After transferring from a small-town public school in Montana to an elite private academy on the East Coast, I accidentally took the number one spot in the senior rankings. The principal’s daughter accused me of cheating. She said a “flyover state nobody” like me didn’t belong in the same zip code as her, let alone breath the same air as the school’s star athlete. “Let me tell you something, Ava Sterling,” she hissed. “Ryder Black and I are endgame. A country bumpkin like you shouldn’t even dream about him.” I just blinked. I’d spent years living in a multi-million dollar ranch my dad built just for my recovery, inherited my mother’s genius-level IQ, and as it turns out, the “school star” is the boy I’ve been practically engaged to since we were in diapers. None of this is exactly my fault, is it? If she hates going to school with me that much, maybe I should just give her what she wants. 1 When the results of the first senior midterms were posted, the hallway at Saint Jude’s Prep exploded. “The top spot went to the transfer student? I thought for sure it would be Britney Crawford.” “Unbelievable. Isn’t Ava Sterling from some tiny town in the middle of nowhere? How is she this smart?” I kept my head down, focusing on my practice problems, acting like I couldn’t hear the whispers. Spending my life in rural Montana hadn’t made me a “hardworking farm girl,” but it had given me a very chill, zen-like personality. I’d been sickly since birth. My parents had flown in every specialist in the country, but nothing worked. Finally, a spiritual advisor told them I was “carrying a storm.” If I wanted to survive, I had to live away from the city’s chaos, in a place with clean air and open water, to let my body heal. He gave me a silver heirloom bracelet and said, “When this silver snaps on its own without force, the storm has passed. She can return to her true life.” My parents, desperate, bought a massive ranch in a quiet Montana valley and built a sanctuary for me to live in peace. Amazingly, away from the smog and stress, I got better. And recently, the silver bracelet just… snapped. The moment they heard, my parents couldn’t wait to bring me home. That’s how I ended up at this elite prep school. My mom wanted me here because my uncle is on the Board of Trustees. She figured he could look after me while she worked. My mom is a force of nature. A child prodigy who skipped four grades, the youngest postdoc in the country’s history, and currently a senior fellow at an Ivy League institution. She’s basically an academic deity. Fortunately, I got her brain. I’m not as legendary as she is, but I’m no slouch. I pick up everything instantly. So, even though my old public school didn’t have much funding, I was always at the top of the charts. Even here, at a school for the one percent, these “Ivy-track” midterm questions were a walk in the park for me. But Britney Crawford wasn’t buying it. She marched up to my desk, slamming her manicured hand down. “Ava Sterling, you really think you can cheat your way to the top and not get caught? It’s pathetic.” I looked up, raising an eyebrow at her confidence. On my first day, my desk mate had warned me about her. Britney was the Principal’s daughter. Wealthy, “brilliant,” and the undisputed queen of the grade. She was arrogant and treated everyone like they were beneath her. My desk mate told me to stay out of her way. I’m a zen person. I don’t like drama. But zen doesn’t mean I’m a doormat. If Britney is going to get in my face, it would be rude not to respond. I let out a soft laugh. “You saw the curve, Britney. Only one person in the entire grade broke a 1580 on the practice SATs, and I beat your score by nearly a hundred points. If I cheated, tell me—who did I copy from?” Britney stammered for a second, then hissed, “Everyone knows the proctors in the back overflow room are lazy. You obviously had your phone out!” Because I was a transfer, I didn’t have a previous rank, so they sat me in the last room with the strugglers. I crossed my arms. “You sound so sure. What, were you sitting next to me watching?” “I don’t need to see it!” Britney snapped. “There is no way a flyover state nobody like you could outscore me.” Ah, I got it. The “perpetual number one” lost her crown and was throwing a tantrum. I leaned back in my chair. “A lot of words, Britney. Zero evidence.” Even in the overflow room, there are cameras and teachers. You can’t just Google the answers to a specialized physics exam. I had thirty witnesses. What did she have? 2 Britney had nothing. But she’d made a scene, and the whole class was watching. If she backed down now, she’d lose her “Queen Bee” status. She gritted her teeth. “Fine. If you’re so ‘innocent,’ prove it. Come to the faculty lounge. We’ll get a teacher to print a fresh set of Advanced Olympiad problems. You do them right in front of us.” “Deal,” I said, nodding instantly. “But on one condition. When I finish, you apologize to me in front of the entire senior class.” Seeing how fast I agreed, Britney’s face paled slightly. I glanced at her. “What’s the matter? Scared?” “In your dreams!” she barked, her face turning red. “Fine. Let’s go.” As the principal’s daughter, the teachers did whatever she asked. Within ten minutes, they had a packet of Ivy-level competitive math and logic problems ready. During the long break, Britney brought the papers to the common area. She moved the tables, surrounding me with eight of her “guards” to watch my every move. No phones, no notes, just me and the pen. She slapped the paper in front of me. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Montana.” I yawned, bored of the chatter, and started writing. By the time I finished the first page, Britney’s smug expression began to crumble. By the second page, she was biting her lip so hard it almost bled. By the third, a cold sweat had broken out on her forehead. When I set the pen down after the final question, Britney actually stumbled back. She stared at me like I was a monster. The students surrounding us started cheering. “Holy crap, Ava! You nailed those! Those are Putnam-level problems!” “Is she a human calculator?” “Britney, just admit it. Ava is the real deal.” The doubts Britney had planted were gone, replaced by pure awe. I looked at her. “I finished. Your turn to keep your end of the deal.” Britney stared at me, silent. The whispers started. “Why isn’t she saying anything? She lost the bet.” “Typical. The principal’s daughter thinks she’s above the rules.” Britney’s face turned a deep, bruised purple. Finally, she choked out, “Fine! I lost. I’m sorry!” I gave a casual “Cool” and went back to my book. Britney lost it. “Don’t get cocky, Ava! So you can solve some math problems. You’re still just a flyover state nerd. You’ll never have the status or the life we have here.” “Right. I’m a nerd,” I replied calmly. “But you live in the heart of the world’s best education system and you still got smoked by a ‘flyover state nerd.’ Doesn’t that make you the embarrassing one?” “You—!” Britney turned a shade of green I’d never seen on a human before. She stomped her foot, turned around, and ran out of the room. I didn’t care. I had more practice problems to solve. 3 After the “cheating” scandal, Britney and I were officially at war. Somehow, my reputation as a “Genius Transfer” spread. Even the freshmen and sophomores knew my name. People started coming to my desk during lunch just to “pay their respects.” The teachers loved me, too. “Ava got a perfect score on the mock AP Bio.” “Ava found a shortcut to the calculus proof.” “Everyone should look at Ava’s essay for inspiration.” They were even saying I could get into any Ivy I wanted with my eyes closed. Honestly, it was a bit much. But it was driving Britney insane, which made me feel great. Whenever she got the chance, she’d throw shade. She called me “basic,” “uncultured,” and “poor.” I ignored her. Arguing with a narcissist is a waste of my study time. I also didn’t feel like telling her that my last name is Sterling—as in William Sterling, the guy who owns half the tech infrastructure in this country. Two weeks passed. I was coming back from lunch when I heard a group of girls gossiping in the lounge. “Did you hear? Ryder Black is coming back today.” “Oh god, finally. The school has been so boring without him.” I perked up. Ryder Black. My age. My “childhood friend,” if you want to be technical. Our moms were best friends. When they were both pregnant, they made a joke about us getting married one day. Every summer, he’d fly out to my ranch in Montana. Ryder was a spoiled brat growing up—a total terror to everyone else, but he always behaved for me. He’d gone behind his parents’ back to join a pro-esports team, and he actually became a legend. Last year, his team won the World Championship. He was the MVP, the “golden boy” of the gaming world. He’d been missing school to compete in Europe. Last time we talked, he said he wouldn’t be back until after finals. I guess he finished early. “Look at Britney,” one girl whispered. “She’s glowing.” “Well, her ‘God’ is coming back. Of course she’s happy.” I looked over. Britney was holding a compact mirror, fixing her hair, looking like a shy, blooming flower. It was the polar opposite of the mean girl she usually was. I felt a shiver of pure cringe. No way. Ryder is Britney’s “God”? This is going to be hilarious. Britney already hates me. If she finds out Ryder is my “family-arranged” fiancé, she might actually explode. I almost felt bad for her. Almost. 4 The day Ryder returned, he was trending on Twitter for his championship win. The whole school went into a frenzy. A crowd gathered at the front gates. People from the upper floors were hanging out the windows, trying to get a glimpse of him. The teachers tried to stop them, but eventually, they just gave up. Girls were screaming, “Ryder, I love you!” I walked past on my way to the library, looking completely bored. A guy standing next to me suddenly yelled, “Ryder, marry me!” I stopped. Okay, I was impressed. The esports fandom is truly built different. My desk mate saw me and pulled me over. “Ava, come here! I saved you a spot at the front!” Britney was nearby, sneering at me. “I thought you were too ‘zen’ for this, Ava. Yet here you are, thirsty for Ryder like everyone else.” I glanced at her. “Your Ryder?” Britney lifted her chin. “Damn right. Ryder and I are meant to be. Don’t even think about trying your ‘smart girl’ act on him. He likes girls with class.” She laughed dismissively. “Not that he’d ever notice a country bumpkin like you anyway.” I shrugged. “Whatever you say, Britney.” I was curious to see who he’d notice. Arguing with her was like trying to teach a brick wall to read. “He’s here!” someone yelled. A black SUV pulled up to the curb. Ryder stepped out, still wearing his blue and white team jersey. He moved with that effortless, wealthy confidence. Messy black hair, clear eyes, and that “golden boy” energy. My verdict: He’d definitely gotten hotter since the summer. Ryder stood by the car, scanning the crowd. The moment his eyes landed on me, he broke into a massive, toothy grin and waved. I gave him a small, polite smile back. The girls around me started losing it. “Did Ryder just wave at Britney? He smiled at her!” “Wait, are they official now?” “Britney’s been chasing him since freshman year. He finally gave in?” I looked at Britney. She was blushing, covering her face with her hands, making a big show of being “modest.” “Oh, Ryder,” she giggled in a high-pitched voice. “I told him not to be so public about it!” I had so many questions. This girl was a professional at self-delusion. The bell rang, and the crowd dispersed. Ryder was in the class next to mine. To get to his room, he had to walk past my window. Half my class was leaning toward the glass, hearts practically fluttering as they waited for him to pass. I stayed in my seat, taking notes. Go ahead, I thought. Stare all you want. I’m going to out-study all of you. A whistle sounded from the window. I looked up. Ryder was standing there, flashing his white teeth at me. Then he saw the teacher’s glare, shrugged, and jogged away. “Ooooh!” the class started murmuring. Everyone was looking at… Britney, who sat behind me. Britney was bright red, hiding her face on her desk, grinning like an idiot. They really thought he was flirting with her. And Britney was 100% convinced of it. God, this was a mess. The next period was with the Dean of Students. She adjusted her glasses and looked at us sternly. “You are here to study. If I catch any of you in a ‘distraction,’ I don’t care who your parents are. There will be consequences.” I nodded in agreement. My thing with Ryder wasn’t a “distraction.” Even though we were “engaged” by family tradition, our parents had an agreement: No dating until we were out of school. Focus on the future first. So, the only person about to get hurt here was Britney. She looked like she was on the verge of happy tears. After class, the teacher kept us for five extra minutes. The second she left, Ryder was at our door. Before I could move, Britney shot out of her seat like a coiled spring and ran to him. Even Ryder looked startled. Britney tried to grab his arm, but he flinched back, looking genuinely confused. “Uh, do I know you?” 5 Ryder’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was loud enough for the front half of the class to hear. The silence was deafening. “Wait, what? He’s not here for Britney?” “I thought they were a thing!” “Then what was she doing just now?” “Yikes. That’s embarrassing.” Britney looked like she’d just swallowed a fly. She grit her teeth, her voice trembling. “Didn’t you just wave at me? You were smiling at me at the gate!” Ryder frowned. “I was waving at Ava Sterling. When was I smiling at you?” The gossip mill shifted into high gear. “Did I miss a chapter? When did Ryder and Ava meet?” “He just got back, she just moved here… wait, did they know each other before?” “But Ava’s from a ranch in Montana, right?” Britney turned around and glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. I kept my face neutral. Totally innocent. Ryder, still oblivious to the social hierarchy he’d just nuked, waved me over. I sighed. Under Britney’s death-stare, I walked out of the classroom. If looks could kill, I’d be on my 99th reincarnation by now. Ryder pulled me aside. “Is that girl okay? Does she have some kind of… condition?” I looked at him, half-smirking. “I heard she’s been ‘in love’ with you for years. You really didn’t notice?” Ryder looked genuinely baffled. “Ava, girls are always ‘in love’ with me. If I cared about every single one, I’d be exhausted.” I laughed. “Fair point.” Suddenly, Ryder reached behind his back like a magician and pulled out a small, elegant box. He held it out to me with both hands. “Here. For you.” “What is it?” I opened it. Inside was his gold MVP medal from the world championship. I looked up in shock. Ryder grinned. “Success is only fun if you share it with the person who matters.” I was stunned. “But… I didn’t get you a ‘welcome back’ gift.” He patted my head. “Seeing you the second I got back is the only gift I wanted.” I finally understood. That’s why he flew back from Europe so fast. He came back for me. The bell rang. Ryder walked me back to my door. As I walked in, I heard him laugh behind me. “You grew, Ava.” I turned back. Ryder was leaning against the wall, winking at me in the sunlight. He looked soft. Gentle. The second class ended, a mob surrounded my desk. Everyone wanted to know the deal between me and Ryder. Even my desk mate asked, “Ava, seriously, are you guys dating?” I looked her in the eye and said, “I promise you, we are not ‘dating’ in high school.” Whether she believed me or not was her problem. When the rumors were about Britney and Ryder, the other girls stayed quiet. But now that it was the “Montana nobody,” the jealousy was coming out in full force. “Why even ask? She’s obviously not his type. She’s not in his league.” “Exactly. So she’s smart. She’s still just a bookworm. A girl like that will never have the family background to match a guy like Ryder.” “And honestly, she’s not even that pretty. Just average.” Salty. So salty. Most of the class had been neutral during my first spat with Britney. But seeing me “close” to Ryder pushed them into Britney’s camp. Britney made sure to announce to the room: “Don’t think catching Ryder’s attention for five minutes makes you special, Ava. You’re still a flyover state loser. I’m going to make sure everyone knows you don’t belong at Saint Jude’s.” 6 I didn’t care. I focused on my SAT prep. But some people don’t let you stay zen. With the School Anniversary coming up, everyone was talking about the gala. Seniors aren’t usually supposed to participate in the performances, but because our grade had record-breaking test scores, the Dean gave us a “night off” to celebrate. They even set aside slots for senior speeches and performances. And that’s how I found out—without my knowledge—that I had been signed up for a solo vocal performance. The song: Starlight. If the homeroom teacher hadn’t mentioned it during announcements, I never would have known. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Britney was behind it. Her best friend is the Class President, who was in charge of the sign-up sheet. I’d been set up. The whole class was looking at me with weird expressions. “Isn’t Starlight the lead single from Logan Sterling’s new album?” “Yeah. It’s got those insane high notes and runs. Nobody dares to cover it.” “Covering that song is a death sentence. Even pros struggle with it. Why is Ava trying to sing it? Is she crazy?” “Wait, I heard rumors that Saint Jude’s invited Logan Sterling himself to headline the gala. If he sings Starlight and then Ava sings it… isn’t that just a public execution?” “Is he really coming? I didn’t see it on his official tour dates.” “My dad is on the board. It’s a private ‘alumni’ visit. It’s 100% happening.” The conversation shifted from me to the mega-star Logan Sterling. I sat there, listening to the gossip, and blinked. Wait. My brother is coming to my school? Why didn’t he tell me? Yes, the superstar Logan Sterling is my big brother. He debuted at twenty on a reality show and became an overnight sensation because of his looks, his voice, and his songwriting. Within six months, he was a global icon. But he’s private. He doesn’t do many interviews. He only shows up for major awards or charity. The fact that he’d come back to his old prep school for a small gig was a huge deal. While the girls were screaming about Logan, I stood up and walked over to the Class President and Britney. “Take my name off the list.” I was brief. I didn’t have time for their games. The Class President looked away guiltily. “The list is already submitted to the Dean. If you want to cancel, tell her yourself.” I expected this, but I still frowned. “You signed me up without asking. Why is it my job to fix your ‘mistake’?” Britney didn’t look guilty at all. She looked triumphant. “What? I thought you liked the spotlight. This is your chance to shine. You should be thanking us.” With Britney backing her, the President got bold. “Exactly. You’re basically performing on the same stage as Logan Sterling. People would kill for that. Stop acting like a victim and enjoy the opportunity.” I almost laughed. Performing with Logan Sterling? I’ve heard that guy sing in the shower. I’ve heard every draft of every song he’s ever written. I am his first audience for everything. I really didn’t need the “opportunity.”

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My brother came to my apartment to force me to donate bone marrow to our mother. My landlord told him, “Chloe is already dead.” My brother sneered. “Chloe really never changes! To get attention, she’ll make up any excuse. She’s just rotten to the core, not even a fraction as good as Harper. You tell her to stop playing games and be a good girl and donate that bone marrow. Otherwise, I’ll make her regret it!” The white-haired landlady was furious. She grabbed a broom and chased my brother out. “I said, Chloe is dead! You and your toxic family killed her! “Chloe has been dead for six months! How exactly are you going to make her regret it? “Chloe had the worst luck in the world to be born into a family like yours!” Realizing I was truly dead, my brother’s face turned ash-white, and he fled in a panic. 1 I have been dead for six months, but I haven’t moved on to the afterlife. My soul uncontrollably followed the Sterling family. Day after day, I watched the four members of the Sterling family live in perfect, happy harmony. Harper and Liam were getting married. The wedding date and venue were all booked. It was only then that the family finally remembered me. “Is my sister still mad? Will she come when Liam and I get married?” “If she doesn’t come, I won’t acknowledge her as my daughter anymore.” “Just goes to show, if you didn’t raise them from birth, you can’t trust them.” “I said from the beginning we shouldn’t have brought her back. We should have just let the mistake be.” My father, my mother, and my brother sat there, listing all my faults. I watched Harper, tears in her eyes, secretly curl the corner of her lips into a smile. She won. I, the true biological daughter, had nothing. I didn’t even have my life anymore. The family took turns calling me, but it wouldn’t connect. It had been six months; my phone battery had died and shut off ages ago. After failing to reach me, they cursed me out together, then tossed me aside and forgot about me again. Even when I occasionally crossed their minds, it was quickly paved over with an insult. My mother went with Harper to try on wedding dresses. Harper spotted a gown displayed in a glass case. “Mom, look! That dress is so beautiful.” I looked at the dress too, and for a moment, I was dazed. Meanwhile, my mother had already called an employee over to bring the dress out. “I’m very sorry, but that dress is custom-made for a private client.” Harper really loved the dress and kept asking for information about the client who ordered it. Finally, the employee checked their records. “The design sketches were provided by Ms. Chloe Sterling herself. Our company just handled the tailoring.” Harper immediately covered her mouth, her voice choking with sobs. “My sister must still not be over Liam. I should just give him back to her.” Give him back to me? I smiled bitterly. Liam and I were childhood sweethearts. We used to be the couple everyone envied. But then I was found by the Sterling family and met Harper. Everyone loved Harper. My childhood sweetheart loved her too. That wedding dress was indeed designed by me, for me. Once, filled with overflowing love, I designed that dress. I thought I would wear it to marry Liam. But now, that dress was something I could never touch. 2 There was never anything Harper wanted that she didn’t get. “I’m making the decision. This dress is yours now. We’ll consider it her wedding gift to you.” Harper hypocritically declined. “Will my sister be upset?” “Why should she be upset? Matters of the heart can’t be forced. It’s her own fault for having such a terrible, vicious personality. Liam not liking her is her own doing; what does that have to do with you? She always bullied you before; compensating you with a dress is the least she can do.” Harper happily put on the dress, spinning blissfully in front of the mirror. My mother watched her with a face full of pride and comfort. That was a look I could only ever dream of. When it came to Harper, my mother always handled everything personally. She said she wanted her precious daughter’s big day to be absolutely perfect, without a single regret. But me? After being stolen away as a baby, I was just an unnecessary extra. I watched my mother work day and night to alter the dress for Harper. Harper was slightly curvier than me, but she refused to pick a different dress. My mother, who loved her daughter more than her own life, ignored her health and insisted on altering it herself. My mother was a highly sought-after fashion designer. All year round, Harper practically only wore clothes designed by our mother. I never had that honor. Later, I became a designer myself. I designed my own clothes. Since no one loved me, I had to love myself. The night my mother finished altering the dress, she collapsed. After being rushed to the hospital, the situation was severe. “The patient’s leukemia has relapsed.” 3 My father swayed, almost losing his footing. “How is that possible? Didn’t you say her recovery was going well?” “Has the patient experienced any unusual physical strain lately?” “Well, our daughter is getting married, so my wife has been running around non-stop. She might be a bit exhausted. And lately, to alter our daughter’s wedding dress, she pulled two all-nighters.” “Foolish! Does she have a death wish? Her body just recovered; how could it handle that kind of exhaustion?” “Doctor, what do we do now? Please, you have to save my wife.” Harper looked at the doctor with tear-filled eyes. The doctor’s expression turned grave. “Prepare for a second bone marrow transplant.” “Quick, call Chloe and tell her to get here.” Instantly, the family remembered me again. They called me non-stop. “We’re sorry, the number you have reached cannot be completed as dialed…” Hearing the automated message, everyone’s faces turned ugly. Harper cried and said, “My sister must still be mad at me. I’ll go beg her. As long as she’s willing to save Mom, I’ll leave Liam. I’ll leave the Sterling family.” “Chloe is such a bitch! Mom is in critical condition, and she’s actually ignoring our calls. She really is a malicious, toxic bitch!” I looked at my brother. The brother who shared my blood. So, in your eyes, I was just a bitch. My father sneered coldly. “She thinks she has leverage over us now. She’s waiting for us to go beg her.” “I don’t need her bone marrow, that unfilial brat. Since she doesn’t care if I live or die, from now on, I’ll pretend I never had this daughter.” My mother woke from her coma, joining in the disgusted condemnation of me. My brother slammed his fist angrily against the wall. “I’m going to find her.” 4 I followed my brother to the apartment I used to rent. Bang! Bang! Bang! My brother pounded violently on the door, his face full of disgust and impatience. He banged for a long time, but no one answered. Just as he was about to leave, the elderly landlady came over. She lived right across the hall. She must have heard the noise and come out to check. “Where did Chloe go?” The old lady paused. “Chloe? Such a sweet, good girl. But she had a tragic fate. Died so young.” “Dead? How is that possible! “You’re making a sick joke, old lady.” My brother laughed outright, completely refusing to believe it. Right. In his eyes, I was a menace. They say the bad ones live a thousand years. How could I die so easily? But this time, I really was dead. “Who makes jokes like that! Chloe really passed away.” My brother continued to sneer. “Chloe really never changes! To get attention, she’ll make up any excuse. I’m her brother, I know exactly what kind of person she is. “She’s just rotten to the core, not even a fraction as good as Harper. You tell her to stop playing games and be a good girl and donate that bone marrow. Otherwise, I’ll make her regret it!” The white-haired landlady was furious. She grabbed a broom and chased my brother out. “I said, Chloe is dead! You and your toxic family killed her! “Chloe has been dead for six months! How exactly are you going to make her regret it? “Chloe had the worst luck in the world to be born into a family like yours!” My brother’s body stiffened as he dodged the broom. “You’re not joking? Chloe is really dead? How is that possible?” “Get out! Get out! You heartless animal!” My brother fled in a panic. 5 I followed my brother into his car. He lit a cigarette. Through the swirling smoke, I saw his face was dark and unreadable. Knowing I was dead, did my brother feel even a tiny bit sad? In the glow of the cigarette ember, my brother’s phone rang. He looked down at it. The contact name read: My Sweet Harper. Heh. Harper was My Sweet Harper. And me? Oh, I was The Debt Collector. That was how the whole family saved my contact. Surprisingly unanimous. My brother answered the phone. Harper’s slightly choked, raspy voice came through. “Brother, what did my sister say? Is she still mad? Don’t argue with her. I’ll go over and apologize. She’s stubborn. After she donated marrow the first time, she said she’d never acknowledge us again, that even if she died on the streets, it had nothing to do with us. I’m so scared she might do something foolish.” Hearing this, my brother’s originally heavy expression instantly cleared up. “Hah! Chloe is really pulling out all the stops now. She’s actually faking her own death!” I froze. My brother thought I was faking my death. No investigation. No asking for proof. Right. Because they fundamentally didn’t care about me. They always relied on their own subjective assumptions. “Then what do we do? Mom’s body can’t wait.” “I don’t believe it. Without Chloe, you’re telling me we can’t find another suitable marrow donor?” Right. I was always the one who shouldn’t exist. 6 When my brother got back, he embellished the story of me “faking my death.” The whole family instantly launched a crusade against me. “Just as I thought. A selfish, ungrateful wolf who only cares about herself.” “How did I give birth to something with no heart?” “My sister must still be mad at me. I’ll go apologize. I’ll beg for forgiveness.” The condemnation reached its peak amidst Harper’s crying. While comforting Harper, they used even more vicious words to curse me. Liam half-embraced Harper, gently patting her back to soothe her. “Harper, it’s not your fault. Kindness isn’t an excuse for Chloe to bully you. Someone as malicious as her is destined to be unloved.” Harper sobbed softly against Liam’s chest. But I remembered things from the past. Back then, Harper’s biological mother stole me and threw me into a dumpster. I was picked up by human traffickers, who sold me to a couple that hadn’t been able to have a child for years. Less than a year after adopting me, the couple had twins—a boy and a girl. After that, my originally ordinary life turned into a living hell. At only three years old, I had to start doing chores. I had to take care of my younger brother and sister. The slightest mistake earned me a heavy slap from my adoptive father. Simply having enough to eat and staying warm was a luxury for me. In those bitter days, Liam was one of the very few lights in my life. He would secretly slip me an egg on the way to school. He would treat my wounds after my adoptive father beat me. We got into a top university together, and naturally, we became a couple. Just when I was wholeheartedly looking forward to spending the rest of my life with him, he got together with Harper. “I shouldn’t have pitied her back then. She’s just a heartless, ungrateful monster.” Liam’s cruel words snapped me back to reality. So, being with me was just out of pity? When I was tutoring Liam, he once praised me: “Chloe, you are truly the most wonderful girl in the world.” After we got into university together, there was an opportunity for a three-month study abroad program. The university intended to send me. But Liam really wanted to go. He held me and begged me to give the opportunity to him. When I nodded, he happily picked me up and spun me around. “Chloe, don’t worry. I’m working this hard so I can give you a better life in the future. I want you to have the most beautiful wedding when you marry me.” Those promises from back then, Liam discarded like garbage. I was the only one gripping them tightly, refusing to let go. Even when what I was holding rotted away in my hands, I still clung to it like a lifeline. And Liam? He had forgotten long ago. 7 My father and brother used all their connections, trying to find another suitable bone marrow match for my mother. But a suitable match wasn’t that easy to find. Within half a month, the doctor issued an ultimatum. They had to find a match as soon as possible. Otherwise, my mother was in critical danger. So, the family started calling me again. Still unreachable. They looked at each other and realized that besides calling me, they had absolutely no other way to contact me. My father coughed. “Do any of you have phone numbers for Chloe’s friends or classmates?” Everyone’s eyes turned to Liam. Liam pulled out his phone and called a few classmates and friends he remembered me being close to. “Chloe? I haven’t talked to her in almost a year.” My brother’s face darkened. “This Chloe is a total freak. She doesn’t even have a single close friend or classmate. Who knows where she ran off to hide, not caring about anything. She deserves to be hated.” My mouth tasted bitter. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t want to stay here either. I didn’t want to be hated either. I wanted to be loved by everyone, just like Harper. 8 “Why don’t we try this?” Harper showed everyone the screen on her phone. It was a local emotional mediation TV show that was currently very popular. At that moment, an ad for the show was playing on the screen. “Love at 8:30, let’s meet in love. If you have any emotional problems, family conflicts, or need help finding relatives or friends, you can come to us.” My father hesitated a bit. “This is on television… will it look bad?” After all, the Sterling family was a prominent name locally. If this got on TV, and things went wrong, they’d become a laughingstock in their social circles. Harper bit her lip. “But we can’t reach my sister. We’re doing this to save Mom. As long as we can contact my sister, we should try any method.” My brother also thought it made sense. “Yeah. It’s not our fault anyway; we’re the victims here. If that evil Chloe isn’t afraid of losing face by abandoning her own biological mother, why should we care?” My father hesitated no longer. He immediately contacted the TV station, first promising a three-million-dollar sponsorship. Half an hour later, the station sent a crew over to interview and film. I couldn’t help but want to laugh. My family. Really hilarious. I was already dead. Were you going to put on a show for the whole city, or even the whole country? 9 “Chloe, come back. Mom doesn’t need you to donate bone marrow. Mom is just afraid she doesn’t have much time left and wants to see you one last time.” “Sister, please come back. It’s all my fault. You can hit me or scold me, I promise I won’t complain. Just come back. Dad, Mom, and Brother miss you so much.” “Chloe, come back. I didn’t treat you well before and made you unhappy. I’ll treat you better from now on.” “Chloe, come back. Mom and Dad miss you.” “Chloe, as long as you come back, Harper and I will cancel the wedding.” The family that cursed me out in the hospital completely changed their tune in front of the camera. A family that looked forward to my return like this… that was what I had always desperately hoped for. Except, this was all fake. It was just to get me to come back and donate bone marrow to my mother. Even though it was fake, I embarrassingly watched it all. If only this was all real. From the moment I could remember, my life had been dark. How I longed for light to shine in. I thought Liam was the light, but just as he was about to pull me out, he shoved me away, letting me fall into an even deeper abyss. Later, I thought the Sterling family was my salvation. Turns out, the Sterling family was just another abyss. My existence seemed to have never been wanted.

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1 I found myself in the legendary Soul Exchange. I pawned my capacity for love in exchange for another chance at life. When my parents brought my adoptive sister home again, I finally wasn’t consumed by the same hysteria as in my previous life. This time, my parents’ indifference, my brother’s disdain, my fiancé’s betrayal—I wouldn’t care about any of it. But then, why… why were they holding me, crying so heartbrokenly again? “Audrey, why are you spacing out? Your new sister will be here soon, let’s go downstairs to greet her!” Hearing that name again, I paused for a moment. I hadn’t been called “Audrey” for six or seven years. I turned to look at Arthur standing beside me, and sure enough, he was twelve again. The gangly pre-teen, dressed in a fitted suit, was eagerly looking towards the staircase. One hand still clutched my arm. I stared at his long, clean hand. Yet, what flashed in my mind was the imprint of his hand, grown-up, slapping my face. I frowned, instantly shaking him off. Arthur’s expression froze; he looked at me, bewildered. “Audrey, what’s wrong?” The next moment, the villa’s front door slowly pushed open. My parents’ voices drifted in: “Arthur, Audrey, come down, we’ve brought your sister home!” Arthur’s eyes lit up. He immediately abandoned me and ran downstairs. I stood at the top of the stairs, watching the harmonious scene of the family of four below. I reached up and pressed a hand over my heart. It was a strange sensation. A tingling warmth. But the tearing pain that used to accompany it was gone. 2 Arthur and I were twins. For the first twelve years, the Fosters only had us two children. And with the auspicious symbolism of having a boy and a girl twin, our parents and the elders of the family doted on us like precious jewels. Arthur, though only two hours older than me, acted like a true older brother, always letting me have my way, spoiling me into a veritable little princess. Someone once joked with my dad, “With your eldest daughter’s temper, it’s a good thing she was engaged to Ethan early, otherwise no one would dare marry her when she grows up.” My dad’s face immediately darkened. “My daughter wasn’t born to be married off. If no one marries her, she’ll stay home her whole life! I can afford to keep her!” Mom and Arthur didn’t say anything, they just kept showering me with good things, spoiling me even more recklessly. A jade bracelet worth over three hundred thousand dollars was the most ordinary birthday gift I received back then. It was also the last birthday gift I ever received. When I was twelve, one of my father’s old comrades passed away from an illness. On his deathbed, he entrusted his only daughter to my dad. That girl, named Seraphina, became my nominal sister. From then on, my family’s affection, trust, and attention slowly, little by little, drifted away from me. I admit, I hated her. I envied her! I envied how two tears from her could send the whole family into a frantic frenzy. I envied how she slowly stole everything I owned. I grew increasingly obsessive. My temper became more volatile, more erratic. Finally, on my eighteenth birthday, I witnessed her and my fiancé Ethan kissing in the garden. I completely lost my mind. I confronted my parents, my brother, my beloved… “Why are you doing this to me?” But they just looked at me with almost identical expressions of disappointment: “Do you even know what you look like right now? You’re a lunatic!” I laughed, tears streaming down my face. The pain in my heart made my whole body tremble. I lunged at Seraphina with a knife, only to be kicked into a rose bush full of thorns by Arthur. Everyone nervously rushed to protect Seraphina, comforting her and coaxing her to stop crying. No one cared that the knife I held was just a plastic one, meant for cutting cake. My parents, claiming I had mental issues, had me committed to a mental institution. I think Arthur’s kick must have injured me badly. I coughed up blood day and night, begging the doctors to call my parents repeatedly. But they never picked up. Finally, after another round of electroshock therapy, I took my last breath. And then I saw it—the rumored Soul Exchange. I traded all my emotions, my capacity to love, for a chance to be reborn. 3 “Audrey, come on! Weren’t you always looking forward to having a little sister?” Mom, holding Seraphina’s hand, stood at the doorway, smiling and waving at me. Seraphina, with her clean, pale face, sweetly called me “Sister.” But I showed no reaction. I simply turned and went back to my room, leaving them all in the living room, exchanging puzzled glances. My dad sighed, “This child, who upset her now?” Mom’s voice was awkward: “Maybe she’s not used to having a little sister yet, it’s fine, I’ll go coax her in a bit.” Seraphina’s voice was tearful: “Mommy, Daddy, does Sister not like me?” Before my parents could speak, Arthur eagerly cut in: “No, no, Audrey just has a bit of a temper, her heart isn’t bad. Don’t cry, don’t be sad, I’ll go tell her off for you later!” My parents beamed, “Arthur’s so sensible! Make sure you take good care of your sister!” Their laughter kept drifting into my room. Again, I thought how terrible the soundproofing in this mansion truly was. I hated it. It was deafening. I simply stood up and started inventorying my valuables. So much time had passed, I couldn’t remember what my twelve-year-old self owned anymore. Now, looking closely, I was astonished by the sheer wealth. No wonder Seraphina loved taking my things so much. Even my grown-up self couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. I picked up the jewelry from my vanity and stuffed it all into my backpack. Anyway, if I didn’t take it now, Seraphina would soon claim it for various reasons. I held a beautifully crafted jade bracelet, remembering how Seraphina had shattered it in my previous life. That was the first time I slapped her. The small girl, red-eyed, hid behind the door, her voice filled with such injustice, as if I had broken something that belonged to her. “Sister, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to… I’ve never had anything like this, I just wanted to look, I, I didn’t hold it steady…” She burst into tears, which brought my parents and Arthur running. That was the first time I went “crazy” and hit someone, and the first time my dad confined me. Seraphina cried into my mom’s leg until she almost fainted, yet still managed to glance up and stick her tongue out at me. I pointed at her, accusing, but the next second, Arthur violently shoved me into my room. “Audrey! Can’t you show some sympathy? Seraphina is so pathetic, how can you still bully her? It’s just a bracelet, you have countless others! What’s wrong with giving it to her?” I gritted my teeth, forcing down the sobs that rose in my throat. Just a bracelet? No! That was the birthday gift Arthur bought me with his first prize money from a creative competition! But he had forgotten… From that year on, I never received another birthday gift. Even the dolls, clothes, and jewelry that used to flow into my room like a stream were all redirected to Seraphina’s room. All because she said: “The kids at school laugh at me, they say I’m so skinny and small, and I have no taste, not as bright and shiny as Sister, like a little mud monkey…” She was lying! It was Arthur who helped her ostracize me with the entire class! He knew. He clearly knew everything. But he didn’t defend me. Watching as my parents grew increasingly disappointed in me, increasingly favoring their pitiful adopted daughter… 4 By the time I’d packed all my belongings, there was a gentle knock on my door. “Audrey? Sweetheart, dinner’s ready.” Mom’s voice was incredibly patient, unbelievably gentle. I didn’t respond. I just opened the door, allowing her to lead me to the living room. In my usual spot, Seraphina sat, looking constrained. My dad and Arthur were both helping her dish out food. I turned to Mom. “Should I eat on the floor?” Everyone froze. Mom’s grip on my hand unconsciously tightened. “Of course not! It’s my fault, I forgot to get you a chair. Ms. Davies, quickly get Audrey a chair.” Seraphina hesitantly stood up, her innocent big eyes instantly welling with tears. “Sister, I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was your seat, I, I’ll give it to you!” Arthur quickly got up and restrained her, looking at me with reproach. “Audrey, it’s all the same where you sit, don’t scare Seraphina, she just got here! At the very least, you can sit to my left! Brother will sit between the two of you, how about that?” My parents remained silent, instead watching for my reaction. …Isn’t this tacit approval? I sneered inwardly. Truly, so childish. The whole family was putting on a show, but their acting was unusually terrible. It was truly off-putting. I took the chair from the housekeeper and dragged it directly to the farthest corner of the dining table, away from all of them. Arthur’s hand, dishing food for Seraphina, paused. He looked at me, wanting to speak several times, but ultimately said nothing. The meal finished in this strange atmosphere. As I stood to go upstairs, my dad called out to me. He seemed a little troubled, clearing his throat before smiling and speaking: “Audrey, Seraphina is a year younger than you and Arthur. You are her older brother and sister, you should be more accommodating to her. She just lost her biological parents, and she’s been through a lot emotionally. We are her family, we should take good care of her.” My mom chimed in, “Yes, Mom knows you might not be used to having a sister yet, but look how sweet Seraphina is. If you try to spend more time together, you’ll definitely grow close.” The two of them exchanged frantic glances across the table. Clearly, they both wanted the other to speak first about what was coming. I was getting impatient. My tone was cold. “So?” Mom was taken aback by my question. Perhaps she had never heard me speak to her with such a cold tone before, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. My dad took a sip of tea, then smiled and began, “Audrey, Seraphina just transferred here, and her physical and mental condition aren’t very good. We’re really worried about her, so… how about you and Arthur both stay down a grade, and go to school with her? How does that sound?” As if to be more convincing, he hastily added, “Arthur has already agreed, we’re just waiting for you.” I looked at Arthur. He had his head down, not daring to meet my gaze. 5 Here we go again. It was the same in my previous life. They made me, and Arthur, who was already in seventh grade, go back to sixth grade to “keep her company.” A year later, Ethan, who had grown very close to Seraphina, also transferred to our class, claiming he wanted to look after me… From then on, the three of them staged various little dramas in class every day, falsely accusing me of bullying Seraphina, which led to me being ostracized by the entire class. Bravo. Too bad I wasn’t in the mood to play such boring games with elementary schoolers anymore. It was a complete waste of life. I tilted my head, my eyes full of confusion. “She needs two servants to attend her just to go to school?” My dad was so shocked he dropped his chopsticks. “Aud-Audrey, what did you say?” “I said, since Arthur is already willing to cater to her, there’s no need to force me, is there?” Mom grabbed my arm, her face filled with horror. “Audrey, what are you talking about? What ‘cater’? Your dad and I just want you all to spend more time together, to bond earlier!” “I have no obligation to bond with her. Whoever wants to bond with her can go cater to her.” I stared at Arthur, who had been dumbfounded since earlier, and delivered my final words: “So it’s settled. From now on, you two go to elementary school, and I’ll continue my seventh grade. We won’t bother each other.” I turned and went upstairs, leaving behind a group of people comforting the incessantly sobbing Seraphina. Around nine that evening, Arthur knocked on my door. “Audrey, are you asleep?” “Something wrong?” “Uh… can you open the door?” “No.” Silence outside the door for a long time. Just when I thought he had left, Arthur’s voice came again: “Audrey, you’re unhappy, aren’t you?” My hands paused as I packed my clothes. I frowned, my voice indifferent. “No.” “You are! Audrey, is it because I was only paying attention to our new sister today and ignored you?” I was a little speechless. I really wasn’t unhappy. I just didn’t care. Dealing with them was so boring it made me want to throw up. The Audrey who would be so heartbroken by neglect that she’d fall into severe depression had already died alone in a mental asylum. I sighed. “Really, I’m not. Arthur, you can do whatever you want, you’re free to get close to anyone you like, I don’t care, as long as you don’t bother me.” Silence fell outside the door again. After a while, his voice carried a hint of resignation. “Audrey, Seraphina is truly pitiful. Look how small and frail she is, and she has such a sweet, soft heart. I’m really afraid she’ll be bullied… Audrey, I’ll go back and stay with her for a year, and once she’s settled, I’ll transfer to your school, okay?” Fine, fine, fine. The school is your family’s investment, you can do whatever you want. I rolled my eyes, packed the last piece of clothing. Put on my noise-canceling headphones, and lay directly on the bed. The next morning, I walked into the living room, pulling my suitcase and backpack. Everyone froze again. I looked up and saw Ethan, sitting next to Seraphina. The boy, my age, was already strikingly tall, even half a head taller than Arthur. The moment he saw me, he quickly stood up, his gentle, almond-shaped eyes curving slightly, his voice joyful: “Audrey! I’m here to pick you up for school!” I lowered my eyes, seeing Seraphina’s hand clutching his arm. “You won’t need to pick me up anymore.” “Of course, if you want to pick someone else up, that’s up to you.” 6 Ethan’s smile froze on his face. “Why?” I pointed my chin, indicating the suitcase behind me. Screech— Chairs scraping the floor. Not just Ethan, but my parents and Arthur too, all wore confused expressions. “Audrey? What’s that?” Arthur’s red-rimmed eyes were fixed on my suitcase. “Clothes, and some toiletries.” And my jewelry. “I forgot to tell you, starting today, I’m boarding at school.” “What?!” Several voices spoke in unison. My dad walked over, his face cold, and half-knelt to look at me. “Audrey? You’re boarding?” “Yes.” “Why? Isn’t it good at home? Did your mom and dad make you unhappy?” I remained silent, my eyes devoid of any emotion. My dad’s hand, resting on my hair, trembled slightly. He hesitated, then looked back at Seraphina. “Is it because… Seraphina?” At his words, before I could react, Seraphina bit her lip and let out a suppressed whimper. My mom quickly walked over and hugged her, then glared at my dad reproachfully. “What are you saying? How could it be? Audrey, you tell us, why do you want to board? It’s definitely not because of your sister, you like your sister, right?” Everyone waited expectantly for my answer. They were waiting for me to say, Yes, I like her. Boarding is my own reckless choice. I’m not upset. But I was especially good at disappointing people. “No, I don’t like her. I hate her. And it’s not just her.” “I also hate Mom and Dad, I hate Arthur, I hate Ethan! I hate all of you!” In an instant, my parents’ and Arthur’s faces turned ashen. Ethan, surprisingly, showed little reaction. He seemed to think I was just jealous and throwing a tantrum, his eyes full of tolerance and helplessness. As I walked past him with my suitcase, he even reached out, trying to take it from me. I dodged him. He didn’t get angry, still shamelessly following behind me. My parents tried to follow, but were interrupted by Seraphina’s cries. She cried more and more pitifully, her small face buried in my mom’s arms, her whole body trembling. “Waaah, Mom and Dad, please send me to an orphanage! Sister doesn’t like me… I don’t deserve to be home!” My parents, of course, launched into another round of comforting words, but Arthur, for some reason, was unusually silent. Ethan was still clinging to me, forcing his way into the car I got into. “Go ride in your family’s car.” “Why? I don’t want to! I want to be with you!” He tilted his head, showing his two front teeth, looking utterly unconcerned, like a pig not afraid of boiling water. My fingertips trembled slightly. I suddenly remembered, it was just like this in my previous life. When everyone else ostracized me, the only one who didn’t side with Seraphina was Ethan. He would stand firmly behind me when Seraphina framed me. He’d talk back to Arthur when he yelled at me. When my parents grew more and more disappointed in me, he’d hold me and whisper comforting words: “Audrey, don’t be afraid. You still have me. Ethan’s with you. If they like your sister more, that’s their business. I’ll only ever like my Audrey!” I was like a drowning person clutching the only piece of driftwood, depending on him more completely, trusting him fully. Until Arthur and I turned fourteen. Seraphina suddenly fainted for no reason. Ethan paused, and before anyone else could react, he pushed me aside and caught her steadily in his arms. The “master” he personally brought, in front of everyone at the birthday party, declared that my name was ill-omened, suppressing Seraphina’s destiny and causing her health to decline. How conveniently that “master” appeared! What a clumsy excuse! I still remembered the shock and embarrassment on the faces of all our relatives and friends. Everyone could see it was an act of bullying and humiliation directed at me. But my parents still took me to change my name without a word. From that day on, the name that had been mine for fourteen years – Audrey Foster – became a forbidden word in our house. They called me – Amelia Foster. Amelia… A name changed for Seraphina. It sounded beautiful, but I hated it. I hated it until the day I died! 7 I ignored Ethan. Anyway, it wouldn’t be long before he transferred to Seraphina’s class. I went directly to the dorm advisor with my paperwork and accommodation fees. Ethan saw me actually hand over the money. He finally shed his casual demeanor. He seemed to finally realize that I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I wasn’t kidding with them. I wasn’t waiting for them to coax me. I truly just wanted to be as far away from them as possible. “Audrey?” His confusion was like thick, swirling ink in his eyes. “Why do you hate even me? Did I do something wrong?” His fingers gently tugged at my sleeve, his voice cautious. He didn’t sound at all like someone who would eventually choke my neck with his bare hands. But those vivid images were still burned into my memory… I violently slapped his hand away. My eyes filled with disgust, I vigorously wiped my sleeve with a tissue. Ethan, pushed away by me, stared blankly at my face. His voice seemed muffled in his throat. “Audrey…” Meeting my look of revulsion, he finally fell silent. I quickly walked away from the hallway. And before class, I submitted a request to change classes. Even after the first period, Ethan didn’t show up in class. When I was walking through the familiar hallway, carrying a stack of books, I finally saw him, his eyes red-rimmed. Ethan looked at the books in my arms, his expression even more wronged. He rushed towards me in two strides. “Audrey, don’t change classes, okay?” But the next moment, a basketball flew from Class 2, hitting him squarely on the head. I, with my books, nimbly dodged, then turned and entered my classroom. Ethan, having hit the floor of the hallway, caused a stir. A boy in my class still held the posture of throwing a basketball. His school uniform hung loosely on him, a wide, exaggerated grin on his lips. “Oops, accidentally hit someone. Are you alright, pal?” I glanced at him. Carrying my books, I walked past him. Whether it was my imagination or not, his movements seemed to freeze for a moment. Then, he propped himself against the edge of a desk with one hand, casually pointed to the seat beside him, his voice full of swagger. “Any further back is the trash can. How about you sit next to me?” 8 I looked at him, but he quickly averted his gaze. “Ahem, well, the homeroom teacher said last class that a new student would be joining, and for me, the class president, to take good care of them.” As he spoke, he rubbed his face, turning his ears red. Class 2 president… Jason. Notorious as the class troublemaker. The students around me were either laughing at Ethan, who had fallen, or secretly glancing our way. I sighed. Class 2’s bad reputation wasn’t unfounded, after all… But I really didn’t want to sit next to Ethan! I pursed my lips. “Thanks, but I prefer to sit alone.” I placed my books on the desk in the last row, by the corner. Jason looked a bit annoyed, his tone urgent. “Hey, you… don’t sit there, I’ll swap with you! I’m taller, I’ll block your view of the blackboard.” Before I could refuse, Ethan, covered in dirt, rushed in. He slammed his hand on my books. “Audrey, come back with me!” “Let go.” “No!” … “Seriously, dude… are you performing a soap opera here?” Jason’s face looked like he’d bitten into something disgusting. “She wants to stay in our class, is it any of your business?” Someone at the door, I don’t know who, threw the basketball back to him. Jason balanced the spinning ball on one finger, looking at Ethan with an expression full of challenge. Ethan gritted his teeth, looking down at me. But he saw I had already started tidying my desk. Jason tutted, “Still not leaving! The bell has rung for class!” Ethan unconsciously clenched his hands. “Audrey…” I frowned, saying nothing. He finally gave up. He shot Jason a furious look, then walked away, turning back to me every few steps. I sighed in relief. “Thank you.” “Huh? Are you talking to me?” Jason pointed to himself. I nodded. He suddenly stood up straight, throwing the basketball into the trash can behind me, almost like muscle memory. I stared at him, bewildered, not understanding what that move was. But I noticed his face was redder now. “Force of habit… N-no problem!” I couldn’t help but smile faintly. His movements grew even stiffer.

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“Babe, did the bonus hit your account yet?” Ryan’s text message arrived five seconds before the notification from my bank. $120,000. After taxes, it was a clean $87,300. Before I could even screenshot it for him, another message buzzed through. “Perfect timing. I’ve got a sure-fire investment lined up, 18% annual return. Can you wire over $80,000?” I stared at the screen, a sudden chill creeping over me. In five years of marriage, this was the third time he’d asked me for a large sum of money. The first time, for a “startup.” $20,000. The second, to “pay off a debt.” $15,000. And now, this. I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened my banking app and transferred the entire $87,300 into a savings account he knew nothing about. Then, I texted him back. “The company’s tightening its belt this year. They’ve delayed the bonuses.” Three minutes later, Ryan called. I declined it. Two hours after that, I walked into our apartment. His side of the closet was empty. The small cash box we kept in the nightstand was gone. Even the heirloom gold bracelet my mother had given me was missing. I stood in the center of our bedroom and, to my own surprise, I laughed. Five years. It took five years for the fox to finally show its tail. 1 I didn’t call the police. And I didn’t call Ryan. I just stood there, in the middle of our ransacked bedroom, and methodically took a picture of every drawer pulled open, every item disturbed. All his clothes from the closet were gone. But my cashmere coat, the one he’d told me was “too expensive, don’t buy it,” was crumpled on the floor with two muddy footprints ground into the fabric. The nightstand had been pried open. It used to hold two things of value: my emergency cash fund of $12,000, and my mother’s savings bonds, worth another $8,000. She’d given them to me before she passed. All gone. I knelt, my hand sweeping under the bed, and my fingers brushed against a crumpled piece of paper. A receipt. From three days ago. Airline tickets. Two of them. To Miami. I stared at the two names printed in stark black ink: Ryan Peterson, and Zoe Reed. Zoe Reed. I’d seen that name before. It was on his phone once, a notification that flashed on the screen. Can’t wait, Ry. He told me she was just a new intern at his firm who’d added the wrong person. I believed him. Looking back now, I must have been blind. My phone rang, shattering the silence. It was Sarah. “Anna, where are you? It’s your birthday! The girls are all waiting for you at the bar!” I glanced at the calendar on my phone. January 18th. My 32nd birthday. “I…” I started, but the words caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. Sarah’s tone shifted instantly. “What’s wrong? What happened? Don’t move, I’m on my way.” Thirty minutes later, Sarah stood in my doorway, her face turning to stone as she took in the chaos of the apartment. “He ran?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. “Yeah.” “How much did he take?” “The $20,000 from the nightstand, my mom’s gold bracelet, and…” I hesitated. “Whatever was left in his own checking account, maybe five or six thousand.” Sarah stomped her foot in fury. “I told you that man was a snake! I told you not to marry him, but you wouldn’t listen! And now look!” I stayed silent. Then a sudden thought struck her. “Wait, what about your bonus? The $87,000?” I pulled out my phone, opened the banking app, and showed her the balance. $87,300. “It’s safe,” I said. Sarah let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God for that.” I sank onto the sofa, my mind a tangled mess. “What was his endgame? For just twenty grand?” Sarah sat beside me, a bitter scoff escaping her lips. “You really think it was just about the twenty grand? Anna, think about how much you’ve spent on him over the last five years.” I froze. When I actually did the math, the numbers were staggering. The down payment on our apartment: $80,000 from my savings. The renovations: another $40,000, all me. His two “business ventures” and “debts”: a combined $35,000. And that didn’t even include the five years of groceries, bills, and vacations. “He’s drained you for hundreds of thousands, at least,” Sarah said, her voice softening as she watched my face. “Anna, you’re just too trusting.” I didn’t argue. She was right. My dad died when I was young, and my mom raised me on her own. Before she passed, she told me the thing she worried about most was me. She said I was too soft, my heart too easily swayed. When Ryan was trying to win me over, he was the perfect gentleman. He’d wait outside my office every day, bring me an umbrella when it rained, and cook soup for me when I was sick. My mom met him once and said, “He seems like such a steady, honest guy. You won’t get hurt with him.” Honest? I glanced at the plane ticket receipt on the floor. The irony was a physical ache in my chest. My phone rang again. It was him. Ryan. I answered, and his voice was as warm and gentle as always. “Hey, babe. Are you off work yet?” “Yeah.” “Okay, well, you’ll have to grab dinner on your own tonight. The office sent me on a last-minute business trip. It’s urgent, I’ll probably be gone for a week.” A business trip? For a week? I looked at his empty half of the closet and felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. “Okay. You take care of your work.” “You get some rest. Love you.” “You too.” I hung up. Sarah, who had heard the whole conversation, was staring at me, utterly aghast. “He still has the nerve to call you? And lie about a business trip?!” “He doesn’t know I came home early.” My voice was eerily calm as I placed the phone on the coffee table. My mind had never felt clearer. “He thinks I’m out with you guys celebrating my birthday, that I’ll be home late.” “So he timed this…” Sarah’s face grew darker. “He must think the bonus already hit your account, and by the time you found out he was gone, the money would be gone too.” I nodded slowly. If I hadn’t felt that sudden flicker of suspicion and moved the $87,300. If my office hadn’t let everyone leave two hours early today. If I hadn’t canceled my own birthday drinks. I would have come home to an apartment stripped bare, without a single dollar left to my name. I stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the glittering city lights below. On my 32nd birthday, my husband had taken my life savings and run off to Miami with another woman. And I didn’t even have the energy to cry. There was only one thought, growing sharper and colder in my mind: Ryan, you think this is over? This is just the beginning. 2 I didn’t sleep. Sarah stayed with me all night. She helped me document everything that was missing, confirming the final tally. $20,000 in cash and bonds. My mother’s bracelet, which had been appraised at over $6,000. And about $3,000 in cash I kept in a drawer. Nearly $30,000 in total. “That bastard,” Sarah seethed, grinding her teeth. I sat on the sofa, scrolling through Ryan’s Instagram feed from the last two years. It was a highlight reel of our perfect marriage. A picture of a steak dinner: Best meal ever, cooked by my amazing wife! A smiling selfie of us: Happy four-year anniversary to the love of my life. Forever and always. A candid shot of me working on my laptop: My wife works so hard. Can’t wait to spoil her with her bonus! The pictures featured me, our home, the watch I bought him for his birthday, the $800 down jacket I’d splurged on for him. The comments were a chorus of admiration. “Ryan, you’re one lucky guy!” “Anna is the definition of a perfect wife!” “Couple goals right here!” Looking at it now made me want to vomit. Sarah leaned over my shoulder. “He’s a hell of an actor,” she said with a sneer. I kept scrolling down, then stopped abruptly. A post from three months ago. The caption read: Company retreat. The views are incredible. The photo was of him in the mountains, the location vague. But I recognized the blue button-down shirt I’d bought him last year. I zoomed in on the picture, my eyes scanning every detail. And there, in the bottom corner, was a hand. A woman’s hand, with perfectly manicured red nails, holding out a drink to him. I hadn’t noticed it at the time. Now, I knew. That hand had to belong to Zoe. “Do you know this Zoe Reed?” Sarah asked. “Never met her.” I shook my head, my mind racing. Ryan didn’t have a real job. He always told me he was an “independent investor,” but he never seemed to make any actual money. He’d contribute a few hundred dollars to our joint account each month, claiming it was his “income.” The rest of our lifestyle was funded entirely by me. So how did he meet this Zoe? He never let me touch his phone, but I knew his passcode—our wedding anniversary. He hadn’t changed it. He probably thought I’d never bother to check. I opened his texts and started scrolling back, all the way to the beginning of his conversation with Zoe. The first message was from eight months ago. “Hey, Ryan. It’s Zoe. Mark from the club gave me your number, said you could help me with some investments.” Investments? Ryan, giving financial advice? I kept reading, and with every message, the sick feeling in my stomach grew stronger. Two months later, the tone of their chats shifted. “Ry, I miss you so much.” “I know, baby. Just wait till I get through this.” “Is your wife good to you?” “She’s fine. Just too busy with work all the time. Doesn’t really have time for me.” “Poor you. I’ll take care of you from now on.” By the time I reached that message, my hands were shaking. Beside me, Sarah’s face had gone pale with rage. “Those two absolute pieces of trash!” I ignored her, my eyes glued to the screen as I scrolled further. A month ago, the conversation turned to money. “Zoe, how are the preparations going over there?” “Apartment is all set. Rent is cheap in Miami, only $2,000 a month for a year.” “Perfect. Once I get things sorted on my end, we can finally be together.” “What about her money?” “It’s coming. Her bonus lands at the end of the month. I’ll think of a way to get it from her then.” “You’re amazing, Ry.” “After five years, I know exactly how she thinks. All I have to do is ask, and she’ll give it to me.” I stared at those last few lines for a long, long time. Five years. From the very beginning, I was nothing more than his personal ATM. Suddenly, Sarah jabbed a finger at the screen. “Look at this one!” I followed her finger to a message from yesterday. “Babe, did the bonus hit your account yet?” That was the text he’d sent to me. Immediately after, he’d sent one to Zoe. “Should be any time now. Once it lands, I’ll tell her about the investment.” “What if she says no?” “No way. I’ve been playing this part for five years. What’s she going to do?” “But what if she gets suspicious?” “Her? She’s a fool. She believes anything I tell her.” A fool. He called me a fool. A strange, sharp laugh escaped my lips. Sarah jumped. “Anna? Don’t scare me. What are you laughing at?” I closed the phone and stood up. “I’m laughing at myself.” “What?” “Ryan was right.” I walked to the window and watched the sky slowly lighten from charcoal gray to a bruised purple. “I was a fool.” “But not anymore.” 3 The next morning, I took a personal day from work. Sarah insisted on staying with me, but I waved her off. “I don’t need a babysitter. I have things to do.” “What kind of things?” “I’m going to find out exactly what Ryan has been doing for the last five years.” Sarah hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Call me if you need anything.” After she left, I walked out of the apartment with a purpose. First stop: the bank. I bought our apartment before we were married, but we’d been paying the mortgage together since. Or so I thought. I requested a full statement of the mortgage payments. Over the past five years, I had paid $87,000 toward the principal. Ryan had paid… $3,000. And that was only in the first two years. For the last three, he hadn’t contributed a single cent. The bank teller looked at my face, her expression sympathetic. “Ma’am, is there anything else I can help you with?” “I need to see the transaction history for my husband’s accounts.” “I’m sorry, but for that, we’ll need authorization from the account holder himself.” “He’s missing,” I said flatly. The teller froze. I took a deep breath and slid my ID and our marriage certificate across the counter. “I suspect he’s been involved in fraudulent activity. I need your cooperation to investigate.” Her professional demeanor changed instantly. She consulted her supervisor, who then consulted the branch manager. Finally, the manager came over. “Ms. Peterson, based on the circumstances, we can provide you with a partial statement of his primary checking account.” “Thank you.” Half an hour later, I walked out of the bank with a thick stack of papers. Ryan had one main account, the one I transferred money into every month for his “expenses” and “investments.” Over the past five years, nearly $150,000 had been deposited into that account. All of it from me. And the withdrawals? Seventy percent was transferred to an account under the name “Zoe Reed.” Twenty percent was withdrawn as cash. Only a meager ten percent was used for actual daily expenses. I stared at Zoe’s name, a cold certainty settling in my gut. Second stop: the IRS service center. Ryan claimed to be an “investor,” but he had no registered company. I filed a request for our joint tax transcripts, and what I found was interesting. He hadn’t had any official W-2 or 1099 income reported for the last three years. He had no job. So where did the few hundred dollars he gave me each month come from? It must have been my own money, cycled back to me to keep up the illusion. My last stop was the county records office. I ran a property search under Ryan’s name. Nothing. But then, on a hunch, I ran one for Zoe Reed. Bingo. A one-bedroom condo, purchased two years ago, right here in the city. The down payment was $18,000. The mortgage was for $400,000. And the name listed as the primary payer on the mortgage application: Ryan Peterson. I stood on the steps of the records office, clutching the printout, the paper trembling in my hand. Two years ago. That was when Ryan had asked me for $20,000 for his “startup.” He used my money to buy his mistress a home. I took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled out my phone. I sent a text to Sarah. Find me the best divorce lawyer you know. Her reply was instant. What happened? What did you find? He used my money to buy his mistress a condo. I’m on it. 4 The lawyer’s name was Mark Davies. He was a college friend of Sarah’s and specialized in messy divorces and asset recovery. After reviewing the documents I’d brought, his brow furrowed. “Anna, your situation is… complex,” he said, his tone serious. “How so?” “First, the marital infidelity is clear. You have the text messages as proof, so that’s straightforward. Second, he illegally transferred marital assets to a third party. The amount is substantial, and you have grounds to demand it all back.” He paused, leaning forward. “The problem is, your husband has disappeared, and he’s likely drained his accounts. The money is probably gone.” “So what are my options?” “We file a police report for fraud and theft. Then we sue him.” “Is it enough for jail time?” “Based on the amount, absolutely. Fraud over thirty thousand dollars is a felony. He could face three to ten years.” I was silent for a moment, processing that. “Are there other ways?” Mark studied me, seeming to understand what I was really asking. “If you want to get the money back, the most effective way is to find him, or to find his assets.” “Assets?” “Property, vehicles, large bank accounts…” “I know about the condo,” I said, my voice hard. “It’s in her name, but he’s the one paying the mortgage.” Mark’s eyes lit up. “If you can prove the down payment and the mortgage payments came from your marital funds, we can argue that the condo is a marital asset.” “How do I prove that?” “Bank statements, transfer records, and…” He looked at me expectantly. “Any communication about the purchase.” I thought for a second, then opened my phone and scrolled through the screenshots of Ryan and Zoe’s texts. I found the one I was looking for. “Babe, I transferred the down payment. We finally have a place of our own.” “Oh, Ry, you’re the best!” “Anything for you. As soon as I get the rest of the money sorted out, it’s all yours.” I handed the phone to Mark. He read the exchange, a slow nod of approval on his face. “This text is crucial. It’s solid evidence.” “So what’s the next step?” “First, we file a police report. Second, we file a motion to freeze her assets, specifically that condo. Third, we file for divorce, demanding full return of assets and punitive damages for emotional distress.” I stood up, my mind set. “Okay. I’m going to the police station right now.” As I reached the door, Mark called out, “Anna.” “Yes?” “Prepare yourself,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “I’ve seen a lot of cases like this. The husband runs off with the money, and even after a long fight, the wife only gets a fraction of it back.” “I know,” I said, turning to face him. My voice was steady, without a trace of a waver. “But I’m not doing this just to get the money back.” “Then what are you doing it for?” “To make him pay.”

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By the new intern’s second week, I kept a dark blazer at my desk out of habit. It was necessary. Whenever I wore a dress, she’d conveniently pass by and “compliment” me loud enough for the whole office: “So brave, Summer! Wearing a princess dress with skin that dark.” Nathaniel—my boyfriend and my boss—just watched, sometimes chuckling with the guys. If I stumbled with files, she’d clap and say I was faking it. If I drank strawberry milk, she’d clutch plain milk and ask if I was trying to act like a kid. I endured it, over and over. Until yesterday’s presentation. She glared at a typo on my slide and remarked, dripping with meaning: “Some people dress to get attention, but can’t even do their work right.” Every eye turned to me and Nathaniel. All the anger I’d held in finally snapped. I threw my half-full water glass in her face. Before I could process it, Nathaniel stood and threw his coffee at me, in front of everyone. That night, I resigned. 1 When Nathaniel threw the coffee, I didn’t flinch. The scalding liquid streamed down, soaking into my blouse. He’d thrown it with such force that the cup made a dull thud against my cheek before clattering to the floor. A fiery, stinging pain shot through my nerves as my skin instantly turned a blotchy red. I looked up at him, stunned. His hand was still frozen in the air, as if he, too, was shocked for a moment. But that flicker of surprise was immediately replaced by a deeper, more profound annoyance. “Summer, did you have to make a scene? Right here, right now?” The blue glow of the projector highlighted the sharp, tense line of his jaw, making him look like a stranger. Whispers broke out around the conference table. Some people ducked their heads, pretending to be absorbed in their documents. Amber Jones, the intern, slowly closed her laptop, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. “Easy there, Mr. Shaw. Don’t be so harsh. Look, you’ve scared the poor girl speechless.” Her words were like gasoline on a fire. Nathaniel snatched a folder and slammed it onto the table. The loud bang made everyone jump. He glared at me, his face a cold mask. “This is a professional office, not your living room. Anyone who can’t separate their personal drama from their work has no place on this team. This is your only warning. One more time, and you’re out.” The room was deathly silent. I touched my dripping face and felt a hysterical laugh bubble up inside me. Twelve years. I had known Nathaniel since we were kids. I had been in love with him for twelve years. He always said I was immature, too emotional. But this was the first time he had ever publicly humiliated me. My eyes burned. The suppressed snickers in the room felt like a tidal wave, washing over me as colleagues whispered to each other. Amber leaned against Nathaniel’s side, her red lips curved into a victorious smile. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and walked out of the conference room. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I couldn’t stay there, facing them. Outside, the sunlight was blinding. The glass doors of the office building reflected my pathetic image: makeup streaked and ruined by the brown liquid. I went to a convenience store and bought a pack of wet wipes and a face mask. The young cashier girl looked at my sorry state and quietly slipped two extra strawberry candies into my bag. Clutching the candy wrappers, I stood by a trash can, and was suddenly thrown back to my first day of kindergarten. Nathaniel had done the same thing then, pressing a strawberry candy into my palm and promising he’d always be there for me. 2 Nathaniel and I went way back—back to sharing a playpen and wearing matching onesies. Our families were next-door neighbors, and our moms had joked about arranging our marriage while they were still pregnant. When I started middle school, a group of girls decided to make my life hell. They’d hide my homework, splash ink on my skirts, and “accidentally” hit me with the ball during gym class. The worst of them was the class president, Liz. She once threw a meticulously crafted art project of mine into the trash, then smirked and said, “It was so ugly, the teacher wouldn’t have looked at it anyway.” I went to our homeroom teacher, my eyes red with tears. She just patted my head. “Liz is the class president, Summer. She’s just trying to motivate you to do better.” That night at dinner, I silently pushed rice around my bowl, trying not to cry. My dad noticed something was wrong, and was about to slam his chopsticks down and march to the school. Just then, Nathaniel’s dad stopped by to ask my dad to go fishing. He heard the story and turned, yelling into his living room: “Nathaniel! Starting tomorrow, you walk your sister to and from school!” The next day after school, Nathaniel kicked open the back door of our classroom. He grabbed Liz by the collar, dragged her to the front of the class, and said in a low, dangerous voice, “You’re the one who’s been bullying my sister?” At fourteen, he was already taller than most of the teachers, with a glare that could make a high school thug run for the hills. Liz was shaking like a leaf. Her little gang of followers shrank in their seats, silent. Before he left, Nathaniel tapped the chalkboard with an eraser, sending a cloud of chalk dust into the afternoon sun. “Let’s get this straight. Summer Lane is with me. You got a problem with her, you got a problem with me. Got it?” After that, no one ever bothered me again. And I, in turn, stuck to Nathaniel like glue. When he played basketball, I held his jacket on the sidelines. When he went to the internet cafe with his friends, I sat on a stool beside him, doing my homework. Nathaniel would always scowl at me. “Summer, can you please stop following me everywhere? My friends are making fun of me because of you.” But I didn’t care. Day after day, year after year, his gruff dismissals softened into resigned sighs. At the university freshman orientation party, I performed a dance in a white dress. When I came off stage, I saw him clutching my jacket, his eyes darting away, a suspicious blush creeping up his neck. “Seen enough?” I teased, poking his chest. He was so flustered he dropped his phone, fumbling three times before he could pick it up. “Who—who was looking at you? I was watching the host…” Later, at a family New Year’s dinner, our parents started teasing us. “So, when are we making this childhood engagement official?” Nathaniel didn’t say anything. He just quietly peeled a shrimp and dropped it into my bowl. I ducked my head to hide my smile. The idiot’s ears were so red they looked like they were about to bleed. 3 Life was moving along predictably until Amber Jones showed up. Amber was the new intern, and on her first day, she made the rounds with a tray of Starbucks, handing out coffees to everyone. “Please take good care of me, everyone!” As she passed my desk, the ends of her chestnut curls brushed against my keyboard, and the cloying scent of her perfume made me sneeze. She stopped, her eyes widening in mock surprise as she took in my pink computer, pink thermos, and pink mousepad. “Oh. My. God,” she gasped, taking a dramatic step back and covering her mouth. A peal of laughter erupted from her. “It’s the 21st century. Are there really girls who are still obsessed with pink?” The entire office looked up. My ears burned. The stares of my colleagues felt like needles on my back. Amber wasn’t done. “Wow, you even have a pink mouse! And is that a Lolita-style dress you’re wearing?!” A buzzing filled my ears. I’ve always loved cute, pink things and frilly dresses. It was a preference that had always drawn comments—some boys in elementary school had called me a poser, some girls thought I was being extra. But most people were kind, telling me the style suited me. This was the first time I had been so maliciously mocked in public. The shame was suffocating, as if I’d been stripped naked in front of everyone. I froze, my cheeks on fire, my fingers twisting the hem of my dress. “Oh, sweetie, I’m just kidding! You’re not actually mad, are you?” Amber leaned in conspiratorially. “Honestly, the pink Lolita thing is cute on you. It makes you look so… young.” “That’s enough,” a sharp voice cut in. I turned to see Nathaniel, his brow furrowed, his gaze like daggers aimed at Amber. “You’re a new intern. Is this really how you want to spend your first day? This isn’t a comedy club. One more stunt like this and you’re out.” But Amber’s eyes just lit up. She tilted her head, sizing him up, and bit her lip with a playful smile. “I’m so sorry. I was just trying to be friendly with my new colleague. I promise it won’t happen again.” HR eventually intervened and, in a stroke of cosmic irony, assigned Amber to the desk diagonally across from Nathaniel. From then on, she paraded around the office every day in flawless “no-makeup” makeup and four-inch heels. Sometimes, she would “accidentally” spill coffee on Nathaniel’s reports, then apologize with a pout. Other times, she would lean over his desk to ask for help, “unintentionally” flashing her lace bra and cooing, “Nate, can you help me check these numbers?” And I never wore one of my Lolita-style dresses to the office again. Two months later, I realized with a jolt that Nathaniel and Amber had actually become friends. That morning, he brought me breakfast as usual. But instead of my favorite strawberry yogurt drink, it was a carton of plain milk. “Milk makes me break out, remember?” I asked, holding the carton. Nathaniel was busy adjusting Amber’s monitor. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said without turning around. “You’re twenty-five, not five. Stop drinking that sugary kids’ stuff.” Amber turned around, twirling the carton of milk she was drinking between her fingers. “Sorry, sweetie! I was the one who wanted milk. But honestly, what kind of adult still drinks that syrupy-sweet stuff?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not trying to act younger than you are, are you?” Smack. I slapped the milk carton down on her keyboard. White liquid splattered across her brand-new designer blouse. “Do you just love telling other people what they should like?” The office fell silent. Amber’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “I… I just thought milk was healthier. Summer, please don’t be mad. It’s my fault.” “Summer!” Nathaniel grabbed my wrist. “It’s not like you’re lactose intolerant. What’s the big deal? And Amber’s not wrong. You need to grow up and act your age.” I looked at the impatience in his eyes and suddenly lost the will to argue. 4 Amber’s attacks became a slow-drip poison in my professional life. At lunch, if I used a sanitary wipe to clean my utensils, she’d tap her bowl with her chopsticks and announce, “Attention everyone! Her Royal Highness is about to dine!” Her clique would perform exaggerated bows, and someone even started filming. When the department rearranged the seating chart, I was carrying a heavy box and stumbled. Amber started laughing and clapping. “Look, everyone! The Disney princess can’t carry her box! Where’s Prince Charming to come to the rescue?” She’d playfully shove a male colleague toward me. “Go on, it’s an honor to help a princess in distress!” At first, Nathaniel would frown and say, “This is an office, not a playground.” Amber would just sway his arm and pout. “Oh, you’re no fun! It’s just a joke. Summer doesn’t mind, right?” But lately, Nathaniel had started just watching in silence. Amber would lean in close to him, whispering just loud enough for me to hear, “Don’t you think she’s just so… fake? That whole innocent act doesn’t really fit in with the rest of us. I’m just trying to help her fit in, you know? For the team.” I saw Nathaniel’s eyelashes flutter. After a moment, he gave a quiet, “Hmm.” In that moment, I understood. In his eyes, my love for frilly dresses was just an affectation. My preferences were childish. So when I saw Amber toying with Nathaniel’s tie clip later that day, shooting me a triumphant smirk, for the first time, I didn’t feel a pang of jealousy. On the first day back after the New Year, I had just settled at my desk when Amber’s cheerful taunt cut through the morning quiet. “Summer, if I had your confidence, I could do anything! Look at you, wearing a dress like that even when you’re so dark-skinned. If I were you, I’d never dare. Is this look supposed to be Snow White, or more like… African tribal princess?” Nathaniel was sipping his coffee. I saw his shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh, the latte in his mug rippling. Amber, encouraged, pressed on. “And honey, at your age, isn’t it a little late to be playing dress-up…?” The water in my glass flew before my reason could catch up. Her carefully tattooed eyebrows began to melt. The glue on her eyelash extensions turned milky white. Her foundation streaked, carving pale yellow rivers down her cheeks. She looked like a cheap oil painting caught in a downpour. “Summer!” Nathaniel seized my wrist, his grip like iron. “Where are your manners? Apologize to Amber. Now.” His nails dug into my skin. The pain made my vision swim. I stared at his cold, furious face and laughed. “Why should I apologize? For what?” “For throwing water on her!” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. My eyes burned. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s been mocking me for months! If anyone should apologize, it’s her.” “You could have told her to stop. You could have argued back. You don’t get to resort to violence,” he said, his tone infuriatingly self-righteous. “This is a workplace. No one is going to coddle you. Apologize.” I let out a cold laugh. “No. I did nothing wrong, and she doesn’t deserve an apology.” Nathaniel looked at me with an expression of profound disappointment. “How did you become like this? Summer, I’m so disappointed in you.” “Funny. The feeling is mutual.” He opened his mouth to say more, but I cut him off. “Are you done? I said I’m not apologizing. What are you going to do, call the cops?” A bitter, angry smile twisted his lips. He grabbed the cup of coffee from his desk and, without a moment’s hesitation, threw it straight at my face. I froze. For a second, he seemed to freeze too. I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Nathaniel, we’re done.”

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I only learned the truth after I died. My prestigious parents never wanted me back. My husband’s love was a lie. But they were bound to a system: win my affection, or die. The moment the fake heiress pushed me down the stairs, the sting of my husband’s cold indifference and her triumphant smirk was a special kind of hell. They threw a party to celebrate my death. Then I opened my eyes again. It was the day they came to take me “home.” 1 Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair stood at the door to greet me, their precious daughter Isabelle between them. The second she saw me, Mrs. Sinclair’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “Rose, welcome home!” Last time, I was so lost in the joy of finding my family that I never saw the lie coiled behind her smile. Isabelle rushed forward and grabbed my hand. “This is wonderful! I’ve always wanted a sister, and now my dream has come true!” My new parents beamed at her, their eyes overflowing with an adoration they couldn’t hide. They had no idea that I could now hear the voice of the system in their heads. [Warning, Host: The target has appeared!] [Mission: Raise the target’s Affection Score to 100 to complete the task. Upon completion, you will receive your reward and be unbound from the system.] [If the target’s Affection Score drops into the negative, an electrocution punishment will be administered every hour.] [If the target’s Affection Score reaches -100, the mission is a failure. Annihilation will be immediate.] In my last life, they used this system to climb the social ladder, stepping over my corpse to become titans of the city’s elite. This time, I wouldn’t make it so easy for them. I ripped my hand out of Isabelle’s grasp and snarled, “Who the hell are you to call yourself my sister?” “If your mother hadn’t stolen me from my crib and swapped us, I would never have been separated from my parents. You’re a thief who stole my life, so how dare you stand here with that smile on your face!” Isabelle’s eyes instantly welled with tears. She stared at me, speechless and pathetic. Mrs. Sinclair couldn’t bear to see her darling suffer. She pulled Isabelle into a protective hug and shot me a reproachful look. “Rose, is that any way to speak to your sister? Isabelle was just a baby back then. She’s innocent in all of this.” I met her gaze with cold calm. [Target’s Affection Score: -10. Current Score: -10. Initiating electrocution punishment.] I saw her body give a slight, sharp jolt. She immediately let go of Isabelle and forced a placating smile. “Rose, dear, that’s not what I meant. I just hope you can give Isabelle a chance. After all, we’ve raised her for eighteen years.” Mr. Sinclair stepped in to play peacemaker. “Alright, alright, let’s not just stand here in the doorway. Rose, it’s your first day home. How about I give you a tour of the house?” He reached for my arm, but I didn’t budge. “I want to change my name. I hate being called Rose.” The family that raised me already had three daughters. My adoptive father was already disappointed, and the fact that I wasn’t his biological child made me the extra, the disposable one. Rose. It felt like a weed. Mr. Sinclair’s face was a mask of indulgence. “Of course, darling, anything you want. What would you like your name to be?” I looked at Isabelle, my voice dripping with malice. “I want to be called Isabelle.” The color drained from her face. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve, her voice a desperate whine. “Mommy, I’m Isabelle! She can’t just take my name!” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Your name?” “Don’t tell me that after living in this house for so long, you’ve actually started to believe you belong here. Your real father is a man named Jack Wright. You’re the one who should be called Rose.” Mrs. Sinclair looked at Isabelle, her expression pained. The memory of the electric shock was still fresh, and she didn’t dare refuse me again. “Isabelle, sweetie, she has a point. That name was meant for her. Why don’t you just… let her have it?” Isabelle’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “Mom!” Her mother had always given her everything she ever wanted, would have plucked the stars from the sky for her if she’d asked. She started to protest again, but Mr. Sinclair cut her off with a sharp tone. “Isabelle, that’s enough! I’ll take both of you to get your names legally changed this afternoon.” [Target’s Affection Score: +10. Current Score: 0.] [Target’s Affection Score: +10. Current Score: 10.] Mr. Sinclair wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his voice carefully gentle. “Isabelle, can we go inside now?” See? It wasn’t so hard to make them bend to my will. 2 In the end, the former Isabelle wasn’t named Rose. Mr. Sinclair gave her a new name, Anabelle. And on my very first night in the Sinclair mansion, I was treated to quite a show. Spencer Lockwood, Anabelle’s childhood sweetheart, made his entrance. And from his mind, I heard the same familiar, robotic chime I’d heard from her parents. In my past life, Spencer had approached me with practiced ease, showering me with subtle affection and quickly maxing out my favorability. His reward was becoming the undisputed heir to the city’s largest conglomerate. At my funeral, I’d watched him kiss Anabelle in the walk-in closet, his voice thick with devotion. “Anabelle, you’ve always been the only one I love.” This time, just like before, he approached me with a charming smile. “You must be Isabelle’s sister. It’s a pleasure. I’m Spencer.” I ignored his outstretched hand and remained seated on the sofa. “You might want to get your facts straight, Mr. Lockwood. I’m Isabelle now. The person you’re referring to is named Anabelle.” Spencer blinked, a flash of irritation crossing his eyes before he could hide it. “Spencer, you’re here!” Anabelle’s voice was a burst of delight. She practically flew to his side, linking her arm through his possessively. He tweaked her nose playfully. “I heard your sister had arrived. I came to say hello. And maybe snag a free dinner.” At the mention of me, Anabelle’s mood soured. “Oh, so you didn’t come to see me. It’s always about my sister, isn’t it? Fine, maybe I should just leave!” Spencer quickly pulled her back, producing a necklace from his pocket with a flourish. “This is the latest piece from Mignot’s. I bought it the second it was released. Now, tell me, who was I thinking of?” A blush crept up Anabelle’s cheeks. She cooed for him to put it on her, then shot me a look of pure provocation. [Target’s Affection Score: -20. Current Score: -20. Initiating lightning strike punishment.] Spencer’s hand froze. He stared at me in disbelief. “Isabelle…” Before he could finish, his body shuddered, his face contorting in agony. In my last life, starved for affection, I was putty in his hands. A few trinkets were all it took for him to conquer me. But this time, I was no longer a desperate fool chasing after love. I watched him, my expression unreadable. “Spencer, I want that necklace, too.” Anabelle shrieked instinctively. “No way!” she cried, turning to him. “Spencer, you wouldn’t, would you?” He nodded grimly. “This is a gift for you. I would never…” [Target’s Affection Score: -20. Current Score: -40. Initiating punishment of a thousand needles.] Wracked with a pain so intense he could barely stand, Spencer lunged forward and ripped the necklace from Anabelle’s throat. “I’m sorry, Anabelle, but your sister can have this one! I’ll get you a better one tomorrow, I promise!” He’d been so rough that his nails scratched her neck, leaving a thin line of blood. Anabelle clutched her throat, her voice a wail of betrayal. “Why? Why is everyone doing this to me?” Spencer tried to comfort her, but she shoved him away. He clenched and unclenched his fists, finally forcing a smile in my direction. “Isabelle, the necklace is yours. Does that… make you a little happier?” [Target’s Affection Score: +1. Current Score: -39. Score remains negative. Host is advised to improve it immediately.] A muscle in Spencer’s jaw twitched. His smile became even more strained. I dangled the necklace from my index finger. “Thanks.” 3 After dinner, I headed upstairs. Mrs. Sinclair eagerly led me down the hall. “Isabelle, this is the room we prepared for you. We hope you like it!” Here we go again. The same old script. The room they’d “prepared” was a former maid’s room, a glorified closet that barely saw the light of day. They’d given it a hasty paint job, and the chemical smell of it still hung heavy in the air. Last time, I’d been so grateful, so desperate to be a part of their family, that I accepted it without a word. I thought living in that cramped, dark room would earn me their love. All it earned me was a lonely death. This time, I refused. “Who would want to live in a shoebox like this? I think Anabelle’s room is much nicer. I’ll take that one.” Before Anabelle could even start her tantrum, Mr. Sinclair agreed. “Done.” [Target’s Affection Score: +10. Current Score: 10. Please continue your efforts.] He let out a sigh of relief and quickly ushered his wife and other daughter away, terrified that lingering any longer would cause my score to drop again. The night was deep, but I wasn’t asleep. I tiptoed to my parents’ bedroom. Anabelle was sleeping with them tonight. To my surprise, Spencer was there too. Anabelle was sobbing. “The second she gets here, everything becomes hers! You don’t love me at all! My name, my necklace, even my room… she’s taken everything! You promised I was your only treasure, so why are you treating me like this?” Mrs. Sinclair, her eyes filled with pain, pulled her daughter into an embrace and explained everything about the system. Anabelle didn’t believe it. “That’s ridiculous. Things like that don’t exist.” “It’s true,” her father and Spencer said in unison. Anabelle froze, her red-rimmed eyes wide with shock. “So… you still love me? You’re only being nice to her to raise your scores and get the rewards?” Spencer nodded. “Of course! Do you really think we could ever like someone as crude and unrefined as her? Anabelle, you’re the one we cherish.” Mr. Sinclair added, “She’s just some wild girl raised in the middle of nowhere. She can’t hold a candle to you. A few sweet words and cheap gifts, and she’ll be eating out of our hands.” Mrs. Sinclair patted Anabelle’s back reassuringly. “You’re our precious daughter. If it weren’t for the system, we’d never let you suffer like this. Just wait. Once the mission is complete, you can do whatever you want to her.” Anabelle’s tears finally stopped, a smile breaking through. Watching them, I felt nothing. In my last life, a few of Anabelle’s hand-me-down dresses and bits of jewelry were enough to make me weep with gratitude. I fell headfirst into their trap, willingly handing over my affection point by point. Only now, looking back, did I realize that not a single one of them, not the Sinclairs, not Spencer, had ever respected me. They never even saw me as human. [Target’s Affection Score: +10 for each host. Please continue your efforts.] The system’s voice chimed for all three of them simultaneously. They looked around, confused. “What was that? We didn’t do anything.” Anabelle let out a condescending laugh. “She’s probably lying in my bed right now, feeling so grateful to Mom and Dad. Maybe she’s even clutching that necklace Spencer gave her, smiling to herself and thinking he’s actually falling for her.” Spencer scoffed. “As if. I would never fall for a woman like that.” They didn’t understand. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. After gifting them a few points, I returned to my spacious, beautiful new room and slept soundly. Once the truth was out in the open among them, they dropped all pretenses. A river of gifts flowed into my room as they focused solely on raising my score. Mr. Sinclair found any excuse to wire money to my account. Soon, all three of their scores hit 90. But for the past few weeks, Mr. Sinclair had been growing anxious. His score was stuck at 90. No matter what he bought me, it wouldn’t budge. Mrs. Sinclair and Spencer were facing the same problem. After a hushed conference, they decided to throw a massive birthday party for me. It just so happened to be Anabelle’s birthday, too. At the party, Mr. Sinclair publicly announced my true identity as his long-lost daughter and presented me with a lavish gift, his eyes shining with fatherly pride. In my previous life, the Sinclairs never once acknowledged me. Anabelle told everyone I was her personal maid. The other wealthy daughters treated me like a pack mule, loading me up with their shopping bags and sometimes even hitting me when they were in a bad mood. I endured it all for the sake of a family that never wanted me, trying so desperately to be the good, obedient child they craved. The moment their mission was complete, they cast me aside. I died without ever receiving a single drop of genuine love from them. This time, I lifted my glass of champagne, walked over to Anabelle, and poured its entire contents over her perfectly coiffed head. Anabelle shrieked. “Ah— what are you doing?!” Her exquisite makeup streamed down her face, leaving her a pathetic, dripping mess. I calmly handed my empty glass to a waiter. “Dad just announced that I’m the true Sinclair heiress. You’re an imposter who’s been living my life for years. Don’t you think you deserve a little punishment for that?” All eyes swiveled to Mr. Sinclair. He was famous for doting on Anabelle, for never even raising his voice to her. Now that I had publicly humiliated her, how would he react? A vein throbbed in his temple. He looked ready to explode. Just as he was about to erupt, the system’s voice cut through the air.

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I was always a bit slow, my mind only grasping half of what people said. When my grandmother cursed, “I’d rather raise a pig than you,” the next day, I brought her a big, fat pig. That night, the pig gored her. My father called me a “debt collector’s nightmare.” I promptly dug out his hidden loan shark ledgers and went door-to-door, helping him collect debts. The debts remained uncollected, but my father ended up attracting the attention of the police and was promptly hauled off to jail. My mother, furious, smashed a bowl and pointed a shaking finger at me. “You ungrateful wretch, why don’t you just take my life too!” I nodded earnestly, then served her rat poison. That was the end of her. When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into a dark romance novel, a plaything controlled by dangerous men. The male lead summoned me to his office and tossed a hotel room key card onto the desk. “Spend tonight with some important clients for me. This deal must close.” I obediently took the card, and that night, I got him roaring drunk, then sent him off to the room himself to entertain the clients… 1 When the two dark-suited bodyguards escorted me to Adrian Danny’s private estate, he was already dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. I stood in the opulent great hall, still wearing my usual vacant, slightly bewildered expression. I spoke softly, “Adrian, was last night successful? I was very obedient. I made sure to deliver your sincerity, just as you instructed.” “Shut up!” Adrian hurled a crystal ashtray at my feet. It shattered, fragments scattering across the polished floor. He strode toward me in a few quick steps, grabbing my jaw in a grip so tight I thought my bones would splinter. “Skye Reynolds, are you playing games with me?” His gaze was as venomous as a viper’s. “Who gave you the audacity?” I winced in pain, my eyes wide with innocent confusion. “Adrian, I wasn’t playing games. You told me to make sure the clients were satisfied. They thought I wasn’t enough, that you needed to be there yourself to show sincerity.” I saw the thunderous look on his face and belatedly realized I’d made another mistake. Mistakes called for apologies. I immediately lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Adrian. I was wrong. I didn’t realize you couldn’t personally entertain them. Even though the clients were very satisfied, I won’t do it again!” Adrian looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. He stepped forward and clamped his hand around my throat. “Shut up! If you mention that again, I swear I’ll kill you!” I quietly closed my mouth. His grip tightened, stealing my breath. Suddenly, he flung me away, gasping for air. He walked to the window, his back to me, his voice dark and low. “Fine. Very good, Skye Reynolds. Since you’re so obedient, I suppose I should reward you, shouldn’t I?” He roughly dragged me toward the basement, deep within the mansion. The original Skye’s memories flashed through my mind. Many terrible things were hidden down there. He slammed the door shut and retrieved a leather whip, studded with barbed hooks, from the wall. “Today, I’m going to teach you what obedience truly means.” He raised the whip, bringing it down viciously toward my shoulder. He expected me to collapse, to grovel on the floor and beg for mercy, as Skye always did. But the moment the whip descended, a surge of pure terror made me instinctively lunge sideways. My movement snagged a heavy decorative stand, ripping its power cord from the wall. The stand swayed precariously, and a massive brass statue on its top toppled, plummeting directly toward Adrian. A sickening thud and Adrian’s piercing scream erupted simultaneously. The brass statue, with unerring precision, landed squarely on his already battered body from last night’s… client entertainment. He instantly curled into a fetal position, his face ashen, writhing on the floor in agony. The bodyguards, hearing the commotion, burst in, eyes wide with shock. They hastily carried Adrian out, calling for his private doctor. Hours later, a pale, furious Adrian lay on his bed, his eyes so dark they could curdle milk. When he saw me, a rare, chilling smile touched his lips. “I’ve found you a new place. You always loved acting, didn’t you? Sterling Productions’ rising star, Harry Hayes, is looking for a new personal assistant. He’s quite good at training people, especially at discovering raw talent like yours.” He reached out and patted my shoulder. “I remember you always used to pester him. Now, I’ve given you my blessing.” Harry Hayes… Fragments of the original Skye’s memories flickered in my mind. He was a celebrity, all charming smiles and dazzling charisma to the public. In private, he was a monster who reveled in tormenting and humiliating women. In the original story, Skye had a past with him. At first, she thought it was a rekindling of childhood friendship, but over time, his true nature emerged. Skye was driven to the brink of insanity, leaving her with profound psychological scars. Adrian walked to his desk and picked up a note with an address, tossing it at me as if I were a beggar. “Tonight, eight o’clock, go to this address and find Mr. Hayes. Tell him I, Adrian Danny, sent you as a gift. Tell him to… take good care of you.” He emphasized the word “care” with a sinister weight. I bent down and picked up the note, blinking up at him. “Thank you, Adrian. You’re so kind to me.” I carefully folded the note and tucked it into my pocket. “Don’t worry, I’ll learn from Mr. Hayes and serve him well. I won’t let you down!” Adrian watched my innocent display, his eyes cold and lifeless. He waved his hand, dismissing me like a fly. “Go on, then, my dear fiancée. Your Harry was just mentioning you not long ago.” 2 At the mansion gates, I rang the bell. The door opened. Harry Hayes stood there, a perfectly calibrated warm smile on his face, his eyes full of an almost drowning tenderness. “Skye, you’re here,” he said, his voice intimately natural. “Come in, it’s cold out.” He stepped aside, a picture of solicitousness. I looked up. “Harry, Adrian sent me to help.” His smile was gentle. “Yes, I truly need a trustworthy assistant these days. Adrian has given me a wonderful gift.” He led me into the living room. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a proper chat, Skye. Do you remember when we were children? You always followed me around like a shadow. From now on, I’ll take care of you, alright?” I cradled the glass of water he’d given me, nodding obediently. “Yes, I’ll do whatever you say.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed Harry’s eyes. “Such a good girl.” He smiled contentedly, sitting down beside me, close enough for me to smell his clean, crisp scent. He was about to say something more when the electronic lock on the apartment door chimed. Someone was entering. A man in a flashy pink shirt sauntered in, humming a tune. It was Danny Thorne, the notorious playboy from the Thorne family. In the original story, he and Harry were two peas in a pod, close friends who shared a love for debauchery. He and Adrian, however, utterly despised each other. “Harry, I heard Adrian sent his precious fiancée here for you to ‘train’?” Danny’s eyes, full of amused curiosity, landed on me the moment he walked in. He assessed me like a new toy, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “Well done, brother. Quick moves.” Harry didn’t seem surprised by Danny’s appearance. He merely smiled, a hint of boastfulness in his voice. “You’re well-informed. Skye is a bit shy, don’t scare her.” Danny plopped onto the sofa, crossing his legs, his gaze shifting between me and Harry, his tone light and suggestive. “Adrian’s cast-off idiot? Could be interesting, couldn’t it?” Harry frowned. “Danny, tone it down. Skye isn’t like those other women.” Danny scoffed. “What’s the difference? They’re all women. Besides, between us brothers, what’s mine is yours, right?” He winked suggestively. “Good things are better shared, wouldn’t you agree?” Harry didn’t contradict him, silently assenting. He turned to me, his voice soothing. “Don’t be scared, Skye. Danny is just joking. He just wants to… be friends.” He took my hand, and Danny, grinning, crowded in, sandwiching me between them. “Come on, Skye. Let me show you the surprise I prepared.” I was led into the bedroom. Harry picked up a black lace nightgown, barely more than a few scraps of fabric. “Skye, put this on and let me see.” I looked at the garment in his hand and shook my head vigorously, my face a mask of earnestness. “Oh no, Harry. I can’t.” “Why not? Aren’t you always a good girl who listens to me?” “Because there are other people here.” Harry chuckled, his smile suggestive. “It’s fine. A good girl should be open and honest.” “Open and honest…” I murmured, as if convinced by the phrase. I took the nightgown and blinked. Then, I pulled out my phone and tapped open a live-stream app. Open and honest. That surely meant everyone should see, right? 3 In the bedroom, the live-stream camera was pointed directly at the nightgown. I held my phone, watching the furious scroll of comments on the screen, my face alight with pure, unadulterated joy. “Harry, Danny,” I said, my voice clear and tinged with excitement, “look! So many people! They all want to see the surprise Harry prepared for me. Does this count as being open and honest?” The moment the live-stream appeared, Harry and Danny froze. Their faces were blank, clearly overwhelmed by what I’d done. Harry could clearly see the words “scumbag,” “call the police,” and other furious comments flashing across the screen, along with the terrifying surge in viewer numbers. “Turn it off! Turn it off now!” Harry was the first to react, his voice a hoarse roar as he lunged for my phone. Danny, his face chalk-white, instinctively tried to shield his face, cursing incoherently, “Skye Reynolds, are you insane?” Their menacing expressions and shouts startled me. My hand trembled, and the phone clattered to the floor. [What happened? Black screen?] [Sounds like a fight?] [I hear Harry yelling!] “I didn’t mean to, Harry, please don’t be angry…” My voice was choked with sobs as I bent down to pick up the phone. But Harry stomped on it viciously. The screen shattered instantly. His chest heaved, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at me as if he wanted to devour me whole. The live stream was cut, but the damage was done. Almost the second the screen went black, Harry and Danny’s phones began to vibrate like death rattles. The names flashing on their screens were their agents, company executives, and even close brand partners. Harry answered his call. His agent’s panicked roar blasted through the receiver, audible even without speakerphone. “Harry, what in God’s name are you doing? What was that live stream? Do you have any idea you’re finished? Get back here and fix this now!” Danny’s situation was equally dire. His father probably wished he could stuff him back into his mother’s womb. The bedroom fell into a deathly silence. After a long moment, Harry abruptly lifted his head, his gaze fixed on me. “Harry knows you didn’t mean to, Skye.” I sniffled, looking up at him timidly. He continued, his voice laced with practiced persuasion. “But Skye, because of that live stream, a lot of people outside have misunderstood Harry and Danny. They think we hurt you, and they want to send us to jail. So Skye, now you’re the only one who can help us.” Danny chimed in, equally eager. “Yes, Skye, you have to be a good girl and listen, or we’ll abandon you.” I nodded vigorously. “I’ll be a good girl!” A flash of triumph flickered in Harry’s eyes. He began to instruct me, word for word. “It’s simple. Tomorrow, we’ll hold a press conference. Then, you’ll step forward and tell everyone, all the cameras…” He paused for emphasis. “You’ll say that everything tonight – coming to my house, and the live stream – was all your idea. That you wanted attention, that you deliberately planned it. Harry and Danny were just tricked by you, and we’re innocent. Remember?” I nodded hard. So, under the blinding flash of cameras and the barrage of microphones, I repeated his instructions, word for word. But when Harry and Danny heard my confession, their faces twisted in horror. “Damn it, what are you saying?!”

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The day the true heiress returned, my parents tossed my luggage out of the mansion. “Isla is our real daughter. The moment I saw her, I knew – blood runs thicker than water!” Isla flashed me a triumphant smile. “Sister, what’s mine, you should return.” I looked at the golden aura above her head – the [100% Guaranteed Elite Family Recognition] halo – and neither cried nor made a scene. Instead, I sent samples of her hair to seven other notoriously ruthless elite families in the city. Half a month later, Isla called me, sobbing. “Please, take these fathers away. I can’t take it anymore!” I calmly hung up the phone. “This is just the beginning.” “Tonight, all eight family dinners clash. Good luck.” … My name is Iris Fitzgerald, and for twenty years, I was the daughter of the Fitzgerald family. Today, that identity expired. The mansion’s ornate iron gates slowly closed before me, like a guillotine drawing a line in the sand. My suitcase lay roughly discarded by the roadside, its contents spilling out, clothes soiled with mud. My perpetually bewildered mother was cradling her biological daughter, Isla, sobbing uncontrollably. “My Isla, you’ve suffered so much out there all these years.” My supposed father, Mr. Fitzgerald, eyed me with the cold, assessing gaze of someone appraising merchandise. “Iris, we’ve raised you for twenty years. We’ve been more than generous. From today, you have no further connection to this family.” Isla lifted her head from her mother’s embrace, her face still streaked with tears, but her eyes held undisguised scorn for me. “Sister, don’t blame Mom and Dad. They just love me too much.” I calmly observed the halo above her head. That golden glow was dazzling, almost blinding. I said nothing, merely bending to quietly gather my scattered belongings. Isla seemed to think this wasn’t enough. She stepped closer, looking down at me. “By the way, Sister, you’re used to living in a mansion, but renting outside isn’t cheap. Do you need me to advance you some wages? You could always work as a maid for us. At least you’d have a place.” I finally met her gaze. “No need.” My eyes swept past her, to the second-floor balcony of the mansion. There, a pile of her freshly discarded clothes lay, next to the vanity where she had just brushed her hair. Perfect. That’s where I’d find what I needed. I turned and walked away, dragging my suitcase, without a single glance back. They thought I was utterly defeated. They had no idea the game had only just begun. That evening, I used my savings to rent a small apartment downtown. After settling in, I contacted a maid who still worked at the Fitzgerald mansion, someone I had helped in the past. Half an hour later, a same-day delivery package was on my table. Inside was a comb, with a few strands of long hair tangled in it. I took out the eight pre-prepared sealed bags and eight envelopes. The eight most influential elite families in the city. Each a hundred times more prominent than the Fitzgeralds. Coincidentally, each of these eight families had some long-standing mystery concerning their bloodline. Either a daughter lost years ago, or a patriarch with an almost insane obsession with pure lineage. They would stop at nothing, spare no expense. I put on gloves and carefully divided the hair into the sealed bags. Then, I wrote an anonymous letter to each family. The content was largely similar: “Your lost bloodline. I’ve found her.” “Here is the evidence. Do with it what you will.” No sender, no superfluous explanations. After all that, I leaned back in my chair, watching the city lights twinkling outside my window. Isla, you have that recognition aura, don’t you? I’ll give you all the recognition you can handle. The days that followed were unusually peaceful. I found a part-time job at an art gallery, working nine to five. Isla probably assumed I was traumatized into silence, sending me messages every other day. They were always about her latest designer bag, or some lavish party the Fitzgerald couple had taken her to. [Sister, Dad bought me a pink Porsche. Look, isn’t it pretty? [image]] [Mom says my skin is amazing, so she’s taking me to Switzerland for the most exclusive treatment. Ugh, sometimes being too pampered is a hassle.] I ignored them all. She was like a boxer punching air, talking to herself, perfectly content. Until half a month later, the first big fish bit. Mr. Davies, chairman of Davies Group, a real estate mogul, publicly announced a search for his lost daughter. Twenty-two years ago, he’d lost a child. Now, thanks to a mysterious DNA sample, he’d found her! At the press conference, Mr. Davies wept tears of joy, a bewildered young woman standing beside him. It was Isla. In the photos, she wore an expensive but ill-fitting gown, her smile stiff. I turned off the news just as my phone rang. It was Mr. Fitzgerald. His voice was thick with barely suppressed rage. “Iris! Was this your doing? How can Isla be Mr. Davies’s daughter?” I feigned surprise. “Mr. Fitzgerald, what are you talking about? Isn’t Isla your biological daughter? What happened? Does this bloodline come with a ‘buy one, get one free’ deal?” “You!” He was too furious to speak. “Mr. Fitzgerald, instead of worrying about this, you should probably figure out how to explain it to Mr. Davies. After all, your ‘true heiress’ seems to be his as well. I hear Mr. Davies is notoriously ruthless with those who deceive him. You wouldn’t want to sacrifice yourself for a two-for-one daughter, would you?” I hung up and blocked his number. I could imagine the Fitzgerald household was in utter chaos. They thought they had welcomed a unique bloodline, only to find they had a bargain-bin version. Isla’s social media paused for two days. On the third day, she reappeared. This time, it was a photo with Mr. Davies, captioned: “Turns out, I have two loving fathers.” Below, my mother was the first to like it, commenting: “Both of you are Mom’s good daughters.” I nearly laughed out loud at the forced harmony. Isla had probably convinced herself, and the Fitzgerald family. What’s wrong with an extra dad, if it means extra pampering? Unfortunately, she didn’t understand. When a miracle happens repeatedly, it ceases to be a miracle. It becomes a joke. Sure enough, less than three days later, a second missing persons announcement rocked the city. Mr. Allen, founder of Allen Tech, an internet giant with a multi-billion dollar valuation, announced he had found his long-lost daughter. The token of his successful search was another unheralded DNA sample. And the girl he excitedly embraced was, once again, Isla. The city exploded. [What kind of lucky charm is this Isla? Even lottery tickets don’t hit this often!] [I suggest an investigation. This might be a new type of scam.] [^ The DNA results are all confirmed. All three families match. This is a scientific anomaly.] Isla’s phone was practically vibrating itself to death. When she called me, her voice was tinged with tears. “Iris, what is going on? Why does Mr. Allen also say I’m his daughter?” I slowly sipped my tea. “Congratulations, Isla. Your fatherly love quota has doubled again.” “Don’t be so sarcastic! Is this your doing?” she shrieked. “Me?” I chuckled. “I’m just a fake heiress kicked out of my home. How could I have such power? You should ask yourself why you’re so… generous?” Silence on her end, punctuated by heavy breathing. I knew she was starting to question her own infallible aura. The Fitzgerald and Davies families had already fallen out. Mr. Davies believed Mr. Fitzgerald was a con artist, deliberately using his daughter to climb the social ladder. Mr. Fitzgerald believed Mr. Davies was a thief, trying to steal his precious daughter. The two families began sabotaging each other’s businesses. And at the center of it all, Isla was experiencing a chilling dichotomy. The Davies family demanded she study from five in the morning until midnight. If she didn’t get a perfect score in any subject, she was confined for three days. Mr. Davies even set up a dedicated punishment room for her. The Allen family enrolled her in an entertainment company but forbade her from smiling at any male. Her phone and computer were monitored, her social media accounts rigorously scrutinized. One time, she simply greeted an elderly security guard, and all her luxury items were confiscated. She was even sent to a “female etiquette electroshock school” for a three-day intensive training. The Fitzgerald family, in the most awkward position, wanted to intervene but dared not offend the other two families. They could only call daily, feigning concern, and emphasizing that they were her “first” father. Isla’s schedule was packed to the brim. She no longer had time to flaunt on social media. Her messages to me changed from boasting to complaining. [Today, I just looked at my riding instructor for too long during equestrian class and Mr. Davies made me stand still for two hours.] [Dad Allen assigned me eight bodyguards. Two female bodyguards stand outside the restroom door when I use it! They even record the time and duration of each visit and report it. Is he a pervert?] [My mom wants me to come home for dinner, but I have to attend a family dinner at the Davies’ tonight. What do I do? Mr. Sullivan also said if I’m a minute late, he’ll leak scandals about me to the media and ruin me.] I looked at her pleas, my mood pleasant. This is just a few fathers. You can’t handle it? Don’t worry, there are five more waiting in line. Plus a bonus. When the fourth and fifth elite families successively announced they had recognized Isla as their daughter, the entire society was speechless. News headlines shifted from the astonished “Elite Family Miracle” to the mocking “Revolving Elite Families, Enduring Isla.” Isla became the biggest running joke in the city. A walking daddy collector. She was utterly broken. That afternoon, I was organizing paintings in the gallery when Isla burst in, her face devoid of makeup. She grabbed my hand, her eyes bloodshot and raw. “Iris, I was wrong. I was so, so wrong!” She was trembling all over, her Chanel suit wrinkled, her hair dishehevelled. “Please, make them stop! I don’t want so many fathers anymore! I just want the Fitzgeralds. My mom and dad are enough!” Other colleagues in the gallery cast curious glances our way. I gently pulled my hand free, calmly looking at her. “You shouldn’t be telling me this. You should tell them. Tell them you’re not their daughter.” “I did!” she wailed. “But they don’t believe me! They all did DNA tests, and the results all show I’m their biological daughter! They think everyone else is lying, trying to deceive me!” That certainly fit the character of those obsessive patriarchs. “Iris, I know it was you! You sent my hair to them, didn’t you?” She had finally figured it out. I neither admitted nor denied it. “What do you want from me? Will you only be satisfied when I’m dead?” she asked, looking at me with desperation. I picked up the water glass on the table and took a sip. “I don’t want anything.” “I just think that if it’s a windfall from heaven, it’s better to have a few more to ensure a balanced diet of nutrition.” “You!” She trembled with rage. Just then, her phone rang furiously. She glanced at the caller ID, her face instantly turning ashen. Her hand shook, and the phone dropped to the floor. The screen displayed “Mr. Sullivan”—the media mogul, the sixth father to recognize her. He was known for his fiery temper and extreme possessiveness. The phone rang incessantly, like a death knell. Isla stared at the phone on the floor as if it were a bomb. She dared not answer. I bent down, picked up the phone, and pressed to hang up. Then, I saw her packed schedule of reminders.

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The day Jimmy Slade fully seized control of the Slade family, Portside burned with fireworks all night. Everyone speculated he was finally going to marry me. But I waited from dusk till dawn. What I got instead was the news of Thorne Group’s assets being frozen, accusations of my own alleged misdeeds about to land me in prison. I got Jimmy Slade’s hard-won triumph, and the announcement of his engagement to the novel’s heroine. The system’s cold voice chimed: “Congratulations, Host. Mission successfully completed. Would you like to depart this world?” I nodded without hesitation. Later, when Jimmy learned I had died, he panicked. Didn’t he want me ruined and dead? Why was he crying? 1 “Host, detaching from the body will take three days. Please wait quietly.” The system’s voice continued, and I watched a video on my tablet, completely unfazed. Just then, the doorbell of Thorne Manor rang, as I expected it would. The maid rushed over. “Miss Thorne, it’s the police.” “Let them in.” I set down the tablet. Last night, when everyone thought I would become the mistress of the Slade family, news broke that Thorne Group was involved in illicit activities. Right below it, pinned at number two, was a trending topic about me, Iris Thorne, organizing illegal operations and selling prohibited products. The accuser: Jimmy Slade. Public opinion swiftly turned. Everyone praised Jimmy Slade for his righteousness. He smoothly ascended to the position of Slade family patriarch. He also smoothly canceled his engagement to me and announced his wedding date with his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte Summers. “Miss Thorne.” I recognized the lead officer, a man named Officer Wells. He was famously stubborn, unwilling to wrongly accuse the innocent, and equally unwilling to let the guilty escape. He looked at me with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. “Hello, Officer Wells.” I smiled and greeted him, then extended my wrists, waiting for him to cuff me. He hesitated, not moving. It wasn’t until the young female officer beside him prompted him, “Wells, this isn’t the time for personal feelings.” Oh? Personal feelings? The system’s voice came: “Just pulled a clip. After the accusations against you came out, even with evidence, Wells refused to believe it. He insisted on investigating the truth to clear your name.” Hearing that, I couldn’t help but laugh aloud. Officer Wells and the young officer both looked at me. The young officer indignantly said, “Beauty doesn’t automatically mean a kind heart. Wells, I will report your behavior to the Chief.” In the end, it was the young officer who put the handcuffs on me. They were cold and metallic, a first for me. I was about to walk out. Officer Wells raised a hand to stop me. “Did Miss Thorne do all those good deeds just to cover her tracks?” I met his questioning gaze. I knew what he was about to say next. He was going to say, “I don’t believe it.” But whether he believed it or not didn’t matter. 2 I was merely the villainess in this novel. My mission was to clear all obstacles for Jimmy Slade, help him become the Slade family patriarch, and complete the romantic subplot. Thorne Group and my own existence were the last hurdles for Jimmy Slade to overcome. To complete the mission, I could play the fool and offer everything on a silver platter. The system had warned me two weeks ago: “After Jimmy Slade takes the shares from your hands, Thorne Group will be shut down, and you will go to prison. Are you just going to watch him frame you step by step for the next two weeks?” I merely smiled. I even reminded it: “This is just a mission.” In the novel, the Slade and Thorne families were always rivals, their previous generations constantly vying for supremacy in Portside. Later, they were manipulated by a villain. The two families were involved in a transaction that led to Portside’s most severe explosion. That was when I transmigrated, becoming the sole survivor of the explosion. Five-year-old Jimmy Slade became the sole heir to the Slade family. His uncles all tried to seize the opportunity to eliminate Jimmy and take power themselves. Jimmy’s grandmother wanted to use Thorne Group to protect Jimmy, so she gave me 10% of the shares. Thus, defying the opposition of Thorne Group’s shareholders, I chose to put aside the family feuds and proactively proposed a marriage alliance with Jimmy. 3 “Yes, Officer Wells, I was indeed covering up my crimes. I am a truly wicked person. You misjudged and misplaced your trust.” I smiled sweetly at him, then followed the young officer out of Thorne Manor. The mansion was surrounded by reporters, undoubtedly arranged by Jimmy. Their gloating faces were truly quite unbearable. “Did you ever imagine this day, after all the atrocious things you’ve done?” “Justice is served. You will pay the price for your actions!” Jimmy stood outside the mansion, watching my humiliation with cold detachment, Charlotte clinging to his arm. From afar, they truly looked like a match made in heaven. I suddenly remembered Jimmy in his youth, crying, his eyes red, burying his face in my embrace. “Iris, wait for me. I will definitely marry you. The day I become the Slade family patriarch, I will set off fireworks all night for you. All the billboards in Portside will display our photos. I will tell the whole world how much I love you.” Jimmy had done it. Only the object of his affection wasn’t me. The promises of youth ultimately became lies. In this mission, the romantic subplot wasn’t particularly important. The system even said that if I wished, I could choose to stay and build an empire with Jimmy. But the first time Jimmy chose Charlotte and left me forgotten in the rain, I understood. Some plotlines, even if altered, can’t fake genuine affection. Besides, I didn’t love him. 4 Jimmy approached, his bodyguards clearing a path. He drew close, still wearing the suit, tie, and even cufflinks I had personally designed and meticulously selected for him. He leaned in slightly. “Iris Thorne, you could beg me.” “If you just soften your stance, I can get you out.” I scoffed internally. No, I wouldn’t. I’m not one to be strong-armed. I looked back at Officer Wells. “Officer Wells, someone is challenging authority.” Jimmy’s face instantly turned to ice. Officer Wells quickly stepped forward, placing himself between Jimmy and me. “Mr. Slade, please do not obstruct the police.” Jimmy laughed in exasperation, clenching his fist and warning me, “Iris Thorne, the Thorne family caused the death of my parents. Blood for blood. This is what you owe me.” I pursed my lips. So, he was blaming the explosion on the Thorne family. Suddenly, the symptoms of departing the world began to manifest. A metallic taste welled in my throat, which I desperately swallowed down. “Then how about I pay with my life?” “The crimes you’ve committed are enough to execute you hundreds of times over!” Jimmy roared. My face was pale, but I smiled at him, my eyes curving. “Then I wish Mr. Slade a prosperous future and boundless success.” After the last word, I got into the backseat of the police car. I didn’t look back. The system’s voice carried a hint of indignation: “You’re the most cold-blooded, ruthless, and formidable host I’ve ever guided. You’re the first one to deliberately set herself up for death.” I looked out the window, ignoring the system, clenching my fists, enduring the sharp pain as my fingernails dug into my flesh. Jimmy was my masterpiece, ruthless, decisive, and efficient. This was good. 5 The moment I stepped out of the police car, I completely collapsed. I violently vomited a large mouthful of blood, which, by sheer coincidence, splattered all over Officer Wells’s uniform. My stomach pain was so intense I could barely stand upright, and cold sweat soaked the back of my clothes. “What’s wrong with you?!” Officer Wells immediately rushed to support me. My hand gripped his arm, my whole body weak and lifeless. When I looked up, my face was utterly bloodless, as pale as if I were already dead. Someone nearby quickly called for an ambulance, but before it arrived, my vision went black, and I passed out. In a haze, I heard the doctor speaking to Officer Wells. “She has late-stage stomach cancer. She won’t live for more than two weeks.” Officer Wells said nothing. When I opened my eyes, I met his gaze, which was filled with complex emotions. “Officer Wells, are you feeling sad for me?” He still said nothing, merely pouring me a glass of water. One of my wrists was handcuffed to the bedframe. “Will my illness cause trouble for your case? If not, you can fast-track the judgment. I plead guilty.” I added. Officer Wells’s grip tightened on the cup. He stared at me with an indignant intensity. “Iris Thorne, do you think that because you’re dying, you can take responsibility for anything and everything? Guilty is guilty, innocent is innocent. Don’t try to disrespect the law.” I smiled faintly, then took the cup from Officer Wells’s hand and took a sip. “Officer Wells is right to admonish me. I trust Officer Wells.” 6 Officer Wells left. It was the young officer’s turn to watch me. She didn’t seem to like me, always wearing a stern expression, but I quite liked her. In the novel, her character was very well-written—clear in her loves and hates, brave in pursuing what she believed in. The system suddenly spoke in my mind: “I’ve used points to block your pain. You will complete your death in three days. I’ve already chosen your next mission: how about pursuing Officer Wells? A bit of a romance subplot.” Uh… “I refuse.” “Refusal invalid.” You truly are my wonderful system. Officer Wells and I are different. He’s a star in the sky; I’m dust on the ground. We’re destined never to truly intersect. The hospital room television was showing Portside’s auction. Jimmy and Charlotte were attending together. She intimately linked her arm through Jimmy’s, a wedding ring on her middle finger. I designed it myself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my size. “Our wedding is set for the eighth of next month. Everyone is welcome to attend.” Charlotte handled the reporters with composure, but Jimmy… his expression was terrible, his thoughts seemingly far away. He didn’t even react when Charlotte called him. Until someone suddenly asked, “Mr. Slade, how much do you know about Miss Thorne’s situation? Did you hesitate at all to expose her and sacrifice your own? Many in the industry believed you would marry Miss Thorne.” Jimmy frowned, glanced at the reporter’s press pass, then suddenly let out a cold laugh. “You used to work for Thorne Group, didn’t you?” The reporter instantly fell silent, his microphone held awkwardly, unable to raise or lower it. He could only force a “yes.” Jimmy gave a mocking smile. Speaking into the microphone, he was also, in essence, speaking to me. “Never hesitated for a second. Iris Thorne broke the law. She deserves what’s coming to her. I never even considered marrying her.” 7 Suddenly, the young officer switched off the television. She looked at me. “You have terrible taste in men.” I raised an eyebrow playfully. “But he wasn’t wrong, was he? I committed a crime, he reported me, and I’m facing punishment.” She snorted. “You’re right. I just don’t like his face. I’ve heard plenty about you and Jimmy. You helped him so much, and he stabbed you in the back. Aren’t you angry?” she asked, looking at me curiously. I merely smiled. “Of course I am. I almost burned down the Slade family estate.” “You wouldn’t dare!” she snapped, instantly standing up. I couldn’t help but laugh aloud. She was the same age as Charlotte. But far more innocent. Charlotte was Jimmy’s childhood sweetheart, his white moonlight, the heroine of this world. After the Slade family’s troubles, she was sent abroad; the Summers family didn’t want to get involved. Later, when Jimmy began to succeed, Charlotte returned and started rekindling their old flames. I used to mock Charlotte endlessly back then. A five-year-old child. How much profound love could there be? “I wouldn’t dare.” “You better behave!” the young officer glared at me. I nodded. 8 By the third day, my body’s functions began to fail. I coughed up large mouthfuls of blood, ceaselessly. My heart stopped several times. My entire body was bloodless, sweat and blood mingling on my forehead. The doctors and nurses were frantic. I called out to the system in my mind: “Can’t you let me die quickly? It’s too much trouble for the doctors, and it weighs on my conscience.” The system remained silent, giving me a six-dot ellipsis of exasperation. Officer Wells rushed in, drenched, as a torrential downpour raged outside. The sky was gloomy, which only added to my own disquiet. “The doctor said she won’t make it through the night,” the young officer said, her eyes red. Officer Wells looked at me, lying unconscious in the hospital bed, his expression grave. “How can this be so sudden? Didn’t they say she had another two weeks?” “She’s been depressed every day,” the young officer explained. “The doctor said maybe it’s because she has no will to live.” I wanted to object. I felt I’d been quite content these past three days. No work to deal with, no social gatherings to attend, no need to keep my nerves on edge. The system asked, “Do you want to say goodbye to them? Wells has been tirelessly working on your behalf these past few days.” “No,” I refused coldly. He wasn’t doing it for me, but for justice. If I hadn’t been the one reported today, he would still have acted the same way. Officer Wells leaned close. “Iris Thorne, I’m trying to find evidence. I will clear your name. You wouldn’t want to die with a bad reputation, would you?” What a foolish person. I really wanted to open my eyes and tell him. There’s no need to insist. This is the destined ending. Suddenly, the monitor blared, beeping—then a long, flat line. My blood pressure plummeted. Officer Wells froze for a few seconds, his face full of shock, until a nurse pulled him away. Only then did he react. “Prepare for CPR! Defibrillate!” The doctors began resuscitation again, continuously pressing on my chest, shocking me. Ultimately, my heart stopped. A flat line on the monitor. Officer Wells’s pained voice and the system’s cold voice sounded simultaneously. “Iris Thorne!” “Congratulations, Host, on successful detachment!” 9 I floated in the air, the system a white wisp on my shoulder. I was a bit exasperated. “Couldn’t you wait until Wells was further away before I died?” “Uh—” “Because time was up,” the system replied innocently. The doctor reluctantly announced my death. Wells clenched his fists, seemingly unable to comprehend my passing. “If I hadn’t said those things to her, would she still be alive?” he muttered, rigid. “No!” the young officer cried, her eyes red. “Wells, she was already dying! Even if not from cancer, she would have died by execution!” He shook his head. “I’ve found clues. What if she was innocent?” The young officer slapped him, turning Wells’s head to the side. “Wells, you’ve never been so irrational on a case before. Why is it that with Iris Thorne, you can’t control your emotions? If she was innocent, we will clear her name. She didn’t die unjustly; she died of illness. Birth, aging, sickness, death—these are things we cannot control!” Wells looked like all the strength had left his body, sinking weakly onto a chair in the corridor, consumed by deep self-reproach. I felt even guiltier. “System, can you give him a dream?” “I don’t want to owe anyone favors.” The system twitched its lips. “I asked if you wanted to say goodbye earlier. You refused. I can’t interfere now.” Fine.

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After Mom and Dad divorced, Mom developed a gender identity disorder. She raised me, her daughter, as a boy. She took me to the men’s restroom, where I had to use the urinals. She made me live in the boys’ dorms, exposed to my male classmates. I was young then, and no one really noticed anything unusual. Until I turned fifteen, and my body started to change. My classmates’ gazes grew strange. “Is that a freak? So disgusting!” “Neither male nor female, always flaunting herself around men!” Feeling wronged, I went home and cried to Mom. I thought, finally, she would see me as a girl. But she just smiled at me. “Don’t worry, I’ve booked you for a mastectomy.” “As a boy, you don’t need to develop these inappropriate things.” … I stared at her, my voice trembling. “Mom… what surgery did you say?” In my hand, I clutched the perfect score math test I’d just received, disbelief warring with a rising sense of dread. Mom turned from the counter, still holding a kitchen knife, and smiled serenely. “A mastectomy.” Her tone was unnervingly calm, as if discussing what we’d have for dinner. Like, ‘Tonight, we’re having sweet and sour ribs.’ I looked at her kind, loving face, and a sliver of genuine terror pierced my heart. “Couldn’t… couldn’t we skip the surgery?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The words were barely out before Mom’s expression twisted. She slammed the knife onto the counter, ripped off her apron, and strode towards me. “Alex, look at you! What do you look like?” Her finger jabbed hard into my barely developing chest. “Is this something a boy should have? This is all because you keep eating those junk foods! The hormones are turning you into… this!” I wanted to say it wasn’t the food, it was because I was a girl. But the words churned in my throat, unspoken, swallowed back down. When I was five, I’d said I was a girl, and Mom had thrown away all my dolls. I cried, picking them out of the trash, only for her to shred them with scissors. “Boys don’t play with dolls! How disgusting! Can’t you be more masculine?” From then on, I knew. Only by pretending to be a boy could I earn my mother’s love. Perhaps seeing my silence, Mom suddenly sighed. Her voice softened, and she called me, “Sweetheart, are you scared of the surgery because it might hurt?” I nodded vigorously, tears streaming down my face despite myself. It had been so long since she’d called me “sweetheart.” She gently stroked my face, then continued, “How about this, sweetheart? We won’t do the surgery for now, okay? Mom will take you for hormone treatments instead. Maybe that will help.” “Really?” I snapped my head up, my voice trembling with a fragile hope. “Really.” Mom smiled warmly. A flicker of expectation sparked within me. Maybe if we delayed it long enough, Mom would just forget. As she spoke, Mom retrieved a warmed cup of milk and held it out to me. I suddenly remembered when I was sick as a child, how Mom would stay up all night by my side. Back then, she’d also make me milk and sing soft lullabies to help me sleep. Maybe Mom did love me, and it was only Dad’s rejection of me as a girl that made her ill, making her see me as a boy. Thinking this, with only me by her side, I felt I should be even more understanding of Mom. I obediently took the milk and drank it all. Under the warm glow of the light, Mom’s smile seemed almost blinding. “Good boy, Mom’s little man.” I blinked, trying to etch her tender expression into my memory. But in the next second, my vision blurred, and a sudden, intense dizziness washed over me. “Mom… please…” Before I could finish, my consciousness plunged into darkness. When I awoke again, it was to the harsh glare of blinding white fluorescent lights. I felt as though I was already on an operating table. I instinctively tried to struggle, but found I couldn’t move. Looking down, my wrists and ankles were strapped to the table! An indescribable terror instantly enveloped me. Through the haze, I saw Mom’s back and immediately cried out for help! “Mom, save me!” Mom noticed I was awake. She turned, a bright smile on her lips. “Sweetheart, you’re awake?” She reached out and stroked my hair. “Don’t be scared, it’s just a small procedure.” “But you promised me we wouldn’t do the surgery yet… You lied…” I sobbed, struggling for breath. Mom looked at my tear-streaked face, and tears welled in her own eyes, but she didn’t stop anything. “Don’t blame Mom, Mom is doing this for your own good.” “Look, how can a boy have these things? It’s a deformity. Mom has to help you correct it. Once it’s gone, you can be a real boy, and Dad will love you.” As the doctor burst through the door, scalpel in hand, approaching me, I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed through my tears: “Mom, I’m a girl! Look at me!” I hoped Mom would hear my voice, snap out of her delusion, and save me. But she just shook her head, confused, stepping back, one step at a time. “Alex, what are you saying? You’re clearly a boy.” “You’re your father’s favorite son, your grandmother’s favorite grandchild.” “You’re meant to carry on the family name, continue the lineage. You are the pride of our family.” I desperately reached out to Mom, begging her to take my hand, to pull me from the cold operating room. “Mom, I can pretend to be a boy, I can pretend my whole life, please don’t…” But as the anesthetic was pushed, a wave of dizziness suddenly hit, quickly dragging me into darkness. I don’t know how long I slept. When I woke again, the first thing I felt was a sharp, intense pain. I looked down at my chest, wrapped in white bandages, flat as if nothing had ever been there. In that moment, my mind was utterly blank. I didn’t know exactly what I had lost, only a vague, sinking feeling that something was irrevocably gone. The door to the room gently pushed open, and Mom walked in, a radiant smile on her face. “Awake? Mom made you some chicken soup to help you recover.” “Alex, from now on, you’re a proper boy.” Looking at her satisfied smile, I wanted to smile too, but my face felt frozen. She spooned chicken soup to my lips, and I mechanically opened my mouth, obediently drinking it. The soup was fragrant, but my mouth tasted bitter. I couldn’t taste anything. Mom continued to chatter, saying that once my wounds healed, she’d take me to play basketball and go swimming. I listened numbly, when suddenly, a heavy, dragging pain shot through my lower abdomen. Pushing Mom away, I jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. It wasn’t until I saw the crimson stain on my pants that a jolt went through my mind, and my hands started to tremble. How absurd. I’d just had a female organ removed, just accepted I was to be a boy. But the proof of my femininity had reappeared. What was I supposed to do? Was I a boy, or a girl? “Alex? Are you alright?” Mom’s voice came from the door, like a death knell. “I’m… I’m fine.” I quickly calmed myself. If Mom knew I had my period, she’d force me to have another surgery! “I just have a stomach ache, I’ll be fine soon!” I secretly discarded the blood-stained clothes, pretending nothing had happened. Then, I pulled out the allowance I’d saved for a long time and went to the convenience store. “Um… could I get a pack of sanitary pads, please?” I mumbled. The owner, head down, looking at her phone, casually handed me a pack. Like a thief, I slipped back into the restroom, intending to follow the instructions. But when I opened the package, I saw it read: ultra-thin pantyliners, daily use. This didn’t seem… quite like the ads on TV. But I didn’t have any more allowance, so this would have to do, right? I tried to stick two pantyliners side-by-side, but they ended up crooked and uneven. Walking along, I was on edge, terrified someone would notice something amiss. As if tempting fate, my first class back at school was gym. I gritted my teeth, jogging slowly with the group, but I gradually felt the heavy ache in my lower abdomen growing more intense. “Hey, look at Alex!” A girl shrieked behind me, pointing at my pants. “Isn’t he a boy? How can he have a period?” “What boy? He’s just some gender-bender freak, you haven’t seen his… down there…” “So disgusting, how can someone like that be in this school?” My face burned scarlet. I wanted to retort, but no sound came out. I knew that when I enrolled, Mom had registered my gender as “male.” I had no way to argue. The damp pants clung to me, and the whispers of my classmates grew louder and louder. I felt the stares from all directions, like countless slaps across my face. The moment the bell rang, I immediately clutched my legs together and rushed into the boys’ restroom. Thankfully, I had brought extra pantyliners. I should have enough time to change before class. But just as I closed the stall door, it was kicked open from the outside! “Well, well, well, look who it is? Isn’t it our school’s big celebrity?” It was Roy, the school bully. He usually loved picking on people, and now he was watching me with keen interest. I instinctively covered my pants. He saw my movement, and his eyes suddenly lit up. “What are you hiding? Let us see, buddy!” “Let me out!” I tried to escape, but he shoved me back. “What’s the rush?” Roy said, stepping closer with a triumphant smirk. “Tell us, are you a boy or a girl? Give everyone a show!” “No!” I clung to my pants with all my might, but Roy was incredibly strong! With a tearing sound, my pants ripped straight open! Just then, I heard a woman’s shrill voice from outside the restroom. “What? You’re saying a pervert sneaked into the boys’ restroom?” “Hmph, I’m going to take pictures with my phone right now and teach him a lesson!” My heart seized. If I was photographed and labeled a pervert, my life would be over! I used every last ounce of strength, shoved Roy aside, and, clutching my pants, burst out! But it was already too late. The moment I rushed out of the boys’ restroom, I was blocked head-on by the person at the door! The cleaning lady’s phone was pointed right at my face! The flash went off, and my mind went blank. I even forgot to raise my hands to cover my face…

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