Seven years into our relationship, I went from being his pinned contact to having my messages muted. He would only reply to me once a day, at six in the evening, sharp. Our conversations, once filled with “I miss you,” “What did you eat?” and “What did you do today?” had dwindled to a single, daily question: “Are you coming home for dinner?” He once joked to a friend that our relationship was like that of “family members who sleep back-to-back.” No spark, but unbreakable. I broke up with him at ten in the morning. By the time he finally saw the message, I was already on a train heading south. Noah’s voice was laced with disbelief. “Mia, is this because of Clara? She’s just a colleague. You have to believe me.” “If you’re angry, you can hit me, yell at me, whatever you want. If you want to get married, we can go to the courthouse right now.” My voice was flat. “Noah, seven years is a long time. Long enough for you to run out of time to tell me you don’t love me that much anymore.” 1 “Why’d you lie to your girl and say you were working late? What’s the big deal about grabbing a drink with the guys?” “You know what they say about the seven-year itch, right? You’re not thinking of trading up, are you?” The high-pitched voice drifted from the slightly ajar private room. It was Leo, Noah’s best friend and business partner. “What are you talking about? We’ve been together since college. Even if there’s no… we’re already family.” “I want to marry her,” Noah’s voice was quiet, but if you listened closely, you could hear the exhaustion lacing his words. “But it feels like something’s missing.” I looked down at the stomach medicine in my hand and silently slipped it back into my bag. Noah had a sensitive stomach. In the years we’d been together, I’d gone from a kitchen novice to a master of medicinal cuisine. Even when he worked late and didn’t come home, I’d call to make sure he ate. After years of this, his stomach problems had become rare. But lately, his project had been intense, and he’d been coming home later and later. I was about to call him when I absentmindedly opened my social media and saw Leo’s latest post. It was a blurry photo. The private room was dimly lit, a few bottles of expensive liquor on the table. A tall, well-dressed man sat on the couch. The tie around his neck was the one I had knotted for him that morning. Now it hung loose and undone. He had shed the serious, professional demeanor he wore at the office, replaced by a rare, languid weariness. Beside him was Clara, the head of the company Noah was collaborating with. She was young, beautiful, and had a warm, outgoing personality. She had fallen for Noah at first sight. But Noah had always been polite and distant with her. Standing outside, I watched them. The way Noah looked at her… it seemed to have changed. I stepped back into the shadows and turned to leave. 2 “Noah, let’s break up.” I had spent the entire night composing the message, editing it hundreds of times before finally hitting send. I looked around the apartment we had lived in for over two years. From the decor to every piece of furniture, I had arranged it all myself. Leaving now, a part of me was reluctant. Especially the room next to the master bedroom, which housed my most treasured collection of figurines. Ever since we got together, Noah always found a reason. A day when the sky was particularly blue, or the sun was especially bright. Seeing someone on the street who looked just like me. A sudden downpour that reminded him of the day we first met… And, of course, he never missed a birthday, holiday, or anniversary. All of them were excuses to buy me a gift. Even during the years when we were struggling, I never felt like I was missing out. Later, when his business took off and we had more money, the collection grew. So much so that when we moved, we dedicated an entire room just for my “little guys.” Now, a whole wall of display cases was filled to the brim. I knew the exact spot for every single one. The “Mia’s Haven” plaque on the door was also handmade by Noah. “From now on, they are my family,” I had declared, my hands on my hips, pointing proudly at the wall of figurines. “If you ever bully me, I’ll come and tell on you to them.” He had immediately pretended to be scared, raising his hands in surrender. “I promise to be at your beck and call, my queen!” But his eyes were laughing, his voice full of adoration. Noah and I rarely fought. I could only remember one real argument. I had stormed out, furious, and stayed away for a whole day. Noah had searched for me like a man possessed. When he found me, he held me so tight I could barely breathe. “Mia, if I ever make you angry again, you can hit me, you can yell at me, just please don’t let me not be able to find you, okay?” His voice was thick with a fear he couldn’t hide. My heart ached. I knew I had really scared him this time. My anger softened. I muttered, “Can’t you just not make me angry?” He immediately apologized, his voice choked with emotion. After that, whenever I was in a bad mood, I would hide in “Mia’s Haven.” He would find me right away. He’d hold me carefully, whispering cheesy pickup lines he’d learned from somewhere until he made me laugh. Noah was a truly wonderful boyfriend. So, over time, even the bad moods became rare. And this unspoken understanding between us was slowly forgotten. And so it was that last night, from dusk till dawn, I didn’t go to my haven to complain, and he forgot to come home. 3 I bought a one-way train ticket south, with no specific destination in mind. I wanted to clear my head and see the country along the way. As I was leaving with my things, Noah walked in. He was surprised to see me with a suitcase. “Are you… going on a business trip?” “I quit my job.” I smiled. “I’m going to do some traveling.” “You quit?” He froze for a second, then walked over, his voice laced with concern. “What happened? Did someone give you a hard time?” I hesitated, unsure how to begin. He was the only boyfriend I’d ever had. I didn’t know how to break up with someone gracefully. We had been together for seven years. Even if the ending wasn’t perfect, a single text message felt… insufficient. “Noah, we need to talk.” I glanced at the time. 10:20 AM. I had two hours before my train left. There were some things I needed to say to him in person. “Now?” He looked at his watch, a conflicted expression on his face. “Mia, I have a flight in a bit. I have to be out of town for two days. Can we talk when I get back?” “But I have something important…” “The project is almost finished.” He cut me off, his gentle tone forcing me to back down. “As soon as things are wrapped up there, I’ll come find you. We can travel together then, how does that sound?” I swallowed the words I wanted to say and nodded. “Have you bought your ticket? Where are you going? What time is your train?” He handed me something. “I won this in a blind box at dinner. Brought it back for you.” “Southlake. I’m leaving soon.” I took the blind box and set it aside without a second glance. “Aren’t you going to open it?” He sensed my lack of interest, his brow furrowing. Usually, I would have torn it open immediately, jumping up and down with excitement and giving him a huge hug. “Dinner? Weren’t you working late?” I asked, changing the subject. “…Went out for a few drinks with Leo and the guys. It got late, so I didn’t come back.” The guys. That could certainly include Clara. Of course. Noah was never one to hide things. His honesty was disarming. In recent years, it wasn’t just his career that had been smooth sailing. I nodded. He took out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. His gaze fell on me, and he frowned. “It’s windy in Southlake today. You should change.” Ah… so he was checking the weather for me. “It’s fine. I brought a jacket.” I pointed to my suitcase. “You should still change. You’re on your period. You can’t catch a cold,” he insisted. I pressed my lips together. Seven years of affection couldn’t be faked. I knew this concern, beyond just habit, was genuine. A familiar ache tightened my throat. I once believed I would spend the rest of my life with this man. I never thought we would end up here. “Can I see your phone?” The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. But a tiny, dark flicker of hope ignited within me. Noah was taken aback for a second, then he smiled. “What? Checking up on me?” He ruffled my hair with one hand and handed me his phone with the other. The gesture was completely natural. I opened his messenger. My text was buried under a mountain of work-related messages. The time was 10:18 AM. It wasn’t six in the evening yet. He hadn’t had a chance to see it. My chat window had a bright red notification, clearly unread. Even without opening it, the preview of my breakup message was visible. If he had paid even the slightest attention, he would have seen it. The most recent notification, at the very top, was from Clara. A single “smiley face” emoji. Marked as read. The irony was like a bucket of ice water poured over my head. It extinguished the last flicker of hope in my heart. 4 “What’s wrong? Did our little detective find anything?” He must have noticed me staring at the phone. He looked over, his tone playful. I forced a smile, trying to hide my emotions. The flicker of hope I’d felt now seemed absurd and pathetic. “Nothing.” My lips trembled, unable to hold the smile. “I’m going to go change.” I went back to the bedroom. In the full-length mirror, I saw the faint scar on my lower abdomen. Even though it had been so long, it still seemed to ache. For some reason, I remembered what Leo had said in the private room. The “seven-year itch.” I had heard that phrase once before, two months ago. It was the day my project wrapped up. I had just finished all my work when a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my abdomen. It came on so suddenly and intensely that I broke out in a cold sweat. On the way to the hospital, I called Noah. A mechanical voice repeated, over and over: “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable.” Noah had just started a new project and was often out late. He was probably busy. I didn’t think much of it. At the hospital, the tests showed acute appendicitis. I needed surgery immediately. I called Noah again. I couldn’t help it. I was terrified of pain, and he had spoiled me. I wanted him there with me. But the phone just rang and rang. Hmph, after this surgery, I’m going to make Noah pay! I thought, plotting a hundred and eight ways to get back at him before I was wheeled into the operating room. The surgery was quick. After a series of follow-up tests, I was moved to a regular ward. The whole time, my phone was silent. Noah was clearly still busy. “Still busy?” I texted him the moment I got my phone back. I didn’t want to worry him, so I didn’t mention I was in the hospital. But my message, like all the others, went unanswered.

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Seven years after someone else took over my body, I was finally back. The System mistook me for a Player and tasked me with capturing the heart of my first love from when I was eighteen. Only then did I learn that my first love was the great Villain of this world. But the first time I saw him again, he nearly choked the life out of me. As I huddled on the floor, coughing until my lungs burned, a series of comments flickered into view before my eyes. “This woman’s body has been a revolving door. The last Player got so scared she just gave up on the mission. Wonder how long this one will last…” “Tsk, even if the Villain’s one true love came back to do this mission, it’d be a tough one.” “This new Player doesn’t seem to have any defensive items. You think she’ll be dead by day one?” 1 When the System’s voice echoed in my head, I thought I was dreaming. A second later, it tutted and sent a jolt of electricity through me. I snapped back to reality, sitting up on a bed in a room I didn’t recognize. [System: Host, your mission is to capture the Villain, Kevin Whitfield. Upon completion, the System will grant you one wish.] A familiar name caught my attention. I asked the System, confused, “Kevin Whitfield? He’s the Villain?” [System: Correct. Kevin Whitfield is this body’s legal husband.] [System: You have a natural advantage, Host. Seize the opportunity.] With a final click, it went offline. I was even more bewildered. Wasn’t Kevin my first love? We had broken up amicably when I had to study abroad. Why was I married to him? And what was all this about a mission? A Villain? Hadn’t I just dozed off for a bit because I was exhausted from working overtime? I forced myself to calm down and decided to find Kevin. But the Kevin of today was clearly not the boy I remembered. The moment he spotted me from a distance, several bodyguards grabbed me, forced me into a car, and sent me back to the villa. The simmering anger from waking up seven years in the future with no explanation finally ignited. An uncontrollable wave of sorrow washed over me. Overwhelmed, I grabbed my purse and headed straight for a bar. The liquor had barely hit the glass when the club’s pulsing music screeched to a halt. A group of tall, imposing men in black suits marched toward my table in perfect formation. Before I could react, a familiar figure strode into view. For a split second, my heart felt like it had been struck by a hammer. The ache was so sharp it almost brought me to tears. But the next second, a pair of strong hands closed viciously around my neck. My breath caught. I clawed at his hands, the pain sharp and suffocating. Kevin looked at me as if I were already dead. “Did I not tell you,” he said, his voice a low snarl, “that you are not allowed to cause trouble.” I stared at him, my mind a blur of pain and confusion. His gaze flickered with something unreadable for a moment, then was immediately replaced by ice. He slowly released his grip, letting out a long sigh. “Ah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So, a new one has arrived.” I clutched my throat, curling up on the floor as wracking coughs tore through me. Suddenly, a live feed of scrolling comments appeared before my eyes. “The Villain is losing it again. I feel like he’s one bad day away from ending the world.” “This Eva Reed’s body has been run through like a sieve for seven years, right?” “What number is this? The tenth Player? The hundredth?” “Tsk, a newbie. Almost got choked out on her first day. Kinda pathetic.” “I bet this one lasts a month, tops. Lol, the last one only made it two weeks before she ran screaming.” I stared blankly at the comments, unable to process what I was seeing. So, for the past seven years, someone had been using my body, had married Kevin in my place. And there hadn’t been just one. There had been hundreds of them. All to “capture” the so-called Villain, Kevin Whitfield. 2 A hand gripped my chin, forcing my head up. Kevin was kneeling on the floor, examining the marks on my neck. I stared at his face, which had changed so much. A lump formed in my throat. Seven years. He really had changed. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a deep, shadowy coldness. The corners of his mouth were turned down in a permanent, emotionless line. He radiated an aura of ruthless severity. But underneath it all, I saw something else. He looked like a bowstring pulled taut to its absolute limit. He was exhausted. I took a shaky breath and reached out, my hand closing over his pale, thin one. “Kevin,” I whispered. “It’s me. Eva.” “I’m back.” His hand froze. His dark, depthless eyes stared right through me. My heart hammered against my ribs under his intense scrutiny, but I forced myself to continue. “It’s really me, Eva Reed.” The air grew thick with tension. After a long pause, I tried again. “Do you remember when we were seven, and I headbutted you so hard I knocked out your tooth?” “You were so afraid my parents would yell at me that you told everyone you tripped and fell.” Kevin’s expression didn’t change. My hope faltered. I took another breath. “Then what about the day you confessed to me? We hugged and cried so hard we both passed out from lack of oxygen. We were so embarrassed afterward that we told everyone we had heatstroke.” Still nothing. My breathing hitched into a sob. I pleaded with him, my voice breaking. “Kevin…” “Hah!” A sharp, mocking laugh cut through the air. I snapped my head up to see Kevin rising to his feet. He looked down at me, his gaze cold and condescending. “Is this the only trick you people have?” “I’m sick of watching this act, even if you’re not sick of performing it.” I froze. The comments on the feed scrolled by in a frenzy. “LMAO, I’m dead. Every single Player tries to play the memory card.” “The Villain has a point. Hearing the same stories a hundred times would get old.” “The System must be out of ideas if it’s still telling Players to use the original’s memories.” “Did it forget what happened to the last one who tried this? That was brutal.” “Annnnd she’s done. This one won’t even last a week.” I stared at the feed, speechless. But contrary to the feed’s predictions of how Kevin would torture me, he simply gestured to his bodyguards. “Take her home.” The feed exploded. The comments were a solid wall of shock. “Huh????” “No way, does this one actually have a chance?” “Impossible. The Villain must have some new, twisted form of torment planned.” I slumped to the floor, my energy gone, and watched his retreating back, feeling lost. He didn’t believe me. And I had no way to prove that I was me. This felt like an impossible game. I was kept in the villa, well-fed and cared for. But there were rules. A lot of them. No drinking. No staying up late. No doing anything that could possibly harm my body. I tried calling my old friends, dialing their numbers from memory. Without exception, they all acted like I was the plague. Like I was some kind of monster. In the end, I sat on the couch, phone in hand, watching the feed mock me. “The body has a reputation for being schizophrenic. Who wouldn’t be scared?” “Blame the one Host who had a total breakdown and tried to blow up the Villain’s company, taking him with her.” “Sigh, this Host is really out of options.” “Wait, why isn’t she using any items?” “If she used an item, she could at least put up a fight before she dies lmao.” Items? 3 I patted myself down. Nothing. I tried calling for the System in my head. It was as dead as a doornail. No response. I gritted my teeth in frustration. What kind of screwed-up System was this? It mistakes me for a Player but doesn’t even give me a single tool to work with. I was a prisoner, with no way to see Kevin. But I still had to find a way to complete this mission. Because I was terrified that if I failed, the System would just send someone else to take over my body again. After some thought, I headed to the kitchen and started messing with the oven. I was a disaster in the kitchen. Everything I touched turned to charcoal. But for some reason, I could make amazing cookies. And Kevin had a massive sweet tooth. Whenever I used to bake, he’d hoard the bag of cookies like a little hamster, a look of pure bliss on his face. I kneaded the dough, pouting as the feed started scrolling again. “Not many Players think of baking cookies.” “Yeah, but one did before. The Villain actually ate them.” “I remember that! He cried that day, didn’t he?” I let out a soft snort, but my eyes began to sting. Even my most precious memories with Kevin were now tainted with the shadows of others. Our shared past had been twisted into daggers that had stabbed him again and again. And now, one of those daggers had found its way into me. The pain was so sharp it made my breathing tremble. I spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen. The sweet, buttery scent of cookies soon filled the whole house. I carefully pulled the tray out of the oven. As I turned, I found myself face-to-face with a figure standing in the doorway. For a moment, I was lost in a memory. It was a sun-drenched afternoon from long ago. I was pulling cookies from the oven, and Kevin was leaning against the doorframe, a gentle smile on his face as he watched me. He would have clapped dramatically, proudly declaring me the best cookie-baker in the world. Then I would have leaped into his arms, demanding my reward with a giggle. Kevin would always blush, a helpless look on his face, but he would obediently take my hand and place it over his heart before leaning in to gently kiss the cookie crumbs from the corner of my lips. A hand reached past me and plucked a cookie from the cooling rack. I snapped back to the present, blinking away the moisture in my eyes, and watched Kevin without moving. He stared at the cookie in his hand, his face blank. After a long moment, he put it in his mouth and took a bite. I took a deep breath, my voice shaking as I spoke. “Kevin, you ate my cookie. Where’s my reward?” His head was bowed, hiding his expression. I couldn’t stop myself. I took a few steps closer. But Kevin recoiled as if he’d seen a ghost, stumbling back several feet. I froze. The sweet-smelling air in the kitchen turned heavy and silent once more. A wave of despair washed over me. He still didn’t believe me. I had told myself over and over that it was normal. He had been tricked so many times. But in this moment, the reality of it sent tears streaming down my face. Frustration and hopelessness consumed me. “Kevin,” I sobbed. “I’m Eva.” “You liar. You promised you’d recognize me even if I turned into a bug.” He stood there, head down, half a cookie still in his mouth. He looked, impossibly, even more pitiful than I felt. I wiped my tears, my voice choked with sobs. “I don’t care. You can’t just lock me up like this.” “You ate my cookie. I want my reward.” I don’t know how long passed before Kevin’s hoarse voice finally broke the silence. “What do you want?” I stilled, looking up at him. 4 Kevin didn’t look at me. His eyes were hidden behind the fringe of his dark hair. He looked so lonely, so fragile. The sight made my nose burn. But his words gave me a flicker of hope. I rallied my spirits. “I remember our high school’s homecoming is coming up.” “They invite alumni back every year. I’m sure this year is no different.” “I want to go.” I expected him to refuse outright, but after a long silence, he agreed. I was stunned. But apparently, the feed was even more stunned than I was. The few scattered comments exploded the instant Kevin nodded. “What’s happening? WHAT IS HAPPENING?” “What kind of magic was in that cookie?” “Last time he cried, this time he’s agreeing to take her to homecoming.” “Something’s not right. This is definitely not right.” “I know! He’s trying to trigger her, just like last time! He’s going to have her committed to the psych ward to scare her to death!” The psych ward? My expression hardened. I swallowed nervously. On the day of the homecoming, I had dark circles under my eyes. Kevin shot me a few gloomy looks. I carefully scooted a little farther away from him in the car, terrified he’d ship me off to a mental hospital at the slightest provocation. For some reason, this seemed to make his expression even darker. Even after we got out of the car, he still seemed dazed. I stared at the school in front of me, my eyes burning. Seven years. It was such a long time. Even the main gate of my high school looked completely different from my memories. Everything had changed. Kevin’s cool voice sounded beside me. “Let’s go in.” I nodded numbly, turning my head to quickly wipe away a tear. As he walked past, I could have sworn his voice, as it brushed past my ear, was trembling with restraint. The homecoming was as lively as ever. I saw a lot of familiar faces. But without exception, they all looked at me with strange, wary eyes. I awkwardly tried to hide behind Kevin. I’d almost forgotten. I was still a schizophrenic in their eyes. I sighed, a fresh wave of disappointment washing over me. Suddenly, Kevin shifted, exposing me. “Eva,” he said, his voice strained and rough, as if he wasn’t used to saying my name. “Say hello to your teacher.” I glanced at him. His head was bowed, lost in thought. But I didn’t have time to wonder about it. My old homeroom teacher was standing before me, her arms open wide with a smile. I let out a small cry and threw myself into her embrace, sobbing until my head felt dizzy. She stroked my hair gently, just like she used to. “Oh, my sweet Eva, what’s wrong now?” I was so choked up I couldn’t form a single word. There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her I had somehow time-traveled seven years into the future and was now being forced to win over Kevin. I wanted to tell her that Kevin was a big liar who refused to believe I was really me. I wanted to tell her how my perfectly normal life had been thrown into chaos. But the words were stuck in my throat, a painful lump I couldn’t swallow or spit out. In the end, all I could do was wipe my tears and tell her I was fine. A handkerchief was offered to me. I stared at Kevin. He was holding the cloth, his face pale. But his dark eyes were locked on mine. My heart fluttered nervously. “Kevin…” He pressed the handkerchief into my hand. For a fleeting moment, it looked like he smiled, but then his face was blank again. He turned and walked away quickly. I clutched the handkerchief and watched him go. My teacher put an arm around my shoulders. “Are you and that boy having trouble?” she asked softly. I shook my head instinctively. She sighed. “Last winter, Kevin climbed over the school wall in the middle of the night. He slept in the little garden all night long.” “If security hadn’t found him and taken him to the hospital, he might have…” The tears I had just managed to stop started flowing again. “Ma’am, I… I have to go check on him.” I gathered my skirt and ran in the direction he had gone. The direction of the little garden. The school garden was where Kevin and I used to spend all our time. When we graduated, we had childishly buried a time capsule there. We promised we would open it together in ten years. But now, ten years had long since passed. Kevin was in the garden, just as I’d suspected. He was hunched over slightly, a sight that made my heart ache. I took a deep breath, about to walk over to him. But another figure beat me to it.

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I started a livestream in front of the city’s central police station. In front of thousands of online viewers, I picked up a brick and smashed thirty-eight shared bikes lining the street. As the comments flooded in—“She’s crazy,” “Someone call the cops on this psycho”—I smiled and held out my hands to the officers rushing out of the station. “Officers, arrest me. I can’t wait.” In my past life, I was the perfect scapegoat for my roommate and my boyfriend. They committed a massive fraud and theft that rocked our university, but they used my digital signature and fingerprints to make me the sole culprit. I had studied law for four years, only to become a victim of the very system I revered. I was sentenced to ten years in prison. My parents died of grief and shame. I thought I would finally see the light of day upon my release, but the day before I was due to get out, they arranged for me to have an “accident” in prison. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day they were set to spring their trap. Since they could fake evidence of my presence, I would create an alibi that the entire world could not deny. 1 I stood in front of the downtown police station, my livestream already running for ten minutes. The screen was a blur of scrolling comments: “This streamer is nuts,” “Somebody call the cops,” “This girl needs help.” I picked up a loose brick from the pavement and took aim at the neat row of shared bikes. The first hit dented a seat. The second twisted a wheel. The third sent the entire bike crashing to the ground. I kept going, one bike after another, my movements precise and brutal. The comments section exploded. People were trying to dox me, others were taking screenshots to report me. I smiled. This was exactly what I wanted. By the fifth bike, the sirens were wailing. I dropped the brick and flipped off the camera. “Remember this time: October 23rd, 2023, 8:00 PM sharp. This is Maya Lin, committing a crime.” Three officers charged toward me. The one in the lead tried to grab my phone. I cooperated by raising my hands, shouting, “It was me! I did it! Arrest me! I’m going to smash more!” A young officer frowned. “What’s wrong with you? Bad breakup?” “Breakup your ass,” I spat, wrenching free and making a break for the police car. “Just detain me already! I want to go to jail!” They exchanged bewildered glances, clearly having never encountered such an enthusiastic “criminal.” In the interrogation room, my attitude was pure defiance. I admitted to willful destruction of property, refused to pay for damages, and insisted on being detained. “Do you have any idea what detention means?” a middle-aged officer asked, trying to reason with me. I recited the Public Security Administration Punishment Law from memory. “Whoever intentionally damages public or private property shall be detained for not less than five days but not more than ten days, and may be fined not more than five hundred yuan…” He stared at me, stunned. I continued, “For more serious circumstances, the detention shall be not less than ten days but not more than fifteen days, and may be fined not more than one thousand yuan. I smashed five bikes, the total value is over two thousand. That counts as serious, right?” “Are you a law student?” “I am. Which is why I know exactly what I’m doing.” My parents, who had seen the livestream, called my phone. I hung up on them and spread my hands to the officer. “They can’t control me either.” The officers, exasperated, followed procedure and put me in a holding cell. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. In my past life, at this exact moment, my boyfriend, Ethan, and my roommate, Sherry, were in the university’s computer lab, completing the final transfer of funds. They used my student ID to get in, my fingerprint to unlock the computer, and a pre-recorded voice clip of me to authorize the transaction. All the evidence pointed to me being at the scene of the crime. But right now, I was in a police holding cell. A government law enforcement agency was providing me with an alibi. Who could possibly refute that? I almost laughed thinking about my past life, in that courtroom, when the judge asked me, “Where were you at the time of the crime?” My answer had been so weak, so pathetic. This time, my answer would be: “In a holding cell.” 2 I hadn’t been in the holding cell for long when I heard the frantic sound of footsteps outside. My mother burst in, her eyes red and swollen. The moment she saw me, she lunged forward. “Maya!” Her voice trembled as she wrapped her arms around me, her whole body shaking. My father followed, his face a grim, ashen mask. “Maya Lin! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” The officers watched our family drama with weary frowns. My father immediately bowed to them, a full ninety-degree bend at the waist, his voice shaking. “Officers, I am so, so sorry. My daughter must have been under some kind of stress. We’ll pay for all the damages, I promise. Please, just let us take her home.” My mother clung to my hand, sobbing uncontrollably. “Maya, come home with Mom. Whatever it is, we can talk about it at home. Just don’t stay here…” I looked at their desperate, heartbroken faces, and my heart felt like it was being carved out with a dull knife. In my last life, it was because of me that they had to live with such shame. My father sold our house to hire a lawyer for me. My mother cried every single day. They both died of grief before I was even released from prison. But this time, I had to stay here. It was the only way I could protect them. The police, seeing my parents, were already preparing the paperwork to release me. I shot to my feet and pointed to an empty corner of the room, screaming. “I’m not going back! I broke the law! I want to go to jail!” My voice was hysterical. It startled my mother, who took a step back. “He made me do it! He’s been following me! Can’t you see him?!” I pointed at the corner, my eyes wide with terror, my body trembling. “He’s laughing! He’s standing right there, laughing at me!” My parents froze. My mother covered her mouth, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Maya, what’s wrong with you? There’s nothing there!” My father was shaking with a mixture of anger and fear, his voice cracking as he spoke to the officers. “Officers, she must be having a mental breakdown! She’s never like this!” I seized on his words, yelling at the police. “That’s right! I’m mentally ill! I need a psychiatric evaluation!” My performance grew more frantic. I clutched my head and spun in circles. “They’re trying to hurt me! Everyone is trying to hurt me! I have to stay here! It’s the only safe place!” The officers exchanged uncertain glances. Procedurally, they had to follow my request. A young officer tried to calm me down, but I shoved his hand away and cowered in the corner. “Don’t touch me! I know you’re all in on it!” My mother completely broke down, collapsing to the floor in a heap of heart-wrenching sobs. “Maya, Mommy was wrong. I shouldn’t have let you live on your own. Let me take you home, we’ll see a doctor, okay?” Seeing her devastation, I almost gave up. But I couldn’t. I had to be strong. “I don’t know you! You’re here to hurt me too!” My father, enraged, lunged forward, trying to drag me away by force. I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Help! They’re trying to kidnap me! Help me!” The police had no choice but to restrain my father. The situation had spiraled completely out of control. In the end, they had to ask my parents to wait outside. Through the crack in the door, I saw my mother slumped on a bench, looking like her soul had left her body. My father chain-smoked, one cigarette after another, his back so stooped he looked ten years older. They were arguing about something. My mother kept shaking her head, and my father punched the wall in frustration. 3 My parents were asked to wait outside, but they refused to leave, keeping vigil on the bench just beyond the interrogation room. Through the door, I could hear my mother’s muffled sobs, each one a dull knife twisting in my gut. A young female officer brought me a cup of hot water, her voice gentle. “Here, drink some water. We can talk about whatever’s bothering you.” I swatted the cup away. Hot water splashed across the floor and onto her uniform. “It’s all a lie! You’re all trying to hurt me!” I huddled in the chair, shivering. The officer’s expression hardened, and she abandoned any attempt to reason with me. Wiping her uniform, she stepped back, her eyes now wary and resigned. My mother’s frantic voice came from outside. “Let me in! I need to see my daughter!” The footsteps grew closer, and the door flew open. My mother rushed in, my father trying to hold her back. “Maya!” she cried, her face a mess of tears as she lunged toward me. “Come with me, we’ll see a doctor, I’m begging you!” The clock on the wall read 8:25 PM. My heart hammered against my ribs. It was time. They would be starting the final phase of their plan. I shoved my mother away, hiding behind an officer and screaming, “Don’t touch me! You’re all bad people! You want to hurt me!” My father rushed in to help my mother, who had stumbled to the floor. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a raw, aching disappointment that hurt more than any blade. “Maya, what’s happened to you?” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “What have we ever done to deserve this?” 8:28 PM. 8:29 PM. 8:30 PM. The second the hand on the clock ticked over, I felt an invisible weight lift from my shoulders. The tragedy of my past life was replaying itself in another timeline. But this time, I wasn’t there. I stopped screaming. My entire demeanor shifted. “Officer, I’m tired,” I said calmly. “I confess. Please, detain me.” The sudden change stunned everyone in the room. The person who had been acting completely unhinged moments ago was now terrifyingly composed. My mother stared at me, tears still clinging to her lashes. My father clenched his fists, the veins in his neck bulging. “Maya, what kind of game are you playing?” I didn’t answer. I just leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. The officers exchanged confused looks and ultimately decided to hold me for observation. “Sir, Ma’am, I suggest you come back tomorrow to handle this,” the older officer said, trailing off as he struggled to explain my behavior. My father helped my mother to her feet. She was crying too hard to speak. As they reached the door, my father looked back at me one last time. His eyes were filled with a bottomless despair and confusion that seemed to age him a decade in an instant. The holding cell was small, with just a hard cot and a toilet. The TV on the wall was playing the evening news. A business news anchor was saying in a flat voice, “Shares of Titan Technologies experienced unusual volatility today. Relevant authorities have begun an investigation…” I closed my eyes, and a silent tear slipped down my cheek. Dad, Mom, I’m so sorry. Just wait a little longer. It will all be over soon. I could hear the guards talking outside. “That girl just now… she was really scary.” “So young, how did she lose her mind like that?” “Her parents seem normal enough, but the kid…” 4 The next morning, the police station was swarming with unfamiliar cars. I was still groggy when they pulled me from the holding cell, but the sight of the stern faces in the interrogation room jolted me awake. “Maya Lin. Last night at 8:30 PM, fifty million dollars were illegally transferred from an Titan Technologies account.” The man speaking was middle-aged, his ID identifying him as the captain of the city’s economic crimes division. His voice was ice, a stark contrast to the gentle female officer from the night before. I widened my eyes. “Fifty million? What are you talking about? I just smashed some bikes!” The captain slammed a thick file onto the table. “Every transaction was completed using your personal authentication key and digital signature! The evidence is irrefutable!” My mind went blank. How was that possible? I was… Knock, knock, knock! The door flew open. Ethan and Sherry walked in, followed by my parents. My mother’s eyes were swollen like walnuts, my father’s face was ashen. They hadn’t slept. “Officer, we have an important tip to report!” Sherry said, her voice choked with sobs. She looked at my parents, her voice trembling. “Uncle, Auntie, I didn’t want to say anything, but… Maya has been gambling online. She’s in massive debt. Last night, she stole my laptop, and I suspect…” “Impossible!” my mother cut her off. “My daughter would never do something like that!” Sherry took out her phone and played a recording. “This is what Maya said two nights ago when she was drunk.” My voice, slurred and intoxicated, filled the room. “I’m gonna get a huge score… one big job and I’ll never have to worry again…” My heart leaped into my throat. When was that recorded? I had no memory of it. My father’s face went white. Ethan then pulled out his own phone. “Officer, these are my chat logs with Maya. She’s been asking about the company’s internal financial systems for a while now…” He showed them screenshots. The messages were clearly from my account, asking about company passwords. My name, my profile picture, but I had never sent those messages. “And this,” Sherry said, producing an encrypted USB drive. “We found this in Maya’s dorm room yesterday. It’s full of information on opening offshore bank accounts.” An officer plugged the drive into a laptop. The screen filled with code and bank documents I didn’t understand. “Maya, what were you planning?” my father whispered, his voice shaking. I wanted to explain, but my throat felt like it was clogged with cement. Just then, another officer entered and whispered something to the captain. The captain’s expression grew even more grim. “Mr. and Mrs. Lin, did you receive any calls from debt collectors last night?” My mother nodded, fresh tears welling up. “Someone called and said Maya owed them three million… I thought it was a scam…” Ethan shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Uncle, Auntie, Maya’s bizarre behavior yesterday… it was because she had a guilty conscience.” Sherry added, sobbing, “I never thought she would go this far… It’s all my fault for not noticing the signs sooner…” All the pieces of their puzzle fit together perfectly, pointing to one conclusion: I was the audacious mastermind behind the financial fraud. Hearing all this, my mother swayed, her eyes rolled back, and she fainted. “Mom!” I surged forward, but an officer blocked me. My father caught her as she fell, turning to me with a look of utter despair and disbelief. “Maya…” his lips trembled, “why… why would you do this to us?” In that moment, all my pent-up grief and rage exploded. “I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t do any of it!” But no one believed me. The captain stood up and gestured to his men. “Take her away. We’re opening a major economic fraud investigation.” Heavier, colder handcuffs were locked onto my wrists. I had gone from a petty vandal to the prime suspect in a fifty-million-dollar criminal case overnight.

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The day Ivy League letters arrived, David posted a screenshot of his perfect scores—identical to mine—with the caption: “I won the game, and I won you.” Our class chat erupted. “Only the top two get this kind of epic romance?” “Most romantic confession ever.” David stayed silent, spamming Venmo cash drops—until scholarship student Leah refunded hers. “Grandpa taught me self-respect matters more than handouts.” David finally replied: “Fine. Dog-sit for us in Europe this summer—call it a paid gig.” I thought it was rich-kid pity. Then at the party: “Smooth move disguising payments as group drops so Leah wouldn’t feel singled out.” “Remember when David beat up that creep harassing Leah?” My hand froze on the door. So that’s why he missed my debutante ball. Not car trouble—he was brawling for another girl. David tossed cash on the bar, his voice cold. “Drop it. Vivian will throw another tantrum.” Someone muttered, “Leah’s sweeter anyway.” I walked straight to the racetrack and accepted Silas’s invitation. Fine, David. You want to play hero? I’ll set you free. 1 “Whoa, look who it is! The stunning Vivian finally graces us with her presence!” A group of guys nudged David, their eyes full of mischief. When he saw me, a genuine smile finally broke through his bored expression. “Viv, you’re on your period. No cold drinks.” He pressed a warm chai latte into my hands, the cup he’d been carefully shielding. I saw the long list of customizations on the label—extra cinnamon, oat milk, not too sweet—and a familiar ache tightened my throat. Eighteen years. It was long enough for him to memorize every little thing about me. But he’d forgotten the one thing I truly wanted: a love that wasn’t divided, a loyalty that wasn’t shared. I took a deep breath, the words “we’re over” on the tip of my tongue, but a series of gasps cut through the room. “Oh my god, is that Leah? I thought she’d show up in her faded old school uniform again.” “No way. She’s gorgeous. She could honestly give Vivian a run for her money.” Every guy in the room was staring, their eyes wide. Beside me, my best friend, Chloe, paled. “Viv… that dress. How could he give her that dress?” I placed a hand on hers, giving a slight shake of my head. “It’s fine. Let it go.” It wasn’t the first time David had given something of mine to Leah, after all. But he didn’t know this one was different. It was a matching set, a gift from his mother for my eighteenth birthday. She’d told us she couldn’t wait to see us wear them on our engagement day. I guess she never imagined David would be the one to give our future away. “Vivian, you wear your clothes once and then toss them. Think of it as charity,” David said, not even glancing at Leah as he meticulously peeled a grape for me. But the scent of those grapes, flown in from Napa, was enough to make my heart sour. Charity. He was always so charitable. He’d give away my clothes, my shoes, my bags—even a brand-new, unopened lingerie set—all without asking. Every time, he’d say he could just buy me more, that I shouldn’t be so petty. Just because I was the “princess” in his life, I was expected to surrender everything to Leah. David held the peeled grape to my lips, but I turned my head away. He raised an eyebrow, his cool eyes clouded with confusion. “Viv? What’s wrong?” I dropped my gaze, my voice as steady as I could make it. “Nothing. Let’s break up.” But the words were swallowed by the sudden blast of music from the karaoke machine. When I looked up, Leah was standing right in front of us. “Thank you,” she said to David. “What?” The music was deafening. Leah had no choice but to lean in close to his ear, the front of her dress dipping low to reveal a breathtaking view. My face went cold. I stood up, pulling Chloe with me to the control panel, and started scrolling aimlessly through the song list. 2 “Vivian, what is your problem? Who pissed you off this time? Don’t tell me it’s about the dress.” David leaned casually against the karaoke machine. He was talking to me, but his eyes were scanning the screen. A cold laugh escaped me. I found the “Happy Birthday” track and pinned it to the top of the queue. “Looking for this?” Eighteen years. It was also long enough for me to know exactly how his mind worked. David froze, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. He was used to me getting jealous and angry over Leah. This calm indifference was new. He leaned in and kissed my forehead, as if rewarding a child. “There’s my girl. Finally growing up.” I subtly wiped my forehead, erasing the warmth of his lips. He still didn’t get it. I hadn’t grown up. I was just learning not to care. David tapped the screen, and the blaring rap song that had been shaking the walls cut off abruptly. The cheerful melody of “Happy Birthday” filled the room. Leah’s head snapped towards him, her eyes wide with surprise. “It’s our resilient wildflower’s eighteenth birthday! Everybody, let’s wish her a happy birthday!” a friend of his announced. The room erupted. One of the guys even grabbed a fruit platter and knelt before her like a knight presenting a tribute. But her eyes were locked on David, drifting over the crowd to meet his gaze, silently mouthing the words, thank you. “It’s not an eighteenth birthday without presents!” someone shouted, and everyone started fumbling through their pockets. David’s gaze swept the room, finally landing on my wrist. “Viv, you’ve worn that bracelet for years. Why don’t you give it to her? It’s a perfect chance for an upgrade. My treat.” I stared at him, first in shock, then in utter disbelief. “David, are you serious?” That bracelet was the gift he’d given me when he first told me he loved me. No matter how many expensive, beautiful pieces my family had given me since, I had never taken it off. And now, he was telling me to give it away. “Of course I’m serious. It’s not even the latest design anymore. It doesn’t suit you.” He reached for my wrist, his tone casual, as if he were talking about a piece of lint. I went numb, letting him unclasp it and take it from me. Amid a chorus of cheers and whistles, David fastened the bracelet around Leah’s wrist. Just then, the lights went out. A waiter wheeled in a ten-tiered birthday cake, a towering confection of sugar and cream. No matter how hard I tried to be strong, my eyes burned. Even the cake was an exact replica of the one I’d had for my debutante ball. David really couldn’t bear to see her suffer the slightest disappointment. I couldn’t watch another second of this fairy tale. Prince Charming and his Cinderella could have the stage. I pushed the door open and walked out. Chloe, who could never stand to see me upset, called after me, her voice loud and clear. “Viv! Where are you going?” The next second, David dropped Leah’s hand and rushed out after me. Under the dim, yellow glow of the streetlights, he grabbed my hand, his voice laced with frustration. “Vivian, what is wrong with you tonight?” “Nothing. I’m just done.” I calmly pried his fingers from mine and kept walking. Behind me, I could hear the murmurs of our classmates. “What’s going on? Is Vivian actually jealous?” “Probably. I think I saw her tearing up back there.” Hearing this, the guys who had been fawning over Leah immediately jumped to her defense. “Jealous? What does she have to be jealous of? She’s a princess who has everything. Why would she be jealous of a scholarship kid?” “Exactly. And it’s not like David did anything wrong. He just gave Leah some of her hand-me-downs. She’s just being a drama queen, trying to ruin the mood because she’s not the center of attention.” I walked on, my steps heavy, the streetlight stretching my shadow long and thin behind me. No matter how much I wanted to hold on, it felt like David and I were destined to break. Before, whenever I got upset, he would have wrapped me in a tight embrace, never letting me walk a dark street alone. But this time, he just stood there, watching me go. 3 The sharp clack-clack of heels approached. Leah ran up to me, holding a slice of cake on a napkin. “Vivian, the first piece is for you.” She looked startled when she saw the tears on my face, but I could see the glint of triumph she couldn’t quite hide in her eyes. I walked past her without a word, a single syllable leaving my lips. “Get lost.” Before I could even brush past the hem of her dress, she crumpled to the ground as if struck by a gust of wind. “Leah!” David was there in an instant, rushing over to help her up. He noticed her dress had slipped, and without a moment’s hesitation, he shrugged off his own jacket and wrapped it around her, shielding her from view. “Vivian, what the hell are you doing? It’s just a few things you have in spades, things you can get with the snap of your fingers…” He was scolding me, but as his eyes lifted to meet mine, he stopped short. The coldness in my gaze seemed to jolt him. He saw the Vivian who had clung to him for eighteen years, and for the first time, he saw something missing from her eyes. It was as if he were no different from any other stranger on the street. “You’re right,” I said, my voice flat. “They’re just things I can get with a snap of my fingers.” With that, I climbed into the custom Tesla Roadster that had just pulled up and sped away, leaving him in the dust. … “My sweet girl, wasn’t tonight your graduation party? How are you back so early? And where’s David?” When I got home, my grandfather was waiting at the door, peering left and right, surprised not to see David’s familiar car. I linked my arm through his and walked inside in silence. He knew immediately something was wrong. “Did you and David have a fight?” I lowered my eyes, thinking for a long moment before forcing a smile. “Grandpa, I don’t want to be with David anymore. And… I don’t want to go to Harvard.” He stilled, his old, wrinkled hands gently rubbing my arm. He didn’t ask why. “Alright. Whatever you decide, Grandpa will have your back.” A wave of heat rushed to my eyes. I buried my face in his shoulder and cried for a long time. When I finally went to my room, I was just about to fall asleep when a text from David came through. “Don’t forget to submit your application. To Harvard. The dream we’ve been waiting for.” “Get some sleep. I’ll be over first thing in the morning to see you.” The dream we’ve been waiting for. A pale, humorless smile touched my lips as a tear slipped from the corner of my eye. David, Harvard was always your dream. Not mine. I even chose to major in the sciences, which I’ve always hated, just to be with you. And it turned out I chose wrong. I didn’t reply. As I was about to put my phone down, another message popped up. It was from Silas—the guy who made even the toughest kids from other schools shake in their boots. But instead of something intimidating, he’d sent me a series of cute Hello Kitty pictures. “Can I get this design on my helmet?” I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. I replied with a simple “Sure, whatever you want,” and my phone went quiet again. The next morning, before David could arrive, I went to his house. Not for him, but for the little terrier I’d rescued and left in his care. I wasn’t expecting to walk in and find David and Leah playing with my dog on the living room floor. She was wearing one of my silk pajama sets. My sudden appearance made even the unflappable David flinch. He scrambled to explain. “Leah lives way out in the suburbs. Everyone was out so late last night, so I let her crash here—” “Do whatever you want.” I cut him off, my tone indifferent. I whistled for my dog, Buster, and he came trotting over, tail wagging. I gathered up his food, his bed, and all his toys, packing everything to take with me. “Oh, and one more thing,” I said, turning to the housekeeper with a polite smile before I left. “Could you please throw out anything that belongs to me? Or, you can just let that young lady take it home with her. She seems to have a taste for other people’s things.” Before I could walk out the door, David’s voice, low and simmering with anger, stopped me. “Vivian, apologize. And for God’s sake, drop the princess attitude. Did your parents teach you nothing about respect?” My eyes shot back at him, sharp as daggers. He flinched, realizing his mistake. My parents died in a car crash years ago. It’s always just been my grandfather and me. He rushed toward me, trying to pull me into a hug, but I shoved him away, hard. “Why should I apologize? When you give my things away, it’s charity. When I call her out on it, it’s an insult? What kind of twisted logic is that?” “You!” Any trace of guilt he’d felt vanished. Before David could say another word, Leah’s delicate hand covered his mouth. “Don’t, David. It’s all my fault. You were up all night taking care of me because I was drunk. You’re exhausted, you shouldn’t get worked up.” Then, she turned to me, her eyes brimming with tears, and bowed deeply. “I’m so sorry, Vivian. I know a poor girl like me can never compare to you. I’ll leave now.” I hugged Buster closer, a mocking smile on my face. A bottomless disgust churned in my stomach. Not just for this manipulative, two-faced girl, but for the blind, self-righteous boy who was falling for her act. “You’re wrong. You’re not just poor,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “You’re more like a sewer rat, born with an instinct for coveting what belongs to others.” 4 I turned on my heel, ignoring the sound of sobbing that echoed from the mansion behind me. After getting Buster settled at home, I remembered I still hadn’t submitted my university choice. On a strange impulse, I sent a text to Silas. “Where did you apply?” He replied almost instantly. “Stanford.” I didn’t say anything else, just a simple “Okay.” Then I changed my application to Stanford and hit submit. I was about to go downstairs to tell my grandfather when I saw David and Leah walking in, holding a large bouquet of lilies. A sharp pain pulsed in my temple. I flew down the stairs. “Get out of my house!” My shout seemed to snap the last of David’s patience. “Vivian! What has gotten into you?” he roared. “You said those horrible things to Leah, and she didn’t even get angry. She came here to apologize to you!” “Do you have any idea how long she saved up to buy these flowers? She used half a year’s worth of her allowance! And you tell her to get out?” By now, my eyes were wild with panic. I shoved them both towards the door, my voice frantic. “David, you know Grandpa is deathly allergic to lilies! And you let her bring them in here?” My words finally registered. He remembered. “I’m sorry, they were the cheapest bouquet at the florist, I was in a hurry…” “Get. Out!” I screamed until my throat was raw, but it was too late. My grandfather had already stepped out of his study. He took one breath, and his face instantly swelled, turning a blotchy red. He clutched his throat, gasping for air. “To the hospital! Now!” In the emergency room, I paced the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. David stood by, watching me, at a loss for words. But when he saw Leah crying, he didn’t hesitate to pull her into a comforting embrace. “Stop crying,” he murmured. “Her grandpa will be fine.” “Be fine?” My eyes were bloodshot. I felt like a caged animal. “David, you know he’s the only family I have left! And you brought lilies here to kill him! All because they were cheap? All to protect Leah’s pathetic, worthless pride? You were willing to risk his life for that? My grandfather’s life?” I thought, I hoped, he would show some remorse. But I never could have imagined the look on his face. It was utterly calm. “Vivian, do you have any idea how much you sound like a shrew right now?” His words nailed me to the spot. All I could do was watch as Leah fell to her knees before me. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! Whatever the medical bills are, I’ll pay you back! I’ll sell everything I have, I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll pay you back!” Just then, our classmates, having heard what happened, arrived at the hospital. They saw the scene and rushed to pull Leah to her feet, their faces filled with righteous indignation. “Vivian, are you for real? It’s just an allergic reaction. He’ll take some medicine and be fine. It’s not like he’s going to die.” “I can’t believe we ever thought you were cool. You think just because you’re rich you can do whatever you want. Leah, don’t worry, the whole class will chip in before we let you suffer this humiliation.” The accusations rained down on me, a deafening storm that drowned out everything else. And yet, through the noise, one thing became painfully clear: the look on David’s face. The unwavering conviction that I was being completely irrational. In my most vulnerable moment, he stood with everyone else, on the opposite side, forgetting he had once promised to stand against the world for me. A wave of profound helplessness washed over me. The world tilted, and my legs gave out. David instinctively lunged forward to catch me, but I pushed him away, my body trembling. “Don’t touch me.” My eyes were vacant, staring into nothingness. I curled into a ball on the floor. “David,” I repeated, my voice a hollow whisper. “I don’t want you anymore.” He shot to his feet, his chest heaving with rage. “Vivian, you said it! Let’s just see how many days you can last this time!” He stormed away, his new friends trailing behind him. As Leah turned to follow, she shot a look over her shoulder, her face alight with an undisguised, triumphant smile. I didn’t care. My eyes were glued to the glowing “IN SURGERY” light. Suddenly, two figures appeared at the end of the hall, running against the tide of people leaving. “Vivian!” “Vivian!” At the sound of their voices, the dam finally broke, and a sob tore from my throat. And just like that, the boy who had once made my young heart flutter disappeared from my future forever. David, I will never forgive you.

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After seven straight days of overtime, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and die. The second my face sank into the pillow, I heard the click of the lock. “Honey, you must be exhausted. What do you want to eat? Mom will make it for you.” “Mom, I don’t want to eat anything. I just want to sleep.” I pulled the covers over my head, my eyelids too heavy to keep open. But just as I drifted off, the click of the lock jerked me awake again. “Honey, let me make you something. You’ll hurt your stomach if you don’t eat…” I slammed my pillow against the mattress in frustration. “Mom! I’m trying to sleep! Please, stay out.” I thought she’d finally gotten the message. But just as I fell into a deep sleep, I was ripped from it once more. “Sweetheart, just a little something. It’s your favorite chicken noodle soup.” My mother stood over me, holding a steaming bowl… 1 It was five in the morning when I finally got home. Pillow down, covers up. No more nagging clients, no more impossible deadlines. Just me and a long-overdue date with a deep, dreamless sleep. After one hundred and sixty-eight hours of relentless work, the final battle was almost over. All I needed was a few hours of rest, and then a quick presentation in the afternoon would seal the deal. The tightly wound spring in my brain finally uncoiled. All I wanted was to sleep. To ensure I wouldn’t be disturbed, I even sent my mom a specific text. 【Mom, please don’t come into my room or wake me up. I’m too tired to eat. I just need to sleep.】 Message sent. I figured I was safe. But just as the soft pillow cradled my head and my entire body relaxed, a faint click made me pry my eyes open. “Honey, you worked so hard. Is there anything you’d like to eat?” My mother stood at the doorway, her voice gentle. Assuming she hadn’t seen my text, I yanked the comforter over my head in a flash of irritation. “I’m not eating. I just want to sleep.” The words were barely out before my body gave up, and I passed out from sheer exhaustion. It couldn’t have been long. I was deep in the hazy world of dreams when my mother’s voice sliced through the silence again. “Honey, let me make you something. It’s bad for your stomach to go hungry!” I thrashed under the covers, pounding the pillow in a fit of rage. “Mom!” I yelled, my voice raw with frustration. “I’m sleeping! Stay out!” She retreated, and for a glorious moment, I thought I was finally free to sink back into my dreams. Then she flicked on my bedroom light. The blinding glare shocked me fully awake. My mother stood by my bed as if nothing had happened, a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup in her hands. “Sweetheart, just have a little. It’s my homemade chicken soup. Your favorite.” I took a deep breath. The accumulated anger and exhaustion from the past week surged through me, a white-hot wave threatening to crest. But I held it back. She was just worried about me. I could understand that. I sat up and looked her straight in the eye. “I really don’t need it. I’m not hungry. I just want to get some sleep. Is that so hard to understand?” A note of fury had crept into my voice without my permission. My mother flinched. Her eyes filled with a wounded look, quickly followed by a flash of reproach. “I’m only doing this for your own good. How can you speak to your mother that way?” As she spoke, a tear traced a path down her cheek. For a second, I nearly crumbled under the weight of her tears and the crushing guilt of that phrase: for your own good. But the dull, throbbing pain of being dragged from the depths of sleep was sharper, more real than any emotional blackmail. I looked at her, at the stubborn bowl of soup, at her crocodile tears, and a cold, suffocating exhaustion washed over me, extinguishing the anger completely. Fine. Whatever. I didn’t say another word. I didn’t even look at her again. Like a puppet with its strings cut, I fell back onto the bed. With the last of my strength, I pulled the comforter over my head, cocooning myself completely, not leaving a single strand of hair exposed. From outside the door, I heard the familiar sound of her suppressed, self-pitying sobs. 2 Finally, I could sleep. I don’t know how long I was out. It felt like sinking into a dark, silent ocean where time ceased to exist. Then, a sliver of light pierced my eyelids, accompanied by the low, chattering murmur of voices. “Oh, just look at how tired she is. Fast asleep. Tsk, tsk, it’s not easy. The company can’t run without her.” That was my mother’s voice. “You’re so lucky, Susan. Your daughter is so successful.” “Shh, quiet now. Let her sleep.” My eyelids were leaden weights, but the unfamiliar, fawning voices of men and women, mixed with my mother’s poorly concealed pride, buzzed around my ears like a swarm of flies. Click. The lock turned again. The sound was softer this time, more cautious. Then, the shuffling of more than one pair of feet tiptoed into my room. The air filled with the alien scents of cheap perfume and powder. “See? Sleeping like a log,” my mother whispered, her voice low but bursting with a pride she wanted to display. “She just finished a huge project. Seven days with barely any sleep! Her boss can’t stop praising her!” “Wow, what a hard worker!” “You’ve raised her so well, Susan!” The whispers of praise continued. I felt like a monkey in a zoo cage, put on display for a crowd. A chilling mix of absurdity, rage, and profound humiliation shot from my toes to the crown of my head. What did they want to see? Me, exhausted to the point of looking like a corpse? Proof that she had raised such a “successful” daughter that even her sleep was a spectacle? Under the covers, my fingers clenched the bedsheet, my nails digging into my palms. But I didn’t move. I didn’t open my eyes. What little rationality I had left was screaming at me: Throw off the covers and tell them to get the hell out! But the crushing exhaustion was a mountain pinning me down. I just wanted them to disappear. The footsteps lingered by my bed for a few moments, their judgmental whispers stabbing at my eardrums. Finally, with sighs of satisfied curiosity, they shuffled back out, and the door clicked shut. The world was quiet again. But it was a tainted quiet, thick with the filth of being invaded and exhibited. I lay in a cold swamp of my own making, my desire for sleep shattered into a million pieces, leaving only an empty shell and a nervous system in ruins. A sharp pain twisted in my stomach. My throat was bone-dry. All that was left was the numb, hollowed-out feeling of being completely drained. It’s okay, I told myself. She’s my mother. Just endure it. Sleep was what mattered. A moment later, a soft rustling sound. My mother’s footsteps returned. She didn’t turn the lock this time. She knocked softly, her voice deliberately gentle, a placating tone meant to mend the rift. “Honey, your aunt and uncle are here. If you’re not going to eat, maybe you could just come out and say hello?” 3 She flicked on the light again, acting as if nothing had happened. “Look, it’s after eight. You’ve had a good sleep,” she said, pulling open the curtains. “Back in my day, we didn’t sleep until the sun was high in the sky like you young people do.” But I only went to bed at five in the morning! And you’ve woken me up three times! I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking the sudden sunlight with my arm, refusing to engage. She continued her monologue. “Come on, get dressed. Your aunt is here too. Let them see how outstanding my daughter is. Better than any man.” My temples throbbed. The pain in my stomach intensified. A firestorm of rage was building inside me, so hot it felt like my tongue would melt. As I was trying to figure out how to respond, my mother ripped the comforter off me. “Get up! Go wash your face and greet your aunt and uncle.” She grabbed my arm to pull me up. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wrenched my arm free. My only request was to be allowed to sleep. Why was that so impossible for her to grant? Was it really that difficult? I had spent seven days running on fumes, my brain operating at a thousand miles an hour. All I needed was rest, to be at my best for the final presentation this afternoon. On a normal day, I might have just given in. But now, looking at her, I knew she understood exactly what she was doing. Why did she have to torment me like this? My mother stared at the hand I’d flung away, her face a mask of shock and disbelief. I had always been so compliant. But I was out of patience. “My aunt and uncle,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “are they going to drop dead on the spot if I don’t entertain them? I have told you a dozen times that I am exhausted and in no mood for this. Are you incapable of understanding?” Her expression immediately crumpled into one of profound hurt. I could see tears welling in her eyes. Normally, that would have been my cue to comfort her. But now… I steeled myself. “If you bother me one more time, I’m moving out.” “Honey…” The tears trembled on her lashes, as if she were the victim of some great injustice. I turned my head away. “I’m only doing this for you. How could you say that to me?” The comforter in my hands was twisted into a knot. There it was again. The magic phrase. As long as it was for my own good, she was never in the wrong. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I got up, got dressed, and took out my laptop. If I couldn’t sleep, I might as well work. Review my presentation for the afternoon. Seeing that I was ignoring her, my mother muttered something under her breath and left the room. The door closed. And then immediately opened again. The next thing I knew, a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup was being upended directly onto my laptop. The hot, greasy broth soaked through my clothes and pooled on the keyboard. The cloying smell of chicken fat filled the room. In that one, fleeting moment, I saw it. A flash of a triumphant smile on my mother’s face. What on earth was she so smug about? 4 “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I just thought you might be hungry by now.” “Don’t be angry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of it… please don’t be mad…” “But now that you’re up, you can go see your aunt and uncle, right?” A roar filled my ears, my mother’s voice a distant buzz. Suddenly, something clicked into place. I looked at her, my exhaustion so profound it felt like clarity. Beneath her mask of guilt, her smugness was unmistakable. Her hands clutched the empty bowl. She made no move to help me, even though a box of tissues was sitting right beside her. I felt terrifyingly calm. “It’s fine,” I said, grabbing the tissues and trying to mop up the mess. I tried to restart the laptop. It was dead. I took a deep breath. The laptop had to be repaired, immediately. Everything else could wait. I stood up and pulled a change of clothes from my closet. I’d check into a nearby hotel. Staying here was clearly a liability. Without giving my mother another glance, I walked into the bathroom, quickly washed up, and changed. I grabbed my backpack, ready to leave. It was nine o’clock. The presentation was at two. I still had five hours. Everything was manageable. As I stepped into the living room, my aunt and uncle descended upon me, their faces plastered with fawning smiles. “Oh, Jenna, look at you! All grown up and a big boss now!” I forced a tight smile. “Aunt, Uncle. I’m just a senior employee, not a boss.” I started moving toward the front door. But my mother was right behind me. “Honey, I already said I was sorry! Why are you being so petty? Even if it was my fault, I’m your mother! How can you treat me this way?” I bit back the urge to scream. My aunt and uncle, finally sensing the tension, chimed in. “Jenna, your mother carried you for ten months! How can you be so disrespectful?” “And you know your father died young. She raised you all by herself. Even if she makes a mistake, can’t you just be a little more tolerant?” It was always the same speech. For years, out of sympathy for her hardship, I had tolerated everything. But today was different. She had done this on purpose. This was the last straw. I took another deep breath and fired back, my voice dripping with ice. “Aunt, Uncle, if anyone should be understanding of my mother’s struggles, shouldn’t it be you?” A flicker of embarrassment crossed their faces. My mother, seeing me target her precious siblings, bristled. “Jenna, what are you talking about? Your elders are saying a few words to you, what’s wrong with that?” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Right. In other families, the elders support the younger generation. In our family, it’s the other way around.” “Not only do I have to support my own mother, I have to support her entire family too!” “Uncle, don’t think I don’t know that my mother paid the two hundred grand for my cousin’s wedding. And Auntie, my mother also paid off the half a million your husband lost gambling.” I ripped away their masks without mercy, their faces turning ashen. I’d always known about these things, brainwashed by my mother into thinking it was normal to support family. I kept quiet because the money was nothing to me, and keeping the peace was paramount. My mother stomped her foot in fury. I shot her a withering glare and continued. “And where, do you suppose, a non-working housewife got all that money?”

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The live comments told me to suck up to the real heiress, Vivian. But when I tried, everything backfired. It began when the nanny brought Vivian home. Glowing text only I could see warned me: “If Claire keeps antagonizing her, she’ll end up alone. “Terrified, I vowed to be the perfect sister. The comments said she loved milk, so I gave her a glass—not knowing she was allergic. She nearly died. My parents, who’d adored me for 18 years, slapped me, their disappointment crushing. Later, comments warned thugs were attacking Vivian. I saved her, but my birth mother—the nanny—framed me with fake evidence. My parents disowned me, sending me back to the slums. The thugs killed me. But I’m back. This time, I’ll get justice. “Hello, sister. My name is Vivian.” The girl standing before me was dressed in worn, cheap clothes, peeking out from behind my parents with a shy, tentative smile. My mouth fell open, but no words came out. I was too stunned. Then, the comments flooded my vision again, a shimmering, silent cascade of text. “Look at Vivian, what a sweetheart. After all those years of poverty, she’s not bitter at all. She just wants to get along with her new sister.” “Just wait. Once Vivian gets a real education, her talent will explode. She’s going to take the family company to new heights.” “Too bad the fake one, Claire, is such an idiot. Vivian actually wanted to like her at first. Claire could have just coasted, living the good life in Vivian’s shadow. But no, she had to get jealous and ruin everything. Serves her right for getting thrown back into the gutter.” The words were a brutal confirmation. I was reborn. In my first life, when Vivian had shown up with a DNA test proving a twenty-year-old hospital mix-up, I had been horrified by these prophetic comments. They foretold my downfall, a self-fulfilling prophecy of jealousy and ruin. So I did everything I could to change my fate. The comments whispered that Vivian craved milk, a luxury she could never afford. My heart went out to her. I warmed a glass myself and brought it to her room. The result was catastrophic. Anaphylactic shock. A frantic rush to the ER. Our nanny, Martha—my biological mother—fell to her knees, her voice choked with sobs. “Claire, you are my daughter, but I raised Vivian for eighteen years! I love her! Don’t hate her for this. If you have to hate someone, hate me! Just leave my baby alone!” When Vivian woke up, she shrank into my parents’ arms, her eyes wide with terror. “I’m allergic to milk. Claire, why did you make me drink it? Is it about the press conference tomorrow? I won’t go, I promise! I don’t want to take your place! I just want to be with Mom and Dad.” My mother’s disappointment was a physical blow. She slapped me, hard. My father wouldn’t even look at me. The next day, he announced to the world that the Ashtons had found their true daughter. After that, I never offered Vivian food again. Then, one day, the comments went wild. “Oh no! Vivian is being cornered by those thugs from the slums! If they get their hands on her, she’ll be scarred for life!” I couldn’t just stand by. I ran out of the house and pulled her from the middle of the jeering circle of boys. But when the police arrived, Vivian’s eyes were red-rimmed as she turned on me. “Claire, why? Why did you hire them to ruin me? What did I ever do to you?” At first, my parents refused to believe it. But then Martha arrived, phone in hand. She showed them videos of me supposedly tormenting Vivian in secret. She showed them chat logs of me contacting the thugs. She slapped me so hard my head rang. “You stole her life! The least you could do is be grateful, but instead, you do this? You’re a monster!” The police found a video on my phone—a video of the thugs manhandling Vivian. It sealed my fate. I had no defense. My parents abandoned me. With nowhere else to go, I ended up back in the slums, where the thugs I’d supposedly hired found me and made me pay for a crime I didn’t commit. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand. I had followed the comments’ advice. I had tried to be good. Why did everyone turn on me? This time, things will be different. This time, I’ll uncover the truth and avenge the girl who died so senselessly. I met Vivian’s hopeful gaze and offered a small, cool smile. I didn’t rush to embrace her like I did last time. My voice was even, betraying nothing. “Welcome to the family, Vivian.” A flicker of confusion crossed her face before it was gone. My parents, however, looked relieved. They didn’t say a word about me acknowledging my birth mother. They just asked us to get along. Later that evening, after dinner, I was in my room when the comments appeared, right on schedule. “Vivian looks thirsty. Someone should get her a cold glass of milk. She’d be so happy.” I ignored them, calmly peeling a piece of fruit. The text began to scroll faster, more insistently. “If Claire just brought her some milk, it would be a great bonding moment. But the fake heiress isn’t that smart.” I remained perfectly still. A soft knock came at my door. It was Vivian, looking pitiful. “Claire? I’m so thirsty. Do you know where I could get a drink?” I raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the mini-fridge in my suite. “Help yourself. Anything you want. Treat this as your home.” Vivian waved her hands frantically, her eyes darting toward me. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. Everything is so… high-tech. I don’t know how to work any of it. Could you just grab something for me? I’m not picky.” Martha, who was polishing the floor nearby, chimed in with a smile. “Claire, be a dear. Vivian’s new here, help her out a little.” Seeing their united front, this transparent little play they were staging, I decided not to refuse. I rose and went to the kitchen. Just like last time, I knocked on Vivian’s door and handed her a bottle filled with a white liquid. Her eyes lit up as she eagerly took it from me. Twenty minutes later, a loud thud echoed from her room, followed by Martha’s bloodcurdling scream. “Help! Somebody help my Vivian!” My parents burst out of their room, and I followed them into the hall. Vivian was lying motionless on the floor, her skin flushed and covered in a terrifying constellation of red welts. “Call an ambulance!” Martha shrieked. But I was prepared. In my last life, the delay in getting to the hospital had nearly killed her. This time, I’d already called our family doctor. He was waiting just outside. Soon, Vivian was revived and conscious. The first person she saw was me. Her eyes immediately filled with tears. “Claire, you knew I was allergic to milk! Why did you force me to drink it? Do you hate me this much?” she cried. “I just want to be part of the family! I’m not a threat to you! Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Martha jumped in to corroborate her story. “Vivian can eat anything, but not milk. Just a drop and she gets sick like this. I told you that this afternoon, Claire! Why would you deliberately give it to her?” My father’s brow furrowed, but he looked to me first. “Claire? Is this true?” My mother stayed silent, but her eyes were encouraging, pleading with me to explain. My own eyes stung with tears. Thank God. They still believed in me. This time, I wouldn’t let them down. I shook my head and stared directly at Vivian. “Are you absolutely certain your only allergy is milk?” Vivian nodded without a second’s hesitation. “Yes.” “Good.” A cold smirk touched my lips. I stepped forward and slapped her, hard, across the face. “How dare you hit my daughter!” Martha shrieked, lunging at me. My mother’s voice was ice. “Martha. You are a housekeeper in this home. Remember your place.” Martha froze, her mouth snapping shut. Vivian cradled her cheek, her jaw clenched as she glared at me with defiant, tear-filled eyes. With everyone watching, I calmly walked into her room and retrieved the bottle. “Vivian,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt, “next time you plant evidence, make sure you know what it is.” I unscrewed the cap and slowly poured the remaining liquid over her head. “This is soy milk. It just happens to be in a milk bottle. If you had taken even a single sip, you wouldn’t be so confident in your little performance right now.” The color drained from Vivian’s face. I let out a cold laugh. “If you’re only allergic to milk, why did soy milk give you a full-body rash? Are you really allergic, or are you just trying to frame me?” My father took the bottle from my hand, sniffed it, and his expression hardened. He looked at Vivian, his disappointment palpable. “Vivian, we brought you into our home to make up for the years we lost, not for you to play these twisted games with your sister.” “If you are this unhappy here,” he added, his voice dangerously low, “you are free to leave with Martha.” Panic seized Vivian. Ignoring the soy milk dripping down her face, she scrambled toward him, her voice breaking. “No! Dad, Mom, please don’t send me away! I don’t know what happened!” I crossed my arms, ready to watch her squirm her way out of this. But it was Martha who stepped forward. “It was my fault!” she declared, her face flushed with feigned shame. “Before dinner, I saw some milk pudding in the fridge. I forgot about her allergy and gave her a bite to try. That must be what caused the reaction! It’s not Vivian’s fault, it’s mine! I’m so sorry!” Vivian let out a small, almost inaudible sigh of relief and quickly nodded. “Yes… I think I remember that. I’m so sorry, Claire. It seems I misunderstood.” I gave Vivian a long, knowing look. “Well, what a coincidence,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “You’d better be more careful next time, little sister. Wouldn’t want you to have another ‘allergic reaction’ and blame it on me again.” Vivian’s face was a mask of fury, but she could only nod meekly. I didn’t press the issue further. Instead, I shot a meaningful glance at my mother. With two decades of history between us, and with Vivian so clearly in the wrong, I knew whose side she would take. She walked over to Martha, her expression grim. “Martha, I allowed you to stay on as staff out of respect for your relationship with both girls. You are Claire’s birth mother and Vivian’s foster mother.” She paused. “But after this, it’s clear your presence here is… complicated. You’re getting older, and this role is awkward for everyone. Perhaps it’s for the best…” Trapped by her own lie, Martha had no choice but to swallow her pride. She nodded, forcing a painful smile. “You’re right. I’ll leave in the morning. I know the girls will be fine here with you.” She didn’t wait until morning. She packed her bags and was gone before midnight. Because Martha had taken all the blame, my parents couldn’t bring themselves to punish Vivian, but the incident planted a seed of doubt. Their attitude toward her became cooler, more distant. Without Martha’s help, Vivian scrambled to repair her relationship with our parents, but she failed at every turn. Even the comments faded away, only appearing sporadically to spout the same tired warnings about how I’d regret crossing her. I ignored them completely. A month passed. Then, the comments returned with a vengeance, scrolling frantically across my vision. “This is bad! Vivian was on her way to visit her foster mom and got cornered by those thugs again!” “They’re jealous she’s an heiress now. They’re threatening to ruin her! If they succeed, Vivian will be traumatized for life!” I sat in my room, unmoved. “If Claire goes to help her now, Vivian will be grateful forever. When she takes over the company, she’ll repay Claire tenfold. But Claire isn’t smart enough to see that.” I didn’t even twitch. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Vivian, her voice a hysterical sob. “Claire, help me! I’m at the Sunnyside Apartments, Building A! Please, you have to save me!” The line went dead. I rolled my eyes. In a situation this dire, she doesn’t call 911? She calls me? But I knew if I didn’t go, I’d be accused of leaving her to die. By the time I arrived, the entire complex was swarming with police. Vivian, her clothes artfully torn, was curled in my mother’s arms, sobbing hysterically. The moment she saw me, her wails grew louder. A female officer was patting her shoulder. Finally, Vivian choked out her story. “Claire said she wanted to visit Mom… she asked me to come with her. I waited at the entrance, but she never showed up. Then… then those men grabbed me.” She took a shuddering breath. “They said Claire paid them… paid them to destroy me, so I’d be too shamed to stay in the family. If a police patrol hadn’t come by… I don’t know what would have happened.” Nosy neighbors had gathered, and they started pointing at me. “We watched Vivian grow up! She’s a sweet, polite girl!” one woman shouted. “You’ve been living her life of luxury for eighteen years, you ungrateful witch! Have you no shame?” I fixed my gaze on Vivian. “That’s a nice story. Do you have any proof?” I asked, my voice cold. “You already tried to frame me with the allergy stunt. Are you trying the same trick again?” My parents’ faces tightened. They remembered. They didn’t immediately condemn me, their expressions thoughtful. Just then, the police brought over several of the thugs in handcuffs. “We have a confession!” the female officer announced. The lead thug’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Hey, you’re Claire Ashton, right? We did what you asked! We roughed up Vivian for you! You said you’d get us out if we got caught! You gotta keep your word!” I shook my head firmly. “I don’t know you. Why are you helping Vivian lie about me?” An older woman in the crowd scoffed. “The evidence is right there! Those boys are local troublemakers, they’ve always had it in for Vivian! Why would they help her frame you?” My mother’s face was pale, her voice trembling. “Claire, please, explain this. I don’t believe you would do this.” The female officer, Officer Davis, approached me, dangling a pair of handcuffs. “I have no patience for spoiled rich girls like you. Let’s go. You can think about what you’ve done down at the station.” From behind the crowd, Vivian shot me a triumphant smirk. I, however, remained completely calm. I turned to her, my voice clear and steady. “Who says I don’t have evidence? In fact, Vivian, haven’t you noticed that we’re missing someone?”

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My father was dying in ICU, each heartbeat adding to the mounting bills. I called my husband Bruce—Wall Street star and trustee of our billion-dollar family trust. “Dad needs five million for treatment,” I pleaded. “Impossible,” his voice chilled. “Medical care isn’t a priority expenditure.” Minutes later, an anonymous email arrived. Attached: trust ledgers showing $2 million yearly payments to a woman named Serena… and a photo of Bruce’s three-year-old carbon copy. The ICU monitor screamed. As my father flatlined, bloody tears burned my cheeks. Bruce killed my father with financial rules. Now I’ll use those same rules to bury him. 01 My father’s funeral was set for three days later. The funeral home’s air conditioning was glacial, but it couldn’t touch the fire of rage burning in my bones. The director approached me, a bill in his hand. “Ms. Caldwell, the total comes to eighty-eight thousand dollars. How would you…” I nodded, pulling out my phone to contact the trust’s bank. The entire hundred-billion-dollar Caldwell fortune was locked away in an offshore trust Bruce had set up. The bank manager’s voice was clipped and professional. “I’m sorry, Ms. Caldwell. As per the trust agreement, any large withdrawals must be personally authorized by the trustee, Mr. Medlin.” “My father just died. This is for his funeral!” “We understand your distress, Ms. Caldwell, but Mr. Medlin has given specific instructions to implement risk control against what he terms your ‘irrational spending’.” Risk control? My father was dead, and he wanted to talk about risk control? I hung up, a burning pain searing my chest, the coppery taste of blood rising in my throat. On the day of the funeral, I stood in the center of the chapel, a specter in black. My father’s portrait watched over me with a look of sorrowful pity. Bruce, of course, arrived late. And he wasn’t alone. His arm was wrapped securely around Serena’s waist. She wore a loose, flowing Chanel maternity dress, her belly swollen and prominent. Tightly clutching her hand was the three-year-old boy from the photo—the one with Bruce’s eyes. The chapel fell into a dead silence. I stalked towards them, my voice a blade of ice. “What are they doing here?” Bruce casually brushed a piece of lint from his suit, a smirk playing on his lips. “Grace, don’t make a scene. It’s an honor for Serena and Kimi to be here, to pay their respects to Arthur.” “You shameless bastard! You used my father’s money—his life—to support your mistress and your son. You—” Serena quickly covered the boy’s ears, shrinking into Bruce’s embrace with a look of feigned terror. “Grace, please, you’re scaring him… Bruce…” Bruce patted her back soothingly before turning his cold gaze on me. “Watch yourself, Grace. This isn’t the place to act like a hysteric.” I fought back the inferno of rage, pointing a trembling finger at the waiting funeral director. “The bill. It needs your authorization.” Bruce let out a short, cruel laugh. “I refuse.” “What did you say?” “The core principle of the trust is asset appreciation,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “The dead are a depreciating asset. Any further investment yields a zero-percent return.” He then looked down, his expression softening as he gently caressed Serena’s pregnant belly. “I, on the other hand, have a duty to invest in the next generation. Now that is a quality asset.” All the blood in my body rushed to my head. “You’re a monster, Bruce!” I swung my hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist in a vice-like grip. “Are you trying to get yourself committed, Grace?” he hissed, shoving me away. Serena leaned against his shoulder, her voice a saccharine whisper. “Bruce, don’t be so harsh. She’s grieving. She just doesn’t understand finance.” Bruce snorted. “Ignorance has a price. The world of finance has no time for tears.” The funeral was a rushed, hollow affair. As I stood clutching my father’s cold, heavy urn, Bruce intercepted me at the exit, holding out a document. Voluntary Waiver of Inheritance Rights. “Sign it,” he commanded. I stared at him, my heart turning to stone. “Do you have to be so utterly ruthless?” Suddenly, Serena gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. A massive, pigeon’s-blood ruby on her finger caught the light, blinding me. “Oh, my,” she murmured. “This light…” She gave me a sly look. “Bruce bought it for me with the trust’s quarterly dividends. He said I deserved some compensation for the emotional distress of Arthur’s passing.” My father’s death was her excuse for a new diamond? Bruce didn’t just hand me the document; he slapped it right on top of my father’s urn. “Your emotional instability makes you unfit to manage these assets, Grace.” “Sign it,” he warned, his voice low and menacing. “Or I’ll make sure you and that urn end up on the street.” I clutched the wooden box, my nails digging into the polished surface. He used the clean, precise language of his profession to commit the filthiest acts imaginable. The law, morality—they were just tools to him. To kill a wolf from Wall Street, I realized, you had to become a bigger, more vicious wolf. 02 I sold every piece of jewelry I owned just to give my father a proper burial. Back in our house, I stormed into his study. The desk was piled high with trust documents—a labyrinth of Cayman Islands double-decker structures, irrevocable powers of attorney, and sole trustee clauses. I once thought these were shields. I now saw they were a cage. For five years, Bruce had always said the same thing: “Grace, leave the complicated stuff to me. Your only job is to enjoy life.” And I had. While I was enjoying life, he was taking everything else. I had to find a loophole. The next day, I went to the top floor of the Caldwell Industries building. As I pushed open the door to the CEO’s office, I was hit by a wave of an aggressive, woodsy cologne. Bruce’s scent. The office was unrecognizable. My father’s rich mahogany furniture, his collection of classic art—all gone. In its place was a sterile landscape of black, white, and chrome. A team of workers was hauling out what they considered trash. There, on top of a dumpster, I saw a familiar frame. A photo of the three of us: my father, my mother, and me. A happy family. I ran, plunging my hand into the heap to retrieve it, slicing my fingertips on the shattered glass. “What are you doing here?” Bruce’s voice cut through the air. He emerged from the office, a cup of coffee in hand. “This was my father’s office!” Bruce took a sip, unfazed. “To be precise, it’s the CEO’s office. And I am the current CEO.” He gestured dismissively at the pile of my father’s belongings. “Inefficient nostalgia is poison to corporate management.” He strode over, snatched the ruined photograph from my hand, tore it in two, and tossed the pieces back onto the pile. “These are all non-performing assets. They need to be liquidated.” My heart seized. He didn’t just want the money. He wanted to erase every trace of my father’s existence. “You ungrateful bastard! If it wasn’t for my father—” “Shut up!” Bruce snapped, a flash of genuine anger in his eyes before it was replaced by contempt. “My expertise multiplied this family’s assets tenfold. I’m only taking what I’ve earned as my performance fee.” He produced another document. “The Estate Tax Optimization Plan. Sign it.” I scanned the pages. It was a plan to transfer the core shareholdings of Caldwell Industries to one of his offshore shell corporations. “I will not sign this.” For once, Bruce didn’t get angry. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sonogram picture. He gazed at the blurry image, a rare hint of warmth touching his lips. “Serena’s having another boy.” He looked up at me, his eyes turning to ice. “You fool. Do you have any idea how much this plan will save us in taxes? We’re talking nine figures.” He leaned in closer. “My sons deserve the best possible future.” He framed his theft as professionalism, my resistance as incompetence. “You make me sick, Bruce.” “Sick?” He chuckled. “The market only cares about results.” He loomed over me. “Sign it.” I grabbed the sheaf of papers and threw them in his face. “Get out!” The documents fluttered to the floor. Bruce calmly straightened his tie. “You’ll regret this, Grace. Emotional decisions always carry the highest cost.” He turned and pressed the intercom on his desk. “Security, please escort Ms. Caldwell from the premises. And revoke her building access, effective immediately.” 03 I was thrown out of the company my father had built. Standing on the pavement beneath the towering skyscraper, I was a walking joke. I needed a lawyer. But after three days and hundreds of calls, every major law firm in the city turned me down. Bruce had already poisoned the well, spreading rumors that my father’s death had left me mentally unstable. He was trying to erase me from society itself. I tried to hail a cab to the next firm on my list, but the driver accepted the ride and then immediately canceled. A moment later, a text from my bank flashed on my screen: ALERT: Your credit card has been suspended due to high-risk activity. Please contact the issuing bank. All my cards were supplementary cards on his account. He was cutting off my oxygen. I was penniless. I couldn’t even afford a cab fare or a legal consultation. My phone buzzed again. It was an e-vite from Bruce. A Celebration of New Life Gala. To celebrate Serena’s pregnancy. The location: our villa at the summit of Aspen Ridge. Our marital home. I remembered when we were renovating it, Bruce had whispered, “This is where our future begins.” Now, it was the stage for his “new life.” At the bottom of the invitation, in tiny font, was a line: This event is graciously sponsored by the Caldwell Family Trust. He was using my family’s money, in my home, to celebrate his child with another woman. Just then, a courier approached me. “Ms. Caldwell? A package for you.” I opened the box. Inside was a lavish, custom-made Italian maternity gown. Beneath it lay a check for a hundred thousand dollars. The card was in Serena’s looping script: Grace, darling. Bruce mentioned you’ve fallen on hard times, and a girl’s got to have a little pocket money. This was a bit too snug for me, but maybe you can use it. It’s so important for a woman to take care of herself. It wasn’t a gift. It was a slow, deliberate twist of the knife. Bile rose in my throat. I tore the check into a thousand tiny pieces. I couldn’t just wait to die. I returned to my father’s study, the one room Bruce hadn’t yet defiled. I had to find something to sell, even if it meant pawning my father’s mementos. As I pulled open a drawer, my hand closed around an old fountain pen. As I was about to add it to the “sell” box, I felt a faint rattle from within its barrel. I unscrewed the pen. A tiny micro-USB drive fell out. With trembling hands, I plugged it into my laptop. The password was my mother’s birthday. The screen flickered to life. My father’s face appeared, etched with weariness. “Grace, if you’re seeing this, it means I’m gone.” “I let a wolf into our home, sweetheart. I was wrong. Bruce’s ambition… it’s a darkness I never could have imagined.” “The usual legal channels are useless against him. To fight a wolf like Bruce, you need to hire an even bigger wolf.” “Go to Wall Street. Find a man named Lister.” “He was once my rival, and he is Bruce’s sworn enemy. They call him the Vulture of Wall Street for a reason. He’s ruthless. But he owes me a favor.” “Tell him Arthur Caldwell sent you to collect a debt.” The video ended. I wiped the tears from my face. This was no longer just my fight. It was my father’s, too. I dialed the international number. “Yeah?” a gruff voice answered. “Mr. Lister? My name is Grace Caldwell, Arthur Caldwell’s daughter. My father told me to find you. It’s about Bruce Medlin.” There was a pause on the other end, then a low, dry chuckle. “Bruce Medlin? That sanctimonious prick.” “He’s stolen my family’s billion-dollar fortune, locked it in a complex offshore trust.” “Offshore, you say? Interesting.” “I need your help. But… I can’t afford your fees right now.” “Money’s not the issue,” Lister cut me off. “The opportunity to watch Bruce Medlin’s empire burn to the ground? That’s the best payment I could ask for.” “Send me everything you have. I love taking down a well-manicured house of cards.” “Congratulations, Ms. Caldwell. You just found yourself an ally who’s willing to go to hell and back with you.” 04 Lister’s team was brutally efficient. Twenty-four hours later, he sent me a preliminary analysis. “Your situation is worse than I thought,” he said over a secure video call. “Bruce’s trust structure is a perfect, self-contained loop. By the time you win a case in the Cayman Islands, the money will have been laundered a dozen times over.” My heart sank into a frozen pit. “But,” Lister said, a predatory grin spreading across his face, “he got greedy.” “To gain absolute control, he named himself both the sole trustee and the sole protector. It means if something happens to him, the entire structure collapses.” “We need seed money to start the attack,” Lister said, pulling up another file. “I found a joint emergency fund account under both your names. Swiss bank. Twenty million dollars.” Twenty million. I remembered it. “It requires two-factor authentication from both of you,” Lister warned. “I know.” I knew all of Bruce’s passwords. He was arrogant, always using the same set of numbers. Our anniversary, his birthday, and… Serena’s birthday. I took a deep breath and logged into the Swiss bank’s portal. I entered the account number and my own security code. Please enter the Trustee’s dynamic authentication code. Our anniversary. Incorrect. Serena’s birthday. Incorrect. My heart hammered against my ribs. Wait. The son. Kimi. I entered the boy’s estimated birthday. Authentication Successful! I quickly typed in the transfer amount: 20,000,000. My pulse thundered in my ears as I clicked “Confirm.” The screen refreshed: “Transaction processing…” I’d done it! I had the ammunition I needed to fight back! A three-minute timer appeared on the screen. 60 seconds… 30 seconds… Suddenly, my phone erupted with notifications. Not a transfer confirmation, but a fraud alert. WARNING: Your account has triggered a high-risk transaction alert. The account has been permanently frozen. Frozen? How? I’d passed the authentication! My phone rang again. It was Bruce. I answered, my hand shaking. “Good evening, darling,” he purred, his voice dripping with the playful cruelty of a cat toying with a mouse. “That was you.” “I have to admit, you’re a little smarter than I gave you credit for. Guessing Kimi’s birthday was a nice touch.” “But you’re so naive, Grace.” “In the world of high-stakes finance, any loophole you can see easily is a trap.” My head was spinning. “What are you talking about?” “I left that account open on purpose, my dear. A little test of your greed and stupidity. I set up a reverse-trigger alert. Any large transfer attempt that bypasses my direct approval automatically triggers a maximum-level security protocol and freezes the account. Permanently.” He let out a low chuckle. “Only I can unlock it now. You idiot.” I felt the world tilt on its axis. I hadn’t just failed to get the money; I had sealed off my last escape route. “Thank you, Grace,” Bruce said, his voice light and airy. “You’ve just saved me the headache of splitting our marital assets.” “Oh, and by the way, half an hour ago, in my capacity as CEO of Caldwell Industries, I ordered a forced liquidation of all the company’s key stock holdings. The cash has already been moved.” “As of now, the liquid capital of Caldwell Industries is zero.”

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1 After producing top-secret materials, my grandmother announced my wedding was ready. My fiancé Liam, heir to a prestigious family, promised to respect all my wishes. My superiors gifted me a 10-carat pink diamond for the ring. Liam took the stone, promising a surprise. On the wedding day, I found a loose Hello Kitty ring instead. Calling Liam, his secretary Tiffany answered: “Hello Kitty’s my favorite. Got a problem?” “You turned my ring into this monstrosity?” I demanded. She sneered, “You think you’re special? I decide everything. If I wanted you in a mascot costume, Liam would agree.” “Give Liam one hour to deliver a real ring,” I warned, “or bail your secretary out of jail.” The ceremony was in one hour. My superiors and family were all busy with work and hadn’t arrived yet. If they saw me without a pink diamond on my finger, they would raise hell. But if Liam could find a suitable replacement, I could probably come up with an excuse. I heard a man’s breathing on the other end of the line. I quickly explained the situation. “We have one hour. Your family is the biggest jeweler in the country; finding a ring shouldn’t be a problem. Get one over here, fast.” “And it can’t be too small. At least six carats, otherwise…” Before I could finish, the line went dead. No matter how many times I called back, I couldn’t get through. Didn’t my grandmother say Liam was the heir to a prestigious family? Is this how a prestigious family behaves? I set down the Hello Kitty ring and was about to go find him myself when Tiffany sauntered in. “Mr. Thorne is very busy. He doesn’t have time for someone as unpresentable as you.” “I’d advise you to just obediently put on your wedding dress and get ready to go on stage with your Hello Kitty ring. Otherwise, if Mr. Thorne is displeased, he might just replace the bride with me on the spot.” As she spoke, she walked over to the vanity and slipped the Hello Kitty ring onto her own finger. It was a perfect fit on her left ring finger. It was obvious whose measurements the ring had been made for. Rage boiled in my chest. “Tiffany, this wedding isn’t a child’s game. Stop messing around and get me a new ring.” “Shut up. You bitch. No one asked for your opinion. I’m in charge of this wedding. And you will wear this ring on stage!” “Oh, your fingers are so small, you probably can’t even wear it. How about I help you with that?” Her eyes, filled with jealous malice, scanned my slender fingers. She glanced around, then picked up a heavy makeup case from the table and advanced on me. “What are you all standing there for? Hold her down! I’m going to smash her hand until it’s swollen! Let’s see who can say the ring doesn’t fit then.” This was beyond unreasonable. “Tiffany, I’m giving you one last chance. Get Liam. Otherwise, you’ll be facing more than just a trip to the police station for this pink diamond. You’ll pay a much heavier price.” Tiffany burst out laughing. “A price? That’s hilarious. Do you think this pink diamond is yours to make threats with? Everyone knows the Thorne family is the biggest jeweler in the country. You obviously stole this pink diamond from them!” “The Thorne family belongs to Liam. A thief like you should be grateful if I gave you a ring made of grass.” I couldn’t be bothered with her. If she was here, Liam had to be nearby. He was probably just too busy with the wedding to answer his phone. If I explained the situation to him in person, he would surely take my side. But as I opened the door, Tiffany exploded. “How dare you ignore me! What are you all standing there for? Grab her! Grab her!” “You little bitch, I’m going to teach you a lesson. Since you don’t want to wear the ring, how about you don’t show your face at all?” She grabbed various eyeshadow palettes, highlighters, and creams, mashing them all together with her hand. Then, she lunged, smearing the mess all over my face. She deliberately jammed her fingers into my eyes, mouth, and nose. I could barely breathe. “Tiffany, are you insane?! When the Thornes see me like this, they’ll never let you get away with it!” Tiffany cackled. “Aria, open your eyes and see who’s holding you down.” I forced my eyes open through the stinging pain. The door was open, and a few people were peering in, their expressions amused, as if watching a show. No one moved to help me. Even a small child nearby yanked out a fistful of my hair. “Aunt Tiffany, this little bitch doesn’t know what’s good for her! Watch me and Uncle Liam teach her a lesson!” Others chimed in. “Miss Reed, you should just apologize to Miss Dawson. If she’s unhappy, Mr. Thorne might think you’re an embarrassment and dump you.” “Everyone knows Miss Dawson is the apple of Mr. Thorne’s eye. He had to bribe her with 5% of Thorne Industries and beg for three days just to get her to agree to this wedding.” “If you piss off Miss Dawson, your life in the Thorne family is going to be miserable. Actually, you might not even make it out of here alive today. Mr. Thorne will clean up any mess she makes.” Tiffany ripped the glove from my hand and stomped on it viciously. “This is what you get for crossing me. Let me tell you, even if you become Mrs. Thorne, you’ll still have to bow and scrape before me.” “Everyone in the Thorne family listens to me. If I say you don’t eat, you’ll starve. If I say you don’t drink, you won’t get a single drop, not even piss!” My fists were clenched so tight my knuckles were white. I twisted, breaking free from the people holding me, but I didn’t dare fight back. Before the wedding, my family and superiors had warned me repeatedly: “If anything happens, talk it out calmly. Don’t lose your temper, and don’t take off your gloves. You know those people can’t even handle a single one of your fingers.” But the gloves that suppressed my abilities were already off. My temper was about to snap. If I could just control it, I could show Tiffany what a grave mistake she had made. But just as I reached out, a glass of red wine was thrown in my face. My eyes burned, and my body trembled uncontrollably. A voice cut through the chaos. “What are you doing?!” 2 I grabbed a tablecloth to wipe the wine from my eyes. Standing there was a man in a white suit with a red rose pinned to his lapel. He was elegant and tall, and the people around him deferred to him, treating him like the center of the universe. My grandmother knew me well; this man was practically sculpted to my tastes. He frowned deeply at Tiffany. “Tiffany, what are you doing? I’m swamped with the wedding today, and I still have to waste time looking for you. Can’t you make my life a little easier?” Tiffany looked utterly wronged. “I was just trying to sort out the ring and leave, but this bitch wouldn’t stop making trouble. She not only stole a gem from your family, but she also had the nerve to demand I find her a 20-carat ring as compensation.” What a blatant lie! I stood up straight, about to speak, but Liam cut me off impatiently. “Who is this cleaning lady? Get out of my wedding!” I took a deep breath, suppressing my anger, and explained, “Liam, I’m Aria Reed, your bride. You took the 10-carat rough pink diamond I sent you to make into a wedding ring. I…” “Enough. The Thorne family doesn’t need a shrew, and we certainly don’t need a country bumpkin who doesn’t know how to behave. Tiffany will stand in for you at the ceremony.” “I’ll explain everything that happened here to both our families. You can stop embarrassing yourself.” I was stunned. I never expected him to say something like that. His secretary was the one who started it all. “But this was all your secretary’s…” “Oh, right. I almost forgot.” Liam’s gaze was icy, as if he were looking at a maggot in a sewer. “Many important people are attending my wedding today—business tycoons, famous jewelry designers. You wasted so much of my secretary’s time that she couldn’t greet the guests with me, which has seriously damaged the interests of Thorne Industries.” “She’s in a bad mood now. Why don’t you do a striptease for her to let off some steam?” Her being in a bad mood had nothing to do with me. “Aria Reed, my grandfather said you were good-looking. But looking at you now, you’re just a toad. I have no idea what tricks you pulled to get my grandfather to favor you so much.” I was floored. It took me a long moment to find my voice. “Liam, after all this, what makes you think I would still marry you?” He looked as if he’d heard something amusing. The people around us burst into laughter. “There’s a line of women waiting to marry Mr. Thorne. If it weren’t for the old master threatening his own life, do you think a toad like you who crawled out of god-knows-where would be worthy of him?” “My Uncle Liam belongs to Aunt Tiffany, you bitch! You have no right to talk to him!” “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll start stripping. If you don’t, we don’t mind helping you.” The Thorne family really lived up to their name. A bunch of animals who didn’t treat people like human beings. “I won’t be attending the wedding, and I won’t be marrying you, Liam. But right now, I want the 10-carat pink diamond my superiors gave me back. Mr. Thorne, you’re the CEO of Thorne Industries. Surely you wouldn’t stoop to coveting a country bumpkin’s single pink diamond, would you?” Liam was taken aback. “A single pink diamond? My family wouldn’t even give it a second glance.” With that, he picked up the Hello Kitty ring and tossed it at my feet. The diamond clattered on the floor and rolled towards me. “Take your diamond and start stripping. I don’t have time to waste on you.” I took a closer look at the diamond. The color, the cut, the fire—nothing matched the original. This wasn’t the pink diamond I had given Liam. It was just a pink Padparadscha sapphire. I took a deep breath. “I said, I’m not marrying you. And…” Tiffany cut me off with an exaggerated gasp. “Who asked for your opinion? You’re just a tool for Mr. Thorne to show his filial piety. If the old master hadn’t chosen you, do you think you’d have the right to stand here?” “Don’t push your luck. Suck up to me, and I might graciously allow your name to appear on the marriage certificate with Mr. Thorne. Otherwise, there are plenty of people who can replace you.” I didn’t care, but my temper was reaching its limit. “Then let them replace me. Now, give me back my rough pink diamond. This is not my stone!” I took out my phone and called my superior to inform them the wedding was off. But Tiffany snatched my phone and threw it on the ground. “Trying to run? No way. You’re apologizing to me today!” The onlookers were getting impatient. “Aria Reed, can you just hurry up and apologize? Miss Dawson can close a deal ten times more valuable than your little pink diamond in a minute. You can’t afford to waste her time.” “Mr. Thorne is being too patient. Indulging this toad before she’s even married into the family.” “I think Aria Reed knows Mr. Thorne is a filial grandson and is just playing hard to get.” “Right. The moment Mr. Thorne threw the diamond at her, she tried to run. She’s just trying to get his attention.” Me? Trying to get Liam’s attention? That was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. “First of all, the rough pink diamond I sent was worth five hundred million. It was an extremely rare Fancy Vivid Purplish Pink diamond. This stone at my feet is just a Padparadscha sapphire. It’s less than three carats, poorly cut, and worth a few hundred thousand at most. Mr. Thorne, I don’t want a botched stone. Now, you will compensate me with a rough pink diamond worth five hundred million, in its original state.” Tiffany narrowed her eyes and whispered something in Liam’s ear. Liam immediately flew into a rage. “Aria Reed, don’t push your luck!”

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I raised my hand to knock on my biological parents’ door when Carter stopped me. “Summer, I was wrong. You’re not the Fitzgeralds’ lost daughter.” The certainty in his eyes told me he’d been reborn too. In our past life, Carter helped me find my family. We fell in love. On our wedding day, his childhood friend—the fake heiress—killed herself horribly. Our marriage crumbled. He blamed me for her death; I hated him for loving my impostor. For ten years, we tore each other apart with vicious words. Then an earthquake hit. He shielded me, taking the crushing debris so I could live. Dying, he whispered, “If I’d known she’d die, I’d never have brought you home.” “Next life, I’ll be all the family you need.” I perished in aftershocks, drowning in regret. Now, reborn, I stood again before my would-be family’s door. 1 Carter blocked my path outside the Fitzgeralds’ villa, his face a mask of conflict and grim resolve. I said nothing, but the image of collapsing steel and concrete flashed before my eyes. His mangled, bloody back, and the words he’d breathed against my ear. “If I had known she would die, I never would have brought you home.” So, this was his choice. If he got a second chance, he would abandon me from the very beginning. Fine. The ten years of our marriage in the last life were hell. He hated me, I resented him, and we tormented each other day and night until death finally set us free. To be able to sever it all at the source… I actually felt a wave of relief. I looked at him and nodded calmly. “Okay.” A flicker of astonishment crossed Carter’s face. The speech he had prepared died in his throat. “What did you say?” he asked, almost reflexively. “I said, I understand,” I repeated. “If you made a mistake, then that’s that. Thanks for the ride. I should head back to campus.” I turned to leave. His hand shot out and gripped my arm. “Summer Hines!” His voice was a low growl, laced with a hint of panic. “What kind of attitude is that? Haven’t you always wanted to find your family? I tell you it’s a mistake, and you just give up that easily?!” I turned back to him, finding the situation almost laughable. He had gone to such lengths to lie, all so I would give up. Now that I had done exactly as he wished, he was still not satisfied. “What else am I supposed to do?” I retorted. “Carter, are you telling me you lied? That I am the real Fitzgerald daughter?” The panic in his eyes intensified at my words. His grip on my arm tightened unconsciously. He lowered his gaze, hiding his expression from me. “Let’s just drop this. Don’t ever bring it up again, and don’t go near the Fitzgeralds.” “I understand.” I pulled my arm free, rubbing the red marks his fingers had left on my wrist. “I won’t bring it up, and I won’t go near them. Are you satisfied now, Carter?” He stared at my empty hand, a flicker of bewilderment on his face, as if he’d lost something precious. He didn’t know that I was reborn, too. This time, I would not walk through that door. I would not become the Fitzgeralds’ daughter. And I would certainly not… become his wife. He wanted to protect his childhood sweetheart, to keep their perfect world intact. I was more than happy to oblige. “I’m leaving.” Without another glance at him, I turned and walked towards the bus stop. Behind me, Carter’s voice, edged with frustration, chased after me. “Wait! I’ll drive you back.” Carter didn’t take me back to my dorm. He drove straight to a high-end apartment building in the city center. I watched the city lights blur past the window, a cold clarity settling in my heart. In our last life, after we got married, this was our love nest. It had held our tenderest moments and witnessed our slow descent into bitter resentment, until all that was left was hatred. The car stopped. He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to me. In the dim light of the car, his expression was unreadable, but his tone had softened, no longer as harsh as it was outside the Fitzgeralds’ home. “Get out. We need to talk.” 2 I followed him into the apartment. The decor was familiar—a cool, minimalist design that mirrored his personality: refined and distant. Only this time, I felt none of the heart-fluttering excitement I once had. He tossed me a bottle of water from the fridge and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, lighting a cigarette. The pale smoke swirled around him like a mist, creating a barrier between us. “Summer, I know you’re upset.” He spoke, his voice muffled by the smoke. “I handled the situation with your family poorly. But Amelia’s health… it’s not good right now. She can’t handle any kind of shock.” Amelia again. I lowered my eyes, twisted open the cap, and took a silent sip of water. The cold liquid slid down my throat but couldn’t quell the bitterness churning inside me. He had said the same thing in our last life. He told me Amelia had been frail since childhood, prone to depression, and that I should be more considerate of her once I was reunited with my family. And I listened. I yielded every bit of Carter’s favoritism to her. I even chose to retreat and stay silent during her endless, unreasonable provocations. But she used her own suicide to sentence our marriage to a decade-long life sentence of misery. Seeing my silence, Carter must have thought I was still sulking about not being able to meet my family. He stubbed out his cigarette with a sigh of resignation. He turned, walked over, and knelt in front of me, looking up with a pleading expression. “Don’t be mad at me, okay?” His voice was soft, and his large hand enveloped mine as I held the water bottle. “I admit, I messed up today. I got your hopes up for nothing.” “Tell me what you want as compensation. Anything. As long as it’s within my power, I’ll give it to you.” He paused, his tone growing more earnest. “But for now, let’s just… not think about the Fitzgeralds, alright?” He had humbled himself completely, his love for me practically spilling from his eyes. I could see it clearly. He was terrified of me being angry, terrified of me leaving him. But that love was conditional. The price was my identity. I looked up, met his gaze, and suddenly wanted to laugh. “There’s nothing I want.” I calmly pulled my hand away. The movement made the light in his eyes dim for a moment. “Don’t worry. Even if the Fitzgeralds begged me to come back with all their wealth, I wouldn’t give them a second glance.” “And you don’t need to apologize. You don’t owe me anything. Let’s just end things between us.” Carter’s brow furrowed tightly. He shot to his feet, his face instantly turning cold. “End things? Summer, are you throwing a tantrum? Is this some kind of game? Because I wouldn’t let you meet your family, you’re playing hard to get?” He leaned in, his hands braced on the sofa on either side of me, trapping me in his space. “I just said you can’t go to the Fitzgeralds! I never said I wanted to break up with you! We can be just like we were before. No, I’ll treat you even better than before!” I looked at him and suddenly felt so tired. He thought that by stripping me of the identity of the “true Fitzgerald heiress,” we could go back to the beginning, that we could love each other without any problems. But he didn’t understand. The root of the tragedy was never about whether I returned to the Fitzgeralds or not. “Carter,” I said, pushing him away and standing up, creating distance between us. “I’m tired. I want to go home.” Without another look at him, I walked straight to the door. This time, he didn’t stop me. 3 In the following days, I threw myself into the final preparations for my study abroad application. Soon enough, I received an acceptance letter from a university overseas. My departure date was set for next month. The day before I was scheduled to leave, I was stopped by two men in black suits as I walked out of the library. “Miss Hines, Mr. Gould would like to see you.” I was forced into a car that sped through the city, finally stopping at the top floor of a skyscraper overlooking the river. “Mr. Gould is busy. Please wait here.” A bodyguard escorted me into a glass room, then turned, left, and locked the door behind him. The room had a spectacular view, with one entire wall made of a massive pane of glass. Across from the glass was the city’s most exclusive rooftop garden restaurant. At that moment, the restaurant was brightly lit and bustling with activity. A grand birthday party was in full swing. The guest of honor was Amelia Fitzgerald. She was dressed in a stunning gown, the center of attention. And the man standing beside her, placing a birthday tiara on her head and gazing at her with tender affection, was Carter. I watched as Carter took Amelia’s hand for the first dance. They spun, drew close, and whispered to each other, looking every bit the perfect couple. The guests applauded, their faces beaming with blessings. I suddenly wanted to laugh. To laugh at how foolishly I had clung to him in my past life. Was it worth it, squandering my entire life for a man who didn’t love me? I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight any longer. But the image of Carter’s mangled, bloody face from the earthquake, the memory of his trembling spine as he shielded me, surfaced in my mind, unbidden. He hated me, yet he saved me. That debt was a vast net, trapping me, leaving me unable to move.

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Three months into my new job, I discovered my colleagues had a nickname for me: “The Mourning Dove.” The name came from Alexis’s insufferably arrogant secretary. It was because I was thirty-two, still clutching the proof of an eight-year relationship, yet still waiting for a wedding ring. I confronted Alexis. “Your secretary calls me the Mourning Dove. Did you know?” He didn’t even bother to look up. “That’s just Shanna,” he said. “She’s unfiltered, just making a joke. You’re thirty-two, are you really going to pick a fight with a kid?” Then he looked at me and chuckled. “I hate to say it, but it’s a pretty good fit.” My heart felt like it was seized by an icy fist. Eight years of my youth, and to him, it was nothing more than a punchline. I turned and walked away. I quit my job and blocked him on everything. And that’s when the man who was always so composed finally panicked. “Carol,” he begged. “Please, come back.” 1 The first time I heard the words “Mourning Dove” loud and clear was during our Monday corporate meeting. Shanna was looking down, feigning humility as I reprimanded her, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. During the break, I overheard someone mutter. “What a Mourning Dove. Always picking on the pretty young girls.” The words hit me like a physical blow. That one comment opened the floodgates, and the whispers grew louder. “She’s on a total power trip, taking it all out on the new girl.” “She’s thirty-two and still clinging to an eight-year relationship that’s going nowhere. Talk about desperate.” I set my mug down, and the conference room fell silent for a heartbeat. Dozens of eyes focused on me, as if I were the one who had done something wrong. Shanna dabbed at her reddened eyes with a tissue. “Director Kennedy, I’ll double-check the data.” “You won’t double-check it. you’ll redo it,” I said, forcing the iciness in my voice to mask the sting in my heart. “I want an accurate analysis and a recovery plan on my desk before tomorrow morning’s meeting.” My gaze swept over her, and over the gawking faces in the room. “Meeting adjourned.” I stood first and strode out of the room. Behind me, the tide of whispers surged again, this time more brazenly. “Who does she think she is? She only got that director position because she’s sleeping with Mr. Price.” “The Mourning Dove is on the warpath. Tsk, tsk. Guess menopause came early for her.” Back in my office, a notification popped up. An internal email. I opened it. The subject line was glaring: “Regarding the Optimization of Managerial Communication and a Focus on Employee Well-being.” The sender was the HR Director, but I knew exactly whose strings were being pulled. Apparently, Shanna’s tears carried more weight than my performance reports. I scoffed and closed the window just as Alexis’s private line rang. His voice was a lazy, placating drawl. “Carol, you were a little fired up in the meeting, huh? You made the poor girl cry.” “Shanna’s young, she lacks experience. It’s normal for her to make mistakes. You should cut her some slack.” I could faintly hear soft sobs in the background. I fought to keep my own emotions in check, my voice as level as I could make it. “Shanna’s foundational data was riddled with errors. It directly impacts the company’s quarterly financial report.” “Oh, come on. It’s just work. A few slip-ups are bound to happen,” he said, brushing it off. “Besides, Shanna’s on her period, she wasn’t feeling her best. Try to be a little more understanding.” “Anyway, dinner tonight? That new sushi place just opened. I’ve already booked us a table.” 2 As I slid into the passenger seat of Alexis’s familiar black sports car after work, my mood finally began to lift. “She’s just a kid, Carol. She doesn’t know any better. Teach her the ropes, for my sake, okay?” he asked, putting on a show of pleading with me. I decided not to press the issue. I let it go. But when we arrived, Shanna was already there, her long hair perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. Seeing us, she immediately stood up. “Mr. Price, Carol! I was worried you’d be bored waiting for the food, so I went ahead and ordered. I hope you like what I picked!” I shot a look at Alexis, but he had already slid into the seat next to Shanna, smiling. “Shanna was worried you were still angry, so she came to apologize in person. See how thoughtful she is?” Shanna eagerly poured me a cup of sake, raising her glass to me. “Carol, it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry the data stressed you out, and I’m even sorrier that I caused everyone to gossip about you… Anyway, I’ll punish myself with a drink!” She downed it in one go, a becoming blush instantly rising in her cheeks, making her look even more delicate and charming. Alexis gave her an appreciative glance, then asked casually, “What are people gossiping about? What are they saying about Carol?” Shanna pursed her lips into a coy smile. “Oh, Mr. Price, you should ask Carol about that. It’s not my place to say.” Alexis turned to me, his gaze intensely curious. I met his eyes, my voice flat. “Your people are calling me the Mourning Dove.” Alexis didn’t even flinch. He just threw his head back and laughed. “Shanna was just trying to break the ice, kidding around with you. You’re not taking it seriously, are you?” He then looked me over, a smirk playing on his lips. “You have to admit… it kind of fits.” I stared at the face I had known and loved for eight years, and suddenly, he was a complete stranger. “Alexis, do you… do you really think this is funny?” “Hearing them call me a Mourning Dove, you actually find that amusing?” The air in the room went still. Shanna made a show of getting up, her eyes already glistening with tears. “Mr. Price, am I in the way? I should go. I’ll leave you two to talk…” “Sit down, Shanna!” Alexis grabbed her wrist, then shot an exasperated look at me. “Carol, Shanna came here to sincerely apologize. Can you stop being so aggressive? It’s just a nickname. Do you have to make such a big deal out of it?” It felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I looked at his hand, firmly grasping Shanna’s wrist, and a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. The trust and love we had built over eight years crumbled into dust in that single moment. “Fine. That’s just fine.” I smiled, a real, chilling smile this time. I picked up the cup of sake Shanna had poured for me. “I don’t think I can accept this apology.” Without another glance at their shocked, ugly faces, I walked out. 3 The next day, I needed the latest sales data for a presentation to the Chairman. My email request went into a black hole. When I went to the department in person, the response was suspiciously uniform: “Sorry, Director. Shanna told us Mr. Price needed the data urgently, so we have to prepare it for him first.” “Shanna said Mr. Price hasn’t reviewed these numbers yet, so we can’t release them to you.” “You’ll have to check with Shanna. We’re just following her instructions.” The moment I turned my back, the snickering started again. “The Mourning Dove can throw her weight around all she wants, but she still needs us to get anything done!” “Honestly, she acts so high and mighty, but she’s just trash trying to pass!” I immediately called Alexis’s cell. It went straight to voicemail. This deliberate radio silence was a direct, calculated humiliation. Fuming, I marched straight to his office. And I found Shanna nestled in his arms, the two of them looking disgustingly cozy. When Alexis saw me, his voice was sharp with irritation. “Don’t you have any manners? Don’t you know how to knock?” My gaze was locked on him, my voice like ice. “Alexis, I need the latest sales figures for my report.” His brow furrowed even deeper. “I already told you I need that data first. What’s your rush?” He paused, then added, “Shanna is meticulous. She’s reviewing it again to make sure there are no mistakes, so you don’t have another meltdown over a tiny error.” “A tiny error?” A cold laugh almost escaped me. “Alexis, her ‘tiny error’ was on key data that impacts a multi-million dollar project decision!” I reined in my emotions, my voice hardening. “And your idea of ‘meticulous’ is letting someone who can’t even read a spreadsheet properly bottleneck our core data?” Shanna’s eyes immediately filled with tears, her voice trembling with manufactured hurt. “Carol, I know I’m stupid… I know I’m not as good as you, but I’m really, really trying my best…” “Shanna, it’s not your fault!” Alexis instantly wrapped an arm around her, his tone softening to a gentle murmur. When he turned back to me, his eyes were filled with disgust. “Carol! Will you give it a rest? You blow every little thing out of proportion! You’re acting more and more like a Mourning Dove every day!” The words, spoken so openly from his own mouth, made me freeze. He completely ignored the wounded look in my eyes, his voice rising in volume. “You can’t do your job, and you spend all day throwing tantrums! Calling you a Mourning Dove is putting it mildly!” “Look at Shanna! Look at how humble she is! I’m only saying this for your own good!” Leaning against Alexis’s shoulder, Shanna shot me a triumphant smirk. “Fine, Mr. Price. I understand,” I said, my voice flat and dead. “The data. I’ll figure it out myself.” As I turned to leave, I could hear Alexis’s voice, deliberately softened, comforting her. “Don’t cry, Shanna. Ignore her. She’s just jealous of you. She’s twisted…” 4 The humiliation didn’t stop. It got worse. Alexis’s endorsement was a blank check for Shanna and the rest of the hyenas. “Mourning Dove” became a semi-public joke. Two new interns saw me in the hallway and exchanged strange, mocking smiles. One of them whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Hurry, it’s the Mourning Dove. Don’t let her peck you.” “I heard there’s a group chat… haha, are you in it?” “No, not yet! Add me, quick.” This became a daily occurrence. The final straw came during a major project presentation. My last report had been a failure, leaving the Chairman deeply unsatisfied. So for this one, I had prepared meticulously, leaving no stone unturned. But ten minutes before the meeting, Alexis walked in with Shanna. “Shanna has also been following this project closely,” he announced. “She’ll lead the presentation. You can provide supplemental information.” I tried to argue. “Alexis, I’ve been in charge of this project from its inception. I know it inside and out.” Alexis sneered, glancing at me. “You know it? Then who was it that disappointed the Chairman last time?” He then turned to Shanna, his eyes full of encouragement. “Shanna, you can begin when you’re ready.” Shanna immediately stepped forward, confidently plugging her USB drive into the laptop. As she presented, Alexis nodded frequently, a look of deep satisfaction on his face. I watched the whole charade with cold, silent fury. Then, as she was switching between windows, her finger slipped. Her personal chat client was instantly mirrored onto the massive conference room screen. Pinned to the top was a group chat with a name that burned itself into my retinas: 【The Mourning Dove Observation Diary】 The feed was filled with candid, unflattering photos of me, each with a running commentary. “Look at the Mourning Dove with her yoga pants and fancy coffee. Acting like she’s high society!” “Please, Alexis pays for everything. If it were me, I’d have dumped her after eight years!” Even through the screen, I could taste the fake sweetness in Shanna’s reply: “Guys, don’t be so mean.” And right below it, a message from Alexis himself: “Shanna, stay away from the Mourning Dove. Don’t want her starting trouble with you again.” I looked at Alexis. His expression was completely untroubled, almost amused. My heart turned to ash. Eight years of devotion, of sacrifice… had been a complete and utter joke. I didn’t wait for the meeting to end. I walked straight to HR and submitted my resignation. As I was carrying my box out, I ran into Alexis and Shanna, who were laughing together in the hallway. Alexis’s eyes followed me, but he didn’t say a word. And in my heart, I said, Goodbye, Alexis. For good.

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