My wife’s young assistant suddenly dropped a bombshell on social media, a cryptic post about how he couldn’t continue their “vague, messy relationship” any longer. My wife, Miranda, who was usually so cool and composed, burst into our home in a full-blown panic. “Leo’s making a huge scene this time,” she pleaded, her eyes wide with urgency. “We need to get a sham divorce, just for show. You can go stay at your parents’ place for a few days, and as soon as this blows over, we’ll get remarried. I promise.” Her hands gripped my arms. “Don’t worry, Ethan. It’s just for show. You are, and always will be, my only real husband.” Looking at her desperate face, I nodded. But she had no idea. She didn’t know that she and I were bound together by the System. The moment we divorced, I would be erased from this world, never to be seen by her again. … After I agreed, Miranda dragged me straight to the courthouse. I remember once asking her for a snack from the pantry, and it took her five minutes to begrudgingly get it for me. Now, she was moving at lightning speed to end our marriage. Standing in the sterile hallway of the courthouse, she squeezed my hand tightly. “Ethan, you have to believe me. Just give me seven days. I only need seven days to calm him down, and then we’ll get married again, okay?” Her voice was a desperate whisper. “Once I get him sorted out, I’ll give you anything you want. Anything.” I just nodded, my emotions numb. A wide, relieved smile spread across her face as she pulled out a pile of “divorce gifts”—a collection of things I used to love, now laid out before me like a cheap consolation prize. I didn’t even glance at them. They were nothing more than a bribe, a tool she was using to discard me so she could be with her new boy toy. I didn’t take them. I just turned and walked out of the courthouse. She’d always had a string of young, handsome men on the side, even after we were married. Her assistants changed like the seasons, each one a prettier, younger version of the last. I’d argued with her about it. I’d begged her. She would always placate me with sweet words and empty promises, then go right back to her old ways. Eventually, I just gave up. It was her nature, and I couldn’t change it. I told myself it was fine, as long as she still considered me, Ethan, to be her husband. But this new assistant, Leo, was different. This time, I think she had actually fallen for him. She would spend a fortune just to make him smile. She’d cancel our plans to go on lavish trips with him, leaving me at home alone. She’d ignore my calls if she thought it might upset him. And now, just to appease him, she was convincing me to get a fake divorce so she could throw him the wedding of the century. Her heart had left me a long time ago. As we walked out of the courthouse together, I saw Leo waiting by the entrance, practically bouncing on his heels. When he saw Miranda, he ran to her. “Mira! You’re finally out! I’ve been waiting forever. Let’s go!” he chirped, before turning to me with a saccharine-sweet bow, completely ignoring the fury on Miranda’s face. “Thank you, Ethan. Your sacrifice gave me this chance. I’ll take good care of Mira now, you can rest assured!” Before he could say another smug word, Miranda’s hand whipped out and cracked across his face. “Shut up!” she hissed. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the car? Don’t you dare pull a stunt like this again, or you’re gone. You understand me?” Leo clutched his cheek, his expression a mask of wounded pride. “Mira! You’re divorced now! Why are you still protecting him like this?” Miranda shoved him back, her hand pressing against his face. “I warned you about this. Don’t make me say it again.” Sensing the depth of her rage, Leo finally backed off and walked away, his shoulders slumped, his retreat punctuated by a choked sob. Miranda took a half-step toward him, her hand outstretched as if to comfort him, before she caught herself and pulled back. She stepped in front of me, putting on a show of defending my honor. She had once promised me that no matter what she did on the side, she would never, ever let it affect me or our home. Now, that line had been crossed. And she was panicking. When she looked back at me, her face was a mess of anxiety. “Ethan, I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was going to be here,” she said, her voice small and careful. “I guess I’ve been spoiling him too much lately, he’s gotten bold. I’ll deal with him.” I just shook my head, signaling that it didn’t matter. I’d seen and endured far worse. This was nothing. “He’s already here,” I said, my voice flat. “You should go be with him. I don’t need you to take care of me.” “I’ll grab a cab now. I need to pack my things and find a new place.” Miranda blinked, then quickly recovered. “Of course. Ethan, wherever you want to go, just let me know. I’ll pay for everything. Just go, have some fun.” I nodded without a word and kept walking. The moment I stepped out of the courthouse grounds, a mechanical voice echoed in my mind. “Subject: Ethan McCollum. System has detected the termination of your marital bond with Miranda Thorne. Mission is now concluded.” “In seven days, you will exit this world by way of a terminal illness.” Eight years ago, I was just a guy reading a novel on my couch when I was inexplicably pulled into this world. I was bound to a “Companion System” and placed by Miranda’s side. The System’s mission was simple: stay with Miranda for eight years, or help her achieve great success and a full ‘Happiness Index.’ Within the first few years, with my help, her company had become a billion-dollar enterprise and her Happiness Index had maxed out. But even though my mission was technically complete, I didn’t leave. In those eight years, I had genuinely fallen in love with her. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. The System told me that if I just completed the full eight-year term, I could stay with her forever. I thought that was my future. I would stay by her side until the day I died. But here we were, just seven days shy of the eight-year mark, and she had just divorced me. On the day my eight years were up, I would be sent back to my original world. With seven days left to live, I checked into a hotel. On the way, I saw them everywhere. On billboards, on bus stop ads, on the news tickers. Gushing articles and sweet photos of Miranda Thorne and Leo Vance, preparing for their fairy-tale wedding. I saw a picture of them—her in a wedding gown, him in a tuxedo—and it all clicked. The rush to divorce me, the desperation. It was all to prepare a surprise wedding for her boy toy. I suddenly remembered when I first arrived in this world. The System had directed me to her, and the moment she saw me, it was like she’d been struck by lightning. She fell for me, hard. She swore that day that I would be the love of her life, that she would do anything to be with me. And for a while, she did. She cared for me in a way that was all-consuming. Her presence was in every detail of my life. I truly felt like I was the center of her universe. When her wealthy parents forbade her from marrying a no-name like me, she went on a hunger strike for three days until they finally relented. At our wedding, she held my hand and vowed before God and everyone, “I, Miranda Thorne, will love Ethan McCollum for the rest of my life. Forever and always.” She didn’t keep her promise. Back in my hotel room, I lay down on the bed. Before I could even process my thoughts, a sudden, coppery taste filled my mouth, and I coughed, spattering blood across the clean white sheets. It seems the illness the System had planned for my final seven days was going to be a rough one. At the hospital, the doctors were baffled. They couldn’t find anything wrong with me. They just gave me some painkillers and sent me home. I couldn’t help but wonder what the look on Miranda’s face would be when I finally died. Of course, before that happened, there was one last thing I had to do. I had to see her parents, my in-laws, and tell them to be well, not to grieve for me. In this strange, foreign world, they were the only ones who had ever treated me like family. Since I was dying, it was only right that they knew. I hadn’t even reached their front door when I saw her through the window. Miranda was there, shielding Leo behind her as she faced her parents. “Mom, Dad, Ethan is busy! I brought my assistant to visit you, there’s no need to throw his gifts on the floor!” she was shouting. Her father pointed a trembling finger at her, his voice booming with rage. “You disgraceful girl! I’ve told you, I only acknowledge one son-in-law, and that is Ethan McCollum!” “Get this damn Leo out of my house! Get him out now!” Her mother clutched her chest, her face pale. “Your father is right! Take him and leave, now!” Her voice cracked. “Mira, Ethan has never, ever done anything to wrong you.” A sliver of warmth spread through my chest. It was true, they had once fought tooth and nail to keep me from marrying their daughter. It took Miranda’s hunger strike to change their minds. But after we were married, I had made a real effort. I visited often, cooked for them, and looked after their health. Over time, they had come to see me as their own son. “I already talked to Ethan about this,” Miranda argued, her voice rising. “He’s fine with it.” “I’m not asking you to accept Leo! I just brought him here to say hello! Do you have to be so rude?” “Leo, we’re leaving!” she fumed, her face flushed with anger, and started dragging him toward the door. The scene was an almost perfect mirror of how she had once fought for me. Only now, the man at her side was different.

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1 My husband was a pathologically frugal man. I once spent fifty dollars on Black Friday, and he beat me so badly my spleen ruptured. He said we had everything we needed at home, so spending money frivolously was a sin. The beating, he claimed, was what I deserved. But that fifty dollars was for his own underwear and socks. I called 911. He cursed and screamed, chasing the paramedics away, yelling that since I didn’t have a job, I could just lie in bed for a few days and get over it. I died that night. He turned around and sued the hospital, claiming their negligence and refusal to treat me was the cause of my death. He extorted a huge sum from them, used the money to marry a new woman, and took her on a lavish European vacation. When I woke up, reborn, I was staring at a newly opened package on the coffee table. Outside, I heard a key turn in the lock. Trevor was home. … The sound of the deadbolt sliding back sent a tremor through my hands. I knew, the second Trevor walked through that door and saw the package, I would be met with fists like iron. I scrambled into the bedroom, shoved the cardboard box deep into the closet, and frantically pulled his favorite Hermès pants over it, creating a messy pile. Trevor burst in, his voice booming with false cheer. “Lina, honey! Come look what I found at the market! Your dinner is all set!” I took the grimy plastic bag from his hand. Inside was a collection of wilted lettuce, bruised spinach, and yellowed cabbage leaves, along with a piece of fatty, discolored off-cut meat. Trevor’s route home from the office took him past the farmers’ market. Every evening, he would scavenge the vegetables others had thrown away. That was my food for the day. He ate his lunch and dinner at the company cafeteria, only eating breakfast at home. He placed another bag on the counter, this one containing fresh bread and milk, and stored it neatly in the fridge. I clenched my fists, my eyes locked on his back, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to escape. This time, I would not be his lamb to the slaughter. He turned and saw me staring at the refrigerator, misinterpreting my gaze completely. His voice sharpened into a warning. “Don’t even think about touching my bread and milk. I have to work. I need to eat fresh food.” He sneered. “You don’t work. As long as you’re not starving, it doesn’t matter what you eat.” But before our marriage, I had a better job than him, a higher salary. After I got pregnant, he begged me to quit, saying the baby was more important than money. When I came home, his mother was a constant, passive-aggressive presence, shaming me for not earning a living, for spending her son’s money. She even forced me to collect cans and bottles to “contribute.” The stress and exhaustion led to a miscarriage. When I told him I wanted to go back to work, he confiscated my ID and bank cards, forcing me into the role of a full-time housewife. And so began my life of eating rotten leaves. I took the disgusting bag into the kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder; Trevor had gone into the bedroom. I immediately tossed the rotten vegetables into the trash and made a break for the door. I was shoving my feet into my sneakers when I heard the closet door slide open in the bedroom. A jolt of pure terror shot through me. I fumbled with my laces, my fingers clumsy with fear. Just as I got my shoes on, Trevor stormed out of the bedroom, his face a mask of fury. 2 He saw me trying to leave and yanked me back by the arm. “I told you to find my new Hermès pants! Are you deaf?” A man with a three-thousand-dollar monthly salary who wore Hermès. If my mother didn’t slip us cash every few weeks, he wouldn’t be able to afford boxer shorts. He hadn’t mentioned the package, so he hadn’t found it yet. I had to get out, get to my parents’ house where I would be safe. “They’re in the closet, just look for them yourself,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “My mom just called. She has ten thousand dollars in cash for me. I’ll just go pick it up and come right back.” The mention of my mother’s money instantly softened his expression. “Your mother knows her place,” he said with a smirk. “If it wasn’t for her money, I would’ve kicked a poor, ugly thing like you to the curb years ago.” I nodded placatingly, turning to open the door. But he grabbed me again. “Find my pants first. Your first priority is always, always, to serve me.” Trevor shoved me back towards the bedroom. Standing in front of the closet, my limbs began to tremble. I couldn’t bear to think of the horror that would unfold if he found that package. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What are you so afraid of?” His voice suddenly rose to a shout. “You’re not hiding a man in here, are you?!” I flinched, my whole body shaking. I was terrified of him beating me senseless, but he saw it as guilt. “Lina Reed, you dare cheat on me? I’ll find your lover, strip you both naked, and parade you through the neighborhood!” He began tearing the apartment apart like a madman. A small part of me relaxed. As long as he didn’t search the closet, he wouldn’t find the package. He ransacked the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom. Finally, he stormed back into the bedroom and flung open the closet door. His eyes landed on the lumpy pile of clothes in the corner. He reached for it. My heart leaped into my throat. The package was right at the bottom. 3 I lunged in front of him, scattering the pile of clothes, pressing one hand down hard on the hidden package while my other hand snatched out the Hermès pants. “Here! I found them.” He saw the wrinkled state of the pants and threw them in my face. “Do you have any idea how much these cost, you worthless bitch? You could work your whole miserable life and never afford pants like these.” “I’ll iron them for you,” I said quickly, grabbing the pants from the floor. He shoved me towards the living room. “Hurry up. I have an important party to go to.” While I ironed his precious pants, he searched the apartment twice more. The moment I finished, he threw me to the floor, his face contorted with rage. “Tell me! Where is he hiding?” My hands shaking, I held out my phone. “You can check my phone. There’s no one else. I’ve been here, waiting for you, like a good wife.” My voice quavered. “You were so angry when you came in… you scare me. That’s why I was trembling.” A smug, satisfied smile spread across his face, and he let me go. I knew he loved it when I was afraid of him. It made him feel powerful, like he had me completely under his thumb. He sat on the sofa and meticulously went through every app on my phone, finding nothing. With a roar of frustration, he slammed my phone down on the table and started tearing at his own hair. “Lina, I know your whole family looks down on me! So what if you were beautiful and successful? Look at you now! I’ve turned you into a useless, pathetic housewife!” His words hit me like a physical blow. “You’d better behave,” he snarled, “or I’ll make sure you die a very painful death.” I was stunned. When we got married, I knew he was insecure about his finances, so I’d specifically told my parents not to ask for a bride price or dowry. So, naturally, he gave nothing. But he demanded I bring a house to the marriage. I had one, a condo I’d bought with my own money, so it became our marital home. The moment I got pregnant, he knelt before me, begging me to quit my high-paying job. I refused, telling him his salary wasn’t enough to support a family. He threatened to kill himself, screaming that money could be earned anytime, but our child’s health was paramount. So I quit. And I still lost the baby. And that was the beginning of my miserable new life. 4 I never imagined it. This wasn’t just control. This was a calculated, premeditated campaign of revenge. He didn’t want to build a life with me; he wanted to destroy mine to make himself feel superior. I picked myself up off the floor and smoothed my hair, forcing a placating tone. “I’ve never looked down on you, Trevor. I love you. I believe you’ll be a great success one day.” He looked at me as if I were an idiot. I knew in that moment, he was gloating, proud that he could abuse me like this and still have me worship him. “You just wait here,” I said. “I’ll go to my mom’s, get the money, and I’ll bring back some ribs for you.” That finally satisfied him. As I was leaving, he called out, “Tell your mom you need thirty thousand. I want to buy an LV belt.” I nodded obediently and quickly shut the door behind me. I looked back at the cage that had imprisoned me for three years, then turned without hesitation and sprinted for the elevator. It was on the ground floor. I lived on the nineteenth. “Come on, come on, faster,” I whispered. The elevator reached the fifth floor and stopped. I glanced back at our apartment door. A wave of anxiety washed over me. I decided to take the stairs. I couldn’t risk another accident, another chance for him to kill me. Just then, our front door flew open. Trevor stood there, holding the package, his face purple with rage. “Lina! You eat my food, you live in my house, you don’t earn a single cent, and you have the audacity to shop on Black Friday? What is this trash you bought?!” The elevator started moving again, rising quickly. Tears of desperation welled in my eyes. Please, please, hurry. I couldn’t go through the torture of my last life again. But a second later, he was on me, just like before, grabbing a fistful of my hair.

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1 My agent handed me the invitation—a christening, for Lilia Reed’s daughter. My heart gave a little tremor, but I kept my voice steady. “Send a gift for me. Two thousand bucks should be fine.” That night, the news that the industry’s golden couple had a new baby shot to the top of the trending topics. Even Lilia, who notoriously shied away from the public eye, went live to celebrate. A fan asked her to compare the feeling of winning her first award with becoming a mother for the first time. She smiled, reaching for the gleaming trophy on the shelf behind her. Her hand slipped. The award tumbled from the shelf, shattering on the floor. And from the broken base, a small, platinum ring—hidden for three years—rolled out across the polished hardwood. She froze. Then, holding her breath, she knelt and carefully pulled a small, folded piece of paper from the wreckage of the trophy’s base. She unfolded it. The camera zoomed in, and my handwriting filled the screen. “I’ve taken care of everything. Marry me.” I never thought the joy I’d failed to even speak aloud would be revealed to the world in such a ridiculous, public spectacle three years later. The live chat exploded. [OMG, that is the most romantic thing I have EVER seen! Are Marcus and Lilia just living in a rom-com 24/7?] [Uh, you’re missing the point. That’s not what this is. If I remember right, she was still with Leo Vance when she won that award…] [Wait, so you’re telling me LEO was about to propose right before they broke up?! He never said a word, even when their split got so nasty… my heart can’t take this.] … On screen, Lilia remained frozen for a long, silent moment. It wasn’t until her husband, Marcus Ewing, called from the other room— “Honey, the baby won’t stop crying, can you come help?”—that she seemed to wake from her trance. She scrambled to her feet, stumbled toward the camera, and abruptly ended the live stream. The internet, however, was far from finished. A flood of comments washed over my social media, demanding to know if it was true. My old fan pages, dedicated to the tragic romance of Leo and Lilia, roared back to life. Clips of our sweetest moments from old reality shows were edited together and pushed to the top of the trending hashtags. But whether it was true or not… what did it matter anymore? There’s nothing more painful than the bitter taste of expired sugar. When I first started dating Lilia, I was already an Emmy-winning actor at the top of my game. She was a nobody, a bit player hustling for auditions. I saw her talent, and I was willing to pull every string I had in the industry to help her. The day she was nominated for her first Phoenix Award, I finalized the last details for our wedding. I begged the award show organizers to let me have her trophy for just an hour before the ceremony. I carefully pried open its base and, with a heart hammering against my ribs, tucked the ring and the note inside. I could already picture the look of pure shock and joy on her face when she discovered it. But that night, I waited until the early hours of the morning, only for her to come home drunk, leaning on Marcus Ewing’s arm. It was the first time she had ever brought another man to our home. My world swung violently between euphoric anticipation and crushing disappointment. Rage and betrayal clawed at my chest, and my voice trembled when I asked her what the hell was going on. She just rubbed her temples, her voice thick with exhaustion. “Whatever you say, Leo.” A pause. “Let’s just end this.” … I didn’t reply to any of the comments, just kept my focus on the script for my upcoming shoot. Later, as I turned off the light to sleep, my phone chimed. A message from her. My heart gave that same, stupid little tremor. My fingertip trembled as I opened the notification. [Are you awake?] [Were you… trying to propose to me?] It was the first message she’d sent me in three years. The last one, still sitting right above it, read: [Can you please just stop bothering me?] Funny. Who was bothering whom now? The buzz around me and Lilia grew louder, forcing Marcus to go live himself. On camera, he flashed a sunny, confident smile. 2 “So, about that note,” he began. “That was me. Sorry to keep you all guessing for so long. It’s just a little inside joke between my wife and me.” He beamed. “Lilia loves me, and I love her. We’re very happy.” The comments poured in. [I knew it! No wonder she paid millions to break her old contracts just to be with him!] [That wedding was legendary! My OTP forever!] [Wait… am I the only one who thinks that doesn’t look like his handwriting at all?] … The flood of supportive comments quickly buried the dissenting one. Marcus smoothed his hair. “And I have some more good news for you all. My paternity leave is officially over. I’m back! My new movie starts shooting tomorrow.” I paused. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. The next day, when I arrived on set, that dread was confirmed. Marcus was there, laughing and shaking hands with the crew. Lilia stood silently behind him. Good for them. The handsome star and his beautiful wife. A perfect match. I found an empty corner to sit in. A friend texted, asking how the first day back was going. It hit me then. I’d been out of the game for three years. After Lilia left, I was shattered. Work was impossible. I became a man possessed, haunting the cafes and bars she used to frequent, praying for a glimpse of her. I tortured myself with excuses—maybe he was just giving her a ride home, maybe I’d misunderstood. The bridal shop called to say my custom tuxedo was ready. The hotel we’d booked six months in advance notified me our date was approaching. The wedding planner sent message after message, asking if the event was still on. I was frantic. Then, one night, as I stood shivering in the biting wind, I saw her. She was walking hand-in-hand with Marcus. She looked up, and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw me. Ignoring the flash of annoyance on her face, I rushed forward. The weeks of pain and confusion overflowed, and my eyes were already red before I could speak. “Izzy, don’t do this. Please. Everything is ready, all that’s left…” The impatience in her eyes was a physical blow. “Leo, just stop.” She tightened her grip on Marcus’s hand. “I’m… in love with Marcus now.” I stared at her, disbelief choking me. A phantom hand clenched around my heart, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. The last words of my proposal—is you—died in my throat. After that, we began a long, ugly war of words. I leaked the story of her affair to the tabloids, but seeing the public turn on her brought me no joy. I punished myself, scrolling through their social media night after night, the poison of betrayal and jealousy eating me alive. Soon, Marcus joined the fight. While I was busy venting my rage online, convinced I was the righteous, wronged party, I didn’t see what they were doing behind the scenes. They were getting their revenge, too. An avalanche of cancelled contracts, recast roles, and vicious online rumors buried me. The financial penalties were astronomical. I fell into a deep depression. And after three long, gray years of therapy, I emerged as someone new. Someone covered in scars. My friend, Alex, always told me things would get better. He encouraged me to try again, to fight my way back. But after three years away, I discovered with a fresh wave of despair that Hollywood had no memory of me. There was no place left. This new role was a favor Alex had called in. It was a lifeline. Even if it was just a supporting part. I raised my phone and texted him back. 3 “It’s going fine. I’m going to do my best.” He replied instantly. “If you’re not happy, just tell me. You can walk away from this. We don’t need it.” A weak smile touched my lips. Three years had ground all my pride to dust. I wasn’t the untouchable Leo Vance anymore. I had no cards left to play. I put my phone down just as the director called my name. “Leo! You’re up. Get ready.” I scrambled to my feet and met Lilia’s gaze from across the set. For a split second, as our eyes locked, my heart rippled. The air grew thick with a sudden, heavy silence. Marcus was the first to speak, his voice dripping with condescension. “Well, well, if it isn’t the great Leo Vance! And what are you playing, the third male lead?” He smirked at the director. “Casting a former Emmy winner as a supporting character? Bold move, Mark.” The director, Mark, suddenly looked terrified, as if he’d just remembered something crucial. He rushed to apologize. “He’s just… a friend of a friend called in a favor. Mr. Ewing, if his presence makes you uncomfortable, I’ll have him thrown out right now!” I watched the director’s pathetic fawning and lowered my eyes. Marcus snorted with laughter. “What’s he going to do? He’s just some has-been. I could crush him with my little finger.” He turned to Lilia. “What do you think, honey?” Lilia just raised an eyebrow. “He’s a nobody. It doesn’t matter.” Marcus wrapped an arm around her waist, his hand roaming freely as he whispered something in her ear. A blush crept up her neck, and she playfully tapped his shoulder. “Stop it, you. Wait until we get home…” I watched their intimate display, and felt… nothing. I didn’t care anymore. Marcus shot me a dismissive glance and waved me over like a dog. “I brought artisanal gift baskets for the whole crew. Go on, Leo, grab one. I doubt you see stuff like this much anymore.” I didn’t move. I didn’t let him get to me. In the sterile, quiet rooms of the hospital, I had learned to control my emotions. I had taken my medication before coming to set. I ignored him and walked straight to my mark. After a brief chat with the cinematographer, I slipped into character. I started acting when I was fifteen. By twenty, I was a household name. Acting was etched into my bones. With just a little prompting, the muscle memory took over, and the performance flowed out of me, smooth and natural. When I finished my monologue, it was a long moment before the director finally yelled, “Cut.” He mumbled to his assistant, just loud enough for me to hear, “He nailed that entire speech in one take? The kid’s still got it.” During the break, I hid in a stairwell and lit a cigarette, my hand trembling. How could I even describe this feeling?

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My best friend started dating a trust fund kid, and while I felt a pang of envy, I genuinely wished her well. Of course, she didn’t abandon our friendship for romance. She invited me to her boyfriend’s equestrian center. The only catch was I couldn’t bring my own boyfriend. I didn’t quite get it, but I went anyway… 1 “No, darling… Stop, not like this…” Chloe’s hushed, breathless gasps floated from inside the horse stalls. I stood peeking from just outside the semi-open stable partition, my legs instinctively squeezing together. As a powerful stallion in the stall suddenly shook its head, tossing its mane, Chloe’s voice rose into a desperate cry. Ethan Stone, Chloe’s boyfriend, towered over her by at least two heads. The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed smooth, powerful muscles. “Just one more time, baby,” Ethan murmured, his body still tense with unsatisfied energy. But Chloe sounded truly overwhelmed. “No, please, there are people everywhere! Someone might see us… And I genuinely can’t take any more!” Ethan and Chloe had been dating for over six months, and their intimacy had always been a bit… unbalanced. Mainly because Ethan had boundless energy and a definite thrill-seeker’s streak. Chloe had complained to me multiple times that she was practically living on soothing creams, avoiding intimacy whenever possible. I’d always thought she was humble-bragging, trying to sound good. But witnessing Ethan’s raw, untamed power today, I finally understood the monumental difference between people! My own boyfriend, even with a little help, couldn’t match a tenth of Ethan’s intensity. Chloe’s desperate, almost “begging for mercy” expression, I honestly felt a strange urge to experience it myself. But she was my best friend. I had to brutally squash those outrageous thoughts. By the time Chloe and Ethan reappeared, I had changed into a sleek riding outfit. “Mia, you look incredible in that!” Chloe said, propping her chin on her hand, nodding and praising me. She even pulled me over to Ethan. “Isn’t she, Ethan? Absolutely stunning!” My figure was indeed quite defined – a wasp waist and rounded hips. The riding breeches, though form-fitting, hugged my curves perfectly, emphasizing a blend of strength and softness. The overall effect was undeniably alluring. I secretly glanced at Ethan. His eyes unintentionally lingered on my thighs, as if trying to see through the fabric. Remembering his still-unsatisfied expression from just moments ago with Chloe, I subtly bit my lip. Just that look from him had almost made me blush. These breeches were so tight, any visible reaction would be impossible to hide. “Could you help me find a coach, please?” I quickly changed the subject, trying to cover my embarrassment. Ethan also had shares in this equestrian center, so Chloe had insisted on covering all costs for my visit. As an average working-class person, I’d never ridden a horse before. But Chloe just smiled, telling me not to worry – Ethan would teach me himself. “Oh, no, that’s too much trouble,” I stammered, my face flushing instantly as I pictured him teaching me, meaning we’d be pressed together. I shook my head, waving my hands in refusal. Chloe, however, was oblivious. With a generous shove to my rear, she helped me onto the horse. Ethan, with practiced ease, stepped into the stirrup and swung onto the saddle behind me. All I could do was grip the reins, my back stiff and unmoving. I kept repeating to myself: The more Chloe trusts me, the more I must uphold my boundaries! But before my mental defenses were fully in place, Ethan’s firm chest pressed tightly against my back. In one fluid motion, his long, strong arms wrapped around me, enclosing me completely. I could even catch a faint scent of his still-present musk. Bouncing gently on the horse’s back, within a few minutes, I felt a shameful, unfamiliar sensation where my body met the saddle. Ethan didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. He meticulously adjusted my posture, even explaining some quick tips for riding. I wasn’t really listening. His closeness, combined with the vivid image of him with Chloe in the stable, kept replaying in my mind. “Ah!” I gasped, distracted and missing Ethan’s warning that he was about to start. When the horse began to trot, I lost my balance and nearly fell. Fortunately, Ethan caught me, pulling me back until his upper body was even more tightly against mine. “Relax, don’t be so stiff. Loosen your legs.” Ethan’s hand glided over my thigh, sending a jolt of heat through me. Just as I wondered if I was overthinking it, he leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Why are you clenching so tight…?” What… what was that? What kind of suggestive comment was that? I turned, shocked, to look at Ethan. He merely smiled, calm and composed. “The horse’s sides, don’t grip them so hard…” Oh. Right. He meant the horse’s sides. My mind had definitely gone to the wrong place. I released my grip a little, feeling a bit embarrassed. “My riding skills are excellent, no need to be scared. Chloe told you, right?” Ethan’s voice was full of self-assurance. I secretly muttered: She did, actually. But she said you ride her like your personal racehorse! After riding for a while, I started to relax, both physically and emotionally, so I instinctively leaned back. Because my hips were quite pronounced, their curve fit perfectly between Ethan’s legs. I felt a searing heat, as if pierced, and quickly straightened my back, hearing Ethan suppress a groan in my ear. “Engage your core. I’m going to speed up.” Ethan’s tone held an odd, almost suggestive double meaning. “Core?” I hadn’t quite registered it when Ethan nudged the horse’s sides, and we began to gallop around the arena. “Horse riding helps strengthen your core, your boyfriend will benefit from it too.” What did that have to do with my boyfriend? Ah… when I finally pieced it together, I was too mortified to respond. So I simply shut my mouth and focused on riding. As the horse’s back moved up and down, a jolt, like electricity, seemed to shoot from my tailbone. The noisy equestrian center felt as if it had suddenly fallen silent, like we were in a vacuum! Even at the most intense moments with my boyfriend, I’d never experienced anything like this. Yet, with Ethan, even with clothes between us, I felt like I was about to burst into fireworks. Finally, the excruciating riding lesson concluded. My legs were so weak, Chloe thought I was just shaken from my first time on a horse. So she told Ethan to help me dismount. But because my legs were completely jelly, I nearly fell. Ethan had to steady me by cupping my rear. His hand was large, his fingers long, and somehow, he brushed against my sensitive spot. “Ah!” I cried out involuntarily. “What’s wrong?” Chloe immediately asked with concern. “My leg… my leg just cramped up,” I mumbled, making up a quick excuse, hoping to brush it off. That evening, after dinner, Chloe suggested we go to the mountain peak behind the equestrian center to watch the sunset. I didn’t want to be a third wheel, but Chloe sweet-talked and pleaded until I finally agreed to go. “What? We’re riding horses? I’m wearing a skirt!” We drove the SUV to the foot of the mountain, where two horses were waiting in the shade. Chloe said it was fine, the horses would just walk up the mountain, so a skirt was no issue. Ethan had a small pony specifically for Chloe, which only she could ride. And because I was new to riding, for safety, I would share a horse with Ethan. I initially refused flat out, wanting to head straight back to the stables. But Chloe pointed out there was no driver, so I’d have to hike back alone. It was almost sunset, and walking alone through a deserted rural road at night was truly unsettling. I reluctantly got onto the horse. My skirt wasn’t short, but the specific riding posture meant the white fabric barely covered my backside, preventing a full exposure. My bare, pale thighs were fully exposed, a stark contrast against the dark, glossy horsehair. “The mountain path here is tricky. Hold on tight to me.” Ethan held the reins with one hand, and with the other, he gripped the saddle, his fingers brushing against me subtly. As the horse swayed and bumped, I fought to suppress involuntary shivers. Ethan’s breathing grew heavier and heavier. Watching Chloe and her small pony disappear further and further into the distance, a deeply immoral thought sparked within me. Just as I was locked in a battle between my conscience and my desires, Ethan’s hand moved away from the saddle. The receding heat instantly snapped me back to reality. I was secretly relieved that I hadn’t done anything irreversible when suddenly, a low-hanging vine on the narrow mountain path forced me to press my entire upper body onto the horse’s back. But I forgot about this position—front low, back high—which rendered my skirt’s covering function almost useless. A chill swept over me, and only then did I remember that for breathability and a seamless look, I was wearing a thong. But it was too late to adjust myself. Ethan… …pulled me forcefully back against him. I could distinctly feel a warmth, like body heat. The sensation of sitting down again was no longer the cold saddle. For a moment, I forgot who Ethan was, and who I was. In this desolate outdoor spot, only the horses tied nearby and the sound of Ethan’s and my panting filled the air. The sky grew darker and darker. I don’t know how long it lasted, but I only knew it was an experience I’d never had before. Both in terms of duration and intensity, Ethan was truly different. He could go on and on, like a tireless colt. Changing various positions and methods to sustain the session. Our encounter finally ended with Ethan’s complete release. Lying on the grass, Ethan slowly remarked, “You’re something else. You’re the first one who didn’t beg for mercy.” I rolled over, grinning mischievously at him, “Want to go for round two??” Just as Ethan was about to launch his second “attack,” his phone rang. It turned out he’d promised his family he’d be home for dinner. He hadn’t returned, so they were calling to check in. Ethan told me he’d originally expected me to give up quickly, leading to a quick and unsatisfying end, which was why he’d agreed to go home for dinner with his mom. He simply hadn’t anticipated such a long “performance” time. Ethan was reluctant to leave, asking if we could meet again tomorrow. I understood what Ethan meant, but then I suddenly thought of Chloe. I felt uncertain about how I would face her in the days to come.

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The night of our graduation party, I led the drunk campus queen to the bad boy’s room. But my childhood friend, the man I was supposed to marry, mistook me for her. One night of chaos. Afterward, everyone said I had deliberately torn him and the campus queen apart. For years of our marriage, I tried everything to warm his heart, but it remained a block of ice. Until one day, I overheard him on the phone on the street corner. “As long as Bella is happy, I’m willing to spend my whole life tying Laurie down.” “Besides, who would want to marry a nerd anyway?” “She wants a kid? Fine. I’ll give her one.” The piercing shriek of a car horn cut him off. He instinctively turned and saw me standing around the corner. Panic flooded his face as he lunged toward me, trying to push me out of the way. In the next second, we were both thrown into the air by the impact. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the graduation party. This time, I decided to give him and the campus queen the happy ending they both wanted. 1 Only my childhood friend, James Stanton, knew that I had a crush on the campus bad boy, Jax. The night of our university graduation party, the campus queen, Isabella, asked me to help her to a room to rest. I didn’t know it was Jax’s room. And Isabella’s acting was flawless. The moment we were out of sight, she was instantly sober, a mocking glint in her eyes as she looked at me. In my past life, I was too naive to understand any of it. After all, to everyone else, I was just the scheming, malicious nerd. It wasn’t until I was dying, until I heard James’s phone call, that I finally woke up. I never imagined he would sacrifice his entire life just for Isabella. And I had been foolish enough to believe him when he’d proposed, when he’d said he loved me. Before I died, James and I lay together in a pool of our own blood. As the speeding car barrelled towards us, he had thrown himself in front of me, shielding me with his body. But at that moment, it was useless. The violent impact sent me flying more than a dozen yards. As my consciousness faded, I vaguely saw him. James, not far away, covered in blood, was stubbornly trying to crawl to my side, his body wracked with tremors of pain. The bones in his fingers were visible through the mangled flesh, and his voice was a broken, trembling mess. “Laurie, don’t scare me.” “Wake up! Let me explain!” “I was wrong, Laurie. I was so wrong.” His heartbroken cries made me want to vomit, and a mouthful of blood gushed from my lips. In the last moment of my life, I summoned one final act of defiance. With all my strength, I moved my fingers, pulling away from the hand he was desperately reaching out, trying to lace his fingers with mine. Too late for apologies now. 2 “Laurie? What’s too late?” a voice asked, pulling me from the memory. “You haven’t had that much. Come on, have another.” I blinked, realizing I was back. I had been reborn into my senior year of university. Jax was hosting a graduation party for our class at his family’s empty villa. For most, a graduation party was the start of a new life. For me, in my past life, it was the entrance to hell. The voice belonged to Isabella. Sweet and cloying. James was always telling me to be more like her, to learn how even her anger sounded like a lover’s pout, something no man could refuse. I was never much of a drinker, but when the campus queen personally offers you a toast, refusing makes you look arrogant. Unfortunately, I’d been reborn a moment too late. I’d already downed one glass, and my head was starting to spin. So, no matter how much Isabella coaxed, I refused to take another sip. I just pushed up my glasses, pretending the alcohol was hitting me harder than it was. I had a job to do tonight, and I couldn’t afford to be genuinely drunk. Seeing my refusal, Isabella’s eyes darted around. She raised her glass to the others at the table. “Well, if our star student won’t drink, I’ll drink the rest for her.” I lowered my head, a cold smile touching my lips. She was drinking from her own glass but claimed it was for me. In my past life, I never possessed that kind of cunning. Her words were always prettier than her actions. I poured myself a glass of water and sipped it, quietly watching her performance. By this point, James had already helped get Jax drunk and taken him upstairs. And James, having had too much himself, was resting in the room right next to Jax’s. Isabella, performing with such vigor right now, clearly had an ulterior motive. Soon, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were hazy as she leaned against me. She spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Laurie, I drank so much covering for you, I feel dizzy. Can you help me upstairs to rest?” She tightened her grip on my arm. “I’m putting my life in your hands. You have to keep me safe, okay, Laurie?” In my past life, I was already drunk by the time she said all this. All I’d registered was “upstairs to rest,” and I’d stumbled up the stairs with her. But now, reborn, I saw the subtle genius in her words and actions. She was publicly declaring that I was the reason she was drunk, that it was my duty to see her to safety. With those words, she planted a seed in everyone’s mind: whatever happened to Isabella tonight, it would be my fault. Her drunken state, the way she had to cling to me just to walk, projected an image of perfect helplessness. But no one could see it. From an angle hidden from the others, Isabella, who was taller than me, wasn’t just resting her hands on my shoulders. She was digging her fingers into my flesh, physically steering me out of the room. The pain made me wince, so I decided to play drunk too. Under the guise of taking off my glasses, I shrugged off her grip. Then, I went completely limp, collapsing into her arms. Half a head shorter than her, with my round, flushed face, I wrapped my arms around her and whined in a soft, pleading voice. “Bella, I’m so dizzy! I can’t walk.” No one saw that coming. In their eyes, Isabella and I were rivals. Because James liked her. And earlier, during a game of Truth or Dare, when asked who I liked, I had said James’s name. Soon, I heard someone gasp. “Oh no! I think Laurie’s really drunk.” Hidden in Isabella’s embrace, I stayed silent, burying my face and feigning intoxication. Where no one could see, a small smirk played on my lips. My move had clearly startled Isabella; her eyes were sharp and clear for a moment. But she needed me to be her scapegoat tonight, so she gritted her teeth and didn’t push me away. Besides, to make her act convincing, she’d genuinely drunk a lot. She was at least eighty percent of the way there. I looked up at her through my messy hair, my eyes blinking slowly. “Bella… let’s sleep together tonight.” 3 I didn’t know what was going through Isabella’s mind, but that was my genuine plan. The only way to prevent the catastrophe of that night was for Isabella to stay with me. And besides, I had lived a decade longer than this version of her. In my eyes, she was just a misguided girl. Perhaps something had happened to her during university that made her so desperate to latch onto a wealthy boyfriend now. But the girl wanted to maintain appearances, which was why she’d set me up. She wanted everyone to believe that I, jealous of James’s affection for her, had deliberately sent her, drunk, to the campus bad boy’s room. In my past life, her plan had been a resounding success. The day after the party, my name became synonymous with “vicious.” Everyone said I had ruined her. Every mention of my name was a curse. Gradually, I started to believe it myself. That it was my fault, that I’d been too drunk and sent her to the wrong room. That I was the reason she disappeared for ten years. That I was the reason James lost the love of his life. So I began to atone. I couldn’t find Isabella, so I poured all my repentance onto James. I learned to love him, tried to warm his cold heart with my sincerity, begging him not to hate me anymore. After all, the Stanton family had taken me in when I was a child. I had a debt of over a decade of care that I could never repay. But in the end, I was the one who had been played the worst. James was willing to sacrifice his entire life, to trap me in a marriage, just for Isabella. All to ensure I wouldn’t have the slightest chance of ruining her happiness. The truth was, on the day of the car crash, I had gone to find James to tell him where Isabella was. I had just found out from Jax himself where she had been for the past ten years. I wanted James to see her true colors. I wanted him to stop feeling guilty for getting too drunk at the party and failing to protect her. But before I could say a word, we were killed. I am immensely grateful that fate has given me a second chance. At the dinner table earlier, I kept thinking. What should I do to repay this gift? I considered taking brutal revenge on Isabella, letting her taste what it felt like to have her reputation destroyed. But looking at the girl, as beautiful and fragile as a flower, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So when she asked me to help her to a room, I asked her, in front of everyone, if she wanted to sleep with me. If she chose to stay with me tonight, to stop her plan, then I would let go of what happened in our past life. After all, we were separated by an entire lifetime. I had no reason to take revenge on this version of her for what a different version of her did. But if she insisted on being foolish, I would respect her choice. Everyone has to be responsible for their own choices. And so, when Isabella propped me up between the two bedroom doors, I asked her a second time. “It’s your choice. “Sleep here, or come with me to a different room.” The alcohol was hitting her hard now, her eyes hazy as she looked at me. But at my question, she shook her head, trying to stay clear. “Let me think.” “Ugh, I can’t remember.” She tapped her head a few times as she spoke. Seeing this, I put it to her bluntly. “The one on the left is…” I wanted to tell her: Jax is on the left, James is on the right, and I am right here beside you. But before I could finish, Isabella cut me off. “I forgot who I drugged…” Her words were like a thunderclap, ringing in my ears and leaving me stunned. In that instant, my perception of her shattered. She was like a beautiful flower, rotting from the very root. To achieve her goal, she would resort to such a disgusting tactic. I started to wonder if I had been drugged too. I instinctively took a step back, putting distance between us. I asked her one more time. And got the same answer. She said, “Either one is fine. Whoever.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I decided to let go of my savior complex and respect her destiny. So I watched with cold eyes as she stumbled into James’s room. Then I turned and pushed open the door to the room next door. Isabella couldn’t remember who she had drugged. But I had the memories of my past life. The moment she said it, I knew exactly who the victim was. Tonight, I would be the one to save the poor, pitiful campus bad boy. 4 The moment I opened the door, a blast of cold air made me shiver. The room was a chaotic mess, water pooled everywhere. I followed the sound of dripping and saw him. The notoriously cool and arrogant bad boy was sitting miserably on the floor, his back against the sofa. He was dousing himself with ice water. His T-shirt had been thrown aside, leaving him in just a pair of gray sweatpants. Jax’s head was bowed. His short, black hair was plastered to his face, partially veiling his eyes. Droplets of water traced the sharp line of his jaw, dripping onto his pants. One drop, then two, spreading into a dark, damp patch. The sight was enough to make a person thirsty. His long, elegant fingers, the knuckles sharply defined, were crushing the plastic water bottle, making it crackle. Jax tilted his head back, and when not another drop came out, he actually stuck his tongue inside, licking the plastic rim. The tip of his tongue, a shocking shade of red, swirled around the opening before retreating behind his full lips. The Jax in my memory was a rebellious teenager with red hair and an earring, his entire being screaming defiance. Looking at him now, that impossibly handsome face was still just as dazzling. But the flush of his skin and his hot, ragged breaths told me something was very wrong. His reaction was sluggish. He had only just realized someone was in the room. Without looking up, he growled at me to get out. “Who let you in? Get out!” But when he turned his head and saw it was me, the words “don’t touch me” died in his throat. He stumbled to his feet, trying to retreat towards the mini-fridge. But his legs were too weak, and he crumpled back to the floor. I grabbed a bottle of ice water, twisted it open, and handed it to him. “Jax, where’s your phone? I’ll call a doctor for you.” He tilted his head back and chugged, the water he couldn’t swallow fast enough streaming from the corners of his mouth down his neck. Then, dazed, he started fumbling at his sweatpants, searching for his phone. I could see a bulge in his pocket that looked like a phone. But after what felt like an eternity, he still couldn’t find the opening of the pocket. He looked up at me, a bewildered expression on his face. His lips, flushed red, moved, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. He was taking too long. I brushed his clumsy hands aside and reached in myself. The moment my hand slid in, I regretted it. That was definitely not a phone. Before I could scream, I heard Jax’s ragged breathing right next to my ear. The heat of it tickled my skin, and I instinctively turned my head to avoid it. My eyes met his. They were bloodshot and feverish. “I’ll… I’ll go get someone for you.” I scrambled to get up, but he grabbed my hand, pressing it down. His hand, through the fabric of his pants, was pinning mine in place. Another pained gasp escaped his lips. The stimulation seemed to have shocked him into a moment of clarity, and a low, hoarse voice broke the silence. “Laurie.” I stared at Jax, his mind clearly clouded, and felt a jolt of shock. So that’s what he had been muttering all along. My name. Even in this state, he could still recognize me. But James… in my past life, why had he mistaken me for someone else? Or was it that in James’s eyes, I was just someone he could use and discard at will? The more I thought about it, the more resentment burned inside me. I took a step forward, leaned down, and tilted Jax’s chin up. I looked him straight in the eye. “Say it again. Who am I?” The moment my fingers touched his skin, I felt a searing heat. When I tried to pull away, he captured my hand with both of his, pressing it to his cheek and rubbing against it gently. His gaze drifted from my lips to my eyes, until they locked. “Laurie. Help me.”

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1 I was reborn. The moment of my return was the second before I was about to explain the pre-operative instructions to my boyfriend’s childhood sweetheart. In my last life, I was doing my rounds when I saw the patient drinking a smoothie. I stopped her immediately and informed my boyfriend, the attending surgeon, that the patient hadn’t fasted. For her own safety, the surgery had to be postponed. The patient then blasted the story all over the internet, blaming me for not reminding her. My professionalism was torn to shreds. I tried desperately to explain, to clear my name, but no one believed me. Then, my own boyfriend, Leo, started a rumor that my nursing degree was fake, that I’d gotten my job through shady connections. The internet turned on me. I was doxxed. An enraged stranger threw acid in my face. It wasn’t until after I was run down by a car and killed that my soul, hovering above, saw the truth: the patient was Leo’s childhood sweetheart. It had all been a setup. … They say nurses are angels in white, saving lives. I gave the patient her pre-op instructions. But when I checked on her, I found her sipping a smoothie. Guided by my professional ethics and a concern for her safety, I told my boyfriend, the surgeon, that we had to postpone. The patient, Mia, accused me of never telling her. By that afternoon, I was trending. Another patient in the same room had filmed the confrontation and posted it online. The internet mob questioned my competence. I posted my degrees, my awards, my commendations from university and my career. It did nothing. Then Leo, my Leo, posted a video with his own name attached, claiming I was a fraud who had used connections to get my job. The harassment escalated. Sulfuric acid scarred my face forever. Finally, a so-called “vigilante” ran me over with his car. After I died, I watched as Leo and Mia built their careers on the ashes of my life, profiting handsomely from my public execution. Floating in the air, I watched them embrace, and my ethereal hands clenched into fists. Only then did I understand. It was all a trap they had laid for me. “Brandy? Oh, you’re here! Does this mean it’s almost time for my surgery?” A familiar, nauseatingly sweet voice echoed in my ear. I looked up, and my vision was filled with a deceptively innocent face. A tearing, ripping pain spread from my heart through every inch of my body. It was only when my lungs filled with the sharp, cold, antiseptic air of the hospital that I realized I was alive again. Reborn. In the exact moment before I was to give pre-op instructions to Mia, Leo’s childhood sweetheart. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I’m so excited for the surgery,” she said, her voice raspy. “I even took a whole week off work for this, and I’m still in my probationary period! You’ll take good care of me, won’t you, Brandy?” She touched her neck as she spoke, as if it were a great effort. Last time, I’d felt sorry for her. A fresh graduate, all alone in the hospital. I’d given her extra attention, soothed her anxiety when she fretted, especially when the other patients chimed in on her behalf. Before leaving, I had explicitly told her: no food or water before the surgery. And yet, the next morning, I found her drinking a smoothie. I had told her with genuine regret that we’d have to postpone, that eating before anesthesia was dangerous. Mia had burst into tears. “Why didn’t you remind me properly? Are you trying to get me fired? I’m never coming to this hospital again!” 2 The other patients in the room heard her hoarse, strained voice and saw me standing there, silent and still. They jumped to her defense. “She’s just a young girl who just landed a job! You need to take extra care of her during her probation period. It’s so hard to find a job these days. You can’t be the reason she loses it.” Oh, right. Of course. Saint Mia. Her life is so hard, her situation so fragile. And all of you, with your unsolicited advice, you think you’re so noble. You care more about her than my own boyfriend—no, ex-boyfriend—does. I quietly took out my phone and hit the record button. Then, I launched into my full, by-the-book, award-winning nursing protocol. “Excuse me, are you patient Mia Sullivan?” “Yes, that’s me.” “As per pre-operative procedure, you must abstain from all food and drink. Failure to do so will result in the postponement of your surgery. Patient Mia Sullivan, do you understand?” “I understand,” Mia rasped, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. A patient nearby snickered. “What’s with all the theatrics? Such pointless formality.” Mia nodded slightly, a smug look crossing her face. “I know, right? All this red tape… I wonder if it actually helps them take care of patients.” I smiled, a tight, professional mask. “Patient Sullivan expressed some anxiety about her procedure. To reassure her and demonstrate my professional competence, I am utilizing this highly structured protocol.” This was the exact procedure that had won me a national nursing skills competition. Damn right it was structured. Looking at Mia’s phony, self-satisfied act, I had to resist the urge to slap her back to reality. The audacity of someone who plays the victim while setting a trap. Let’s see how you play the victim tomorrow. 3 During my pre-op rounds the next morning, I timed my visit perfectly, deliberately avoiding the moment she was eating. With my recording pen active and my professional smile plastered on, I approached her bed. “Patient Sullivan, your surgery is scheduled for this morning. Can you confirm that you have not had any food or water since 10 p.m. last night?” “Of course,” she said, her voice still hoarse but laced with triumph. “I haven’t had a bite to eat or a drop to drink since yesterday afternoon. Well, except for the smoothie I just finished.” As she spoke, she glanced at me from the corner of her eye, watching for my reaction. I, who had been watching her every move, caught the micro-expression. I kept my smile frozen in place. “I’m very sorry, but since you did not follow pre-operative instructions, your surgery will have to be postponed.” Just then, as if on cue, Leo walked into the room. I grabbed his arm and pulled him outside. A tidal wave of pain and despair washed over me. Hatred filled my chest until I thought I would suffocate. In my last life, I gave up a position at a prestigious, top-tier medical center to be a nurse at this small community hospital for him. And he repaid me by destroying my life. My nails dug into my palms, the sharp pain the only thing keeping the volcanic rage from erupting. I forced a smile. “The patient ate before surgery. We have to postpone.” “And also,” I added, “after your shift, let’s call off the engagement.” “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Now her surgery has to be delayed. And don’t you dare play these hard-to-get games with me. Who do you think will want you after you break up with me?” We parted on that ugly note. Did he have any idea the trouble I was going to, just to extricate myself from this mess? I truly hope you two vipers have the loving life you deserve. When I returned to the room, Mia was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown, snot and tears smearing her face. “Why didn’t you remind me properly?” she wailed. “You did this on purpose!” The other patients started to comfort her, but when they learned the reason for her hysterics, they fell silent. My grand, formal procedure from the day before had left a deep impression. Even these bystanders knew she was supposed to fast. Her own negligence was to blame. Seeing that she had lost her audience, Mia leaped from the bed, grabbed her thermos, and flung its contents at me. It was the rest of her morning smoothie. I didn’t move. I let the lukewarm liquid splatter across my face. Because I saw it. The other patients in the room, their phones all raised, all recording. I went straight to the restroom and splashed my face with cold water. In the ripples of the sink, I saw my own reflection, a wide, triumphant smile spreading across my face. I looked at my skin, slightly pink from the not-so-hot liquid. Not quite enough. I dried my face and took a small pot of blush out of my pocket—a sample I’d packed in anticipation of this very moment. With Mia’s temper, an outburst was inevitable. I swept a heavy amount across my cheeks, then took a quick photo of my profile. I touched my face, almost laughing out loud. I knew the double-edged sword of the internet better than anyone. Last time, it destroyed my reputation overnight and made Mia a star. But why should a woman like that get to build her success on the backs of other women? Since she used this stage to ruin me, I was going to make sure she choked on her own performance. You wanted to go viral, Mia? You’ve got it. Let’s see if you can handle the fame. After being fired, Brandy is at her lowest point. Her ex-boyfriend has betrayed her, his lover has framed her, and the world believes she is a negligent, incompetent nurse. But Brandy has a plan. Armed with evidence and a deep understanding of the very weapon used against her, she is ready to turn the tables. Now, it was my turn to fight back. And I wondered if Leo and Mia were ready for the storm.

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My biggest problem is that I sleep too well. So well, in fact, that I can be thrown into a survival horror game and still be dead asleep in four seconds flat. A blood-drenched little girl stood at the foot of my bed, but my snores were loud enough to shake the walls. The corpse of a hanged woman in a painting opened its eyes at midnight, only to see me grinding my teeth in my sleep. When I got too hot in the middle of thenight, I rolled over and wrapped my arms around something cool and firm to the touch. It felt nice. The final boss whispered, “…Are you going to open your eyes? Or are you just using me as a body pillow?” [SYSTEM: Game “The Haunting of Crestfall Manor” has finished loading.] [SYSTEM: Player “Eva Nightingale” has entered the game.] [SYSTEM: Player Rank: C] The moment I materialized in the game, the other players seated around a long, mahogany table erupted. “Are you kidding me? We’re all A-rank players, and the system throws a C-rank noob in here?” “Some people will do anything for a few XP, even risk their lives. This one’s got a death wish!” “A C-rank, in Crestfall Manor? I’ll bet she doesn’t even last the night!” Nine men and women sat at the table, all seasoned A-rank veterans who had clawed their way out of countless digital hellscapes. They stared at me as if they’d just seen a ghost, probably horrified that they were now stuck babysitting a rookie. A young woman with a kind face couldn’t take the bickering anymore. She stood up. “Everyone, calm down. For a C-rank to be teleported into an A-rank instance, she must have a secret weapon, right?” “Bullshit! What could a C-rank possibly have?” “Exactly! How many instances has she even seen? She’ll probably piss her pants at the first sign of a ghoul!” The woman looked at me, urging, “Well? Do you have one?” A secret weapon? I actually did. I thought for a moment, then answered earnestly, “I’m an excellent sleeper.” The players fell silent. Then, in unison: “…Are you fucking with us?” The live-stream chat exploded. [Streamer, it’s okay to not have a skill, you know.] [LMAO, you don’t have to embarrass yourself with a skill that lame!] [Can the streamer just go home? Please just go home.] I sighed internally. They had no idea just how powerful a good night’s sleep could be. Once the players recovered from their shock, a man in a leather jacket swaggered over to me, looking me up and down with contempt. “You’re late. We’ve already assigned the rooms.” He pointed downwards. “The one in the basement is yours.” The manor had three floors. The A-rank players had, of course, claimed the prime real estate on the first and second floors. The room they’d left for me radiated a palpable chill, a coldness I could feel from ten feet away. The door was smeared with bloody handprints. Pale moonlight streamed through a grimy window, illuminating a large bed in the center of the room. [CHAT: Damn, even I’m getting scared just looking at this through my screen.] [CHAT: Everyone knows the ghosts in this instance start spawning from the basement. They’re totally screwing her over.] [CHAT: Look, she’s scared. She’s gonna turn around and beg the A-rankers for help!] I turned back to the man in the jacket and gave him a bright smile. “Goodnight.” The chat feed filled with question marks. The man, let’s call him Jax, was stunned into silence by my calm reaction. I shut the door in his face. Then, in one smooth motion, I kicked off my shoes, changed into my pajamas, and dove onto the bed. A king-sized bed! A single room! And the pillows were velvet! Did anyone understand what this meant to a college girl who’d spent four years crammed into a tiny dorm room? This was heaven! I rolled around ecstatically under the covers. [CHAT: Youth is wasted on the young. Falls asleep in a second.] [CHAT: Wait, she’s actually sleeping? Where does the system find these weirdos?] [CHAT: If she’d just looked up for a second, she would have fainted from fright.] Because I fell asleep so quickly, I completely missed the painting hanging over my bed: a portrait of a woman who had hanged herself. This horror instance, “The Haunting of Crestfall Manor,” was based on a real-life murder-suicide that had wiped out an entire family years ago in this very mansion. A family of five, all dead under mysterious circumstances. Ever since, the house has been haunted. As midnight struck, the woman in the painting’s eyes snapped open, bleeding pupils rolling downwards to look at me. Her voice, a dry rasp, filled the room. “He is my deepest nightmare…” “I am his closest secret…” “We share the same blood… Who is he?” I rolled over, tangling my legs in the blanket, and let out a soft snore. The ghost froze for a second, then gritted her teeth and repeated, “Who is he?” I responded with a loud, grating sound as I ground my teeth. The ghost was losing it. She started tearing at her hair and stomping her feet inside the painting. “Who is he!” “WHO IS HE!” “WHO IS HE!” [CHAT: …Wait, is this allowed? Did she just glitch the game?] [CHAT: How many players have been disemboweled by this ghost for getting the riddle wrong? And she just… sleeps through it.] [CHAT: This streamer is a rock. You could start a jet engine next to her ear and she wouldn’t stir.] The next morning, I woke up from my beauty sleep feeling refreshed. The room was normal, except for the hanged woman in the painting, who was now glaring at me with an expression of profound resentment. A system notification told me to go downstairs for breakfast. By the time I arrived, the long table held nothing but scraps and dirty plates. “Sorry,” a guy with bleached-blond hair said, picking his teeth. “I ate your share. A C-rank like you won’t last long anyway. Why waste valuable resources?” A girl handed me something. “Here, this was my hot milk. You can have it.” It was the same girl who had defended me yesterday. I took it. “Thanks.” “My name’s Eliot,” she said. “I’m…” I yawned. “…I’m a bit sleepy. Was there anything else? If not, I think I’ll go take a nap.” Eliot stared at me, speechless. “…Something happened on the first floor last night. A player died,” Jax announced, shaking me by the shoulder. I must have dozed off. “Since there’s a room free, the C-rank can have it.” I blinked my eyes open, realizing the A-rank players were discussing strategy. “Hey! I’m talking to you. Did you hear me?” I yawned again. “Sorry, I drifted off for a second. What were you saying?” Jax looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. “Do you think this is a hotel? How can someone so young sleep so much!” It wasn’t until he opened the door that I understood why the A-rank players were suddenly being so generous. Before me was a little girl’s bedroom. A fluffy blue cloud-patterned rug was littered with dolls, and in the center stood a pink princess bed. But a stark contrast to the room’s cheerful decor was the massive pool of blood seeping out from under the bed, and the dismembered human limbs scattered across the floor. It was the room where the player had died last night. [CHAT: Well, Sleepyhead Eva is screwed now. Sleeping in here means a guaranteed visit from the little girl ghost. Get ready to be torn to shreds!] [CHAT: The little girl is a mini-boss. You can’t just sleep your way past her.] [CHAT: Don’t spoil it, guys! See? She’s so scared she’s running away… wait, why is she coming back with a broom?] I returned with a broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the body parts with a grunt. Then I took a rag and meticulously wiped every corner of the floor. When I was done, I finished with a spritz of air freshener. “Honestly, this little girl!” I muttered to myself. “No sense of bedroom hygiene at all!” After all, a clean and fresh environment is essential for quality sleep. [CHAT: …Did this woman used to be a professional cleaner? Why is she so calm?] [CHAT: When it comes to sleep, our streamer is dead serious.] [CHAT: Everyone else is here to clear the game, she’s here doing housekeeping. You could use that floor as a mirror now.] Thanks to my daytime chores, I was fast asleep before 10 PM. In the dead of night, a thick, coppery smell of blood seeped under the door. Creeeak—the door swung open. A little girl in a blood-soaked nightgown scuttled into the room on all fours, moving like a spider. In a flash, she was on the bed, ready to pounce. My snoring echoed through the room. The little girl froze, then opened her mouth in a silent, jagged scream. I remained still as a log, sleeping like the dead. [CHAT: NOW, LITTLE GIRL! BITE HER! DO IT!] [CHAT: I paid for the premium stream to see some action! I’ve got my popcorn ready!] [CHAT: Is it just me or is the vibe off? I thought this was a horror game, why do I feel like I stumbled into an ASMR stream?] The little girl shredded the bedsheets with her claws and lunged, her fangs aimed at my leg. I shot upright and, in a fluid motion, threw my thick cotton quilt over her. Trapped and disoriented under the blanket, the little girl thrashed and shrieked. I lifted a corner of the quilt, exposing only her head, and tucked the rest of her body snugly inside. When she saw my face, she started screaming again. I gently pinched her lips together with my fingers. “Hush now, little one. No more noise.” The girl froze, her large, crimson eyes staring blankly for a moment. I laid her down flat on the bed and patted her gently, as if soothing a child. “You poor thing,” I cooed. “Look at how bloodshot your eyes are. You’ve been staying up too late, haven’t you?” At my words, a single, dark tear trickled from the corner of her eye. After a long moment, she slowly closed her eyes. [CHAT: Is there a game master? Can someone check this? Is this even legal?] [CHAT: Totally legal. That little girl has been haunting this place for decades and no one’s ever tucked her in. Sleepyhead Eva just scored major points.] [CHAT: Eva’s gonna coddle these ghosts back into the womb at this rate.] As I continued my rhythmic patting, the little girl grew still and quiet, motionless as a porcelain doll. Up close, she was almost cute. The chat was still a waterfall of exclamation points. When I woke up the next morning, the little girl was gone. All that remained were the faint, dark stains on the sheets from her bloody nightgown. Downstairs, the other players stared at me, their faces a mask of disbelief as I walked in completely unharmed. “You… you didn’t encounter the boss last night?” Jax stammered. “Nope. Just met a little girl.” “We slept together,” I added. “She was a good kid. Didn’t even kick the blankets off.” A collective gasp went through the room. [SYSTEM: Congratulations to the remaining players for surviving the first three days.] [SYSTEM: From the third night onwards, the final boss will begin to roam randomly.] After a meager breakfast, the system announcement echoed. “Since this is about a family annihilation, I’m guessing the hidden boss is the killer,” one player theorized. “For safety, we should all move to the third floor and set up a watch schedule. What do you guys think…” “Excuse me,” I started. Jax shot me a withering glare. “A C-rank trying to ally with us? Not a chance. Stay away from us.” “Um, actually…” “Only three people can clear this game. We’re already being merciful by not ganging up on you!” I waited for Jax to finish his tirade, then pointed to a carton of warm milk next to him. “I was just going to ask… if you’re not going to drink that, can I have it?” Jax was speechless. The entire room fell silent, staring at me as if I were a complete idiot. Silence is consent. I happily took the milk and tucked it into my pocket. A little warm milk before bed is the key to a perfect night’s sleep, after all! The A-rank players claimed the two master bedrooms on the third floor, leaving me with a choice between a large and a small guest room. [CHAT: Place your bets, folks! Which one does she pick?] [CHAT: Is that even a question? She’s been sleeping like a log in huge beds for two nights straight.] [CHAT: Definitely the big one.] I stood in the hallway, looking at the two doors, then without a moment’s hesitation, I pushed open the door to the smaller room. [CHAT: …] [CHAT: Is she psychic? Can she see us? Why does she always do the opposite of what we expect?] Fools. Everyone knows a smaller room conserves energy and promotes better sleep. Just as I was about to step inside, a voice echoed from the void. [SYSTEM: Are you certain?] It was the system. [SYSTEM: Do you understand the consequences of staying here?] The system only ever intervened when a player was facing imminent, critical danger. The small room was sparsely furnished: a bed, a bookshelf, a wardrobe. I thought for a moment, then replied, “A wonderful night’s sleep.” The layout, the furniture… it was an exact replica of my childhood bedroom. Without another thought, I took a running leap and dove onto the bed, rolling around joyfully under the covers. Oh, my dear little bed, I’ve missed you so much! [SYSTEM: …] [SYSTEM: What is more important to you, clearing the game or sleeping?!] “Sleeping, obviously,” I replied. Midnight again. Thump. Thump. Thump. Heavy footsteps sounded right beside my pillow. A tall, shadowy figure stood by my bed, its limbs crudely stitched together, long hair hanging down to obscure its face. The chat, invisible to me, was going wild. [CHAT: !!! My husband is here! Who else re-watches this stream just to see the male ghost?!] [CHAT: He’s gonna go on a killing spree! I’m so excited! Snap her neck! Rip out her guts!] [CHAT: The boss has a 99.9% kill rate. The streamer is toast this time… wait. Did she just pull the boss into bed with her?] I was feeling unbearably hot in my sleep when my hand brushed against something icy cool. Without thinking, I pulled it into bed with me. Clutching the cold form in my arms, I felt all the stifling heat dissipate. It was so refreshing, so comfortable. The figure in my embrace stiffened. I mumbled something in my sleep, shifted my position, and nuzzled against its neck. The entity went completely rigid. A moment later, a low, raspy male voice broke the silence. “…Are you going to open your eyes? Or are you just using me as a body pillow?”

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On the way to finalize our divorce, a truck slammed into our car. Before I lost consciousness, I heard my wife, Aria, whisper, “If I could do it all over again, I would have said yes to Ross.” “To live a life full of passion with him… that’s the life I truly wanted.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our engagement party. Just like last time, Ross knelt before Aria, a ring clutched in his hand, and asked her to be with him. Without even a glance in my direction, Aria slipped the ring onto her finger, tears of joy streaming down her face. “Ross, I will!” I knew then that she had been reborn, too. So, I chose to let them go. She got her wish, living a life of freedom and passion with Ross. But later, she knelt before me, her voice choked with sobs, begging me to go back to the way things were. 1 Ross, stunned by this sudden turn of events, was momentarily speechless. After she confirmed it a second time, tears of ecstasy welled in his eyes. They clung to each other in a tight embrace, completely oblivious to the fact that the atmosphere in the grand hall had plunged to absolute zero. Every guest’s gaze was fixed on me. I calmly removed my bow tie, tossed it aside, and watched their passionate display with cold indifference. Aria then dragged Ross onto the stage and took the microphone. “Today is my engagement party,” she announced, her voice ringing with newfound conviction. “But standing up here, I’ve realized that the man I truly love is Ross. I’ve let him slip through my fingers too many times, and I refuse to make that mistake again. I want to spend the rest of my life with him!” In that room, filled with our family and friends, not a single person applauded their “love story.” Aria turned to me, her voice now flat and detached. “I was confused before. If you want compensation, I can give you fifty thousand dollars. I hope you’ll stay out of my life from now on.” Her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a chilling apathy—the result of the twenty years of marriage we had shared in our previous life. But when she looked at Ross, she was once again the passionate, vibrant girl from her twenties. We had dated for three years before deciding to get engaged. The moment I proposed, she had excitedly told everyone we knew. We were showered with blessings from all sides, with one exception: Ross. He was a junior from her university who had fallen for her at first sight. He engineered “coincidental” meetings on campus and, after graduation, found every excuse to remain in her orbit. Whenever he saw me, he’d flash a provocative smirk. “You’re not married yet. I’m not giving up. I’ll make her see that life has more than one path!” I never knew how to handle him, but Aria was always resolute. She would grip my hand tightly and reject him with cold finality. In our past life, to prove her commitment to me, she had rushed us into an engagement ceremony right after the proposal. But at that ceremony, Ross had appeared, dressed in a flamboyant suit, his eyes locked on her. “Aria, this is the last time I’ll ever confess my feelings for you. If you reject me again, I will disappear from your world forever.” In our last life, Aria had taken my hand and placed the ring on her own finger, silently rejecting him one final time. This time, however, she took Ross’s hand and confessed her love for him to the entire world. Faced with the suffocatingly tense atmosphere, I simply stepped back and watched them steal my spotlight. When their emotional declarations were finally over, I spoke, my voice devoid of emotion. “I wish you both the best. Aria, I hope we never see each other again.” 2 Aria froze, seemingly shocked that I had agreed so readily. Ross, on the other hand, let out a whoop of joy, peppering her with kisses before finally turning to me, his face alight with triumph. “Fred, I told you! I told you Aria would choose me!” I gave him a noncommittal nod and turned to leave. As I stepped down from the stage, I stumbled. A pair of delicate, fair hands steadied me. “Mr. Green,” a soft voice said, “perhaps you should start noticing the other people in the room.” I looked at the woman who had caught me—Vera Vance. A small smile touched my lips. I recognized her face from countless financial news segments in my past life. I just never expected she would be at my engagement party. “Noticing who?” I asked. Vera’s smile deepened, her pupils reflecting only my image. She pressed a small slip of paper into my palm. “My number. Call me when you have a moment.” I glanced at her before heading to the changing room. My parents and Aria’s parents followed me in, their faces grim. Aria’s parents forced apologetic smiles. “Fred, our daughter has been foolish. Now that things are like this, we can only do our best to compensate you. Whatever you need, just ask. We’ll do anything to make it right.” My mother scoffed. “As if we need your…” I quickly grabbed my mother’s hand, cutting her off. Then, I turned to Aria’s parents with a bright smile. “In that case, Auntie, how about you transfer the Northgate property to me?” The Northgate plot was currently worthless, but I knew that in a few years, its value would skyrocket. It was that very piece of land that had saved Aria’s family business from bankruptcy in our past life. They drafted the contract on the spot. I couldn’t stop smiling. After they left, my mother slapped my arm. “A grown man, publicly humiliated like that, and you’re grinning from ear to ear!” I held up the contract. “Shouldn’t I be happy about this?” And I truly was. In my previous life, a series of disastrous decisions by Aria’s family had dragged my own family’s company, Green Enterprises, into ruin. Their company was only saved by the Northgate plot. To salvage my own business, I had poured every waking moment into work. Aria had thrown countless tantrums, complaining that our life was dull and tedious. She’d ask why I couldn’t just drop everything to travel the world with her. That’s when Ross had reappeared. He had become a famous travel influencer, his location tag hopping from one exotic country to the next. Aria would watch his videos, mesmerized. She started using “business trips” as an excuse, flying to Africa to watch the wildebeest migration with him. One was a free spirit; the other yearned for that same freedom. It was inevitable that they would be drawn to each other. Her “business trips” became more frequent. Sensing something was wrong, I booked a ticket for the same flight and discovered her betrayal. When I confronted them, the cold, dead look in her eyes stopped me in my tracks. She said that being with me was like being trapped in stagnant water, utterly devoid of life. Only with Ross did she feel truly alive. Eventually, she gave up all pretense. “Let’s get a divorce. You can have three-quarters of the assets. You can have the kids. All I want is my freedom.” “A person like you,” she’d sneered, “all you care about is money and profit. You’ll never understand the joy of a life without constraints.” She said it with the same arrogant confidence she’d had at eighteen. All I could do was laugh. A life of passion and freedom sounded wonderful, but without a material foundation to support it, it was just a fleeting high, followed by an empty void. Once she had her fill of adventure, she would realize she had nothing to show for her life. For a long time after, I heard nothing from her. I’d only catch glimpses of her when Ross’s videos popped up on my feed. It seemed she was truly living the life she wanted. It didn’t bother me. I had my own life, and a partner who truly understood me. 3 I walked into the lobby of Veridian Global, holding a proposal for the Northgate project, ready to discuss a partnership. The elevator doors slid open, and I came face-to-face with Aria. “Fred?” Ross, standing behind her, looked up. They were both decked out in high-end ski gear—the kind manufactured by Veridian. I knew one of Veridian’s subsidiaries was looking for influencers for a new campaign; I just hadn’t realized it was them. I gave a curt nod in greeting and moved to step into the elevator. Aria blocked my path. “How did you know I was here?” “Fred, I just got back to the country, and you’re already chasing me. Can you be any more pathetic?” Ross wrapped an arm around Aria, his eyes full of smug satisfaction. “Fred, you acted so tough when you walked away. Why are you stalking her now? Aria and I are doing great. We’re happy. I hear things aren’t going so well for you, though?” “I heard Green Enterprises took a nosedive?” He looked me up and down, his eyes dripping with contempt for a failure. “You’re so pitiful, Fred. Your business is gone, you’re getting old, you’ve never even seen the world, and now Aria doesn’t want you. Tell you what, why don’t you be our assistant? We could even pay you a little extra.” I looked at them like they were a pair of idiots. Did all that traveling leave their brains on a baggage carousel somewhere? Green Enterprises had been restructured and renamed years ago. The old “Green” was just a small subsidiary I’d left for my younger brother to practice with. “No, thank you,” I said flatly. “I’m doing just fine.” I tried to move past them to the elevator panel, but Ross was relentless. He waved at the front desk. “Can just anyone walk into Veridian? Are you people at the front desk doing your job? Does this man even have an appointment?” The receptionist hurried over. “Mr. Green does have an appointment…” Before she could finish, Ross cut her off. “So what if he has an appointment? I was personally invited here by Ms. Vance herself. If you offend me, I’ll have her fire you!” Aria chimed in with a smirk. “Exactly. And besides, this ‘Mr. Green’ isn’t really here to see Ms. Vance. He’s just trying to find a way to harass me. I’ll handle him for her.” She even pulled out an old photo of us from her phone and showed it to the receptionist, as if offering proof. “Fred, you really are desperate, aren’t you? Making an appointment with the CEO just to get to me. It’s pathetic.” “Take this outside. Don’t embarrass yourself at Veridian Global.” The receptionist looked at me, her previously firm expression now wavering. “Mr. Green, perhaps it would be best if you left.” I felt a knot of frustration tighten in my chest. How could these two be so self-absorbed, so convinced of their own distorted reality? I turned to the receptionist. “Please call the CEO’s executive assistant and have them buzz the private elevator.” She looked at me, her expression turning to one of pity. “Sir, you only have an appointment with Ms. Vance. Why would you need the CEO’s private elevator?” “And besides,” she added, “if you’re really just here to see Ms. Lin, you don’t need to bother the CEO at all.” Ross rolled his eyes and snorted. “Give it up, Fred. Your family is practically broke. You dare to ask for the CEO’s private elevator?” The commotion had attracted the attention of other clients waiting in the lobby. Their whispers were loud enough to hear. “Who does that guy think he is? Asking for the CEO’s private elevator?” “Probably another social climber. I heard the CEO is engaged, but that doesn’t stop these guys from trying.” The audience seemed to fuel Ross and Aria’s performance. Their voices grew louder. “Fred, I know we had a past,” Aria said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “But can you please not make a scene here? Even if we have some connection with Ms. Vance, I can’t just stand by and watch you cause trouble.” “There’s a coffee shop outside. We can talk there.”

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I’m supposed to be an emotionally stable capybara, but I’ve been dropped into the body of a tragic wife, complete with all her baggage—every last ounce of her heartbreak. Her husband, Jack, dotes on his childhood sweetheart, Sophia. Even their son, Tim, dreams of Sophia becoming his new mother. This is great. I don’t want to do anything, anyway. So when Jack gets a call late at night and tries to sneak out, I don’t make a scene. Instead, while clutching the phantom ache in my chest, I calmly hand him his coat. 1 The sound of Jack’s voice, hushed and urgent, pulled me from sleep. He was tiptoeing out of bed, his voice a low murmur of concern for the woman on the other end of the line—his precious Sophia. He slipped on his clothes, grabbed his car keys, and made a beeline for the door. “Wait.” The sound of my voice froze him in his tracks. He turned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his handsome features. “Sophia’s alone,” he began, his tone already defensive. “The power’s out, and I—” “Put on your coat before you go,” I said, my voice flat. “It’s cold out.” His irritation morphed into stunned disbelief. He stared at me for a long moment, as if seeing a stranger. But I just turned away, listless, gently rubbing the ache in my chest that wasn’t truly mine. Seeing that I wasn’t gearing up for the usual tear-filled fight, Jack’s expression softened. He walked back to the bed and pressed a quick, dutiful kiss to my forehead. “Don’t be difficult, Erika. I’ll be back soon.” I nodded, feeling nothing but the relentless throb in my heart, which now seemed to be intensifying. The click of the front door was my cue. I dragged myself out of bed and swallowed a painkiller. It was a futile gesture, more for psychological comfort than any real relief. It’s been two months since the original Erika tried to end her life, paving the way for my arrival. This late-night drama with Jack was routine. I was too tired to be angry. For a capybara, anger is just too much trouble. Even if I am cursed with her memories and her pain. The feeling, or lack thereof, persisted the next morning. I’d woken up early to make breakfast for our son, Tim. He took one look at the oatmeal I’d prepared and wrinkled his nose in disgust, scraping the bowl’s contents directly into the trash. “Mom, I’ve told you a million times, I want pancakes for breakfast! Sophia always remembers. Why can’t you?” His disdain was written all over his face. I should have been furious. I should have felt a pang of hurt. Instead, I just picked up my own bowl and slowly ate my oatmeal. “Then you should go ask her to make you breakfast.” Tim, who had been ready to launch into a full-blown tirade, choked on his next words. My quiet suggestion, meant to be helpful, landed like a venomous dart. His face crumpled, and he burst into tears. With a furious swipe of his arm, he sent his own empty bowl and silverware crashing to the floor. “You’re a bad mom! A horrible mom!” he wailed, his voice echoing through the cavernous villa. “Why did Daddy have to marry you? I want Sophia to be my mom!” I continued to eat my oatmeal, calmly turning away from the mess. Capybaras don’t do drama. Not interfering was the best I could offer. My lack of reaction only fueled his tantrum. He swept everything within his reach off the table, the sound of shattering porcelain filling the air. Children have a cruel, innate understanding of how to inflict the deepest wounds. “No wonder Daddy likes Sophia more than you!” he screamed between sobs. I ignored him, though the phantom pain in my chest was becoming unbearable. I set down my bowl, moved to the living room couch, and turned on the morning news. It was my primary way of understanding this world; smartphones were a labyrinth of complexity I had yet to master. Two months in, and I could barely send a text message. The television was so much simpler. “What is going on in here?” 2 Jack stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage in the dining room. Tim, spotting his father, immediately ran to him, a fresh wave of sobs racking his small body as he tattled on my supposed morning-of-terror. Jack, who clearly hadn’t been home all night, scooped him up and stormed over to me, his face a mask of fury. “It was just a little outburst, Erika. He’s a child. Did you have to be so cruel? What if he cries himself sick? If you can’t handle something this simple, then maybe you shouldn’t be looking after him at all.” I gave a slight nod, my eyes still fixed on the television screen. “What is that supposed to mean?” he seethed. “Don’t think playing the silent treatment is going to work. One more incident like this, and I’m asking Sophia to move in.” “Okay,” I said. Jack’s rage intensified. “Fine,” he snapped, his jaw tight. “You said it. Don’t you dare regret it.” As if afraid I’d change my mind, he immediately pulled out his phone and started dialing. While he was on the phone, a news report caught my eye. It was about a spectacular firework display at the city’s largest amusement park. “Last night at midnight,” the cheerful anchor announced, “Ashton City’s largest theme park was exclusively booked by Jack Kartalian, CEO of Kartalian Corporation. Mr. Kartalian had the park’s entire fireworks inventory set off in a single, breathtaking display to woo his sweetheart. The two were seen in a tender embrace, a truly enviable picture of romance.” The screen showed two figures silhouetted against the glittering sky. Even from the back, they looked perfect together. I noticed the coat draped over the woman’s shoulders. It was Jack’s. He turned back to me just then, the very same coat now looking glaringly out of place on him. He seemed to realize it too, fidgeting with the glasses on his nose. “Erika, listen, it’s not what you think. Last night was just—” A sharp, sudden pain lanced through my chest. I shot up from the couch. “You don’t have to explain,” I said, my voice strained. “I trust you.” I tried to keep my tone even as I turned and hurried toward the bedroom. But Jack followed, his voice insistent and grating. “Erika, what is this new game you’re playing? Sophia is like a sister to me! I did that for her as a friend. Can’t you stop listening to tabloid nonsense?” Every word he spoke was another dagger in my heart. As I reached the stairs, the pain overwhelmed me, and the world went black. I collapsed. Through the fog of my fading consciousness, I thought I heard Jack’s voice, cold and distant. “Don’t think playing the victim is going to work on me.” “Get up, Erika.” “Fine. Stay there. See how long you can keep it up.” The last thing I heard before slipping into complete darkness was the decisive click of the front door closing. He had really just left me there. A small, detached part of my mind silently condemned his callousness. I couldn’t fathom why the original Erika had ever fallen for a man like this. And yet, every time the thought of divorce surfaced, a powerful, deep-seated obsession from her memories would rise up, sealing my lips shut. When I finally woke up, the house was empty. And for some reason, a profound sense of relief washed over me. I knew this emotional rollercoaster wasn’t normal. I went online and booked an appointment with a psychiatrist, determined to figure out what was wrong with this body. “Your condition,” the doctor said, peering at me over her glasses, “presents as a severe case of Emotional Transference Syndrome. Given the unique circumstances, I’d recommend you first try to redirect your emotional focus. Find a new anchor—a hobby, a passion, anything. But a person can never be your sole pillar of support. If that fails… we may have to consider more intensive treatments, like ECT.” Her words echoed in my mind all the way home. I pushed open the front door to the sound of cheerful laughter. 3 Sophia’s luggage was already in the entryway, but she herself was comfortably settled on the couch, sharing a slice of cake with Jack and Tim. Jack fed a bite directly to Sophia, and Tim giggled, playfully complaining that his father was showing favoritism. They looked like the perfect family. The moment I stepped inside, the laughter died. The smiles vanished. Tim shot me a cold glare and turned his head away. Jack’s face hardened. “Well, well,” he said with a sneer. “Done with your fainting act?” I just nodded, my emotional state still strangely placid. My chest didn’t even hurt. It was an unexpected, welcome reprieve. Ignoring them, I started walking toward my bedroom. A sweet voice called out from behind me. “Erika.” I turned. Sophia was looking at me, a shy, almost blushing expression on her face. “Erika, I was just looking around, and I absolutely adore your room… the master suite. It’s so lovely. Do you think… could I have it?” Her words hung in the air. Both Jack and Tim swiveled their heads to look at me, their eyes filled with a silent warning. It was clear: if I protested, they would pounce. But… throwing a fit was simply not in my nature. “Okay,” I said. “It’s yours.” A flash of triumph, sharp and provocative, lit up Sophia’s face. “Oh, thank you, Erika! I knew you wouldn’t mind. Could you possibly help me with my things? My self-care skills are a bit weak, and Jack always says you’re so good at housekeeping. It would be such a help.” The thinly veiled insult was impossible to miss. It was a direct jab, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of genuine annoyance. Without a word, I walked over and took her suitcase. And then I kicked it, hard. It went flying, tumbling down the short flight of stairs with a series of sickening thuds. The smug smile was still on Sophia’s face when the final crash echoed through the hall. “Erika, what the hell are you doing?!” Jack was on me in an instant, his voice a furious roar. “If you didn’t want to help, you could have just said so! Why would you kick her luggage?” Seeing Jack leap to her defense, Sophia’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “Jack, it’s not that I want to make a fuss,” she sobbed, “but… the porcelain inside… it was a piece I’ve been working on for a year…” She knelt and opened the battered suitcase. Inside, a ceramic vase lay in a thousand pieces. Jack couldn’t stand to see his beloved cry. He wrapped his arms around her, murmuring comforting words. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll make her apologize. She’ll pay for it.” A simple ceramic pot, of course, wasn’t worth much. But Jack wasn’t about to let it go. He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “Erika. Apologize.” I shook my head, a flicker of satisfaction in my aching heart. “Don’t make me say it again. Apologize!” “Miss Kartalian,” Sophia whimpered, her eyes misty and pathetic, “if you’re angry with me, that’s fine. But please, don’t take it out on my art. I…” “No apology,” I said, my voice steady. “You deserved it.” I was simply stating a fact. Who in their right mind packs fragile porcelain in a suitcase for a move, instead of, say, clothes? “Erika! If you don’t apologize right now, we are getting a divorce! You can get the hell out of this house today!” I had expected a wave of sorrow to crash over me. But, surprisingly, my heart remained calm, my breathing even. “Okay.” I wrenched my arm free and marched to the bedroom, quickly packing a small bag. “If you walk out that door,” Jack yelled after me, “don’t you ever come back!” I nodded. As I passed Sophia, I slipped the wedding ring from my finger and placed it on the table beside her. “This,” I said, “should cover your vase.” The sight of the ring on the table finally seemed to break through Jack’s rage. A flicker of panic crossed his face. “What do you mean by that, Erika?”

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I bankrupted my own company to take my girlfriend’s public, making her dream a reality. At her IPO celebration, I planned to reveal myself as a billionaire heir and announce our relationship. But she stepped on stage arm-in-arm with another man. “Bryan,” she said, trembling with excitement, “the pregnancy rumors are true—he’s the father!” Silence filled the room. Everyone turned to me. I stood, forced a smile, and started clapping. The crowd erupted. Watching Sophia glow in Bryan’s arms, I realized—if this was her happiness, I wouldn’t stand in her way. I walked out and called my father: “Kill Sophia’s funding. Let her figure out the IPO alone.” 1 My father, sharp as ever, knew instantly that something was broken between Sophia and me. He sighed, a heavy sound over the phone. “Bill, are you sure about this? If we pull this funding, Rosewood Tech won’t just fail to go public. They’ll go under completely. That hole from their tax evasion is too deep to fill.” He paused. “I won’t ask why you’re making this decision. I just… it’s been seven years, son. I don’t want you to have any regrets.” Seven years. After I got with Sophia, I cared more about her career than she did. When I first got involved, her company was a black hole, and to keep it from collapsing, I cannibalized my own successful business. She’d cried, telling me how much it hurt to see me work myself into a bleeding ulcer for her, swearing she would never let me down. She promised that once the company went public, we would finally make our relationship official. So I worked even harder, all for the day I could stand by her side without hiding. But promises? They’re just hot air from the person making them, and only a fool believes them. “Dad,” I said firmly. “Just trust me on this.” He didn’t press further. The moment I hung up, Sophia stormed out after me. “Bill! You’re the host. You can’t just walk out! That’s so unprofessional!” A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. “My duties didn’t include emceeing the public announcement of your affair.” Her face went rigid. “You’re the host, you host the whole event! You don’t get to pick and choose.” Her voice rose, dripping with indignation. “Besides, I was telling the truth. Bryan is the father of the child in my belly! I can’t very well lie and say it’s you, can I?” She hadn’t told me she was pregnant. I found the test in the trash can myself. I didn’t question it, just naturally assumed the child was mine. I started taking even better care of her, and she let me, never correcting my assumption. I never imagined I was just a placeholder, a glorified caretaker for another man’s woman and child. The thought was as nauseating as swallowing a fly. I didn’t want to waste another breath on her. “I’m going home.” After a quick shower, I collapsed onto the bed. My phone buzzed. It was a video from Bryan. I opened it, and the sounds of Sophia’s moans filled the quiet room, each one louder than the last. She moved with him, trying different positions, her face a mask of pure ecstasy. “Oh, Bryan,” her voice cooed from the speaker, “only with you… only with you does it feel like our souls are truly merging.” So, they really were a perfect match. That video showed me a side of Sophia I’d never known. With me, she’d just lie there like a starfish, a mechanical, lifeless participant. I had always thought she just had a low libido. Turns out, that wasn’t it at all. She just didn’t love me. My eyelids felt like lead weights. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, deeper than any I’d ever felt. I, who always needed to get to the bottom of everything, now just wanted to sleep. I dropped my phone and let the darkness take me. 2 In the dead of night, Sophia came home, propping up a drunken Bryan. The blankets were ripped off me, and a blast of cold air hit my skin. I opened my eyes to see Sophia’s face, arrogant and demanding, hovering above me. “You’re sleeping on the couch,” she ordered. “Bryan’s taking the bed.” She had always treated me this way, with a casual, high-handed authority. After seven years, she was used to me being her servant. I didn’t move. “Doesn’t he have his own home?” “Can’t you see he’s drunk? I have to take care of him.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if Bryan were her rightful partner. How considerate. I remembered the time I drank myself sick to land a deal for her company. I called her to pick me up, but she said it was too cold to go out. I had to drag myself home, collapsing the moment I walked through the door. I spent the night on the freezing floor and woke up with a raging fever. I had to call the ambulance myself. She didn’t visit me once in the hospital. “Ah, I almost forgot,” I said, my voice flat. “He’s the father of your child.” Sophia took my words as agreement. “Exactly. So are you going to move, or not?” “Bill, I know you’re angry,” she said, her voice softening slightly, “but I can’t let my child call another man ‘daddy’.” What a noble mother. But who created this mess? I looked at her, truly looked at her, and for the first time, she utterly disgusted me. I started to get up, but she stopped me. Her expression was a mix of conflict and resolution. Finally, she let out a breath. “The person I love is Bryan. The baby and I… we can’t be without him.” She paused, as if offering me a grand concession. “So, here’s the plan. The three of us will live together. You’ll keep managing the company, and you’ll get your share. I won’t cheat you.” A laugh bubbled up inside me. The sheer audacity of it. She wanted to have her cake and eat it too. Make her grand public declaration with Bryan, and keep me around as her free labor and glorified butler. “No, thank you,” I said. “Since you chose him, I wish you both the best.” Sophia looked at me as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Can you stop being so dramatic? Without me, how would you even survive? I’ve been supporting you all these years.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Just stay put. The three of us can make it work. It was Bryan’s idea, too.” Just then, Bryan made a retching sound. Sophia immediately rushed to his side, all concern and worry. I went to the study to sleep. It wasn’t long before the study door was being pounded on, the noise shaking the frame. “Get up and make breakfast! Bryan and I are hungry. We want noodles, hurry up!” I pulled the covers over my head, pretending not to hear. After a while, the knocking stopped. My sleep was ruined anyway. When I finally got up, they were both gone. Perfect. Time to pack. The stench of stale alcohol in the master bedroom was overwhelming. She could really tolerate anything for Bryan’s sake. I opened the closet. My clothes were just a few items, all of which I’d bought myself before moving in. After a moment’s thought, I gathered them all and threw them in the trash. If I was letting go, I was letting go of everything. Besides the clothes, I also threw out the matching couple’s toothbrushes, slippers, and dishes I had bought. As I cleared things out, it dawned on me: the only person invested in our “couple” status had been me. Sophia’s set of everything was still in its original packaging, untouched. As I was clearing out the shoe rack, I found something tucked away in a corner. A pair of men’s underwear. Not my size. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I looked around the apartment, our home, and a sickening montage played in my mind: Bryan and Sophia, laughing, touching, living in every corner of this place, while I remained completely in the dark. Thank God I was finally awake. 3 After shipping my few remaining personal effects back to my family’s estate, I headed to Rosewood Tech to resign. Beyond funneling resources to Sophia from behind the scenes, I also held the official title of General Manager. For seven years, day in and day out, I had been the one closing deals, solving crises, and pushing the company upward. I pushed open the door to my—to the General Manager’s office—and found Sophia and Bryan wrapped around each other, directing a secretary who was packing up a desk. My desk. Now that they were public, they certainly weren’t shy. I thought back to all the times I had asked, begged, for us to be more open, and how Sophia had always refused. She was the boss, she’d said, she had to set an example. What would happen if all her employees started office romances? How could she maintain control? “Throw all of his junk out,” Sophia’s sharp voice cut through the air. “I don’t know why we let such garbage accumulate in here. It’s cheapening the place.” They turned as I entered. Sophia’s face was a mask of cold indifference, while Bryan shot me a look of pure, triumphant provocation. “Bill,” Sophia announced, her tone brittle, “in light of your immature behavior at the celebration party yesterday, you’re being demoted. Bryan will be the new General Manager. You can be his deputy.” She gestured towards Bryan. “That funding deal from New York? You’ll assist him in finalizing it from now on.” The New York deal. The one I’d spent a month wining and dining the client’s representative for, drinking until I gave myself a bleeding ulcer just to get a foot in the door. The deal that was only truly secured because of my father’s influence. Now that they thought it was a sure thing, they were trying to kick me to the curb and steal the credit. How utterly predictable. I didn’t bother arguing. I simply pulled the resignation letter from my jacket and placed it on the desk in front of her. “Ms. Rosewood, this is my resignation. Please approve it.” The sudden move caught them completely off guard. Sophia and Bryan exchanged a shocked glance. She frowned, her eyes searching my face for some hidden motive. Bryan, however, was practically vibrating with excitement. With me gone, the project—and all the glory—would fall squarely into his lap. “Come on, ‘Deputy’ Vance,” he sneered. “Are you really going to quit just because of a small demotion? Or do you actually think this company can’t function without you? Pulling a stunt like this right before the IPO… real classy.” Any hesitation Sophia might have had vanished at Bryan’s words. Her face darkened with anger. “I don’t know why I ever hired you in the first place!” she snapped. “You want to leave? Fine! I accept. Now pack your things and get the hell out! And don’t you ever think of setting foot in Rosewood Tech again.” I nodded, quietly placing my few belongings into a cardboard box. Just then, Sophia’s assistant rushed in, out of breath. “Ms. Rosewood, the representative from the New York firm is here! They said they’re ready to talk about the financing!” Sophia immediately started fussing over Bryan, straightening his tie. “You’ve got this,” she whispered encouragingly. “It’s all been negotiated. All that’s left is the signature. Don’t be nervous.” “I won’t,” Bryan said, puffing out his chest as he walked out of the office. I finished packing and walked out with my box. In the hallway, I saw Bryan, a fawning smile plastered on his face as he extended a hand to the representative. “Hello, sir. My name is Bryan Carter. I’m the new General Manager here, and I’ll be handling the financing deal with you.” The representative didn’t even glance at his outstretched hand. His eyes lit up when he saw me. He immediately came over, taking the box from my arms. “Mr. Vance,” he said, his voice loud and clear for everyone to hear. “I’ve already been notified about the situation. I’m actually here today to officially cancel the investment.” He gestured vaguely back toward Bryan. “This whole deal was contingent on your involvement, as a favor to your father. With you gone, there’s no reason for us to stay.”

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