The internal auditors were doing a routine sweep when the lead investigator looked up from his clipboard, his eyes narrowing as he pinned me with a cold stare. “Naomi, we need to ask as a matter of protocol: have you ever received any personal favors, financial or otherwise, from your CEO?” I opened my mouth to give the standard, honest “No,” but the words were cut off by a sharp, mocking laugh from the desk next to mine. Tyler, a senior accountant who had been a thorn in my side since I started, leaned back in his chair with a smirk that set my teeth on edge. “Define ‘favors,’” Tyler drawled, loud enough for the entire open-plan office to hear. “Does it count if they regularly share a bed? Or if he leaves a stack of cash on the nightstand when they’re finished?” The air in the room didn’t just cool; it turned to ice. The auditors went from bored to predatory in a heartbeat. The lead investigator stood up, his expression hardening. “Ma’am, I’m going to need to see your ID and your full personnel file immediately.” My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. “I… I was hired through the standard HR process!” I stammered, frantically digging through my desk for my badge. “I don’t know what he’s talking about!” “Oh, sure,” Tyler chimed in, his voice dripping with faux-sympathy. “Standard ‘sleeping-your-way-to-the-top’ process. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t charged the company for the luxury bags you’ve been stashing away. Tell me, Naomi, do those go under ‘office supplies’ or ‘consulting fees’?” He looked at the auditors, playing the role of the concerned whistleblower. “Is that legal, guys? Embezzling for Chanel?” The auditors moved in, effectively boxing me in at my cubicle. “Ma’am, please step away from the computer. We are initiating an immediate suspension of duties pending a full investigation into corporate fraud and misconduct.” I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I wasn’t just losing my job; Tyler’s malicious mouth was about to sink the entire operation. We had a fifty-million-dollar contract set for delivery tonight. If I was pulled out now, the logistics would fail, the contract would be voided, and the factory would be shuttered by morning. … “That’s not true!” My voice came out thin and trembling. “He’s lying! Everything he’s saying is a total fabrication!” I slammed my ID card and my original offer letter onto the desk. “I am a senior accountant. I have a professional relationship with the CEO, nothing more!” The lead auditor didn’t even look at the documents. He leaned over my desk, his shadow looming over me. “Do you understand the gravity of these allegations? This man just accused you of a quid pro quo relationship involving company funds. Your ID doesn’t disprove that.” He jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Maybe we should continue this conversation in a more private setting. Somewhere more… secure.” Sweat beaded on my forehead. Tyler was still there, leaning against a filing cabinet with his arms crossed, watching my world crumble like it was a Saturday morning cartoon. The anger hit me then, hot and sudden. I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar of his cheap polyester shirt. “Tyler, what the hell is wrong with you?” I hissed. “Why would you say that? I have never—not once—been involved with Arthur like that!” Tyler shoved me off with an air of boredom. “Hey, don’t blame the messenger for the message. If you didn’t want people to know about your little side-hustle, you shouldn’t have been so obvious about it.” He turned to the auditor with a wink. “You should check her bank statements. I’m sure they’re… illuminating.” He was pouring gasoline on the fire. The auditors were looking at me now with a mix of suspicion and pure disgust. “Do you have any idea what happens if I’m taken out of here?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “The factory will stop. The workers will lose their shifts. The losses will be—” “Not my problem,” Tyler interrupted, his eyes crinkling with a cruel mirth. “If the company loses money, it’s because they hired a liability like you. I’m just a citizen doing his duty, right, officer?” He clapped the auditor on the shoulder. “Ms. Rossi,” the auditor said, his tone final. “Come with us. If this is a misunderstanding, we’ll clear it up. If not, the authorities will be involved.” Tyler started humming a jaunty tune. “Better move it, Naomi. Cooperation is part of the job description, isn’t it?” I forced myself to breathe. I looked Tyler dead in the eye. “You are slandering me. I am giving you one chance, right now, to tell these men you made it up. Admit you were joking, or I am calling the police and filing a lawsuit for defamation so fast your head will spin.” I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency dial. Tyler’s smirk faltered. He saw the cold, hard intent in my eyes and his bravado slipped just an inch. He grabbed my wrist, blocking the screen. “Whoa, Naomi, take it easy! Don’t be so dramatic.” “Admit it,” I growled. “Tell them you’re a liar.” Tyler huffed, looking at the auditors with a forced eye-roll. “Fine, jeez. You guys can’t take a joke? Seriously, what happened to a little office banter? You guys must be real fun at parties.” The lead auditor’s face darkened. “So, you’re saying your previous statements were false?” Tyler scratched the back of his neck, looking annoyed. “I was just messing around, okay? Lighten up.” “I am asking you one last time,” the auditor said, his voice dropping an octave. “Is Naomi Rossi the CEO’s mistress?” Behind him, another staffer was frantically taking notes. “Answer the question.” I held my breath, praying that Tyler’s cowardice would finally lead him to the truth. He shook his head slowly. “No,” he muttered. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. But it was short-lived. “She’s not his mistress,” Tyler said, a slow, toxic grin spreading across his face. “Because she’s his future baby mama. She’s pregnant with his kid.” The silence that followed was deafening. The auditor’s eyes snapped back to me, filled with a new, deeper level of revulsion. The adrenaline hit me like a physical blow. Before I could think, I was in Tyler’s face, my hand raised to slap the smug look off his face. But he caught my wrist, his grip tightening. “What’s the matter, Naomi?” he whispered, his eyes gleaming. “Can’t handle the truth? You told me not to lie, so I’m giving them the whole story!” “You’re insane!” I screamed, tears of pure frustration stinging my eyes. “He’s lying! I’m calling the police! I’m calling them right now!” I tried to break his grip to get to my phone, but Tyler shoved me back, shouting to the auditors, “Don’t let her! She’s not calling the cops, she’s calling Arthur! She’s calling for her knight in shining armor to come hide the evidence!” I shook my head, desperate. “Don’t believe him! Please!” But the damage was done. “Where there’s smoke, Naomi…” the auditor muttered. “Exactly!” Tyler shouted. “Of all the people in this office, why would I pick her? It’s because it’s true! Everyone knows it!” “Take the ledgers,” the auditor commanded his team. “And Ms. Rossi, you’re coming with us. Now.” I stared at Tyler, my heart breaking for the dozens of people on the factory floor whose livelihoods were currently being gambled away by a petty man’s ego. “Tyler, I never did anything to you. Why are you doing this?” “You didn’t do anything?” He stepped closer, his voice a low hiss. “A week ago, I brought you my expense reports. Five thousand dollars for my ‘business trip’ to Miami. You rejected every single one. You told me my hotel and my dinners didn’t count as company business.” “Because they weren’t!” I snapped. “You went on vacation on the company’s dime!” “And ever since then, you’ve been acting like you own the place,” he sneered. “I’ve seen the way you walk, Naomi. I’ve seen the designer shoes you try to hide under your desk. I know how girls like you get ahead.” He leaned in closer. “And don’t bother with the police. Didn’t you know? My cousin is Arthur’s wife. One call from me, and you’re not just fired—you’re blacklisted. I’ll make sure you never work in this town again.” I swallowed hard. “This is all because of an expense report?” I looked at him, truly seeing him for the first time. The comments he’d made over the last week—the remarks about the “curve of my legs” or the “way I used my mouth”—they weren’t just jokes. They were a targeted campaign. I knew I should go with the auditors. I knew the truth would come out eventually. But “eventually” meant the factory would close today. It meant eighty million dollars in breach-of-contract penalties. It meant families going hungry. I did the only thing I could think of. I doubled over and slammed my own fist into my stomach. “Look!” I screamed, jumping up and down frantically in front of the auditors. “Look at me! I’m not pregnant! If I were, I’d be in the hospital right now! I’m doing this because there is no baby! There is no affair!” It was a bizarre, desperate display, but it worked. The auditors froze, staring at me in shock. “Okay, okay,” the lead auditor said, his voice softening with pity. “Sit down. We… we believe you.” “Oh, you guys are pathetic,” Tyler’s voice sliced through the room. “You’re really going to fall for that? Naomi, you really think you can hide it? Fine. You don’t believe me? Maybe you’ll believe the CEO’s wife.” I looked at him, confused. “Tyler, stop it.” “Beatrice!” Tyler yelled toward the lobby. “She’s right here!” I didn’t even have time to turn around before I felt a searing pain in my scalp. Someone had grabbed my hair from behind and yanked, hard. “You little tramp!” a woman’s voice shrieked in my ear. “You think you can use your position to sleep with my husband? I’ll kill you!” Before I could see her face, a palm collided with my cheek. The world spun, and I hit the floor hard. “You have the wrong person!” I cried out, shielding my face. “I didn’t do anything!” “That’s her, Beatrice!” Tyler’s voice was triumphant. “Naomi Rossi. The accountant. I see her sneaking out of Arthur’s office half-dressed all the time. And she’s carrying his bastard!” That was the trigger. Beatrice—a woman I had only seen in company newsletters—flung herself on top of me with the strength of a woman possessed. “Pregnant, are you?” she screamed, her face contorted. “Let’s see how that ‘accident’ handles this!” She sat on my stomach, using her full weight to bounce and crush me against the hard office floor. I felt the air leave my lungs, a sharp, stabbing pain radiating through my abdomen. I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself, but she was relentless. The auditors tried to pull her off, but she swung at them, screaming about her marriage and her rights. The pain was blinding now. Through the red haze, I reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head down until it slammed into the floor. The room went silent. For half a second, the only sound was the heavy breathing of twenty terrified employees. Then, Beatrice started to wail. The auditors finally managed to drag us apart. I slumped against a desk, my face deathly pale, clutching my stomach. “Call the police,” I rasped. “Please… just call them.” One of the auditors reached for his phone, but Tyler was there in an instant, blocking him. “You’re going to help a homewrecker? My cousin is the legal wife! This girl destroyed a family! She deserved what she got! In the old days, we’d have dragged her through the streets!” “My stomach…” I gasped, the pain reaching a fever pitch. “Please… an ambulance…” The auditor didn’t hesitate this time. He dialed 911. As I lay there, I felt a sudden, warm rush of fluid. I looked down. My white slacks were rapidly staining crimson. My mind went blank. It’s just my period, I tried to tell myself. The stress, the physical trauma… it’s just my cycle starting early. But Beatrice saw the blood and pointed a trembling finger. “See! She was pregnant! The little slut is losing the bastard right now!” “I told you!” Tyler shouted, his face lit up with a sick excitement. “I told you I wasn’t lying!” Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my hand. A text from the floor manager: Naomi, the factory is dark. The lines have stopped. The world tilted. “Why?” I whispered. “I’m still here… why did they stop?” I scrolled through the company-wide alerts. By order of Beatrice Whitlock, all production is ceased. Investigation into CEO’s personal conduct ongoing. “She found out he was cheating and shut it down,” someone whispered nearby. “She said the factory was a ‘gift’ he gave his mistress to manage, so she’s taking it back.” “Naomi, what do we do?” the floor manager’s voice came through a frantic phone call. “We have twenty-five tons of product due by 6 PM. If we don’t ship, the penalty is eighty million dollars!” I tried to speak, but the tears finally came, hot and thick. The pain in my gut was so sharp I couldn’t form a sentence. The paramedics burst into the room. As they lifted me onto the gurney, Tyler and Beatrice blocked the elevator. “No!” Beatrice screamed. “She doesn’t get to leave! Not until she signs a confession!” “Ma’am, step aside,” the lead paramedic said firmly. “This woman is hemorrhaging.” “I don’t care!” Beatrice yelled. “That’s my husband’s blood she’s spilling! I have a right to decide what happens to it!” Tyler was busy filming the whole thing on his phone, shouting to the gathered crowd, “Look at her! Look at the homewrecker! This is Naomi Rossi, the girl who stole a marriage!” Finally, the police arrived and cleared a path. As they wheeled me into the ambulance, I could still hear Beatrice screaming about “justice” and “tramps.” Suddenly, a loud, sharp crack echoed through the parking lot. A familiar, booming voice cut through the chaos. “You stupid woman! Who gave you the right to shut down my factory?” It was Arthur. He had arrived. “Do you have any idea how much money I just lost?” Slap. Another crack. “I’ve had enough of your psychotic episodes! I married a monster!” “Arthur! She’s your mistress! Tyler told me—” “Tyler is a pathetic liar who can’t even file an expense report!” Arthur roared. “Naomi Rossi is my best accountant! She’s the only reason this company hasn’t folded!” Arthur’s voice lowered, sounding almost terrified. “Do you have any idea who Naomi Rossi actually is?”

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Every April Fool’s Day, my boyfriend would stage an elaborate, fake proposal as part of a “prank” coordinated with his best friend, Lexi. Last year, I was so caught up in the moment, heart hammering against my ribs as I reached for the ring, that I didn’t notice the mechanical trap hidden in the velvet box. It snapped shut on my finger. I screamed in genuine pain. Jackson and Lexi just roared with laughter, completely oblivious to the fact that my finger was turning a bruised, sickly purple. To make it up to me, Jackson had spent months swearing that this year would be different. He promised he would finally ask for real. So, when he sent me a “top priority” text telling me to meet him at the bistro where we had our very first date, I believed him. I spent three hours getting ready. I got a blowout, had my nails done, and applied a full face of makeup with surgical precision. I even wore a brand-new silk slip dress. I had the “announcement” post drafted in my notes, waiting for the photo of the ring. But the moment I pushed through the door, a heavy, cold mass of buttercream slammed into my face. A girl’s sharp, bright laughter erupted from the center of the room. “I told you she’d show up! Pay up, Jax, you lost!” Jackson walked over, his expression as smooth and gentle as it had been for the last six years. He used a napkin to wipe a glob of frosting from my cheek. “You look beautiful, Cass,” he said, though his eyes were dancing. “Shame about the dress, though.” “What is this, Jackson?” My voice was trembling. “I made a bet with the guys on whether I could actually get you to come out tonight. I bet that you wouldn’t. My stake was simple: if I won, I’d propose tomorrow. If I lost, I’d wait another year.” He shrugged, offering a half-hearted grin. “Sorry, babe. Since you actually showed up, I guess we’re not getting married this year either.” I stood there, the weight of the frosting pulling at my skin, and looked him dead in the eye. “So, you know what tomorrow is?” He laughed, dismissive. “Of course I do. Our six-year anniversary. How could I forget?” The sticky sweetness on my face felt suffocating. In that moment, the realization hit me with the force of a physical blow: our anniversary would always play second fiddle to a prank. And I would always play second fiddle to Lexi. I reached down and slid off the simple silver band we’d worn as a “promise” set since college. “Then we’re done. We’re breaking up.” 1. The sharp clink of the ring hitting the hardwood floor silenced the entire room. Jackson’s brow furrowed. “Don’t do this, Cassie. It’s just a little cake. I’ll help you clean it up when we get home. You know Lexi—she used to play way rougher than this. She’s actually being restrained tonight for your sake.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, warning hum. “I went to a lot of trouble to get everyone here. Don’t make me look like the guy who’s dating someone who can’t handle a joke.” Lexi slumped onto the velvet sofa, her face a mask of exaggerated poutiness. “Seriously, Cassie, it was just a laugh. If you’re going to be like that, we won’t play anymore, okay? But ‘breaking up’? That’s a bit dramatic.” She looked at the guys, her eyes wide. “I told you she couldn’t handle it. Jax, you shouldn’t have invited her. Now the whole vibe is ruined.” She sat there, the undisputed “mascot” of their little tribe. In this circle, if Lexi wasn’t happy, no one was allowed to be. Jackson was no exception. I remembered the first time I met her. She’d organized a game of Truth or Dare. Usually, dares involve something embarrassing in public. Her dare for me was to “perform” an intimate sound right there in front of the group. When I told her I didn’t appreciate that kind of humor, Lexi’s eyes instantly welled up. She’d bolted out of the room. The entire group—Jackson included—had chased after her to comfort her. The party that was supposed to be my “welcome” ended with me sitting alone in a dark apartment. Jackson never brought me to another hangout unless Lexi gave the green light first. Jackson looked at me now, his jaw set. “Cassie, apologize to Lexi.” In the past, I would have swallowed my pride. I would have apologized just to keep the peace, to make sure Jackson didn’t lose face in front of his friends. But watching him prioritize Lexi’s “hurt feelings” over the fact that he’d just humiliated me on the eve of our anniversary… I finally saw the truth. This wasn’t a relationship. I was just an accessory to his life with his friends. I picked up my coat and the designer bag I’d bought specifically to impress his parents later this month. “Jackson,” I said, my voice steady for the first time in years. “It’s over. I mean it.” I turned and walked out, my heels clicking unevenly on the pavement. As the door swung shut, I heard Lexi’s teasing voice drift out. “Is your ‘ball and chain’ actually leaving? You’re not going to go full ‘simp’ and chase her, are you?” Jackson let out a cold snort. “She’s just throwing a tantrum. If I chase her now, she’ll think she’s won. Besides, she has no one else but me. She’s easier to win back than you are.” His words felt like a serrated blade across my chest. 2. Six years ago, Jackson had stood in this very spot and told me he couldn’t live without me. He had worked hard to get me. When I was fifteen, my parents both remarried and started new families. I became the “legacy baggage”—the kid who was shuttled between houses but belonged in neither. I grew up terrified of intimacy, terrified of building a home only to have it dismantled. I turned Jackson down five times. The sixth time, a man had followed me home to my apartment. Jackson had appeared out of nowhere, tackling the guy and holding him until the police arrived. He ended up in the ER with a fractured wrist. As the nurse wrapped his arm, his eyes had turned red. “Cassie, why are you so stubborn?” he’d whispered. “Why won’t you just let me protect you?” My heart had disintegrated right then. I thought that if I could be with someone so reliable, so protective, maybe I’d finally be safe. That night, he’d taken me to this bistro to ask me out. When I said yes, he’d picked me up and spun me around like a kid until we were both dizzy, eventually collapsing onto the grass. He’d held me tight and sworn to the moon that as long as he was around, I would never be lonely again. But now, he was the one reopening the wounds I’d spent years trying to heal. I let out a bitter laugh and pulled out my phone. I opened an email from five days ago—a transfer offer to our corporate headquarters in Chicago that was set to expire. I accept the transfer. It was surprisingly easy to type. I looked up at the moon, partially obscured by a thin veil of clouds. Jackson, I’m not as easy to win back as you think. And I don’t need you to protect me anymore. The move was scheduled for the 2nd. I didn’t have much time. I went back to our apartment, scrubbed the sticky frosting off my skin until it was raw, and started packing. I didn’t own much; two suitcases were enough to hold my entire life. At 3:00 AM, I was heading for the door to check into a hotel when Jackson walked in, smelling of bourbon and smoke. He was carrying Lexi, who was passed out cold, and dumped her on the sofa. He tossed a bag of fruit onto the counter. “Glad you’re still up. She’s wasted. Make her some of that ginger tea you make, or she’s going to be a nightmare in the morning.” I didn’t move. When we first moved in together, Jackson had come home sick from a bachelor party. I’d stayed up all night making him soup. The ceramic pot had cracked from the heat and exploded, splashing scalding broth and shards all over my arms. He’d been terrified. He’d stayed awake for twenty-four hours, tending to my burns, crying from guilt. He’d banned me from the kitchen after that, insisting he’d rather order takeout for the rest of his life than risk me getting hurt again. He’d even made a little wooden sign and hung it on the pantry: CAUTION: CASSIE-FREE ZONE. I looked at that sign now, walked over, and tossed it into the trash. “I’m not your maid, Jackson. If she wants tea, she can wait until she’s sober enough to boil water.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase. He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist and pinning me against the door. “Enough, Cassie. You made your point with the packing. It was an April Fool’s joke. Quit being a brat. I know you want the ring. I want to give it to you. Next year. I promise, next year we’ll do it for real.” His breath, laced with alcohol, brushed against my neck. I felt nothing but a dull, aching revulsion. I pushed him back with everything I had and slapped him hard across the face. “I said we’re done, Jackson. There is no ‘next year.’” 3. The slap didn’t just wake him up; it seemed to startle Lexi into consciousness. She stumbled off the sofa, swaying, and lunged at me, her hand connecting with my cheek in a stinging blow. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she shrieked. “You don’t touch him!” My face burned. I raised my hand to hit back, but Jackson caught my wrists, twisting them painfully as he shoved me away. My lower back slammed into the door handle. He stepped in front of Lexi, his eyes flashing with irritation. “She’s drunk, Cassie! Are you really going to pick a fight with a drunk girl? Just go. Get out and clear your head. We’ll talk tomorrow.” I stared at him, stunned by his indifference. It was like I was a stranger to him, a nuisance he had to manage. He didn’t even look at me; he just turned around to murmur soft, soothing words to Lexi, giving her all the tenderness I had craved for years. I gripped the handle of my suitcase and walked out. I checked into a budget hotel near the station and didn’t close my eyes until dawn. When I woke up, my phone was a graveyard of notifications. Aside from the usual “Happy April Fool’s” group texts, there were dozens of messages from coworkers and friends asking why I wasn’t at the office or if there was “big news” to share. I typed out a short, blunt response: Jackson and I broke up. The replies were instantaneous. Is this a joke? Stop it, Cassie, don’t prank us like that. You guys are the ‘forever’ couple. They didn’t know. They only saw the version of Jackson he allowed the world to see—the steady, reliable man who always had a plan. They didn’t know that on our fourth anniversary, he’d set up a “romantic” dinner only to have Lexi jump out with a live snake because he knew I had a phobia. They didn’t know that on our fifth, he’d used a trick ring that nearly cost me my finger. He was reliable, sure. But his loyalty wasn’t for me. I scrolled through social media and saw Lexi’s latest post—a gallery of photos from last night. Jackson at the movies with her, Jackson winning her a stuffed animal at an arcade, Jackson laughing. He’d always told me those things were “childish” and a “waste of time.” He said he preferred staying in, watching documentaries, being “mature.” Looking at his genuine, wide smile in her photos, I realized those things weren’t boring to him. Doing them with me was boring to him. The comments were full of people saying how “perfect” they looked together. I was about to delete the app when a message from Jackson popped up. Don’t overthink the photos. I’m just helping her blow off steam. Come back to the apartment when you can. She says she wants to apologize. I scoffed. As if on cue, a notification from a delivery app pinged. My anniversary gift to him—a high-end watch I’d saved for months to buy—had just been delivered to the apartment. I needed to get it back. And I needed to drop off my keys. A clean break. I threw on some clothes and took a cab over. But the moment I stepped through the door, a bucket of liquid with a sharp, chemical sting was doused over my head. “Surprise! April Fool’s, bitch!” 4. The liquid burned instantly. Before I could even blink, Lexi was on me, rubbing a coarse makeup remover wipe across my face with frantic, mocking energy. The burning intensified, turning into a searing, crawling itch that felt like my skin was being peeled back from the bone. I shoved her away, gasping. I tried to touch my face, but the slightest contact was agony. “My face… it burns… what was in that?” Jackson rushed over, grabbing my hands to stop me from scratching. His voice was a mix of shock and anger. “Lexi, you said it was just micellar water! Why is her skin breaking out like this?” Lexi’s face went red. “I… I don’t know! I just grabbed a bottle from the garage. Besides, she always wears that ‘natural’ makeup look just to make me look like a mess in comparison. I hate it! You even said it made her look washed out, Jax! You said I could do it!” I was shaking, my breath hitching in my chest. “And I thought… I thought you were actually going to apologize. You don’t deserve a ‘goodbye,’ Jackson. You’re a monster.” I tried to stumble toward the bathroom to wash my face, but the room began to spin. My throat felt like it was closing. “Cassie? Cassie, talk to me!” When I woke up, the sun was setting. My face was throbbing. Through a haze of painkillers, I heard a nurse mention something about stitches on my chin and right cheek. Jackson, who had been dozing in the chair next to the bed, jolted awake. “Thank God, you’re awake. You gave us a heart attack. The doctor said you had an anaphylactic reaction to some industrial disinfectant that was in the bottle. You went into shock.” He leaned forward, his voice urgent. “Lexi really did want to apologize, Cassie. She’s just… she’s impulsive. She didn’t mean for this to happen. Don’t be mad, okay?” I looked at him—at the man I had loved for nearly a decade—and he felt like a stranger. There was no concern in his eyes for the permanent scars I might have. Only the desperate need to excuse her. I felt a single, hot tear roll down my cheek. It stung. “I’m not mad, Jackson,” I whispered. “I’m just filled with regret. I regret every second I spent with you.” His face paled. He opened his mouth to speak, but his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—the caller ID said “LEXI”—and he immediately stood up. “I have to take this. Rest. I’ll be right back.” He hurried out. Moved by some ghost of a feeling, I forced myself out of bed and followed him. I stood by the heavy fire door of the stairwell, listening through the crack. He was sitting on the steps with Lexi. “Hey, hey, stop crying. She’s not going to be mad. We’ve been through worse than this.” Lexi sniffled. “If she’s this upset over a little rash, imagine if she found out the truth. Imagine if she knew you only asked her out because of that $500 bet we made in college. Or that we chose the anniversary date specifically because it was April Fool’s weekend.” The world seemed to explode in a deafening white noise. Jackson hissed, “Shh! That was years ago. Keep your mouth shut!” My knees gave out. I slid down the wall, clutching my chest. Every doubt I’d ever had, every time I’d wondered why I was always the punchline—it all made sense now. I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was a six-year-long prank. The “hero” who saved me from the stalker? Was that a setup too? It didn’t matter. The foundation was rot. I covered my mouth to stifle a sob. I had to leave. Now. I managed to get back to my room, grab my things, and call a car. I went straight to the hotel, grabbed my suitcases, and headed for the station. I changed my ticket to the earliest train to Chicago. As I boarded, a text from Jackson arrived: The doctor says you need observation. Don’t run off. Where are you? I’m coming to get you. I looked at the screen and started laughing until I cried. I didn’t reply. I blocked him. I blocked Lexi. I blocked every single person who had ever laughed at my expense. The joke is over, Jackson. And I’m not sticking around for the encore.

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I only glanced once at the special pinned contact in Ethan’s phone. Then I learned one thing: not to care. He worked a thirty-hour night shift without replying to messages. I stopped waiting. He forgot my birthday. I didn’t mention it. My ankle was badly sprained. I gritted my teeth and wrapped it myself, then went onstage in heels the next day. Loving someone is hard, but letting go is simple. Joanna’s POV Today was Swan Lake’s quarterly performance. In the third act, during the Black Swan’s 32 fouetté turns, I heard a crack from my ankle on the 29th landing. Backstage, a crowd swarmed around me. “Joanna! Should we stop the show?” My forehead was covered in cold sweat. I waved them off. “It’s the last act.” Eight minutes of solo dance. I don’t remember how I finished it. I only remember the applause was loud during curtain call, the spotlight was warm, and beneath my skirt, my ankle had swollen until it shone. I smiled and took three curtain calls. No one saw that when I stepped into the wings, my entire body was trembling from pain. 1 AM. Sacred Heart Hospital emergency room. I sat alone in the observation room on a plastic chair, an ice pack pressed against my ankle bone. The nurse on duty frowned after reviewing the X-rays. “Ligament strain. Good thing the bone’s not damaged. Why didn’t you come earlier? Delaying makes the recovery period even longer.” “Just finished a performance.” While recording my information, the nurse asked casually, “You’re Ethan’s girlfriend, right? He posted a photo of you two on social media, that five year anniversary one.” My eyelashes flickered. He did post something on our fifth anniversary. The caption read: “Survived 3 trauma emergency courses.” I’d waited five hours at the restaurant we’d reserved, only to receive one message. “Something came up. We’ll make it up another day.” That “another day” still hasn’t come. “He’s on shift tonight. Want me to call him for you?” the nurse offered kindly. “No need,” I said. “Don’t disturb his work.” The moment I finished speaking, footsteps echoed from the end of the emergency corridor. Ethan came down from upstairs. He paused when he passed the observation room. He turned and walked in, his gaze falling on my swollen ankle, his brow furrowing. “You’re injured? Why didn’t you tell me?” He crouched down to examine it. I pulled my foot back slightly, the movement gentle, as if afraid of making noise. “It’s just a minor injury.” Ethan’s hand froze in midair. He looked at me with surprise. In the past, if I got even a blister from dance practice, I’d photograph it and send it to him, acting spoiled. “The wound hurts so much, I miss you.” Before every performance, I’d curl up nervously in his arms, asking repeatedly, “You’ll come watch, won’t you?” Now my foot was this swollen, yet there wasn’t a trace of grievance on my face. I wouldn’t even let him touch it. Before he could ask, the sound of high heels echoed from the end of the corridor. “Ethan!” The voice was light and soft, carrying a smile. Grace wore a sharply tailored dress under her white coat, carrying two cups of coffee. She walked over and naturally positioned herself beside Ethan. “Your favorite mocha, less sugar.” She handed him the cup, her gaze turning to me, pausing for a beat. “This is… your friend?” Ethan took the coffee, his voice unconsciously softening by half a degree. “My girlfriend, Joanna. She hurt her foot.” “Oh my god, is it serious?” Grace immediately crouched down to look at my ankle. “Hi, I’m Grace. You really can’t dance on this injury anymore-you need to let it heal properly.” Her tone was sincere. The flash of condescension in her expression was equally sincere. “Thanks,” I said. “The nurse already treated it.” When Grace stood up, her shoulder brushed against Ethan’s arm, seemingly by accident. “Ethan, we’re paired for tonight’s shift. I’m still not familiar with a lot of procedures-help me out more.” “Sure.” Ethan seemed oblivious to her intimacy. He looked at me. “Let me take you-” “No need.” I braced myself against the armrest and stood up, taking the crutch. “You two are busy. I called a car.” Ethan frowned. “In your condition, how can you-” But I’d already left. The crutch tapped against the floor. One tap, then another. The rhythm was steady. Behind me came Grace’s voice, clear even across the entire corridor. “Ethan, did Miss Joanna misunderstand something? Should I go explain to her?” “She’s not like that.” There was a hint of helplessness in Ethan’s voice. I didn’t look back. Five years. I’d never made a fuss, never demanded answers. I thought I was being understanding and accommodating, but in his eyes, I was simply “not like that.” Actually, on my way to the hospital, I’d thought about messaging him. But when I opened my phone, I saw the message I’d sent three days ago. “It’s opening night today. Will you come?” He hadn’t replied. I knew that he hadn’t forgotten. He just didn’t want to respond. In his life’s hierarchy, I ranked behind surgery, behind his shifts, behind that less-sugar, less-milk mocha. And especially behind Grace. Always had been. Back home, I opened my laptop. The email from the French Arts Dance Company sat quietly in my inbox. I’d read it many times. “We cordially invite you to serve as principal dancer with our company, three-year term. We look forward to your reply.” My fingers hovered above the keyboard. I thought of Grace handing him coffee in the ER and how naturally he’d accepted it. I thought of how his tone unconsciously softened when he spoke to her. I thought of my ankle swollen until it shone, and how he hadn’t even asked once if it hurt. Five years. I’d waited through countless “another days,” countless “something came ups.” I didn’t want to wait anymore. I typed my reply: “Thank you for the invitation. I accept. I’ll complete domestic handover within seven days and report on time. ”

Joanna’s POV I took two painkillers. They didn’t help much. My ankle throbbed with a dull ache, like something was drumming beneath my skin. I didn’t sleep all night. Ethan didn’t come home all night. At seven in the morning, I hobbled into the kitchen on my crutch. The moment the cooking smoke rose, I suddenly thought of my mom. I could never see her either. She was an ER nurse at the hospital. Her schedule was always packed solid. Even on her rare days off, she’d often get called back. From childhood, I was used to eating alone, sleeping alone, hanging the key around my neck and going to school alone. But every time Mom came home, she’d busy herself in the kitchen for hours, preparing meals for the next few days. She’d pack them into containers one by one, stacking them in the fridge with sticky notes on the lids. “Eat this on Tuesday,” “Remember to heat this one for two minutes.” Later, she had an accident during an emergency rescue. She contracted an acute infectious disease. From diagnosis to death, only eleven days. When the operating room lights went out, nineteen-year-old me stood in the corridor, my mind completely blank. I don’t remember my reaction. I only remember my knees hitting the tile floor-it hurt so much. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, like all the strength had been drained from my body. People came and went in the corridor, but not one of them was my family. Suddenly, someone crouched down in front of me. A warm bottle of coffee appeared before my eyes, still carrying the warmth of being held in someone’s palm. I looked up and saw a young face with gentle eyes. “Don’t cry anymore.” His voice was soft. “Your mother was a great nurse. She saved many lives. Even though she’s gone, we’ll all remember her.” Through a veil of tears, I saw his name tag: Ethan. I never drank that bottle of coffee, but I held it in my palm until it went completely cold. From that day on, I remembered that name and those gentle eyes. The second time I saw him was two years later. I was dancing Giselle as the lead for the first time. During curtain call, the lights were too bright to see the audience clearly, but as I exited, I casually glanced at the seats and spotted a familiar figure in the corner. He sat there quietly, wearing a dark blue shirt. His applause wasn’t enthusiastic, but it was sincere. After the performance, I didn’t change clothes. Clutching a bouquet of pink roses, I ran from backstage and caught him on the theater steps. “Ethan, can I pursue you?” He looked at me, clearly startled. Then he smiled. Warm, but with a weariness I couldn’t read at the time. “I just broke up recently. Someone very important to me went abroad. Right now… I haven’t moved on yet.” I knew he was rejecting me. But the warmth of that coffee bottle still lingered in my heart. Those ten minutes of companionship still lived in my memory. I desperately wanted that kind of gentle love, unique, a favoritism that belonged only to me. All my life, with an absent father and a deceased mother, I’d never been watched so attentively by anyone. He appeared in my most helpless moment. Even if it was just a bottle of coffee, just one word of comfort. To me, it was already light. “That’s okay,” I heard myself say. “I can help you move on slowly.” I thought if I was patient enough, sincere enough, he’d eventually turn around and see me. During these five years together, Ethan really was good to me. He’d remember my performance dates, occasionally pick me up after work, remind me to take medicine when I caught a cold. But this kindness always felt like it was separated by a layer of gauze. Gentle, yes. Just not burning. He smiled at me, but also at nurses, also at coffee shop cashiers. I couldn’t tell whether I was special to him or just one among many. I convinced myself it was enough. Being loved by a gentle person was enough. On my birthday, I thought our relationship should move to the next stage. I’d reserved his favorite restaurant, prepared a ring, even secretly practiced a solo dance to perform just for him. That evening, as I was doing one final rehearsal in front of the mirror, my phone rang. Ethan’s voice was urgent. “Grace is back. She’s injured. I need to go to the hospital first. Wait for me at the restaurant.” He hung up. The ring in my pocket, I waited at the restaurant for five hours. He never came. Never called either. From that day on, everything changed. During the time after Grace returned, whenever she called, Ethan would immediately rush over, no matter what he was doing. He started coming home late frequently, becoming absent-minded frequently. When he mentioned Grace, there was something in his eyes I’d never seen before. I told myself that once Grace was better, maybe everything would return to normal. Until that late night. I got up to get something from the study and accidentally knocked over an old photo album from the corner of the bookshelf. The album fell to the floor and scattered open. Every page was Grace. Some were candid shots, some were photos together. The backgrounds ranged from campus to hospital, from summer to winter. And on the back of each photo was Ethan’s handwriting. “Day 47.” “Missing you.” “A patient today had the same birthday as you.” I crouched on the floor, flipping through them one by one. My fingers didn’t tremble. The date on the last photo was the week before our fifth anniversary, late at night. On the back, it read: “If you hadn’t left back then, I definitely wouldn’t have let go.” I closed the album and returned it to the corner of the bookshelf, arranging it exactly as it had been before I took it down.

Joanna’s POV I went to the rehearsal hall with my injury. My ankle wrapped in thick bandages, I didn’t go onstage. I just spent the day supervising the group dance formations from the side. Someone asked if I wanted to take leave. I said no need. Sitting was still work. At eight in the evening, I returned home. The entryway light was off. Only my shoes sat by the shoe cabinet. No messages from him on my phone. Another day and night without him coming home. My phone rang while I was pouring water. “Hello, your online visa review has been approved. Now you just need to mail the paper materials. We can issue the visa within three business days.” “Okay, I’ll organize everything tonight and mail it first thing tomorrow.” “Wishing you all the best.” After hanging up, I walked into the bedroom. I opened the nightstand drawer. Passport, ID documents, bank statements, employment verification. I placed the documents into a folder one by one. Halfway through packing, I suddenly stopped and glanced around the room. Ethan had mild OCD. He didn’t like the house cluttered with too many things. When I first moved in, I’d bought a floor lamp. He said it didn’t match, so I returned it. Later I wanted to grow flowers on the balcony. He said they’d attract bugs, so I didn’t. Over five years, I’d learned to minimize my presence in this home. Only now, while packing, did I realize I owned so little it wouldn’t even fill a suitcase. A few seasonal clothes, one pair of backup dance shoes, a jewelry box, my passport, and some contract copies. That was it. Five years, condensed into half a suitcase. The bedroom door suddenly pushed open. Ethan walked in. He paused when he saw the documents spread across the bed. “What are you working on?” “Organizing visa materials,” I replied without looking up. “I was thinking we could travel abroad for Christmas. Preparing in advance.” “Christmas?” Ethan glanced at me. “It’s only July-” Before he finished, his phone rang. Grace’s name lit up the screen. “Ethan, the ER transferred a patient. I can’t handle it alone. Can you come help?” The voice on the other end wasn’t loud, but in the quiet room, it was crystal clear. Ethan hung up and looked at me. His lips moved. He looked guilty, yet couldn’t let it go. “Go ahead,” I said, folding a document and tucking it into the bag. “Work is important.” Ethan stood there, frowning. Something probably felt off to him. If this were the old me, I definitely would have frowned and said, “She’s also a doctor. She even worked abroad. Can’t she handle something this small?” “There are so many doctors at the hospital. Why does she always call you?” But this time I said nothing. I didn’t even lift my eyes from the documents. “I probably won’t be back tonight,” he said. “Breakfast together tomorrow?” “Okay.” Ethan left, reassured. The sound of the door closing was soft. The car engine started about two minutes later. I listened to the engine fade away, then packed the remaining materials into the folder and sealed it.

Joanna’s POV The next morning when I woke up, the pillow beside me was cold. I picked up my phone. A message hung on the screen, sent at 3 AM. “Emergency situation last night. Can’t make it back for morning. Sorry.” I stared for two seconds, then locked the screen. The apology was real. Not making it back was also real. The things ranking ahead of me were always so numerous that “sorry” had become a standard phrase. After rehearsal that evening, I carried my bag home. While changing shoes in the entryway, I heard voices in the living room. I walked in to see Grace sitting on the sofa wearing loose loungewear, a suitcase by her feet. Ethan stood nearby. When he saw me, his expression visibly tightened. “Grace… just got back and isn’t adjusting well. Living alone, she keeps having insomnia,” he kept revising his wording. “She lost touch with her friends while abroad. The person she’s most familiar with now is me. I was thinking of letting her stay in the guest room for a few days until she adjusts, then-” “Sure.” I set down my bag. Ethan’s whole body tensed. His lips parted slightly, looking like he was frantically searching his mind for excuses. But I’d agreed too quickly. So quickly that the expression on his face froze instantly, like a gulp of cold air choking in his throat, unable to produce a single word. Grace stood up from the sofa, her voice soft. “Ethan, can I invite a few friends over for dinner? A welcome-back party. I’d feel more at ease if you arranged it.” Before Ethan could answer, I already had. “Sure. I’ll prepare everything.” Grace smiled. A flash of triumph passed through her gaze. That evening, the friends Grace invited arrived one after another. They were all Ethan’s old friends, some former colleagues. The living room quickly grew lively, everyone surrounding Grace. Talking about her experiences, saying she’d gotten thinner, saying she was just as beautiful as before. I stayed in the kitchen cutting fruit, pouring drinks, changing plates. I went in and out of the living room many times. No one asked if I wanted to sit down and chat with them. After several rounds of drinks, someone drunk threw an arm around Ethan’s shoulder. “I’m saying, Ethan, if you and Grace hadn’t broken up back then, your kid would be in kindergarten by now, wouldn’t they?” The living room instantly went quiet. Ethan’s expression changed. He looked sharply at me. I was just coming out of the kitchen carrying a plate of cut watermelon. I set the plate on the coffee table and smiled. “Yeah, pretty unfortunate.” My tone was casual, like commenting on a movie. But no one dared to continue the conversation. The drunk person awkwardly took a drink. The atmosphere took a while to recover. Ethan stared at my profile for a long time. I was smiling. But that smile contained nothing. No jealousy, no grievance, not even concern. Like an outsider entertaining guests. After the dinner party ended, I was washing dishes in the kitchen. Grace leaned against the doorframe. “Joanna, do you know Ethan and I almost got married?” The faucet rushed loudly. My hands didn’t stop. “We’d already bought the ring,” Grace’s voice was loud. “I was the one who initiated the breakup. I was going abroad. He begged me to stay. I didn’t agree.” I turned off the faucet and set down the last plate. I turned around, drying my hands while looking at Grace. “So?” Grace met my gaze, her smile confident, even carrying a trace of pity. “So I’m back now.” She took a step forward. “My place in this home is mine. You, the substitute, should take your curtain call.” The kitchen was quiet for a few seconds. I folded the dish towel neatly and hung it back on the hook. “You’re right,” I said. “I really should take my curtain call.” Grace’s smile froze. “Joanna, you’d better understand your position. You’re nothing but an orphan without family, you-”

Joanna’s POV I interrupted her. “Grace, we’re all adults. If you can’t bear to lose Ethan, you can pursue him, but there’s no need to put me down.” Grace looked angry. I didn’t look at her again. I walked out. In the living room, Ethan had just returned from seeing off friends. He ran right into me. He glanced at the kitchen, then at my face. “They drank too much just now. What they said… don’t take it to heart.” I looked at him, silent for a few seconds. “Ethan, I saw the photo album on your bookshelf.” The air in the living room seemed to freeze. “Every single photo is of Grace. Every one has something you wrote on the back.” My voice was steady. “‘Day 47, missing you.’ ‘If you come back, I definitely won’t let go again.’” Ethan looked flustered. He tried to grab my wrist, but I dodged. “Joanna, let me explain. That was just-” “No need to explain.” I cut him off. Ethan stubbornly grabbed my hand. “Joanna,” his voice was tight, “let’s talk.” “Ethan!” Grace came out of the kitchen holding up her hand, her voice urgent. “I just accidentally cut my finger. It’s bleeding a lot. Quick, look at it for me. Will the injury affect my ability to do surgery later?” Blood was seeping between her fingers. Ethan immediately released my wrist and strode toward Grace. I stood there, looking down at my released wrist. Red marks still remained, but they’d fade quickly. Just like all my traces of him. I glanced at the two of them, then turned and went upstairs. The injury on my ankle still hadn’t healed. The bandage was wrapped tightly. Going up the stairs, I had to grip the railing hard. With Ethan comforting Grace as background noise, when I reached the fourth step, the bandage accidentally caught on a metal strip. I didn’t have time to react. My foot slipped, and I fell heavily backward. That already-swollen foot twisted violently. Sharp pain shot through me. I bit my lip. I didn’t make a sound. Ethan’s voice came from the living room. “What happened?” He walked two steps in this direction, then was called back. “Ethan, I’m still bleeding. Help me first.” The footsteps stopped. I bit my lip, slowly standing up while supporting myself against the wall. My left foot couldn’t bear any weight at all. The ankle had swollen so much it was about to burst through the bandage. I pulled out my phone and dialed emergency services. “Hello, my ankle is injured. I need an ambulance.” Ethan finally came over, his expression terrible. “I’ll take you.” “No need.” As soon as I finished speaking, a siren sounded outside. The paramedics came in and helped me onto the stretcher. From beginning to end, I didn’t let him touch me once. Forty minutes later, I finished treatment and hobbled out of the clinic on crutches. Ethan stood waiting for me in the corridor. “Joanna.” He blocked my path. “What’s wrong with you tonight? Why are you being so cold? If you’re angry, just say so. I can change, can’t I?” I stopped and looked at him. The corridor light was very white. Anxiety and confusion showed in his eyes. “Ethan,” I said, “haven’t you always hated it when I lose my temper?” Ethan froze. “Every time I came to you about Grace, you said I was too sensitive. You said I should be more mature, stop being unreasonable.” He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. “Now I’m mature.” I looked at him, my voice very soft. “I’m not losing my temper anymore. I can solve my own problems without troubling you.” I paused. “Isn’t this what you always wanted?”

Joanna’s POV Ethan looked panicked. My eyes held genuine confusion. Ethan didn’t dare meet my gaze. I hobbled toward the exit on my crutch. The cold morning light fell on my back. I still kept my spine straight. He seemed very uncomfortable. “Joanna.” He caught up and bent down to pick me up. I didn’t struggle, but I didn’t lean against him either. I just let myself be carried quietly, like a piece of luggage. In the car, he fastened my seatbelt. When his fingers touched me, I pulled away. Ethan gripped the steering wheel in silence for a long time, then spoke. “Joanna, let’s get married.” His tone became firm. “Let’s get married.” The car was instantly very quiet. I turned my head to look at him. “Didn’t you always say marriage was too early?” I said softly. “You said you really liked our current situation.” Ethan’s voice was hoarse. “We’ve been together five years. We’ll get married sooner or later. Why not… right now.” I looked at the barely concealed tension in his eyes and suddenly found it amusing. This expression had appeared on my face constantly over five years. I’d tested him countless times. He always had reasons to refuse: too busy, evaluation period, let’s wait a bit longer. Now that I didn’t care anymore, he was suddenly anxious. That desperate look was almost like he was trying to forcibly lock me up with a marriage certificate. I didn’t answer. We rode in silence all the way home. I went upstairs. Ethan sat motionless on the sofa. My ankle throbbed with dull pain. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes. Before long, the sound of the door closing and an engine starting came from downstairs. He went to find Grace. An expected development. Not worth losing sleep over. The next day, I called the dance company to request leave. I’d already submitted my resignation anyway. Only three days left before I left. After sleeping, I went downstairs. Grace was sitting there eating pasta Ethan had cooked. “Morning.” Grace smiled at me, her manner like the master of this house. Ethan came out of the kitchen, his tone ingratiating. “Nice weather today. Why don’t the three of us go out for some fresh air?” I thought about it. “Okay.” In the park. Grace held Ethan’s arm, chatting about their experiences abroad, laughing and patting his shoulder. I walked behind on my crutch, looking at the roadside flowers, looking at the clouds in the sky. No one turned around to tell me to catch up. I didn’t need them to. When we reached the lake, Grace sat on a bench. I stood at the lakeshore, watching fallen leaves on the water’s surface. Grace walked over, her voice very soft. “Joanna, if there was danger, who do you think Ethan would save first?” Before I could respond, the sharp sound of an out-of-control bicycle came from behind. The bike headed straight toward the two people by the lake. Grace screamed. With my foot injury, I had no time to dodge at all. The bike grazed past me. I lost my balance and fell backward. In that second of falling, I saw Ethan rush over. His arms caught Grace securely. Grace curled up in his embrace. Then I fell into the icy lake water. Through the rippling water, I saw two people embracing tightly on the shore. Grace was buried in Ethan’s arms. He held her shoulders tightly. I kept my eyes open underwater. The cast became heavy with water. My ankle throbbed with a dull ache. I thought to myself, I won’t have any more expectations of Ethan.

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I was chatting enthusiastically with my classmate from Germany when Mom suddenly chimed in: “What are you talking about?” I froze. Mom was indeed a housewife. But in her youth, she had spent five years in Germany. Her German was even more fluent than mine. Yet she couldn’t recognize that I had just called her name. Was she really my mother? No one knew that Mom had lived in Germany—no one except me. When I decided to study abroad in Germany, I started learning German in advance. There was one word I kept mispronouncing no matter how many times I tried. While trimming vegetables, Mom corrected my pronunciation with perfect, fluent German. I asked her how she knew German. She said she’d spent a few years in Germany and even had a name there—”Elara.” I wanted to ask more, but she seemed reluctant to discuss it. I didn’t think much of it at the time and gradually forgot about it. Until today, when my German classmate called. Halfway through our conversation, I went to get some water. Passing through the living room, I suddenly felt playful and called out “Elara.” She didn’t react at all. I called again, a bit louder this time. She looked up at me: “What are you saying? Finished chatting with your friend?” I stood frozen. Her German was so good—how could she not understand my conversation with my classmate? And even if her German had gotten rusty over time, how could she forget her own name? I stared at her for a few seconds. She lowered her head to peel an apple, her knife technique skilled, the peel coming off in one long, continuous strip. That was her habit. Nothing wrong there. On her middle finger was a faint scar, left there when I was six years old. The finger matched too, but something felt off. I just couldn’t put my finger on what. She noticed my gaze and looked up: “Hurry and eat. I made your favorite chocolate nut cake.” I sat at the dining table, my heart pounding. “Mom, did you put peanuts in it? I’m allergic to peanuts.” She glanced up at me, her tone calm: “Didn’t your allergy clear up? Peanuts add texture to nut cake.” I exhaled in relief. If she weren’t my mom, hearing me mention a peanut allergy would have made her say something like “Oh shoot, I forgot you can’t eat peanuts.” But she remembered that my allergy had cleared up two years ago. I silently laughed at myself for being paranoid. Dad emerged from his room, and his eyes lit up when he saw the chocolate nut cake. “Chocolate nut cake again! Millia’s favorite.” He cut me a large slice. I smiled and took a bite. The cake was delicious, but my smile froze on my face. Something was wrong! Completely wrong! She wasn’t my mother!

Dad noticed me spacing out and asked: “What’s wrong? Your mom’s cake not good?” I forced a smile and swallowed the cake: “It’s good. Tastes just like always.” It really was delicious—rich chocolate, plenty of crushed nuts, no problems there. But the almond slices hadn’t been removed. Mom liked almond slices, but because I didn’t, she never included them when making nut cake. She’d done this for over twenty years without a single mistake. But today, I tasted the bitter almond slices. Mom sat across from me, nagging Dad about smoking less and reminding me not to stay up late in Germany, just like always. She even gossiped about the neighbor Mary’s daughter. I smiled and responded, but inside I was growing cold. She showed no signs of being different. Even certain small habits and her tone of voice were identical to Mom’s. But I clearly sensed she wasn’t Mom at all. I stole a glance at Dad. He kept his head down, eating, occasionally looking up to respond. If Mom had been replaced, he should be the first to notice. Yet he sat there peacefully, completely oblivious. After dinner, I made an excuse to return to my room. I opened my phone and pulled up Mom’s social media account. Her last post was three days ago—the day I returned home. She’d posted a photo of an airplane with a caption: “My little bird is finally coming home.” Very ordinary, very normal, in Mom’s usual tone. But the photo was wrong. It was too casual—the plane was crooked in the frame, the horizon tilted. I zoomed in. The composition was completely haphazard. It looked like someone had randomly raised their phone and pressed the shutter. But Mom wasn’t like that. She was meticulous about everything, with high standards for all tasks. Even photographing a tree required her to adjust the angle for ages, ensuring every line in the frame was perfectly straight. This photo wasn’t taken by her. It looked more like something deliberately taken to show me, to prove she was my mother. My heart went cold. I kept scrolling. On April 1st, Mom had posted a photo. It was of roses in the garden. The edges of the petals were outlined in golden sunlight, the background perfectly blurred, the horizon perfectly level. This one was right. I enlarged the photo, searching for differences bit by bit. Suddenly I noticed something in the shadow of the rose stems in the lower left corner—a note, pressed under the flowerpot. I zoomed in further. The note had a line of small text, in German. Jeder Mensch ist geheimnisvoll. Every person is mysterious. Was this sentence a clue Mom deliberately left, or just coincidence? I sent the sentence to my German classmate, who quickly replied. Jeder Mensch ist geheimnisvoll. Du hast gar keine Ahnung, wie gut oder schlecht er ist, bis du ihn wirklich kennst und die Wahrheit siehst. Every person is mysterious. You have no idea how good or bad they are until you truly know them and see the truth. Why would Mom leave this sentence? I suddenly remembered something from two years ago when Mom and I watched a TV show at home. In the show, the female lead wanted a divorce, but the male lead coveted her family’s wealth. He not only killed her but pushed her parents off a cliff. When Mom saw that scene, she said this exact sentence. And coincidentally, Dad really was a poor boy who married a rich girl. Could it be that Mom had a conflict with Dad and wanted a divorce, which was why she wrote this? If Mom wanted a divorce, what would she do first? I sat bolt upright. If I were Mom and wanted to leave a dangerous person, I’d transfer my assets first. Then find a safe place. Germany? I immediately called the airline’s customer service. “Hello, can you check if Chloe booked a flight to Germany in April?” “Yes, Ms. Chloe booked a one-way ticket to Berlin on the evening of April 2nd.” My heart raced faster: “Did she board the flight?” “This ticket shows as unused.” I hung up. The rose photo was posted April 1st. The ticket was for April 2nd. But Mom never boarded. Perhaps she never even left the house!

I didn’t dare think further. This mom in the house was definitely fake. So where was my real mother? Had they hidden her, or had she already been killed? Mom was so smart. She couldn’t have left nothing behind. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to remember. Growing up, Mom and I had shared many things no one else knew about. Some moments only she and I knew. If she really wanted to leave a clue, she would put it somewhere only I could find. My eyes shot open. As a child, I had a tin box where I kept my collection of stickers and marbles. Once, Mom joked that if she ever needed to leave me a secret, she’d put it in that box. Because Dad would never bother going through my junk. I quietly went up to the attic and pulled the tin box from the back of the storage shelf. Inside were the marbles I’d played with as a child, along with an additional note. It contained only a string of numbers—an unfamiliar phone number. I dialed the number. “Hello, I’m Millia. Do you know Chloe?” Silence on the other end for a second. “I’m Attorney Lehman. Ms. Chloe previously commissioned me to draft a will. She planned to leave all her assets to you.” “However… she didn’t show up on the appointed day.” “When was the appointment?” “April 2nd in the afternoon. Ms. Chloe said she needed to go to the hospital in the morning, so she could only schedule the afternoon.” Hospital. My head buzzed. “Was she sick?” “Ms. Chloe didn’t specify the reason. She only mentioned needing to get a checkup.” “Which hospital?” “I’m sorry, that’s Ms. Chloe’s private matter. I don’t know.” He hung up. I gripped my phone, blood rushing backward through my body. I opened my phone and quickly searched for “hospital.” There were three hospitals near our house: First Hospital, Howard Hospital, and the Maternal and Child Health Center. I called all three hospitals. But only one responded—that Ms. Chloe had not visited the hospital on April 2nd. I sat on the floor, my mind racing. April 1st: photographed roses, sent a distress signal. Then scheduled an appointment with a lawyer to draft a will. April 2nd morning: planned to go to the hospital for a checkup but didn’t go—or perhaps Mom never intended to go to the hospital and it was just an excuse. April 2nd afternoon: planned to go to the law office for asset certification, but didn’t go. April 2nd evening: planned to fly to Germany to find me, also didn’t go. But the ticket was booked, meaning Mom definitely intended to go. So something must have happened between the afternoon of April 1st and the morning of April 2nd! What happened in those less than twenty-four hours? As I pondered this, I caught sight of a figure at the attic entrance. I whipped my head around. Dad stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching me quietly. His eyes were calm, as if he’d been watching me for a long time. “Who were you calling?” He smiled faintly at me, like a leopard that had locked onto its prey. My back was already drenched in cold sweat.

I clenched the note tightly in my palm. Suppressing my panic, I kept my voice as steady as possible: “Nothing. Just chatting with a classmate. Need to write a paper.” Dad nodded without saying more, his thumb gently rubbing the corner of his shirt. That was something he only did when nervous. I decided to test him. “Dad, don’t you think Mom’s been a bit different lately?” A flicker of panic flashed through his eyes. “Not at all. Your mom’s been looking forward to you coming home. Maybe she just missed you too much.” I smiled: “Maybe I’m overthinking it. I missed you guys too.” Then I faked a yawn and rubbed my eyes: “I’m so tired. I’m going to bed.” I walked past him calmly, my steps measured. Down from the attic, through the hallway, into my room. The moment I closed the door, my whole body trembled. I immediately pulled out my phone: “Hello, I need to report something to the police.” “My mother is missing. I suspect she’s been kidnapped or killed, and the perpetrator is in the house right now.” I gave them my address. The police said they’d dispatch officers immediately. I breathed a slight sigh of relief. Just then, I heard rustling outside the door. I pressed my ear against the door. “She’s too smart, just like her mother. She must have discovered something.” “Hide the medicine first. Don’t let her see it.” “Give this to her. Only when she’s completely silenced will we be safe.” My heart went cold. They were going to drug me. In that instant, countless thoughts raced through my mind. They must know I’m suspicious, so they want to silence me permanently. As I considered how to escape, the door was suddenly knocked. “Millia, I’ve warmed up some milk for you. Come out.” The doorknob moved but didn’t turn. “Millia, why did you lock the door? Open up!”

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I married Sebastian White in my sister Isabelle’s place seven years ago. The day Isabelle returned to the country, she smiled at me and said, “Give me back my position as Mrs. White.” My parents knelt and begged me to step aside. I thought the most painful thing was being discarded like trash by my own parents. Then Sebastian coldly said to me, “She’s your sister. What’s wrong with making a sacrifice for her?” It turned out that after seven years of marriage, the woman in his heart had always been my sister. So I chose to let him go. But when the divorce papers were signed, Sebastian knelt on broken glass, his eyes red, begging, “Do you really not love me anymore?” Claire’s POV “Claire, I’ve had my fun abroad. Thank you for taking care of Sebastian these seven years. Now that I’m back, you can give me back my position as Mrs. White.” This was the first thing Isabelle said to me after disappearing for seven years. I stood in the foyer, still holding the supplements I’d just bought for my mother, Margaret. “Had your fun and now you want to come home?” I asked with a cold laugh, my gaze sweeping over my parents standing nearby. My father, Victor, kept his head down, smoking, playing deaf and dumb. My mother, Margaret, had red-rimmed eyes but didn’t dare look at me. Isabelle stood up, walked over to me, and reached out to take my hand. I dodged to the side. She didn’t get angry. She withdrew her hand, smoothed her skirt, and smiled with innocent cruelty. “Yes, abroad wasn’t all that great after all.” “Connor is my biological son, and Sebastian loves me. Claire, you’ve occupied the position of Mrs. White long enough. It’s time to let our family of three reunite.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Isabelle, are you still asleep?” “Sebastian and I are legally married. You think one sentence from you can make me step aside? You think this is a game?” “Claire!” Victor, who had been silent, suddenly slammed the table. The cups rattled loudly. His face was full of displeasure. “Is that how you talk to your sister? You can’t be too greedy! If Isabelle hadn’t left back then, would this wealth have been yours?” My mother Margaret burst into tears and rushed over to grab my hand. “Claire, just do it for the family. Your sister suffered abroad. Now it’s time to give her man back.” Seven years ago, Isabelle got pregnant by some random man and fled the country overnight with the family’s cash. The White family was furious, and the family business faced a broken capital chain. They knelt before me, begging me to marry in her place. Victor held a shard of porcelain to his throat to force me. Margaret knelt on the ground crying. Back then, they said, “Claire, you’re this family’s savior.” Now that their beloved eldest daughter Isabelle was back, I had become an unimportant villain. I shook off Margaret’s hand. “Mom, don’t go too far.” “These seven years, I’ve been in the White family, helping the family secure how many projects, filling how many holes. Don’t you know that in your hearts?” “Now you want me to step aside? Fine.” I looked around at these bloodsuckers. “Have Sebastian come talk to me himself. Besides the law and him personally, no one can make me leave.” With that, I turned and walked away. Behind me came Isabelle’s aggrieved crying and Victor’s furious cursing. “Bitch! Ungrateful bitch!” Walking out of the villa, I realized my whole body was trembling. I took a deep breath of cold air to suppress the nausea rising in my chest. I wasn’t afraid of the family making trouble. Their current wealth and glory all came from me. Cut off the supply and they’d naturally quiet down. What I really couldn’t predict was Sebastian White. What if he also thought that now the original had returned, I, the substitute, should exit? When I drove back to the White family estate, the villa’s lights were blazing. I’d just pushed open the front door when a small figure rushed out from the living room and dove into my arms. “Mom! Why are you only coming back now?” The seven-year-old boy had already grown quite tall, but in front of me he was still like a clingy kitten. He hugged my waist, his tone full of grievance. “I finished all my math problems and wanted you to check them, but I’ve been waiting until now.” Looking at this face that vaguely resembled Isabelle in some features, my heart ached, yet instantly softened. To run away with her lover, Isabelle gave birth and abandoned the baby at the hospital without even nursing him once. I was the one who brought his wrinkled little body home, fed him his first bottle, watched him learn to walk, stayed up with him through his first fever, attended his first parent-teacher conference. These seven years, all his joys and sorrows were connected to me. Now Isabelle wanted to erase all of this with one sentence about being his biological mother? Dream on. I crouched down and smoothed his messy hair, speaking gently. “Sorry, I had something that delayed me. Go to sleep now, and tomorrow morning I will make you something delicious.” “Really?” Connor’s eyes lit up. He leaned over and planted a loud kiss on my cheek. “Mom’s the best! Then I’ll go to sleep first. Good night, Mom!” Watching the child’s happy figure run upstairs, I took a deep breath. This was my son. Regardless of blood relation, no one could take away the child I raised.

Claire’s POV I adjusted my expression and pushed open the master bedroom door. Only a floor lamp was lit in the room, the lighting dim. Sebastian was sitting on the sofa, holding a report in his hand. Hearing the door open, he unhurriedly turned a page. This excessive quietness made my scalp tingle instead. “You’re back?” He finally spoke, his voice low and unreadable. I changed out of my coat, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yes, I went back to the family.” The sound of turning pages stopped abruptly. Sebastian closed the file and casually tossed it onto the side table. He looked up, his deep eyes landing on me. In that instant, I had the illusion of being trapped. “Come here.” He leaned back in his chair and extended his hand toward me. I stiffly walked over and stood before him. Sebastian grabbed my wrist and pulled. I lost my balance and fell onto the armrest of the sofa, forced into close proximity with him. “Your hands are so cold?” My heartbeat skipped. “It’s a bit cold outside.” I lied, turning my head away, not daring to look into his eyes. Sebastian let out a soft laugh, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. He forced me to turn my head and face him. “Claire, you’re very distracted today.” His fingers slid down my cheek and pinched gently. “Did something happen?” I bit my lip lightly and swallowed back the words that had reached my mouth. I wasn’t sure if he knew Isabelle had returned, much less how to bring up this matter. “No.” I met his gaze, forcing a smile. “Maybe I’m just tired.” Sebastian stared at me for a long time, then released his hand. “If you’re tired, rest early.” In the morning when I left for work, just as I drove out of the residential complex’s underground parking garage, a figure suddenly rushed out. I braked in shock, looking up to see Isabelle’s twisted face pressed against the windshield. She pounded on the hood violently, looking exactly like a madwoman. “Claire! Get out here!” “You shameless woman! Stealing your sister’s husband, stealing your sister’s son. Give them back to me!” It was rush hour, and people were coming and going at the complex entrance. Passing pedestrians and security guards all stopped, pointing and whispering. Isabelle’s hair was disheveled, making her look pitiful. “I’m the child’s mother! She stole my husband, stole my child!” Public opinion exploded instantly. “Oh my God, is this the wife coming to collect a debt?” “So the current Mrs. White was a mistress who seized the position?” I sat in the car, coldly watching her performance. I locked the doors and lowered the window just a crack. “Make any more trouble and I’ll call the police.” My voice wasn’t loud, but in the noisy environment it was exceptionally clear. Isabelle’s movements paused. She pressed against the window, revealing a strange smile. Through the glass, she mouthed the words to me. “The son is mine by birth. You can’t steal blood ties.” Those words were like a needle, precisely stabbing into the most painful place in my heart. My fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. Security finally reacted and rushed forward to pull her away. “Move!” I hit the gas, and the car shot forward, its body brushing past Isabelle’s skirt hem. In the rearview mirror, Isabelle was still smiling, triumphant. When I got to the company, I sat in my office holding cold coffee, my heartbeat still not settled. Images from childhood flashed through my mind. Isabelle was the family jewel, I was the pedestal. When she got in trouble, I took the blame. When she didn’t want to do her homework, I did it for her. Seven years ago, she got pregnant out of wedlock and eloped. The family collapsed. To preserve their wealth and glory, my parents pushed me out to fill the hole. I knelt on the ground begging them, saying I’d just graduated, I had my own life. Father slapped me awake. “Isabelle is gone, you have to take her place! The family didn’t raise you all these years to be a freeloader!” Mother just cried. “Claire, the family can’t fall. Just think of it as saving your mother.” I thought about dying. It was Sebastian who added terms to the prenuptial agreement. He would help the family pay off debts, give me the dignity and power of Mrs. White, on the condition that I must be a perfect wife and treat Connor as my own. This was a transaction where I traded my dignity and seven years of youth. Now Isabelle wanted to come back and pick the fruit? Dream on. Since they forced me to sacrifice to create this situation, don’t think I’ll give it up easily now. I don’t owe the family anything. The family owes me. Just as I was thinking, the office door was pushed open. Besides Sebastian, no one dared enter my office without knocking. I quickly adjusted my expression. “Sebastian? What brings you here?” Sebastian wore a dark gray custom suit, carrying the cold air from outside. He didn’t answer, walking straight behind me. A pair of large hands encircled my waist. My body stiffened for a moment, then I forced myself to relax. This was his territory, and I was his possession. “Passing by, came to check on you.” His chin rested in the hollow of my neck, warm breath spraying at my ear. “That recent acquisition case was well done.” “As it should be.” “Connor keeps asking to see you.” He suddenly mentioned the child. My heart tightened. Did he know Isabelle had gone to see the child? Or was he hinting at something? “I’ll go home to spend time with him tonight.” I turned around and straightened his tie, my movements practiced and natural. Sebastian looked down at me, his eyes deep. “As long as you’re obedient.” He patted my face, his tone meaningful. “No one can take your place as Mrs. White.” With that, he released me and turned to leave. It wasn’t until the door closed that I felt a cold sweat on my back. He knew everything, as expected. As long as I behaved and didn’t let Isabelle make things blow up, I would still be Mrs. White. I looked at the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, my gaze gradually turning cold. Relying on a man was indeed not as good as relying on myself.

Claire’s POV The winds in the social circle had changed. People began spreading rumors about the real and fake heiresses. Some hinted that I was a substitute who stole my sister’s man, saying now that she was back, I, the impostor, should leave. Isabelle was clever. She befriended some wealthy heirs and heiresses, crying to them about her tragic experience, fabricating herself as someone who sacrificed for love. The annual White Corporation charity gala was about to be held. I went to a top beauty salon for treatments, preparing for the gala. I’d just laid down when a sarcastic voice came from the next bed. “I heard Sebastian White’s legitimate wife is back? Some bitch occupied the position for seven years. It’s time to give it back, right?” The speaker was Mrs. Walsh, whose family made their fortune in coal mining. She’d always wanted to break into the core social circle and disliked me. So recently she’d been getting close to Isabelle. Several other society ladies stopped their treatments, waiting to watch the show. I didn’t even lift an eyelid, keeping my eyes closed while enjoying the technician’s massage. “Use more pressure.” I instructed coolly. Seeing me ignore her, Mrs. Walsh’s voice rose eight octaves in anger. “Stop pretending! Everyone knows you just picked up the leftovers! Once the real wife takes her position, let’s see how arrogant you’ll be then!” The noise was too loud, affecting my mood. I opened my eyes and sat up. Without even glancing at Mrs. Walsh, I beckoned the manager over. “Miss Hart, how may I help you?” The manager rushed over at a trot, bowing ninety degrees. “Don’t let these kinds of riffraff into the VIP area anymore.” I adjusted my robe. “Too noisy. Lowers the class of the place.” The manager’s face changed instantly, immediately turning to Mrs. Walsh. “Mrs. Walsh, I’m sorry, but please move to the regular area, or…” “You dare kick me out?” Mrs. Walsh’s face instantly darkened. “I have a membership card!” “Your card level isn’t sufficient.” The manager’s tone was firm. “Please don’t disturb Miss Hart’s rest.” Under the security guards’ watchful eyes, Mrs. Walsh was driven out cursing like she’d swallowed a fly. The surroundings instantly quieted. Those ladies who’d been waiting to watch me make a fool of myself immediately put on fawning smiles without shame. “Miss Hart is so formidable.” “Exactly, how dare someone like Mrs. Walsh try to cause trouble.” I lay back down. In this circle, you don’t rely on talk. You rely on real financial power and influence. Gossip couldn’t hurt me in the slightest. As long as I still sat in the position of Mrs. White, they had to butter me up. Back in the car, I opened my tablet. The private investigator had sent an encrypted folder. All photos. Isabelle’s seven years abroad were hardly spent suffering. In the photos, she wore heavy makeup, mixing in various underground casinos and nightclubs, with different men by her side. There were also several abortion medical records. The time span was large, with the most recent one from just six months ago. Looking at this evidence, I found it utterly ironic. This was her so-called sacrifice for true love? This was what my parents called suffering hardship? She’d turned her life into mud, and now she wanted to come back and play the victim. Isabelle, if you insist on coming to the gala to seek death, then I’ll grant your wish. When I got home, I heard the sound of a paper shredder as soon as I entered. Connor was sitting on the carpet, feeding a photo into the machine. “Connor, what are you doing?” Connor looked up, his face full of disgust. “Mom, after school today a weird lady stopped me and insisted on giving me a gift. She even said she was my mom.” My heart sank. “What gift?” “A bottle of perfume. It smelled terrible.”

Claire’s POV Connor pointed to the empty box on the table. “And this photo.” I picked up the box. Inside was a photo of Isabelle holding infant Connor, with four twisted words written on the back. “Mommy loves you.” “That lady was so scary. I didn’t want it.” Connor buried himself in my arms, his small hands gripping my clothes tightly. “Mom, I don’t know her. I only have you as my mom.” I held my son tightly, my eyes stinging. Isabelle wanted to play the family card, not knowing that seven years of companionship had long surpassed blood ties. The child wasn’t stupid. He knew in his heart who treated him well. “It’s okay. Stay away from that lady from now on.” I watched the shredder swallow that photo, clenching my fists. Isabelle, you shouldn’t have, you absolutely shouldn’t have reached your hand toward the child. When Sebastian came home, he glanced at the shredded paper in the trash can, seeming to guess what had happened. But he said nothing, just took an invitation from his briefcase and handed it to me. “You’re the hostess for tomorrow night’s gala.” He looked at me steadily. “Don’t disappoint me.” I took the invitation, my fingertips tracing over the words “Mrs. White.” “Don’t worry.” I smiled at him. The charity gala venue. A giant backdrop board was being hoisted up by workers, printed with some real estate company’s huge logo. “Who authorized this to be hung?” I asked. The project director rushed over, sweating profusely. “This was just forcibly requested by the sponsor’s representative. They said Mr. Lee specially approved it…” I didn’t even lift an eyelid, pointing at the board. “Take it down.” “But…” “No buts.” A middle-aged man emerged from behind the scaffolding, an oily smile on his face. “This is a promotional spot specially approved by Mr. Lee. If you take it down, I’m afraid next year’s sponsorship funding won’t be easy to negotiate.” The man deliberately emphasized the words “sponsorship funding,” his eyes showing some contempt for me. One minute later. The man’s phone rang. He answered, and his face instantly turned deathly pale. “What? Bought out? Refund?” I put away my phone. “Now this advertising spot belongs to me.” I stepped forward, my high heels clicking crisply on the marble floor. “Take your garbage and get out of my venue.” The man opened his mouth, looked at the security gathering behind me, and finally slunk away. After dealing with the sponsor, I walked toward the back corridor. The security chief was already waiting with a team of men in black. I handed him a photo. The photo showed Isabelle, an old photo from seven years ago, her expression frivolous. “Burn this face into your memory.” “No matter who brings her in, if this person appears in the banquet hall, your entire security team is fired.” The chief took the photo, breaking into a cold sweat. “Yes, Miss Hart.” VIP lounge. During rehearsal breaks, I sat on the sofa massaging my aching ankles. Several society ladies who’d just received entry tickets were gathered together touching up their makeup. A woman from a wealthy mining family approached with champagne. “Miss Hart, I heard your sister returned to the country? She used to be our trendsetter. Why isn’t she here?” Her voice was loud, and the surroundings instantly quieted. Everyone pricked up their ears. I was looking at the event schedule. Hearing this, I only glanced up briefly without responding. The air froze for three seconds. She realized she might have stepped on a landmine and awkwardly tried to cover. “Oh, I mean, you have much more of the Mrs. White presence now…” I closed the folder and smiled at my assistant beside me. “Re-evaluate Mr. Smith’s membership eligibility for next year.” Mrs. Smith’s face turned deathly pale. Those around who’d wanted to watch the excitement immediately scattered, afraid of being implicated. The main hall doors were pushed open. Sebastian entered with his executive team. He wore an impeccably tailored custom suit, like a star surrounded by admirers. I immediately shoved my feet back into my high heels, enduring the severe pain as I stood up. Sebastian walked straight to the main stage, looking up to check the lighting. From beginning to end, he didn’t look at me once. “Well done.”

Isabelle’s POV Late at night, the TV was playing preview news of the gala, with glamorous images of Claire on screen. A vase smashed into the screen, glass shattering everywhere. I rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a fruit knife. “I don’t want to live anymore!” I pressed the knife against my carotid artery. “If you can’t get me in, I’ll die right here at home! When the police come, I’ll say you forced your biological daughter to death to make way for that substitute!” Mom collapsed on the floor in fright, crying and trying to grab the knife. “Isabelle, don’t do anything foolish! I’ll find a way, I’ll definitely find a way!” The knife in my hand broke the skin slightly, blood beading up. Dad looked at my crazed state, his face iron-gray. After weighing the pros and cons, he gritted his teeth and went to rummage through a drawer. “Put the knife down! I still have a supplier’s debt contract. This is the only opening left.” Only then was I satisfied. This was a desperate gambler’s bet. I had no way back. Mr. Walsh, the supplier, sounded reluctant on the phone. “Mr. Hart, there’s definitely no way through the main entrance. You can only go through the cargo passage.” I looked at my well-maintained fingers, instinctively wanting to scream in refusal. That was a path for lower-class people. But turning to see Claire’s superior attitude on TV, jealousy conquered my pretentiousness. As long as I could get in. Even if I had to crawl through the sewers, I would smash that stage. “I’ll go.” I said through gritted teeth, the words squeezing out from between my teeth. Mom took out a newly purchased haute couture gown from the current season. “Isabelle, wear this. You’ll definitely outshine everyone.” I pushed the new clothes away. I rummaged through boxes and drawers, dragging out a slightly yellowed dress from the very bottom. “This was the first gift Sebastian gave me seven years ago.” I obsessively caressed the hem of the dress. “He wasn’t that rich back then, but this represents that I was his first love.” Mom frowned. “But this one is a bit old…” “What do you know!” I shouted, forcibly squeezing my body into the dress that was already too small. “That substitute can wear expensive clothes but she’s still a fake. As long as I appear in this, Sebastian will remember how much he loved me.” I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. The next evening, a cargo truck stopped at the back door of the Hart family villa. I wore an oversized work coat, hiding that white gown underneath. I wore a mask and baseball cap, climbing into the cargo hold that reeked of lily fragrance and earth. Dad handed me an envelope. “This contains what you need. You can only succeed. Whether the Hart family can turn things around depends on tonight.” The cargo truck drove on the highway, jolting badly. I huddled between flower buckets, enduring the fishy smell of earth. I took out my phone and clicked on the gala’s red carpet live stream. On screen, flashbulbs fell like a waterfall. Claire walked the red carpet on Sebastian’s arm. The sapphire necklace around her neck sparkled brilliantly under the lights. That was a White family heirloom-level unique piece. I stared fixedly at the screen, my nails digging into my palms. I was hiding in a cargo hold like a rat. While that sister who once served me stood on a cloud receiving worship. All of this should have been mine! The necklace was mine, the position was mine, the glory was mine too! Since I couldn’t have it, then I’d destroy it in front of the whole world.

Claire’s POV I appeared in the banquet hall on Sebastian’s arm. Reporters’ cameras focused on us. Someone boldly asked a question. “Mr. White, recent rumors say Isabelle has returned to the country. Will this affect the relationship between the White and Hart families?” Sebastian’s hand at my waist suddenly tightened. He faced the cameras with a smile. “The relationship between the White and Hart families depends entirely on my wife. Without her, there would be no current cooperation.” I cooperatively turned my head to gaze lovingly at Sebastian. “This is my duty as Mrs. White.” We completed a perfect display of affection before the cameras. Directly blocking rumors about divorce. Flashbulbs went crazy. At an angle no one could see, Sebastian’s fingers lightly caressed my waist. That was some kind of reward signal. Connor tugged at my dress hem, muttering quietly. “Mom, I’m hungry.” I looked down at my son, my heart softening. “Be good, go to the back lounge.” I called over the nanny and crouched down to straighten Connor’s bow tie. “When it’s over, I will take you for late-night snacks. We’ll get your favorite strawberry cake.” Connor’s eyes brightened. He obediently followed the nanny. Watching my son’s small figure disappear through the side door, I was about to stand when I caught something unusual in my peripheral vision. The side door was originally assigned two security personnel. Now, it was empty. White family security never made such basic mistakes. Unless someone deliberately drew them away. “What’s wrong?” Sebastian noticed my stiffness and looked at me. “Nothing.” I suppressed the unease in my heart, though my fingers unconsciously gripped my clutch tighter. On stage, the host was passionately introducing. “Next, please welcome Mr. Sebastian White and Mrs. White to the stage for remarks!” Spotlights instantly hit us. Thunderous applause. Sebastian gallantly extended his hand. I took a deep breath and placed my hand in his palm. Just as we stepped onto the stairs. Sudden chaos erupted. A white figure rapidly broke through the security line. Isabelle wore an old-fashioned white gown, the hem yellowed, looking shabby and pathetic. She stumbled and fell heavily at the edge of the stage. Thump. Through the microphone, this dull sound was amplified countless times. Hundreds of eyes, dozens of cameras, instantly moved from us to focus on this intruder. Isabelle lay on the ground, shoulders trembling, looking as fragile as wet paper. She slowly lifted her head, that face pale as a ghost, but tears hung perfectly on her lashes. She looked at Sebastian, her gaze mournful. “Sebastian…” Her voice carried through the microphone across the entire venue, trembling but crystal clear. “Have you forgotten our anniversary?” My hand instantly tightened, nails digging into my palm. Sebastian stood beside me, motionless. Media surged crazily toward the stage edge. Flashbulbs merged into one blinding mass. Isabelle knelt on the ground, ignoring my existence, staring straight at the cameras. “I’m Connor’s biological mother.” She cried with tears streaming down her face, but her voice carried a vicious edge. “These seven years, someone stole my life.” The crowd below exploded. Those who’d just smiled warmly at me were now whispering, their eyes full of excitement at the drama. “No wonder Mr. White used to be so promiscuous. Turns out the one at home is a thief.” “The son’s real mother came back. The stepmother really should step aside.” “Now there’s a good show. She stole someone’s things for so many years. It’s time to pay the debt.” Isabelle crawled two steps forward, reaching out to grab Sebastian’s pant leg, her fingers deathly pale. “Sebastian, look at me. I’m your Isabelle.” Flashbulbs flashed wildly, casting Sebastian’s cold face in a harsh white glare. I turned to look at him. He was frowning, his gaze passing over Isabelle to look at the PR director in the distance. In that instant, something inside me froze. How could I forget? To him, the White family’s reputation always mattered more than my dignity. I took out my phone. Before I could do anything, the crowd erupted again. “Let us through! Everyone move!”

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During my eight-month pregnancy checkup, the doctor told me that the baby in my belly only had one kidney. Every year since then, I’d take my daughter to the hospital for follow-up examinations. Today I brought her to the hospital as usual. The doctor moved the probe back and forth across both sides of my daughter’s waist. “Both kidneys look fine. No issues.” I suddenly sat up straight, staring at the monitor above the machine. “Doctor, are you sure both kidneys are intact?” The doctor nodded at me again. “Good health is a good thing, isn’t it?” Good health was indeed a good thing, but my daughter was born with only one kidney. Were the kidneys fake, or was the daughter lying on the examination table fake? This couldn’t be wrong. When I was eight months pregnant, the doctor had told me. The child in my belly was missing an organ. As a first-time mother, I was terrified, thinking it might be something vital like the heart or lungs. But the doctor said it was just a missing kidney, which wouldn’t really affect her life that much. Worried I’d be too concerned, the doctor even told me the gender outright. “Girls use less physical strength. Just be a bit careful in daily life.” I thought about how a few years ago, some people were willing to sell a kidney just to buy the latest smartphone. So missing one kidney probably wasn’t a big deal. After my daughter was born, I told her the truth. On one hand, I hoped she would pay more attention to her body. On the other hand, I wanted her to accept this reality from a young age, so she wouldn’t be unable to cope with it when she grew up. “Evelyn, you absolutely cannot tell anyone about the kidney. Only you, Dad, and I know about this.” I often reminded Evelyn that she couldn’t tell even her best friend. She always answered me very seriously. “Don’t worry, Mom. Even if someone offered me a hundred million dollars to talk, I wouldn’t say a word.” I suddenly snapped out of my memories, staring at Evelyn lying on the examination bed. She took the tissue the doctor handed her and wiped her body. “Mom, I told you there’s nothing wrong with my body.” “You just worry too much.” The tone was definitely Evelyn’s, even the way she furrowed her brow was identical. I swallowed hard and asked tentatively. “Evelyn, did you hear what the doctor said? Both kidneys are fine.” Evelyn tossed the tissue into the yellow trash can, then looked up at me. “Mom, my ears are fine. I heard clearly.” “Everyone has two kidneys. Are there people with three kidneys?” She really didn’t know about having only one kidney. But if she wasn’t Evelyn, who could she be? Evelyn turned around, straightening her dress. I stood behind her, watching her every move. Height, build, movements—this was my Evelyn. And the white hairs faintly visible on her head. Everything before my eyes told me she was my daughter. Could the kidney have grown back recently? How could such a strange thing happen? I reached forward and touched the top of Evelyn’s head. “Your white hair is growing back. Find some time to dye it.” Evelyn turned around and touched the spot on her head. “Mom, if you hadn’t reminded me, I would’ve forgotten about this.” “I’ll go after my birthday tomorrow.” She remembered about dyeing her hair, and she remembered tomorrow was her birthday. But how could she forget the most important thing? Back home, I sat on the sofa, pretending to be casual as I asked Evelyn, who was playing on her phone. “Evelyn, do you still remember our biggest secret?” Evelyn quickly put down her phone and moved closer to me, then covered my ear with her hand, letting out a giggling laugh. “Of course I remember.” I clenched my fist. “Then tell me what it is.” Evelyn deliberately pressed her lips together, trying to be mysterious, but seeing my serious expression, she spoke. “Dad has a mistress behind our backs. You told me not to tell anyone.” My body suddenly went limp, and I became even more certain that the person in front of me wasn’t Evelyn. I had indeed warned her not to tell others about her father’s affair, but in truth, the news had long spread among relatives. Our biggest secret was about her body. This Evelyn didn’t know the secret about her body, but seemed to know everything else clearly.

What was going on? Where had the real Evelyn gone? After the Evelyn at home fell asleep, I sat on the sofa, trying to recall recent events. After graduating high school, Evelyn had been accepted into the city’s medical university. Because it was close to home, she basically came home once a month. I would also take her to the hospital for checkups periodically. But this time, she said the school suddenly had an important experimental project she needed to participate in, which would take some time. It had been almost six months since her last visit home. So this checkup had also been delayed. But aside from this, everything else seemed normal. When she came home, she still brought me gifts as always, and shared what was happening at school as usual. I sat on the sofa until dawn. When Evelyn’s bedroom door opened, I suddenly came back to my senses. She was already wearing a brand new, form-fitting athletic outfit. “Mom, did you stay up all night?” “Come on, let’s go for a morning run.” Without giving me a choice, she pulled me toward the door. I did have a habit of morning runs, and every time Evelyn came home, she would wake up early to accompany me. I pulled my wrist free and stood at the entrance. “Mom’s outfit isn’t comfortable for running. I need to go back to my room and change.” Evelyn nodded and waited for me at the door. I changed clothes as quickly as possible and followed her out. She skillfully led me to the park entrance. The track was right in front of us. Evelyn pointed ahead. “Mom, let’s race and see who reaches the finish line first.” As soon as she finished speaking, she ran off without looking back. Even though it was an early autumn morning, a layer of fine sweat broke out on my back. I pinched the webbing between my thumb and index finger hard, signaling myself to calm down. “Who are you really? Where has my Evelyn gone?” Evelyn would accompany me on morning runs, but she had never actually run. She would only follow me on an electric scooter or wait at the finish line. Because I had told her that running was tiring, and with only one kidney, I was afraid vigorous exercise would be too much for her body. The Evelyn before me knew I liked morning runs, but didn’t know the real Evelyn wouldn’t run with me. Seemingly flawless, but actually full of holes. What was her purpose in taking Evelyn’s place and coming home? Could my Evelyn be in danger? At this thought, my heart clenched painfully. When I caught up with Evelyn, she was already sitting on a bench by the roadside, drinking bottled water. “Mom, you’re too slow. Did you slack off on your training while I was away?” I grabbed both sides of my waist, gasping for breath. “I’m getting old. My body can’t keep up anymore.” “Evelyn, what made you want to run with me today? You used to hate running.” Evelyn froze for a moment, her expression showing a flash of shock, then she laughed it off. “Mom, you’re so forgetful. Which day have I come home without running with you?” The smile on my face gradually became twisted, but I didn’t expose her on the spot. After all, I couldn’t be sure the real Evelyn was safe right now. If Evelyn was truly in danger, confronting this impostor would only make things worse for her. That evening was Evelyn’s birthday. I specially went to the bakery to buy a cake. I also made a big table full of dishes. Evelyn stared hungrily at the table. “Mom, these are all my favorites.” I sneered inwardly. These are your favorites, but not my daughter’s. While blowing out the candles, Evelyn clasped her hands together, revealing a diamond bracelet on her wrist. That was what I’d bought her for her eighteenth birthday at great expense. The bracelet was indeed the one I bought. But the diamonds looked like they’d been set in later. My heart jumped. Evelyn must truly be in danger now.

Using the excuse of going downstairs to buy something, I left the house. Evelyn had a best friend named Charlotte. She had visited our home a few times. Right now, I could only contact her. After all, the Evelyn at home had my daughter’s phone and all her personal belongings. Fortunately, Charlotte’s phone number was saved in my phone. I anxiously waited for her to answer. After a ring, a male voice came through. “Hello, what do you need?” This was Charlotte’s phone—why was a man answering? I didn’t immediately ask about Evelyn. “Hello, is this Charlotte? I’m Lisa, Evelyn’s mother.” The person on the other end had a bad attitude, with clear hostility in his tone. “Charlotte went abroad. Stop calling her.” The call was abruptly disconnected before I could ask more. But why wouldn’t she take her phone abroad? Besides, Charlotte’s family was just average, and her grades weren’t outstanding either. Going abroad suddenly didn’t make sense. Could Charlotte and my daughter both be missing? Evelyn’s school wasn’t far away, but it was after hours now, and the school gates had long been closed. After much hesitation, I called Evelyn’s advisor, Professor Watson. “Professor Watson, I wanted to ask about Evelyn Parker’s recent situation at school.” “Evelyn Parker? She took half a month’s leave, saying she had an experiment to do. She hasn’t been back to class in a long time.” Professor Watson’s voice was somewhat hoarse, sounding like he’d just woken up. I immediately gripped my phone tighter. How come I didn’t know about Evelyn taking leave? I continued questioning. “Professor Watson, do you know which laboratory they went to?” There was a long silence before he slowly spoke again. “I heard it was the Singularity Laboratory halfway up the northern mountain.” After hanging up, I looked up at Evelyn’s room window upstairs. The light was dim, but there seemed to be a figure standing behind the curtain. Just as I stood up to look again, the figure had disappeared. Was she monitoring me? When I got home, I packed my things that very night. Opening Evelyn’s room, I found she was already asleep. Worried she might suddenly wake up, I placed a bottle of sleep-inducing aromatherapy by her bedside. I also left a note on the table. “Emergency at work. Mom has to travel for a week. Handle your own meals.” The car started, and I began navigating to the address on my phone. It would take three hours to drive to the Singularity Laboratory. During those three hours, I imagined countless scenarios of Evelyn’s current situation—was she alive, or had she already… If she was just doing experiments in the laboratory, then how could the one at home be explained? Was it just to torment me?

But I knew Evelyn’s personality best. Though she was dependent on me, she would never lie to me, not even a single word. When the car reached the foot of the mountain, it was already 2 AM. I found a flashlight I hadn’t used in a long time from the trunk. Fortunately, it was bright enough to see the path ahead. The mountain path was rugged, but I didn’t feel tired at all. This was a path Evelyn had walked, so I had to walk every step carefully. Two hours later, I reached the place called Singularity Laboratory. Weeds grew wild all around, and the cawing of crows occasionally echoed from the distant sky. I hurried forward and found the door was locked. The lock was covered in rust, as if no one had been here in a long time. Would Evelyn really come to a place like this to do experiments? I held the flashlight in my mouth, then looked around for a stone or something that could break the lock. Just as the light swept over a patch of grass, something shiny reflected back. I rushed over, pulled the weeds apart, and swept the flashlight back and forth over the ground. At the root of the grass, there was a diamond half-buried in dirt. “That’s from Evelyn’s bracelet.” “How did it end up here?” I started talking to myself, unable to control my racing thoughts. Because when Evelyn received that bracelet, she had told me. “Mom, I love this bracelet so much. Unless I die, I’ll never take it off for the rest of my life.” Evelyn never joked. What she said, she would definitely do. A bad feeling arose. Could my Evelyn really have already… I slapped myself several times. She was just doing an experiment. She had just temporarily disappeared. The lock on the door was too big for me to break with my strength alone. The stars began to fade, and an orange glow appeared at the edge of the sky. There was a house not far from the foot of the mountain. Someone seemed to have woken up. I quickly ran down the mountain and walked to the door of that house. It was an old woman in her seventies. She held a sickle in her hand. Seeing me, she looked like she’d seen a rare guest. “Where are you going so early in the morning? You’re not planning to go up the mountain, are you?” I nodded and asked if she could lend me the sickle. Hearing I wanted to go up the mountain, the old woman’s expression suddenly became serious. “I advise you not to go up the mountain. That laboratory was haunted a while back.” “I definitely can’t lend you this sickle.” Haunted? A while back? I carefully recalled the last time Evelyn and I spoke. It seemed to be about half a month ago. She told me she’d been very busy lately and might not have time to call me. During that half month, I only occasionally sent her messages. Evelyn seemed really busy, always replying with just a few brief words. Half a month later, which was yesterday, Evelyn came home. I quickly took out my phone and confirmed with the old woman. “Ma’am, I want to ask when exactly this haunting happened.” “Was it half a month ago?” Though the old woman was in her seventies or eighties, recalling that night’s events still made her lean against the door frame. “It was half a month ago. The sound was so loud—the crying could be heard across several mountains.” While the old woman was speaking, I glanced into her house. I actually saw Evelyn’s backpack on the floor piled with potatoes. I quickly stepped over the threshold, rushed inside, and picked up the backpack. But everything belonging to Evelyn inside was gone, replaced by a backpack full of sprouting potatoes. I gripped the backpack straps, trembling as I looked at the old woman standing in the doorway. “Where did this backpack come from?” “Where are the things that were inside?” “Have you seen a girl named Evelyn Parker?”

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“Who do you want to live with? Your father or your mother?” Mom asked me and my younger sister Lily on the day of the divorce. In my past life, I chose Mom. Dad was in a better financial situation, so following him would probably be easier for Lily. Later, Mom married a wealthy American businessman and took me to immigrate to the United States. Under my stepfather’s guidance, I learned figure skating. At eighteen, I became the first-ever American-Mexican female singles figure skating champion at the Olympics. But in this life, Lily beat me to it and said, “I’ll go with Mom.” “And what about you, Elena? Is your decision the same as hers?” I looked into Mom’s eyes. “Then I’ll go with Dad,” I said. The judge glanced at me again, probably thinking that this pair of twin sisters was unusually mature for their age, but didn’t dwell on it and continued processing the paperwork. Mom’s expression dimmed. She probably expected me to choose her. After all, I did choose her in my past life. She reached out and hugged me, then ran her hand through Lily’s hair. Lily obediently leaned into Mom’s embrace, but her eyes moved past Mom’s shoulder to look at me. That one look contained too much. It wasn’t the look an eight-year-old girl should have. It seemed Lily had also been reborn. But why did she want to take it? Whatever. One chance each—that’s fair enough. In my past life, Mom married that American businessman, and my stepfather treated me like his own daughter. I smoothly progressed in figure skating and became an Olympic champion at eighteen. That script was certainly appealing. I didn’t want to suspect her with ill intent. I understood her. But something in my heart still felt a slight prick from that look. The wind was strong outside the courthouse, though the rain had lightened. Dad came over with an umbrella, bent down to look at me, and said, “Let’s go.” His tone wasn’t exactly gentle—somewhat stiff, even. Dad had never been good at expressing emotions. In my past life, he sent me birthday gifts every year. The gift box always contained a card with just four words: “Happy Birthday.” Even the punctuation was perfectly proper. I stood up and followed him into the rain. When Dad started the car, I noticed his profile. A bit younger than I remembered from my past life—no gray hair at his temples yet, his jawline tight, as if he were clenching his teeth. It wasn’t that he didn’t love us. He just didn’t know how to show it. In my past life, Lily told me that after the divorce, Dad became much more silent. Later, when he married that woman, the atmosphere at home became even more tense. Lily said “that house was like an ice cellar.” Eventually, even the ice cellar was gone, leaving only Dad alone. As the car pulled out of the courthouse parking lot, I saw through the rearview mirror Mom and Lily standing at the entrance waiting for a taxi. Mom held Lily’s hand tightly. Lily’s face was small, rainwater plastering her bangs to her forehead. She didn’t look at me. I didn’t look at her again either. Dad’s new place was in New York. We lived in a three-bedroom apartment near the city center—not large, but kept very clean. My room faced south with good sunlight. New stationery and a desk lamp had already been set up on the desk. My grandmother had prepared them in advance, not Dad. Dad probably wouldn’t think of such details. The first week after moving in passed very quietly. Dad left early and came home late. I went to my new school during the day, came home after school, did homework, read, and went to bed on time. No one checked my homework. No one asked if I had a good day at school. The fridge was always stocked with pre-made dishes covered in plastic wrap—just heat them in the microwave and eat. This must have been the environment Lily grew up in during my past life. I suddenly understood a bit better why she became so sharp later on. “Lily is different from you,” my grandmother said once when she came to visit, sitting on the sofa peeling an orange. “She takes after her mother—quick-tempered, easily ignited. You take after your father—a closed book, keeping everything bottled up inside.” After my grandmother left, I sat alone in the living room for a while, thinking about one thing: when would Dad remarry? According to what Lily said in my past life, Dad married that woman when she was ten years old. Two years from now. What was that woman’s name again? Lily mentioned it, but I didn’t pay much attention. In my past life, I maintained a distant attitude toward Dad’s new family, after all, I had no contact with them. I only remembered Lily’s assessment of her: domineering, cold, extremely controlling. Lily’s exact words. I mentally tagged this stepmother I’d never met, then felt it wasn’t quite fair. After all, in my past life Lily was quick-tempered—if they couldn’t get along, it might not have been entirely the other person’s fault. Days passed one by one. Having an eighteen-year-old soul in an eight-year-old body was a strange experience. In any case, I didn’t act like a student of this age. Since I’d switched scripts in this life, I needed to figure out what I really wanted.

Figure skating. I lay in bed. In my past life, I started learning to skate when I was a bit over six years old. By eight or nine, I was already in formal training at a club in the United States. Now I was almost ten. If I still wanted to pursue that path, I was already starting late. And would Dad even send me to learn? In my past life, my stepfather loved winter sports and discovered my talent on his own. But Dad? Dad didn’t even have time to share a weekend meal with me. Would he be willing to drive me to the rink every week, pay expensive tuition, and hire coaches for me? I didn’t know. But I knew one thing: Lily would pursue that path. Sure enough, a few months later, Mom’s social media started showing photos of Lily at the ice rink. The first one showed Lily standing on the ice in rental skates. I stared at that photo for a long time. Everything was identical to the post Mom had made in my memories from my past life. The script hadn’t changed—only the protagonist had switched. I closed my phone and shut my eyes. There was an indescribable feeling in my chest—not jealousy, more like looking in a mirror and seeing someone else’s reflection. Over the next few years, Mom’s social media became my main channel for following Lily’s activities. She updated frequently, posting videos or photos of Lily’s training every two or three days. At ten, she started practicing double jumps. That same year, Mom posted a very long update saying that Lily had been noticed by a famous figure skating coach—a former Olympic medalist who was willing to take Lily as a student. The accompanying photo showed Lily with the coach, both standing at the edge of the rink. Lily wore training clothes, her face lit up with a brilliant smile. I recognized that coach. In my past life, he had been my coach too. In that moment, my last shred of hope vanished. Lily didn’t just want to learn figure skating—she wanted to completely replicate the path I’d walked in my past life. The same coach, the same club, the same training system, all pointing toward the same goal: Olympic gold. She would succeed. I thought. And I needed to learn to say goodbye to my past life. I needed to believe I had the ability to live in the present, not dwell on yesterday’s regrets. At ten, Lily won first place in the regional competition. Mom posted a grid of nine photos, each one of Lily on the podium, holding the trophy, wearing the medal around her neck, smiling with bright eyes. Dad happened to be home that day. Seeing me with my phone, he casually asked, “What are you looking at?” After Dad finished looking, he didn’t say anything. But after a while, I smelled the aroma of steak drifting from the kitchen. It was my favorite dish. That was just how Dad was. He wouldn’t say “Lily is amazing,” nor would he say “if you want to learn something, I can send you too.” He would just silently cook a dish you loved, stewing all the words he couldn’t speak into the meat. I walked to the kitchen doorway and leaned against the frame, watching him. “Dad,” I said, “I don’t envy Lily.” His hand paused while cutting scallions. “I just think,” I chose my words carefully, “she’s doing well. Really well.” Dad said “Mm” and continued cutting. But I saw his shoulders relax slightly. In the autumn of my tenth year, Dad brought home a woman. It was a Saturday. I sat on the living room sofa reading a book. I heard the door lock turn but didn’t look up, thinking Dad had come back from grocery shopping. He occasionally cooked on weekends—surprisingly well, actually. “This is my daughter.” Dad’s voice sounded tense.

I looked up. The woman stood in the entryway wearing dark gray dress pants and a white blouse with a black trench coat over it. Her hair was pulled back tightly without a single stray strand. Her features weren’t stunning, but the lines were sharp—high cheekbones, eyes slightly upturned at the corners. Her whole presence was like a freshly sharpened blade. Behind her stood a man who looked like a driver, carrying several gift boxes. “Hello.” She looked at me, her voice not loud but every word clear. “I’m a friend of your father’s. My last name is Sullivan. You can call me Ms. Sullivan.” Sullivan. I suddenly remembered—in my past life, Lily mentioned that woman’s surname was Sullivan. She never said the first name, only referring to her as “that Sullivan woman.” This was her. I closed my book, stood up, and smiled slightly. “Hello, Ms. Sullivan.” Ms. Sullivan’s gaze lingered on me for two seconds, then she nodded and said to Dad, “Your daughter has better manners than you.” Dad opened his mouth but couldn’t get words out. I smiled inwardly. Dad in front of Ms. Sullivan was like a cat grabbed by the scruff of its neck—uncomfortable all over. That day, Ms. Sullivan stayed for lunch. She sat at the dining table with her spine perfectly straight, using her fork with extreme precision, only her fingers moving when cutting, her wrist motionless. Dad had made steak. She ate two pieces, then set down her fork and seriously commented, “Very delicious.” Dad’s expression showed a mixture of relief and happiness… it was complicated. I couldn’t help wanting to laugh but held it in, lowering my head to eat. Ms. Sullivan turned to look at me. “Who helps you with your homework normally?” “I do it myself,” I said. “What are your test scores?” “First in the class for math and science, third for English.” She raised an eyebrow, seemingly a bit surprised. Then she glanced at Dad with a look that clearly said: Your luck is pretty good. Dad still couldn’t get words out. After that day, Ms. Sullivan came to the house more and more frequently. At first, she came for weekend meals, then it became three or four times a week. Eventually, her toothbrush appeared in the bathroom cup, her slippers in the shoe cabinet. Dad never formally discussed this with me. He probably didn’t know how to bring it up. In the end, Ms. Sullivan said it herself. That day she came carrying a document folder. She sat across from me and pushed the folder to the middle of the table. “Take a look?” I opened it. Inside was a copy of a property deed with her name on it, bank statements, and a printed A4 sheet with text in a standard font: Victoria Sullivan, female, forty-four years old, unmarried, no children, works in government. “The basic situation is all here,” Ms. Sullivan’s tone was like giving a work report. “I’m together with your father. If you don’t agree, we’ll treat this as if I never brought it up.” I looked at those documents and suddenly felt like laughing. But I knew that in my past life, Lily hadn’t agreed. According to her, she made a huge scene—throwing things, going on a hunger strike, crying in front of Dad for a whole week. Later, Dad and Ms. Sullivan got married anyway, but Lily never accepted her. The two fought openly and secretly for years until Ms. Sullivan and Dad eventually divorced. I actually thought it was fine. Dad had become visibly happier. As long as he was happy, that was good. “Of course I agree,” I said, pushing the folder back and looking into Ms. Sullivan’s eyes. “As long as you two are good together.” Ms. Sullivan paused. Just for a moment, but I caught it. On her perpetually poker face, something extremely faint—something like softness—flickered across. “Mm,” she said, taking back the folder and standing up. “I’m going out to buy groceries. We’ll have fish tonight.” I thought I saw her blush. As she changed shoes at the door, I heard her say quietly, “This child is much better than her father.” I pretended not to hear. The wedding was simple—no big production, just getting the marriage certificate at the courthouse and having dinner with both families. A few relatives from Ms. Sullivan’s side came, all people who didn’t talk much but had powerful presences. They dressed simply but carried an indescribable elegance in their movements. Among them was a boy who looked slightly older than me, maybe fourteen or fifteen.

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When I was eighteen, I witnessed my father sneaking into our young nanny’s room late at night. I knew right then — he had betrayed my mother. But I didn’t wake Mom. Instead, I waited by the door until he came out. I had a calm conversation with him. Either divorce and I’d stay with Mom, or fire the nanny. Dad’s expression was heavy as he thought it over all night. The next day, he made me a promise. “I won’t see that nanny again.” Three years later, I learned that Mom had almost miscarried. Under my relentless questioning, Mom finally revealed the truth: “I saw your father with that woman with my own eyes! The shock caused the bleeding… Megan, what should I do?” I took a deep breath. Half an hour later, I returned to the country with my appointment letter in hand. Since Dad chose to break his word, he couldn’t blame me for blacklisting him from the entire industry. When I arrived at the hospital, Mom lay in bed like a puppet, her swollen belly clearly visible beneath the blanket. But my maternal grandmother, Eleanor, showed no consideration for Mom’s feelings whatsoever. “If you get divorced, there’s no room for you at home. Megan still needs to get married — you have to think about your child.” “I heard Matthew is about to be promoted to Vice President with double the salary. You’re carrying his son now. If you divorce, won’t you just be handing everything to that woman?” My maternal grandfather, Harold, was even more blunt. “What man doesn’t stray? Your nephew is about to buy a house and get married. He’s planning to borrow a million from Matthew. Just bear with it for now.” Despite being Mom’s own parents, Eleanor and Harold spoke over each other, trying to smooth things over. On the surface, they claimed to be thinking of Mom, but in reality, they were sacrificing her to support my uncle. Seeing Mom’s silent tears, I spoke harshly to Eleanor and Harold for the first time. “From now on, Mom has me. Please leave!” When Mom saw me enter, she grasped at me like a lifeline and broke into sobs. Eleanor and Harold spat in disgust, called me an ungrateful wretch, and stormed off. Mom couldn’t hold back her wailing anymore, as if trying to cry out all her grievances. “Your father and that tramp — it wasn’t just once or twice. He promised me that if I had a son through IVF, he’d completely cut ties with Susan.” That’s when I learned the whole story. Dad never fired Susan at all. The moment I left, he brought her back. The first time Mom caught them in the act was in the garage, seeing them together. She made a scene and demanded Dad end it. Dad gave her the silent treatment. When Mom tried to file a complaint against Susan’s company, they had a violent argument. Mom had once tried to have an honest conversation with Dad. He vented all the resentment buried in his heart. He blamed Mom for not giving him a son and promised that if she had a son through IVF, he’d break things off with Susan. Mom was furious and wanted a divorce, but her relatives’ persuasion made her waver. She was afraid the divorce would affect my career abroad, so she compromised. During my participation in new energy research, I was cut off from all outside contact. Yesterday, she had wanted to reconcile with Dad on their wedding anniversary, but Dad sent her Susan’s pregnancy ultrasound. Under the double shock, Mom nearly lost both her life and the baby’s. “I wanted him to send Susan away before you came back. You shouldn’t have to know about such dirty things… but he was too cruel.” Mom’s eyes were filled with shame. I shook my head through my tears and told her about what happened three years ago. Mom was shocked, both moved and remorseful: “This is my fault for making you bear so much.” I comforted her: “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll handle everything.” Dad was in the VIP room upstairs because Susan had stomach pains — scared by what happened with Mom. When he saw me arrive, Dad set down his cake spoon, a flash of embarrassment crossing his face. I confronted him: “Dad, what did you promise me! You taught me since childhood to keep my word.” A bouquet was thrown at my feet as Dad roared at me: “I’m your father! Show some respect!” “Don’t think that just because you got some worthless diploma from a no-name foreign university, you’ve grown wings!” “Susan is carrying my child now. You and your mother better behave, or you’ll both get nothing!” He protectively held the pretending-to-be-pitiful Susan in his arms. I just sneered. Who cared about his pocket change! The money in my account could literally bury this pair of cheating scum if I withdrew it all! But seeing Susan’s slightly protruding belly, my anger deflated like a punctured balloon. I spoke calmly: “I will pursue your marital infidelity to the end. Just wait to leave with nothing.” Dad thought I was just making empty threats. Without hesitation, he raised his hand. Just as he was about to strike, I dodged. It seemed Dad wasn’t even pretending anymore. Good. That meant I didn’t need to hold back either. Three years ago, I had submitted an application to use my achievements to exchange for an opportunity to join Dad’s company. To help Dad fulfill his lifelong dream. I never expected that his promotion would give him the confidence to abandon his wife and daughter. Dad didn’t know that I was his new boss. The higher Dad climbed now, the harder I’d make him fall.

“Your father wasn’t always like this…” Finding the tissue box empty, I could only use the back of my hand to wipe Mom’s tears while waiting for a VIP room to open up. “If you want a divorce, I fully support you.” Since my work was classified, I only told Mom I had a job. But she misunderstood. “You’ve been such a good student since childhood. With the economy so bad now, just having a job is good. Mom has savings to support you.” I smiled softly, about to reveal that I was going to be Dad’s boss. But Eleanor and Harold burst in, interrupting me. Eleanor dramatically stroked Mom’s pregnant belly, clasping her hands together in prayer. “Claire, you’ve been with Matthew for over thirty years. What storm can’t you weather?” “Matthew’s about to become Vice President with double the salary, and you’re pregnant with his son. If you divorce now, won’t you just be handing everything to that woman!” Harold was even more direct. “What man doesn’t cheat? Your nephew is about to buy a house and get married. He’s planning to borrow a million from Matthew. Just bear with it for now.” Eleanor and Harold, despite being Mom’s own parents, chattered away trying to smooth things over. On the surface claiming to think of Mom, but actually sacrificing her to support my uncle. Seeing Mom silently crying, I spoke harshly to Eleanor and Harold for the first time. “From now on, Mom has me. Please leave, or I’ll call security.” Eleanor and Harold’s faces flushed with embarrassment. Unable to argue back, they could only curse me as an ungrateful old maid. When I pretended to expose Dad and his mistress, they frantically grabbed me. “We’re leaving! Don’t make a scene and affect his promotion.” Before leaving, they stuffed a thousand dollars into Mom’s hands, saying it was for supplements. “Don’t divorce. At worst, raise that nanny’s child. In the future, you’ll have one more child to care for you.” Mom threw the money at their feet. “I’m definitely divorcing Matthew!” Seeing they could no longer control Mom, they slunk away. I stayed with Mom in the hospital for three days of observation. When we returned home, I immediately noticed two banners hanging in the main hall. Celebrating Queen Susan’s 30th Birthday Congratulations to Mr. Rivers on His Promotion to Vice President of the Energy Corporation Dad and Susan stood on the steps, calmly accepting the guests’ blessings and flattery. Seeing me and Mom return, the crowd knowingly parted to create a path. “I told you they’d come to celebrate. The birthday girl was just asking about you two.” “She’s so kind, specially giving you the honor of cutting the double celebration cake so you can share in the good fortune.” Mom and I were pushed in front of the eight-tier cake, knives pressed into our hands. Dad’s voice was filled with joy: “Ms. Anderson has always been understanding and a strong businesswoman. Our collaborations have all been very successful.” “Everyone should consider using her housekeeping company. Today I’ve hired a chef — please enjoy yourselves.” So Dad had packaged Susan as a female entrepreneur and was using the opportunity to drum up business for her. In the past, when he threw parties for Mom, he only invited both sets of parents for a simple meal. Feeling Mom’s trembling, I pulled her forward. Facing all the guests, I clapped to get their attention and spoke loudly. “I have to ask — since when did our housekeeper become a boss? What exactly has Dad been collaborating with the housekeeper on? Collaborating on affairs or getting pregnant?” That sentence was like cold water dropped into hot oil. The guests’ mocking eyes stuck to Susan, leaving her nowhere to hide. But with Dad’s encouragement, Susan smiled confidently. Videos of Mom’s breakdown played on the wall, along with photos of me intimate with a man. “Miss Rivers, you should go to the hospital and get tested for STDs.” “Your mom looks crazy — you should take her to a mental hospital.” Dad sighed, looking like a man unfortunate in his family.

Instantly, all the guests turned mocking eyes on me. Some elders even spat at me, and their crude insults drowned me out. “Matthew spent so much money sending her abroad to study, and she went there to sleep around! I bet her fifty-year-old mom having a miracle baby at her age isn’t innocent either.” Eleanor and Harold straightened their clothes and stood tall next to Susan. Mom clutched her belly and groaned. I rushed over to support her. Sweat soaked her hair. She gripped my hand and shouted loudly. “Matthew, you have such a vicious heart! You had an affair with our housekeeper and even got her pregnant, but you don’t have the guts to admit it? My daughter went abroad to study with a clean reputation, and you conspired with this tramp to photoshop pictures and ruin her name. I’ll get a lawyer to sue you both!” I scattered the copies I’d prepared in my bag — Susan’s pregnancy ultrasound and intimate photos of her with Dad. The atmosphere in the room instantly turned against Dad and Susan. Seeing Susan couldn’t withstand the pressure, her eyes red like a rabbit’s, Dad couldn’t pretend to be distant anymore and pulled her tightly into his arms. The room fell deathly silent. Dad simply came clean: “Susan and I love each other. It’s rare that at over fifty, I’ve met true love. Claire and I had an arranged marriage. She almost let my family line die out.” “But I’m not a heartless man. I won’t divorce Claire. And Susan isn’t a shallow woman — she has her career to pursue. We won’t get married.” Everyone cheered and applauded his declaration of true love. Seeing he’d controlled the situation, Dad smugly pointed at Mom: “Just have the baby. After you’ve recovered, you can help Susan with her postpartum care. Megan, you shouldn’t work outside either. Dad will pay you to take care of your younger brothers.” “Matthew, you bastard! My daughter is more capable than you!” “Who do you think you’re looking down on! We’ll live better than you.” Mom cursed him out, but she didn’t mention my upcoming position. But all she got was roaring laughter. Everyone thought she was talking big. She firmly stood in front of me, angrily cursing those with ill intentions toward me. “Matthew, I married you at eighteen when you were so poor you couldn’t even afford rent. I worked three jobs a day to pay the rent and saved money to put you through college.” “The only reason you got into the energy corporation was because I traded my life for that opportunity. If I hadn’t saved Director Smith, in those days when jobs were so scarce, you getting in would’ve been pure fantasy!” “Shut up! That was my own ability!” Dad got angry. “Your ability is sleeping with a nanny younger than your daughter! Shameless!” As my parents continued arguing, Eleanor and Harold surrounded Mom, trying to calm her down and appease Dad. After the guests dispersed, Dad stormed upstairs with Susan. I took Mom to the hospital for oxygen. She looked dazed. In my memory, Dad had never raised his voice at Mom. He’d always been smiling, helping Mom cook. After I was born, we’d had a very happy childhood for a while. But now everything was unrecognizable. Some family ties needed to be cut when they needed to be cut.

But Dad didn’t let up. Eleanor and Harold came to Mom again, urging her to make peace with Dad. “Matthew refuses to lend money to your brother. Your nephew is about to get married, but the bride’s family says they’ll cancel the wedding if he doesn’t buy a house. Daughter, just sweet-talk Matthew for now.” “Loan interest is so high! As his aunt, you have to help your nephew!” I was about to say I’d lend the money when Mom covered my mouth. She agreed to go see Dad. On the way, I was confused: “I have money. If my cousin needs it, I can lend it to him.” Mom shook her head, her eyes filled with a determination I couldn’t understand: “That’s your uncle’s business. You don’t owe him anything. You don’t understand them — once you lend this money, it’ll be hard to get back.” “This divorce — I’m going through with it. But first, I need to put on a show.” The route led to the National Energy Company. Tomorrow was my official reporting day. Today I could familiarize myself with the place. We found our way to Dad’s office. He was glowing, listening to his subordinates’ flattery. Seeing me and Mom, his expression changed drastically. “You two go home now. The security guard should be criticized for letting just anyone in!” Dad slammed the table, telling his subordinate to reprimand the guard. “Mr. Rivers, the guard was someone you brought in.” Dad suddenly realized and stopped pursuing the guard’s responsibility, instead urging us to leave. “Say what you need to say and leave quickly.” Mom sat calmly on the sofa and spoke lightly: “What you said the other day woke me up. I choose to divorce you.” “Just sign it.” Dad was instantly furious at being slapped in the face. He stood up, slamming the table and cursing. “You want a divorce? Fine! But you have to pay back every penny I spent on you over the years! Otherwise, I’ll send you to prison!” Before I could speak, Susan barged in, making a scene. “Everyone help Mr. Rivers get justice! Today this money must be recovered!” Susan wore a business suit, looking like an elite professional. I hadn’t expected Dad to bring Susan into the corporation. “Uncle Matthew, is this the girlfriend you’re setting me up with?” A sleazy voice sounded in my ear. I turned to see a man nearly fifty reaching his hand toward me. “This is my uncle. He’s never been in a relationship. He doesn’t mind your messy private life. Miss Rivers, you should treasure this.” Susan stood next to the still-angry Dad, her face full of malice. “Get away! Don’t touch my daughter!” Mom protectively stood in front of me like a mother hen. The few leading the jeering were clearly Susan’s relatives. Dad was really something — treating the corporation like his private garden. Susan’s relatives kept stirring things up, disturbing the leader in the next office. “Mr. Rivers can’t encourage this kind of bad behavior. Today I’ll make the call — Ms. Taylor will get her money back. As a family member of Mr. Rivers disrupting corporate order, she must be severely criticized.” I looked up and memorized his face. The timing was about right. The person I was waiting for would arrive soon. Just then, an authoritative voice rang out. “Mr. Rivers is right! This must be dealt with seriously today!” Dad’s face lit up as he fawned over the Vice President: “As the Vice President says, arrest them immediately.” Everyone stepped aside respectfully, watching as the Vice President slowly walked toward me. But the storm Dad expected didn’t come. The Vice President respectfully extended his hand to me. “Let me introduce everyone. This is our new CEO, Ms. Megan Rivers.” Dad’s smugness instantly froze on his face.

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After my boyfriend Ethan Cross died in a car accident because of me, I remained unmarried until I turned thirty. My parents and friends all urged me to move on. Even he begged me in my dreams to look forward. So I agreed to a blind date, planning to say goodbye to him on his death anniversary. But just as I left the cemetery, I came across a post online. [Sixth anniversary! My husband bought me another luxury penthouse!] Looking at the photo, my whole body trembled, my scalp tingling. In the picture, the boyfriend I had personally buried was tenderly embracing a woman. I tracked down the address and knocked on the door. The moment our eyes met, I froze in place. This woman was none other than Vivian Quinn, the secretary Ethan had cheated with and fired six years ago. Our eyes met, and a flash of panic crossed Vivian’s face. “Winona…” She reflexively tried to close the door, but I blocked it. Just then, conversation from Ethan’s friends drifted from the elevator. “Ethan’s been married for six years now, and she’s still trapped in the pain of his death, unable to move on. She’s thirty this year and still hasn’t married.” “I heard she recently agreed to go on blind dates. Probably ready to let go finally.” “I’m just saying, what Ethan pulled was truly ruthless. Back then, he clearly crashed into that highway overpass because Vivian sent him a provocative photo—he was too eager to respond. But he let Winona believe he was rushing to celebrate her birthday.” “Winona even tried to kill herself several times out of guilt.” “But at least now that she’s agreed to blind dates, she’ll probably get married soon.” “Keep it down, don’t let Ethan hear…” Turning the corner and meeting my gaze, their voices cut off abruptly. His childhood friend Marcus Smith’s eyes darted away. “Winona, what are you doing here…” Just then, a familiar voice came from inside the apartment. “Vivian, are Marcus and the others here?” The familiar voice from inside made my breathing catch, my heartbeat nearly stopping. I spun around sharply to see Ethan standing there holding a bouquet of trimmed flowers. Seeing me, his body stiffened, his eyes trembling. I looked at the banner hung in the center of the living room—”Happy Sixth Anniversary, My Love”— I pulled my lips into a mocking smile. “Ethan, you’ve been doing really well for yourself, haven’t you?” Ethan instinctively pulled Vivian behind him protectively, his face somewhat embarrassed. Everyone else froze in place. The atmosphere turned terrifyingly silent. Six years ago, Ethan rushed onto the highway overpass in a rainstorm to celebrate my birthday, crashed, and fell into the sea to his death. By the time I returned, he had already become an urn of ashes. I was consumed by guilt and grief, thinking over and over that if I hadn’t been so fixated on his affair, he wouldn’t have gotten into an accident trying to appease me. The day he was buried, I collapsed from crying while clutching his gravestone. In the days that followed, I often couldn’t sleep from missing him. I’d run to the cemetery alone and stay there all night. During the hardest times, I even attempted suicide at his grave. A cemetery caretaker found me and saved my life. But I never imagined that it was all an elaborate scheme for him to fake his death. I picked up the photo frame on the table, looking at the two people standing together under the aurora. My eyes burned, making my heart ache. “Nice wedding photos. Did you take them in Iceland?” During our engagement, Vivian, as his secretary, was involved in everything. Once when I was debating where to take our wedding photos, she carefully suggested: “I think Iceland would be nice, because each aurora appears only once, symbolizing uniqueness.” Ethan had smiled and said her idea was great. But not long after, I discovered a lipstick in his car that wasn’t mine. Following the trail of clues, I identified its owner—Vivian. I insisted on canceling the engagement, but he stood on the ledge of an eighteen-story building. “Winona, if you cancel our engagement, I’ll jump.” My heart softened immediately. I gave him a chance to cut things off cleanly. He erased all traces, fired Vivian, and tried every way to make it up to me. He even died by accident because of me. But now, he stood alive before me, having built a home with that so-called “clean break” mistress. I laughed mockingly and smashed the photo frame hard onto the floor. Glass shattered everywhere. Vivian covered her cut face and screamed. “Winona, can you stop being crazy!?” Ethan’s eyes immediately turned red as he roared at me. I laughed at myself bitterly, my voice dry and painful. “I’m being crazy? That’s right, I am crazy!” “For the six years you’ve been ‘dead,’ I’ve been like a madwoman every single day!” Ethan’s chest heaved violently, his eyes red-rimmed, his tone full of blame. “Back then when I tried to jump, you were the one who stopped me!” “I did everything you asked, but you just wouldn’t let go of that one thing—you kept torturing me!” “Do you know how exhausting my life has been?” I slapped him across the face. The impact made my wrist ache as tears burst from my eyes. “Ethan, you were the one who cheated! You were the one who deceived me!” “How dare you say I tortured you, that your life was exhausting?” Vivian knelt before me, tears blurring her vision. “Winona, please stop fighting. This is all because of me. I’m shameless. I seduced Ethan.” “He did everything he promised you. I was the one who kept pestering him. I’ll divorce him immediately.” She pitifully covered her lower abdomen. “As for the baby… I’ll abort it.” Ethan’s eyes and brows filled with joy. “Vivian, you’re pregnant?”

My heart clenched suddenly, as if a hand was squeezing it tight. Pain stiffened my entire body. Vivian pushed away Ethan as he approached her, shrinking back. “The doctor said it’s only a little over a month. If I abort it now, it’s just a clump of cells.” “I’ll leave with nothing and give you the signed divorce papers.” “You… should compensate Winona properly.” With that, she rushed out without hesitation. Ethan’s expression changed drastically, and he immediately moved to chase after her. I instinctively blocked him, wanting an explanation, but he shoved me hard. “Winona!” His eyes were full of disgust for me, his tone ice-cold. “No matter how much you make a scene, this is between the two of us!” “Ever since you threatened her six years ago, Vivian has suffered from severe depression. When her emotions are triggered, she does extreme things.” “I’ve worked so hard to help her recover, and you want to destroy her so viciously?” “If anything happens to her, I won’t forgive you.” I lost my balance from his push, my body falling backward uncontrollably. My neck was sliced by broken glass, warm blood gushing out. Before I lost consciousness, I heard the conversation between Marcus and Ethan. “Ethan, Winona’s bleeding a lot!” “Call an ambulance and dump her at the hospital. Clean everything up—Vivian’s easily frightened!” When I groggily came to, nurses were whispering in the hospital room. “Miss Quinn only experienced some mild fetal distress, but her husband immediately put her in a VIP room and stayed with her the whole time, terrified something might happen.” “Look at this one—the glass almost cut her carotid artery. So dangerous! She’s been awake for so long and not a single person has come to see her. Really pitiful.” “The gap between people—how can it be so huge?” After the door closed, I slowly opened my eyes and laughed bitterly at myself. My hand touched the gauze on my neck. Tears fell, and I wiped them away before going to find a doctor to pay my bills. Just as I sat up, Ethan aggressively pushed the door open and rushed in. He grabbed my wrist hard, his tone cold. “Winona, what exactly are you trying to do?” “Deceiving you was my idea—it has nothing to do with Vivian!” “If you have a problem, come at me! Why did you deliberately get the media to accuse her of being a mistress online?” “She just woke up and saw those comments. She got so emotional she almost jumped off the building!” His grip was painfully strong, making my already pale face look even worse. I struggled with all my strength to shake off his hand, shouting back in anger. “Ethan, I never did anything like that!” He snorted dismissively and shoved his phone in my face. The screen was filled with comments calling Vivian a mistress. [Mrs. Cross of Cross Group—Vivian—homewrecker who stole someone’s position.] Besides that, there was a long post about how Ethan faked his death to escape and fabricated lies to deceive his girlfriend for his mistress. Cross Group’s stock had also become volatile because of this. And the media outlet that published this news was where my best friend used to work. Ethan’s eyes were cold, his tone dripping with mockery. “Still denying it? Your best friend works there, doesn’t she?” “Whenever anything involves you, she always rushes to the front line without hesitation.” I stood there stunned, explaining helplessly and aggrieved. “She went abroad three years ago. She doesn’t work there anymore…” “You’re still lying!” Ethan cut me off sharply, his eyes full of disappointment. “Winona, how did you become so manipulative and scheming?” “You used to be such a kind person. Now you’d stop at nothing to drive Vivian and her child to death.” He paused, his tone inexplicably softening. “Have you forgotten how much pain you were in when you lost your child?” I looked up sharply, locking eyes with him. My heart felt like it was being cut back and forth with a dull knife, turning the scabbed wound into a mangled mess. I suddenly remembered—six years ago, the day I found out I was pregnant, I caught Ethan and Vivian together in our wedding house. At that time, I had just discovered his affair and hadn’t confronted him yet when I became so emotionally distraught I ended up in the hospital. I returned home in a daze, only to hear the ambiguous sounds of a man and woman from inside. Like a madwoman, I rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and swung it at them. But he pushed me hard while desperately protecting Vivian, and I crashed into the vanity table. My abdomen hurt, something sticky flowed down below, and the baby was gone on the spot. Later came his apology, his threats of suicide, my compromise, and his false remorse. My tongue tasted bitter. I pulled my lips into a desolate smile, my voice hoarse beyond recognition. “Ethan, Vivian will never shake off the label of mistress for the rest of her life. Your relationship will always be shameful.” “Also, you have no right to mention my child.” “Winona, shut up!” Ethan frowned and shouted, his eyes ice-cold without a trace of guilt. “This is between you and me. It has nothing to do with Vivian.” He lowered his voice, looking down at me, his tone carrying naked threats. “You’ve been working so hard to earn money all these years just to get your adoptive mother a heart transplant, right?” “I heard a donor match has already been found?”

My heart jolted violently. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze at that moment. I was an orphan from childhood. My adoptive mother took me in despite others’ gossip. By collecting recyclables and doing odd jobs, living frugally, she raised me bit by bit. When I first started dating Ethan, I never wanted him to take me home. I was afraid he’d look at me and my family with the same judgmental eyes as everyone else. But when Ethan found out, he cried with heartache. He held me in his arms, gently stroking my hair, his voice choked with emotion. “Winona, I’ll work hard to earn money, give you the best life, repay your mother, and slap the faces of everyone who looks down on you.” Later, he truly did it. When he proposed to me, he hired the city’s most authoritative planning team and created a sea of ten thousand roses that became the talk of the town, making me the envy of everyone. He bought a wedding house and put it in my name. He found doctors to care for my adoptive mother’s health and covered all medical expenses. Those who had once looked down on me and mocked me all came forward to congratulate me, saying all kinds of flattering things. Back then, they always said behind my back that Ethan must have done something terrible to feel guilty enough to treat me so well. I was deeply immersed in it, believing this love would last forever. Until Vivian’s intrusion shattered that dream. But I never imagined that now he would use my adoptive mother’s life to threaten me. Using my only weakness to please Vivian. I clenched my fists, nails digging hard into my palms, yet it didn’t compare to one ten-thousandth of the pain in my heart. Despair suffocated me. I closed my eyes as tears silently rolled down. When I opened them again, my eyes were filled with deathly stillness. I spoke softly. “Fine. I’ll apologize.” Ethan looked at me with satisfaction and snapped his fingers. His assistant placed a paper covered in text on the hospital bed. “Read it exactly as written. Don’t miss a single word.” I picked up the paper, my hands shaking uncontrollably. The entire page twisted the truth. It pushed all the blame onto me, saying I became vindictive from unrequited love and maliciously slandered Vivian. It even claimed that Ethan’s fake death was something I had imagined due to mental problems. But I had no way out. I could only force down my emotions and record a video reading from his prepared script, then post it. After finishing all this, my whole body was ice-cold, drenched in cold sweat. Ethan looked at the wound on my neck, took out a checkbook and pen from his pocket, quickly wrote several zeros, and stuffed the check into my hand. He sighed deeply. “Here’s a million dollars—consider it my compensation to you.” “Hurry and switch to another hospital so Vivian doesn’t see you and get upset.” Then he turned and left. I shakily completed the discharge procedures and left the hospital. My phone rang. It was my supervisor. “Winona, the company is restructuring and optimizing personnel. Your termination notice has been sent to your email, and the corresponding compensation has been transferred to your bank account.” I was stunned, finally managing only a few words. “Thank you for the company’s support. I understand.” After hanging up, I scrolled through my phone. The apology video I’d just recorded had already shot to the top of trending topics, while all negative news about Vivian had been scrubbed clean without a trace. Then my phone suddenly flashed with several new messages. They were from Vivian. In the VIP room, piled high with this season’s clothes, jewelry, and handbags. [Winona, look—this is just the tip of the iceberg of what he gives me.] [I’ll tell you the truth: he and I never broke up. During the time he was appeasing you, he came to me every single day.] [There’s no right or wrong in love. The one who isn’t loved is the real mistress.] I stood in the cold wind, tears dripping onto the screen, biting my lip hard to keep from crying out loud. Just then, I received a call from my adoptive mother’s attending physician. “Miss Walker, your mother had a sudden heart attack. The situation is critical. Get to the hospital immediately to sign for emergency surgery!”

I had no time for grief. I turned and ran madly toward the hospital. The elevator wouldn’t come down, so I rushed to the stairwell instead. Just as I reached the third floor, a group claiming to be reporters suddenly swarmed out and surrounded me. “Miss Walker, is it true that you became mentally unstable from unrequited love as a mistress and imagined Mr. Cross had died?” “Your former classmates have come forward saying you’re an orphan who survived by collecting trash since childhood. Is that accurate?” “Knowing Mr. Cross was already married, you deliberately harassed and slandered him. What exactly are you trying to achieve? Can you give everyone a response?” Camera flashes went off constantly, so bright I couldn’t open my eyes. Those harsh questioning voices made my ears ring, my head splitting with pain. I was so anxious I broke out in sweat, desperately pushing through the people surrounding me, my voice tearful and pleading. “Please let me through, okay? I have an emergency! My mother is critically ill and needs immediate surgery. I’m begging you!” But they still blocked me, continuing to interrogate and photograph me, forcing me to give them the answers they wanted. In the struggle, my phone slipped and fell to the ground, trampled beyond recognition. I bent down to pick it up but was slapped hard across the face. “A shameless homewrecker like you—you deserve to have a mother? Using your mother as an excuse to gain sympathy—absolutely disgusting!” The woman who hit me had a cutting tone, her eyes full of contempt and disgust. The slap left me dizzy and disoriented, my cheek burning with pain. Despair and rage swept through my entire body. Just then, hospital security rushed up, shouting sternly. “This is a hospital! If you don’t leave now, we’re calling the police!” Taking advantage of the gap, I desperately rushed upstairs. But the moment I burst into the hospital room, all the strength was instantly drained from my body. On the bed, my adoptive mother lay quietly, her face as pale as thin paper, her lips completely bloodless. The attending physician stood beside the bed, his face full of regret and sympathy. Seeing me enter, he sighed softly, his tone heavy. “Miss Walker, I’m sorry. We did everything we could.” My pupils constricted. My vision went black, and I nearly collapsed. A nurse beside me helped me up, explaining in a low voice. “The old lady was fine an hour ago. A woman came to her room and said something to her. They argued, and the old lady had an attack.” “When you didn’t come to sign the papers, we activated the emergency protocol, but the donor suddenly backed out.” Grief pressed down on me until I could barely breathe, yet I couldn’t make a sound of crying. I slowly broke free from the nurse’s support and moved step by step to the bedside, holding my adoptive mother’s cold hand. The person who had given me warmth and strength during my most difficult times would never open her eyes again. After carrying my adoptive mother to the crematorium for cremation, I simply buried her in a quiet cemetery. After kneeling and bowing, I dragged my numb body to the cross-river bridge. Standing at the edge, I recorded a video set for delayed posting and uploaded it online. Without a moment’s hesitation, I leaped down. Ethan was at the obstetrics department accompanying Vivian for a prenatal checkup. The two were discussing what to name the baby. Just then, his assistant’s phone call came through, an urgent voice on the other end. “Mr. Cross, something terrible has happened! Miss Walker jumped into the river!”

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The third miscarriage. The anesthesia had just worn off, and I woke up groggy in the hospital bed. I heard my husband Adrian’s conversation with Lila drifting to my ears. “Lila, don’t worry. I’ve arranged everything. Natalie won’t find out.” “Dad’s will said whoever has a child first, that child becomes the family heir. I’ll make sure you give birth to my brother’s child first.” My whole body went cold. Two years. Three failed pregnancies. Two hemorrhages. I’d always thought it was my poor health, bad luck. Turns out it was this husband I’d loved for five years who, for the sake of his childhood sweetheart Lila, personally killed my babies. The moment the severe pain hit, I completely lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again. I’d been reborn, back to the day I first woke up after my first miscarriage. Adrian was holding my hand, his eyes full of what looked like heartache: “Honey, don’t be sad. We can have another baby.” I looked at this face I once loved deeply and slowly pulled my hand away. “Adrian, let’s get divorced.”

Adrian’s mask of the gentle husband cracked for a moment. His brows furrowed like he’d heard something absurd, then he softened his voice to coax me: “Natalie, I know you just lost the baby and you’re upset, but you can’t just casually talk about divorce.” He tried to grab my hand again. I avoided him directly. His tone instantly dropped several degrees: “Don’t be so willful. Don’t you care about the company’s reputation or what people in our circle will think?” “It’s just one baby. We can have another.” I watched him coldly, finding it laughable. “Adrian, since we’re settling accounts, let’s settle them clearly.” “I’ve been married into the Sterling family for one year and five months.” “On our wedding night, you said Lila, who you grew up with, wasn’t feeling well and you needed to go take care of her.” “The next day you told me Lila’s parents died young, she lived alone at the Sterling house and it was pitiful, we should take care of her. So I gave her $100,000 every month.” “She said she needed to attend galas, so I sent all my haute couture dresses and limited edition bags to her closet.” “My dad regularly ordered imported supplements for me. You said Lila had been sickly since childhood, that the medicine made her feel much better, and I didn’t even blink before having them sent to her.” I counted each item, my voice calm as if reading a stranger’s ledger. Adrian’s face changed from shock to embarrassment, finally flushing bright red. “Those… those were because the company was having cash flow problems at the time. We couldn’t let Lila suffer. Lila was doing it for the family…” I interrupted him: “Then tell me, why does your annual salary and your project bonuses always go to her account first?” “Sterling Group’s financial seal is in her hands. I’ve been married in for a year and haven’t even seen the company’s financial reports.” “Every time you bring back gifts from abroad, the first choice always goes to her.” “Even with this pregnancy, the folic acid and vitamins you sent every day had to be prepared by her. You said she understood medicine and could help verify they were safe for me.” I stared into his eyes, enunciating each word: “Adrian, in your heart, Sterling Group and Lila will always come before me and our child.” Then I shook my head: “No, there’s no place for us in your heart at all.” “You married me only because my family had enough cash flow to fill Sterling Group’s holes, so you could support your precious childhood sweetheart!” Adrian shot to his feet, his face livid: “Natalie West! What nonsense are you spouting!” His chest heaved as he pointed at me: “Have you lost your mind! I think the miscarriage has scrambled your brain!” He grabbed his coat from the chair, turned, and slammed the door on his way out. I leaned against the headboard, as if I’d lost all my strength, and called toward the door: “Emma.” Emma, my assistant of many years, pushed the door open, her eyes rimmed red: “Miss West…” “Get out my prenuptial assets and fund lists. Cross-check them against Sterling Group’s business accounts and Lila’s personal accounts, one by one.” “List out everything that went into Sterling’s business account or someone else’s private account.” “How much is missing, where it went, who handled it—write it all out clearly.” I looked at her and added: “Also, the vitamins I took every day before the miscarriage—collect what’s left and keep them safe. Don’t let anyone touch them.” Emma nodded vigorously: “Yes, Miss West!” Emma left the room. I lay in the hospital bed, placing my hand on my lower abdomen. In my previous life, I had three little lives. But before they could come into this world, they were personally killed by their own father. Adrian. Lila. This life, what you owe me, I will collect back bit by bit, with interest.

Lila came again that afternoon. She wore light makeup that only made her face look paler, with a trace of grievance between her brows that made people’s hearts ache. Adrian followed behind her, his face dark enough to drip water. Lila sat down, her voice so soft it could squeeze out water: “Natalie, I heard you and Adrian had an argument?” “You’re still young, and you just had a miscarriage. You’re hurt and feeling wronged. I understand all that.” Her tone was gentle, like coaxing a child who didn’t understand: “But divorce—that’s not something you can just say casually. A divorced woman’s reputation is damaged. The gossip in our circle could drown you.” “The Sterling family has such prestige and cares most about appearances. Plus so many eyes are on the company. If you make this kind of scene, Adrian will be laughed at in our circle.” With each sentence she spoke, Adrian’s frown smoothed out a bit, and his eyes looking at her filled with gratitude for being understood. Lila raised her hand, gently pressing her fingertip to the corner of her eye, her voice choking: “It’s all my fault really. My poor health has kept Adrian worrying about me, making him neglect you.” “I’m the one who caused you two to fight like this. It’s all my fault.” Adrian cut her off sharply: “Lila! How can you say that! Taking care of you is my responsibility.” He looked at me, his eyes carrying a hint of threat: “Natalie, Lila is so much more thoughtful than you! She’s this worried about you, and you don’t even appreciate it!” Lila looked up, her eyes brimming with tears that hung precariously on the edge of falling: “No, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t stayed at the Sterling house, always making Adrian worry about me, you two wouldn’t have…” She got halfway through before she couldn’t hold on anymore, lowering her head to cover her face, her shoulders trembling slightly as she sobbed quietly. I watched her crude performance and suddenly laughed out loud. Hearing the laughter, Lila’s crying stopped abruptly. She looked up, her face full of shock. Adrian roared: “What’s so funny!” “I’m laughing at Lila for having at least some self-awareness.” I spoke each word clearly, my voice bright. “She knows she’s freeloading at the Sterling house, distracting Adrian, stirring up trouble between us as husband and wife.” “Watching you cry, I almost believed it. With your acting skills, it’s a real waste you’re not making movies.” “Natalie West!” Adrian bellowed. Lila suddenly stood up, her body swaying: “Natalie! How can you slander me! I’m doing this for you two…” I stared at her, my eyes cold as ice: “On my wedding night, you said you weren’t feeling well. Adrian didn’t even change out of his wedding clothes—he spent the whole night in your room.” “On my birthday, you said you were afraid of the dark. He abandoned me and the cake to rush over and keep you company through the night.” “The day before my miscarriage, it was pouring rain in the suburbs. You said you felt dizzy and your heart was racing. Without a word, he left me behind and drove to pick you up. I walked home alone in the rain.” “Your body really knows when to get sick. Every single time right when I need my husband!” I turned to look at the guilty-faced Adrian: “Everything I just said—don’t you, as the person involved, have any idea?” Adrian opened his mouth, speechless. As soon as I finished speaking, Lila held her head, swaying unsteadily: “Adrian… Adrian, I can’t… I’m dizzy…” “Dizzy again?” I picked up the glass of water on the table, raised my wrist, and splashed the water directly in her face. Lila’s elaborate hairstyle plastered against her face, her expression stunned. I put down the glass, my voice cold: “If you’re going to faint, go faint in your own place. Don’t be an eyesore here.” Lila’s motion to collapse into Adrian’s arms froze mid-air. She slowly straightened up, the fragility instantly fading from her face. A cold glint appeared in her eyes. The fainting act couldn’t continue. “Emma, call security to throw them out. I’m tired.” Emma came forward with two security guards, directly blocking them. Lila gave me a long look, stopped pretending to be weak, turned on her high heels and walked out. Where was any trace of frailty now? Adrian stayed behind last, looking at me with shocked and unfamiliar eyes: “Natalie, you’ve changed.” I turned my back to him, too lazy to look at him again: “It’s you who never truly saw me.” That evening. Emma placed a thick stack of transaction records and divorce papers in front of me: “Miss West, it’s all been verified. Your account is missing $56 million. The money trail and handlers are all listed here.” I picked up the divorce agreement, signed my name at the bottom, and pressed my fingerprint. “Send this to Adrian’s office. Tell him to transfer back my prenuptial assets and everything else that belongs to me within three days. And sign the divorce papers.” “Otherwise, I don’t mind letting everyone in the business circle know how Sterling Group sucked its daughter-in-law’s blood to maintain their empty shell of a prestigious family. At worst, we’ll mutually destroy each other and let Sterling get delisted.”

I went home first thing the next morning. Mother held my hand, tears streaming: “My daughter… but that’s Sterling Group. After just one year you want a divorce? What will people think of you? Where does that leave the West family’s reputation?” Father’s face was stern, displeased: “Natalie, it’s not that Mom and Dad aren’t on your side, but a divorced woman—her reputation is ruined.” “Adrian may have his faults, but what man can be considerate in every way? You need to understand him. Once you have another child and Adrian becomes a father, naturally he’ll be more family-oriented.” “Listen to Dad—go back and talk properly with Adrian. If necessary, tell Adrian that for Sterling’s new development project, Dad will give him an extra percentage point.” I interrupted them: “Mom, Dad, I didn’t come home to throw a tantrum or have you talk me out of it. I’ve already sent over the divorce papers. My divorce from Adrian is final.” Father angrily grabbed the teacup from the table and smashed it on the floor: “You! How can you be so willful!” Mother sat on the sofa covering her face and crying: “You’re going to be the death of us! Your sister is coming back from abroad soon. If you make this scene in our circle, how will she marry into a good family in the future?” In the middle of this standoff, a steady voice rang out from the doorway: “If Natalie wants to come home, let her come home.” Ethan walked in, wearing an impeccably tailored suit, his posture upright, his features handsome. This was the brother my family had adopted since he was young. “Ethan…” I looked at him. He gave me a reassuring look, then turned to my parents, his tone carrying an unquestionable strength: “This house will always have a place for Natalie.” “The Sterling family bullied her and didn’t value her. That’s their heartlessness, not her fault.” “Whatever gossip is out there, if anyone dares bring it to the West family’s doorstep, I’ll handle it.” My parents were momentarily speechless. Mother’s crying quieted down. Father sighed and said: “Natalie, go upstairs and rest for now.” I nodded, got up, and went upstairs. Ethan followed behind me. At the stairway landing, I took out a pill bottle and handed it to him: “Ethan, I need to ask you for a favor.” Ethan sat down, his gaze falling on the pill bottle. I opened it and poured out one pill: “These are the folic acid and vitamins I took every day before this miscarriage.” “I suspect my miscarriage wasn’t an accident. These pills might be the problem.” Ethan picked up the bottle, examined it carefully, then looked up at me: “You suspect someone tampered with them?” “Exactly.” I met his gaze. “I don’t believe my body would just miscarry like that.” The pain of three miscarriages in my previous life had already seared into my bones. This lifetime, I would never endure it again. Ethan was silent for a long while, then put the bottle away: “Alright.” “I have some business and need to go to the capital for a few days. I’ll take these pills with me and have an authoritative institution test them.” He looked at me, his gaze complex yet gentle: “You just rest at home and take care of yourself. I’ll arrange for someone to watch the West house. The Sterling family won’t come harass you.” He slowly stood up, walked to the door, but his steps suddenly stopped. “Natalie, you must wait for me to come back.” “Whatever you want, whatever you want to do, I’ll help you.” I froze. He seemed to see through my confusion but didn’t explain, only giving me a reassuring smile: “Rest well. Don’t overthink.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he pushed the door open and walked out. I sat alone in the gradually darkening room, staring at the closed door, my emotions churning. I stayed home for two days, adjusting my state of mind. Then I simply went to the company to take over the family business. Occasional glances from longtime employees carried a trace of curiosity and sympathy. On the third day at noon. I was leaning by the window looking at the new quarterly reports. Emma ran in hurriedly, her face pale: “Miss West! This is bad! The Sterling family sent people!” “So many people! Damian, Adrian, Lila… and several lawyers! They’ve blocked the whole building entrance! The chairman has already gone down!” I put down the report and took a deep breath. So they finally came. I straightened my suit jacket and walked out.

The lobby of West Corporation was tense. Adrian’s older brother, Sterling Group Chairman Damian, stood at the front with a superior attitude. He spoke, his voice slow and heavy: “Mr. West, Mrs. West. The fact that I personally came to your company today shows I’m giving you plenty of face.” “You’ve really raised your daughter well. Now she’s so willful—divorce at the drop of a hat. Not only do you not discipline her properly, you actually enable her to run back to her parents’ home? What are you thinking?” Father smiled awkwardly: “Please calm down. Our daughter is young and doesn’t understand. We’ll definitely talk sense into her…” Adrian looked at me, his eyes full of reproach: “Natalie, look how upset you’ve made your father. Stop making a scene and come home with me. I don’t blame you for what happened that day. Let’s just live our lives properly.” Lila had changed into a light-colored suit today, still looking delicate: “Natalie, I apologize to you. It’s all my fault. Don’t fight with Adrian, and don’t make things difficult for Damian and your parents.” “Adrian does have feelings for you. He’s just not good at expressing himself. Give him one more chance, okay?” The three of them put on quite a show. Playing good cop and bad cop so well I wanted to applaud. They clearly wanted to force me to go back. I stood in the lobby, looking at these faces. In my previous life, I was forced to retreat step by step by this kind of “greater good” and “relationships” until I lost my life. I spoke, and the hall instantly quieted: “Damian, Adrian, Lila.” “I’ve already made myself very clear. I want a divorce.” “The asset list has been sent to Adrian’s office. The three-day deadline has passed two days. Please have the Sterling family transfer my prenuptial assets back to my account as soon as possible.” “Adrian, please sign the divorce papers promptly too.” “From now on, I have nothing more to do with the Sterling family!” Damian roared: “You! Natalie West! How dare you! Do you think you can divorce just because you want to?!” I laughed: “Your Sterling family embezzled my money, made me suffer endless grievances, and now killed my child. A Sterling family like that—I really can’t climb that high!” “You’re talking nonsense!” Adrian’s face changed drastically. He stepped forward trying to cover my mouth. I dodged to the side. I looked up coldly: “Whether I’m talking nonsense or not, you know in your heart.” “Over $50 million from my private account—how much did you use to fill holes, grease palms, and maintain your prestigious family’s facade? Do I need to recount it one by one in front of everyone?” Adrian’s and Damian’s faces instantly turned between green and white, extremely ugly. That Sterling Group was strong on the outside but weak on the inside, propped up by the daughter-in-law’s private assets—this was the ugly truth they feared most being known. Adrian’s shame transformed into rage. He shouted: “Natalie West! You really don’t know what’s good for you! You should be grateful I married you! Who else would want you after leaving the Sterling family! Today! You’re coming with me!” His eyes filled with viciousness as he waved to the security guards he’d brought: Several burly guards immediately stepped forward. “What are you doing!” Father reached out to stop them but was pushed aside. “Mom! Dad! Get out of the way!” Chaos erupted. Emma tried to protect me but was pulled away by the Sterling family’s people. Adrian personally stepped forward, grabbing my wrist, no longer pretending, only showing shameless forcefulness: “Natalie, stop making a scene! Come with me!” I struggled hard: “Don’t touch me!” He dragged me outside, trying to shove me into the car parked at the entrance. My parents were blocked, so angry their eyes turned red. Emma cried out from the side. Company employees also exclaimed in shock. Damian’s eyes were frighteningly cold. Lila covered her mouth, looking terrified, but there wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes—only cold indifference. Various voices mixed together in chaos. I was being dragged toward the car. Adrian’s face already showed a triumphant smile. Just then, the sound of orderly braking came from the roadside. “—Screech—!” A row of black Bentleys stopped neatly at the curb. The imposing presence made everyone present unable to breathe. A man in a custom suit with an extraordinary bearing got out of the car. He slowly stepped down from the lead Bentley.

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