I was born with two hearts. It was the only thing about me that ever pleased my parents. Because my brother was born with a congenital heart defect. They had me for one reason: to keep my brother alive. Then I met Stella. We fell in love, we got married. She pulled me from the abyss of my family’s conditional love and saved me. I thought she was different. But when my brother’s heart began to fail, she became obsessed with the idea of me donating one of my hearts to him. She didn’t know that I only had one heart left. My other one was already inside her. 1. “It’s just one heart. Why are you being so selfish?” “Weren’t you born for the sole purpose of keeping your brother alive?” Stella’s grip on my arm was like a vice. “But I want to live, too,” I pleaded. “Without a heart, I’ll die.” Her face hardened. “You have two hearts. You give one away, you still have one left. You’ll live.” “But your brother is different. Without your heart, he dies.” Ignoring my struggles, she pushed me toward the pre-op room. “I only have one heart now,” I explained, my voice desperate. “You saw the test results.” She wouldn’t listen. “Who knows what you did to fake those results? Bribing the lab technicians so you wouldn’t have to save him.” She thought I had faked the report. “No, Stella, that’s not it. I had surgery when I was a child. I already donated one of my hearts.” “Enough, Adrian! This is about saving your brother. Why are you being so stubborn?” She cut me off before I could finish. “I’m not lying,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “My heart is inside you.” But she wasn’t listening. She had already turned and walked toward my brother’s room. 2. The other doctors in the prep room stared at us, dumbfounded. “Talking sweet nothings at a time like this?” one of them muttered. “How disgusting.” “His brother is on the verge of death, and he’s over here hitting on his sister-in-law.” Only our families knew that Stella and I were married. Her colleagues had never met me. And since Stella had handled all of Casper’s hospital arrangements herself, everyone in the department assumed he was her husband. Stella never corrected them. “Exactly. Instead of saving his own brother, he’s trying to seduce the man’s wife.” “What a waste of a good heart.” I heard their whispers and couldn’t stop myself from trying to tell them the truth. “Actually, I’m the one who’s—” Stella emerged from Casper’s room and grabbed my hand. “You are donating your heart today. That’s final.” “Your brother is already in the operating room. You’re next.” She produced a stack of papers. “I’ve already signed the consent forms. All you have to do is get on the table.” In the operating room, I saw Casper. He looked frail and weak, a picture of suffering that elicited sympathy from everyone present. “Don’t you worry,” a doctor told him reassuringly. “Your wife, Dr. Hayes, will make sure you live a long, healthy life.” Casper didn’t correct the title. He just gave a weak, saintly smile. “It’s all my fault,” he murmured, his voice full of false regret. “Making my brother sacrifice so much for me.” He looked at me, and for a split second, I saw a flash of triumph in his eyes. The other doctors melted. My brother was a saint; I was a monster. Stella soothed Casper, then turned to me. She ignored my frantic struggles, forcing me onto the operating table and ordering the anesthesiologist to administer the sedative. A moment later, my struggling ceased. Stella’s fingers brushed my cheek. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure you live.” Her mentor had performed a successful heart transplant once, so she was confident she could keep me alive. “After your brother recovers, our whole family will finally accept you. And I’ll be right by your side, always.” 3. The surgery began, a tense and orderly dance of steel and flesh. After a long while, Stella lifted a heart from my body. Without a second glance, she rushed with it into Casper’s operating room. My chest was an open cavity. My body lay alone on the cold table. The shrill, flatline alarm of the heart monitor startled the attending nurse. “He’s dead? I thought he had two hearts.” “You actually believed what Dr. Hayes said?” another nurse scoffed. “She was just trying to get him on the table.” “Good riddance, then. He deserved it. Not only did he refuse to save his own brother, Dr. Hayes’s husband, but he was trying to seduce her, too.” “So, what do we do now?” “He’s dead. Just wait for someone to claim the body. If no one does, the morgue can deal with it.” With that, they all left the room. Stella, meanwhile, was completely focused on Casper’s surgery. She was confident, but it was her first transplant. After several grueling hours, she finished, the procedure a success. She followed Casper to his recovery room, staying by his side until he was stable. Only then did she remember me. As she headed back to my supposed recovery room, she ran into one of her colleagues in the hallway. “How is my husband?” she asked. The colleague thought for a moment. “He should be back in his room by now. Don’t worry, the nurses will keep a close eye on him for you. We’ll take good care of your husband.” Stella didn’t register the ambiguity in the words. She just felt relieved. Of course, she thought. They all know he’s my husband. They’ll look after him. Satisfied, she returned to her office to catch up on work. A day later, Casper woke up. Stella was right there. “Casper, you’re finally awake.” He saw her and burst into tears of overwhelming joy. 4. Stella wrapped her arms around him. “It’s okay. The surgery was a complete success.” “Your heart won’t give you any more trouble.” Casper touched his chest, a look of disbelief on his face. The disease that had plagued him for years was finally gone. He clung to Stella, weeping. “Don’t get too emotional,” she cautioned gently, rubbing his back. “You need to rest.” A nurse passing by smiled. “Dr. Hayes, you take such good care of your husband.” Stella froze. She remembered me, supposedly in another room down the hall. “Oh, you’ve misunderstood,” she began. “He’s not—” Casper chose that moment to clutch his chest, his face contorting in pain, cutting her off. “I told you not to cry,” she said, her attention immediately diverted. “You need to rest if you want to recover.” Seeing Casper like this, she suddenly thought of me again. She hadn’t seen me since the surgery. “Casper, you get some rest. I’m going to check on Adrian.” She started to get up, but Casper’s hand shot out and grabbed hers. “I had this surgery without telling Mom and Dad. This is the most critical part of my recovery. I’m scared to be alone. What if something goes wrong?” Seeing his pale, frightened face, her heart softened. The other doctors and nurses will look after Adrian, she reasoned. He’ll be fine. “Alright,” she sighed, sitting back down. “I’ll stay with you for a few more days.” Casper watched her settle in before slowly closing his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. In the hospital morgue, an orderly stared at my body with frustration. “It’s been two days and no one’s come to claim him. What are we supposed to do?” “What are you looking at?” another orderly grumbled, cleaning up. “Let’s just get this done so we can go home.” Together, they unceremoniously shoved my body into a bag. “Looked like he had a rough death. Probably wasn’t a good person.” “Good, bad, they all turn to ash the same.” “True. Still a shame, though. So young.” 5. Two more days passed. Casper’s recovery was going well, and Stella finally remembered me. She walked to my room, but it was empty. A nurse was stripping the bed. “The patient in this room—where is he?” The nurse looked up. “Oh, Dr. Hayes. He was discharged.” A flicker of annoyance went through Stella. He just had major surgery, and he’s already checked himself out? Where did he go? She pulled out her phone and dialed my number. It went straight to voicemail. “Fine!” she muttered, furious. “If you want to run off and die somewhere, don’t come crying to me!” She stormed back to Casper’s room. He sensed her anger immediately. “Is Adrian still angry? He won’t forgive me, will he?” he asked, his voice full of concern. “It’s all my fault. I’ll go talk to him right now. I don’t want you two to have a misunderstanding because of me.” He made a show of trying to get out of bed. Stella rushed to stop him. “Don’t worry about him. You just focus on getting better. Mom and Dad will be so happy when they hear the good news on the day you’re discharged.” “As for Adrian,” she added, her voice hard, “he’s not going to die. He’s already left the hospital.” She remembered how I had begged her before the surgery, and a knot of resentment tightened in her chest. We’re brothers, she thought. How could he be so heartless? Looking at Casper, so considerate and kind, she felt a fresh wave of disappointment in me. If Adrian wants to be stubborn and leave, fine. Let him cool off. It’s not too late for him to show up when Casper is discharged. In the doctors’ lounge, her colleagues were laughing and joking. The moment she walked in, they all went silent. Stella felt a prickle of unease. “What were you all talking about?” 6. No one spoke. After a long moment, a fellow surgeon put an arm around her shoulders. “What else? We were just saying what a devoted couple you two are.” Stella thought of me, of how I had been forced to give up a heart. He does love me deeply, she thought, a flicker of warmth cutting through her anger. He was forced, yes, but he did it for me. He saved a life. In that moment, she forgave my sudden disappearance. But the fact that I wasn’t answering her calls still stung. Her colleague noticed her troubled expression. “Is your husband in a bad mood?” Stella didn’t answer. “He just had major surgery,” the colleague continued. “It’s normal for him to be a little down. Just be patient with him. Do something to cheer him up.” The words made sense. Stella’s expression softened. She remembered how much I loved the pastries from the bakery near our apartment. She decided to go home after her shift. She walked into our apartment, holding the box of pastries. “Honey? I bought your favorite.” Silence. She set the box down and saw it: the divorce agreement I had left on the table a week ago. I had drawn it up the moment she told me I had to donate my heart. Stella stared at the papers in disbelief. Is he serious? Over one heart? He’s willing to divorce me over this? She angrily threw the box of pastries into the trash. “If you don’t want this home, then don’t ever come back!” Just then, her phone rang. “Stella, dear? Do you know where Adrian has been?” It was my father. It was rare for him to call, rarer still for him to ask about me. His world usually revolved around Casper. An idea sparked in Stella’s mind. My parents were the only ones who could force me out of hiding. And Casper was almost fully recovered. So she told my father about the surgery. 7. My parents rushed to the hospital that night. The moment Casper saw them, his tears began to flow. The three of them clung to each other, a portrait of a loving family reunited after a crisis. “Where’s your brother?” my mother finally asked. “He’s in the same department, why isn’t he here to see you?” Casper hesitated. “He’s already been discharged.” My mother scoffed, her arms still wrapped around him. “Discharged? He must be in great shape to leave so soon after surgery. Let’s hope he doesn’t drop dead out there.” My father shot her a warning look. “Don’t say that. Casper’s had the surgery, but there’s no guarantee there won’t be complications later. What will we do if Adrian dies?” My mother slapped her own mouth. “Tsk, tsk, you’re right. If anyone’s going to die, it should be after Casper is safe.” She turned back to her favored son. “Don’t worry, Casper. Mom and Dad will always protect you.” A wave of warmth washed over him. The next day, Stella walked into the room to find this cozy family scene. It felt… wrong. She had never seen my parents look at me with such affection. “Stella, you’re here! We can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for Casper’s heart.” They were full of gratitude for her, but they didn’t mention my name once. Stella asked if they had heard from me. The question soured their mood instantly. “Why bother with him? He’s been discharged, which means he’s fine. We should be focusing on Casper.” “Casper has always been so frail. Adrian, on the other hand, is strong as an ox.” My parents had always wanted to set Casper up with Stella, but his health had been an obstacle. Now, with me out of the picture, their path was clear. Before Stella could respond, a colleague poked her head in. “Dr. Hayes, you’re so good to your husband. You’re here with him every day.” My parents beamed, assuming the charade had become reality. A faint blush colored Casper’s cheeks. But Stella’s face flushed with anger. “Who told you he’s my husband?” 8. The colleague, oblivious to Stella’s fury, just laughed. “Oh, come on, everyone in the department knows. You don’t have to pretend.” She bustled out of the room, off to her next task. My parents grabbed Stella’s arm. “Stella, dear, Adrian’s not here right now. If the staff thinks Casper is your husband, they’ll take better care of him.” Stella saw the pained look on Casper’s face and swallowed her anger. Back in her office, she was about to confront her colleague when she was told her old mentor had arrived. She rushed to the chief of medicine’s office. The moment she saw Dr. Peterson, she threw her arms around him. “Professor! It’s been so long. How have you been?” He smiled, looking her over. “I hear you’ve performed a heart transplant. The student has surpassed the master.” He then reminisced about the surgery he had performed on her when she was just a little girl, and how proud he was that she had followed in his footsteps. Stella froze. “What surgery, professor?” He looked surprised. “The heart transplant, of course. The one you had as a child.” Just then, someone burst into the office. “Dr. Hayes, quick! The family in room 32 is fighting!” Room 32. Casper’s room. She bolted out the door. She arrived to the sound of shouting. “Don’t you dare deny it! My nephew donated his heart to your daughter!” Stella pushed her way through the crowd. Her mother was there, her eyes red and tearful. The woman who had been shouting saw Stella and pointed a finger at her. “It was you! My nephew Adrian’s heart—it’s inside you!” Stella stared at the woman, her mind reeling. And then, a memory surfaced, a whisper from the past. My own voice, saying, “My heart is inside you.”

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That night, my colleagues invited me to a hotel, telling me they’d arranged for some “private entertainment” to be sent to my room. I was about to turn and walk out when the doorbell rang. Standing outside was my ex-wife. The woman who had drained my love dry for the sake of her first love. The woman who, on our anniversary, had played out this very “private booking” fantasy with him. “Damn, Austin, you lucky son of a bitch. Look at this one, she’s gorgeous…” After taking a few more lingering looks at my ex-wife, my colleagues reluctantly filed out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, she slammed me against the wall. Her eyes were burning with rage. “Austin. You have a hell of a nerve. You’re calling for escorts now?” “You,” she seethed, her voice dangerously low, “belong to me. This is the last time. If I find out you’ve done this again, I’ll personally make sure you never use it again.” 1 Her condescending attitude dredged up all the bitter memories. A surge of my own anger coursed through me, and I shoved her away. “What right do you have to control me?” I shot back. “As my ex-wife? Or as the entertainment? Let’s not forget, I’m the one who ordered you. You should be listening to me.” With that, I yanked the door open and walked out. To my surprise, my colleagues were still huddled outside the door. They swarmed me the second they saw me. “Austin, man! What are you doing? You’re not gonna enjoy a beauty like that?” “I’m worried about catching something.” “Nah, I don’t think so, man. I specifically asked about that.” Then, their eyes darted around mischievously. “Well, if you’re not going to… maybe we will…” They started to move toward the door, but I blocked their path. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” I warned them. “She’s divorced, on her second marriage. You really want her psycho husband coming after you?” I was trying to give them a friendly warning, but the more I said, the more suspicious they became. I just sighed, shook my head, and walked away. The next day at the office, my ex-wife, Sera, walked up to my desk in front of everyone and placed a small cupcake on it. Then came the announcement: she was my new boss. The jaws of the colleagues from last night dropped wide enough to fit an egg. “Holy shit… she’s our new boss? Austin, you missed the chance of a lifetime to sleep your way to the top!” “I don’t know… why would the new boss give you a cupcake? You think it was love at first sight last night?” Then, my words from the hotel came back to them. “Wait a minute, Austin… are you the psycho ex-husband?” No. I’m the one she cheated on. I tossed the cupcake into the trash, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the office. Let them guess. I was done explaining. 2 I always thought that if I saw my ex-wife again, I would be filled with sorrow. But in reality, my heart no longer stirred for her. Not even a ripple. Sera and I were married for five years. They say most couples don’t survive the seven-year itch. For us, it only took five. Five years of her relentlessly chipping away at my love for the sake of her high school sweetheart. The moment I finally gave up was on our fifth anniversary. I’d spent the entire day decorating our home, preparing a surprise for her. It turned out she had a surprise of her own, and it arrived first. That evening, I received a video. In it, Sera was dressed in a skimpy French maid’s outfit, knocking on a hotel room door. “Hello,” she cooed. “I’m your private booking for the evening. Are you Mr. Luke?” “I am.” “Excellent. Then I’ll begin my service for you now…” As she spoke, Sera knelt down between Luke’s legs. What happened next was painfully obvious. My fingers trembled. This was her anniversary gift to me? How… thrilling. A moment later, two dimly lit photos appeared on Luke’s social media feed. The caption read: “Tonight, you’re my little kitten.” I had Luke on my ‘close friends’ list, so I got the notification instantly. My little kitten… how sweet. I immediately called Sera. It rang for a long time before she finally picked up, her breathing ragged and uneven. “What are you doing?” I asked through clenched teeth. “Working late.” Just then, I heard Luke’s heavy breathing in the background. And in that moment, the rage inside me evaporated, replaced by an unnerving, absolute calm. I was such a pathetic fool. Why did I even bother asking when I already knew? Was I that desperate to be lied to? “Sera,” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. “Tomorrow morning. Eight-thirty. The courthouse. We’re filing for divorce.” 3 The line went silent for a moment, then I heard a sharp cry of pain from Sera. Finally, she shot back, her voice dripping with accusation, “Austin, are you starting this again? Divorce? Seriously?” “Just be there tomorrow. If you’re not, I’m filing a contested divorce.” I couldn’t listen to another second of it. I hung up. I started packing, my only thought to escape this house, to break free from the prison I had built for myself around her. As I packed, I saw the trash can, overflowing with matching ‘couples’ items. Matching toothbrushes, matching shower caps, matching watches. All of them bought by me. None of them ever touched by her. I should have known then. She never loved me. All these years, I had locked myself away in the illusion that she did. Even our wedding photo was a lie. Her smile was forced, while I grinned beside her like a lovesick idiot. How ironic. The distance between us was a wall she had built, a wall I could never cross. I moved into a small apartment I’d bought before we were married, threw my stuff down, and collapsed onto the bed. For the first time in a long time, I slept soundly. The next morning, I was humming a tune on my way to the courthouse. I took a number and waited in the hall for Sera. She was always punctual. I’d said 8:30, so she would be there. But two hours passed, and there was no sign of her. Then, Luke’s social media updated again. It was a nine-photo grid. Sera, fast asleep, her body covered in a constellation of purple and blue bruises. Luke’s caption: “Oops. I think I was a little too rough with my kitten last night.” Perfect. I screenshotted the post and saved it. I thought I would be furious, that I would call her like the pathetic clown I used to be, demanding an explanation. But instead, I felt a rare sense of clarity. This was evidence of her infidelity, gift-wrapped and handed to me. Only a fool would refuse it. After saving the images, my fingers trembled slightly. It was a lie to say it didn’t hurt. This was someone I had loved for five years. But I had already pulled myself almost completely free. This was just the last thread. I waited at the courthouse until they closed for lunch, but Sera never showed. A clerk walked over. “Sir, we’re closing for our lunch break. You can come back this afternoon.” I nodded. “Okay.” “What are you here for?” “A divorce.” “Well, if the other party hasn’t shown up after all this time, it probably means they don’t want one. Maybe you two should go home and talk things over.” I shook my head. “No, she was up all night with her lover. She probably hasn’t gotten out of bed yet.” The clerk stared at me, shocked into silence. As I walked out, I called Sera again. This time, she answered immediately, her voice sharp with irritation. “What do you want?” “The divorce papers. When are you coming to sign them?” Sensing my anger, Sera paused, then said, “What’s the big deal? We can talk about it when I get home tonight.” And with that, she hung up without a second thought. So, I did exactly what I said I would. I filed for a contested divorce. With the clerk’s guidance, I completed the process online. That afternoon, I bought some groceries and new housewares, planning to cook for myself. I had just put everything away when Sera’s call came through. Her voice was laced with fury. “Where are you? It’s this late and you’re still not home?” It was seven in the evening. Because I wasn’t at home to greet her, she was furious. Yet, last night, and countless nights before, she had stayed out all night without a word. When I didn’t answer, she continued. “Weren’t you whining about an anniversary gift? I bought you one.” I ignored her bait. “Did you receive the summons?” “The what?” “I told you. If you didn’t come to sign the papers, I would file for a contested divorce. You should have received the court summons by now.” “Austin, are you sick in the head? Can’t we just live our lives in peace? Why are you making such a scene about divorce?” “How can your master take his rightful place if I don’t get out of the way? Or do you just enjoy the thrill of the affair so much you don’t want to get divorced?” My voice was ice cold. “If you don’t want this to get ugly, just sign the papers.” I hung up on her. I didn’t want to tear everything apart. We had been together for five years; a little dignity at the end was the least we could do for each other. I washed the vegetables and started cooking. Tonight, I was making something just for me. Something insanely spicy. An hour later, as I was about to sit down and eat, I heard a noise at the door. Sera let herself in. She was wearing a sheer black dress, the bruises on her body faintly visible, making her look even more suspect. Her face was a dark storm cloud, her eyes fixed on me in a death glare. In the past, I would have been on my knees, crawling to her, begging for forgiveness. That’s how it always was between us. Right or wrong, if she frowned, I was the one at fault. But now, with a stark clarity, I knew I had done nothing wrong. In fact, looking at her in that outfit, I felt… nothing. It was just an outfit. So it was true. Love really does put a filter on everything. Note to self, I thought. Change the locks tomorrow. Don’t want any more trash finding its way in. 4 Sera slammed her purse onto the dining table. A heavy cloud of cologne followed her, clinging to her clothes. It was a man’s scent. Well, after the kind of close-contact activities they’d been engaged in, it was only natural. She pushed a gift box toward me, her attitude as arrogant as ever. “Open it.” “No, thank you.” Over the years, Sera had given me gifts before. They were always things Luke didn’t want. I had no desire to be his personal recycling bin anymore. Every time we fought, she would do this—toss me some of Luke’s cast-offs as a peace offering. She would even pick fights with me on purpose, just to have an excuse to go out with him. Then, a cheap gift, and we would be “all better.” She never knew I had access to Luke’s social media. I’d already seen all this junk before. When I didn’t take the box, her composure cracked. In her mind, she had graciously offered me a way out, and by refusing it, I was being ungrateful. “Did you bring the signed divorce papers?” I asked. “Or are there some clauses you want to change?” I didn’t understand what she was stalling for. She was the one who wanted to be with Luke. Me stepping aside should have been exactly what she wanted. As for our assets, we had a prenup. In the event of a divorce, I would leave with nothing. That was something her best friend, Bianca, had goaded her into. Looking back now, I suppose I should thank them for saving me the trouble. “Luke got a bonus last night, so we went out to celebrate. Is there a problem with that?” “No.” “Then what are you so upset about?” “What does that have to do with our divorce?” I looked up, my gaze cold. Sera was taken aback for a second, then let out a scornful laugh. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous? Austin, you’re being so petty. And using such a childish tactic? Did you really think I would coax you and beg for forgiveness?” She sneered. “You really think you’re something special, don’t you? The last few times I invited you out, what did you do? Luke and I were just playing a simple party game, and you threw a tantrum and embarrassed everyone. With an attitude like that, who would want to hang out with you?” Her voice was filled with accusation and anger. I couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Fine. Just sign the papers as soon as possible.” I picked up my chopsticks and started eating as if she wasn’t even there. After a long silence, Sera glared at me and spoke. “Austin, I know you’re angry because I didn’t come home last night. Fine. Tomorrow night, I’ll host. I’ll invite everyone over to our place. We’ll call it a celebration for our anniversary. How does that sound?” Having issued her command, she turned and left, not even waiting for my response. How interesting. Who invites a crowd of people to celebrate a wedding anniversary? I was speechless. She was so used to treating me like a servant. After finishing my meal and cleaning the dishes, I checked the status of my divorce petition on the court’s website. After a moment’s thought, I selected the option to proceed to judgment. Thanks to the public outcry that had abolished the mandatory “cool-down” period for divorces, I could skip that step. Now, all I had to do was wait for the court’s ruling. Best case, 24 hours. Worst case, a month. And then I would be free.

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1 I found him in the woods, a broken thing more reptile than man, and I dragged him home. He was Silas, the Snake Charmer—a creature of scales and silence, loathed by everyone in our traveling carnival. They called him a freak, a monster. I was the only one who saw the boy beneath the skin. I was the one who got on my knees in the dirt, begging my sister to let him stay. My sister, Seraphina, the carnival’s golden girl, had laughed, pointing a manicured finger at us. “You want to keep this stray, Wren? Fine. Then you marry him.” Silas had stared at her with eyes like cold glass, intense and unblinking. For his trouble, she slapped him—hard, a sharp crack that echoed in the tent. I was terrified he would hate her for it. So, on our wedding night, I spent hours whispering her praises, trying to smooth over the edges of her cruelty. But when the raiders came, riding out of the dust storm with guns drawn, Silas didn’t hesitate. He threw himself in front of Seraphina. He shielded her body with his own, leaving me exposed to the rough hands of the bandits. I was beaten until the world went gray. And later, when I lay dying from the injuries, Seraphina didn’t weep. She told the others I had Typhus, a plague that would rot them all from the inside out. She ordered them to burn me alive. I heard later that when Silas found out, he didn’t just break; he shattered. He unleashed every viper, every cobra, every rattler in his collection upon the carnival. The screams of the people who had watched me burn rang out for days, drowned only by the hissing of the snakes. 1. The show was in full swing when the raiders hit. The music of the calliope was drowned out by the thunder of hooves and the crack of pistol fire. Panic tore through the big top. The audience screamed, a stampede of terrified bodies mixing with the rough shouts of the bandits. I was dragged by my hair, my forehead slamming against the hard-packed earth. A man with a jagged scar across his cheek hauled me up, the rough gravel slicing into my skin. Blood trickled into my eye. It hurts… God, it hurts. My first thought, stupid and instinctive, was for him. Where is Silas? Is he safe? Fear, cold and sharp, spiked in my chest. I didn’t care about the gun pressed to my ribs. I fought, thrashing against the bandit’s grip until a heavy boot stomped onto my back. I heard the sickening snap of a rib cracking. “Help! Someone, please!” It was a delicate, terrified cry. Seraphina. Seraphina. Is she okay? She’s too beautiful for this world; if they take her… I tried to crawl, to drag my broken body toward her voice. But a shadow moved faster than I ever could. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her behind him, a living shield against the chaos. He stood there like a tragic hero from one of the dime novels Seraphina loved. The bandits hesitated as a dozen small vipers slithered from his sleeves, hissing a warning. It was Silas. I stopped struggling. My heart stuttered, then slowed. Silas was there. Seraphina would be safe. “Thought you could run, did you?” The scarred bandit yanked me back, backhanding me across the face. The sound was loud enough to cut through the noise. Silas turned. He looked right at me. For a second—just a heartbeat—he hesitated. But then he turned back to Seraphina, ushering her away from the danger, treating her like fine china while I was treated like trash. Before she disappeared, Seraphina glanced back. She offered me a tight, mocking smile, mouthing a single word: Idiot. They rounded up the rest of us—the roustabouts, the freaks, the unwanted. They tied us to the acrobatic poles, the rough hemp rope biting into my wrists. I heard Pa, the Ringmaster, haggling with the bandit leader. “Look, take the cash box. Take the horses. Just leave the talent. We starve without the animals. If you want… take the Clown Girl. She’s yours. Do whatever you want with her.” I let my head hang heavy. The Clown Girl. That was me. The bandit leader swaggered over, gripping my chin and forcing my head up. But when the light hit my face, he recoiled, dropping me like I burned him. “What the hell is this? A goblin?” My greasepaint was smeared with blood and sweat, a grotesque mask over my scarred face. I bit my lip, tasting iron, and looked at the ground. In the end, even the bandits didn’t want me. They took the money and Pa’s prized white stallion. When the dust settled, Pa was furious. He kicked me in the ribs, right where the bone had snapped. “Useless trash. Even the snake-freak didn’t save you. Why are you even alive? You’re just a waste of food.” I coughed, spitting blood onto the dirt. No one helped me. The troupe looked at me with a mix of pity and disgust, their eyes saying what Pa wouldn’t: Why don’t you just die? Only Pip, the little golden monkey I’d raised from a baby, hopped over. He nuzzled his furry head against my chest, making soft, chirping sounds. I hugged him tight, letting the tears finally fall. Pip, living hurts so much. I’m just glad I have you. 2 It was the Great Depression, and the world was a hungry, violent place. Pa had been running from debts and the law for years. He dragged Ma out to the Dust Bowl, cobbling together a ragtag carnival to survive. That same year, they had a daughter. Seraphina. She was perfect—blonde, blue-eyed, the hope of the family. The carnival grew. We picked up drifters, acrobats, and animals. Money started trickling in. Life was almost good. Until I was born. I came out with a port-wine stain covering half my face, a map of blood on my skin. Ma died birthing me. Pa and Seraphina hated me for it. I didn’t even get a real name for years. Everyone just called me “Wren”—small, brown, easily missed. I had no friends. I had no love. To earn my keep, I put on the greasepaint and played the fool, the clumsy clown who fell down so children would laugh. I thought that was all my life would be. Until I found Silas. Silas was a “Geek,” a sideshow attraction. He had a skin condition, ichthyosis, that made his flesh look like scales. He was dark, brooding, and dangerous. I found him in the woods near a town we were passing through. Locals had beaten him half to death, driving the “monster” away. He was bleeding, broken, but his eyes were still fierce. “Get away, freak!” a kid screamed, throwing a rock that struck Silas’s temple. He collapsed. My heart squeezed. He’s like me. Unwanted. Maybe… maybe we could be friends. I was so lonely I could taste it. I waited until the mob left. Then I crept to his side. He was in bad shape. His pulse was a fluttering bird. He needed medicine, real medicine, but I didn’t have a dime. I went to Seraphina. She was the star; she had the money. She looked at me from her vanity mirror, applying her lipstick. She smiled, slow and cruel. “A clown who can’t do tricks is useless, Wren. Tell you what. You learn to walk the high wire by tonight, and I’ll lend you the cash.” 3 The scars on my legs, remnants of falling from that wire, throbbed in the cold night air. I think I damaged something inside me that night. I never got the money back. Pa abandoned me to the bandits, and Silas and Seraphina were gone. I curled up on my cot, trying to breathe through the pain. The tent flap opened. I looked up, hope flaring in my chest. Silas? It wasn’t him. It was Gideon, the aerialist. He’d been captured too but managed to slip away. He looked at me, saw the hope die in my eyes, and scowled. “Stop it, Wren. He’s not coming. You’re such a fool. Stop pining after that cold-blooded snake. Can’t you see? He only has eyes for Seraphina.” Gideon hated my sister. He called her a siren, a creature who lured men to their doom. My chest ached. I forced a smile, but tears leaked out anyway. Gideon’s expression softened into pity. “Are they back?” I asked. Gideon nodded. He looked like he wanted to stop me. “Wren, don’t go out there…” I didn’t listen. I limped toward the main tent. Before I even entered, I heard laughter. The scene inside froze the blood in my veins. Seraphina sat on her velvet chair like a queen. Silas was on one knee before her, tenderly cleaning a small scratch on her hand. When I walked in, Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “Silas,” she purred, “show me your skin. The scales.” She was talking to him, but she was looking right at me. I went cold. Silas was deeply ashamed of his condition. He hid his skin under long sleeves and high collars. He only showed it when he felt safe, when he felt loved. Please, no, I prayed. But he did it. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the dark, shimmering patches of hardened skin that looked like obsidian stars. Seraphina smirked. But the moment his skin brushed hers, her face twisted in uncontrollable revulsion. I saw it. Silas saw it. My heart broke. Not for me, but for him.

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To stay in character as the wicked stepmother, I had a new daily routine. I’d order my eldest son to peel shrimp, my second son to brew my tea, and my youngest daughter to massage my shoulders. This went on for half a month, right up until the man of the house returned. I had my bags packed, ready to be thrown out onto the street. But instead, my eldest son said: “Dad, don’t just stand there. Go make Mom’s bed.” Me: …? 1 “Host, all you have to do is maintain your persona and torment them every day!” the System buzzed in my head. “Once the male lead comes back and kicks you out, your mission will be a success!” “The reward is ten million dollars, you know~” I puffed out my chest and promised, “Don’t you worry. When it comes to being wicked, if I’m number two, no one dares claim to be number one.” The System, reassured, vanished. A new boss has to make her presence known. I gazed at the three little pipsqueaks standing before me, lined up from tallest to shortest like Wi-Fi bars. I decided to make an example of one of them to show the other two I meant business. It was time for them to taste my wrath. 2 “You. Come here and rub my legs.” I pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the eldest, Leo. In the future, he was destined to be a brooding, manipulative man who cared for no one but his younger siblings. Too bad for him, right now he was just a little pawn I could move around my chessboard. He knelt by my feet, his small body radiating humiliation. “Harder! Are you made of fluff? Put some muscle into it!” The moment the words left my mouth, a sharp pain shot up my leg. I… “Leo, was it? Excellent work,” I said through gritted teeth. “As a reward, from now on, you all get to eat at the table with me.” Because of the neglect they’d suffered, the three kids were chronically underfed, as skinny as little monkeys. Leo’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if asking why I was suddenly being so kind. But kind? Not a chance. Kindness wasn’t in my job description. I added slowly, savoring the moment, “But you will also drink a full glass of milk every morning and every evening. And I’ll be watching to make sure you finish every last drop.” As soon as I said it, three identical expressions of horror washed over their faces. I could have laughed out loud. I knew it. Milk. The universal enemy of all children. I studied Leo, a wicked smile playing on my lips. “Tell you what. Call me ‘Mom’ just once, beg me a little, and maybe I’ll let you off the hook with the milk. What do you say?” Leo scoffed, turning his head away in disgust. He’s got backbone. I like that. 3 On my second day as the wicked stepmother, I decided that Leo, who refused to acknowledge me as his mother, needed a new name. Something fitting. Something… classic. “From now on, your name is Jedediah,” I announced. Jedediah stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, but he didn’t dare say a word. Pleased, I turned my gaze to the second son, who was trying to make himself invisible. “And you,” I declared, “will be Hezekiah.” Then, I looked at the little girl, who was blinking at me with innocent eyes, and whispered like the devil on her shoulder, “You, my dear, are Petunia.” Seeing the three of them, seething but silent, I let out a cackle. Ah, being the wicked stepmother? It was a blast. 4 Even a wicked stepmother has her troubles, though. With my husband away, any trouble the pipsqueaks got into at school meant I was the first person the school called. My phone rang bright and early, jolting me from a dead sleep. “Is this Noah’s guardian?” “Noah was caught stealing money from a classmate. We need you to come to the school immediately.” Noah? A thief? I dragged myself out of bed, and by the time I reached the principal’s office, I could hear a shrill voice screaming from inside. “You trashy little thief! You’re nothing but gutter scum! Learning to steal at your age!” “I bet your mother stole the money for your tuition, too! You reek of poverty!” “You little animal, you’re a disgrace! Today, I’m going to teach you the lesson your mother clearly never did!” I took a deep breath and shoved the door open. There was tiny Noah, not even as tall as the desk leg, with a bright red handprint blooming on his pale cheek. Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. When he saw me, his head dropped in panic. The teacher stood up awkwardly. “Mrs. Blackwood, hello…” I pushed past her and faced the sharp-tongued woman across the room. Without a word, I swung my designer handbag—worth a small fortune—and slammed it right into her face. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” 5 I didn’t stop there. I slapped her, I pulled her hair—I gave her the full treatment. The woman shrieked in pain. “You dare hit me! You bitch!” “I’m calling the police! I’m calling the police!” “I’ll have you and your thieving son thrown in jail!” I gave her another backhand for good measure. “Go on! Call them!” I taunted. “Let’s see who ends up behind bars!” I was the wicked stepmother, what did I have to fear? As long as the male lead wasn’t back, I couldn’t be written out of the story. Once I’d vented my anger, I slapped the tablet with the security footage onto the desk. “Open your damn eyes and take a good look! See who the real thief is!” Noah hadn’t left his seat all day. The teacher blinked. “How is that possible? The camera in that classroom has been broken for weeks. We haven’t had it repaired yet.” The woman sneered, “You faked the footage!” I just laughed. For a wicked stepmother with a System, getting my hands on a little security footage was a piece of cake. I turned and made a fist, looming menacingly over the chubby little boy hiding behind his mother’s legs. “You. Little man. Tell me the truth,” I growled. “Did Noah really steal your money?” The memory of me beating his mother was still fresh in his mind. The slightest bit of pressure was all it took. He burst into tears. “No… no!” he wailed. “Mommy… I spent all the money myself… Please don’t hit me, wahhh…” The woman’s face turned green. Under my intimidating glare, the boy sobbed out the whole story. He’d overspent his allowance and, terrified of being punished, had blamed it on Noah. It was an easy lie; no one ever came to pick Noah up from school, so all the kids just assumed he was an orphan. They figured no one would stand up for him if he got bullied. The woman who had just been screaming about calling the police now looked like her face was cycling through a rainbow of shame and fury. She grabbed her son and tried to leave. I blocked her path and pointed a finger at Noah. “Apologize to him.” “Or I’ll make sure everyone in this school knows your son is a lying little punk.” 6 On the way home, Noah kept sneaking glances at me, his eyes full of tiny, sparkling stars. It was starting to get on my nerves. I glared at him. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll gouge your eyes out.” He immediately clamped his little hands over his eyes, but after a moment, he peeked through his fingers. “You’re… you’re not going to hit me?” Given that the ‘me’ he was used to tormented him daily, it was a fair question. An incident this big without a beating was a little out of character. So, I reached out and gave his cheek a wicked pinch. “Your punishment is an extra glass of milk tonight!” I declared. “And begging won’t do you any good!” Hmph. After all, milk was the most disgusting thing in the world. A look of pure agony crossed Noah’s face. Mission accomplished. 7 We walked into the house hand-in-hand, just in time to see Leo returning from his after-school tutoring. His eyes immediately locked onto the handprint on Noah’s face. His expression darkened, and he pulled his little brother behind him protectively. “She hit you again?” he demanded. I raised an eyebrow. “What if I did? You want some too?” With that, I turned on my heel and sashayed away, leaving Noah to frantically explain the situation to a very skeptical Leo. I overheard Leo’s cool analysis as I walked away: “Don’t trust her. This is just a new trick to mess with our heads.” I couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Looks like another successful day in the life of a wicked stepmother. 8 I was ready to strike while the iron was hot, to cook up some new mischief to really cement Leo’s hatred of me. But before I could even start scheming, the butler rushed in, his face pale with panic. “Madam, it’s terrible!” “Master Leo got into a fight and has been taken into police custody! The station just called and asked you to come down!” Jedediah, detained? A grin spread across my face. Opportunity was knocking! When I arrived, a police officer was patiently trying to get a reason for the fight out of Leo. Across from him sat three teenagers, their faces bruised and swollen. As expected of the future brooding anti-hero. One against three, and he still came out on top. I asked the officer for a few minutes alone with the boys. As soon as he left the room, I spun around and gave Leo a firm slap on the backside. “Getting a little bold, are we?” I hissed. “Starting fights now? You can just wait to be thrown out of this house!” He stared at me, his body trembling with rage. I glared back, even more fiercely. “You dare look at me like that?” I scoffed and turned away from the seething boy, pasting a friendly smile on my face as I approached the three dumbfounded teenagers. “Hello, boys. I’m Leo’s stepmother. To be honest, I can’t stand him either.” “Could you tell me what the fight was about? I’d love to have something to report to his father so we can finally kick him out.” The three of them exchanged glances, remaining silent. My smile widened. “How about this? You tell me what happened, and I’ll give each of you five thousand dollars.” The lure of money was too much. One of them cracked. “He’s a damn busybody, that’s what.” “We were just having some fun with a girl, took a few pictures, and he came at us like a psycho.” I kept my expression neutral. “What kind of pictures? Can I see?” One of the boys hesitated, but the other two, their eyes already glazed over with greed, pulled out their phones. “Here, ma’am. See?” “We just took a few pictures, that’s all.” “If you ask me, don’t just kick him out. You should have him committed.” I looked at the photos on their phones—upskirt shots, pictures of them bullying other students. I nodded thoughtfully. Then I opened the door and handed the evidence to the waiting police officer. “Officer, you heard them. My son was simply defending someone. As for these little degenerates, I suggest you send them to a juvenile detention center for some serious rehabilitation.” 9 As we walked out of the police station, Leo’s eyes were filled with a complicated mix of emotions. “Leo!” A soft voice called out. He turned to see a girl standing there, his brow furrowing slightly. “What are you doing here?” The girl clutched the straps of her backpack, her voice barely a whisper. “I… thank you for helping me!” Leo just shrugged. “I only beat them up because they were annoying. It had nothing to do with you.” The girl was speechless. I rolled my eyes. “Such a poser.” Leo gritted his teeth. The girl let out a small giggle, then bowed to me as well. “Thank you too, ma’am!” As she ran off, Leo’s cool facade finally broke. “Why did she thank you? When did you two even meet?” I shot him a look. “None of your business.” Leo: “…” A moment later, his awkward voice piped up again. “Don’t think I’m going to thank you just because you helped me.” I snorted. “Who needs your thanks? Just wait until we get home. You and I have a score to settle.” 10 Three hundred and eight shrimp later, Leo finally broke. “This is your idea of settling the score?” he asked, his fingers aching. “What else would it be?” I replied, popping another freshly peeled shrimp into my mouth. “Peel faster. You can’t even keep up with me. What kind of brooding anti-hero are you?” Jedediah said nothing, simply picking up his pace. Hezekiah brought over a cup of freshly brewed tea, placing it carefully by my hand. I glanced over at the adorable, innocent-looking Petunia. “You. Come here and massage my back.” Being a wicked stepmother was a piece of cake. 11 After the Great Shrimp Peeling Incident, Leo’s hatred for me only deepened. Noah, too, was now completely under my thumb. That just left one of them: Lily. I was lying on my bed with a face mask on, pondering how best to torment the little girl, when there was a soft knock on my door. I opened it to find Lily standing there, clutching a doll that was almost bigger than she was and looking up at me with wide eyes. …She was kind of cute. Focus. Must remain wicked. “What is it?” I asked, making my voice as cold as possible. Lily flinched, her voice as small as a mosquito’s buzz. “I… I’m scared to sleep alone…” I glanced outside at the thunderstorm raging, lightning flashing across the sky. I was about to mock her for being a coward, but then an idea sparked in my mind. I stepped aside and let her in. The little girl’s eyes lit up. Poor, sweet Petunia. She had no idea she’d just walked straight into my trap. Once she was tucked obediently into bed, I pulled out a book of gruesome fairy tales and began to read aloud in my most menacing voice. Five minutes later, the little girl was a sobbing wreck. Feeling refreshed, I poked the little bundle of blankets she’d become. “Hey, kid. Don’t get tears on my expensive sheets, or I’ll have to punish you.” After sufficiently terrorizing her, I stood up to go wash my face. But she grabbed onto my leg, her voice thick with tears. “Can I come with you…? I’m scared…” Me: … Fine. I magnanimously agreed. But as I helped the little girl out of her pajamas, I saw them. Her small body was covered in red welts and dark bruises. My brow furrowed. I hadn’t laid a finger on her. What was this? “Hey, kid. What happened? Where did you get these bruises?” I asked, my tone sharp. “Were you fighting at school behind my back?” Lily hugged herself shyly and shook her head. “They’re rewards. From Mr. Peterson.” “He said only the pretty and obedient girls in class get them.” Me: … I looked at her innocent little face and felt my teeth grind together. Damn it. This family was a magnet for trouble.

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The hurricane warnings were screaming across every news channel, so I told my boyfriend, Ryan, to come over to my place to ride out the storm. It wasn’t long before a knock echoed on my door. I was just about to open it when text began to scroll across my vision, like a live-feed of comments only I could see. [Don’t open the door. It’s not just Ryan out there. He brought his entire family.] [If you let them in, you will die.]

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1 No one in Northwood City’s elite circles knew my husband—the man who supposedly adored me—was the same rugged star of illicit videos driving women wild online. John Hughes, my coldly disciplined husband, had “saved” his assistant Mila after she was forced to shoot 108 erotic films to pay a debt. He became her co-star. I recognized him by the birthmark above his hip. That night, I confronted him in tears. “She was drugged,” he dismissed. “I was her first. No feelings—just physical.” But he lied. He was addicted. Their videos grew wilder, even filming beneath our wedding portrait. Night after night, I lay awake, listening to their muffled moans above me. The final straw? When I showed him my positive pregnancy test, he exhaled cigarette smoke and said, “Get rid of it. Mila’s pregnant too.” I turned away and dialed a number: “Bankrupt Hughes Corp. within a month.” I hung up just as John descended the stairs, cradling a flushed and pliant Mila in his arms. He was wiping her down with a towel, completely oblivious to my presence. Mila saw me and immediately ducked her head, tugging on his sleeve. “John, your wife is still here.” Only then did his eyes land on me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “I’ve already booked the appointment for your procedure. Why haven’t you left yet?” He didn’t even try to soften the blow. “Don’t worry, you can move back in after Mila has the baby.” Mila’s face bloomed a deeper red. “It’s your fault for not being careful,” she mumbled into his chest. John chuckled, a low, intimate sound that twisted a knife in my gut. He playfully tapped her nose. “You don’t like it when I wear them. Besides, who uses protection for a video shoot? If it happens, it happens. It’s not like I can’t afford to raise another child.” I stood there, numb, listening to their graphic chatter as silent tears traced paths down my cheeks. In five years of marriage, no matter how lost in the moment he was, John never forgot protection. The tiny life growing inside me was a drunken mistake. All his talk about not wanting me to suffer through childbirth was a lie. He just never wanted a child with me. Seeing my tears, John tossed a black AmEx card at me. It clattered onto the marble floor. “That’s enough. There’s enough on that card to last you three lifetimes.” He followed it with a set of divorce papers. “Sign them. My child will not be born a bastard.” “We can get remarried after the baby is older,” he added, as if it were a generous concession. My vision blurred. I remembered the day he’d proposed, sliding the ring onto my finger, his eyes burning with sincerity as he swore to love only me, forever. That was only five years ago. “It’s just a baby,” Mila chimed in, a flash of triumph in her wide, innocent eyes. “It doesn’t matter who gives birth to it.” I tilted my head back, forcing the tears to retreat, and picked up the pen. When John saw me sign without a moment’s hesitation, he let out a cold, humorless laugh. “See? You’re no different from all those other gold-diggers.” He then flashed the signed papers at Mila. “Happy now? Can I finally pay off your debts, little one?” “I just didn’t want things to be unofficial,” she cooed, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. She walked over to me, deliberately letting the blanket slip to reveal a fresh love bite on her collarbone. “Elara,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy, “if you ever need anything, anything at all, you just have to ask me or John.” She was already playing the part of the new Mrs. Hughes. 2 A bitter smile touched my lips. I hoped she would enjoy her one-month reign as the lady of the house. “I won’t need anything,” I said, my voice flat. I turned to leave, but a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. Mila. Before I could react, she crumpled to the floor. I stared, stunned, as she lay there. Before I could utter a single word, her eyes filled with tears as she looked pleadingly at John. “John, my love… maybe we shouldn’t keep the baby,” she sobbed. “I’ll pay my own debts. I’ve already been ruined once, what’s one more man…” John lunged toward her, shoving me aside so hard I lost my balance. My head cracked against the corner of the console table, and a sticky warmth trickled down my temple. He didn’t even glance at me. His entire world was the sobbing woman on the floor. He scooped her up, his gaze turning to me, now as cold and hard as granite. “Elara. Apologize.” He didn’t ask. He didn’t investigate. He just condemned me. The tears I’d been holding back finally fell, hot and bitter. I didn’t know if it was from the searing pain in my head or the crushing weight of it all. I remembered the night he’d been drugged by a business rival and had ended up in Mila’s bed. He’d knelt at my door for hours afterward, begging me to forgive him. “Elara, I was drugged, I swear. I’ve already paid her to keep quiet. It will never, ever happen again,” he’d pleaded, his voice cracking. “Don’t leave me. Please.” I had swallowed my pain, convincing myself it was a one-time accident. I’d pretended it never happened. But then he’d hired her as his personal assistant. And now this. The man who was once so above it all, so untouchable, was debasing himself in cheap videos for her. The first time was an accident. What about the second? The third? The hundredth? I tilted my chin up, defiant. “I didn’t push her.” Suddenly, Mila shrieked. She pointed between her legs. “John! Blood! There’s so much blood!” The color drained from John’s face. He swept her into his arms, his voice tight with a panic I had never heard before. “It’s okay, baby, don’t be scared. The doctor is on his way.” In his haste, he snagged the wind chime hanging by the door, and it crashed to the floor, scattering into a forgotten corner. He had made it for me, by hand, after our first date. Our decade-long history, as fragile as the string that held the chime together, snapped under the weight of a one-year affair. A sharp cramp seized my abdomen, a pain that radiated through my whole body, but I barely registered it. I watched his retreating back, a sour burn in my throat. The fabric of my dress was turning crimson with my own blood, but he never looked back. Not once. I remembered a time I’d gotten a small paper cut, and he’d panicked, calling in a team of specialists just to look at my finger. Now, I was bleeding on the floor, and not a single servant dared to help me. Just as the pain threatened to pull me under, a hand reached out to me. I looked up, saw a familiar face, and a desperate flicker of hope ignited in my chest. “John…” I whispered. But it wasn’t a hand of salvation. He hauled me to my feet and dragged me toward the sauna, his face a merciless mask. He shoved me inside and threw the lock. “You misbehaved,” he said, his voice flat. “You need to be punished.” A wave of heat washed over me. Through the glass, I saw Mila take the remote control, her face a picture of feigned kindness. “Oh, John, you shouldn’t be so harsh with her. I’ll just turn the temperature down a little.” But the heat in the small room was already climbing, becoming unbearable. The temperature gauge began to flash a red warning. The scorching air amplified the pain throbbing through my body. I slammed my fists against the door. “John, let me out! I’m going to die in here!” 3 For a second, John’s expression flickered. He started toward the door, but Mila grabbed his arm. She blinked her big, innocent eyes, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. “But I turned it down, John. Seventy-eight degrees is the perfect temperature for comfort. How could she possibly die?” John’s hand dropped. His face hardened into a mask of disgust. “Elara, are you so pathetic you’d lie just to slander Mila?” “You disgust me.” He turned to the maids. “No one is to open that door without my permission.” My heart hammered against my ribs, each breath a struggle. I used the last of my strength to scream, “John, if I die in here, my family will never let you get away with this!” He paused, then slowly turned, his face a canvas of pure contempt. “Your family? You mean the Wiltons?” He let out a short, cruel laugh. “Your father is dead. Your mother remarried the second she could. Do you still think you’re the golden princess of Northwood City?” “If it wasn’t for me,” he sneered, “propping you up all these years, do you really think you’d still be living the same lavish life you were born into?” The moment he turned his back, holding Mila close, my legs gave out. I collapsed to the scorching floor. Tears of blood stung my eyes as I watched them walk away through the glass. “John Hughes,” I whispered into the suffocating heat, “you shattered my heart. I will never, ever forgive you…” When I woke up, John was sitting by my bedside. My gaze was empty, hollow. I saw a flicker of something—was it pity?—in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “The doctor said your body isn’t suited for childbirth,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Telling you to get the procedure was for your own good.” “The baby’s gone now. It’s for the best. Mila has a kind heart; she said she’ll let you help raise our child.” “And the sauna… the thermostat was broken. She didn’t do it on purpose…” A mocking smile twisted my lips. Every word was a defense of Mila. He hadn’t once asked me if I was in pain. If I was okay. My heart was a dead, cold thing in my chest, but my eyes still filled with tears. I stared at him, then slowly, deliberately, I raised my hands. They were swollen and blistered from the heat. John, who had still been defending Mila, stopped mid-sentence. His eyes widened. “What are you doing?” I ignored the searing pain and began to force my wedding ring off my swollen finger. It pulled at the raw, ruined skin beneath. “Are you insane?” he yelled, grabbing my wrist. His touch sent a jolt of agony through me, and my eyes watered, but my voice was calm. “The ring. You can have it back.” This ring. John had crafted it himself. Back then, he was just the unacknowledged bastard son of the Hughes family. I had defied my own family to marry him. He’d spent a month apprenticing with a master jeweler, barely sleeping, just so he could give me a proper wedding ring. For all these years, I had treasured it like a sacred artifact. I never took it off, not even to shower. A storm of complex emotions crossed John’s face, but I was too tired to try and decipher them. His grip on my wrist tightened. I winced. “You’re hurting me.” He finally realized and let go. “Elara, I’m sorry. I—” Just then, a soft sob came from the adjoining room. Without another glance at me, John spun around and rushed next door. “Mila? What is it? Did you have a nightmare?” he cooed, his voice a gentle murmur. Mila’s voice was thick with tears. “John, what am I going to do? They’re threatening me again! I only wanted the money to save my mother, why are they doing this to me?”

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I’m a fox with crippling social anxiety. Just to get by, I had to trick a black-and-gold python—who was in heat, no less—into a cuddle session. After I’d eaten my fill, I made a swift escape. By a stroke of luck, I stumbled into a new line of work among humans, a sort of… “fur-for-hire” business. “Thirty dollars for a session! All the pictures and pets you want! I’m soft, I smell great, and I’ll give you the royal treatment!” I was having the time of my life. Until one night, the python’s icy tail coiled around my waist. His voice was a low, menacing hiss. “You’re right. You are soft, and you smell great.” 1 I’m a white fox. My kind survives by cuddling up to others and absorbing their life force—what humans call ‘qi’—for sustenance. While we can get by on the qi of other animals, it’s the qi from humans that’s the most delicious and nutritious. Plus, by fox standards, humans are the epitome of beauty. Most of my peers choose human partners. I wanted to as well. But I am, without a doubt, the most socially anxious fox in existence. While other foxes my age were already mingling with humans—some even had litters of their own—I was too shy to even approach one. My family, seeing my malnourished, scrawny frame, finally had enough. They kicked me out, telling me to get over this “socially anxious” nonsense. But I’m a homebody. I rarely left my den, and now, after days of wandering aimlessly through the Silverfrost Woods, I was completely lost. The chances of running into a human were zero. My stomach was growling, my steps were unsteady, and my vision was blurry. At that point, any living creature that crossed my path would have become my dinner. Then, a stroke of luck—or misfortune. The path was slick, the night was dark, and I tumbled headfirst into a snake’s den. And landed right in the lap of a male python in heat. I remembered my mother’s warning before I left home: when a creature is in its half-human, half-beast form, it means they’re in rut. Stay away. Especially from adult male serpents. The python before me was exactly that: half-man, half-snake. But I was so dizzy with hunger that my mother’s words evaporated from my mind. Instinct took over. I pressed my face against him. I took a deep, intoxicating sniff of his neck and let out a sigh of pure bliss. “Oh, serpent,” I murmured. “You smell amazing.” 2 He smelled absolutely divine. I couldn’t help but lean in closer. But before I could bury my face in the firm plane of his chest, something cold and slick wrapped around my waist. I forced my heavy eyelids open and looked up, confused, at the black-and-gold python. His name was Kane. He narrowed his eyes, his tail tightening around me, pulling me away from him. His free hand wasn’t idle either; he poked curiously at my head, sizing me up. “A cub?” I was already dizzy from hunger, and now this serpent was prodding my skull. The world swam. I fought back a wave of nausea, shook my head, and grabbed his long, elegant finger. I licked my lips. “Serpent,” I pleaded, “I’m so hungry. Can we please… just cuddle?” He let out a soft chuckle and pulled his hand away. “I’m not interested in cubs.” I was so starved I couldn’t even maintain my human form. To him, I was just a scrawny, pathetic little fox kit, completely devoid of charm. I pouted, wanting to argue, but my underfed body was a testament to his words. I was tiny. “Just a little cuddle,” I begged. “I won’t do anything else.” He wasn’t the five-star meal a human would be, but he was all I had. He saw me as a child, so his guard would be down. Maybe I could sneak a little sip of his qi. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and watery, my fox tail swishing playfully behind me. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to,” he said, though his tone lacked any real malice. He was clearly just humoring what he thought was a child. “You foxes feed on life force.” Caught, I shrank back, embarrassed. “I have a really small appetite…” My voice trailed off as I saw the weariness in his eyes. He looked… uncomfortable. In pain, even. Serpents were supposed to be cunning, able to thrive in the human world. But here he was, holed up in this makeshift den, enduring his heat all alone. He must be an outcast, a serpent who got picked on. And if he was an outcast, he probably didn’t have a big human house or a warm bed to sleep in. An idea sparked. I dangled a more enticing offer. “I can keep your bed warm for you.” 3 “Winter is coming,” I pressed on. “Don’t you snakes hibernate? I can keep you warm all winter long!” He just shot me a cool glance, casually placing me on the ground beside him before smoothing out his messy nest of blankets and lying down. “Your tiny bit of fur wouldn’t even be enough to warm my hands,” he scoffed. It was clearly a temporary den, bare and lacking any comforts. Not even a proper blanket. As if he knew I didn’t have the guts to get any closer, Kane closed his eyes, settling down to rest. And he was right. I was scared. The hunger had made me reckless, but now that my head was a little clearer, caution returned. Serpents were notoriously fickle. He could decide to skin me for my fur in the next second. I could only pace anxiously around him, occasionally “accidentally” flicking my tail across his face. “I can also bring you beautiful fox-sisters to help you through your heat! You’re so handsome, the sisters would definitely love you.” While black-and-gold pythons weren’t typically my kind’s preference, his human form was undeniably gorgeous. An androgynous, striking beauty that would make anyone’s heart flutter. He was probably too intense for a serious relationship, more of a fling type, but still. I saw his eyelids twitch. It’s working! I thought, and quickly changed my tune. “Or handsome fox-brothers! I can bring them, too!” He flicked his tail in annoyance. “Tsk. So noisy. If you’re going to cuddle, do it quickly. And then shut up.” Oh! So that was his preference! No wonder a virile adult serpent in heat could resist a “cub” like me. He was into men. He should have just said so. I splayed my paws and pounced like a starving wolf, burying my face in his chest. A droplet of drool landed on his chin. I took a huge gulp of the golden qi radiating from him. The sweet, intoxicating energy filled my senses, and I almost cried out in pleasure. No wonder my friends were so obsessed with cuddling. This was incredible. 4 I was so full yesterday that I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, Kane’s finger was still in my mouth. I spat it out and wiped a bit of drool from my fur. It was the most satisfying meal of my life. I was so full I almost didn’t want to leave his embrace. It made me fantasize about what it would be like to cuddle with a human. It must be even more delicious. Lost in my daydream, a voice from above brought me back to reality. “Now that you’re full, go home.” I looked up at him, dazed. Perhaps it was because I’d drained some of his qi, but his voice was back to normal, no longer raspy like it had been yesterday. Kane looked at me with a sigh. “What? Still not full?” I shook my head, my attention drawn to his chest. I must have been quite rough yesterday; there were little scratches all over his skin. Yet, he hadn’t gotten angry with me at all. Our eyes met, and a thought flashed through my mind. Kane was a good serpent. I licked my lips guiltily. The saliva of beasts has healing properties, and we white foxes are no exception. I began to gently lick the faint red marks on his chest. The taste of blood, sweet and metallic, filled my mouth. A soft chuckle rumbled from above. Kane poked my forehead with a finger. “You weren’t so shy when you were draining my life force yesterday.” I just grinned at him. He was my meal ticket, after all. I had to stay on his good side. I rubbed my head against his palm affectionately, my tail wagging with extra vigor. He seemed to like the feel of my fur, and didn’t pull his hand away. But in the next moment, a searing heat shot through me, as if my whole body had been set on fire. No one could have predicted it. At that exact moment, I shifted into my human form. My head was still in his palm, and I was completely naked, sprawled on top of him. He froze. “You… you’re not a cub?” His gaze started to travel downwards. I shrieked. “Ah—!” I instinctively pressed myself against him, trying to cover my body. 5 I was on the verge of tears. “Don’t look at me!” Kane snapped back to reality and quickly shut his eyes. “Get off me—” “No! Then you’ll see everything!” His ears were turning red. He blindly tossed a pile of clothes in my direction, and then his entire body morphed into that of a massive black-and-gold python, its girth nearly as thick as my waist. The great serpent was trembling, as if fighting some immense pain. I was in pain, too. My blood felt like it was flowing backward, my heart was pounding, my head was spinning, and I couldn’t think straight. The only thing that brought any relief was pressing my face against his cool, smooth scales. “Waaaah… Kane… I feel so sick,” I sobbed. “Your blood… it’s poisonous… I think I’m dying. I’m going to die before I ever get to cuddle with a human. I haven’t even been in love yet…” I had been so careless. He was a venomous snake. I cried all over him, my tears streaking his dark scales. “Stop crying,” he hissed, his eyes squeezed shut in agony. “You’re not dying. My blood just forced you into an early heat.” My eyes shot open. I sat up and felt the fox ears on top of my head, then the tail behind me. Just as Kane said. I was in heat. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. The very day I came of age, my mother had thrown me out, simply telling me not to come back until I found a partner. This was my first time. I had no idea it was this agonizing. “What do I do?” I pressed my head against his cool, serpentine body, rubbing against him miserably. He flinched away as if shocked. His voice was trembling and harsh. “Don’t… don’t move.” I didn’t hear him clearly. I just shifted lower, seeking another cool spot to press against. Before I could move my face, Kane forced himself back into his half-human form and pushed my head away. His ears were getting redder, like boiled shrimp. “Don’t touch me there.” I completely broke down, my voice thick with tears as I reached for him. “Kane, please help me. Please. I’ll be good to you.” I murmured all sorts of sweet nothings, my mind a complete haze. He just pinched my cheeks and, when I opened my mouth to speak, popped a small black pill onto my tongue. My vision started to blur. I looked down and saw my body shrinking back into its fox form. I looked up at Kane, confused. He just grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, holding me in his hand, and gritted out, “Remember what you said!” Soon, I drifted into a deep, hazy sleep.

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When my wife refused a client’s drink, I smashed a bottle over her head—revenge for my past life. Last time, I drank myself unconscious to save her face. Woke up accused of abusing our daughter Nellie until she jumped off the roof. The suicide note claimed “years of abuse”—a lie. I adored her. But the security footage showed me beating her. Evelyn exposed me as a monster. My mother screamed “You animal!” as my father died of shock. In prison, inmates killed me. Then I woke up—back to Evelyn begging me to drink for her. This time, I’ll make her pay. … “Honey, my stomach is killing me. Can you please take this one for me?” Evelyn’s eyes were wide with a practiced innocence, a performance that was already starting to irritate our client, the overbearing Mr. Cross. “Come on, Ms. Lowell, bringing in a substitute?” he scoffed. “That’s not how you show commitment.” “We’re husband and wife, a team. It’s the same whether he drinks or I do, right, honey?” Those were the exact same words she used last time. And just like last time, Mr. Cross had used her plea as an excuse to pour drink after drink down my throat, insisting a substitute had to drink double. He’d left me completely obliterated. That was how they set the stage for framing me. But I was a good drunk. When I drank too much, I just passed out. I never got violent. And Nellie… she was my only child. I treasured her. The thought of hurting her was impossible. Yet, in my last life, as public outrage reached a fever pitch, Evelyn had tearfully revealed a body covered in bruises, accusing me of being a violent monster who had been secretly torturing her and our daughter for years. She produced the security footage, and that’s what sealed my fate. Remembering the agony of being wrongly condemned, of dying alone and hated, I didn’t hesitate. I snatched a wine bottle from the table and brought it down hard on Evelyn’s head. “You useless thing,” I snarled, my voice dripping with ice. “Mr. Cross is honoring you with his time. Stop playing the victim.” “Ah!” The bottle shattered, the sound echoing in the stunned silence of the room. Red wine and blood streamed down her face. “Whoa, hey, calm down, man! If she doesn’t want to drink, she doesn’t have to. No need to get violent!” I ignored Mr. Cross’s attempts to intervene. Grabbing another bottle, and then another, I relentlessly smashed them against Evelyn, who was now crumpled on the floor, clutching her bleeding head. This time, I’d strike first. Let’s see how she could frame me now. After Evelyn was rushed to the hospital, I walked straight into the nearest police station and turned myself in. With the surveillance footage from the restaurant and a dozen eyewitnesses, including Mr. Cross, they detained me on the spot. Later, my mother came to see me in the holding cell. Her face was etched with worry. “Leo, what happened? You and Evelyn have always been so happy. Why would you attack her like that? Did something happen?” she asked, her voice trembling. “If she did something to wrong you, I’ll support you in a divorce, but you can’t just… beat her, son.” I looked at her, at the silver strands in her hair, and finally asked the question that had haunted me from my last life. “Mom, do you believe me?” “Of course, I do! You’re my only son. I will always believe you!” A wave of relief washed over me. That was the answer I needed. Last time, it was only after seeing the “evidence” and hearing Evelyn’s lies that she had disowned me. This time, if I could gather enough proof, my mother would stand by my side. With that thought, I gripped her hand, my voice tight with urgency. “Is Nellie okay?” My mom looked puzzled. “Nellie? She’s at home, fast asleep. Why are you so worried about her all of a sudden?” I pleaded with her, my voice low and serious. “Please, Mom. You have to watch her. Don’t let anything happen to her. And please, don’t tell Dad about this.” She nodded, though her confusion remained. “Silly boy, of course I’ll take good care of Nellie. You don’t have to tell me that.” She sighed. “And your father… his heart can’t take this kind of stress. I told him Nellie missed me and I was coming to stay the night. He doesn’t know a thing.” I felt a profound sense of peace. After a few more instructions, I urged her to hurry back home to be with my daughter. As she left, the image of Nellie’s broken body from my last life flashed in my mind, a pain so sharp it stole my breath. How could a child so cherished, so protected, end up covered in wounds and driven to suicide? Was Evelyn the one who had hurt her, who had coerced her? This time, I would find out the truth. No matter the cost. … At four in the morning, Evelyn showed up at the station to post my bail. I was told she had come straight here the moment she was lucid. “Leo, I was wrong yesterday,” she began, her voice soft and hoarse. Her head and arms were wrapped in gauze, little spots of blood seeping through the white fabric. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying for hours. “I’ve been so focused on work lately, I haven’t made time for you and Nellie. It’s only natural you’d have some resentment to let out. I’ve already canceled that deal. From now on, I’ll spend more time with you and Nellie, okay?” She sounded so sincere, so broken, as if she was the one who had truly made a mistake. If I hadn’t lived through the hell of her betrayal, I might have actually believed her. Last time, she had deliberately covered herself in injuries and claimed I was the monster responsible. If I let her bail me out now, I knew I’d be walking right back into her trap, branded once again as a violent, abusive husband. I cut her off, my voice cold and flat. “No, thank you. What I did was wrong. I broke the law, and I’ll accept the punishment. You don’t need to bail me out.” Seeing her sweet words had no effect, a flicker of rage crossed her face before being quickly suppressed. She tried every angle, but I stood firm, insisting on staying in my cell. Eventually, my mother arrived and persuaded her to go home and rest. Before they left, Mom assured me that Nellie had slept soundly through the night and had already left for school that morning. In my past life, Nellie never went to school that day. That was the morning she jumped from the rooftop. My heart soared. I had done it. I had changed the timeline. My daughter was safe. Exhausted after a sleepless day and night, I finally collapsed onto the thin cot and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I was woken at three in the afternoon by a familiar, cheerful voice. “Daddy, I came to see you!” Nellie. My daughter, who had died so tragically in my last life, was standing right in front of me, vibrant and alive. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I almost burst into tears. “Daddy, why are you crying?” she asked, her little face scrunched in concern. “Mommy said you were protecting her from bad guys, and that’s why the police have to keep you here for a little while.” Her voice swelled with pride. “You’re a hero, Daddy. Heroes don’t cry!” Her words caught me off guard. Behind her, Evelyn gave me a subtle, knowing look. “Leo,” Evelyn said softly, stepping forward. “Nellie has been asking for you all day. She was starting to think you were mad at her since you weren’t there to take her to school.” My mom chimed in, smiling. “See, Nellie? I told you what Grandma and Mommy said was true.” Nellie nodded, her small hands gripping the iron bars of my cell. “Daddy, I made you a little red flower because you’re a big hero!” A lump formed in my throat. I reached through the bars and took her small hand in mine. As I looked at her innocent, lovely face, the horrific image of her bruised and broken body from my last life surged back. So many of those wounds were old scars, the kind that came from years of beatings. On impulse, I yanked up her sleeve. Her arm was smooth, pale, and perfect. There were no crisscrossing whip marks, no old, faded lines. So, what went wrong in my past life? It was impossible for a child to suddenly develop years’ worth of old scars overnight. My mind racing, I turned her around and lifted the back of her shirt. Again, her skin was flawless, not a single mark. My expression must have been terrifying because Nellie shrank back. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” “Nellie,” I asked, my voice strained, “has anyone been bullying you lately?” She hesitated for a second. “No. Why?” “Did… did Mommy hit you? Don’t be afraid, Nellie. We’re in a police station. You can tell the truth. The officers here will protect you.” She shook her head again, more firmly this time. “Mommy loves me. She would never, ever hit me.” Evelyn covered her face with her hands and began to sob. “Leo… how could you? Did you really think I would ever hurt our daughter? If I was that kind of person, why would I have told her you were a hero? I was just trying to protect her from hating you!” My mom sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. “Son, that’s not fair. We’ve all seen what a wonderful mother Evelyn has been all these years. You shouldn’t accuse her like that.” Just then, a guard came by to say that visiting hours were over. Evelyn scooped Nellie into her arms and left, still crying. My mom lingered for a moment, her voice low with frustration. “Leo, you went too far this time. Evelyn is a good wife. You had no right to hurt her like that based on some wild suspicion.” As I watched them walk away, a fog of confusion settled over me. Could it be? Was my last life, with all its horror, really just a terrible nightmare? My hand was damp with sweat, clutching the little red paper flower Nellie had given me. I glanced down at it. And my blood ran cold. My past life wasn’t a dream. It was real. … That night, staring at the blank wall of my cell, I replayed every single detail of my previous life. Ever since I’d woken up in this new reality, I’d been tormented by the same questions. Why would the daughter I adored write a suicide note condemning me? How did I wake up one morning transformed from a loving father into a reviled monster, without having done a thing? And why would Evelyn, the woman who had always seemed to love me, suddenly turn on me, revealing a body full of wounds and branding me a sadist? The questions were a maze with no exit, each one a dead end that left my head pounding. I desperately sifted through my memories, searching for any clue, any detail I might have missed. It wasn’t until I truly looked at the little red flower from Nellie that the fog finally began to lift. I knew then that I couldn’t just wait for things to happen. I had to take control. At dawn, I had an officer call Evelyn. I told her I had come to my senses and wanted to get out. I apologized, telling her I never should have hit her that night. Through her sobs, Evelyn said she forgave me. She immediately signed the papers, dropping the charges, and I was released. I went back to my old routine, driving Nellie to and from school. The moment she disappeared through the school gates, I made a call to a private investigator. He was fast. In less than half a day, he had answers to all my questions. Staring at the report on my phone, my hands clenched so tightly I thought the screen would shatter. The truth was even more twisted than I could have imagined. There was a secret buried so deep I never would have found it on my own. “I have another job for you,” I said into the phone, my voice low and grim. “I need it done fast. And no one can know.” Two days later, it was Nellie’s birthday. Evelyn, true to her word, had cancelled all her work and thrown a lavish party in our backyard. Despite the summer heat, she wore a wide-brimmed hat and a long-sleeved dress, graciously accepting praise from our guests. Nellie, dressed like a little princess, beamed as she thanked everyone for her gifts. Finally, she took my hand, her smile radiant. “Thank you, Daddy, for always spoiling me. But I have a gift for you, too.” She started pulling me towards the house, towards the stairs. She playfully shooed everyone else away, planting her hands on her hips and declaring, “This is a special secret, just for my daddy!” The guests chuckled at her adorable antics. I smiled, a strange calm settling over me, and let her lead me up to the rooftop. “Okay, Daddy, close your eyes and count to ten. No peeking!” She tied a black blindfold over my eyes, and I heard her small voice begin the countdown. “…three, two, one.” As she said the last word, a sickening thud echoed from the yard below. I tore off the blindfold. The space on the rooftop where my daughter had just been standing was empty. Screams erupted from the party below. I rushed downstairs. There, on the manicured lawn, lay my daughter, facedown, broken. Her death was just as gruesome as it had been in my last life. And on the rooftop, once again, was a suicide note. The words were the same. A heart-wrenching letter from a daughter who called her father a monster. She couldn’t take the constant beatings, she wrote. She was terrified of being alone with me. She didn’t want to live anymore. Evelyn threw herself onto the bloody, mangled body, her wails tearing through the air, a perfect echo of the last time. “Leo! I thought… I thought you only hurt me! I thought you still loved our daughter! I never imagined you were this much of a monster!” With a dramatic flourish, she ripped off her hat and tore the sleeves from her dress, revealing a head and arms covered in ugly, healing wounds. “You were all asking why I was so covered up! It’s because of this! Because of the injuries he gave me!” A collective gasp went through the crowd. Sobbing, Evelyn launched into her story, painting me as a depraved sadist who had tormented her for years. When she told them how I’d smashed bottles over her head in front of Mr. Cross, putting her in the hospital, the mood turned venomous. Mr. Cross himself stepped out of the crowd, his face a mask of fury. He slammed his glass down. “Ms. Lowell begged us to keep quiet to protect you, but I see now we were protecting a demon!” he roared. “We all saw it! He beat her until she was bleeding on the floor!” “And he didn’t just beat his wife,” someone else shouted. “He beat his daughter, too!” The accusations flew, a storm of hatred directed at me. Evelyn’s grief reached a crescendo. “Nellie, my baby! It’s my fault! My silence is what killed you!” My mother rushed forward and grabbed my arm, her own voice shaking. “Leo, I don’t believe it! You were always such a kind boy! Tell them you didn’t do these things! Tell them!” I stared back at her, my face a blank mask. I pulled my arm from her grasp. “I did it,” I said, my voice calm and clear. The world exploded. Someone called the police. Someone else pulled out their phone and started a live stream. “Breaking news! Leo Lowell, heir to the Lowell Corporation, has just confessed to years of abuse against his wife and daughter! His daughter jumped to her death moments ago after leaving a suicide note!” The comments on the live stream flooded in. [HOLY SHIT. I thought he was just some useless husband riding his wife’s coattails. Turns out he’s a murderous psychopath!] [His wife is a saint! She built up his company, gave him a child, and this is how he repays her? He deserves to rot!] [I bet she didn’t jump. I bet he pushed her! They need to investigate!] [Agree! He was alone with her on the roof, right? He totally pushed her!] My mother screamed at them, threatening to sue them for slander. But Evelyn, slowly rising from her daughter’s body, cut through the noise. “Our rooftop has security cameras,” she announced, her voice trembling but firm. “And… and I put a camera on Nellie.” She paused, taking a shaky breath. “Three years ago, I started noticing that every time I came back from a business trip, Nellie would have new bruises. When I asked her, she’d just say she fell while riding her horse. I was terrified he was doing to her what he did to me. So I finally found the courage to confront him.” Her voice cracked. “While he was asleep, I held a knife to his throat. I told him, ‘If you need to hit someone, hit me. But if you ever touch our daughter again, I will kill you in your sleep.’ He was scared. He promised he’d never hurt her again. I actually believed him.” Tears streamed down her face. “But I was a fool. He just found other ways to hurt her… ways I couldn’t see.” She turned to the large projection screen set up for the party and connected her phone. The video that filled the screen was horrifying. It showed me, in my car, my face contorted in a vicious snarl as I jabbed a thin needle into Nellie’s arm again and again. My daughter’s small voice, choked with tears, pleaded, “Daddy, it hurts so much… please, please stop…” “That bastard!” someone in the crowd yelled, hurling a rock that struck my forehead, drawing blood. Evelyn changed the video. Now it was the rooftop security footage. It showed Nellie blindfolding me. She counted down to one. Then, her eyes filled with tears, she looked towards the camera and spoke, her voice clear and chilling. “Daddy, my gift to you is my life… in exchange for your arrest.” With that, she dropped the suicide note and, without a backward glance, stepped off the edge. That was the final blow for my mother. She could no longer defend me. “You monster!” she shrieked, throwing her own phone at my face. It hit my nose with a sickening crunch, and warmth flooded down my lips. “I wish I’d never given birth to you!” She scrambled over to Nellie’s body, cradling it in her arms. “Nellie, my sweet granddaughter… Grandma’s monster is the one who did this to you!” Evelyn’s voice rose in a final, gut-wrenching scream of accusation. “When you were in that cell, you apologized! I thought you were sorry! I was stupid enough to feel pity and bail you out! And you used that freedom to drive my daughter to her death! If you had a problem, you should have taken it out on me! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL MY DAUGHTER?” Amidst the chaos, a cruel smile spread across my face. “She jumped herself. How is that my fault?” That single sentence ignited the crowd. “You inhuman beast! You don’t deserve to be a father! You deserve the death penalty!” A hail of bottles and stones rained down on me. People spat at me. I was bruised, bleeding, but I just laughed louder. Because the only way for the truth to be seen was to make the spectacle as big as possible. “Everyone, stop! The person who killed Nellie Lowell is not him!” The voice cut through the roar of the mob. I knew that voice. The person I was waiting for had finally arrived. The show was about to begin.

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I dive into the horror game, and my inner perv goes wild. I snatch the whip from the final boss, strip him down, and tie him up. The next second, I’m on the floor, convulsing from a system-inflicted electric shock. System: 【Hey there! Watch an ad to unlock this scene, hon!】 I wipe the blood from my nose and swipe my credit card to skip. When I come to, the boss has me pinned beneath him. His fingers trace the lines of my trembling body, a souvenir from the electric shock. His eyes darken. “Does this get you zapped, too?” With every soft kiss he plants on my skin, a fresh jolt of electricity courses through me. My screams are swallowed by his lips. Numb and overwhelmed, I try to crawl away, sobbing. He yanks me back, his expression unreadable. “Where are you going? It’s not like I’m going to eat you.” 1. 【Player Kira has logged in. The system will now match you with other players.】 【Estimated time: 5 seconds.】 … After escaping the Rose Hotel, I was transported back to the real world. Under the rose bush in my yard, my brother’s body was gone. In its place was a quivering, dark, gooey substance. It was Corby, the strange creature I’d accidentally befriended in the last game. I can’t believe he followed me back to reality. Does this mean… I can bring my brother out of the game, too? Every day, I waited eagerly for the next horror instance to begin. But to my disappointment, I couldn’t get back in. Just as I was sinking into despair, a month later, an anonymous package arrived. Inside the box was a complete virtual reality setup, technology far beyond anything I’d ever seen. There was also a silver card with a single question etched onto it: 【Are you willing to step through the door of terror once more?】 2. 【Ding—】 【Player matching successful.】 【Welcome to the game instance: Phantom Penitentiary.】 【Victory Condition—】 【Help the protagonist clear their name.】 The cold, electronic voice echoed in my ears again. I opened my eyes. The familiar training grounds were gone, replaced by a bare, empty room. The system’s final words resonated around me: 【Inmate 0371, has entered the facility.】 Well, then. The good news: I’m not the protagonist this time. The bad news: I’m locked up in a high-security prison. The realization that I was a prisoner hit me, and I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. No wonder it took a month for me to get another chance to enter the game. The damn system was serving me a shit sandwich. The room was pitch-black, the only light coming from the faint glow of the electronic bracelet on my wrist. I used its weak luminescence to feel my way around the dark. Unfortunately, besides the cot I was lying on, the room was completely empty. As I fumbled my way towards the door, the long-lost live commentary reappeared: 【OMG! No way! Kira is back online! I thought she was a glitch, a staff mistake!】 【Yeah! I was so sad when I heard we wouldn’t see her play again. But I don’t get it. If she didn’t commit a crime, why would she come back? This isn’t a joke. You can actually die in these games!】 【Are you stupid? Her brother is in here! They’re so in love, and he’s so hot. If it were me, I’d come back for him in a heartbeat.】 【If I remember correctly, her brother is Silas, right? Silas killed Kira, that’s why he’s trapped in the horror game. Are you sure they’re ‘in love’?】 【I don’t care! Silas was definitely framed! When they left the last game, the way he looked at her… that wasn’t a brother looking at his sister. That was the look of a man who wanted to crush her, to devour her piece by piece!】 【Is he a Power Ranger? What do you mean he ‘glows’? You trying to get yourself killed with takes like that?】 … From a dark corner of the cell, a wet, slick sound slithered across the wall. My body jolted. I spun around, staring into the darkness where the sound had come from. Strangely, there was nothing there. “Corby?” I called out tentatively. Still no response. Weird. Was I imagining things? I could have sworn I smelled rust. Knowing he was hiding from me, I sighed and lay back down on the bed, closing my eyes to rest. The moment I did, I felt a tickling sensation on my face, like something was poking me. I suppressed a smirk. I kept my eyes closed, waiting for ‘him’ to let his guard down before slowly peeling one eyelid open. In the darkness, a monster was hanging upside-down from the ceiling, its single eyeball emitting a cold, eerie glow as it watched my every move. Seeing it, the tension in my body eased slightly. It was hard to see, but the single eye and the foul stench… it had to be Corby. His eye was a deep, shimmering black, just staring at me blankly. He looked so docile, it made my heart itch. I couldn’t resist anymore. I opened my eyes fully and cupped his face. “Aww, Corby, you’re so cute! Mommy’s gonna give you a big kiss!” “Corby, Mommy missed you so much!” “You’re such a good boy. I knew you’d find a way to come in with me.” Ever since I found out Corby was… created from the flesh and blood of my brother and me, I’d forced him to call me Mommy. The live comments erupted in agony: 【Sisters, you carry on. I’m just gonna go throw up for a minute.】 【I told you she has a thing for ugly creatures. She can even bring herself to kiss that hideous face.】 【I’m crying, she’s so dedicated. No wonder her popularity on TerrorStream is through the roof. The producers even spent a fortune to give her a dedicated camera angle, something usually reserved for the main protagonist. She deserves it.】 He’s not a hideous monster. He’s my precious baby. Our big, beautiful boy. As if startled by my sudden movement, a flicker of panic crossed ‘his’ eye. In a flash, ‘he’ vanished back into the darkness, thinking he was well-hidden, curled up silently in a corner. He even squeezed his eye shut, as if that would make him invisible. I was speechless. After a moment of silence, I walked over to him. The closer I got, the more that familiar, pungent odor filled my nostrils. It was sharp, but strangely comforting. I breathed a sigh of relief. It really was Corby. His long, dark hair brushed against my fingertips, tickling me. I curled my fingers, wrapping a strand of his hair around them and giving it a gentle tug. “Corby?” I smiled. The single eye remained tightly shut. I feigned anger and poked his eyelid. “Why aren’t you talking? Cat got your tongue?” Startled by the sudden touch, Corby flinched. Seeing him about to bolt, I quickly yanked him down from the ceiling and gave ‘him’ a massive hug, nuzzling my face into ‘his’ chest. “Where are you going? It’s not like I’m going to eat you.” I closed my eyes, overcome with maternal affection. It hadn’t even been half a day, but I’d missed him terribly. I patted him here and there. Feeling his arms and legs, a question popped into my head. “Corby, why are your arms so thick? Did you sneak some snacks after I left?” “And look at these legs! And this waist is huge!” “Also, didn’t I tell you to take a bath every day? Why do you still smell so much like blood?” I nagged like a mother hen, my confusion growing. I’d only been gone for half a day. How did he grow into such a behemoth? He was a whole size bigger. I was truly baffled. “Wait, since when do you have abs? Do you monsters work out now?” “And… why are you hiding a club…” My hand froze. I didn’t dare explore any further. I could feel the ‘club’ in my palm growing larger. A horrible realization dawned on me. My smile stiffened. I swallowed hard, not daring to move. “Um… Corby… is that you?” I asked hesitantly. “Are you talking to me?” From above my head, a voice, deep and raspy like a broken machine, grated out. If I had any doubts before, they were gone now. The moment the monster spoke, I was certain. This wasn’t Corby at all! This was a man’s voice! There were only two of us in here. Who else could it be?! And how did he manage to stay silent for so long?! A chill ran down my spine. I stiffly craned my neck to look up at him. The monster’s eyeball was glowing brighter now, casting a sinister, cold light. Just then, my bracelet must have brushed against something, because it lit up, illuminating his entire face. Let’s just say he was even more of a visual train wreck than Corby. Far more. Matted hair, a face of mangled flesh, and a dark red slime dripping from his body. I never thought I’d find a monster uglier than Corby. 3. A single, explosive “Holy shit!” escaped my lips. I scrambled back, yanking my hands away and pushing off him, my back hitting the far wall. I shuddered, biting my tongue hard to suppress the bile rising in my throat. I wanted to claw a hole in the wall and disappear. I frantically wiped the hand that had touched him on my clothes, forcing myself to picture my brother’s face just to keep from vomiting. The monster’s single eye darkened. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice a low rumble. “Disgusted?” Being stared at with such ‘intensity,’ I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “No, no, no, of course not!” I denied frantically. “I couldn’t possibly like you more!” He let out a dry chuckle. “Is that so?” I nodded vigorously. “Mhm!” His black eyeball stared deep into mine for a moment before closing heavily. He turned his back to me, silent. For a long while, he just stood there. Finally, he lifted his foot as if to leave. Seeing this, my tense body began to relax. But before I could even let out a sigh of relief… He—shook—his—body—like—a—wet—dog. Except dogs shake off water. He had no fur. He was covered in dripping, crimson slime. The viscous liquid, mixed with blood, flew in a perfectly calculated arc, drenching me completely. Just before he left, he glanced back at me, a look of profound grievance in his single eye. “…” Standing there, covered in filth, my feelings were… complicated. What the hell was that for? 4. The timer on my bracelet hit 5:00 AM. With a cold, electronic ding, the dead silence of the prison was broken, and it came alive. It was still pitch-black, but now I could hear the voices of other players, distant and near. If I listened closely, I could even make out the sound of someone sobbing quietly. Suddenly, a set of bold red letters lit up the wall. 【Welcome to the Phantom Penitentiary Factory.】 All inmates must adhere to the following rules— 【1. Inmates must remember their number and arrive at the designated location before the countdown ends.】 【2. Your electronic bracelet will display your destination.】 【3. Factory maintenance hours are from 20:00 to 05:00. Please refrain from wandering unless absolutely necessary.】 【4. The Warden’s orders are absolute and must not be defied.】 【Finally, romantic relationships are strictly forbidden within the prison factory!】 【Violators will be punished!】 For some reason, as that last rule was announced, a strange feeling washed over me. It felt… out of place among the other life-or-death rules. Just then, the cold, electronic voice returned: 【All players are now active. Mission directives have been issued.】 【Player count: 300.】 【Good luck.】 The words had barely faded when the lights flashed on. The sudden brightness was blinding. I instinctively threw a hand up to shield my eyes. At the same time, my bracelet started beeping frantically. I squinted, fumbling with the device, trying to turn it off. But aside from its alarm and glowing function, it seemed to have no other features. Not a single button. Giving up, I sighed and started searching the room for a way out. The walls were made of a cold, silvery metal, and even the cell door was constructed from some high-tech material. Getting out of here was going to be next to impossible. The shrill alarm from my bracelet hammered at my nerves: “Inmate, please proceed to the designated location.” “Inmate, please proceed to the designated location.” … The door was flush with the wall, practically seamless. The realization made me pause. So. How did that monster get in? And how did it get out? Time was ticking away, and I still couldn’t find an exit. My brow furrowed, sweat beading on my forehead. The countdown on my bracelet showed only ten minutes left. I forced myself to calm down and searched the room one more time. It was only when I got close to the door again that I heard it—a faint beep-beep. I pressed my ear against the door to listen more closely, but the sound vanished. I glanced down at my bracelet, then stepped back from the door and approached it again. The crisp, electronic beep returned. After a moment’s hesitation, I steadied myself and walked forward. Just as I suspected. As I moved, the silver cell door began to turn transparent. By the time I had stepped completely through, the door behind me solidified back to its original state. 5. I was out of the cell. I wiped the sweat from my face. The first thing I saw was a giant elevator in the center of the massive, open-atrium prison, running straight up to the highest floors. My cell was on the fifth floor, at the far end, a good distance from the elevator. The entire prison was a massive cylindrical structure, at least seventeen stories high. But my bracelet indicated my destination was on the eighteenth floor. As more and more people escaped their cells, a crowd formed in front of the giant elevator. I scanned the faces. Everyone looked utterly bewildered. The elevator doors were closed, but the countdown continued. With only eight minutes left, the electronic voice chimed in again. 【Initial phase: Cell escape. 13 players failed. Current player count: 287.】 【Round one will now officially begin.】 【Players must reach the designated location on the top floor within eight minutes.】 【Please note: The main elevator ascends one floor per minute and can only hold 20 people at a time.】 【Alternatively, players may use the pedestrian stairwell located next to the elevator. Friendly reminder: The stairwell is teeming with anomalies. One wrong step and you might just end up in a monster’s gaping maw.】 So, do I fight 287 people for a spot on an elevator that only holds 20, or do I risk the stairwell filled with unknown dangers? The stairwell was not only dangerous, but I’d also have to sprint to the top floor in a ridiculously short amount of time. This isn’t looking good, I thought. Screams echoed from above as bodies began to fall from the upper levels. In the end, I chose the stairs. Perhaps the only thing more terrifying than monsters are desperate people who have lost their minds.

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I’m the mother of Ethan Chase, the A-list superstar. And I’m the person he hates most in the world. For ten years, I’ve kept to myself on this quiet farm, and for ten years, my son and I have been strangers. But now, he’s brought an entire film crew back to this place—the very place he swore he’d never set foot in again—to film a reality show about rural life. The director is trying to convince me to let him stay, promising a hefty paycheck. Ethan just stands there, silent as a cold, marble statue. I’m about to send him packing, just like I did in my last life. But then, lines of text, visible only to me, begin to drift before my eyes. 1. 【OMG, the legendary scene! This is it, the moment his mom crushes him for the last time and he finally gives up all hope!】 【He picked this show on purpose, you know. He knew it was his mom’s farm. He just wanted a reason to see her.】 【Look at his hands! A hand meant for playing the piano… he practiced farm work for a month straight just to come here, and now it’s covered in calluses.】 The words were like a scalpel, slicing open a heart I’d long since sealed away. In my last life, I threw him and the entire crew out. I called him a sellout, a disgrace to the family name. I blamed him for his father’s death. I watched the light in his eyes fade, flicker by flicker, until it was gone. He turned around and walked away, a final, clean break. After that, he never came back. Not even when I was dying, alone on this farm. After I died, my soul lingered, and I saw him. He had locked himself in his room, clutching the only faded photograph he had of me, sobbing like a child abandoned by the entire world. It wasn’t that he didn’t love me. It was that he’d forgotten how. It wasn’t that he didn’t resent me. His resentment ran deeper than I could have ever imagined. “Ma’am, he’s your son, after all! Even just for the show, please let him stay. The compensation we’re offering is very generous.” The director was still pleading, his voice earnest. “And besides,” he added, “he specifically requested that his entire appearance fee be transferred directly to you.” At the mention of this, Ethan, who had been silent all this time, lowered his head, his shoulders slumping. It was the look of someone stripped of all their armor, revealing the softest, most vulnerable wound beneath. In my last life, I thought this was his way of humiliating me. Buying his way back into my life with money. But the floating text told me otherwise. 【My heart is breaking for him. Ethan’s just worried his mom doesn’t have enough money. He’s so bad at this, it’s the only way he knows how to show he cares. ㅠㅠ】 An invisible hand seemed to clench around my heart, squeezing until I could barely breathe. I looked at Ethan, my son, so familiar yet a complete stranger. A decade had passed. He was a man now, tall and strong, but his eyes still held the same stubborn glint I remembered from his childhood. My throat was raw. I swallowed down the tempest raging inside me and, with every ounce of strength I had, forced out three words. “Let him stay.” The director stared, sure he’d misheard. Ethan’s head snapped up. In his dead, empty eyes, a flicker of astonishment—a tiny, unbelieving spark of light—appeared for the first time. I didn’t look at him. I turned and went back inside, my voice as hard and cold as iron. “You can stay. Just stay out of my way.” 2. The crew was ruthlessly efficient. Within half an hour, cameras had sprouted in every corner of the farmhouse like metallic weeds. Ethan was given his childhood room. Untouched for ten years, it held nothing but an old wooden bed and a desk, both shrouded in a thick coat of dust. A young actress named Lily, one of the hottest starlets of the moment, had tagged along. She stepped into the room and let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my God, how can anyone live here? Ethan, honey, why don’t you switch with me? My room is smaller, but at least it’s clean.” She reached out to grab his arm as she spoke. Ethan instinctively sidestepped, his brow furrowed in annoyance. Lily’s hand was left hanging awkwardly in the air, a blush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. 【Ugh, here we go again with this Lily girl. She’s been glued to our Ethan since they got on the plane.】 【She definitely paid her way onto this show. Just trying to ride his coattails. So annoying!】 【Insider info, guys. Not only did she pay to be here, but she was sent by the rival studio. Her whole job is to ruin Ethan’s reputation!】 I was about to wipe down the desk with a rag, but my hand froze when I saw that last comment. Seeing Ethan ignore her, Lily’s eyes darted around before landing on me. She clicked over in her high heels, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Ma’am,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension, “you could have at least tried to tidy up a bit. You knew a huge star was coming. Someone like Ethan is used to luxury. How can you let him stay in a place like this?” Her voice was just loud enough for the nearby boom mics to pick up every single word. She was trying to paint me as a negligent mother and Ethan as a spoiled brat. In my last life, I would have fallen for it, believing the world had indeed turned my son soft and deepening my disdain for him. But now, her voice was nothing but an irritating buzz. I ignored her, walking straight to Ethan’s bed. I ripped the yellowed, dusty sheets off the mattress and threw them onto the floor, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Then, I pulled a fresh set of linens from the closet and began to make the bed. The quilt smelled of sunshine. I had aired it out just a few days ago, intending to use it myself this winter. I never imagined… Once I was done, I looked at Ethan, who was still standing there, stunned. My tone remained flat, devoid of warmth. “I’ve made the bed. You sweep the floor and wipe the desk. If you can’t handle it, you can leave.” 3. Ethan didn’t seem to hear me. His eyes were fixed on the new quilt. In those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes, a storm of emotions was brewing: shock, confusion, and a sliver of vulnerability I couldn’t quite decipher. 【Whoa! What is happening?! A mother and son who haven’t spoken in ten years, and she’s making his bed for him?】 【Is that… Am I seeing things? The little bear pattern on the quilt… isn’t that the one Ethan loved as a kid?】 【I’m crying, you guys! His mom never stopped loving him! She remembers everything!】 The comments were scrolling by in a frenzy. Only then did I notice the pattern on the duvet cover: a few clumsy-looking, hand-stitched brown bears. I had sewn it for him myself, back when his father was still alive. He had treasured it. Even after he grew too tall for it, he refused to throw it away. The day I sent him to boarding school, he’d tried to take it with him. I wouldn’t let him. “You’re a grown boy now,” I’d chided. “Stop acting like a baby with that childish thing. It’s embarrassing.” His eyes had turned red then and there. I had just grabbed the first quilt I found, never realizing it held so much history. A dull ache started to spread through my chest again. Lily, seeing that she was being completely ignored, stomped her foot in frustration and stormed out. Ethan finally snapped out of his trance. He picked up the broom from the corner and, without a word, began to sweep. He was clumsy, but methodical. That afternoon, the director announced the first task: repairing the collapsed western fence. It was the most back-breaking work on the farm. Ethan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the tools and headed outside. Lily followed him, teetering on her heels under a parasol. “Ethan, sweetie,” she cooed, “you can’t be expected to do this kind of manual labor. Just have the production team hire some workers.” Ethan paid her no mind. He reached the fence and began heaving the heavy wooden posts into place. His form was good; it was clear he had practiced. Under the hot sun, beads of sweat traced the sharp line of his jaw, dripping into the dirt below. My gaze fell on his hands. Those beautiful, slender hands, born to dance across ivory keys, were now covered in a web of new cuts and old calluses. Just like the comments had said. My heart felt like it was steeping in bitter tea, sharp and scalding. Suddenly, Lily let out a piercing shriek. Her ankle twisted, and she stumbled, falling straight toward a pile of sharpened wooden stakes. 4. “Look out!” Ethan moved like a flash. He dropped his tools, lunged forward, and yanked Lily back from the brink. She collapsed into his arms, her hands clinging tightly to his waist. She burrowed her face into his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “Ethan, you saved me! I was so scared… thank you…” The cameras swarmed them instantly, perfectly capturing the “hero saves the damsel” moment. 【OMG! I ship it! I ship it! Ethan’s got that protector vibe on lockdown!】 【Lily and Ethan forever! This is so sweet!】 【Am I the only one who thinks she did that on purpose? The ground is perfectly flat. How do you just ‘twist your ankle’ like that?】 【@personabove You’re just jealous! It was an accident! Our Lily is just a little clumsy!】 The comments section descended into chaos. I watched with cold eyes. Lily’s little scheme was painfully obvious. With one fall, she’d cemented her “clumsy but cute” persona and manufactured a ship with Ethan, guaranteeing a top spot on the trending lists. Ethan’s brow was furrowed so deeply you could lose a coin in it. He tried to push her away, but she was clinging to him for dear life. With the cameras rolling, he couldn’t be too forceful. “It’s okay. You can stand up now,” he said, his voice laced with ice. But Lily only doubled down, her crying growing louder. “My ankle… it hurts so much. I think it’s sprained. I can’t walk…” She looked up at him with wide, teary eyes, her intention crystal clear. She wanted him to carry her. A single photo of him doing so would be all it took for tomorrow’s headlines: “Ethan Chase and Lily’s Romance Exposed!” I put down my work and walked over. I didn’t look at either of them. I bent down, picked up a long bamboo cane from the ground, and weighed it in my hand. Then, I lightly tapped a large rock near where Lily was standing. “The snakes around here,” I said, my voice calm and even, “love to coil up in cool, dark spots like that rock cleft.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, and everyone heard it. “They’re not venomous, but their bite hurts like hell. And they hold a grudge. If one thinks you’ve invaded its territory, it’ll chase you all the way back to the house.” Lily’s sobs died in her throat. Her face went pale, her body rigid. A second later, she shot up from Ethan’s arms like a startled rabbit and scrambled behind the director, moving with an agility that completely betrayed her “sprained” ankle. The entire set fell silent. Ethan stared at me, his expression unreadable. Ignoring the stunned looks from the crew, I turned to my son. “If that fence isn’t fixed by nightfall,” I said, my voice flat, “you don’t get any dinner.” Then I turned and walked away without another word, leaving the buzzing comment section in my wake. 【HOLY CRAP! This mom is a legend! Shut down that green-tea bitch with a single sentence!】 【The ultimate schemer-detector! I’m taking notes!】 【Wait, isn’t this weird? I thought she hated Ethan. Why would she help him out of that jam?】

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