutter. I secretly loved them. Because I was so, so in love with him. I dreamed of marrying him when we grew up, so we could be together forever. But when I finally mustered the courage to confess, Harris’s answer was a gentle, but devastating, blow. “That’s not an option, Taylor. You’re my sister. Always.” His words were like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the hope that had burned so brightly in my heart. But I couldn’t extinguish the love. You can’t command your heart to stop feeling. I couldn’t bear the thought of watching him marry someone else, of another woman spending her life with him. This one-sided love would eventually twist me into someone bitter and ugly. My only choice was to leave. I thought maybe, with distance, I could finally tame the obsessive, all-consuming desire I had for him. I never imagined that five years later, this is how we would meet again. Mistaken for a shameless impostor by his own assistant. 3 I didn’t dare say a word, terrified that he would recognize my voice. In a way, this was for the best. He was just as the rumors described him: aloof, untouchable, utterly uninterested in the women who flocked to him. He had loyal subordinates to build his walls and keep the world at bay. I took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in my throat, and ran. The day I left five years ago, I swore I would never appear before Harris Croft again. Because seeing him, even once, would throw my world into chaos. I couldn’t forget him. I couldn’t stop loving him. Unrequited love is a lonely war, and it’s exhausting. It was better for us to go our separate ways, to never meet again. I found a nearby bar and started drinking, one glass after another, trying to quench the fire in my soul. So many nights, I would dream of him. In my dreams, I would secretly kiss Harris. All the things I never dared to do in reality, I did with a fearless passion in my sleep. The Harris in my dreams never rejected me. He would stroke my hair gently, letting me push him down anywhere, anytime. Like against the grand piano in the corner of the Croft family living room. After we were rescued, he loved to sit with me there, his hands guiding mine over the keys. Those were beautiful, sun-drenched memories. In my dreams, I loved pinning him against that piano, taking off his gold-rimmed glasses, and unbuttoning his shirt. He would always have that faint, lazy smile on his lips. He would lean in, his breath warm against my ear, and whisper wickedly, “You want to kiss me? How badly?” “Desperately,” I would answer through tears. His voice would drop to a low, seductive murmur. “Then I’ll let you. Alright?” The dream blurred the lines of reality, giving me a courage I never possessed when I was awake. I would pull off his tie and use it to blindfold him, feeling bold and reckless. “Okay,” I’d say. “But you can’t move.” But every single time, just as my lips were about to touch his, I would wake up. I’d throw my pillow across the room in frustration, then close my eyes, trying desperately to recall the feeling of his voice in my ear, to slip back into the dream and finish what I started. It never worked. I was drunk. And my drunken fingers did something stupid. I logged into my old, private social media account. I hadn’t touched it in years. It was a secret diary, filled with all the forbidden thoughts and feelings I’d had for Harris since I was a teenager. It was the chronicle of my lonely war. I had tried to bury it, to never look at it again. But seeing Harris tonight had stirred up a storm inside me. I couldn’t stop myself. I typed out a new post. [Everyone says I’m his irreplaceable, long-lost love.] [If only that were true.] [But I’m the only one who knows the truth. To him, I can only ever be his sister.] I had no idea that this small, drunken act was about to cause an earthquake. 4 Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Mr. Davies. “Stella, where are you? Get to a bar called ‘Serendipity’ right now! Harris Croft is on his way there as we speak. This is your last chance! He didn’t get a good look at you before. Once he sees your face, you’re in!” I was slumped over the bar, my head spinning. “Boss, please,” I slurred. “Let me go. His assistant already warned me off. The stand-in trick isn’t going to work.” He wasn’t listening. “What do you know? Even the toughest guys have a soft spot if you’re persistent enough. There’s no such thing as a failed substitute, only one who didn’t try hard enough. He might resist once or twice, but seven or eight times? Can he really remain unmoved? Trust me, I know men better than you do. When you can’t have the real thing, even a picture is enough to quench the thirst.” His voice dropped to an excited whisper. “Listen, I have inside info. A minute ago, Harris suddenly shot to his feet, so agitated he crushed a wine glass in his hand. His assistant asked him what was wrong, and Harris’s voice was trembling when he said, ‘She’s online. She’s nearby.’ Turns out, his long-lost love just logged into an old, dormant social media account and posted something. After he saw it, he forgot all about dinner, personally traced the location, and found out she was at a bar nearby. He’s rushing over there now, looks like he could fly.” Mr. Davies was practically giddy. “I bet she doesn’t want to see him, otherwise why would she stay away all these years? When he gets to the bar and finds out she won’t go back with him, that’s your moment. That’s when you strike.” The world snapped into focus. Harris was coming here? Who gave my boss the audacity to say something so insane? Wait. Harris found my private account? That meant all my teenage angst, my unrequited love, my possessive desires… it was all laid bare for him to see. My head throbbed. I wanted to delete every single post, to erase every trace of my secret heart. I scrambled off the barstool and headed for the exit, desperate to escape. I hadn’t even reached the door when I heard Harris’s voice, cool and controlled, cut through the noise of the bar. “Lock this place down. I don’t want so much as a fly getting out.” His assistant was right behind him, promising, “It’s done, sir. I have guards at the front and back doors. We’ll find Miss Taylor this time, I guarantee it.” Then, he spotted me. His face twisted in disgust. “You again? Are you deaf? Still haven’t given up? Get lost.” A guard next to him spoke up. “Mr. Hanson, Mr. Croft just said not even a fly gets out.” Hanson pointed a dismissive finger at me. “She’s the exception. This woman is trying to pass herself off as Miss Taylor’s stand-in. The man he wants to see the least right now is her.” Harris hadn’t seen me. The moment his assistant said my name—Stella—the gaze that had been sweeping the room, the gaze that was about to land on my face, slid right past me. His body language was a clear, brutal message: he had no interest in a substitute. He walked straight to the bar, holding up his phone to the bartender. “Have you seen the girl on this screen?” With my head bowed, I fled. No one stopped me.

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