Friday. A torrential downpour. Cows seek shelter, horses head for the stables, but the corporate drones… we find a way to get to the office, no matter what. I slid into the office right on time, swiping my keycard just as the boss, Kellan, walked by. He shot me a look of displeasure. It was probably my dripping umbrella, dirtying his pristine marble floors. I managed to survive until quitting time, only for my supervisor to announce mandatory overtime. Seething with resentment, I turned my head and saw him standing right behind me. Kellan’s face was a perfect mask of indifference. [Yes! A few more hours with Lily.] Who said that? 1 It was bizarre. The office was dead silent, yet I’d clearly heard a man’s voice. Just a moment ago, I was ranting to my coworker, Jenna. “This soulless corporation is always demanding overtime. If they didn’t pay so well, I’d have quit ages ago.” “I know, right?” she whispered back. “And why is it always you? You’re always the first one to finish your work.” It was true. I clocked more overtime than anyone else in the company. My supervisor called it “the burden of competence,” always giving me this strange, meaningful look. “I was supposed to see a movie with a friend tonight,” I grumbled. “So much for that.” Jenna ignored me, her eyes widening as she frantically signaled at something behind me. I knew that look. The boss was on patrol. I spun around to find Kellan Sterling standing there, tall and immaculate in his tailored suit. And he was looking at me. Again. I was pretty sure Kellan hated me. If I spoke too loudly in the office, he’d stare. If I shared snacks with a coworker, he’d stare. If I even thought about sneaking out early, he’d materialize with a look of stern disapproval. I’d often wondered, if he despised me so much, why did he even hire me? To make it worse, he was the reason for most of my overtime, summoning me to his office for the most trivial matters. I swear, I made more trips to the CEO’s office in a day than a delivery boy. I was convinced he was singling me out. Just like now, standing silently behind me like some corporate specter. “There are some minor details in that proposal that need to be reviewed,” he said, his tone flat, his eyes sweeping over me. “You’ll need to stay. We’ll go over them together.” You blood-sucking capitalist. It’s Friday night. Who in their right mind wants to slave away for you? No. This time, I would fight back! I know my rights! “Mr. Sterling, I have plans this evening. Does this proposal absolutely have to be reviewed right now?” I thought I sounded firm and resolute, but my voice came out with the unmistakable, pathetic whine of a wage slave. “Yes. I appreciate your trouble. I’ll see to it that your bonus is doubled this month.” My eyes lit up like a pinball machine. For the money… I forgive you. And right then, I heard it again: [Yes! A few more hours with Lily.] What the hell? It was his voice. Lily? Who’s Lily? I scanned the office. There was no one named… oh, wait. My name is Lily. Lily Graham. I glanced back at the boss. He still had that same stone-faced expression, as if that little burst of cheerful excitement had nothing to do with him. Maybe I was just hearing things. [Lily’s looking at me!] [Is there something wrong with my outfit today? The stylist picked this one out. It should be fine.] It wasn’t a hallucination. I looked at him again. [She’s looking at me again. Her eyes are so round. Like a little kitten.] Hearing that, my carefully composed expression started to crack. I was about to lose my mind. 2 By eight o’clock, the office was a ghost town. It was just me and Kellan. I was meticulously presenting the proposal I’d submitted a few days ago. On the surface, Kellan was the picture of professionalism. But his inner monologue was a different story. [Lily’s voice is so nice to listen to.] [She’s so brilliant. How does she come up with such amazing proposals?] [Aw, she’s done talking. I wish I could listen to her speak a little longer.] Now it was my turn to be expressionless. Ever since I’d started hearing his thoughts this afternoon, I’d realized Kellan was not the prim and proper man he appeared to be. He seemed to have some… indescribable feelings for me. At lunch, he’d deliberately gotten the exact same meal as me. [Yes! Eating the same thing as Lily.] During meetings, he’d always sit directly across from me. [Wow, I can look at Lily the whole time. My eyes feel so much better.] When I’d hugged Jenna goodbye at the end of the day, he’d been watching from the sidelines, his gaze dark and heavy. [Sob. Lily has never hugged me.] It was settled. Kellan Sterling had a crush on me. “Mr. Sterling, I’ve finished my presentation. Do you have any further comments?” “No further comments. We’ll make the changes you suggested. Your ideas are excellent.” He maintained his elite, business-like facade, giving no hint of the thoughts swirling in his head. “In that case, may I leave now?” The clock on the wall was nearing nine. Kellan glanced at it, a shadow of disappointment crossing his features. [How did it get so late? I barely got any time with Lily.] [Now I have to wait until next week to see her again.] I tensed. Don’t you dare try to keep me here longer, Kellan! I’ve had enough! “You may,” he said. I let out a breath of relief. Thank God, he was still human. Just then, a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows, and the rain started pouring down again. My heart sank. The universe itself was conspiring to make my life difficult. [It’s raining! This is my chance! I can offer to drive Lily home!] His voice was practically bouncing with excitement. “Lily,” he said, his voice smooth and professional. “Let me give you a ride home. It’s raining, and you were working late for the company’s benefit. It’s only right that I see you get home safely.” Under the office lights, his eyes seemed deep and dark, but I could have sworn I saw a flicker of thrilled excitement in them. I rolled my eyes internally. What a sanctimonious liar. But hey, a free ride is a free ride. A cab from here would cost me at least twenty bucks. “Well, thank you, Mr. Sterling.” “Of course. Let’s go.” [Yes! I get to go home with Lily today!] I nearly tripped over my own feet. Just what exactly was he imagining? 3 I slept in the next day. When I woke up, I saw a missed call from my parents. I didn’t need to guess what it was about. It was the same old story: find a boyfriend, get married, settle down. Sometimes, I found them ridiculous. When I was a child, they were ashamed I was a girl, telling anyone who would listen what a burden I was. Now, every other sentence was about how they were only “thinking of my own good,” constantly fretting over my future. My phone buzzed with a new message. My mom, again. She’d sent me a contact card. [This is your aunt’s son. He went to a top university, has a great career, he’s loyal, family-oriented. You should meet him. If you could marry him, you’d be set for life.] It was followed by a series of long voice messages, undoubtedly more lectures. Whatever. I’ll add him and then make it clear I’m not interested later. Just then, another notification popped up. The avatar was a cartoon cat. The contact name was Apex. A smile spread across my face. This was my gaming buddy. We’d known each other for three years, and his skills were insane. He was the only reason I’d ever managed to rank up. [Whatcha doin?] he messaged, along with a gif of a spinning kitten. [Dealing with my family’s marriage pressure. It’s so annoying.] We were close, but this was the first time I’d ever shared anything personal with him. For some reason, I felt like he’d understand. [You don’t want to get married?] [I don’t want to marry some ugly, broke, scheming man.] My mom had a habit of setting me up with the sons of her friends and relatives. Not a single one of them had been normal. He seemed to be typing for a long time on his end. Finally, a single message came through: [I’m not.] Huh? What was that supposed to mean? I ignored it and continued my rant: [And I think someone at my company likes me. I always thought he hated me. It’s a really weird feeling.] This time, the silence on his end was even longer. [Who is it?] Why did that sound so intense? [You don’t think I’m just making it up?] I asked, deflecting his question. After all, mind-reading sounded completely insane. [You’re an amazing person. It’s normal for someone to like you.] [Hahaha, you’re so smooth. You must have had a lot of girlfriends.] I was surprised. The usually cool and distant Apex was being quite the charmer. [No. I don’t have a girlfriend.] Whoa. A guy with his skills and personality was single? For some reason, hearing that made me happy. So, I sent Apex an invitation for a duo queue. He happily accepted. 4 Monday. Back to being a corporate drone. I dragged my lifeless body to the office, once again running into Kellan as I was clocking in. I instinctively tried to duck away, but his inner monologue caught me. [Sniffle. I finally get to see Lily again. Two days without seeing her felt like an eternity.] [Lily’s wearing a skirt today. Her legs are so beautiful. I want to kiss them.] [Why is Lily glaring at me? Did I do something to upset her?] Pervert! I cursed him in my head. How could Kellan be so cool and composed on the outside, but so shameless on the inside? He was shattering my image of the elite, untouchable CEO. Throughout the day, I felt his eyes on me. Little details that I’d previously ignored now made sense. Kellan would deliberately walk past my desk on his way to the break room. During meetings, when asking for suggestions, his gaze would land on me first. The afternoon tea that was delivered to the office was my favorite blueberry scone. I thought back to why I’d believed he was targeting me. It all started after that one presentation where I accidentally projected my laptop screen for the whole conference room to see. Displayed in giant letters was my private chat with Apex, complaining about the constant overtime and how I just wanted to play games. I remember several managers snickering, and Kellan, sitting in the center, looked absolutely furious. After that, he started appearing everywhere, always assigning me overtime, always calling on me for tasks. But the truth was… he was just trying to get my attention? Creating opportunities to be around me? Oh, my God. What kind of man pursues a woman like that? If I weren’t so greedy for that bonus money, I would have quit long ago! Jenna was secretly messaging me. “Lily, I think Mr. Sterling has been paying a lot of attention to the guys in our department today.” “Why would he do that?” “I don’t know. I heard from the team lead that he specifically asked which ones were single.” “Don’t try to guess what the boss is thinking. You’ll never figure it out.” Actually, I could. For instance, right now, Kellan was thinking: [Lily and Jenna are standing so close. When will Lily ever stand that close to me?] I swear, this man was a lovesick fool. [No, I can’t stand it. I’m too jealous. I have to call her over.] “Lily, my office. Now.” I rolled my eyes and went in. “There’s a business gala this Friday. You’ll be my date.” “Don’t you have a secretary for that?” I said, my usual sycophantic tone completely gone. Kellan glanced at me. “They’re all busy.” And I’m not? “I’ll have accounting triple your overtime pay for the night.” “Of course, Mr. Sterling,” I replied, plastering on a fake, professional smile. [Another chance to spend more time with Lily this week.] [That gown will look stunning on her. I can’t wait.] [I wonder if people will think she’s my girlfriend.] That last thought was tinged with a hopeful excitement. Seriously? I wanted to shake him. A man with his resources, and he’s resorting to a secret crush? What did I do to deserve this?

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After a lifetime of a loveless marriage and single-handedly raising our son, I finally saw him become a brilliant surgeon. I was over fifty, my duty done. That’s when my husband asked for a divorce. It turned out he had only married me because his first love, the free-spirited Lily, wasn’t ready to settle down. I, on the other hand, was gentle, quiet, and educated—the perfect incubator and mother. So, he married me to have a child, intending to swap our babies at birth, a twisted plan like a cuckoo laying its egg in another bird’s nest. Now, their son, the one I had raised, was an accomplished surgeon. My biological son was dying of kidney failure, waiting for me to donate a kidney. At this very moment, they were at my door with a horde of reporters, demanding I give their child back. But they didn’t know one crucial detail. Their switch had never succeeded. What mother wouldn’t recognize her own son? 1 We were all past fifty. Lily White, the wild bird, had finally tired of flying and decided she wanted a simple life. So my husband, Alistair, brought her into our home. They slapped a stack of photos onto my desk, forcing me to look. Alistair’s eyes were cold. “Veronica, the man in these photos, a man named Jack, is your biological son. He has kidney failure. He’s dying.” The photos showed a man ravaged by years of uremia. Jack was gaunt and sallow, a walking skeleton with a grotesquely swollen abdomen. Pain had twisted his features into a permanent, resentful scowl. His life had been one long tragedy. Abandoned at birth, he was taken in by an old, bitter bachelor who wanted someone to care for him in his old age. Jack grew up hungry and beaten, his leg broken in one of the beatings, leaving him with a permanent disability. He dropped out of middle school. He’d done time for theft. After his release, desperate for cash to show off, he’d sold one of his own kidneys. He’d lived extravagantly on the money for two years before the uremia set in. Now, his life was on a countdown. I looked from Alistair to Lily. Lily leaned against Alistair’s shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips. “We gave birth in the same hospital. The nurse must have mixed them up when she was bathing the babies.” Mixed them up? It was a blatant, malicious lie concocted by these two vile people. Alistair just looked at me coolly. “Half a lifetime of mistakes. It’s time to set things right. Let’s get a divorce.” He said he’d waited half his life for Lily to be ready, and now his wish was finally coming true. “Veronica, thank you for raising my son so well,” Lily said, her voice dripping with triumph. Alistair looked at her with doting eyes and playfully tapped her nose. The son I had raised, Miles, had excelled in everything since he was a child. Now, he was a brilliant surgeon. To get such an outstanding son without lifting a finger, Lily was practically floating on air. I calmly gathered the photos of Jack from the table. “What’s the rush?” I asked them. “We haven’t even done a DNA test.” “I knew you wouldn’t accept reality,” Lily sneered. “We’re already prepared.” She reached over and plucked a few strands of my hair. “We’ll just send these straight to the lab.” She was smug, victorious. To have her son returned to her, a fully-formed success, while I was left to suffer—she was ecstatic. “Alistair,” I said, looking at him. “Does your conscience not bother you at all?” He answered without hesitation. “You only married me for my money and status. You’ve enjoyed it for all these years, haven’t you?” “Besides,” he added, “you should go meet him. Give him a kidney. He’ll be able to live a few more years, spend some time with you.” In the presence of his first love, a wife was nothing. Especially a wife who had been carefully selected to be a tool. “As long as you have no regrets,” I said. “We’ll talk after the test results are in.” The results would take three days. I stood up to leave. “Lily, are you really ready to stop flying? This all feels like a dream,” Alistair murmured behind me. “Silly, this isn’t a dream. I’ve seen enough of the world. From now on, I’ll watch the clouds with you.” Behind me, Alistair and Lily cooed at each other, like two old trees finding a second spring. 2 I moved into a small apartment I owned. I often stayed there, so it was fully equipped. This day had come much later than I’d anticipated, but it had always been inevitable. I knew, from the moment the absurdity began, that this day would eventually arrive. The memories, long buried, flooded back. Twenty-seven years ago, Alistair had bumped into me, spilling coffee all over my dress. He’d been distraught, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, I ruined your clothes. Let me pay for them.” I had smiled at him gently. “It’s alright.” I wasn’t concerned about the dress. I took a napkin and began to wipe the coffee from the floor. “Every accident is just fate’s way of helping me avoid something bad and welcoming something good.” My calm, gentle demeanor had caught his attention. He crouched down beside me to help clean up the mess. “You’re the most emotionally stable person I’ve ever met.” I smiled. “I just see things differently.” I had learned long ago that panic solves nothing. Emotional stability allowed me to handle any problem with a clear head. Alistair got my number. He asked me to dinner to apologize, and we talked for hours. He poured his heart out to me, and I learned about his past with Lily. They had broken up a year prior, but he was still heartbroken. I advised him to look forward, to cherish the memory of a past love but not let it hold him back. I loved to fish, and Alistair would sit with me for an entire day, saying that being with me brought him peace. He started asking me out more and more, and it was clear where things were headed. One day, he asked me, “If it were you, would you cherish it?” I knew what he was asking. I nodded. “If I were so lucky, I would cherish it with my life.” “And if someone cherished me with their life,” he said, his eyes full of a sincere, hopeful love, “I would love them with my life, too.” How could I not yearn for that? A year later, Alistair proposed. I accepted. Two months after the wedding, I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to share the happy news, but he said he was working late. I couldn’t wait. I went to his office, only to find him holding Lily in his arms. “My baby is going to be a bastard! I should just get rid of it!” Lily cried, pounding on Alistair’s chest. He held her tightly, letting her vent. “You’re a free spirit, Lily. You don’t want to be tied down by marriage, I know that. I can give you the freedom you want,” he soothed. “Of course we’ll have our baby. Veronica is pregnant, too. She’s gentle and educated, the perfect mother. We’ll just switch the babies.” “Then, when you’re done playing, I’ll divorce her and marry you. We’ll finally be a family.” He said it without a flicker of hesitation. Standing just outside the door, I felt my heart shatter. “What about Veronica’s child?” Lily sniffed. “I’ll take care of her little bastard,” Alistair said dismissively. “We’ll dump it in some backwater town. Whether it lives or dies will be up to fate.” With just two sentences, Alistair had decided the fate of the child in my womb. His child with Lily was a precious baby; my child was a “bastard.” The love I had given him, he didn’t deserve. If he didn’t love me, he could have just said so. I wouldn’t have clung to him. But he didn’t. He wanted me to raise the child of his one true love. Like a cuckoo, laying its egg in another bird’s nest, forcing an unsuspecting mother to raise its young while her own chick is pushed out and left to die. Alistair wanted to play the cuckoo. 3 I went home and pretended I had never been to his office. When Alistair found out I was pregnant, he was ecstatic, spinning me around in his arms. He never missed a single prenatal appointment. But I knew that at the same hospital, he was also attending Lily’s appointments. During labor, Lily went into contractions first. He “accidentally” pushed me, ensuring our sons would be born on the same day. He secretly switched the babies. But he didn’t know that I secretly switched them back. Now, the son I raised was a success, while his son was riddled with disease. This absurd play was finally reaching its end. The DNA results weren’t even back yet when, the next day, my house was surrounded by reporters. The moment I opened the door, a forest of microphones was shoved in my face. “Mrs. Thorne, do you have anything to say about the baby switch twenty-seven years ago?” “Are you planning to donate a kidney to Jack? After all, he’s your biological son, and he’s never known a mother’s love.” “Do you resent your adopted son, Miles? Will you demand he repay you for everything you’ve given him?” An avalanche of sharp, invasive questions. I had no choice but to slam the door. I turned on my phone. Messages of concern from friends flooded in. I had become a trending topic. #FATE_AT_BIRTH_TWO_DIFFERENT_LIVES_TRAGEDY_VS_TRIUMPH #BABY_SWITCH_27_YEARS_AGO_JACKS_CURRENT_STATE_MILES_CURRENT_STATE #A_LIFETIME_OF_ERROR_ONE_MISTAKE_CHANGES_EVERYTHING #A_MOTHERS_KIDNEY_COULD_SAVE_JACKS_LIFE The headlines were glaring, sensational. I clicked on one. Miles was a top surgeon, a graduate of a prestigious university. Jack was a delinquent, now tormented by illness. The contrast was stark. The whole internet was buzzing. The topic of the kidney donation was the most heated. People were extolling the virtues of motherly love. Countless comments read, “If that were my son, I would donate a kidney in a heartbeat to save him.” People pitied Jack, sympathizing with the life that had been stolen from him. The video of me coldly slamming the door on the reporters this morning quickly went viral, with all sorts of judgmental headlines. My son, Miles, called. “Mom, is what they’re saying online true?” His voice was shaken. He’d seen the news and was in disbelief, wrestling with himself before finally calling. “Of course not. I can say with absolute certainty that you are my son,” I soothed him. How could I possibly have raised someone else’s child? “But Mom, Dad sent me a message, and he was so sure… and that woman, Lily, she wants me to call her Mom.” Miles was terrified. He couldn’t believe something so bizarre could be happening to him. “The results will be out in two days. Just be patient.” Explaining it all would be easy, but I wanted to see what other tricks Alistair and Lily had up their sleeves. 4 “Miles, stay off the internet for a few days. Play some games, relax.” My son was resilient, but online harassment was a different beast. It was safer for him to disconnect for a while. “Okay, Mom. You too.” He was worried about me, just as I was about him. After we hung up, I calmly made myself a bowl of instant noodles. But soon, a video call came through from the property manager, Mr. King. “Mrs. Thorne, you should probably come down… There’s a sick man here in the complex looking for you…” “He says… he says he’s your son. He’s begging to see you…” Mr. King sounded stressed. He flipped the camera, and I saw a group of aggressive-looking people. Jack was there, lying on a hospital gurney. Beside him, a man who looked nearly seventy was yelling, “I raised someone else’s son for twenty-seven years! Think of the damages! She has to compensate me!” “I raised Jack from a baby! Now he’s dying, and there’s no one to take care of me in my old age! I spent hundreds of thousands on him! Who am I supposed to complain to?” The old man, Jack’s adoptive father, David, was spewing his grievances. He was a lazy bachelor who had never managed to find a wife. He’d found the abandoned baby Jack and kept him. When others, seeing a healthy baby boy, offered to adopt him, David had chased them away. He claimed raising Jack was difficult, but that was a lie. He barely fed himself, and Jack was raised on cheap formula and rice paste. He never changed diapers, never took him to a doctor. As soon as Jack was old enough, he was forced to work and serve him. David beat him regularly. The claim of spending hundreds of thousands was laughable. “Get her down here! If I don’t get an answer today, I’m not leaving!” David shouted, belligerent and unreasonable. “Mrs. Thorne, you heard him. We really can’t touch this guy. Please, come down,” Mr. King pleaded in a low voice. Reporters had gotten wind of the situation and were already there, many of them live-streaming the spectacle. I hung up and called Alistair. He declined the call and sent a text instead. [Veronica, stop making a scene. I had no choice. Lily was jealous, so I had to do this.] [You’ve had me for almost thirty years. She’s angry. And you’ve enjoyed a good life for all this time.] [Besides, you’ll get a good settlement in the divorce. And he is your biological son, isn’t he?] I almost laughed out loud at the message. So, he and Lily were the innocent, star-crossed lovers, and I was the villain? I called the police. When they arrived, I went downstairs. With the police present, the reporters were a little more subdued. When Jack saw me, he became incredibly emotional. “Mom! Mom!” he cried, his eyes red. “I didn’t come here to cause trouble. I was just afraid I wouldn’t make it to tomorrow… I just wanted to see you.” He was putting on a good act, but I knew his real motive. He wanted to force me to get tested for a kidney match. His body couldn’t wait. The public attention was at its peak, and Jack wanted to live. David eyed me up and down, a lecherous smile on his face. “So you’re Jack’s real mom? I guess that makes us family, then.” I ignored David and walked over to Jack. “Jack,” I said calmly. “Do you remember me? I sponsored you once.” Jack froze, as if trying to recall something. Then, his voice trembled as he asked, “You… you’re Auntie Grace?”

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My daughter’s new homeroom teacher started something she called the “Progress Prize Swap.” For every rank a student climbed in the class standings, they could swap a gift with any classmate of their choosing. The student chosen for the swap was not allowed to refuse, or they’d be accused of “disrupting class unity.” A cheap little hair clip was traded for a limited-edition Sparkle Kitty charm necklace. A half-used, grimy eraser was swapped for a brand-new set of watercolor paints. And a flimsy plastic baggie was forcefully exchanged for my daughter’s precious gold locket, a family heirloom. My daughter, the one I had cherished and raised with all the love in the world, had become a walking, talking “prize machine” for the underachievers to plunder. 1 For the past few days, my daughter, Monica, had been visibly wilting. Every afternoon when she came home from school, her little face was as wrinkled and distressed as a crumpled piece of homework. Even her favorite meal, honey-glazed chicken wings, sat untouched before her, failing to spark any interest. She’d poke at her rice with her fork, not a single grain eaten, before disappearing into her room. I knew something was wrong. I decided it was time for a heart-to-heart. Carrying a glass of warm milk, I stood before Monica’s door and knocked gently. “Monica-bug? I warmed up some milk for you. Is it okay if I come in?” I heard a faint rustling from inside. Monica’s voice was muffled and small. “Mommy, I don’t want any milk today.” My heart sank. I knew it. Something was deeply troubling her. “Well then…” I pressed lightly against the door, my voice even softer. “Mommy got a little beaten up by work today. Do you think I could borrow my little Monica’s ear for a minute?” The door creaked open, revealing a thin sliver of the room. Through the gap, Monica’s small face, framed by the warm yellow light, was tear-streaked and her eyes were red-rimmed. “Who bullied you, Mommy? I’ll go beat them up!” A wave of warmth and pride washed over me. I gently took her small hand in mine and followed her into the room. Monica clutched a fluffy teddy bear to her chest. I sat cross-legged on the rug beside her bed, my eyes level with her long, downcast lashes. “Sweetheart…” I began, lightly stroking the fuzzy fur on the teddy bear’s ear. “Can you tell Mommy what’s been dimming our little sunbeam lately?” Monica didn’t say a word. She buried her face deep into the bear’s soft belly. I raised my hand, my fingertips gently brushing through the stray strands of her hair. “Did something happen at school, Monica? Like… like that time someone snatched the new crayons Mommy bought you?” Monica finally lifted her face from the teddy bear. She was clutching its fluffy paws so tightly they were bent out of shape. I gently took her little hands, which were still gripping the toy. “You know, when I was a little girl,” I said softly, “I used to tell my teddy bear all my secrets. Because teddy bears are the best at keeping them, right?” I paused, then leaned closer to her ear. “But I’ve learned something new, honey. Telling a secret to someone you trust can make your heart feel so much lighter.” Suddenly, tears like broken strings of pearls began to fall from Monica’s eyes, splashing onto the teddy bear. She clutched at my sleeve, her voice choked with sobs. “Mommy… if I tell you… will the other kids and the teacher think… think I’m a tattletale they all hate?” 2 My heart clenched violently, a hot fury churning in my chest. But I managed to keep my voice a gentle, soothing whisper. “Monica, you are Mommy’s precious daughter. How could telling me what’s in your heart ever be tattling?” I raised my hand and carefully wiped the tears from her cheeks with my thumb. “Look, your teddy bear is starting to cry, too. He wants to hear what’s wrong.” Monica’s eyelashes fluttered, and then with a great “Waaah,” she threw herself into my arms. “Mommy, our new teacher, Ms. Grant, she started this… this ‘Progress Prize Swap.’ The students who improve their grades get to swap for other kids’ things.” She let out a hiccupping sob. “Yesterday, Jasmine used a hair clip to take the Sparkle Kitty charm my godmother gave me. And today… today Charlie used a dirty eraser to take the whole set of watercolor paints you just bought me… I said I didn’t want to trade, but Ms. Grant said I was disrupting class unity… and-and she made me copy pages from the textbook as punishment.” Monica scrambled off the bed and walked over to her desk. From the very bottom of her school bag, she pulled out a crumpled plastic bag. My heart twisted painfully as she emptied its contents onto her desk. A pencil snapped in half. A butterfly-shaped barrette with most of its rhinestones missing. A filthy piece of an eraser, worn down to the size of a fingernail… My gaze fell on a few stickers, clearly torn from an old notebook, and a dull ache spread through my chest. These weren’t gifts. This was the shredded dignity of my daughter, scraped away piece by piece over the last few days. Monica clutched the plastic bag, her lip trembling. “Luna Grant said this plastic bag was a ‘limited edition’… and she used it to take the little gold locket Grandma gave me.” The realization hit me like a physical blow. I looked at my daughter’s empty neck. That locket… my own mother, on her deathbed, had gone to the church and prayed over it, a charm to keep Monica safe and blessed. And it had been taken, traded for a cheap, worthless plastic bag. I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my rage from boiling over. “Monica, was the teacher there when this happened?” Fat tears splashed onto her bedsheets. She slowly opened her little hand, revealing several deep, crescent-shaped nail marks in her palm. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I couldn’t protect the locket Grandma gave me…” Monica sobbed. “I held on to it so tight… but Ms. Grant… she pried my fingers open, one by one.” “She said Luna Grant had shown the most improvement, so she deserved to wear it! She said that a girl as selfish as Monica was bound to have her grades slip.” Monica’s body was shaking violently. “I-I looked up at Ms. Grant… and she was glaring at me… like a monster from a cartoon. And she said… she said that tattletales are hated by everyone in the class!” I quickly wrapped my arms around her, patting her thin back. Only then did I realize her school shirt was soaked with sweat. She was like a terrified fledgling, every bone in her tiny body trembling. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s all over now.” I kissed her damp forehead. “Mommy’s here. Don’t be afraid. Mommy will defeat the big, bad monster who bullied my Monica.” 3 After I tucked Monica into bed, I softly closed her door. Staring at the blue glow of my phone screen, my stomach churned. The class parent group chat was buzzing with activity: [Charlie’s Mom]: “Ms. Grant, you are too kind! My little troublemaker came home today showing off his new watercolor set, said it was a prize from you for his progress!” [Jasmine’s Dad]: “What a brilliant teacher! My little Jasmine won’t let go of that Sparkle Kitty charm, she even sleeps with it in her hand. She said Ms. Grant picked it out especially for her! ” [Ethan’s Grandma]: “Ms. Grant is a true saint! My Ethan brought home a box of imported chocolates, a reward for his improvement. The boy has never had anything so fancy in his life! ” [Mason’s Mom]: “Thank you, Ms. Grant, for your dedication! Mason brought back a beautiful set of hardcover storybooks today, his little face was flushed with excitement. This kind of motivation is so effective! His enthusiasm for studying is through the roof! ” Then, a series of messages from [Isabelle Grant (Grade 1, Class 4 Teacher)] appeared. “Seeing the children’s progress is my greatest reward!” “Truthfully, the key to this kind of ‘incentive program’ is to cultivate a spirit of sharing among the children.” “Children today can be so self-centered. I just thought that by letting items circulate, they could learn the joy of giving.” [Charlie’s Mom]: “Ms. Grant, you’re amazing! For this year’s ‘Teacher of the Year’ award, I will definitely get all my relatives to vote for you!” [Jasmine’s Dad]: “You are such an innovative educator! You deserve a national teaching award!” [Ethan’s Grandma]: “When the school board officials come for their review, we parents will absolutely nominate you!” [Mason’s Mom]: “Yes! We should all write a letter of commendation, get the local news to come and report on your progressive methods!” Every new message of praise felt like a poisoned needle, jabbing directly into my nerves. All of those “rewards” that Ms. Grant had so generously “prepared,” the ones the parents were gushing over… they were all Monica’s. I typed out a message. Just as my finger was about to hit ‘send,’ the doorbell rang, sharp and piercing. Through the video intercom, I saw my next-door neighbor, Madeline, standing at the door, her hand clamped firmly on her son Leo’s collar. The moment I opened the door, before I could even speak, Madeline kicked the back of Leo’s knee. He stumbled forward with a thud, landing on the marble floor of my entryway. Madeline shoved a crumpled gift bag into my hands. “Eve, I’m so sorry. I’m here to make this little grifter of mine apologize to you.” Before I could process what was happening, Leo held a pencil case out to me. Inside, neatly arranged, were Monica’s stolen belongings: her Cinnamoroll eraser, her cartoon ruler set, and her favorite rainbow-colored highlighter pen. “Mrs. Miller, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his face red. “I shouldn’t have forced Monica to trade with me.” Madeline explained, her voice tight with anger. “I was checking his homework tonight and found this ridiculously pink pencil case on his desk. It’s obviously a little girl’s. He had the nerve to say Ms. Grant gave it to him as a prize.” “But one glare from me and the truth came out. What a load of crap! A ‘Progress Prize Swap’? Using another kid’s most treasured things as rewards? What kind of monster is this Ms. Grant?!” 4 I tiptoed back into Monica’s room and retrieved the crumpled plastic bag from her desk. Under the warm, yellow light of the living room, I laid out its contents on the coffee table, one by one. The barrette with the missing rhinestones, the broken pencil, the wrinkled stickers, the grimy shred of an eraser… Each item was a silent, heartbreaking indictment. Madeline’s face went from flushed with anger to pale with shock. “Those… those little monsters… and that woman, that Grant…” She took a deep breath. “Eve, we can’t let this go. I have a contact at the District Superintendent’s office, and I can rally the other parents in the group chat. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll back you up completely.” I stared at the pathetic collection of broken objects on the table. Suddenly, an idea sparked in my mind. “Wednesday is the school’s annual Field Day,” I said, looking up at Madeline, my voice firm. “I’m going to call Monica’s dad and have him invite his colleagues from the ‘Education Watch’ news program to do a special feature.” “I want to ask this Ms. Grant, in front of all the parents of the school—who gave you the right to use students’ personal property as prizes for your ‘program’?!” “Yes! That’s how you handle her!” Madeline raised her hand, about to slam it on the coffee table for emphasis, but then remembered Monica was asleep. She redirected the motion, giving her son Leo a sharp rap on the head instead. “Leo, you keep your mouth shut. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, you’ll have me to answer to!” The boy flinched, rubbing his head and nodding vigorously. “Oh, right.” Madeline leaned in, a waft of her perfume following her. She pressed something small into my hand. “This is the latest model of a button camera. Have Monica clip it into her hair.” Her finger pressed a tiny button, and a faint red light blinked from the center of the strawberry decoration on the hair clip. “It’s high-def. It can capture the words on the blackboard and the mole on Ms. Grant’s face. It also streams live. Perfect for documenting her vile behavior.” I thought of the tear-stained teddy bear still clutched in Monica’s arms. I pushed the clip back toward her. “Before I get justice, I will not let Monica set foot in that classroom again.” Madeline reluctantly took the clip back. Then, her eyes lit up as she turned to her son. “Oh, Leo, your hair is so soft! This would look so cute on you!” Leo instinctively recoiled, his ears turning a bright, fiery red as he frantically covered his short hair with his hands. “I’m a boy!” “I know, I know,” Madeline said with a dismissive wave, still dangling the clip temptingly. “You wore those pink bunny ears for Halloween last year…” “That was different!” Leo shot me a desperate, pleading look, his puppy-dog eyes begging for rescue. “Eve, please~” I couldn’t help but smile, clearing my throat. “Madeline, don’t give the kid such a hard time.” “It’s not a hard time! I’ve always dreamed of having a daughter.” She turned to her son, her gaze suddenly sharp. “Leo, don’t you want to help get justice for Monica?” Leo froze. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and, with the look of a man marching to his doom, took the strawberry hair clip from his mother’s hand. 5 On the morning of Field Day, as I was helping Monica with her uniform, my phone vibrated. “Eve, I am so, so sorry!” The voice of Zhang, the show’s producer, was frantic. “There’s been a massive traffic accident on the New City expressway. The station has reassigned our whole crew to cover it… all our people and equipment are tied up.” “It’s alright. You handle what you need to,” I said, but my mind was racing. What a coincidence. The knot I was tying in her uniform scarf came out crooked. “Mommy?” Monica gently tugged on my sleeve, her small face tilted up to mine. The shadows from her eyelashes were like two tiny, trembling fans. “Are we still going to Field Day?” I took a deep breath and knelt to meet her gaze. “Yes, we are.” “Go ahead and start your warm-ups, sweetheart.” I ruffled her soft hair. “Just like your teacher showed you in dance class, remember?” As I watched her obediently stretch into a graceful, swan-like pose, I hurried to the corner of the hallway and dialed Madeline’s number. “Madeline, the TV crew can’t make it. They said there was a huge accident on the expressway, and all their resources got diverted…” Madeline’s voice on the other end rose in pitch. “What? How could they just—” A sharp, searing pain exploded at the back of my neck. The last thing I saw was a baseball bat swinging through the air. When I woke up, the dull throb in my head was mixed with the thick, cloying smell of rubber. My wrists were bound tightly with a rough jump rope, and a filthy rag was stuffed in my mouth. A thin line of light seeped through the crack of the equipment room’s metal door, and I could faintly hear the announcer’s voice from the sports field. “…and that concludes a successful Field Day! On a special note, we’ve received a joint letter of commendation from 58 parents. Now, let’s give a warm round of applause for Ms. Isabelle Grant, who will come to the podium to share some of her educational insights with us!” Amid the cheers, I heard Isabelle Grant’s voice, artificially soft and sweet, booming through the speakers. “First, I want to thank all the parents for their trust and support… The reason my ‘Progress Prize Swap’ has been so successful is that it dares to break the shackles of traditional education!” I gritted my teeth, scraping my wrists raw against the coarse rope. Just then, the lock on the equipment room door rattled with a heavy thud. “Eve, are you in there?” “Mrs. Miller! Are you okay?” I desperately kicked my heel against a metal rack of sports equipment, making as much noise as I could. The instant the door was finally forced open, blinding sunlight poured in. Madeline stood there, a fire axe held high in her hands, its blade glinting menacingly. Ignoring the raw, bleeding skin on my wrists, I scrambled to my feet and burst out of the equipment room. “…My educational philosophy is to allow valuable resources to flow to where they are most needed…” Isabelle’s speech was reaching its crescendo. “This is what true educational equity looks like!” I pushed my way through the milling crowd. The “Education Watch” camera crew, the one that was supposed to be at an accident scene, was now diligently adjusting the lighting for Isabelle. And my husband, Mark, who was supposed to be out of town on business, was standing at the side of the stage, his gaze fixed on Isabelle with an unmistakable look of tenderness. A firestorm of rage erupted in my chest, my nails digging deep into my palms. But in the next second, a mother’s instinct took over, forcing my eyes away, frantically searching the crowd for Monica. When I finally reached the large tree behind the main stage, the scene before me sent ice through my veins.

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On my husband’s 60th suicide attempt, he succeeded—after Isabelle sneered, “You’re revolting.” He jumped from the 33rd floor, demanding his ashes be buried beneath her window to watch her forever. I, his wife, inherited only debts and blame. “Clara, this is your fault!” His family smashed my head against the wall at the wake, forgetting it was me who dragged him from the burning wreckage, me who ruined my health reconstructing his face. Then my heart gave out. I woke up on the day of the crash. This time, when Isabelle provoked him, I didn’t intervene. I turned off my phone and entered the OR. Let them reap what they sowed. 1. “Dr. Wright. Your gloves.” My apprentice, Leo, held the sterile gloves with both hands, his eyes downcast, unable to hide the hesitation flickering within them. It was the twentieth time he’d snuck a glance at my face. I held out my hand, letting him carefully smooth the latex over my fingers. “What is it you’re trying to say?” His hand trembled, nearly knocking over a tray of instruments. “I’m sorry, Doctor. But I saw the message from your husband.” My fingers paused inside the glove. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I grew up near there. Blackwood Ridge… it’s a treacherous place. There are accidents all the time.” The operating room fell into a terrifying silence. I could feel the gazes of every assistant fixed on me, all of them holding their breath, waiting for my reaction. “He’s a famous actor. His agency has him surrounded by more bodyguards than you can imagine,” I said, pointing to the anesthetized patient on the table. “Instead of worrying about him, you should be worrying about us.” “Today, our task is to reconstruct an entirely new neural pathway inside her brain.” On the table, the young woman’s head was secured in a frame. Through the cranial window, we could see the gentle pulse of her cerebral cortex. “If we succeed, not only will she be able to play Chopin’s most difficult pieces again, but we will have proven the possibility of plastic reconstruction in the human brain. This will be a milestone in neurosurgical history.” “But if she dies on this table, every single one of us in this room can say goodbye to ever touching a scalpel again.” A fine sheen of sweat broke out on Leo’s forehead. The other assistants lowered their heads. My voice was cool and even. “If you can’t maintain your focus, you can all leave now.” At my words, every spine in the room straightened. Their gazes became sharp and focused. “Let’s begin.” The roar of an engine on Blackwood Ridge had nothing to do with me. I knew they were all worried I’d abandon the surgery and race to Gordon’s side. After all, he loved to make bets with his friends, summoning me at a moment’s notice, and I never once lost my temper. When it came to him, I would crawl, broken and bleeding, as long as I had a breath left in my body. Everyone thought I loved him to the bone. On our wedding day, he never even showed up. But I had stubbornly walked down the aisle alone, completed the ceremony alone. The socialites had a name for me after that: “The Devoted Saint.” The surgery lasted seventy-two hours straight. When I snipped the final suture, my fingers were spasming so badly they wouldn’t straighten. The moment I stepped out of the OR, the world went dark and I collapsed. I was dead to the world, buried in a deep, dreamless sleep until a thunderous pounding on my door woke me. “Clara Wright, you get out here right now!” My mother-in-law’s shrill voice pierced the door, mingling with the nurses’ attempts to placate her. “Ma’am, Dr. Wright just finished a three-day surgery. She needs to rest…” “Rest? My son is fighting for his life, and she has the nerve to rest?!” “So this is where she was hiding! Does she have any sense of duty as a wife?!” Annoyed, I got up and pulled open the door to my on-call room, only to be met with the blur of an incoming hand. SLAP! A fiery pain exploded across my left cheek. I staggered back, my body crashing into a metal locker. Stars burst behind my eyes. “Gordon’s condition is critical, and you’re in here sleeping!” my mother-in-law shrieked, her meticulously maintained face twisted into a grotesque mask. I could finally see the bodyguards standing behind her, blocking the nurses who were trying to intervene. “You’re a curse! It’s because he married you that my son got hurt!” The taste of blood bloomed on my tongue, and with it came a chilling clarity. I had truly been reborn. “Are you smiling?” Her roar made my eardrums ache. “If your family hadn’t forced this marriage on us with that old contract, I…” “Who forced whom?” I interrupted, my voice hoarse but clear. “It was the Vance family who begged me to marry him. Have you forgotten? When your company’s stock was in freefall, who was it that came knocking with a marriage contract, begging for a bailout?” Her hand froze in mid-air. Humiliation turned to rage, and she raised her hand to strike again. I caught her wrist, my smile widening. “You’re right,” I said. “I should go see Gordon.” Not to save him. But to watch, with my own two eyes, as the man who had destroyed my life once before finally destroyed himself. The VIP room reeked of antiseptic and burnt flesh. Gordon was wrapped so tightly in gauze he looked like an unfinished mummy. It seemed his injuries were far worse this time. My mother-in-law threw herself onto the bed, her cries like a funeral wail. “My boy! My Gordon! What will you do, burned like this? You’re a star!” “Not only is his face burned, but he’s lost an eye.” She whipped her head around, her nails digging into my arm. “Are you made of stone? He went street racing, and you didn’t stop him! Don’t you dare let me find out who talked him into it! I’ll make sure they have no place to be buried!” The same scene, the same lines. Last time, my mother-in-law had been just as hysterical. I had dragged Gordon from the burning tanker, suffering severe injuries myself. But from his hospital bed, he had pointed at me and said, “I wanted a divorce, but Clara refused. She lost control and crashed the car.” “I got these burns trying to save her.” His mother had lost her mind, grabbing my hair and slamming my head against the wall. “You curse! You were born and your parents died! Your grandfather takes you in and he drops dead two years later! And now you’re trying to kill my son!” She had shrieked, her hands around my neck. “You bringer of ruin! I regret the day my son ever married you!” Back then, her words had sent me into a trembling shock. The truth was that Isabelle had sent me a positive pregnancy test to taunt me. I had driven to find them, only to witness their sports car slam into the fuel tanker. I had tried to speak, but no sound came out. And then, Gordon had spoken up. “Mom, don’t be like this with her.” He had reached for me, his bandaged hand gently taking my fingertips. In that instant, all my grievances had dissolved into tears. “Clara, I’m sorry,” he’d whispered. “I just can’t accept what I’ve become…” I had squeezed his hand back, clinging to that fleeting moment of warmth, even knowing it would vanish, knowing he would be cold and distant again in the next breath. “I understand,” I had promised solemnly. “I’ll always be here for you.” I had willingly stepped back into the cycle: hurt, forgiveness, and more hurt. I convinced myself that he needed me. Until the day he snuck out to see Isabelle. He returned a hollowed-out shell of a man. “She said I’m disgusting… that the sight of me makes her sick…” From that day on, he started his cycle of suicide attempts. One moment, he’d be clinging to me, whispering, “You’re all I have.” The next, he’d have his hands around my throat, screaming, “Why wasn’t it you who was disfigured?” The hospital gave me an ultimatum: return to work or resign. I chose the latter. To fix his face, I worked day and night. I tested formulas on myself until my stomach bled, practiced new techniques on my own hands until I suffered nerve damage in my right. The day I could no longer hold a pen, Gordon had smiled, a genuine, happy smile. “Good,” he’d said. “Now we’re the same.” The last time, he slipped sleeping pills into my drink. When I woke up, he had already jumped from the rooftop, killing five pedestrians on the pavement below. The police handed me his will. It left everything he owned to Isabelle and demanded I transfer all of my company shares to her as well. Just then, on the hospital bed, Gordon’s eyes opened. A faint groan escaped from beneath the gauze. He struggled to move his right hand. His mother immediately grabbed it. “Gordon! Gordon, you’re awake? What are you trying to say?” Suddenly, the heart monitor began to shriek, his heart rate soaring to 130. “My son… my poor son…” His mother’s trembling hand hovered over him, afraid to touch the bandaged body. Gordon didn’t answer. “AHHH!” A bloodcurdling scream ripped through the room as his body began to convulse violently on the bed. A yellowish-red fluid of pus and blood seeped through the gauze. A raw, guttural moan was forced from his throat. “It hurts! It hurts so much!” His mother stumbled back and collapsed to the floor in terror. The door was thrown open and his father rushed in. “The pain! It’s too much!” Gordon screamed. “Kill me! Just kill me!” “It hurts… AHHH!” His body thrashed wildly against the restraints. His father slapped his own thighs in helpless panic. “Of course it hurts when you’re burned, son. Just try to bear with it…” Gordon forced the words through his clenched teeth. “Get… a doctor…” His father scrambled out of the room. But his mother, her face streaked with tears, suddenly glared at me, her eyes venomous. “Clara Wright! You’re a doctor! Are you just going to stand there and watch your husband suffer?” I calmly watched his heart rate spike to 140 on the monitor and took a silent step back. “I’m a neurosurgeon. The burn specialists will be here shortly.” Some pain, you just have to experience for yourself. The frantic footsteps of nurses echoed in the hallway. As the painkillers began to take effect, Gordon’s ragged breaths finally steadied. He lay limp on the bed, the bandages rising and falling faintly with his breathing. His mother held his hand, tears splashing onto the sheets. “This is a nightmare. Burned so badly… what will you do now? What will…” “Then I won’t be an actor anymore,” Gordon cut her off, his voice raspy. “Of course you can’t!” she sobbed harder. “You even hurt your eye…” “What?!” Gordon’s one good eye shot open. “That’s impossible! It was just supposed to be my face!” His father gripped the bed rail, his voice trembling. “How could it be just your face when you were in so much pain? The doctor said you have extensive burns all over your body. Son, what were you doing on Blackwood Ridge?” Gordon froze. “What happened? Who took you there?” his father pressed, shaking the rail. He began to struggle again. I slowly reached for the phone in my pocket, ready to expose the evidence of him and Isabelle street racing the moment he tried to frame me like he did last time. But Gordon closed his eye. “Stop talking. I want to be alone.” My hand froze. He didn’t blame me. He didn’t scream hysterically that it was all my fault, didn’t shift all the blame onto me. The phone slid back into my pocket, but my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. He had been reborn, too. “Mom, Dad, get the doctor to prescribe me some more painkillers,” Gordon said weakly, his voice laced with a feigned agony. His mother shot me a glare, as if blaming me for not thinking of such a simple thing. The moment the door closed, the look in Gordon’s eye changed. “I had a dream,” he said, his voice cold and sinister. “In the dream, I was in a car crash too. My face was ruined. And Isabelle… she found me disgusting.” “I tried to kill myself many times, but you… you fixed my face.” “Unfortunately, by the time I was presentable again, Isabelle had already married someone else.” My heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t a dream. It was exactly what had happened in our previous life. “I’m going to make up for the regrets in my dream. I love Isabelle. So what if she isn’t the Wright family heiress?” His expression grew more feverish. “Whether you agree to a divorce or not, I will be with her! I would die for her!” “So what if you’re the real heiress? I never loved you!” “The two old fools who arranged our marriage are dead! Why should I have to put up with the disgust of being with you any longer?” “It’s time for you to step aside,” Gordon commanded, his tone dripping with condescension, as if he were bestowing charity on a pathetic, unloved creature. “Fix my face. I know you can do it. Once my face is healed, Isabelle won’t find me disgusting anymore.” I stared at the man for whom I had once ripped out my own heart. There wasn’t a shred of guilt in his eyes, only a naked, ugly threat. “If you dare refuse, I’ll tell everyone that I was disfigured trying to save you.” “You know how crazy my fans are.” “And you’ve seen what my parents are capable of.” “No one will believe you. Just like before, everyone loved Isabelle. It’s the same now.”

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I was born with what people called a “vixen’s” face. My eyes slanted upwards at the corners, and my lips were so naturally red they looked painted. The slightest change in my expression was immediately labeled as “seductive” or “flirtatious.” Mandy, a girl in my major, was always telling me, “Lila, if you just toned down your looks a little, people wouldn’t get the wrong idea about you.” When my childhood friend, Julian, heard this, he’d just push up his glasses and say coolly, “Mandy has a point. You really should be more careful.” He never listened to my side of the story. “Alright, drop the act. I’ve known you forever, I know when you’re playing the victim.” Later, much later, when Josh had me cornered on a piano bench, his fingers tracing the hem of my dress as he kissed me breathless, Julian would kick open the door to the music room, his fist flying towards Josh’s jaw. “Who the hell do you think you are!” 1 The moment the private room door swung open, the boisterous chatter inside died. I stood in the doorway, wearing a new floral sundress, as dozens of eyes shot towards me like tiny daggers. Julian sat at the head of the round table, his brow furrowed in a slight, almost imperceptible frown of disapproval. The girl beside him, Mandy, immediately jumped up and scurried over, her smile wide as she grabbed my arm. “Lila, you finally made it! We were starting to think you weren’t coming!” She was wearing a faded, worn-out university sweatshirt, her ponytail askew, an image of wholesome innocence. “You look so pretty today,” Mandy said, tilting her head back to look up at me, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Did you spend all this time getting dolled up at home? That must be why you’re late! Not like me, I’m so clumsy, I just threw something on and ran out the door.” Someone at the table chimed in, “Mandy, you look so pure and sweet like that!” “That dress on Lila is definitely a showstopper, though. She looks like a totally different person.” I was about to explain, but Julian’s voice cut through the noise. “Just sit. We were waiting for you.” His tone was flat, but his eyes swept over my dress with a clear note of disapproval. Mandy used the opportunity to link her arm through mine, guiding me towards the table. “Come on, sit! Julian saved a spot for you right here.” I pulled my arm free. “I was late because of traffic,” I said, looking directly at her. “And as for getting dressed up…” I gestured towards the hint of a lace trim peeking out from the collar of her sweatshirt. “If you know you can’t compete, why embarrass yourself?” Mandy’s face flushed a deep crimson, and she instinctively pulled her collar closed. “Lila.” Julian set his glass down, his voice lower than usual. “That’s not necessary.” I shrugged. “I’m just telling the truth.” “She was complimenting you,” he cut in, his voice sharp. “She didn’t mean anything by it. You don’t have to be so aggressive all the time.” Mandy immediately lowered her head, murmuring, “It’s my fault. Lila, please don’t be mad. Julian, please don’t yell at her…” Julian didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on me as he spoke slowly, deliberately. “And besides, Mandy has a point. It’s just a get-together with classmates. You didn’t need to dress like… that.” The air in the room felt like it had turned to ice. Suddenly, a low chuckle came from across the table. Josh, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk, broke the silence. “Quite the double standard you’ve got going on there, Mr. Class President,” he drawled, his voice laced with casual mockery. “She can wear whatever she wants. Who made you the fashion police?” He paused, his eyes flicking from Julian to Mandy. “Or is it that only the people next to you are allowed to play innocent, while everyone else has to be wrapped up like a mummy?” A low murmur of gossip started to ripple through the room. Everyone knew Josh. He was the undisputed king of campus—the star basketball player with a rugged, handsome face and a rebellious streak that had girls leaving love letters in his locker daily. But he was a lone wolf, keeping everyone at a distance. He and I had barely exchanged two words before, yet here he was, inexplicably coming to my defense. Josh tilted his head, spinning his phone on the table as he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “I just ordered your favorite raspberry iced tea. It’ll be gone if you leave.” I took a deep breath, walked to the chair furthest from Julian, and pulled it out. My voice was clear and bright. “Make mine an iced raspberry tea. Extra ice.” Across the table, Julian’s fingers tightened around his glass, his knuckles turning white. 2 The steam from the hot pot filled the room with a spicy haze. Mandy had just peeled a shrimp and placed it in Julian’s bowl when she suddenly clapped her hands together. “Oh, Lila, I heard you were chosen as the lead guide for the University Archives exhibit!” Her eyes curved into crescents, but her tone was carefully measured. “Your knowledge of history is so amazing, I’m sure you’re more than qualified. It’s so impressive you were selected.” Before I could reply, she leaned closer to Julian, her voice a stage whisper that carried across the table. “But… with Lila looking so stunning, standing there in that uniform in front of the display cases…” She drew out the pause, looking around at the other students. “I mean, when people come to visit, do you think they’ll be looking at the historical artifacts… or at our Lila?” A few people snickered. “Mandy’s got a point. Lila’s looks are… distracting.” “The archives will probably be packed, but everyone will be there for the guide, not the history!” Mandy immediately waved her hands dismissively. “Oh, I was just kidding! Lila, don’t be mad, please! I know you were chosen for your talent.” I stood up, my voice ringing with conviction. “Mandy, the role of a guide is to connect people with our university’s history, to let them feel the soul of this institution. My appearance is a bonus, not a flaw.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Anyone who truly respects history won’t be distracted by the guide’s face. And if my appearance encourages someone who otherwise wouldn’t have cared to walk through that door and discover the magic of our past, then how is that not a victory in itself?” Julian suddenly spoke, his voice heavier than before. “Lila, that’s enough.” He put down his chopsticks, his brow creased. “Mandy was complimenting you. Why do you always have to turn everything into a lecture?” He paused, tapping his fingers on the table, a subtle rhythm of irritation. “And she raised a valid concern. You already draw enough attention. As a guide, you’ll need to be even more mindful of your conduct.” I lowered my eyes, my lips pressed into a thin line. “So because I’m pretty, I’m just supposed to shut up and take it when people say things like that?” Julian slammed his cup down on the table. “Alright, drop the act. I’ve known you forever. I know when you’re playing the victim.” The laughter around the table died. Mandy’s face was a frozen mask, her knuckles white around her chopsticks. “I… I was just making a casual remark…” “Maybe you should engage your brain before making casual remarks,” Josh drawled from his corner. The clinking of ice in his now-empty glass was shockingly loud in the silence. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, giving a small nod in Josh’s direction. “The tea was great. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” As I turned and pulled open the door, I heard Julian’s low command from behind me. “Stay.” I didn’t look back. I stepped out into the hallway, the cool night air a welcome relief after the stuffy, spicy heat of the room. The knot of frustration in my chest began to loosen. As for Julian’s darkening expression and the jealousy flickering in Mandy’s eyes… That wasn’t my problem anymore. 3 The bell signaling the end of the evening study session had just rung when our academic advisor walked in, holding a class roster. “Just a quick announcement. The position of lead guide for the University Archives is a formal practicum. It will add two points of extra credit to your final grade.” A quiet buzz went through the classroom. My hand, holding a pen, froze mid-air. After class, as I walked into the hallway, I heard Mandy’s voice coming from the advisor’s office doorway. She was talking to another student. “Did you hear? Julian just went to talk to the advisor… he said I would be a better fit…” My stomach dropped. Sure enough, the next day, the list on the official notice board had been changed. My name was crossed out, replaced by Mandy’s. I clutched the crumpled draft of my presentation notes and cornered Julian in the stairwell. “Why?” My voice trembled. “The decision was final. What right did you have to go to the advisor and change it?” Julian leaned against the railing, fiddling with his class president armband. His tone was infuriatingly calm. “Mandy’s GPA is two points lower than yours. She needs those practicum credits for her scholarship.” “And what about me?” I slapped the notes against his chest, the pages filled with my dense, frantic handwriting. “Do you have any idea how many nights I stayed up researching this? Did you even see me when I was trying on the uniform?” His gaze flickered over the papers, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I know you worked hard, but…” “But she needed it more?” I cut him off, a lump forming in my throat. “Julian, you knew how much this opportunity meant to me!” He was silent for a few seconds, then reached out to touch my hair. I flinched away. “Lila, don’t be difficult,” he said, his voice softening into a placating tone. “The auditions for the freshman orientation gala host are tomorrow. I’ll talk to the student council, get you the spot. That gives you extra credit, too.” I stared at his entitled expression and suddenly let out a laugh, cold and sharp. “Who do you think you are, Julian?” “You want me to trade one stolen opportunity for another one you grant me out of pity?” I took a step back, my eyes turning to ice. “I’ll go to the audition myself. I don’t need you to ‘put in a word’ for me.” His face instantly darkened. “Lila, I’m so disappointed in you.” “The feeling is mutual!” I spun around to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. “You’ve changed since we got to college. You’re so defiant now,” he said, his voice a mixture of frustration and a possessiveness I couldn’t quite place. “You used to be so different. You used to be so good.” Used to be? I froze, and memories flooded back. Ever since we were kids, he’d follow me home from school, warding off others because of my looks. “Stay away from them,” he’d say. “They’re just jealous.” He told me not to go to sleepovers with other girls. “They just talk about you behind your back.” He told me to wear dark, plain clothes. “You don’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention.” And I had listened. I kept to myself, avoiding groups of girls, but they still drew monsters in my textbooks. And every time, he would be the one to rip out the defaced page, his brow furrowed as he said, “See? I was right. I’m the only one who’s really looking out for you.” I yanked my hand free, my voice raw. “Julian, you’re the one who trapped me. You suffocated me in your so-called ‘protection’—” “Lila? Julian?” Mandy’s voice cut in. She looked from me to him, her expression a mask of concern. “Please don’t fight. If you really want the position, I’ll go tell the advisor to switch it back right now. I don’t mind, really.” Before I could speak, Julian cut her off with a frown. “This has nothing to do with you. We’re talking about something else.” The words I wanted to say caught in my throat, sour and bitter. “There’s nothing left to say,” I choked out, clutching my backpack strap and walking away. “Lila!” Julian reached for me, but I dodged his hand. My footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell. I didn’t look back. Behind me, I heard Mandy’s soft voice. “Julian, don’t be mad at Lila. She’s probably just feeling hurt…” And then Julian’s reply, laced with that familiar, patronizing weariness, floated down the stairs after me: “She’s just spoiled. You can’t reason with her.” I bit my lip and walked faster. The moment I stepped out of the building and into the evening air, my eyes finally burned with tears. 4 The tears fell, hot and fast. I crouched under a lamppost, burying my face in my knees, my backpack discarded on the pavement beside me. The cool night wind whipped at the hem of my dress, a chilling reminder of my own pathetic state. “Hey, need a tissue?” A lazy voice, tinged with a playful smile, sounded from above me. I looked up, my vision blurred by tears. Through the watery haze, I saw Josh leaning against the lamppost, a lollipop stick bobbing between his lips, his jacket slung casually over one shoulder. “Here, wipe your face,” he said, sliding down to sit beside me, his long legs stretched out. His movements were easy, natural. “If you keep crying, your eyes will swell up like walnuts. The judges for the audition tomorrow will think a panda escaped the zoo.” A small laugh escaped me, a choked, watery sound. The tears were still clinging to my eyelashes, but I couldn’t help but glare at him. “You’re the escaped panda.” “Alright, alright, I’m the panda,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, though the smile in his eyes gave him away. “So, can this panda treat a pretty girl to some ice cream? I heard the corner shop has a new cherry-almond flavor, with double the chocolate chips.” He stood up and held out his hand. The last rays of the setting sun caught the back of his hand, highlighting the graceful curve of his knuckles. I hesitated for a moment before placing my hand in his. His palm was warm, and he pulled me to my feet with a gentle tug. Josh suddenly leaned in close. His fingers brushed softly against the tear tracks on my cheek, a gesture so tender it felt completely out of character. “Next time you’re sad, come find me.” His handsome, roguish face was serious now. “I’m better at cheering people up than he is. And I actually make sense.” I stared into his eyes, so close to my own, and my heart skipped a beat. I quickly looked away. “Who said I needed you to cheer me up?” “Oh?” He drew out the word, his voice a low, coaxing murmur. “Then how about you give me a chance to prove it?” His eyes were too bright, his serious expression a stark contrast to his usual lazy swagger. It was so unexpected that it sent me fleeing. 5 “Who was that?” my roommate asked, laughing as she emerged from the bathroom, toweling her hair. “Making our beautiful Lila blush like a tomato.” I flopped onto my bed and buried my face in my pillow. “No one!” When I finally calmed down, I remembered the host auditions for the next day. My formal dress for it was a little off, and Julian, saying he knew a good tailor, had taken it to be altered. As much as I didn’t want to, I opened our chat. [Is the dress ready? I need it for the audition tomorrow.] He replied almost instantly. [Don’t worry, it’s all set. I’ll bring it over first thing in the morning, with some fresh donuts from that place you love. Don’t be mad anymore, okay? You’re the best, Lila. You’re going to kill it at the audition.] Reading those familiar, placating words, a knot formed in my stomach. I didn’t reply. The next morning, I waited in my dorm until nine o’clock. The audition was in an hour, and there was still no sign of Julian. I sent another message. [Where is the dress? I’m going to be late.] No reply. At 9:15, I tried calling him. No answer. Then my roommate, scrolling through the campus social media feed, showed me her phone. It was a picture of Mandy in the University Archives uniform, standing awkwardly in front of a display case. Julian was beside her, leaning down to speak to her, his profile patient and focused. The caption read: “Mandy was a little nervous for her first day, but Class President Julian stopped by to give her some pointers! ” I stared at the photo, my fingertips growing cold. I quickly typed another message. [If you don’t have time to bring it, just tell me where it is and I’ll get it myself.] 9:30. The message was sent, but it sank without a trace. My calls still went straight to voicemail. Panic began to set in. I kept unlocking my phone, trying to think of a backup plan, but my mind was a complete blank. The auditorium was already filling up. The senior student checking people in looked at me anxiously. “Lila, you’re up next. Is your outfit ready?” I clutched my phone, my palm slick with sweat. Just then, the back door of the auditorium creaked open. Josh strode in, silhouetted against the bright light. He was carrying an elegant garment bag in one hand and had something slung over his shoulder. As he got closer, I saw that it was a glittering, light-up sign. “Here,” he said, shoving the garment bag into my hands. He tapped the sign with a proud grin. “What do you think? My execution is on point, right? A proper support section for my number one fan.” I was stunned. “How did you…” “Figured there might be a problem, so I had this rush-ordered last night,” he said with a wink, gesturing towards the backstage area. “Now go, get changed.” The dress fit even better than my original one. With no time to ask questions, I changed quickly and hurried onto the stage. When the spotlight hit me, my eyes immediately found him in the audience. Josh wasn’t sitting down like everyone else. He was standing in the back row, holding up the sign that had my name on it in glittering lights, swaying it gently to the rhythm of the background music. I took a deep breath and smiled. In that moment, the forgotten dress and the boy who had broken his promise didn’t seem to matter at all.

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Seven days after my daughter disappeared, I took an entire preschool hostage. I had all 27 students and their two teachers locked inside a classroom. I made my demand to the police: for every half-hour they failed to find my daughter, I would kill one of the children. The preschool director was on her knees, a sobbing, hysterical mess. “It’s not my fault your daughter’s missing! Why should these other children have to pay for it?” I glanced at my watch. “You have twenty-nine minutes. Find my daughter. Now.” I knew she was here. Somewhere in this building. 01 Five minutes ago, the director’s tone had been far more arrogant. I leaned against the classroom door, the children inside still playing, blissfully unaware. Only the two young teachers stared at me, their eyes wide with terror. Outside, the director was still pounding on the door. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Your kid’s disappearance has nothing to do with me! Open this door! School lets out soon!” I frowned, pulled a cobbled-together pistol from my pocket, and without a word, fired a single shot into the ceiling. The pounding stopped. The director stumbled back, her voice a trembling whisper. “You’re… you’re serious? This is a federal crime! Do you have any idea what they do to people who kidnap children? They’ll put you away forever!” I let out a cold laugh, stroking the metal of the gun. “Then you’d better call them. You’re not the one I need to talk to.” Five minutes later, sirens wailed in the distance. A calm, gentle male voice called out. I recognized it. Officer Miller from the local precinct. He tried to reason with me, his voice a placating balm. “Leah, please, stay calm. We’re doing everything we can to investigate your daughter’s disappearance. Just let the children go, and we can talk this through, okay?” I gripped the pistol tighter, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat. My daughter, Lily, had been gone for seven days without a single trace. What was there to talk about now? How many years I’d get in prison? I shouted back, my voice echoing across the playground. “I want to see my daughter! If I don’t see her in thirty minutes, you’ll have a body to show for it!” The playground was now a sea of flashing lights and yellow police tape. Parents, hearing the news, had formed a frantic, weeping mob just beyond the barricade. The police were stretched thin, trying to contain the surging crowd while keeping a wary eye on me. Officer Miller was sweating, I could hear it in his voice. This was far above his pay grade. The tactical unit and SWAT were on their way. Until then, his job was to keep me talking. “Leah, we understand how you feel, but the children are innocent. You used to be their teacher. How can you hurt them?” My biggest regret in life was ever taking a job at this preschool. If I hadn’t, Lily would still be with me. I checked my watch again. “Twenty-eight minutes left,” I said, my voice flat. “I assume you don’t want any casualties.” “We’re doing our best,” he pleaded, “but we can’t just find her in a matter of minutes!” I roared back, my voice cracking. “I told you, she never left this building! Find her here!” 02 Sunshine Meadows was a private preschool, small and self-contained. Three two-story buildings and two small playgrounds. The day Lily vanished, I searched every inch of this place myself. Nothing. When I demanded to see the security footage, the director claimed the cameras were broken. What a convenient coincidence. I knew, right then, that she was involved. Later, I snuck back into the security office. I watched the footage from the surrounding cameras for hours. And I confirmed it. My daughter never left the preschool grounds. But where could she be? It was a question that had gnawed at me day and night. “We’ve already sent teams to search the premises,” Officer Miller called out, trying to placate me. “You have to trust us.” But I knew he didn’t believe me. The police had already searched the school multiple times and found nothing. The parents outside were a chaotic mix of fury and desperate pleas, their voices merging into a maddening roar that scraped at my last nerve. “Your kid is missing, what does that have to do with us? Go kidnap the director, not our kids!” “Please,” a woman wailed, collapsing to her knees at the police line. “I’m begging you, let my daughter go… she’s so fragile, her asthma… I’m on my knees…” The crowd’s anger was boiling over, some of them shouting for the police to just shoot me. I grabbed the school’s portable megaphone. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” my amplified voice boomed across the yard. “I just want to know where my daughter is.” Twenty-five minutes. The tactical teams would be here by now. Snipers were probably already in position. I took a deep breath. “Director,” I called out. “You know, don’t you? Where is my daughter?” Every eye turned to the woman cowering in the corner of the office. She gritted her teeth. “How would I know? Leah, stop acting like a rabid dog and blaming everyone!” She paused, then a malicious sort of realization dawned on her face. “Maybe she ran away from home! Maybe she went to find her father…” She looked straight at the police. “That ex-con husband of hers should be out of prison by now, right? I bet you anything, he’s the one who took her!” 03 “Absolutely not!” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. Officer Miller seized the opening. “We’re trying to contact your husband, Luke, but we haven’t been able to reach him.” “Leah, we will find your daughter. I promise you, we will spare no expense. Just release the children. Think about Lily. If we find her, do you want her to see you like this? Do you want her to know both her parents are criminals?” For a second, my resolve wavered. A small, red rubber ball rolled to a stop at my feet. A little girl called out, her voice bright and innocent, “Teacher, can you kick it back?” I steadied myself, gently tossing the ball back to her. These children had no idea what was happening. They were still so full of life. Could my Lily still be playing so happily? I couldn’t bear to think about it. I glanced at the time. “Eighteen minutes left,” I called out, my voice cold again. “Have you found anything yet?” 04 The negotiation had failed. Officer Miller sighed, stepping back as his colleagues took their positions. The top negotiators from the state had arrived. This standoff was now a city-wide crisis, with news vans and live-streaming vultures swarming the scene like flies to blood. The order had come down from the top: no harm to any of the children. If necessary, they were cleared to take me out. But Miller still held onto a sliver of hope. His gut told him I wasn’t a hardened killer, just a desperate mother pushed to the brink. “Did you get the security footage?” he asked his tech team. “Did the kid ever leave the building?” A younger officer replied, “We’ve recovered the deleted files, sir. There’s no sign of Lily Carter leaving the preschool.” Miller was stumped. Could I be right? Was Lily still here? But where could she be? The classrooms, offices, kitchen—they’d all been searched. What were they missing? His teams did another sweep. Nothing. “This is impossible!” one of his men exclaimed in frustration. “It’s like the kid just grew wings and flew away! There are cameras everywhere, no blind spots!” A thought sparked in Miller’s mind. “Are there cameras in the restrooms? Check the restrooms!” The preschool’s restrooms were inside the main building. And Lily was last seen near Classroom B. The very classroom where I was holding my hostages. My voice cut through the air again. “Fifteen minutes. Are you all completely useless? You can’t even find one little girl.” 05 I leaned against the wall, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You guys would turn a city upside down for a politician’s stolen briefcase, but a living, breathing child vanishes for seven days, and you have nothing?” My accusation was met with a moment of strained silence from Officer Miller. “Leah,” he said slowly, “what if your daughter is closer than you think?” I froze, not understanding him. I had searched this room, the closets, the attached restroom, every single corner. She wasn’t here. “This whole area is covered by cameras, except for the restroom. That’s the only blind spot. We think your daughter was taken from there.” “Leah, give yourself up! Let us handle this. We will find out what happened.” The restroom. The restroom. I pictured its layout. It was a simple, unisex bathroom with two small stalls and a tiny ventilation fan high on the wall. I stared in its direction, a strange feeling prickling at the back of my neck. Something was wrong with it, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. I licked my dry lips. “Ten minutes left. I only care about results. Find my daughter, or they all die with her.” Officer Miller closed his eyes. I knew what was happening. The lead detective was giving the signal to the sniper: take the shot at the first clear opportunity. “If my daughter disappeared from that restroom,” I shouted, “then there must be a hidden exit, right? I hope you find it soon. Even if you arrest me, it’ll be worth it.” I had suspected it myself. That Lily had been taken through the restroom. But that would require a secret door, and it would leave a trace. I was just an ordinary woman. What I couldn’t find, I had to entrust to the professionals. I lowered my gaze. So far, everything was going according to plan. The second hand on my watch swept relentlessly onward. I beckoned to a little girl. “Mia,” I said with a thin smile. “Want to play a game with Teacher Leah?” 06 Five minutes left. The police were still wasting their breath. “Leah, don’t do anything rash!” Miller’s voice was hoarse. “Every officer in the city is looking for your daughter. Not just us—citizens, volunteers, they’re all helping! It’s not too late. Your daughter will need her mother when we find her!” “One minute left. It seems you’ve failed.” I ripped open the curtains, using little Mia’s body as a shield, and drew a knife across her throat. The little girl didn’t even make a sound. Her head just slumped to the side. A spray of crimson splattered across the clean window pane. I retreated back into the shadows, my voice broadcasting over the megaphone, impossibly calm. “The first child is dead. Your inefficiency is to blame.” Outside, a wave of shrieks and sobs erupted from the parents. It had happened so fast, most of them couldn’t even tell which child it was. Cold sweat trickled down my back. Even hidden behind the wall, I knew a sniper’s scope was trained on my head. Officer Miller slammed his megaphone onto the ground, his voice raw with fury. “You’re a monster! I don’t care what your excuse is, killing an innocent child is unforgivable!” “I’m telling you, you’re surrounded! Give up now!” So, the gentle approach was over. Now came the threats. I wasn’t rattled. “Officer, I’ve rigged this entire building with explosives. If you don’t want to see a much higher body count, you’d better find her. Fast.” “I swear, the moment you find my daughter, I will surrender. I won’t hurt another soul.” 07 The word “explosives” made Officer Miller feel faint. They couldn’t call a madwoman’s bluff. Even if they took me out, I could detonate the bombs with my last breath. “Who the hell is she?” he demanded of his team. “How does a preschool teacher get her hands on guns and explosives?!” Someone explained, “She has a PhD in ordnance engineering. After her husband went to prison, she moved back to her hometown and took the teaching job.” Miller’s head throbbed. “What was her husband in for?” “Manslaughter. He was released seven days ago. His current whereabouts are unknown.” He got out seven days ago. His daughter disappeared seven days ago. Could it really be a coincidence? Did Luke Carter kidnap his own daughter? They had no time to speculate. They had to find Luke, but more importantly, they had to find Lily. The clock had started on a new thirty-minute countdown. Suddenly, there was a shout from the restroom in the adjacent, empty classroom. “We found something! There’s a hidden passage in here! And there’s a child!” Miller’s head snapped in that direction. He saw one of his officers emerging, carrying a small, frail child, and clutching a broken piece of a child’s smartwatch. His eyes widened. It was the same model as Lily’s. The crowd screamed. Miller rushed forward, throwing his jacket over the rescued child. He grabbed the megaphone. “Leah, it’s over! We can let them go now! We’ve found your daughter!” I peered through the peephole. I saw the child wrapped in the police jacket. A small arm dangled limply, and on the wrist was the same pink smartwatch I had bought for Lily. My heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted to throw the door open, to run to her. My hand was on the doorknob when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I glanced at the message, and my blood ran cold.

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After I spent $600 of my bonus on a new washing machine for my mom, all she did was complain that it didn’t work. “You’re quite the schemer, aren’t you? You didn’t even give your sister the ten dollars you got for the old machine. Just pocketed it yourself.” My face flushed. I thought she was joking, so I gave an awkward laugh. “Why would you think that?” She shot me a glare and changed the subject. “This piece of junk. I wash a set of sheets and they still come out sopping wet.” I took a look and realized she was using the 15-minute quick wash cycle. I started to switch it to the bulky items setting, explaining which cycle to use for which type of laundry. But she shoved my hand away and stubbornly twisted the dial back to quick wash. “Your sister said the quick wash saves water and is gentler on the clothes.” Her voice rose with anger, and she slammed a laundry basket down. “You have to calculate every little thing. It’s not your water bill, so of course, you don’t care. Not like your sister. She thinks about us in everything she does.” A chill went through me. I called the scrap dealer, paid him twenty bucks to bring the old washing machine back, and then arranged to have the new one moved to my own apartment. 1 I got a $600 bonus from a big project at work, and my first thought was the washing machine at home. It was over a decade old, one of those ancient models where you had to move the wet clothes to a separate drum for the spin cycle. When my mom washed anything heavy, the water-logged fabric was a struggle for her to lift, and I was always worried she’d throw out her back. I took a half-day off for the delivery. Watching the scrap dealer haul the old machine away, I felt a warm glow, imagining how surprised and happy Mom would be when she got home. She returned from her dance fitness class and froze in the doorway. Still holding the red silk fan she used for her routines, she just stood there, staring at the new machine in the bathroom. “Where’s the old one?” she asked. “Sold it to the scrap guy,” I said, polishing the control panel of the new machine. “Only got ten bucks for it.” Her expression soured instantly. The silk fan slapped against the sofa. “Who told you to do that?” Her voice was piercing. “That machine still worked!” I assumed it was just her usual frugality. “Mom, this new one is energy-efficient and quiet, and it can—” “Waste of money!” she snapped, cutting me off before storming into the kitchen. The faucet roared to life as she began furiously scrubbing a dishrag that didn’t even need washing, as if venting her frustration. She didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night, not even touching the pastries I’d bought specially for her. Two days later, my phone rang at work. The second I answered, I heard her yelling. “What kind of junk did you buy? It doesn’t clean anything!” When I rushed over, she was yanking a bedsheet out of the drum. Clumps of undissolved laundry powder clung to the damp fabric, and a puddle of water was forming on the floor. I knelt to see what the problem was. “You’re quite the schemer, aren’t you?” she said suddenly. My fingers froze. I looked up at her. She was scrubbing the machine’s exterior with a cloth, not even looking at me. “You didn’t even give your sister the ten dollars you got for the old machine. Just pocketed it yourself.” I thought I’d misheard. “What?” “Ten dollars.” She finally straightened up, flinging the cloth into a basin. “You can’t even let go of such a small amount of money.” My face burned with humiliation. I forced a smile. “Mom, why would you think that…” She shot me a look and went back to wrestling with the duvet cover in the drum. “This piece of junk. I wash a set of sheets and they still come out sopping wet.” That’s when I noticed she was still using the 15-minute quick wash. No wonder the powder hadn’t even dissolved. I started to switch it to the bulky items setting, explaining which cycle to use for which laundry. But she shoved my hand away and stubbornly twisted the dial back to quick wash. “Your sister said the quick wash saves water and is gentler on the clothes.” She grew more agitated, slamming a laundry basket down. “You have to calculate every little thing. It’s not your water bill, so of course, you don’t care. Not like your sister. She thinks about us in everything she does.” 2 It finally clicked. In my mother’s eyes, everything in this house belonged to my sister, Merrin. Even a broken-down washing machine worth only ten dollars. I could spend $600 on a brand new one for her, but I had no right to the ten dollars from the old one. That money should have gone to Merrin. My hand was still on the control panel, my fingertips cold. Mom stood beside me, impatiently shaking out more clothes, waiting for me to get out of her way. “Mom,” I said, my voice trembling slightly, “do you think that ten dollars should have gone to Merrin?” She frowned. “Who cares about ten dollars? I’m just saying, you’re so…” “Is that it?” I cut her off, my voice sharper than I’d expected. “Do you think that any money from that machine belongs to her?” “That’s not what I mean!” she snapped, her voice rising. “I just think you’re too selfish, you never consider anyone else.” Those words were like a key, unlocking a floodgate of memories. Two years ago, when we renovated the kitchen, the old cabinets sold for $150. The money went directly into Merrin’s bank account. “Your sister’s a bit tight on cash right now,” Mom had said. But at the time, I had just made the down payment on my apartment, and the pressure of the mortgage was so intense I couldn’t sleep at night. “It’s been like this my whole life,” I said, my voice growing steadier. “Anything that belongs to this family eventually becomes Merrin’s. You’re even afraid I’ll take advantage by keeping the money from a worthless old washing machine.” Mom slammed the laundry basket down. “What are you talking about!” “Am I?” I pulled out my phone. “What about Grandpa’s tea set from last year? You said you were saving it for Merrin because she appreciates things like that. But Grandpa told me himself he was leaving it to me!” The machine beeped shrilly, the quick wash cycle finished. Mom yanked open the door, and a wave of damp air hit my face. “Your sister has always been the thoughtful one,” she said, shaking the clothes so hard that water droplets splattered on my face. “Not like you, counting every single penny.” I wiped my face and suddenly remembered something from college. I had worked part-time to save up and buy her a cashmere sweater. She didn’t even try it on, just said the color was too dark. Later, I saw it on Merrin’s Instagram, the caption reading: New sweater from Mom! “Counting every penny?” I laughed out loud and dialed the scrap dealer. “Hey, Mark? Could you bring that washing machine back… yes, the one I sold you for ten bucks… You want more? How much?… Fine, twenty is fine.” Mom’s head snapped around. “What are you doing!” “Buying back Merrin’s washing machine,” I said, hanging up. My voice was unnervingly cheerful. “After all, it was ten whole dollars. Can’t let me have it all to myself.” Her face turned beet red. “Are you crazy? Why would you waste money like that!” “‘Waste money’?” I nodded. “I spent $600 on this new machine—my bonus for working overtime on a grueling project. Do you know what I’m using right now? The broken, secondhand machine the last tenant left in my apartment. It sounds like a tractor every time I use it. I’ll just take this one back for myself. That way, nobody’s being wasteful. You can go on living with Merrin’s precious washing machine.” Mom’s mouth hung open, as if she couldn’t believe I was saying these things. After all, I had always been the obedient daughter, never once defying her. For a long moment, she was too stunned to speak. I made another call and scheduled a mover to pick up the new machine that afternoon. When I hung up, the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by my mother’s heavy breathing. “Mom,” I said softly, “do you remember the year I took my college entrance exams?” Seeing my softer tone, she must have thought I was about to apologize. Her attitude immediately turned haughty, and she gave a cold snort. “I had a fever of 102, but you said Merrin had a midterm the next day and I couldn’t disturb her sleep.” My nails dug into my palms. “I was alone at the clinic on an IV drip until three in the morning.” That finally set her off. She grabbed a plastic hanger and smacked me across the back with it. “Why are you bringing up all that old ancient history!” My back burned. I couldn’t help but think of all the times it rained when I was a kid. My mom would be at the school gate with only one umbrella, and it was always for Merrin. “You’re older,” she’d say. “If you run fast enough, you won’t get wet.” “You know,” I said, grabbing my bag and walking toward the door, “sometimes I really wish you would just say it. Just say you love Merrin more. Just say that everything in this house is hers.” The moment the door closed, I heard a loud crash from inside. She must have thrown the laundry basket again. 3 The movers were fast. The new washing machine was in my apartment by that evening. When they came to pick it up, my mother stood blocking the doorway, refusing to let them in. I finally had to call building security to help get the machine out. The old washing machine was returned to its original spot, as if nothing had happened. That night, as I was setting up my new machine, Merrin called. The second I answered, her shrill voice pierced my ear. “Are you serious? Making such a huge scene over a stupid washing machine!” I was still kneeling on the floor, a screwdriver in my hand. “Am I the one making a scene, or is Mom? Do you even know what happened?” “You’ve been like this since we were kids!” she steamrolled on, completely ignoring my question. “You see something I have, and you have to go crying to Mom about it. Now you’re even fighting over a washing machine. Mom was right, you’re nothing but a beggar!” The screwdriver trembled in my hand. I suddenly remembered buying my apartment two years ago. I could have paid for it in full. But Merrin announced she wanted to do a study abroad program. Mom cried all day, saying the art school was too expensive and she was failing Merrin. Seeing my mother’s red, swollen eyes, my heart softened and I gave her $30,000. I took out a loan for the rest, a loan I’m still paying off. “A beggar? Since we’re on the subject,” I said, my voice eerily calm, “when are you planning on paying back the thirty thousand dollars I gave you?” The other end of the line went silent. “What… what do you mean?” Merrin’s voice was suddenly weak. “You know how much I make right now…” “When you came back last year, you said you’d pay me back as soon as you got a job.” I jammed the screwdriver back into the toolbox. “It’s been over a year. You’ve changed jobs twice and bought a two-thousand-dollar handbag, but you don’t have money to pay me back?” “You!” she shrieked. “Mom was right! You’re a cold-blooded animal! No wonder Mom doesn’t love you!” The line went dead. The dial tone sounded deafening in the empty room. I knelt beside my new washing machine and suddenly burst out laughing. It was true. My mother didn’t love me. Everyone knew it. I was the only one still trying to fool myself. I picked up my phone and sent Merrin a text. Have the money in my account by next week, or I’m coming to your office to get it. When we were little, Mom would buy Merrin new dresses, while my dresses were Merrin’s old ones, altered. I’d complain they were ugly, and Mom would coax me, “But Merrin’s clothes are better quality.” I wasn’t going to back down anymore. I wasn’t going to make myself small and miserable. Even if the price was finally admitting that the person I had tried so desperately to please would never, ever love me.

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I am Adrian Sterling’s most treasured little snake. As I was lounging contentedly on his chiseled abs, a series of pop-up comments suddenly materialized before my eyes: 【The main couple is finally going to meet! Go, brooding Adrian, love her fiercely!】 【Here it is, here it is! The heroine gets scared by the hero’s snake, and it’s love at first sight for him. He plays it cool and drops that classic line: ‘Is that all it takes to scare you?’】 【But it’s a shame about the little princess snake. In the end, to win back the heroine, the hero sends her to the fighting pits, where she gets eaten by the second male lead’s snake.】 This snake: ?! I looked up and saw the two of them staring at each other, just as the comments described. And so, this snake decided to run away from home. 1 No sooner had the text faded than the handbag in Sophia’s hands clattered to the floor. Her face was a mask of terror. Adrian scooped me off his stomach and placed me into my cold, sterile terrarium. He tossed in a baby mouse for good measure. Tying the belt of his silk robe, he drawled, “Is that all it takes to scare you?” “Your job is to raise the mice and feed the snake according to her requirements. If you can’t handle that, you can leave.” Sophia’s eyes reddened, a picture of pitiable beauty. “No, Mr. Sterling, I can do it. I can.” I’m scared! I can’t handle it! I’m just a lazy, spoiled little snake who does nothing but cause trouble. For dinner, I only eat live, mini-mice. For snacks, I only eat the tiny worms from inside fresh fruit. I’m the kind of useless snake whose only real skill is coiling prettily around Adrian’s wrist. Sending me to a fighting pit is no different from sending me to my death. Didn’t he hire Sophia because I was being too picky with my food, and he was too busy to raise the mice himself? Why did he have to go and hire the Grim Reaper for me? Suddenly, the baby mouse didn’t look so appetizing anymore. “Fine,” Adrian said. “The specific feeding instructions are in the snake house. Just follow them. But every six days, you must bring me a live, five-gram baby mouse. It must be every six days, five grams, and alive. I feed her this one myself.” He pointed at me. “Yes, Mr. Sterling,” Sophia replied. And just like that, he agreed. I panicked, darting back and forth inside the glass box. Adrian glanced down and noticed I wasn’t eating. His voice softened with affection. “What’s wrong, not eating again, hm? Should I switch to the peach worms for you?” He reached in, his fingers stroking my scales. The thought that this same hand would one day send me to my doom filled me with rage. I struck, sinking my fangs into the back of his hand. Adrian just laughed. “What’s this? Trying to eat me now, are you? You ungrateful little thing, my dear Lyra.” He’s the one who’s ungrateful, ditching me for a pretty face! 2 Adrian still doted on me. For the entire week, aside from delivering my mice, Sophia barely crossed paths with him. I was starting to doubt the truth of the pop-up comments. But then, they hit me with a bombshell: 【It’s happening! The drama starts today. The hero is meeting the second male lead and runs into the heroine, who’s working part-time at a bar. The love triangle begins!】 What? How many jobs does this Sophia have? Before I could even process my complaint, Adrian had grabbed his car keys and was heading for the door. I thrashed around in my heated terrarium, desperate. He was just about to leave when he turned back. “Lyra, what’s wrong with you?” I slithered back and forth, flicking my tongue out frantically. “You want to go out with me?” He shook his head. “No, it’s too crowded, too dangerous for you.” I was not happy. I coiled into a dark, dramatic spiral. Adrian sighed. “You usually won’t even see strangers. Why are you so desperate to go out today? Don’t blame me if you get scared.” But he couldn’t resist my pleading. He opened the terrarium. Overjoyed, I wound myself around his wrist and gave him a little lick with my tongue. Adrian pouted. “This happy just to go out? You’re even willing to lick me now.” … The bar was packed. I shrank back, a little scared. Adrian chuckled. “Scaredy-snake. And you were the one who insisted on coming.” He dared to laugh at me! Indignant, I let out a few hisses and bit the back of his hand again. Adrian poked my head gently. “You little princess. The moment you’re unhappy, you bite me. Who else in the world would dare treat me like this, hm?” I didn’t care. I turned my head away haughtily. 3 “Adrian, is your hand okay?” John asked him. He’d met Adrian through the snake fighting circuit. He was supposed to be something of a friend, but now, he was probably my potential rival’s owner. He had brought a massive python with him. I got even more scared and hid myself inside Adrian’s collar. “It’s fine. Just a love bite from my little princess,” Adrian said, frowning at John. “Cover that thing up. You’re scaring her.” John draped a cloth over the python’s cage. “What made you bring your precious treasure out today?” “The treasure wanted to go out. What could I do?” John stared at me for a long moment. “She really is beautiful. No wonder you treasure her so much. How about we make her the stake for our next bet?” Adrian cursed at him. “Get lost.” Just as he said that, the comments appeared again: 【Here comes the classic scene! The heroine gets scared by the snake and drops the tray of drinks. The hero asks her bluntly, ‘Why are you working so many jobs?’】 【Then the second male lead feels sorry for the heroine and plays the hero, paying for the drinks for her.】 【And thus, the love triangle is complete.】 I turned my head towards the door. Sure enough, there was Sophia, holding a tray of drinks. The moment our eyes met, the glasses crashed to the floor. Oh no. It seemed the pop-up comments were real after all. My world went black, and I went limp. My whole body hung limply from Adrian’s wrist. He panicked, cupping me in his hands. “Lyra, what’s wrong? Lyra!” Without even glancing at the door, he snapped, “What is the meaning of this? If you can’t even carry a tray of drinks, what are you doing working here?” Sophia stood at the entrance to the private room, looking pitiful, tears welling in her eyes. No, I couldn’t let them interact. Thinking fast, I slithered over to John, trying to draw Adrian’s attention. 4 It worked. Adrian’s gaze was glued to me. I ducked into John’s jacket, poking my head out to hiss at Adrian twice. “This little one is quite lively,” John laughed. Adrian’s brow furrowed into a deep knot, his voice tinged with hurt. “Lyra, have you no conscience? Where do you think you’re going?” “Don’t call her Lyra Sterling anymore. Call her Lyra Stone,” John teased, scratching under my chin. I played along, rubbing my head against his palm. No one was paying any attention to Sophia at the door. I did it! Just kidding. Adrian, green with jealousy, snatched me back. “You little thing. So heartless.” After he said that, he still looked towards the doorway and delivered the line from the pop-up comments: “Why are you working so many jobs? If this affects your work at my snake house, you’re fired.” Sophia looked like she was about to cry. “It won’t, Mr. Sterling. I promise it won’t affect my work.” Seeing this, John immediately stepped in to mediate. “Hey, it’s no big deal. You can go. I’ll cover the cost of the drinks.” After Sophia left, he said cheekily, “Adrian, why don’t you hire me to take care of your snakes? I’m an expert. I guarantee I’ll keep little Lyra looking beautiful.” Adrian shot back, “Get as far away from me as possible.” It seemed there was no changing this plot at all! 5 So I decided to run away. That night, to keep Adrian from putting me back in my terrarium, I was incredibly clingy. Every time he put me down, I would crawl right back onto his hand, my tail wagging nonstop. He was completely exasperated. “Lyra, why are you so clingy today? I usually have to beg you to come out for a little while.” Helpless, Adrian took me to bed with him. He looked at me seriously. “You have to be good, you hear me? The terrarium is safer.” I flicked my tongue out, trying to look cute. That did it. Adrian was completely defeated. “Alright, alright, I get it. But if you feel uncomfortable, you have to wake me up, understand?” Adrian fell asleep quickly. By the moonlight, I began to survey the bedroom. The doors and windows were shut tight, very secure. The only possible escape route was the crack under the door. Goodbye, Adrian. You were really good to me, but I have to save my own skin first. I took one last look at him, then started slithering towards the door. I was halfway out when the door suddenly swung open. A firm grip seized the back of my neck, and I was lifted into the air. Adrian and I were face to face, his eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t understand. “I knew something was off with you being so clingy today. Turns out you were planning to run away, you little liar. I take you out just once, and now you can’t get enough of the outside world?” I flicked my tongue out guiltily. Adrian was unmoved. “Acting cute won’t work. Since you won’t listen, your punishment is to sleep back in the terrarium.” 6 Damn it. I had lost my snake-rights to free movement. Unless Adrian was watching me, I was to be locked in the terrarium. I protested by lying on my back, belly up, and not moving an inch. Adrian was busy cutting open peaches for me nearby. “Don’t be difficult. This is your punishment for being naughty, you understand?” Peach worms were hard to find. He had already gone through a whole pile of peaches without finding a single one. This was, in fact, because I was on a hunger strike. He felt so bad that he was trying to tempt me with my favorite treat. “There, now be good and eat.” He tossed a fresh little worm into my terrarium and went back to his task. My mouth watered. But a snake must have dignity. Adrian chuckled. “Alright, my little princess, I’m begging you. Please eat.” On the surface, I remained stoic, but inside, I was just putting on a show. He brought his hand close to me. “Here, you can bite me as an apology. I’m sorry, Lyra. I shouldn’t have kept you locked up.” That was a sincere enough gesture. I gave his hand a gentle nip and then began to feast happily. Full and satisfied, I stretched out on my back. I was feeling a little protein-drunk (not really). I was enjoying Adrian’s gentle pets when the doorbell suddenly rang. It was John, saying he had a new snake to show him. Adrian tucked me into his pocket and led John into the snake house. Sophia was there too, and the pop-up comments flared to life: 【The second male lead is definitely here for the heroine, right? He’s going to ask her to come work at his snake house soon.】 【That means the snake fight isn’t far off. Poor Lyra. Actually, if the hero gets the heroine, it wouldn’t be so bad if the second male lead got the snake.】 I thought that was an excellent idea. If I became John’s snake, surely I couldn’t be eaten by his other snake. So, I quietly wriggled out from the edge of his pocket and, with a swoosh, launched myself into John’s arms. John jumped, then laughed. “Lyra?” Adrian’s face instantly darkened. He reached out to grab me back. I deftly dodged his hand, wrapped myself around John’s wrist, and nuzzled my head into his chest, acting as affectionate as possible. Adrian’s hand froze in mid-air, his eyes looking like they wanted to devour me. “Lyra. Come back.” John gave an awkward smile. “Come on, little princess, go back to him.” I just coiled around John tighter. “Put her back in the terrarium,” Adrian commanded, his voice tight. “Alright.” John carefully began to pry me off, ignoring my writhing. He still dropped me back into the terrarium. I was furious. I slapped my tail against the glass over and over. Adrian’s voice was stern. “Lyra, what exactly are you trying to do?” He was raising his voice at me! I hissed at him, whipping my tail even harder against the glass. “You want to go with him that badly, is that it?” Adrian spoke each word slowly and deliberately. “I’ll open the terrarium. If you still choose him, I’ll let you go.”

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After I was blacklisted by the entire industry, my agent took me to meet a titan. I timidly lifted my eyes to look at her, my voice barely a whisper. “Vivian…” A slow smile curved her lips as she pulled me into her arms. “Here,” she murmured, her voice a low hum against my ear. “Say my name again.” My face flushed crimson. Weren’t we moving a little too fast? 1 I was a no-name actress, barely clinging to the eighteenth rung of the Hollywood ladder. Three years in, and I was still a nobody. A few weeks ago, I’d managed to piss off Chloe, the girlfriend of Landon Hayes, Hollywood’s own crown prince. The result? I was canceled, my career put on ice indefinitely. The funny thing is, I didn’t cross her over a role or a rivalry. I was just gossiping with another actress on set about who in the industry had gotten work done. We never even mentioned Chloe’s name, but she was convinced I was throwing shade at her. The other actress came from a family with connections, so she got off with a simple apology. But me? I had no one in my corner. Landon Hayes had me blacklisted overnight. My agent, Sarah, stared at me for a long time, her expression grim. “Scarlett,” she said, her voice low, “you have one last shot at this. Do you want a comeback?” I had a feeling this “last shot” wasn’t going to be an easy one. But for the dream of acting… I gritted my teeth and nodded. “Yes.” That settled it. Sarah led me to an exclusive, low-key lounge, the kind of place with no sign and an unlisted address. The room was filled with seven or eight people, all strangers to me, but the sheer power radiating from them nearly made my knees buckle. Sitting in the center of it all was the ultimate titan of the industry—Vivian Croft. To put it simply, in this town, what she said, went. Even Landon Hayes’s father, a studio head in his own right, had to treat her with the utmost respect. On the way over, Sarah had prepped me. My mission was simple: get on Vivian Croft’s good side and claw my way back into the industry. “Go on, introduce yourself,” Sarah said, giving me a gentle push forward. She smiled at the woman in the center. “Vivian, this is Scarlett O’Malley. The girl I told you about.” Vivian exhaled a thin stream of smoke, her eyes glinting with amusement. I summoned every ounce of courage I had, lifted my gaze, and whispered, “Vivian…” She stubbed out the cigarillo. A custom, diamond-banded piece that probably cost more than my rent for a year, extinguished after a single puff. A slow smile curved her lips as she reached out and pulled me into her arms. “Here,” she murmured, her voice a low hum against my ear. “Say my name again.” I stumbled into her embrace, my face instantly on fire. My breath hitched, my heart hammering against my ribs. We were both women, but this felt…intensely intimate. Before I could process it, Sarah was already singing my praises. “Vivian, she’s just a bit shy. But her acting? It’s the real deal.” She shot me an encouraging look. I caught her meaning, my voice coming out impossibly soft. “Vivian… I want to keep acting. I won’t let you down.” It was only then that I got a clear look at her face. She had classic, sharp features—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and narrow, almond-shaped eyes that held a captivating allure. Her entire presence was a blade, beautiful and dangerously sharp. An alpha. For no reason at all, my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. She was only six years older than me, and we were both women. Why was I so terrified? Vivian raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Alright. But what can you give me?” I froze, my mind blank. I stammered, “I… I’ll work hard. I’ll act. Most of the money I make… you can have it.” At that, Vivian let out a genuine laugh. “Sweetheart, what would I do with your money?” Sarah wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, frantically trying to signal something to me with her eyes. I didn’t understand. Besides my work, what else did I have to offer? A kind-looking woman sitting nearby chimed in, smiling. “Honey, does Vivian look like she needs money?” Then what was I supposed to give her? In a panic, I did the only thing I could think of. I tightened my grip on the lapel of her blazer, shifted in her lap, and whispered, “Whatever you want. I just want to act again.” My words seemed to please her. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something deeper, more inscrutable. “Good,” she said, her voice a low purr. “You said it, not me.” She glanced at Sarah, her tone lazy but firm. “From now on, anything Scarlett O’Malley wants, people will deliver it to her on a silver platter.” Sarah was ecstatic. “What are you waiting for? Thank Vivian!” A genuine smile finally broke through my anxiety. I nodded eagerly. “Thank you, Vivian!” Vivian’s smile was knowing as she pinched my cheek. “You’re welcome.” After all, everything has a price. 2 After that day, my career trajectory shifted seismically. The supporting roles I used to beg for were now beneath my notice. Every script that landed on my table was for the female lead. The resources, the opportunities—they were being thrown at me. I didn’t want to waste Vivian’s efforts, so I poured everything I had into this second chance. I practiced, I filmed, I worked myself to the bone. My relationship with Vivian grew closer, too. But something about it felt… strange. We weren’t like sisters, nor were we just a boss and her subordinate. Sometimes, when I looked at her, my heart would start to race. When she was happy, I was happy. But when I saw her smiling at someone else, a strange, sour feeling would twist in my gut. Why is she smiling at them like that? We’re supposed to be the closest. Yes. I was becoming possessive of Vivian Croft. 3 Three months later, my first feature film as the lead officially wrapped. At the wrap party, I saw Chloe again. As one of the investors, she sauntered over to me, her chin held high. “You really think latching onto Vivian Croft makes you untouchable?” she hissed, her voice low enough for only me to hear. “Let me tell you something. The only reason she’s backing you is because you look a little like her ex-girlfriend. She’s into women, you know.” My breath caught in my throat. “Vivian is helping me because she’s a good person,” I retorted. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that. We’re friends.” Chloe scoffed. “Stop pretending. You’re in love with her. I can see it written all over your face.” “I—I’m not…” The denial felt hollow even to my own ears. One night, I’d had a high fever. In my delirious state, I felt someone kissing me. Who else could have gotten into Vivian’s villa? I knew it was her, but I didn’t push her away. Afterwards, I told myself it was just a fever dream. Could Chloe be right? Was I… in love with Vivian? “I’ll give you a little tip,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with malicious glee. “Vivian flew to the States to win her ex back. Once she does, you, the little replacement, will be thrown out like trash.” This time, I didn’t argue. Because Vivian had gone to the States. It was sudden. A late-night phone call had woken her, and she’d left in a hurry. And she never, ever mentioned that kiss. Was it possible? Was all of Vivian’s kindness, her support, just because I was a stand-in for someone else? The thought was a physical pain, a sharp, cold ache spreading through my chest. Chloe must have seen the doubt in my eyes. “If you don’t believe me,” she purred, “go to City Central Hospital right now. Vivian’s ex has health issues. She’d have to get a check-up as soon as she’s back in the country.” I didn’t say another word. I left the party and got in a cab. On the way to the hospital, a question finally surfaced through my panic: How did Chloe know all this? 4 I arrived at the hospital, my legs feeling stiff and heavy. Vivian’s phone location showed she was back in the city, but she hadn’t contacted me. Normally, she’d already be home, waiting for me. The video call I’d just tried went straight to voicemail. With a heart full of dread, I walked inside. Following Chloe’s directions, I found the VIP suite. Through the small window in the door, I saw Vivian. She was alone, sitting up in the hospital bed, working on her laptop. There was no one else there. Was she sick? Is that why she didn’t tell me? A wave of guilt washed over me for believing Chloe. But then, the bathroom door opened, and a beautiful young woman walked out. She was smiling sweetly as she wrapped her arms around Vivian from behind. I saw her face clearly then. She looked… she looked seven or eight parts like me. “Vivian,” she murmured, her voice soft. “I’m never leaving again.” My knees went weak. A bone-deep chill spread through me. Chloe was telling the truth. I was just a substitute. The moment she hugged Vivian, a ferocious, ugly jealousy clawed at me. I wanted to tear her face apart. This was so much more than simple possessiveness over a friend. Yes. I was in love with Vivian. The realization shattered my composure. I turned and fled, escaping the hospital as if my life depended on it. 5 I went back to the home I shared with Vivian and started packing. But as I pulled things from drawers and closets, I realized almost everything I owned had been bought for me by her. I’d arrived at this sprawling villa with a single small suitcase. My few belongings couldn’t even begin to fill the 800-square-foot master suite. I remember Vivian laughing at the sight. “A young woman should be cherished, properly cared for.” The next day, my closets and vanity were overflowing with designer clothes and luxury cosmetics. But now, thinking back, who was she really seeing when she looked at me? The person she wanted to cherish… it wasn’t me, was it? I gave a bitter laugh. I didn’t take a single thing she had given me. … It was 2 a.m. when Vivian finally got home. By then, I was on a high-speed train to a different city. I opened my phone and pulled up the live feed from the villa’s security cameras. Vivian stumbled in, clearly drunk, leaning heavily on the girl from the hospital. The girl entered the security code with a practiced ease, as if she’d done it a hundred times before. Inside, she led Vivian to the sofa and got her a glass of water. Everything about their interaction screamed intimacy. Vivian rubbed her temples, her voice hoarse. “Why isn’t Scarlett out here?” Whenever Vivian came home late, I would wait for her on the sofa. Sometimes I’d fall asleep, and she’d carry me to her bed, and we’d sleep in each other’s arms. But why was she asking for me now? Her ex was back, wasn’t she? What a player, I thought bitterly. On the screen, she reached out and took the girl’s hand. Her voice was tender. “Sweetheart, go get her for me.” My heart skipped a beat. Sweetheart? Were they back together? The person she called “sweetheart” glanced towards my wing of the house and pouted. “It’s so late, she’s definitely asleep. Why are you always thinking about Scarlett O’Malley? Vivian, have you fallen for someone else? I just got back and you’re not even paying attention to me.” To me, it looked like a girlfriend teasing her partner, a playful, jealous spat. My fingers trembled. I couldn’t watch anymore. I slammed the app shut. 6 I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, my phone buzzing incessantly. 99+ missed calls. I knew it was Vivian. She must have realized I was gone. A fresh wave of self-pity washed over me. You’re calling her ‘sweetheart,’ so why are you looking for me? Steeling myself, I finally answered her call. She sounded frantic. “Scarlett O’Malley, where are you? You’re not home, you’re not answering my calls, do you have any idea how worried I was? If your agent hadn’t told me you were heading to B-City, I would have called the police.” I listened in silence until she was done. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I just left for a shoot.” I had decided last night. If Vivian didn’t love me, then I would stop loving her. I would bury myself in work to get through the heartbreak. There was a pause on the other end. “Scarlett,” she said, her tone softer now, “I didn’t mean to yell. But next time you leave, can you please just tell me where you’re going? I hate not being able to find you.” Find me for what? Isn’t your precious ex back? Now that she’s here, you can’t even let your substitute go? I didn’t dare say any of it out loud. I couldn’t afford to burn that bridge completely. “I know,” I said meekly. Vivian started to say something else, but I cut her off, blaming a bad signal, and hung up. I made a silent vow: I was done with her. A hand extended a few tissues toward me. I looked up to see a cool-looking woman in a jumpsuit and sunglasses. “Don’t cry,” she said simply. I hadn’t even realized tears were streaming down my face. I took the tissues with a mumbled, “Thanks.” The cool girl smirked. “No problem.”

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It was only after I died that I learned my nemesis was in love with me. My soul hovered in the air above my unclaimed body, my family utterly indifferent. The only one who mourned was Colin, the man I’d fought with for over a decade. He was the one who collected my body, his eyes red-rimmed as he cursed through his tears. “Goddammit, Asher, I never even got to kiss you,” he sobbed. “Who the fuck said you could die?” Death, it turned out, was a window into Colin’s decade-long secret. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my freshman year of college. Without a second thought, I bolted to Colin’s dorm. “Colin!” I hammered on his door. “Open up! I came here to make out with you.” 1 “Hello, am I speaking with Asher’s parents? I’m calling to ask if you could come and identify his body.” The couple on the other end of the line didn’t react. Their expressions were cold, almost bored. “Asher? I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number. We only have one son. His name is Mason.” After hanging up, the middle-aged couple seethed. “We never should have taken him back,” the woman muttered. “He does nothing but cause trouble. Now he’s resorting to pranks like this? It’d be better if he really did drop dead somewhere.” Mason, sitting beside them, feigned a worried expression. “But what if it’s true? What if something really happened to him? You know how he’s always getting into fights.” My older brother, Neil, who was sitting on the sofa, gently reassured him. “Mason, you’re just too kind. You know Asher. He’d do anything for attention. He doesn’t have the guts to actually die.” “He’s probably hiding somewhere right now,” Neil continued, his voice dripping with disdain, “watching us, hoping to see us panic. He’d get a good laugh out of that.” I floated in the air, a silent observer to it all. I am Asher. The “real son” they spoke of with such venom. The vicious, manipulative monster who would do anything to steal the spotlight, the one who deserved to die alone. My biological parents, my brother, even my fiancé—they were all there. Not a single one of them thought to verify the call. They all believed I deserved to die. Wished for it, even. Because in their eyes, there was only room for Mason, their “kind-hearted adopted son.” I was just the villain everyone hated. So, I gave them their wish. There’s a strange thrill to ending your own life, a perverse agony in feeling the warmth of life seeping out, drop by drop. I lay calmly in the tub, watching the blood bloom in the water until darkness took me. I’d drift back to consciousness, but the pain was a crushing weight, and I’d slip away again. After a few cycles of this, I was finally gone. After death, my soul was tethered to my body, unable to leave the small apartment. It was so boring. And I was hungry. God, I could kill for an apple… I explored every corner of the room, a ghost trapped in a cage. Five days passed. Then came the weekend, when the landlord came to collect the rent. He called, he knocked, but there was no answer. A short while later, he called the police. I’m so sorry, man, I thought, addressing the landlord. Sorry for messing up your place. I just had nowhere else to go. I’d left all my money for him, a compensation for the inconvenience of dying in his property. It was enough to buy several more apartments like this one. The blare of sirens finally broke the silence. My room filled with people, and a flicker of hope ignited within me. Can I finally leave? A flash of white light, and suddenly I was at the Crawfords’ house, a ghost in their living room. I watched the happy family, a perfect picture of domestic bliss, and felt nothing. Not a single ripple of emotion. When will I disappear for good? I wondered. I don’t want to see these people ever again. 2 For days, the police tried to contact my parents to claim my body. They remained convinced it was a prank, even cheering at the news. “He’s dead? Good. At least he’ll finally stop causing trouble.” My brother, Neil, a shark in the business world, was blind to every one of Mason’s pathetic schemes. His hatred for me was visceral. “Now no one will compete with Mason. Everything the Crawfords have is his.” My fiancé, the man who had once showered me with affection, just laughed and pulled Mason into his arms. “He’s dead. Now we can finally be together openly.” I was starting to get annoyed with that persistent cop. It’s just a body. Can’t you just haul it away and bury it somewhere? Why did you have to keep calling them, forcing me to listen to their curses even in death? Eventually, the police gave up. I thought I’d finally get some peace and quiet. But in the next instant, I was zapped back to the scene. They had managed to contact someone else: Colin, who was away on a business trip abroad. My nemesis. The guy I’d been fighting with for a decade. I never imagined he would be the one to claim my body. “Hey, Colin!” I yelled at him, my ghostly voice unheard. “I’m warning you, don’t you dare laugh at me! If you do, I’ll tell the devil on you when I get down there.” As expected, he couldn’t hear a word. His face was a mask of stone as he efficiently handled the paperwork, claimed my body, and arranged for the funeral. I trailed behind him the whole time, a constant stream of commentary. “Colin, I don’t want a coffin. They’re ugly. I want to be cremated.” “And my ashes—scatter them in the ocean, you hear me?” “Also, my funeral. Don’t let any of the Crawfords come. I don’t want to see them.” “Colin, if you can hear me, just breathe or something.” He couldn’t hear me. And yet… it was as if he heard everything. He did it all exactly as I would have wanted. Simple, quick, no fuss. Colin handled everything. 3 After the small, private service, Colin, who hadn’t slept in days, could finally go home. I followed him, floating right through his front door. His apartment was just like him: stark and colorless, all shades of grey and black. I made myself at home, plopping down on his ridiculously expensive-looking sofa, then drifting into his kitchen to poke around. So much good food, none of which I could eat. Finally, I followed him into his bedroom. The moment he crossed the threshold, it was like all his strength deserted him. He collapsed onto the bed, completely spent. I drifted aimlessly around his room, a bored phantom. When I floated over to his bookcase, I noticed something strange. There was a single object I seemed to be able to touch: a worn, leather-bound journal. Curiosity got the better of me. I opened it to the first page. Weather: Sunny. Officially met Asher today. He doesn’t remember me at all… Weather: Overcast. It rained today. Asher didn’t have an umbrella. I was about to offer him mine, but he just took off, sprinting into the downpour… Day 900 of knowing Asher. He’s in a relationship. With someone he likes. It’s not me… Weather: Sunny, but my world is flooded. Asher’s engaged. I hope he’s happy… I stared at the journal, stunned. It chronicled every single day since Colin and I had met. No, that wasn’t right. This was the story of his secret love for me. Just then, a faint sound from the bed broke the silence. A sob. I turned. Colin was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, crying softly. “Colin, what are you crying for?” I shouted, my voice useless. “I never saw you shed a tear when I was alive. Guess I had to die to see this.” But he only cried harder, the soft sobs turning into raw, unrestrained grief, then into a full-blown, gut-wrenching wail. I was frantic, clawing at the air, desperate to touch him, to comfort him, but my hands passed right through. Defeated, I settled on the edge of the bed beside him. “You know, Colin,” I murmured, “you’re the first person to cry for me.” “See? People are supposed to grow fond of each other over time, right? So why didn’t they? Why didn’t my own family?” “I never met my parents until I was eighteen. And after that, they never trusted me. My brother hated me, my fiancé never truly loved me. My whole life… what a fucking failure.” Colin’s crying finally subsided. His eyes were swollen and red, his hair a mess—a world away from the impeccably composed man I knew. He staggered to his desk and picked up the journal. His long fingers traced over a photo tucked between the pages as he whispered to himself. “Asher, I never even got to kiss you. Who the FUCK said you could die?” “Are you an idiot, Asher? To kill yourself over people who weren’t worth a goddamn second of your time? What’s in that head of yours, water?” I remembered I’d left a suicide note. Only Colin had seen it. I hadn’t left a single word for him. “Why couldn’t you wait two more days? I would have been back in two days.” “Why didn’t you leave a single word for me? Are you blaming me for not coming back sooner? I’m sorry…” … “Asher, I’ll stop pissing you off. I’ll stop fighting with you. Just come back, okay?” “Asher… I love you. I’ve loved you for ten whole years.” Ten years. For ten years, I saw him as nothing but my rival. It never once crossed my mind that he felt anything else for me. We were at each other’s throats since high school. He was the golden boy, the class president. I was the delinquent—skipping class, getting into fights, everything he wasn’t. We were from different worlds. When I got into a fight, he’d report me. When I tried to skip school, he’d be there to catch me. He was even the one who busted me for my first attempt at romance—though he never knew the love letter was for him. I used to have a crush on him, once upon a time. Somehow, we ended up at the same college, in the same major. He became the student government president and would dock my academic credits for staying out all night. He’d even crash parties with my roommates. After graduation, we ended up at the same company, where he was my damn boss. Everywhere I went, Colin found a way to be there. 4 After Colin had cried himself out, he picked up my photo from his desk and pressed a fierce kiss to the glass. “Finally got my kiss, Asher,” he whispered, a broken smile on his face. “Don’t be scared. I’m coming to be with you.” With that, he walked into the bathroom. He didn’t hesitate. He ended his life in the exact same way I had. His last words were a smile. “See you on the other side, Asher.” The scene left me reeling, my ghostly form spinning. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and when I opened my eyes again, the world was both familiar and strange. I shot up in bed, throwing open the curtains of my loft bed—the familiar black-and-white cat-print curtains. Below, my three roommates were huddled around a screen, deep in a video game. One of them heard me and looked up. “Asher, you’re awake! Wanna join? We’re a man down!” I was back. I was back in my freshman year, before the Crawfords had found me. The scene was so real, so tangible, that my past life felt like a fever dream I’d had during an afternoon nap. “What’s the date today?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “October 13th. You sleep-deprived or something?” In my past life, October 13th was the day Trevor confessed his feelings for me. It was also the day my relationship with Colin deteriorated even further. Trevor had supposedly saved my life once, so I’d accepted his confession. We got engaged after graduation. But behind my back, he was sleeping with Mason, the darling adopted son of the Crawford family. “Honestly, Asher, if it wasn’t for that pretty face of yours, I never would’ve bothered,” he’d sneered at me before I died. “You’re pathetically stupid. I staged one little heroic act, and you came running like a lost puppy.” “Mason and I are the ones who are truly in love.” “And by the way? The one who really saved you was that nemesis of yours you hate so much. You’re such an idiot.” The truth only came out at the very end. The hero I thought was Trevor had just been an opportunist, picking up the credit Colin had left behind. I remembered Colin was there when Trevor made his big public confession. His face had been dark, his brows knitted together before he turned and walked away. After I started dating Trevor, Colin treated me with even more icy disdain. He was constantly making snide, passive-aggressive remarks about Trevor. I thought he hated Trevor simply by association with me. Turns out, he was just jealous. I scrambled out of bed and ran to Colin’s dorm, hammering on his door. It swung open, and Colin stood there, silhouetted against the light from his window, his expression unreadable. “What, didn’t you hear the shouting outside? Someone’s declaring their undying love for you,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Are you here to rub it in?” Even as a freshman, Colin had that same cool, distant air about him. Who would have guessed that beneath that frosty exterior, he was harboring a secret crush? The man’s defenses were impenetrable, except for one thing: his mouth. He could never hide his bitterness. I didn’t wait for an invitation. I shoved him back into his room and slammed the door shut. Seeing that his roommates weren’t there, I spun him around and pinned him against the door, our noses almost touching, my world shrinking until it contained only him. “Colin,” I said, my voice low. “I’m here to make out with you.” 5 Colin’s breath hitched. A flicker of something—shock? hope?—crossed his eyes before the cold mask slammed back into place. “What new trick is this?” “It’s, uh…” I paused, watching his face closely. This was the guy who could give a speech to the entire student body without breaking a sweat, but right now, I could see the tension humming just beneath his skin. “A trick I learned for you.” “Colin, I’m not going to date Trevor.” “I want to date you. How about it?” He pushed me away, adjusting his glasses with a gesture that was a little too deliberate. “Who… who wants to date you?” he stammered, but I saw the blush creeping up his ears. “So you’re just going to stand there and watch me get with someone else?” I pressed. “You don’t even have the guts to try once? Look, if you can impress me, maybe I’ll be in a good mood and say yes.” I closed the distance again, pinning him, and pressed a firm kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Just a little taste,” I murmured. “Don’t want you getting scared off before you even start.” After all, a guy who could hide his feelings for ten years was clearly a coward. Suddenly, we heard the jingle of keys and voices from the hallway. Colin shoved me away again, harder this time. “Asher, don’t joke like that again.” Just then, his roommates walked in. They blinked in surprise when they saw me, then shot me a knowing grin. “Hey, Asher! You’re here! You know, Trevor’s downstairs screaming your name. His voice is getting hoarse, and his little candle heart is about to burn out. You should probably go down there. Looks like good things are coming your way.” “Sure,” I said with a breezy smile. “I’ll go check it out.” I turned to leave, but a hand shot out and grabbed my sleeve. Colin’s voice was low. “Asher. Did you mean what you said?” “I did,” I replied, not turning back. “Take your time thinking it over. I’ll wait.” I’d wait as long as it takes.

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