I’m a pint-sized boss in a horror game’s starter village. Because I was utterly pathetic, the players never gave me a hard time. Until one day. A new group of players smashed my altar and strung me up from the rafters like a voodoo doll. When I stumbled home, half-dead and black and blue— My brother, Asher, silently drew two long, wicked-looking boning knives. My sister, Seraphina, polished her handgun until it gleamed. Our neighbor, Auntie Delilah, slowly and deliberately pulled on a pair of immaculate gloves. And the village elder, Silas, smiled at me with kind, crinkling eyes and told me to get to bed early. That night, at the stroke of midnight, the system alerts went berserk, a frantic, screaming barrage: 【WARNING! SSS-RANK BOSS ONLINE. THE BONE-REAPER’S REQUIEM HAS BEGUN.】 【WARNING! SSS-RANK BOSS ONLINE. THE CELESTIAL COURT HAS DESCENDED.】 【WARNING! SSS-RANK BOSS ONLINE…】 Overnight, every player in the game was forcibly dragged into a hellish, multi-layered instance with a survival rate of virtually zero. Only then, in their dawning horror, did they begin to ask themselves: “Who the hell pissed her off?” 1. At sunrise, the fog had already burned away. It was a rare, beautiful day. I woke up extra early, slung the little backpack my sister had prepared for me over my shoulders, and happily made my way to the village’s Maiden Shrine to await the new players. The village I live in, Misty Creek, is the lowest-difficulty level in the horror game “Advent.” That’s because I never scare anyone, let alone harm them. When the time is up, I obediently hand over the key and send the players on their way without so much as a peep. For this, the bosses from other levels constantly mocked me for being a useless pushover, even plotting to kick me out of the Bosses’ Guild. But I didn’t care one bit! After all— A warm bread roll in my hands is more important than anything else in the world! I settled myself on the altar and took out the treasures from my backpack: the flatbread my sister had baked, the roasted chicken drumstick my brother had cooked, the fish chowder made from a fish the Elder had caught, and a small, flower-embroidered handkerchief sewn by my auntie next door. I arranged everything neatly, rubbed my hands together, and was just about to dig into my magnificent breakfast when the sound of shuffling footsteps echoed from the end of the path. Today’s players were exceptionally early. I sighed. But then, a thought struck me: this meant I could go home sooner! Maybe I’d even have time to fly kites with my brother and sister on this precious, sunny day. My spirits immediately soared. Yay! Let’s just get these players on their way so I can go play! I quickly packed away my breakfast just as the footsteps stopped right outside the shrine door. The leader was a young man. His voice was lazy, disinterested. “The boss is in here?” Of course! The rich aroma of the roasted chicken drumstick was tickling my nose. I swallowed hard, my eyes glued to the door. Come on in! The second you do, I’ll give you the key to leave! But the people outside were in no hurry. Instead, they tapped on the wooden door, as if testing something. I was getting antsy but didn’t dare make a sound. Thankfully, another player voiced my thoughts for me: “Kane, what are we waiting for?” The player called “Kane” didn’t answer. Another, more impatient female voice cut in. “What’s your rush? Afraid Kaelen and I are going to hurt you? Don’t forget who saved you when that monster attacked last night!” Huh? Maybe I was delirious from hunger, or maybe I was hearing things. I definitely hadn’t attacked them last night. No, wait! I’ve never attacked anyone, on any night! My brother used to tell me ghost stories to scare me when I was little, so I always dive into bed the second it gets dark. I just pull the covers over my head, shut my eyes tight, and after my sister turns off the light, I’m out like a log until morning. I don’t have the guts to attack humans in the middle of the night! Oh well. It’s not like I’ll ever see them again. A misunderstanding is a misunderstanding. The Elder’s fish chowder felt like it had a hook in it, tugging at my heart, my liver, my lungs… It was making me fidgety. All I wanted was to give them the key and be done with it. Just come in already! As if hearing my silent plea, Kane finally made a move. He rapped his knuckles on the wood and sneered. “The boss in this instance is not to be underestimated. I’ve run dozens of levels, big and small, and I’ve never seen a boss arrogant enough to write their location right on a wall. This has to be a trap.” The moment he finished speaking, the players outside took a synchronized step back. A timid girl’s voice quavered, “Kane, then… are we still going in?” My vision swam. I was racking my brain, trying to figure out how to prove my innocence, when I heard Kane’s confident reply. “We’re going in. Why wouldn’t we?” “If we don’t teach her a lesson, how will she ever learn how formidable I am?” 2. The shrine door was violently kicked open. I flinched, instinctively looking for a place to hide, but a dagger came flying toward me. It grazed my cheek with a sharp clang, pinning me to the waist-high altar. My breath caught in my throat. I slowly, slowly lifted my eyelids and met the gaze of the boy in the lead. He tilted his head, a malicious grin playing on his lips as he raised an eyebrow at me. “Look, Kaelen. This little Maiden statue can move.” Kaelen shot me an impatient glance. “The monster’s obviously in there. Kane, tie her up and drag her out.” Wait, wait, wait! You don’t have to tie me up! I’ll come out on my own! In the blink of an eye, Kane pulled a thick rope from his backpack. It was as thick as my wrist, spattered with dried, dark stains. Yellow paper talismans were stuck to it at intervals, each with a small, silent bell hanging from it. As it neared me, a strange pain began to throb in my head. The closer it got, the more intense the pain became. Enduring the agony, I fumbled for the key and quickly held it out to him. I tried to force a smile, meeting his amused, predatory gaze. I had never encountered a situation like this before. Because I had no offensive abilities, my sister had forbidden me from ever speaking to strangers. Players who entered Misty Creek just needed to eat, drink, and sleep well for three days. After the fog cleared, they would take the key from me and leave. That was it. They were always polite to me. Never like Kane and his group, who radiated such intense malice from the very beginning, as if they wanted me dead. Was it because of last night’s misunderstanding? If I give them the key, surely they’ll realize they’ve got the wrong monster, right? But the moment I extended my hand, the rope snaked around me like a living thing. It was covered in fine, sharp thorns, like teeth, that began to gnaw at my flesh the second they touched my skin. I was still frozen in the position of offering the key, my mind a complete blank. I felt the key disappear from my palm, and then I heard a player’s question. “Kane, is this the monster that attacked us last night? She looks… kind of cute.” “Yeah, Kane, and she gave us the key. Does that mean we can leave now?” Kaelen shot them a fierce glare, snapping, “All of you, shut up!” The other players, clearly afraid of her, fell silent. Her gaze swept around the room, finally landing on the small backpack I’d hidden in the corner. The straps were embroidered with two lively kittens, a gift from my auntie, who had the most skillful hands. Just this morning, my sister had been packing my lunchbox and snacks into it, reminding me: “Drink the chowder while it’s hot. Don’t just eat the meat, eat your vegetables too. Don’t talk to humans, they’re no good. And come straight home after you send the players off. I bought you a new dress.” But Kaelen walked over and stomped her foot right on my kittens. The embroidery was instantly smeared with dust, the life draining from the straps as she tossed the bag aside without a care. “If I’m not mistaken, this is the trap the monster laid.” She rummaged through it and found my roasted chicken and fish chowder, which I hadn’t even had a chance to taste. The moment she opened the container, a rich, delicious aroma filled the air. “Wow, that smells amazing. Is that food?” “That doesn’t look like a trap… Is it poisoned?” “We’re not stupid enough to eat a boss’s food, are we? Could a trap really be this basic?” The players murmured amongst themselves. I tried to give Kane a placating little blink, to show him I wasn’t a threat, that the so-called “trap” was just my breakfast. I’d already given them the key. They could leave whenever they wanted. But to my horror, the moment Kaelen saw the food, her expression changed drastically. She turned her head slowly, her face blank, and stared at me for a long, silent moment. Then, she said: “Kane, kill her.” 3. The rope tightened, digging deeper. My head was buzzing. I watched Kaelen’s lips move, but it took a long moment for her words to register. Kill… kill who? Me? As Kane advanced, a surge of desperation made me scream everything at once. “I’ve never attacked anyone! And I didn’t set any traps in the shrine! That’s my breakfast! MY BREAKFAST!” “I already gave you the key! You can take it, turn left, and walk two steps, and you’ll see the exit! Why are you staying here just to bully me?!” I was hungry, I was in pain, and I felt so, so wronged. As I spoke, a few tears couldn’t help but escape. “For three years in a row, my Misty Creek has been voted ‘Easiest Level,’ ‘Zero-Casualty Zone,’ and ‘Player’s Paradise’ in your own player polls! It’s so easy that the system automatically designated it as the starter village!” “The only people who end up in my level are either total newbies or hopeless scrubs who can’t make it anywhere else! You guys are—urgh!” The rope around my neck suddenly constricted. The abrupt feeling of suffocation was like a giant, invisible hand squeezing my heart, cutting off my words. But it was too late. The players had already caught the most crucial information. “Newbies? Scrubs? Kane, is she talking about you and Kaelen?” “But Kaelen said you were, like, a top-ranked player. That you came to this SS-rank level specifically to save us new players? That doesn’t add up.” “Are you all really that stupid? You’d rather believe a monster than Kaelen and Kane? Weren’t you all there for the attack last night? June was almost dragged away before Kane drove the monster off! We all saw it with our own eyes!” A moment of silence fell over them. I don’t know who spoke first. “Either way, she’s still a monster.” Just five simple words, so casually and cruelly sealing my fate. My vision blurred, flashing between black and white. Snatches of colorful memories flickered past. I remember when the first group of players arrived in Misty Creek, during a heavy snowstorm. They were so kind to me. They braided my hair and stuffed my pockets full of candy. On the day they left, they even asked gently if I wanted to go with them, to leave this quiet little mountain village. I refused, telling them I had to stay with my brother and sister. They didn’t push. But after they were gone, I checked my pockets and realized the protection locket my brother had given me was missing. This was bad! My brother was the biggest nag. If he found out I’d lost the locket, he’d lecture me from morning till night, in my dreams and out of them, before meals and after. He wouldn’t stop until my sister couldn’t take it anymore and put a gun to his head… The thought alone made me tremble. I immediately ran after the players, wanting to ask if they’d seen my locket. But as I got closer, I heard them talking excitedly. “Too bad we couldn’t trick the D-rank boss into leaving with us. If we had her on our team, we’d have a much better survival rate in the A-rank and higher levels.” Another man with a gruff voice laughed. “Ha! Listen to you, all proper-like. ‘On our team.’ You mean use her as a scout dog, right? A few lashes from the whip, and any person or monster, no matter how stubborn, will learn to be a good little dog. When there’s danger, send her in first. She’s worthless anyway, no great loss if she dies!” “Well, at least the trip wasn’t a total waste. We managed to steal the item she was carrying, right?” Someone’s delicate fingers dangled a red cord. At the end of it hung a white jade protection locket. “Who would’ve thought a D-rank boss would be carrying an SSS-rank item? If it wasn’t for that, I would have killed her long ago.” I stood frozen. The snow fell harder, and the fog thickened in the mountains. Their figures grew distant, more and more blurry. But I remember it all so clearly— The man with the refined voice had taught me to recite poetry. The middle-aged man with the hearty laugh had roasted the most delicious meat for me. And the prettiest woman in the group had placed a crown of woven wildflowers on my head. I grew colder and colder. I don’t know how much time passed before I heard a soft sigh behind me. “Poppy, let’s go home.” I turned around. My sister was standing in the snow. I don’t know how long she’d been waiting for me. I buried my face in her embrace. She took the flower crown from my head and threw it away, emptied the candy from my pockets, and then undid my messy braids and neatly redid them. Only then did she speak. “Humans are selfish, silver-tongued creatures. Poppy, when you meet them in the future, do not give them your heart. It would be best if you didn’t even speak to them at all.” “…” My body suddenly felt light, as if I were being hoisted into the air. My eyes could no longer see anything clearly. I could only faintly hear the boy’s sneer. “D-rank trash.” “Newbies are trash too.” “If Kaelen hadn’t said we’d already cleared most of the D-rank levels and needed some scout dogs for the harder ones, I would’ve killed them all last night.” He deftly tied the final knot and gave my body a shove. I began to sway gently from the rafters. His smile was vicious. “Goodbye, little monster.” “Go to hell.” 4. I was adrift, lost in a long, long dream. In the dream, my life seemed miserable. I kept wanting to cry. But a voice inside me kept repeating: “Don’t be an annoying child. You’ll be abandoned again.” So I forced the tears back down. I forced myself so hard that I woke up. I blearily opened my eyes. It was just like any other evening when I woke from a nap. The sky was already dark. I was lying in my own little bed. My brother was sharpening his knives. My sister was polishing her gun. The firewood in the stove crackled merrily, and the scent of rice simmering on the stove was intoxicating. …Wait a minute! What was my brother doing? My sister was polishing her gun? Why was my sister polishing her gun? I shot up in bed with a jolt, accidentally pulling on my wounds. I winced, gritting my teeth against the pain. My brother casually glanced over. “Oh, you’re awake? What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you’re in pain.” He snorted. “Even a cornered rabbit will bite. But our little Poppy is tougher than any rabbit. Passed out from the pain and didn’t even make a sound. Just hung out in the shrine, swinging on the rafters.” He was just getting started on his lecture when my sister raised her hand. BANG. She fired a clean shot right between his legs. My brother leaped into the air with a yelp. My sister just patted my head. “Don’t listen to him.” “You just ran into bad people. It wasn’t your fault. And when you were in danger, you didn’t try to fight them head-on. You chose to protect yourself first. You were very brave. You did a good job, Poppy.” Her hand was so warm. I nuzzled her palm and obediently took off the protection locket from my neck to give to her. The locket my brother gave me had mysteriously reappeared on my bedside table the morning after it was stolen. My brother claimed he had tracked the players down, reasoned with them through the night, and finally managed to get it back. After that, I was extra careful, always keeping it hidden under my clothes, close to my skin, never letting anyone see it. Until today, when Kane hung me from the rafters. The locket had cracked. I hid in my sister’s arms, peeking out with my eyes, and apologized to my brother, feeling both nervous and guilty. “I’m sorry, Asher. I broke the locket.” My brother, who had been silently mouthing insults at my sister’s back, paused. He sighed, a hint of resignation in his voice. “The locket protected you from harm, Poppy. You don’t have to apologize for that.” He gritted his teeth. “The ones who should be apologizing are someone else entirely. Just you wait, tonight I’m going to chop them into…” Before my sister could even raise her gun, there was a knock on the door. “Pardon the intrusion. Is Poppy awake? The Elder and I are here to remind you, it’s about time.” It was our auntie from next door! She was as radiant as ever, wearing a gorgeous, elaborate gown, her pale gold hair swept into an elegant chignon, a sophisticated hat perched on her head. The only thing out of place was the pair of strange silicone gloves on her hands, a stark contrast to her formal attire. But more than the gloves, it was her words that caught my attention: “it’s about time.” I asked curiously, “Auntie, are you all going somewhere?” She just smiled without answering. But the Elder, who was trailing behind her, poked his head in, greeting me with a cheerful grin. “Poppy, do your wounds still hurt? I heard your fish chowder got spilled this morning. Grandpa will go catch you another big fish, and your brother can make it for you again tomorrow, okay?” I nodded, and he continued, “Then you go to sleep now, Poppy, and you’ll have fish chowder first thing in the morning.” “Okay!” I scrambled back into my blankets, pulled my feet in, and tucked the covers snugly over my shoulders. To show how determined I was to get that fish chowder, I squeezed my eyes shut, ready for sleep. My sister turned off the light, and they all tiptoed out of the room. The moon hung high in the sky, and the cicadas chirped their mournful song. At twelve o’clock midnight, the system suddenly crackled with static. 【WARNING!】 It must have glitched. After those two words, it went silent. Then, as if it had seen a ghost, the system began its frantic, screaming barrage: 【WARNING! SSS-RANK BOSS ONLINE. THE BONE-REAPER’S REQUIEM HAS BEGUN.】 【WARNING! SSS-RANK BOSS ONLINE. THE CELESTIAL COURT HAS DESCENDED.】 【WARNING! SSS-RANK BOSS ONLINE…】 Countless players were jolted from their sleep, with no time to prepare. The world around them had already changed. “Where are we? What’s happening?” The players looked around in panic, finally spotting a sliver of something familiar. “This… isn’t this…” In the fog-shrouded mountain village, the system’s voice drifted in and out, like a phantom’s whisper. 【LARGE-SCALE FUSED SSSS-RANK INSTANCE IS NOW ONLINE.】 【SURVIVAL DURATION: ONE NIGHT.】 【ESTIMATED SURVIVAL RATE: 0%】 【WELCOME TO MISTY CREEK.】

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1 We were having fondue at home when I felt the tingle of leaking electricity. I lunged for the cord and shut it off, saving my family from electrocution. But my sister’s next words condemned me to a fate far worse. “April,” she whispered, her eyes welling with tears, “are you just jealous of my eighteenth-birthday present?” My mother’s slap sent me reeling. She screamed at me, demanding to know why I would dare covet my sister’s gift. My father grabbed me and shoved my face toward the pot, promising to get justice for his precious daughter. The scalding broth flooded my world. I spent a month in the hospital, a husk of flesh and pain, before my parents refused to pay the bills. They had me discharged and dumped under a bridge, where the stray dogs found me. This time, as I came back to myself, my father’s voice echoed in my ears. “Why does the broth feel… tingly?” “I put in some peppercorns.” 2 “I put in some Sichuan peppercorns.” At the dinner table, my face was a mask of calm, but beneath it, my hands trembled uncontrollably. A month had passed in my mind, but the memory of my death was still branded onto my soul. In my last life, it happened right here, at this very table. As my parents celebrated my sister Joy’s birthday, I was the first to notice something wrong with the fondue. A strange, numbing sensation on my tongue. I prepared all the meals in our house. I knew for a fact I hadn’t put anything in the pot that would cause that. I realized instantly: the electric fondue pot was leaking current. I killed the power and yanked the plug from the wall. When I saw the frayed, exposed copper wire, a wave of relief washed over me. I’d found the danger, we were safe. I had no idea the real danger was just beginning. My sister, Joy, lowered the champagne flute she’d been raising for a toast, her eyes instantly turning red. “April, are you just jealous that I got a birthday present?” she whimpered. “I know Mom forgot yours yesterday, but she was just so busy. If you like my teddy bear so much, you can have it. Then you won’t be angry anymore, okay?” She clutched the stuffed bear tighter, with no intention of giving it to me. But our parents couldn’t stand to see her upset. Especially not when I was the cause. A hand cracked across my face, sending me sprawling to the floor. My head struck the corner of the table, and my vision exploded with stars. “So that’s it! That’s why you’re throwing a fit!” my mother shrieked. “Who the hell do you think you are, wanting your sister’s things?” “I didn’t…” I tried to explain, but Joy cut me off. She clutched her heart, then threw the teddy bear at my face, smothering my words. “Mom, if she wants it, just give it to her,” she gasped, tugging at the collar of her dress. “I just… I don’t feel so well. It’s okay.” That was all it took. My father, his face flushed from cheap whiskey, lurched to his feet. 3 He swayed as he approached, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt. “Don’t you worry, my sweet Joy. I’ll teach this greedy little bitch a lesson for you. I’ll get you justice.” He shoved my face into the still-bubbling pot. Scalding broth seared my skin, flooding my nose and mouth, down into my lungs. The agony and suffocation were so intense I almost blacked out. I thrashed wildly, finally breaking free, but my struggle sent the entire pot tipping over, drenching my body until the pain became a white-hot nothingness. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed, wrapped head to toe in bandages. The heat had destroyed my vocal cords. I could barely force my eyes open. A nurse looked at me with pity. “What are we going to do with her? She’s been in a coma for a month. Her parents paid once when they dropped her off, but now they won’t authorize any more treatment or pay the bills. We can’t just keep her here.” The final payment deadline came and went. My parents never answered the hospital’s calls. That night, a masked figure wheeled me out of the hospital. We were almost home when the car turned abruptly, and I was thrown into the darkness beneath a nearby bridge. “Now, no one will ever compete with me again.” The wind blew the mask aside. It was Joy. The stray dogs, drawn by the scent of cooked flesh, rejoiced at their unexpected feast. Devoid of pain, I watched them tear me apart, my unblinking eyes staring into the void, unwilling to close even in death. Back at the dinner table, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, burying the hatred deep inside. I had waited so long for this day, for this second chance. This time, I would escape this living hell. This time, I would write a different ending. 4 Hearing my explanation, Joy skeptically fished around in the pot with a ladle. She pulled up a string of bright red peppercorns. I forced a placating smile. “I know you love spicy food, Joy. Mom and Dad don’t usually let you have it, but since it’s your birthday, I thought I’d add a little something special for you.” Joy’s tastes were the opposite of our family’s bland diet. She craved the fire and numbness of spicy food, but my parents restricted it, along with any greasy, fried snacks. My father shot me a disapproving look. But my mother, seeing Joy’s happy expression, let it slide. “Just this once. Look how happy she is. And you know what they say, a happy heart is a healthy heart.” My father’s expression softened. He began serving Joy, feeding her morsels of food as if she were a toddler. My mother, not to be outdone, produced a brightly wrapped gift. “Happy eighteenth birthday, my sweet baby girl! You’re an adult now!” It was the same performance every year. A cozy, intimate scene of a perfect family of three, celebrating their beloved daughter. Joy sat at the head of the table, the center of their universe. My own birthday had been the day before, a fact everyone seemed to have collectively forgotten. It had gotten worse over the years. Their obsession with her was absolute. Even when money was tight, her room overflowed with dolls and her closet with expensive clothes. The only air conditioner in our cramped house was installed in her bedroom. I slept in the storage room next door, a wall away, fighting off cockroaches and centipedes in my sleep. “Wow, a cute teddy bear! Thank you, Mommy!” Joy kissed my mother’s cheek and twirled around, hugging the bear. Then her eyes landed on me, quietly eating at the corner of the table. “April didn’t get a present yesterday,” she said suddenly. “Will she be angry when she sees my bear?” 5 The story goes that Joy and I were supposed to be twins. But my mother had a difficult labor. I was born the night before, while Joy held on until the next morning. Whenever Joy felt the slightest bit of emotional distress, she would clutch her chest and complain of discomfort. I knew she wasn’t sick. But my parents always believed her, always accused me of upsetting her, knowing she was “delicate.” Now, her question hung in the air, and all eyes turned to me. One wrong word, and my last life would repeat itself. I lowered my gaze. “Joy’s birth was difficult, which makes her birthday especially precious. She’s the princess of this family, she deserves a wonderful celebration. There’s no need to waste money on me.” I quickly deflected the accusation of jealousy. I saw relief and satisfaction dawn on my parents’ faces. “That’s the attitude a good older sister should have,” my mother said. “You need to keep that in mind when you’re at college, so you can take good care of your sister. Understand?” “We’ll be sending all the living expense money to Joy’s account. She’ll manage your finances for you, to keep you from wasting it.” If they could have, they would have swapped my college entrance exam scores with Joy’s, sending her to the top-tier university in the capital. But Joy’s scores only qualified her for a local state school. When it came time to register, my parents had already filled out my application for the same school as her. Their excuse: an older sister needs to take care of the younger one. But I had already contacted my guidance counselor and secretly changed my enrollment back to the university in the capital. In two weeks, I would be starting my new life. Of course, they would find out as soon as the semester started. And when they did, I would face an endless torrent of screaming and beatings. I have lived two lives cowering in fear, suffering their abuse. I will not fall in the same place again. Somehow, before school starts, I have to get out of here for good. And for my escape today, I have prepared. 6 I stood and went to the kitchen to bring out the other dishes. I placed a bowl of handmade fish balls in front of Joy. “You’ve always loved the fish balls I make for you. I made them for your birthday this year, too.” My father nodded, washing them down with a large gulp of whiskey. My mother sneered. “Oh, so you hear the money’s going to your sister and now you’re sucking up? So young, and already so manipulative.” Despite her words, she ate several. My cooking was good. Eat up, I thought. Eat it all, and then have a nice, long sleep. I watched them devour the food, my heart pounding with a mix of terror and excitement. But after a few bites, Joy slammed her chopsticks on the table, throwing a tantrum. “No! These don’t taste right!” “I didn’t watch you make them today! Who knows what you secretly put in them!” My heart skipped a beat. Did she know? No, impossible. She was just angry she’d missed her favorite part of the ritual. The fish balls were her special request. Every winter, she would demand I make them. I’d have to use the boniest part of a small carp, picking out each tiny spine by hand. Then, I’d have to plunge my already chapped and cracked hands into a bowl of ice water, to which she would add lemon juice. She would watch, delighted, as I winced in pain, forced to continue making the fish balls. For days after, my hands would be red and raw. If I ever showed the slightest reluctance, she would burst into tears, and my parents’ curses and beatings would follow. Since it was the middle of summer, making them was less of an ordeal for me. Naturally, she was disappointed. She needed a reason to have me punished. “I didn’t use ice water,” I lied quickly. “Maybe that’s why they’re not as firm.” My mother slammed her hand on the table. “And why not! Now Joy is upset! What if this makes her sick?” “The freezer isn’t working well. I used all the ice for the fruit punch,” I mumbled, covering my head as if expecting a blow. My cowardice seemed to amuse Joy. She let out a small, mocking laugh and finally dropped the subject, reaching for a glass of ice-cold fruit punch instead. But Joy, my dear sister, the strong, sweet flavor of the punch is so much better at hiding the taste of sleeping pills. 7 Halfway through dinner, my father started complaining of dizziness. He glanced at the half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey beside him and thought nothing of it. He mumbled “eighteen” and smiled dreamily at Joy. “My sweet girl is finally eighteen. Daddy’s waited so long for this day. I raised you from a tiny little thing, no bigger than my knee, and now you’re almost as tall as me.” Joy smiled sweetly back at him. The alcohol had loosened his tongue. He rambled on about the hardships of raising her. He sighed, but his face was happy. “Eighteen years old. My Leo is finally…” Before he could finish, my mother quickly shoved a piece of food in his mouth, cutting him off. Leo? Who’s Leo? I was confused, but Joy didn’t seem to have heard. She was too busy enjoying being fed by our mother. My mother caught my gaze and looked away, quickly calling for a toast. Of course, it was a toast for the three of them. I raised my glass alone, clinking it against the empty air. Joy’s eyes met mine, her expression a naked taunt, mocking me for being an outcast in my own family. But my glass was raised to the heavens, and to myself—the self that was about to escape from hell. I heard a faint, crackling hum. Just then, a string of firecrackers exploded outside, drowning out the warning sound. My mother sighed contentedly. “Look at that, Joy. Someone’s setting off fireworks for your birthday. Isn’t that lovely?” Yes. It was absolutely perfect. 8 Suddenly, the electrical hum grew louder. Joy looked at the fondue pot with confusion. My father waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just the noise from outside. We just bought this pot, it’s perfectly safe.” Joy’s suspicion was momentarily quieted, but then my mother also noticed something was wrong. “Honey, do you smell that? It smells like something’s burning.” “The pot must be scorching on the bottom.” My father stirred the bubbling red broth with a slotted spoon. The rich aroma of food filled the air again, overwhelming the other scent. “See? All gone.” Joy still looked uneasy. “But I still smell…” CRASH! The bottle of whiskey on the table, “accidentally” knocked over by me, shattered on the floor. The pungent smell of alcohol filled the room. “You’re so clumsy! Can’t you even eat a meal without breaking something!” My father roared, raising his hand to strike me. I cried out and dodged, “accidentally” kicking over another bottle of liquor. The clear liquid splashed across the floor, and now all anyone could smell was alcohol. “I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean to! I’ll get you another bottle right now.” I scrambled to the kitchen. But instead of going to the liquor cabinet, I opened a small side door and pulled out my hidden suitcase. The strange burning smell meant the appliance was overloaded. The fondue pot, having been leaking electricity for a while, was about to explode in their faces. The spilled liquor would act as an accelerant. In the chaos of the fire, no one would notice one girl slipping away. It was the perfect opportunity to leave this hell forever. FWOOMP. The entire house plunged into darkness. 9 The whole street went dark. It must have been a summer peak-usage surge. The old circuit breaker for the neighborhood had tripped, a safety measure, cutting power to everyone. “Ah! It’s so dark! Mommy, I’m scared!” Joy shrieked and buried her face in my mother’s arms. My mother cooed and comforted her, fanning her and getting her water until she calmed down. With the power out, the fondue pot stopped working. The burning smell gradually faded. I was disappointed, but I never put all my eggs in one basket. Just as I was about to move to my next plan, a loud banging echoed from the front door. My mother opened it and was immediately met with a tirade. “What is wrong with your family! Always causing trouble! Now the whole street’s blacked out because of you!” “If it weren’t for that little jinx of yours, none of us would be suffering in this heat!” A few of the neighborhood women stood at our door, led by Mrs. Gable from next door, who fanned herself furiously while pointing the finger at Joy. Joy immediately shrank behind my mother. My mother couldn’t stand to see Joy blamed for anything. “You’ve got a lot of nerve! What makes you think it was my Joy’s fault? Are you blind? Our power is out too!” “If you ask me, you’re the ones doing shady things, and now the whole street has to pay for it!” “Don’t you dare!” Mrs. Gable spat. “It’s because you run your air conditioner with the windows wide open! That’s what did it!” My mother froze. “The wiring in this neighborhood is ancient,” Mrs. Gable continued, her voice rising with dramatic flair. “And that relic of an AC unit of yours has been groaning and rattling for years. We can hear it through the walls. Now you’re running it 24/7 with the windows open? Of course, it overloaded the system!” That explained why the electricity bill had been so high the last few months. “I didn’t know, Mommy, I swear I didn’t know,” Joy whined, her eyes filling with tears. “I just… it’s so hot, and if I don’t get fresh air, my lungs feel tight…” Mrs. Gable snorted. “Oh, save it. You’re a menace. First, you ruin your own house, now you ruin the whole neighborhood.” “We’ve all been polite about it, but if you want to get technical, you’re the worst brat on this whole street.”

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I turned the shower on full blast to drown out my laptop, leaving the door slightly ajar. Serena pressed against it, tearful. “Let me in, Cole. I’ll do what they do—” I wiped her smeared lipstick away. “Too late. Tonight’s for new talent only.” It began with a promise: meeting at a concert after four years apart. When I arrived, the tickets were already claimed. I spotted Serena holding hands with another man in line. He played innocent, accusing me of scalping. To my horror, Serena joined in, letting the crowd turn on me. After the beating, she finally called, casually explaining she’d given my ticket to a heartbroken classmate. “Buy another ticket and visit me?” she purred. “We’ll marry after graduation.” I said “Okay,” then booked a train home—alone. 1 “Cole, I checked. The train line you usually take has seats available. Get one now. It’s too loud here with everyone leaving the stadium, I’m hanging up.” I sat in the cold, sterile waiting room of the station, the phone dead in my hand. A bitter laugh escaped me, pulling at the fresh cut on my lip. After she’d thrown me to the wolves, I had stormed off to the station, intending to leave immediately. But a foolish part of me clung to the hope that there was some explanation, some terrible misunderstanding. I’d waited all night. And all I got was an excuse about some lovesick freshman. That was her reason for holding another man’s hand? For joining him in a lie that got me beaten by a mob? Her university was in Florida. To get there from my snowy hometown, you either flew or took the one train line that involved a seven-hour ferry crossing. She knew I got violently seasick. The trip always left me pale and sick for days. The old Serena would have stayed up all night fighting for a plane ticket for me. If she failed, she would have called me in tears, apologizing over and over. Now, she didn’t even care. Just “buy a train ticket.” Her indifference was a shard of ice in my heart. I didn’t hesitate any longer. I bought a ticket for the next train heading north, back to the cold embrace of home. It was leaving in twenty minutes. Three stops into the journey, deep in the dead of night, she called again. “Jules and I are heading out of town for that summer project. We’ll be gone for at least a week. When you get to campus, just find a hotel or something. Give you a chance to heal up.” Just before she hung up, I could hear Julian’s syrupy voice in the background. “Serena, I’ve got the whole trip planned out—” My eyes burned with sarcasm. At least she bothered to invent a cover story for her vacation with Julian. At least she remembered that her lie had left me bruised and bleeding at the hands of an outraged crowd. The image of her standing by, watching with cold detachment as people screamed at me, still sent a chill down my spine. I opened my messaging app, about to tell her I wasn’t coming. That’s when a friend request popped up from a user named “Jules_S.” I froze. Serena’s username was “Serena_Loves_J.” The request message read: “Hey man, sorry about that. You just look a lot like the guy who stole my last girlfriend, and I guess I just saw red. I just wanted to get you to leave, didn’t think everyone would get the wrong idea and jump you. Serena made me apologize!” He then sent me a five-dollar transfer. “For your medical bills. Get yourself some ointment or something. Keep the change.” It was Julian. Every word was a backhanded slap, dripping with condescending victory. Before today, I’d never met him. He was just a name in Serena’s stories. At first, she’d complained about a “dumb freshman” in her study group. Then, when I’d ask what she was up to, it was always, “having dinner with Julian,” “playing tennis with Julian.” She even started calling him “Jules.” I got jealous. I told her I wanted to see what this “Jules” looked like. She deflected. “He’s nothing special. Not as handsome as you. Besides, he has a girlfriend. Don’t be so possessive!” Once, I was feeling down after missing out on a scholarship and video-called her. She was in the lab but picked up anyway. Seeing I was upset, she put on a goofy puppy-face filter to cheer me up. But then Julian deliberately leaned into the frame, snatched her phone, and swapped it for some stupid kitten filter. “That filter sucks, Serena. This one’s way better. The one I picked.” She laughed and scolded him for being a pest as they playfully fought over the phone, the filters flickering wildly between them. I just watched, an awkward, silent third wheel. Finally, with the kitten filter Julian had chosen still on, she smiled at the screen. “Jules is so silly. Cole? Why are you so quiet?” A bitter, unnameable feeling rose in my throat, choking me. She must have sensed I didn’t like him, because she stopped mentioning him as much. Until the concert. Now, I could finally put a face to the name. He was good-looking, I guess. But not as good-looking as me. What he had, though, was a swagger—the unshakeable confidence of a man who knows he’s backed by the woman he desires. I didn’t have that. Suddenly, the whole thing felt pathetic. Pointless. I ignored his message, blocked his account, and put my phone away. I stared out the window as the black of night bled into the soft gray of dawn. I’d taken this trip hundreds of times over the years, but I’d never noticed how beautiful the scenery was. I was always in such a rush, counting the minutes until I could see Serena. The next morning at 7 a.m., I arrived home. I tried to slip in quietly, but my parents were already awake. They were in the living room, studying a set of LED letters that spelled out L-O-V-E. They looked up at me, their faces a mixture of confusion and shock. “Son, what happened to your face?” “Why are you back so soon? Weren’t you going to see the concert with Serena? And propose? We were just about to decorate the house to surprise her… Where is Serena?” My hand instinctively went to my pocket, to the small, velvet ring box. I had bought a diamond ring, ready to ask her to be my wife as the music swelled around us. Instead, I had become a joke. The ring would never be given. Faced with their concern, the dam of my composure finally broke. A wave of humiliation and sorrow washed over me. I placed the ring box on the coffee table. My voice was a raw whisper. “Return these. The wedding is off.” I fled to my room, unable to face them. We’d been together for seven years, since high school. My parents already saw her as their daughter. I didn’t know how to explain this to them. They must have understood. They didn’t bother me until lunchtime. “Son,” my dad said, knocking gently. “Come out and eat.” The table was filled with my favorite foods. Halfway through the meal, there was a knock at the front door. “Hey, Martha! Can I borrow your car for a bit?” It was a familiar voice. Serena’s mom. Our families were next-door neighbors, always helping each other out. My mom opened the door. Serena’s mother saw me and froze. “Weren’t you two supposed to come back together?” I was just as confused as she was. She looked at me, puzzled. “Serena called and said she was coming home today. She asked me to pick her up from the station!” 2 I was stunned. I thought she was on vacation with Julian. Serena’s mom, oblivious to the truth, smiled. “Well, since you’re here, Cole, you can just come with me to get her.” I didn’t want to worry our parents with our drama, so I just nodded. At the station, I smoked two cigarettes, trying to compose myself for a calm, rational conversation. But my resolve shattered when I saw them. Two figures, walking hand-in-hand out of the arrivals gate, leaning into each other. The moment Serena saw our car, she dropped his hand. Her mom’s brow furrowed. “Serena, who is this with you?!” Serena didn’t look at her mother. She stared right at me, her voice sharp and defensive. “He’s a freshman from my program. It’s too hot back at his place, and he doesn’t have money to travel. What’s the big deal if I bring him home for the summer?” I didn’t say a word. I just flicked my cigarette to the pavement, ground it out with my boot, and slid into the driver’s seat. Serena’s mom smacked her on the back. “What a way to talk! You’re lucky Cole spoils you so much; no one else would put up with your attitude!” Humiliated, Serena stormed over and banged on my window, her eyes flashing with anger. “Cole, what is this, are you stalking me? I told you to go to my school!” Her mom shot back for me. “He got home this morning. How could he have been stalking you?” The logic seemed to cool Serena’s hot head. She realized the timeline didn’t add up. Her lips parted, then pressed into a thin line as she pulled Julian into the back seat. The ride home was heavy with a strange, suffocating silence. When we parked, Serena’s mom, trying to diffuse the tension, suggested our families have dinner together. It was a tradition. I had no reason to refuse. That evening, our parents, as always, had saved two adjacent seats for Serena and me. But Serena walked right past them, pulling Julian into the seat next to hers. A ripple of unease went through the table. All eyes were on me. I kept my expression neutral and simply found an empty chair. Julian shot me a smug, sidelong glance and then launched into a loud conversation with Serena about campus inside jokes I couldn’t understand, the two of them laughing hysterically. The sight of it turned my stomach. I excused myself halfway through the meal and went upstairs to my room. To my surprise, he followed me. He walked straight to my desk, and with a sweep of his hand, knocked the framed photo of Serena and me from our high school graduation—the one where we were making a heart shape with our hands—onto the floor. The glass shattered. I turned and looked at him, my voice devoid of emotion. “Wandering around someone else’s house, breaking their things. Is that what they taught you at home?” Julian just smirked, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and slapping it on the desk. “Cut the act, Cole. You really think she’s going to spend her life with you in this… snow globe of a town?” “Hate to break it to you, but Serena’s already been accepted into the grad program at our university. She’s staying to take care of me, make sure I adjust to senior year. But hey, if you want to keep clinging to her like a pathetic leech, you can have another three years of long-distance.” On the desk was a graduate school application form. It was all filled out, with Serena’s signature at the bottom. My chest tightened. I remembered Serena, years ago, crying as she promised me, “Cole, just give me four years. The second I graduate, I’m coming home. Even if I go to grad school, I’ll apply to one near us!” The last ember of hope in my heart died. A cynical laugh escaped me. “You want a new mommy to take care of you at school? Fine. No one’s stopping you. But don’t worry, I have no interest in being your ‘daddy’.” Julian’s face flushed with rage, his finger pointing at me, speechless. Suddenly, the soft sound of footsteps came from the stairs. His ears twitched. He deliberately shoved me hard. Caught off guard, I stumbled back against the desk. He seized the opportunity, grabbing my head and slamming it against the sharp corner. As I lost my balance, my hand flailed out, grabbing the desk lamp and pulling it down with me in a crash of metal and shattered plastic. Serena rushed in to see me on the floor, my head bleeding.

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After my wife—who loved me more than life itself—was murdered, her body dismembered, our playful family dog had a sudden, bizarre change of heart. When I’d come home, he would grab my slippers and arrange them neatly by the door. When I’d sleep, he would gently pull the blanket over me with his teeth. When I’d watch TV, he would use his paws to pat my back, as if giving me a massage. These were all the little things my wife used to love doing. When my family noticed his strange new habits, they wept with joy. But I quietly called the butcher shop down the street. “I have a dog I need to get rid of. He’s yours for free. Just send someone over to take care of him.” 1 My wife, Evelyn, was what everyone would call a perfect spouse. In twenty years of marriage, she never once argued with me. No matter how late I came home, she’d be there, waiting under a single lamp with a hot meal on the table. When I was diagnosed with kidney failure, she donated one of her kidneys to me without a moment’s hesitation. Worried I’d feel guilty, she hid it from me for three whole years, a secret I only discovered during a routine check-up. She was the best person to me in the entire world. And this woman, who had given me everything, was murdered on my birthday. She was attacked on her way home, her body dismembered. Even in death, her severed right hand was still clenched tightly around the birthday present she had bought for me. Everyone knew how good she was. Her horrific death became the talk of the town. But the crime scene was a blind spot, with no cameras and no forensic evidence left behind. And Evelyn didn’t have a single enemy in the world. The killer was never found. While my mother-in-law, my son, and my brother-in-law spent their days weeping, mourning Evelyn’s tragic fate, our seven-year-old dog, Buddy, seemed to have a sudden awakening. He had always been a mischievous, hyperactive dog, but he became inexplicably gentle and obedient. He would have my slippers waiting by the door when I got home. He would tiptoe over and cover me with a blanket when I fell asleep on the couch. He would use his paws to gently massage my back when my old injury flared up. My family was overjoyed by Buddy’s transformation. They said he’d become enlightened, that he was taking care of me in Evelyn’s place. That’s when I quietly dialed the number for the butcher. “Are you still taking dogs at your shop?” I asked. “I have one here. He’s yours for free. Just send someone over to take care of him.” 2 I gave the man on the phone my exact address. Hearing this, my son, Alex, who was sitting on the sofa, snatched the phone from my hand. “Dad, what are you doing?” he cried, his voice frantic. “Buddy’s been so good! How could you do this to him?” My brother-in-law, Kyle, stared at me, bewildered. “Yeah, Mark, even if you don’t want him anymore, you could give him to a shelter. Why a butcher shop? Are you just going to let someone… eat him?” My mother-in-law rushed out of the kitchen. “Mark, did my daughter’s death break you? Are you not in your right mind? You and Evelyn always treated Buddy like your own child. Now that he’s acting so much like her, why on earth would you send him to his death?” I glanced at Buddy and said flatly, “Seven years was long enough.” The men from the shop were fast. When they arrived with a catch pole and a burlap sack, Alex panicked. “Dad, I’m begging you, please don’t send Buddy away!” he pleaded, tears streaming down his face. I looked at him, my voice cold and firm. “This dog cannot stay.” I turned to the men. “Take him.” As they moved toward the dog, Alex, his grandmother, and his uncle all jumped in front of Buddy to block them. Seeing this, I barked, my voice a weapon. “I SAID THE DOG CAN’T STAY, DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME?” The shout stunned them into silence. They had never seen me like this before—so cold, so severe. Even Buddy just stared at me, his eyes glistening with what looked like tears. While my family was still in shock, I personally grabbed Buddy and shoved him into the burlap sack. He didn’t struggle or resist at all. After the men had taken him away, Kyle confronted me, his face a mask of grief. “Mark, no matter what, that was your dog! Yours and my sister’s, for seven years! How could you be so heartless?” My mother-in-law, her voice trembling with a mix of sorrow and concern, added, “Mark, even if looking at Buddy reminds you too much of Evelyn, even if you’re trying to escape the pain, you didn’t have to do that! What has gotten into you?” Alex stared at me for a long time, his own eyes welling up. “Dad, you must have felt it. Buddy was becoming more and more like Mom. Having him here, taking care of you in her place… you should have been happy. Why did you have to kill him?” Looking at their confused, heartbroken faces, I said only one thing. “Tomorrow, you’ll understand everything.” 3 The next day was Alex’s Ivy League acceptance party. All our relatives, friends, and neighbors were there, their conversations filled with a bittersweet nostalgia. “Evelyn planned this whole party for Alex a month ago. It’s a tragedy she couldn’t be here to see it.” “That’s right. Every dish, every banner… she designed it all herself.” “No wonder the family couldn’t bring themselves to cancel it, even with the pain of remembering her everywhere they look.” “Evelyn and Mark worked so hard for this. Their only dream was to see Alex get into a good university. I’m sure her spirit is here today, watching over him with pride.” The party was a grand affair, but because of what had happened with Evelyn and the dog, Alex, his grandmother, and Kyle were all wearing long faces, in no mood to celebrate. When I finally arrived, Alex, who had been listless all afternoon, rushed over to me. “Dad, just tell me. Why did you send Buddy to the butcher?” he demanded, his face gaunt, dark circles under his eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept. “Does it have something to do with Mom?” I nodded. “Yes.” Hearing this, my mother-in-law’s expression soured with confusion. “What does sending the dog away have to do with my daughter?” Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Wait… do you know something about Evelyn’s death?” At this, Kyle grabbed my arm, his voice urgent. “Mark, my sister died so horribly, and the police have no leads. If you know something, you have to tell us!” It wasn’t just them. The other guests started to crowd around, their faces a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. And then, with all eyes on me, I calmly took out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello,” I said, my voice steady. “I’d like to turn myself in.” “I murdered my wife, Evelyn Miller.” 4 I hung up. The room fell into a dead silence. Everyone stared at me, their eyes wide with disbelief. A moment later, my mother-in-law’s lips began to tremble. “What… how is that possible?” she stammered. “Mark, you’re joking, right? This is some kind of sick joke?” Her face was ashen, her voice shaking as if she’d been dealt a physical blow. “Do I look like I’m joking?” I asked, my tone dead serious. My solemn expression was her answer. She staggered backward, nearly collapsing. Kyle caught her, his own voice choked with disbelief. “No. I don’t believe it. Mark, my sister was so good to you. You had no reason to kill her!” I didn’t explain. Instead, I reached into my bag and pulled out a blood-stained knife. “This is the murder weapon.” The room erupted. The people crowded around me gasped and scrambled backward, their faces pale with terror. Only Alex remained frozen, staring at me as if seeing a complete stranger. SLAP! My mother-in-law slapped me across the face, her voice a raw scream. “You monster! You animal! No wonder you had to get rid of the dog! You couldn’t stand the guilt, couldn’t face what you’d done!” Tears streamed down her face. “My daughter was thinking about your birthday present right up until the moment she died! In all these years, she never did a single thing to wrong you! Why would you kill her? Why would you make her die in such a horrible way?!” Kyle gripped my shoulders, his voice ragged with pain. “Do you have any idea what she went through? The day she donated her kidney, she bit her lip until it bled, but she still forced herself to get up and take care of you, just so you wouldn’t worry or suspect anything! She was a woman who could barely take care of herself, but for you, she learned to cook, she learned massage! She was terrified of pain, but she bore you a child, gave you a piece of her own body, and for twenty years, she made sure you never had to lift a finger at home!” “My sister gave you everything! Why did you kill her?!” Their cries moved the guests, who began to hurl insults at me. One of them even started a live stream, narrating my crimes to the world. “Breaking news, people! You remember that brutal dismemberment case that shocked the city? You’re not going to believe this, but the killer was her own husband! This woman was famous for how much she loved him! She married him without asking for a dowry, even used her life savings to help him start his business! He had a sensitive stomach, so she cooked him special meals every single day! She took care of everything so he never had to worry! And this is how he repays her? By murdering her and cutting her into pieces! He even sent the dog they raised together to a butcher! It’s probably already been served on someone’s plate!” The crowd was furious, their words a torrent of rage. The live stream viewership exploded. The comments were a wall of hate, all directed at me. I stood there like a lamb to the slaughter, condemned by a thousand voices. Soon, the police arrived. They secured the evidence and snapped handcuffs on my wrists. “You’re under arrest for suspicion of murder. You’re coming with us.” Just as they were about to lead me away, Alex suddenly ran forward, blocking their path. “Dad!” he cried out, his voice desperate. “You and Mom were always so in love. If she even had a headache, you’d be so worried you couldn’t eat or sleep. I don’t believe you killed her! You chose my acceptance party to confess like this… are you being threatened? Is there something you’re not telling us?” He stared at me, his eyes filled with a painful, stubborn hope, terrified that I was being framed. I looked back at him, my face a blank mask. “There’s no secret. No one threatened me.” “I killed your mother.” The light in my son’s eyes died. “I hate you! I don’t have a father!” He turned, ran to the open window beside him, and threw himself out. THUD. The sickening sound from the ground below turned every face in the room white with horror. And for the first time, tears streamed from my own eyes. Finally. It was almost over.

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The day my parents died, I threw my sick sister out on the street. She was left homeless, starving, and freezing, and I turned a blind eye. My relatives called me a heartless monster. I ignored them. I forced her to sign away her inheritance, and she knelt on the floor, begging and sobbing until she could barely breathe. “Mom and Dad are barely cold in their graves,” she cried. “How can you be so cruel?” I laughed. “What are the dead going to do about it?” When she collapsed on the street from her illness, I cheered. I was ecstatic. The next day, the hashtag #ViciousSisterStealsInheritanceAndAbandonsDyingSibling went viral. I leaned back on my sofa, scrolling through the thousands of death threats, and casually sipped a glass of red wine. “Cry all you want. Curse me all you want,” I murmured to my phone. “The house, the money… it’s all mine now.” 01 At our parents’ funeral, I made my sister, Ruby, sign a waiver forfeiting her entire inheritance. The moment I had the signed papers in my hand, I started throwing her luggage out the front door, piece by piece. One of the suitcases cracked open on the pavement, her clothes spilling out onto the dirty ground. Ruby’s lips trembled, her eyes wide with disbelief and helplessness. “What?” I said, crossing my arms. “You really think a charity case like you gets to stay here?” She bit her lip so hard I was surprised it didn’t bleed, her whole body shaking. “Ava… how could you do this to me?” “What else did you expect?” I cut her off impatiently before she could say more. “Mom and Dad are gone. I’m not carrying a dead weight like you.” Her tears stopped instantly. Her face went deathly pale. I took a step closer, my gaze cold. “Are you going to get out, or do I have to make you?” Despair washed over her face. She couldn’t process it. “Ava, why? We’re sisters… we’re family…” “Get out,” I said, pointing to the door. “I won’t say it again. You are not my problem anymore.” “Ava, you’ve gone too far!” My sudden outburst stunned everyone into silence. After a moment, one of our aunts finally found her voice. She stepped forward, her face red with anger. “Your sister is so pitiful. How can you be so heartless?” “You feel sorry for her?” I raised an eyebrow. “Great. You can take her home and look after her.” The aunt’s mouth opened, then closed. She didn’t say a word. “What’s the matter? Scared?” I scanned the room, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “She’s a bottomless pit of need! Any of you saints want to take her off my hands?” The faces of my relatives soured, but no one dared to speak. I let out a cold laugh. “Since none of you want her, what right do you have to tell me what to do?” Ruby’s sobs grew louder. She clutched the waiver, tears splashing onto the paper as she crumpled to the floor. I was done wasting my breath. I strode over, yanked her up from the ground, and shoved her out the door. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” I slammed the door on Ruby’s wailing and the muttered curses of my relatives, locking them all out. If she lived or died, what did it have to do with me? 02 Alone in the spacious house, I had the best night’s sleep I’d had in years. I woke up to my phone vibrating itself off the nightstand. #ViciousSisterStealsInheritanceAndAbandonsDyingSibling One of my relatives had posted a video of me throwing Ruby out. It was the number one trending topic, a furious, viral red. I clicked on it. A tidal wave of hatred washed over me. “Is this sister a demon? Kicking out her own sibling? Is she even human?” “So she’s rich and powerful, so what? That poor girl was sobbing her heart out, and she didn’t even flinch.” “Someone find this trash. We need to dox her. Don’t let her get away with this!” The comments section was a warzone. And below it, someone had already posted my personal information. My full name, my phone number, my home address, and even my work address had been leaked. My phone started ringing incessantly, one unknown number after another. I answered one. As expected, a torrent of abuse. “Ava, you’re going to burn in hell!” “You deserve to die alone!” “I hope you get struck by lightning, you piece of scum—” Click. I hung up and blocked the number. My screen kept flashing with notifications. My relatives were making the rounds on the news channels, weeping dramatically as if they’d just witnessed a murder. My uncle pounded his chest for the camera. “I just can’t understand how she became like this! She used to be such a good, sensible girl!” My aunt dabbed her eyes, going through a whole pack of tissues. “That poor child… kicked out by her own sister. What is she going to do now?” The camera then cut to Ruby. She was looking down, tears falling one by one, her voice choked with sobs. “Does my sister… does she really not care about me at all anymore?” Tsk. She looked so pathetic. A reporter gently prompted her, “Is there anything you’d like to say to your sister?” Ruby sniffled. “Ava… I really need you… Please, can’t you stop being so cruel?” On screen, she was a picture of frail, helpless beauty, her face stained with tears. The internet absolutely erupted. “Damn, that made me want to cry.” “She just wanted her sister, and she got kicked to the curb. How broken must she feel?” “How has this monster not gotten what she deserves yet?” I leaned back on my sofa, sipping my coffee, and slowly scrolled through my phone. Ruby was useless. Why should I pity her? BANG! Someone was pounding on my front door downstairs. I peeked through the curtains. A mob had already gathered outside, holding signs. “HAVE YOU NO SHAME?” “JUSTICE FOR RUBY!” “GIVE BACK THE INHERITANCE!” A few angry-looking men were trying to break down the door. Someone else threw an egg at my window, the yolk slowly dripping down the glass. My phone buzzed again. It was a text from my boss. Ava, the company has received too many complaints. Don’t come in for now. Let this blow over. Ha. He caved quickly. Another call came in. A reporter. Her voice was trembling with rage. “Do you know your sister slept on a park bench last night? She hasn’t had a single hot meal! You cold-blooded monster, does your conscience not hurt at all?!” I glanced out the window. The crowd of protestors was growing. I picked up my phone, let out a lazy yawn, and murmured into the receiver. “It’d be easier if she were dead.” The line went silent. Then came a hysterical scream. 03 After two days of relaxing at home, I decided to go to work. The moment I pushed open the office door, the entire floor went silent. A few coworkers pretended to be busy, but their eyes darted away nervously. The office gossip, who normally lived for this kind of drama, wouldn’t even look in my direction. I smirked, walked to my desk, and had just turned on my computer when my manager called out, “Ava, the director wants to see you.” In the conference room, the director’s face was grim. “The company is aware of your situation.” I smiled. “Okay.” He frowned. “This has had a huge impact. Our partners are questioning our company’s values.” “And?” I stirred my coffee slowly. “You need to find a way to resolve this yourself. Don’t drag the company down with you.” “So you’re telling me to resign?” He didn’t answer. That was answer enough. I nodded, put down my cup, and stood up to leave. As I walked out, the security guard at the front desk gave me a long, complicated look. I pulled out my phone and clicked on a news alert. VICIOUS SISTER SCANDAL CONTINUES TO EXPLODE. VICTIM SISTER HOMELESS, SUSPECTED MENTAL BREAKDOWN! The comments were on fire. “Scum. Animal! A person like this doesn’t deserve to live!” “For the love of God, fire her already! Do corporations have no soul?” “Hasn’t anyone beaten her up yet??” Such a bunch of busybodies. I shook my head, a cold smile on my lips. As I approached my apartment building, I was hit by the sharp, acrid smell of spray paint. Someone had vandalized my front door. “DEMON SISTER” and “DIE IN HELL” were scrawled across the wall in crooked, dripping red letters. Someone had also intentionally scattered trash and dead flowers all over the hallway. A gust of wind from an open window sent debris swirling around my feet. Tsk. Such poor taste. I stepped over the mess and was about to unlock my door when I heard a commotion from the stairwell. My relatives had arrived. My aunt was in the lead, flanked by a few of my cousins, all of them looking furious. “Ava! You cold-hearted bitch! If you don’t bring your sister home today, we’re not leaving!” My uncle slammed his cane on the floor. “Even an animal has more humanity than you! Your sister is starving and cold, where is your heart?!” One of my male cousins rolled up his sleeves, his eyes full of menace. “Maybe we should throw her out on the street, see how she likes it.” “Are you done?” I yawned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You’re all so righteous, aren’t you? She’s so pitiful, right? Fine. Which one of you is taking her in?” Silence. “What? No takers?” I sneered. “So easy to talk big, isn’t it? You don’t want the responsibility, so you try to force it on me?” My aunt’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “You’re going to get what you deserve!” she shrieked. “Is that so?” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “I’d like to report a home invasion and multiple threats against my person.” The police arrived in less than ten minutes. My relatives were escorted out, cursing and grumbling, but they scattered. But then came the real pests: the reporters. A whole pack of them was blocking the building entrance. They swarmed me, shoving cameras and microphones in my face. “Ms. Ava, how do you respond to the accusations online?” “Your sister is penniless. Do you feel no guilt whatsoever?” “Can you explain why you forced her to sign away her inheritance?” The camera flashes were blinding. I casually brushed a strand of hair from my face and gave them a lazy smile. “You all feel so sorry for her, don’t you?” Facing the cameras, I slowly tilted my chin up, my tone dripping with disdain. “Fine. Then you can pay for her.” The reporters’ faces froze. The air grew thick. And then, the viewers watching the live feed lost their minds. “IS THIS WOMAN INSANE???” “DOES SHE LITERALLY NOT HAVE A HEART???” “I WANT TO KICK DOWN HER DOOR AND DRAG HER OUT BY HER HAIR!!!” The internet’s rage hit a fever pitch. My haters organized, launching a campaign to “socially execute” me, digging into every corner of my past. “I heard her grades in elementary school were terrible. Her teachers probably knew she was evil even back then.” “Her college roommate needs to speak up! I bet she was a manipulative snake!” “What about her boyfriend? Why hasn’t he dumped her yet?” Within a day, my social life was nuked from orbit. A former coworker: Are you crazy? An old classmate: Do you have any conscience at all? My ex-boyfriend: Delete my number. Don’t ever contact me again. They all thought they could break me with their moral superiority. How naive. That evening, I posted a photo to my social media. A lavish dinner. Steak, foie gras, truffles, and a bottle of expensive red wine. The caption: Delicious. 04 After a few days of quiet, the online narrative began to shift. It was no longer just about cursing me; the main theme was now “pity for the sister.” Because Ruby had posted a long, personal essay. I Don’t Want the Inheritance, I Just Want a Home. It was accompanied by a blurry selfie. She was wrapped in a thin, filthy blanket, curled up under a bridge. Her eyes were helpless, her face smudged with dirt and tear tracks. “I never wanted to fight with my sister over money. After our parents passed, I thought she was all I had left. I never imagined she hated me so much.” “I have no money. When I’m hungry, I have to dig through trash cans. I sleep under a bridge at night, and a homeless man stole my jacket… Sometimes, I really don’t see the point in living anymore…” In just a few hours, the post was shared over a hundred thousand times. “Omg, I’m actually crying…” “How can a sister be so cruel? Making her own flesh and blood sleep under a bridge?!” “Can someone please help her?” In the comments, hordes of people offered to send her money. Someone even started a crowdfunding campaign for her to rent an apartment. The funny thing was, these “Good Samaritans” were sending her $5 or $10 at a time. Not a single one offered to actually take her in. Even funnier, my relatives were back at it. They cornered me in a cafe near my apartment, putting on a grand show of a “righteous tribunal.” “Ava!” my uncle slammed his cane on the table, his face livid. “Your sister is living on the streets! Are you really going to let her die out there?” “What do you mean, ‘let her die’?” I stirred my tea, my voice lazy. “Be specific.” “The house, the savings,” my aunt interjected. “You have to give her half of what your parents left!” I let out a short, sharp laugh and slapped the notarized document I’d brought with me onto the table. “Legally, she gets nothing.” The air in the room went still. “You—” my uncle’s hand was shaking with rage. “She’s your sister! If your parents knew you were doing this, they’d be turning in their graves!” “Don’t use the dead to guilt me,” I said, my voice calm. “My parents are ashes. They can’t control me anymore.” No one spoke. I looked around at them. “I’m her sister. I can do whatever I want with her. What business is it of yours?” The cafe was so quiet you could hear the tea bubbling in the pot. The relatives looked sick, but before any of them could speak, I cut them off. “So,” I said, holding my hands out. “You all feel so sorry for her, right? Who’s taking her home?” No one answered. “What’s the matter? All talk and no action, as usual?” I laughed mockingly. “You’re not willing to take care of her yourselves, so you try to force me to? How noble.” Silence. Anger. Finally, my aunt slammed her teacup on the table, splashing hot tea everywhere. “Ava, you will get what’s coming to you!” I clapped softly. “I’ll be waiting.” The family meeting ended as expected. Not a single one of them was willing to actually help Ruby. But the wave of online sympathy was turning into a tsunami. The next day, the story was trending again. This time, it was a live, exclusive interview with my sister. In the video, Ruby was sitting on a park bench, pale and shivering in thin clothes. She kept her head down, her eyes red, her fingers twisted together in her lap. The reporter’s voice was gentle. “Your sister claims you’re only after the inheritance.” Ruby shook her head frantically, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No, that’s not true! I never wanted to take anything from my sister…” She looked up, her voice trembling. “I just… I just want a home…” The live chat exploded with fury. “Her sister is a monster! She doesn’t even want the money!” “This poor girl is so broken. Does Ava have a heart at all?” “AVA, GET ON HERE AND APOLOGIZE TO YOUR SISTER!!” My phone was buzzing nonstop. I opened the live stream and posted a comment under the interview. If you can’t handle living, then just die. You’ll be doing everyone a favor. The internet saw my comment. There was a moment of stunned silence. And then, a deluge of curses. But a second later, their rage was cut short.

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The livestream battle against his childhood sweetheart was a disaster. I was losing, badly. Then, Guy Bray stormed the stream, unleashing twenty “Galaxies” in a row, single-handedly turning the tide for her. The chat exploded. “See, Chloe? I told you! The CEO only has eyes for you. Let’s see what kind of tricks that bitch Faye can pull now!” “Exactly! You should stop giving him the silent treatment. Worst case, just make him beg on his knees when he gets home!” My hand went to my pocket, to the birthday gift I’d been so excited to give him. I was about to call him. But then, Guy, who was supposed to be halfway across the world, appeared on camera. He stepped into the frame and pulled Chloe into a deep, passionate French kiss for everyone to see. Her popularity meter shot through the roof, a supernova of support that annihilated mine. I was K.O.’d. Utterly defeated. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just sent him a single text. “A week of silence means we’re done. Does that still stand?” 1 The glaring red exclamation mark next to my message felt like a punch to the gut. It was a sight I hadn’t seen in a decade. In the ten years we’d been together, Guy and I had fought, we’d screamed, we’d threatened to break up. But we always had an unspoken rule, a final lifeline to pull each other back. “Promise me,” he’d said, his pinky locked with mine. “No matter how bad a fight gets, we never delete or block each other. Cross your heart, hope to die.” A childish oath, sealed with a press of our thumbs, but it was the magic that had mended us time and time again. This time, he was the one who broke it. My finger hovered, then swiped. The contact, saved as “A_MyOneAndOnly,” vanished from my list. My assistant, Nina, slammed her hand on the table, her voice shaking with rage on my behalf. “What the hell is Chloe’s problem?! Using the CEO for a publicity stunt?! This round doesn’t count. We demand a rematch!” Nina shot nervous glances at me, ready to physically restrain me if I, as I usually would, made a move to confront Chloe. But to her surprise, I just picked up my glass of wine and downed it in one go. “A loss is a loss,” I said, my voice steady. “Let this be my parting glass, a thank you to everyone for all your years of support. Cheers.” “Faye, no! You can’t, you’re allergic to alcohol—” Her words were cut short as a bitter, burning wave surged up my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth and ran for the restroom. Behind me, the whispers started, sharp and cruel. “So what if she had the title of Mrs. Bray? The moment the real queen came back, she was knocked right back down. What a pathetic loss.” “Totally. Guy even gave Chloe his A-team, a top-tier crew. All the company resources are flowing her way. It couldn’t be more obvious who he loves and who he doesn’t.” Tears I refused to shed in front of them now fell, hot and traitorous, onto the simple, plain band on my ring finger. It made me think of a time when his devotion was mine and mine alone. When everyone shot down my passion project, he stood against them all, a fierce defender of my dream. He even sold his family’s old summer house and pressed the money into my hands. “Faye,” he’d said, his eyes shining, “go for it. I will always, always be your rock.” When I pulled all-nighters, he’d be right there beside me, digging through research papers. When I was sick in the hospital, he stayed awake all night, holding my hand until the sun came up. But that was seven years ago. Today, all that fierce devotion belonged to his childhood sweetheart. I looked at the faint, worn inscription inside my ring—J&F—and then at the picture Chloe had just posted on her feed: a pair of million-dollar, diamond-encrusted rings on her and Guy’s hands. My simple band seemed to dim, a pale ghost of a promise. With a bitter, self-mocking laugh, I pulled the ring from my finger and tossed it into the trash can. Just then, Guy’s custom ringtone blared from someone’s phone in the hall. Normally, I’d have answered within three seconds. This time, I leaned against the cool tile of the wall, slowly pushing the door open. “Faye, it’s the boss! He’s calling to apologize, I bet…” One of the gossiping onlookers, hungry for more drama, hit the speakerphone button. “Chloe, you were amazing! That dance with Guy was so hot! You’re the only one who deserves to be by his side, not like… some people.” “I know, right? And she actually thought she could win a battle against you. She just humiliated herself. Guy totally set this whole thing up…” The taunts hung in the air, followed by a sudden, dead silence. I forced my heart to stop its frantic hammering and was about to speak. But then, Guy’s voice, raw with anger, erupted from the phone. “Who the hell told you to spread those rumors? Let me make one thing crystal clear: I have only one wife, and her name is Faye Sterling! Every single one of you who said otherwise can pack your desks and be gone by morning!” A wave of bitterness washed over me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In public, he always gave me the respect and face befitting the CEO’s wife. But in private, he repeatedly crossed every line for Chloe. “Faye, come on. You’re already mine, what’s a Director position to you? Just think of it as a training opportunity for the kid.” “It’s just one multi-million dollar contract. You’re the CEO’s wife, you need to be more magnanimous.” I tried. I tried to accept it, to be “magnanimous.” But my acceptance only fueled Chloe’s audacity. She’d alter data in my project proposals without my consent and leave me to take the fall. She’d reassign my team members behind my back, then cripple me with no resources while demanding my department meet 80% of the company’s KPIs. I’d fought him on it, screamed at him, but Guy would always brush it off with a placating murmur. “Chloe’s new to the role, she needs to establish her authority. Just be patient, I’ll have a talk with her.” But I knew he never would. Even this time, I had made it perfectly clear. If I lose this PK battle, I’m leaving. And still, when it came down to it, he chose her. The memory solidified my resolve. I cut through his frantic “Honey, are you okay?” “Guy,” I said, my voice flat. “Come home tonight. We need to talk.” 2 “That’s right, Guy, you should go home and be with Faye. I’m fine… ah!” A sharp cry of pain stabbed through the phone, and Guy’s voice instantly became distant, muffled. “Look at you, why are you even in a competition when you’re sick? Are you trying to kill yourself? I’m taking you to the hospital…” This was the seventh time this month she’d “fallen ill,” each time with surgical precision, right when I needed to talk to Guy about something important. I knew the drill. As I moved to hang up, Guy’s hurried, breathless voice came back on the line. “Look, Chloe’s having terrible cramps. I need you to bring over a warm, sweet drink. Oh, and a blanket. A new one.” His tone was clipped, commanding, as if I were Chloe’s personal assistant. Which, in a way, I had become. Chloe loved the way I cooked sea bass, so Guy would wake me in the middle of the night, regardless of the hour, to make it for her. “Sorry, babe,” he’d say, trying to placate me. “Just humor her, she’s like a kid.” I’d look at the dark circles under his eyes, the stress lines etched on his face, and my heart would soften every time. But not tonight. Tonight, I was done softening. “Sorry,” I said, the word feeling foreign. “I’m exhausted. I don’t have time.” The line went dead. A second later, a chorus of notifications pinged from the phones around me. “What the—? Why did he just dock our performance bonuses? He’s always docking our pay! Does he even want us to make a living?” A sea of resentful eyes turned on me, their expressions a mixture of pity and blame. I was the cause of their misery, another casualty in our marital war. Of course. After all these years, Guy knew exactly how to twist the knife. He knew my team was my weakness. I tried calling him back, only to find I’d been blocked. Left with no choice, I sent a message to Chloe. “Tell Guy I’ll bring what he asked for. I’m on my way.” The stomach pains I’d been ignoring for hours suddenly flared, a sharp, stabbing cramp. I fumbled through my purse, my fingers searching for my medication. Instead, they closed around a bottle of multivitamins. He must have packed them by mistake. I remembered it then. He was putting my pills in my bag when he’d gotten a call from Chloe. He’d talked to her for an hour, a soft, bashful smile on his face that I hadn’t seen since the first year we were dating. A bitter jealousy had coiled in my gut, and I’d kicked him out of the room. I assumed, like always, he’d be back within 24 hours to apologize. Instead, I got 24 hours of non-stop updates on Chloe’s social media feed. “Ice cream dates, snowball fights, watching the sunrise… everything is perfect when you’re with the right person!” I had stubbornly refused to give in, to be the first to break the silence. But now, on the seventh day, I had been about to crumble. Because of the rule he himself had made. “A week of silence means we’re done.” But now, something had shifted. I wasn’t crumbling. I was letting go. I went home and packed a bag. Then, I went to the kitchen and began preparing the sea bass. One last time. After this, our debts would be settled. It was late by the time I finished. Getting out of the car in a rush, I tripped on the curb and went down hard. “Guy, it hurts,” I cried out instinctively into the empty night. But there was no one. Only the biting wind. The man who had sworn he would never let me walk a dark street alone was gone. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I limped my way to the urgent care clinic. And there he was. In the brightly lit infusion room, Guy was holding Chloe, gently spoon-feeding her a warm drink. The look in his eyes as he gazed at her was pure, undiluted adoration, a sweetness so thick it was suffocating. I backed away, wanting to be invisible. But my injured knee buckled and I stumbled, knocking it against a chair. A fresh wave of pain shot up my leg, and I saw blood seeping through my pants. His head snapped up, and his eyes, cold and sharp, found me. “Faye,” he said, his voice laced with scorn. “I thought you were busy. What, did you have time to make a business trip to the hospital?” His gaze fell to my bleeding knee, and for a split second, I saw something flicker in his eyes—a muscle in his jaw twitched. He started to rise, but Chloe’s arm snaked around his neck, pulling him back. “Guy, I feel so dizzy…” she murmured, then her eyes met mine, a triumphant glint in them. “Oh, Faye, you’re here! Perfect timing. I just finished the drink. Thank you so much for bringing it…” I saw the malice hiding behind her saccharine smile. I knew she was setting a trap, crafting another lie where I would be the villain. I thought of all the other times, of how Guy always took her side without question, and a profound weariness washed over me. I forced myself to stand straight, placed the thermos on a nearby chair, and turned to leave. “Mr. Bray, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be heading home now.” “Wait.” He gently settled Chloe back against the pillows, then strode over to me. He pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and pressed it into my hand. “Here,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. “A little tip for your trouble.” The sharp edge of the bill cut into my palm. I took a steadying breath and finally met his gaze. “Mr. Bray,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “If you really want to thank me, could you do me a small favor?” 3 His response was to grab my arm and drag me violently into an empty examination room. He slammed me against the wall, pinning my wrists above my head. His eyes, dark and stormy, bored into mine. “Faye, do you have to be so goddamn difficult?” he seethed, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you have any idea that I haven’t slept in three days, rushing to close that overseas deal just so I could get back to you?” “I know I didn’t handle the livestream situation right. I should have told you. But this is business. As long as it boosts the company’s numbers, the methods don’t matter—” “So, would you sleep with her for the company?” I cut him off, my voice hollow. I stared at the face I had loved for a decade, the question hanging in the sterile air between us. Just moments before, Chloe had sent me a picture. The two of them, tangled together in a heated embrace, their bodies flush against each other. I needed to hear the answer from his lips. The color drained from Guy’s face. His eyes darted away, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Don’t listen to the gossip at the office,” he stammered. “There’s nothing going on between Chloe and me.” He took a shaky breath. “Besides, you know… I have issues. With my stress levels… I can’t perform.” So that was it. In his world, a “platonic” relationship involved sharing drinks from the same cup, wearing matching million-dollar rings, and walking hand-in-hand at public events. And I, his wife, had personally seen him finding release to a picture of Chloe on his phone. Now I understood. His “inability to perform” was only with me. A laugh escaped my lips, a broken, hysterical sound that quickly turned into tears. To him, it was just more drama. “Faye, that’s enough,” he snapped, his patience gone. “Just stop it. The company is already driving me insane. I don’t have the energy to deal with your theatrics.” He reached into his pocket, his hand fumbling, and pulled out a delicate, glittering bracelet. It seemed to spark a memory, and his expression softened. He bent down, picked it up from where it had fallen, and fastened it around my wrist. “I bought this for you on my trip,” he said, his voice softer now. “I thought it would suit you… and it does. It’s beautiful on you.” The fire of the diamonds reflected in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a genuine smile. But I knew he wasn’t seeing me. He was seeing her. I was just the mannequin. How many times had I been his model for gifts meant for her? Lingerie, shoes, jewelry. But this time, he’d been so careless. He’d grabbed the wrong one. Because engraved on the inside of the clasp, in elegant French script, were the words: Pour Chloé, mon seul amour. For Chloe, my only love. I yanked my hand back. The sharp edge of the clasp broke my skin, and a drop of blood welled up, staining the pristine metal. Guy’s brow furrowed in annoyance. He roughly unclasped the bracelet and began frantically wiping the blood off with his handkerchief. “Damn it, why are you so clumsy? Blood is bad luck…” Of course. His goddess hated the sight of blood. She just enjoyed seeing mine spilled. “My apologies,” I said numbly. From my pocket, I pulled out the folded document I’d prepared earlier. The Divorce Agreement. “You still haven’t signed the final papers for the B-Corp partnership,” I said, keeping my voice level. “This is a work matter, right?” “You must be mistaken. I signed those last week,” he said without even looking up, his focus entirely on cleaning the bracelet. Of course. He remembered every detail of his life, except those that involved me. I was trying to think of another excuse when he finally took the papers from my hand. “Sign it and go home,” he ordered. “And stop causing trouble.” He just wanted me gone. So he could get back to her. A familiar bitterness rose in my throat, but I just nodded. “Mm-hmm.” My lack of fight must have seemed strange to him. He stopped writing, his pen hovering over the paper. He gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Faye,” he said, his voice earnest. “You will always be number one in my heart. As soon as this crazy period is over, I’ll take you on a trip, just the two of us.” He used his thumb to push up the corner of my mouth. “Come on, give me a smile. You’re most beautiful when you smile.” I managed a weak, painful twitch of my lips. I’d been fed this empty promise a hundred times. I couldn’t chew it, couldn’t swallow it. But he seemed completely satisfied. Predictably, his phone rang. He was needed. “Don’t worry,” he cooed into the receiver. “I’m on my way.” I glanced at the agreement. He’d only signed his first name. Guy. I sighed. Suddenly, a small, colorful object appeared in my line of sight. A cartoon band-aid. A young nurse was smiling warmly at me. “Your husband asked me to give this to you,” she said, noticing my confused expression. Seeing my hesitation, she tore open the wrapper and gently applied it to the cut on my hand. “He’s so sweet and thoughtful. And he has a fun side, too, buying cartoon band-aids…” My nails dug into my palms. I couldn’t tell her that he only carried them because they were Chloe’s favorite. I was just the lucky recipient of a leftover scrap of his affection. My phone buzzed. A message from my real estate agent. Ms. Sterling, we have an offer on the house you listed, but it’s only for 70% of the asking price. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider…? I glanced at the cartoon character smiling up at me from my wounded hand and typed back without a second’s hesitation. Sell it. Please handle the closing for me. Before my finger even left the screen, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Faye,” Guy’s voice was a low growl behind me. “You just had to make a scene, didn’t you? You just couldn’t let it go. Fine. You want a war? You’ve got one.”

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My younger sister got pregnant out of wedlock and vanished after giving birth to a boy in a back-alley clinic. The doctor used the address she left behind to find my family, leaving the baby with me. My parents got on their knees and begged me to adopt him. Just like that, I, a single woman, began the arduous task of raising a child alone. Years later, just as I’d finally raised him, my sister returned. On her arm was a rich businessman, a thick gold chain gleaming around his neck. She clutched my son and sobbed, telling him I was a jealous monster who had stolen him at birth, tearing their family apart. My son, my pride and joy, renounced me on the spot and ran into her arms. My parents threw me out of the house. The neighbors’ gossip and condemnation became my personal hell. In utter despair, I threw myself from the roof of my apartment building. When I open my eyes again, I’m back on the day my sister gave birth. 1 The pounding on my door started with the dawn, jolting me awake in a cold sweat. This was it. In my last life, this was the exact moment the clinic doctor had hammered on our door, waking the entire neighborhood. He’d handed me the baby in front of everyone, scolding me for being an irresponsible mother. Only later did I learn the baby was my sister’s. My parents had pleaded with me to keep him. Since I had no plans to marry anyway, I agreed. A choice I came to regret with every fiber of my being. Hearing that sound again, a jolt of electricity shot through me. I scrambled out of bed and yanked the door open to see that same, familiar face. “Lina,” the doctor began, his voice dripping with condescension. “You can’t just have a baby and abandon it. You know that’s illegal.” The neighbors were already awake, their heads craning out of their doorways to watch the drama unfold. I stared at him for a single, silent second. Then I ripped off my slipper and brought it down on his face with all my strength. “You goddamn vulture!” I screamed, hitting him again and again. “How dare you show up at my door with this scam! I don’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a baby! Have you ever seen a woman who just gave birth hit this hard?!” I gestured wildly at my own body. “Do I look like I just had a baby?!” My furious assault left the doctor stunned and speechless. Mrs. Gable from across the hall was the first to find her voice. “She’s right, you know. Lina goes to work every single day. I’ve never once seen her with a baby bump.” “Yeah, you must have the wrong person.” “Wait, I recognize him. Isn’t that the doctor from that sketchy clinic down the street?” I planted my hands on my hips, my slipper still raised. “You sleazy old quack! You run a back-alley clinic and now you’re trying to pin a baby on me? That’s it, I’m calling the cops!” The word “cops” made him panic. “I—I won’t press charges for the assault!” I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. “Oh, you won’t press charges? Too bad, because I’m not letting you run away!” I pulled out my phone and dialed. “Hello, 911? I’d like to report a case of infant trafficking!” “Don’t you dare say that!” he shrieked. “You’d better have a good story for the police,” I snarled, “or I swear to God, I will burn your little clinic to the ground.” Fate had given me a second chance, and I was unleashing every ounce of frustration and injustice from my past life. When the police arrived, they found a bizarre scene: a doctor with a swaddled newborn, his face bruised and swollen, and me in my pajamas, wielding a slipper like a weapon. The neighbors had all gathered, buzzing with speculation. The officers looked from the baby—so fresh its umbilical cord was still clamped—to the doctor. “Alright, what’s going on here? Start talking.” “She’s the one! The patient left this address and name!” he sputtered, pulling a medical file from his pocket. An officer took it. The address was indeed mine, and the name on the file was Lina Scott. I crossed my arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Someone obviously used my name to have a baby and is now trying to make me pay for it.” Just as I finished speaking, my parents, who had been hiding inside, finally emerged. “Lina,” my mother began, her voice wheedling, “since you’re not planning on getting married anyway, why don’t you just adopt him?” “Are you serious, Mom? I’m not just going to randomly adopt a child who appeared out of nowhere! We have no idea who his parents are. What if they’re drug addicts? That stuff is genetic, you know. I’m not raising some ungrateful little monster!” My parents were stunned into silence. The doctor’s face was a mask of fury. He shoved the baby into my arms. “This is your family’s problem! I’m done! You can tell Stella she can raise her own damn kid! If I’d known you people were this unreasonable, I never would have come!” A collective gasp went through the crowd. The secret was out. The baby belonged to my sister, Stella. 2 “You’re a liar!” I shouted, shoving the baby right back at him. “First you say he’s mine, now you say he belongs to Stella? Where’s your proof? You have none! You just want to dump this baby on us. Officer, I’m telling you, this man is trafficking infants!” I crossed my arms again, making it clear I was washing my hands of the situation. “Lina!” my mother gasped, horrified. “Mom, Dad, don’t be so naive! The world is full of scammers!” Mrs. Gable chimed in from her doorway. “She’s right, you two. This doctor shows up claiming the baby is Lina’s, then changes his story to Stella. He’s obviously lying through his teeth.” “Yeah, who knows where he got that baby!” another neighbor added. The doctor practically jumped up and down. “My name is Evan White, and I don’t lie! I’ve been running my clinic for years. Do I look like a con artist?” He pointed a shaking finger at me. “It was last night! Your sister, Stella, came begging me to deliver her baby!” He rummaged in his medical bag. “I even have her phone as collateral!” He produced a smartphone. One glance and I knew it was Stella’s. My parents froze. The proof was undeniable. The baby was Stella’s. The neighborhood gossip erupted. “Stella? She’s just a kid! Who’s the father?” “Who knows! You never see her around much, and she always wears such baggy clothes. I can’t believe she was pregnant!” “God knows what kind of trouble she got into out there.” “You shut your mouths! My daughter is a good girl!” my mother shrieked, finally finding her voice. “Say one more word and I’ll tear your tongue out!” Dr. White sneered. “Please. Stella told me to bring the baby here as soon as it was born. She said her older sister would raise it. Officers, I even have a letter she wrote herself!” He pulled a sealed envelope from his bag. There was no letter in my last life. In fact, when Stella had returned to destroy me, Dr. White had stood by her side, helping her spin her lies and pushing me closer to the edge. The man was a snake. “I never should have gotten involved,” Dr. White muttered. “What a damn headache.” The police officer sighed, seeing the situation for what it was. “This is a domestic dispute. You all need to handle it yourselves.” I grabbed the officer’s arm. “This isn’t just a domestic dispute! He’s expecting us to believe my sister had a baby and ran off based on nothing but a phone and a letter? For all we know, she could be dead in his clinic!” The officer’s expression sharpened. He saw the logic in my words. He immediately grabbed Dr. White. “Let’s go. You’re taking us to your clinic. Now.” My parents trailed after them. I didn’t waste a second. While they were gone, I threw my life into a suitcase. I was not staying in this house. As I was leaving, a neighbor saw me. “Lina, where are you going?” “I’m moving out,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “If I stay, that baby will end up in my parents’ hands, and we all know who they’ll expect to raise it. Stella’s the one who had a kid she couldn’t handle, not me. Why should I be responsible? I’m not even married! What would my future husband’s family think if they saw me with a baby?” They nodded in agreement. “You’re right, Lina. You have to think about yourself. Go on, get out of here.” “That poor girl. Stella has some nerve, just having a baby and running away.” “Who knows, maybe that doctor did something to her…” “No way!” I didn’t care what they whispered about. I just needed to run. By the time my parents got home, I was already settled into my company’s dormitory. It wasn’t long before my mother’s call came. The moment I answered, her frantic voice filled my ear. “Lina, where did you go?!” I could hear a baby crying in the background. “I moved out,” I said calmly. “How could you move out? What are we supposed to do with this baby?!” 3 So, they had been to the clinic. They had confirmed the baby was Stella’s, and that Dr. White had, in fact, delivered him. What I couldn’t understand was why they were still so fixated on me. “Mom, what does that baby have to do with me? I didn’t give birth to him.” “Right now, the most important thing is to find the baby’s father. Anyway, I have to work. Bye.” I hung up and went about my day. At the office, my colleague Carol slid up to my desk. “Lina, you seeing anyone? I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.” My first instinct was to refuse, but I stopped myself. “Oh yeah? Who is it, Carol?” “My nephew! He’s three years older than you, a veteran. Owns his own little restaurant now.” She grinned. “How about lunch today?” I agreed immediately. Carol was thrilled and rushed off to call him. In my last life, Carol had seen how exhausted I was raising the baby and had thrown a lot of freelance work my way. She’d also tried to set me up, but I was always too afraid that a new man in my life would mistreat my “son.” Looking back, I was unbelievably foolish. I met her nephew, Cole, for lunch. The connection was instant. We exchanged numbers, agreeing to see where things went. When I got back, Carol was waiting. “Well?” I nodded. “He’s great. I’d like to see him again.” She was ecstatic. “I’m telling you, if this works out, he’ll treat you right. I’ve watched that boy grow up. He’s a hard worker, a good man.” I felt a blush creep up my neck, which only made Carol more excited. And so, Cole and I started dating. For two solid weeks, my parents didn’t contact me, and I didn’t go home. But I should have known it wouldn’t last. My mother found me at work. I was in the middle of a sales call when the security guard at the front desk rang my extension. “Lina, you need to get down here, now. Your mom just dumped your son with us! You need to come get him, he’s screaming his head off.” My mind went blank for a second. “What son?” I said, deliberately raising my voice so the entire office could hear. “I’m not married, where would I get a son from? Don’t spread rumors!” The guard sighed. “I don’t know, man. Just get down here.” When I hung up, every eye in the office was on me. “What’s going on, Lina?” “I have no idea. The guard said a woman claiming to be my mom just dropped off my son.” Carol gasped. “You’ve got to be kidding me! That’s a new one. Come on, let’s all go see what this is about.” “Yeah, is this some kind of scam?” “Lina has a son? I never saw her pregnant.” “Maybe it was a few years ago. You know how young people are these days, their lives are a mess.” Hearing that, even Carol shot me a suspicious look. I put on my most bewildered expression, and she couldn’t read me. When we got to the front desk, everyone stared at the tiny, wailing infant. Carol let out a breath of relief. “There’s no way that’s Lina’s baby. He can’t be more than a month old!” “Exactly! Who would be so cruel? If it was a toddler, Lina would never be able to clear her name!” “This is character assassination!” I was laughing on the inside. The guard just shrugged helplessly. “The woman said she was Lina’s mother. What was I supposed to do?” An idea sparked. “Pull the security footage,” I demanded. “Let’s see this woman.” When the footage played, I didn’t recognize the woman who had dropped off the baby. I knew exactly what to do. “Call the police. That’s not my mother, and I have no idea who she is.” The others hesitated. I threw my hands up. “This is child abandonment. I’m in sales; I hand out hundreds of business cards. Who knows who got their hands on one and decided to pretend to be my mother. I am not raising someone else’s kid!” Everyone agreed that made sense. The police were called, and they took the baby away. I made a point of asking, “Where will he go?” “Where do you think? If we can’t find his parents, he’ll go to a group home. He’s in the system now.” Hearing those words, a wave of relief washed over me. This time, I would not be raising that ungrateful viper.

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1 On the way home for the holidays, my husband, Joshua, and I were in an accident. When I opened my eyes again, we were back in college, before we’d even started dating. In my last life, we were married for seven years. Our home was a place of quiet respect, but never warmth. He wouldn’t even give me a child. It was only later that I found out his heart had always belonged to someone else—his first love, his old flame. After being reborn, I decided to set him free. We silently deleted each other from our contacts, kept our distance, and chose different lives. Seven years later, he was a top trader on Wall Street. At our college reunion, he and his girlfriend, Isabella, officially announced their engagement. Seeing me still single, he couldn’t resist a smug taunt. “Sienna,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “I know I was the best man you ever had in both lifetimes, but you don’t have to stay single forever waiting for me.” I ignored him and reached for my son’s hand. The color drained from Joshua’s face. His eyes, suddenly bloodshot, locked onto me. “You said you’d love me for a lifetime,” he hissed. “That you’d only ever have children with me.” … We met again at the Northwood High reunion, seven years after we’d both been given a second chance. I’d just come from a marathon session of back-to-back surgeries and was too exhausted to change, so I walked straight into the ballroom in my scrubs. Joshua was the center of attention, his arm wrapped around Isabella’s waist as he soaked in the praise. “Joshua, you’re incredible! Just a few years on Wall Street and you’re already one of the top rising traders. You’re the pride of Northwood High!” “No kidding! I heard the big shots in New York pay just to have dinner with him. The consultation fee alone was in the six figures—that’s more than most of us make in a year!” “Hey, Joshua, I’ve been dabbling in stocks. How about you give an old classmate some inside info? Help a brother out!” Then, a curious voice cut through the noise. “So, Joshua, are you and Isabella getting engaged soon?” Joshua’s gaze softened as he looked down at her. “We are. December 20th.” A fresh wave of congratulations erupted. An old friend chimed in, “Joshua, do you ever talk to Sienna anymore? You two were so intense back in the day. I heard you wrote your first song just for her!” At the mention of my name, I saw Joshua’s smile tighten, his eyes darkening for a fraction of a second. Isabella, however, just laughed it off, a picture of grace. “Oh, you,” she said, her voice light and charming. “Joshua and I are getting married. You know how it is. High school hobbies don’t last, and neither do high school romances. He moved on from Sienna ages ago!” The crowd chuckled, turning their attention back to what a perfect couple they made. But I knew the truth. He wrote that song for me the night he confessed his love. We were a classic campus romance, love at first sight. He’d looked at me with such sincerity and said, “Sienna, look into my eyes. I love you. The eyes don’t lie.” And I believed him. But in our last life, his eyes had lied. I walked into the ballroom, my expression calm. A classmate with sharp eyes spotted me. “Sienna! You finally made it!” “What are you wearing? You couldn’t change into something more formal?” “Don’t tell me you just got off work. Where are you slaving away? There are successful people here, you know. They could hook you up with an easier job!” A few people snickered at my casual attire. I paid them no mind, offering a polite, distant smile. From the moment I entered, Joshua’s eyes were fixed on me. “Long time no see,” I said, my voice even. He seemed taken aback for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a mocking smile spread across his face. “Sienna. After all these years, you haven’t changed a bit. Still no ambition.” Isabella’s gaze was venomous. She deliberately tightened her grip on Joshua’s arm, leaning into him as if staking her claim. “Joshua, don’t say that!” she purred, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “She might be having a rough time, but we shouldn’t rub it in. Life’s already hard enough for Sienna.” She looked me up and down, her lips curling in a sneer. “But really, Sienna, what is that outfit? It’s… a choice. You’re not getting any younger. A woman has to take care of herself, or how will you ever get married? What man wants a woman who looks like she’s given up?” “Do you want me to lend you some makeup?” 2 At her words, a ripple of laughter went through the room. The contrast was stark. Isabella was draped in designer labels, her makeup so flawless it looked airbrushed, every strand of hair in place. She radiated the effortless confidence of old money. I, on the other hand, had just stepped out of an operating room after nearly twenty-four hours without sleep. I looked and felt like a ghost, utterly drained. My comfortable sweats were a no-name brand I’d grabbed from a random shop. There was no comparison. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” I replied simply, taking a seat and helping myself to the buffet. After a high-intensity shift, I was starving. As I was savoring a bite of food, Joshua strode over to my table. He placed a check for one hundred thousand dollars in front of me. “This is for old times’ sake,” he said, his voice laced with condescending pity. “To help you out. Do something nice for yourself. Get a more respectable job, buy some new clothes. Learn to love yourself again.” He paused, sighing dramatically. “Sienna, the past is the past. You need to stop dwelling on it.” “If it weren’t for you… well, it doesn’t matter now.” “What matters is that you don’t let my leaving ruin you. Don’t just give up on life, okay?” I looked up at him, genuinely confused. The unfinished sentence sparked my curiosity. What had I supposedly done in our last life that made him abandon me so completely in this one? In our previous life, we went from high school sweethearts to the altar. He had his musical dreams, and I wanted to be a doctor—both paths required immense time and money. One of us had to sacrifice. Because I loved him, I gave up my spot in a prestigious medical research program and got a job right out of college, supporting both of our dreams on my single income. He failed again and again. With every rejection, he grew more bitter, more withdrawn. And like a tireless charger, I’d come home exhausted from my own job only to spend my nights patiently soothing his bruised ego. I thought he understood my love. Then came the day he wanted a new guitar. When I told him we couldn’t afford it, he flew into a rage and smashed his old one against the wall. “Do you know what she said?” he’d screamed at me, his face contorted. “Isabella told me to go with her to the States! If I’d listened to her, I wouldn’t be living this miserable life!” “I regret ever getting together with you.” After that, he stopped playing. His dream died. And his words—“I regret ever getting together with you”—became a mantra that haunted my nights. I made one last desperate attempt. I held him close and whispered, “Joshua, I want to have a baby with you.” He shoved me away, his eyes filled with a disgust I’ll never forget. “Are you insane? Look at our finances! How can we afford a child? Besides, I’ve told you before—I hate kids! I don’t want to have a child with you!” Those two sentences shattered the last bit of hope in my heart. That year, on the way home for the holidays, a large truck crossed the median. In that final moment, I felt no fear. Only relief. Now, reborn, we had both chosen to keep our distance. There was no need to dredge up the past. I calmly pushed the check back across the table. “No, thank you. I don’t accept things from strangers.” 3 His brow furrowed. “A stranger, Sienna? What’s that supposed to mean?” “I can buy my own clothes,” I said calmly. “And whatever my job is, I find it perfectly respectable. I’m not ashamed of it, and I certainly haven’t given up on life. You should give this money to someone who actually needs it.” He stood there, clutching the check, his lips pressed into a thin, angry line. Isabella glided to his side. Seeing the check in his hand, a flicker of understanding—and rage—crossed her face, but she quickly masked it with a gentle smile. “Sienna, if you don’t want our help, that’s fine. We’ll offer you something more concrete.” “I recently opened a high-end nail salon on Bellevue Avenue. You can start as an apprentice. The pay isn’t great, maybe six thousand a month, but you’ll learn a real skill. That way, if you ever hit rock bottom, you can at least open your own little shop.” “What do you say? Interested? It’s got to be more respectable than what you’re doing now.” 4 I continued to eat, unperturbed. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I’m very happy with my current job. I have no plans to change careers.” A voice from a nearby table called out, “Sienna, don’t be so proud! Joshua and Isabella are being generous, offering you money and a job. Just take it!” “Yeah, seriously! You’re already in this state, what’s the point of having face? The only reason to come to a reunion when you’re doing this badly is to network! Stop putting on an act!” Isabella chimed in with a saccharine-sweet voice. “Everyone, please don’t say that! Maybe Sienna really loves her job!” She turned back to me. “Sienna, we’re only offering this because of our shared history. Don’t let your pride make you miss out on a good opportunity.” I genuinely didn’t understand this desperate need to shove money and a job at me. “Really, I don’t need it. Thank you.” Isabella’s smile remained, but her eyes were filled with contempt. Joshua crumpled the check in his fist. “You can’t help someone who won’t help themselves,” he sneered. “Fine. Stay poor for the rest of your life for all I care.” His insult seemed to be a signal. A group of his buddies swarmed my table, bottles in hand. “Sienna, you look like you could use a drink. Come on, one glass, and I’ll transfer you a thousand bucks,” one of them slurred, his eyes raking over me sleazily. “If you’re really desperate… I can add a little more.” The other classmates just laughed, and no one stepped in to help. I frowned. This reunion was nothing like I’d imagined. If I wasn’t waiting for someone, I would have already walked out. Just as I was about to call for security, Joshua, who had been watching from the side, suddenly stubbed out his cigarette and grabbed the man’s arm. His eyes were ice-cold, his voice laced with fury. “Back off.” The man yelped in pain, his wrist caught in a vice-like grip. Isabella rushed over, tugging on Joshua’s sleeve. “Joshua, what are you doing?” His expression remained frigid. “It’s called being a decent human being. This is a reunion, not a frat party.” He shoved the man away. The guy didn’t dare challenge Joshua, but he shot me a venomous glare. I couldn’t help but glance at Joshua, surprised that he would defend me. Isabella looked like she was about to grind her teeth to dust, but she forced a smile. “I heard the young heir and the CEO of Apex Holdings are having a meeting upstairs! If we’re lucky, we might get to see the richest man in the city!” Her announcement sent a jolt of excitement through the room. The CEO of Apex Holdings was a legend—handsome, wealthy, and still in his thirties. He was known to have a five-year-old son, but his wife was a complete mystery, never seen in public. “Does that mean we might see his wife tonight? I’m so posting this to TikTok!” “This is a major scoop!” A few minutes later, a group of bodyguards escorted a small boy into the ballroom. The crowd went wild. “Look at that entourage! That must be the young heir of Apex! He’s so handsome!” The same guy who’d harassed me, now nursing his wrist, turned his frustration on me. “Sienna, if it weren’t for Isabella, a wage slave like you would never even be in the same room as the prince of this city! If I were you, I’d get on my knees and thank her right now! Maybe you’d not only get a good job but also land a guy like me who makes six grand a month.” Pathetic. I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the little boy. Everyone else swarmed forward, phones out, snapping pictures and recording videos. Even the ever-composed Isabella put on a friendly, almost fawning smile and approached the boy. “Hello there, little one. Is there anything you’d like to eat? Auntie can get it for you.” As she spoke, she reached out to pinch his cheek. But to everyone’s utter astonishment, the boy, surrounded by his security detail, paid no attention to any of the adults. He walked straight past them, his eyes fixed on me. His face broke into a wide, sweet smile as he launched himself into my arms. “Mommy, you’re finally here!”

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Three months after my wife, Rachel, vanished during a ski trip, I saw her in a bar. She was laughing, her head resting on her best friend Ross’s shoulder. “I owe you one for this idea,” she chirped. “I’d almost forgotten what freedom felt like.” Her circle of friends kept pouring her drinks, asking when she planned to make her grand reappearance. She considered it, her eyes half-lidded. “Maybe in a week. Once he’s truly lost his mind looking for me. Then I’ll show up.” I stood in the shadows, watching her bask in her newfound freedom. Then I pulled out my phone and called a friend who works at the vital records office. 1 “I’m going to have Rachel legally declared dead.” “You’re giving up the search?” my friend asked, his voice hesitant. I lifted my gaze to where Rachel was nestled against Ross, a bitter taste rising in my throat. My voice was thick, choked. “There’s nothing left to find.” What’s the point in finding someone who’s determined to stay hidden? After hanging up, I returned to my own private booth. My childhood friend, Alex, saw the thunderous look on my face and pressed a glass into my hand. “Preston, it’s been three months. The chances of survival are practically zero. You have to start moving on.” I stared down at the amber liquid, a high-proof whiskey, and threw it back in one go. The burn was immediate, stinging my eyes, forcing back tears. “Alex,” I asked, my voice strained, “would anyone ever fake their own disappearance just to mess with their husband?” He looked at me with a mix of pity and frustration. “What kind of sick question is that? Only a monster would do something like that. They’d be better off actually being dead.” I wiped my eyes and grabbed my coat from the sofa. “You’re right,” I said, my voice hollow. “I need to let Rachel go.” I drove home. The house was, as always, silent. For the past three months, I’d dreaded this silence. I’d get home and turn on every light, make a cup of her favorite coffee, set out her favorite fruit on the counter—anything to pretend she was still here. I didn’t understand. If she didn’t want to be with me anymore, she could have just asked for a divorce. Why stage a skiing accident? Why the elaborate lie? I sank onto the sofa and picked up the two custom-made bobbleheads of us from the coffee table. I remembered the day she gave them to me, leaning against me, a playful smile on her face. “So when I’m not around,” she’d said, “these two can keep you company.” Her words from that day merged with the ones I’d overheard tonight. “Preston used to be fine, but after we got married, it was like a switch flipped. No drinking, no cold foods… he was always nagging me about something. So annoying. This ‘death’ of mine will be a good lesson for him. Maybe he’ll learn to back off.” Ross had poured her another drink. “See? I’m better, right? We’ve been best friends for years, and I’ve never been like that.” “Totally. You’re the best guy friend a girl could ask for.” They called each other ‘best friends,’ but under the table, their legs were tangled together. The memory made my stomach churn. I tossed the bobbleheads into the trash can, picked up my phone, and sent out a group text. Rachel passed away in an accident three months ago. A memorial service will be held in one week. Almost immediately, my phone lit up with a barrage of texts from her friends. “They haven’t found her body! How can you hold a funeral?” “Preston, have you lost your mind? What if she’s not dead?” “If Rachel comes back and sees her own funeral, she’ll kill you! Are you trying to make her angry, Preston? You know what happens when she gets angry!” I ignored the first few messages, replying only to the last one. “She’s dead. How can a dead person get angry?” With that, I tossed my phone aside and started clearing out her things. For the past three months, I’d spent most of my time in the mountain town where she’d gone missing, searching. I’d rarely been home. The bedroom was mostly untouched. I pulled open her closet and froze. More than half of her clothes were gone. The only things left were out of season. A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips as tears streamed down my face. For three months, while I was living in a hell of hope and despair, sleeping in my car at the base of a frozen mountain, she had been coming back to our home, taking her things, bit by bit. 2 I pulled up the security camera footage on my tablet and fast-forwarded through the last month. Early in the month: Rachel, arm-in-arm with Ross, walking into our house. They left two hours later, her arms full of clothes. Mid-month: Ross carrying her over the threshold, bridal style. He didn’t leave until the next morning. Two nights ago: The two of them sneaking in under the cover of darkness, leaving just after sunrise yesterday. All of these were days when I was miles away, combing through treacherous terrain, calling her name until my voice was raw. Tears fell as I watched. Not for her, but for myself. For the fool I’d been, giving my all to someone so vile. While I was sleepless with worry, she was here, with her “best friend,” sleeping in our home, probably in our bed. My fists clenched, my knuckles white. I fought to control the rage boiling inside me. A moment later, my phone, still lying on the coffee table, began to ring. I was in no mood to answer, but the caller was persistent, dialing again and again. Taking a deep breath, I walked over and glanced at the screen. My eyes widened. It was her aunt. I quickly answered. “Aunt Evelyn? Is everything alright?” “Rachel’s not dead.” A second later, a video popped up on my screen. I opened it. It was Rachel and Ross, their arms linked, drinking from each other’s glasses, their eyes locked in a gaze so intense it was practically obscene. My breath hitched. My fingers trembled as I spoke. “I know.” There was a surprised pause on the other end, then a low chuckle. “And you’re still planning a funeral?” “Everyone told me she was dead. I believed them. A funeral seems appropriate.” Evelyn was quiet for a moment. “So, you’re a widower now?” “Yes,” I said. Evelyn was Rachel’s aunt by marriage, and younger than Rachel by a year. We’d barely ever interacted. But she was the first person to tell me the truth. I owed her for that. “Aunt Evelyn, if you have the time, you’re welcome to come and pay your respects in seven days.” “Of course. I’ll be there.” Another video arrived. This time, someone in the bar was showing Rachel my group text on their phone. She slammed her glass down, shattering it on the table. Ross flinched, then wrapped an arm around her, whispering something in her ear. The bar was too loud for me to hear, but I saw Rachel’s anger visibly melt away. She buried her face in his chest. She must have been furious about the funeral announcement. But it was stunning to see how quickly Ross could calm her down. Whenever she was angry with me, it took a full night of me “reflecting on my mistakes” and a groveling apology before she would even consider forgiving me. I closed my stinging eyes and saved both videos. Just as I was about to put my phone away, a call came in. It was Ross. I answered, and the blaring music of the bar assaulted my ears. “Preston, you’re holding a funeral for Rachel?” he yelled over the noise. “Are you insane? I’m telling you, cancel it! Or you’ll be sorry when she gets back!” I hung up before he could finish and, grabbing a blanket, curled up on the sofa. It was the most peaceful night’s sleep I’d had in three months. The next morning, I took my documents to the records office and had Rachel’s legal status updated. After that, I drove to Ross’s apartment. His door was closed. I rang the bell again and again until it finally swung open. He stood there in a bathrobe, leaning against the doorframe. A trail of fresh, angry-red marks snaked up his neck, disappearing under the collar. “Preston? What are you doing here?” My gaze shifted from his neck to his face, meeting his contemptuous stare. “I came to invite you to Rachel’s funeral. As her best friend, I thought you should be there.” Ross scoffed. “Preston, you’re her husband! She’s missing, no body, no trace, and instead of looking for her, you’re burying her?” “What if she’s not dead? You’re basically wishing death on her! What kind of husband does that?” I pulled the newly issued death certificate from my jacket. “She’s been buried in snow for three months. I couldn’t find her, so I had her declared dead.” A humorless smile touched my lips. “Besides, weren’t you all telling me to move on?” When the news first broke, I had fainted. I woke up the next morning surrounded by Rachel’s friends, all of them wearing solemn masks. “Preston, the area where she went missing is treacherous. It’s almost impossible to find anyone. Maybe you should just let it go.” “Yeah, it’s too dangerous. You can’t go up there.” I’d ignored them, booked a flight, hired a search and rescue team, and disappeared into the mountains for two weeks, searching relentlessly. I hadn’t noticed it then, but now I remembered. There had been no real concern in their eyes. Only a glint of amusement. As I stood there, a loud crash came from inside Ross’s apartment. His face paled. “Preston, don’t you dare pull any stunts!” he threatened. “Rachel won’t let you get away with it when she comes back!” Just like the night before, I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing. Ross shot me a furious glare and slammed the door in my face. 3 The sound of a heated argument drifted through the closed door. So, hearing that her legal identity had been erased was enough to finally rattle Rachel. But she wasn’t going to find me. She’d been missing for three months. It was only fair I disappear for a few days myself. I grabbed the suitcase I’d already packed and had Alex book me a hotel room for a week under his name. For the next few days, my only activities were arranging the funeral and hiding out in my room. When Alex came to visit, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Heard someone’s been looking for you. Tearing the whole city apart, apparently.” I glanced at the missing person’s report flashing on the hotel TV screen, a small smile playing on my lips. “Let her. If I don’t want to be found, she won’t find me. She was the one who said she’d only reappear when I’d gone mad looking for her. Why the sudden impatience?” “Serves her right!” Alex spat. “I don’t know how such a venomous woman can even exist!” He was getting worked up. I cut him off. “Enough. It’s my wife’s funeral today. I should be sad.” I went into the bathroom and studied my reflection. I hadn’t shaved or combed my hair. I looked haggard, grief-stricken. Perfect. After confirming with Alex that I looked sufficiently devastated, we headed to the funeral home. On the way, I handed him a USB drive containing the videos of Rachel. “Play these when I give you the signal,” I instructed. Only then did I send out a group text with the address. Evelyn was the first to arrive. She stepped out of her car in a chic black dress, took a white memorial flower from me, and pinned it to her sleeve. “My condolences,” she said, her expression perfectly solemn. Next came a stream of relatives and friends who knew nothing. Their grief was genuine, and seeing it twisted a knife in my gut. Rachel, look how many hearts you’ve broken with your little game. Today, you’re going to start paying for it. Then, her so-called best friends arrived. Their faces were pale, their hands trembling as they took the white flowers from me. Finally, one of them pulled me aside. “Preston! Stop this! Rachel’s not dead! She’s been going crazy looking for you! Haven’t you seen the missing person alerts on TV?” I blinked, forcing out a couple of tears. “Don’t try to comfort me. I know Ross was the one who posted those.” “She’s gone. I can’t live with the hope that she’s still alive.” She started to say something else, but I gave Alex a look, and he quickly led her to a seat. When it seemed like most of the guests had arrived, I stepped up to the podium and tapped the microphone. “Thank you all for coming today to mourn the passing of my beloved wife…” My words were cut off by a furious shout from the back of the room. “Preston! Have you lost your mind? I told you, Rachel’s not dead!” Ross stood in the doorway, his eyes burning with rage. “What kind of husband are you? She’s been missing for three months, and you’re holding a funeral without even finding a body? I won’t allow it!” I scanned the entrance behind him. No sign of Rachel. Even now, she wouldn’t show herself. I looked down at Ross from the podium, my voice cold. “You won’t allow it? Who are you to not allow it? Like you said, I’m her husband.” Ross’s eyes widened, filling with tears. “How can you be so heartless? Rachel loved you with all her heart, and you’re just casually declaring her dead?” “What if she’s not dead?” My gaze dropped to the love bites still visible on his neck. A small smile touched my lips. “Even if she’s not dead, a cheating wife isn’t worth my time.” As the words hung in the air, I signaled for security to escort Ross to a seat and continued with the service. I had just opened my mouth to speak again when a disheveled, gaunt figure appeared in the doorway. She stood there, her voice choked with emotion. “Honey, I’m not dead. I’m back.” 4 Rachel ran towards me, throwing her arms around me, her body trembling as she whispered my name. “Preston, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” “That day on the slopes… I fell. I had multiple fractures. A kind stranger found me and took me to a hospital. It took me three months to recover enough to come back to you.” “I’m not dead, see? I’m fine!” She grabbed my hand and ran it over her body, as if to prove her story of a near-death experience. I just watched her performance, my expression cold. When she finally started to look uncomfortable, a laugh escaped my lips. “Are you done with your act?” “Was the kind stranger who took you to the hospital named Ross, by any chance?” Rachel’s expression froze, cracking like thin ice. She forced a helpless smile. “Preston, what are you talking about? I don’t understand.” I looked at her feigned innocence, and three months of pent-up anger and grief finally erupted. I slapped her across the face. “You managed to hide for three months. Why not keep hiding?” “Weren’t you going to wait until I’d gone mad looking for you? I’m not mad yet, so why are you here?” She stared at me, stunned. “How did you know?” I smiled. “I know a lot of things.” I turned and gestured to the large screen behind the podium. It was meant to display photos of the deceased. Instead, I used it to play my videos. The video of her and Ross drinking arm-in-arm at the bar. The footage of them entering my house, time and time again. And a clip I’d taken myself after leaving Ross’s apartment, of the two of them walking out together, her arm linked through his. Rachel watched her own face on the screen, the color draining from hers. “How did you find out?” she hissed. “Who told you!” Her gaze swept across the room, landing on everyone who knew the truth. “Was it you? Are you trying to destroy my marriage?” The accused all shook their heads, and she turned back to me, her expression shifting back to desperate pleading. “Honey, I don’t know who sent you those, but they have to be fakes! AI-generated! I love you so much, how could I ever betray you?” She pulled a small, woven good-luck charm from her pocket. “See? I even remembered to bring you back a gift!” I stared at the charm without a word. My friend Alex, however, found the bar video, zoomed in on Ross’s neck, and projected the image onto the screen. He was wearing an identical charm. Rachel’s face darkened. I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “We’re at this point, and you’re still trying to lie your way out of it?” “Those videos… I saw some of it with my own eyes. I even filmed some of it myself.” “Rachel, are you happy now? Is this what you wanted?” She stared at me, falling back on her old excuse. “Ross and I are just best friends.” I nodded, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. The kind of best friend you can sleep with. Low-maintenance, no strings attached.” The other guests were speechless. A funeral where the deceased shows up alive amidst a cheating scandal was a once-in-a-lifetime event. Rachel’s composure finally shattered, replaced by the raw fury of being exposed. “Preston, you knew I wasn’t dead, and you still had me legally declared dead. You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” “Yes,” I said, not bothering to deny it. I wanted her to pay. “If you want to have your identity reinstated, you’ll need my cooperation. So, Rachel, I’m giving you two choices.” I held out a set of divorce papers. “Sign these, and you can come back to life. Don’t sign, and you can live the rest of your life as a ghost.” Rachel’s chest heaved with rage. She snatched the papers from my hand, flipped to the asset division section, and then threw them on the floor. “Why should I walk away with nothing?”

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1 My nephew was diagnosed with leukemia, and my daughter was the only one in the family who could save him. To save the only male heir, the only one to carry on their precious family name, my in-laws forced my frail daughter to donate her bone marrow. In the end, my brother-in-law’s son lived. My daughter died on the operating table. Lost in a haze of grief, I clutched her cold, lifeless body and threw myself from the 18th floor. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Three days before my nephew’s diagnosis was even known. … In my first life, when my nephew, Ted, was diagnosed with leukemia, my daughter, Amy, was the only match. But Amy had been sickly since birth. The doctors explicitly advised against the donation. To protect the family’s “golden boy,” they all insisted. They drugged me, knocked me unconscious, and dragged my little girl to the operating room. When I came to, the whole family was celebrating. Ted’s transplant was a success. And my Amy… my Amy was lying in the room next door, her small body still and cold. My father- and mother-in-law looked at me with faces full of false sympathy. “Don’t blame us, Lily,” my mother-in-law had said, her voice cloying. “If it had been Amy with leukemia, we would have made Ted donate for her, of course.” “She just wasn’t strong enough to survive,” my father-in-law added with a sigh. “It was her fate. She was just unlucky.” I was drowning in a sea of rage and despair, screaming for justice for my daughter. But they all pointed their fingers at me, calling me hysterical, irrational. Even my husband, Mark, stood by silently, his face a mask of indifference. Utterly broken, I carried Amy’s body to the highest floor and leaped. I never expected to open my eyes again. But here I am, three days before it all began. “Mommy? Why are you crying?” A small voice pulled me back to reality. “Was it because I kicked off the blankets last night? Are you mad at me?” I turned, my vision blurred with tears. My daughter, Amy, fresh from her nap, was looking up at me with wide, worried eyes. She was only seven, but her gaze held a wisdom that broke my heart. A fresh wave of grief and love washed over me. I pulled her into a fierce embrace, burying my face in her soft hair. This time, Mommy won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear it. I packed a bag, and the first thing I did was drive Amy to my mother’s house. Later that afternoon, when I knew Mark would be off work, I called him. “Mark,” I began, my voice thick with feigned anguish. “I took Amy for a check-up today… The doctor said… he said she has leukemia.” I let a sob escape my lips. Last time, you all said you’d make Ted donate if Amy were the sick one, didn’t you? Let’s see how you react to the news now. After hanging up, I drove home alone. When I walked in, my in-laws were fawning over Ted, the picture of domestic bliss. My arrival shattered the cozy atmosphere. The smiles vanished from their faces, replaced by annoyance. Before I could even step fully inside, my mother-in-law rushed forward. “Mark already told us about Amy,” she said, her tone sharp and devoid of any sympathy. “We heard that even if you treat this disease, she’ll be on medication for life. So, we’ve discussed it, and we’ve decided… it’s better not to treat it.” “Besides,” my father-in-law chimed in, not even looking at me, “you know our financial situation. We just enrolled Ted in that expensive advanced STEM camp. There’s simply no extra money for Amy’s medical bills.” “If you insist on treating her,” my mother-in-law finished, “you’ll have to get the money from your own family.” One by one, they all nodded in agreement, sighing about Amy’s terrible luck, her unfortunate fate. 2 Their callousness didn’t surprise me. I kept up my act, my voice trembling with a desperate plea. “Mom, Dad… my family will cover the costs. But the doctor said she needs a bone marrow transplant. The success rate is highest with a close relative. I came back to ask if Ted… if he could just get tested to see if he’s a match.” The air in the living room went still. “Are you trying to ruin your nephew?” my father-in-law slammed his hand on the table, his voice a low growl. “Ted is our precious grandson! I will not allow anyone or anything to harm him!” “That’s right!” my mother-in-law shrieked, as if I’d suggested feeding her grandson to snakes. She threw a dish on the floor, where it shattered. “Ted is your nephew! How can you be so heartless?” The hypocrisy was so thick I could taste it. When their grandson gets sick, they’re willing to sacrifice their granddaughter. But when their granddaughter is the one dying, they won’t even spare a dime. I let my shoulders slump in pretend defeat. “But Mom, Dad… Amy is your granddaughter too. Can you really just stand by and watch her die?” Seeing my agitation, Mark pulled me aside. “They’re right, Lily,” he whispered, refusing to meet my eyes. “It’s not our fault she’s sick. If… if she doesn’t make it, we can always have another kid. Maybe a boy next time.” Even though I thought I was prepared for anything, hearing those words from her own father felt like a physical blow. “Fine,” I said, my voice flat and cold. “I understand.” “You won’t save her. So I will.” I turned and walked out, leaving them all standing there in stunned silence. What they didn’t know was that my phone had been in my pocket the entire time, its microphone recording every last, venomous word. The next morning, I was woken by a flood of notifications on my phone. My father-in-law had pinned a message in every single family group chat. 【Effective immediately, Lily and Amy are no longer part of this family. Their lives, and their deaths, have nothing to do with us. This notice is final.】 Every group had 99+ new messages. I opened one and saw the conversation. He’d written: 【Amy has leukemia. It’s bad enough she’s going to die, but now her mother is trying to guilt-trip her cousin into donating his bone marrow.】 Immediately, a few relatives jumped in to my defense. 【Donating marrow isn’t that big a deal, is it? You can’t just let Amy die.】 【I don’t think Lily is trying to guilt-trip anyone. She’s just a mother trying to save her child.】 【Poor Amy. To get such a terrible disease at her age… what awful luck.】 Seeing the conversation shift toward sympathy for Amy, my father-in-law quickly typed again. 【I’m just warning everyone. Donating marrow is risky. It can permanently damage your health.】 He followed up with: 【If she comes asking any of you for a donation, it’s on you. We have nothing to do with it.】 The relatives who had just been expressing their sympathy went silent. No one wanted that kind of risk falling on their own family. I looked at the chat log and smiled. It was like they were handing me the ammunition themselves. I was just wondering how to expose their ugliness to the world, and here they were, doing the work for me. I typed a quick reply into the group. 【But Amy is part of this family, isn’t she? Dad, Mom… I can understand if you don’t want to help, but why are you stopping others from helping? It’s like you want her to die.】 A moment later, my sister-in-law, Ted’s mother, replied. 【It’s human nature to avoid risk. Everyone has their own family and career to think about. An injury could be a disaster for a household.】 3 【If it were my Ted who had leukemia, I would rather give up on treatment than burden the rest of the family.】 【True family doesn’t burden each other.】 The chat was flooded with praise for her, calling her noble and selfless. I had to laugh at her grandstanding. I wondered if she’d feel so selfless tomorrow, when she received her own son’s diagnosis. Ignoring the barrage of insults that followed, I closed the app and saved the entire chat history. Back in the Harrisons’ living room, my father-in-law decided that simply kicking me out wasn’t enough. “Mark, you should divorce her,” he said, his face grim. “A disease like that is a money pit. We can’t let one girl drag the entire family down into poverty.” My mother-in-law quickly agreed. “A divorce would be for the best. All these years, and she couldn’t even give you a son. Just one sickly, worthless girl who’s now dying of a terminal illness.” “You’ll be dragged down if you stay with a woman like that!” she insisted. “Once you’re free, Mom will find you a much better wife!” Mark just nodded. “You’re right. We can’t let one girl ruin our whole family. We have to get a divorce.” A moment later, my phone buzzed with a text from him. 【If you insist on trying to save Amy, then we’re done. Let’s get a divorce. Meet me at the courthouse tomorrow at 10 a.m. I’ll give up my parental rights. From now on, Amy is your problem, not mine.】 A wave of relief washed over me. I hadn’t expected them to move so quickly. “Amy, my love,” I whispered to the empty room. “No one can ever hurt you again.” I calmed my racing heart and replied with a single word. 【Okay.】 The next day, at ten in the morning, I was standing in front of the courthouse. The entire Harrison clan was already there, waiting. They stood in a tight, defensive cluster, as if they were afraid I’d change my mind and cling to them. My father-in-law shoved a divorce agreement into my hands. “Don’t think we’re being cruel,” he said, his face a mask of solemn duty. “No one in their right mind would choose to save her. It’s leukemia. If you won’t give up, then you can’t be part of this family.” His righteous act was so absurd I almost laughed out loud. Always so fake. But it didn’t matter anymore. The terms of the agreement were harsh. Not only was Mark giving up all custody of Amy, but they were also demanding she be stripped of the Harrison name. They wanted us cut off, erased from their lives, forever. As I read, Mark leaned in close, his voice a low hiss. “If you give up on Amy now, if you promise to give us a son, I’m willing to give you one last chance to change your mind.” I resisted the urge to slap him again. Without a moment’s hesitation, I uncapped the pen and signed my name. A few minutes later, Mark and I walked out of the courthouse with our divorce certificate. The Harrisons huddled together, their faces beaming with relief, celebrating as if they’d just won the lottery. “We’re finally free of that jinx!” “Yes! And that sickly Amy is gone, too. I was afraid to even let Ted get near her. What if he caught it?” “A sick kid, and a girl at that. What was the point of treating her anyway?” They were all breathing a collective sigh of relief, savoring their freedom. But in the next second, a text message alert chimed on my former in-laws’ phones. I knew what it was. Ted’s diagnosis had arrived.

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