1 On my wedding day, I waited and waited for my fiancé, Alex, to pick me up, but the wedding car was nowhere in sight. When it finally arrived, I saw that it was draped in black cloth. Inside, the seats were covered in white linen, transforming it into a hearse. Alex’s young assistant, Chloe, sat in the passenger seat, clutching a small urn. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. “Evelyn,” she sobbed, “please don’t be upset. My little dog, Dot, died yesterday. The fortune teller said today was an auspicious day for a burial, so she could be reincarnated. Alex said we could give Dot a ride on the way. You don’t mind, do you?” I stared at Alex, my voice cold. “For your assistant’s dog, you turned our wedding car into a hearse?” “There’s an old saying,” he said, his voice laced with impatience. “Marriage is the death of love. A wedding car, a hearse… what’s the difference?” I ripped off my veil, threw it to the ground, and made a phone call. “Are you free to get married today?” … The ceremony was in an hour, but Alex wasn’t answering his phone. I pulled up his assistant Chloe’s contact, planning to ask her what was going on. Alex had delegated all the wedding planning to her, telling me, “All you have to do is be a beautiful bride. Let your assistant handle the trivial stuff.” Chloe had insisted on a “unique and modern” approach, forgoing the traditional grand procession. Instead, she suggested the bride and groom drive to the chapel together, hand in hand, for a more “romantic” entrance. Which meant that now, my only option was to wait for Alex to pick me up. I opened my messaging app and saw that Chloe had just posted a new photo. It was a black-and-white shot of her, dressed in mourning, a white camellia tucked into her hair. Her eyes were swollen, a picture of delicate sorrow. She was leaning her head on a man’s shoulder, cradling a small urn. The caption read: “Mommy and Daddy will love you forever.” The man’s shoulder looked familiar, but I quickly closed the app before I could dwell on it. Seeing something like that on my wedding day was just bad luck. A question flickered through my mind—Chloe wasn’t married, was she? Where did the “Daddy” come from? Before I could think any further, Alex called and told me to come downstairs. Clutching my bouquet, I rushed out the door, my heart full of joy. The smile froze on my face. Our wedding car was draped in black. Through the window, I could see the seats were covered in white cloth. It looked exactly like a hearse. Just yesterday, this car had been a vision. It was decorated with my favorite flowers and sparkling crystals, adorned with romantic symbols of love. I had poured my heart into every detail, all for this day. Now, it was all gone. In its place was a somber, lifeless hearse. My blood ran cold. “Alex,” I stammered, “what is this?” From the passenger seat, Chloe rolled down the window, her voice thick with tears. “Evelyn, please don’t be upset. My little dog, Dot, died yesterday. The fortune teller said today was an auspicious day for a burial, so she could be reincarnated. Alex said we could give Dot a ride on the way. You don’t mind, do you?” She sniffled. “I just couldn’t stand all the festive decorations on the car, so I made a few changes with some black fabric. Black and white are very trendy for weddings now, you know. I thought it would work. This way, we don’t have to delay the wedding or Dot’s funeral.” Who in their right mind decorates a wedding car with black drapes and white sheets? The blood rushed to my head. My voice became shrill. “Today is my wedding day, Chloe. Are you doing this just to spite me?” “Alex, we’re getting married today, and you’ve turned our wedding car into a hearse for a dog? Aren’t you worried about the bad omen?” “All our friends and family are waiting at the hotel. Are you seriously going to drive this to the wedding?” Alex’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “It’s just transportation. As long as it gets us to the hotel, what’s the big deal? Can’t you have a little compassion?” 2 “There’s an old saying,” he continued, “marriage is the death of love. A wedding and a funeral, what’s the difference? A hearse is perfectly appropriate.” “Besides,” he added, “Chloe couldn’t even get a taxi while holding Dot’s urn. If we don’t help her, who will? You’re usually so understanding. What’s wrong with you today?” Tears streamed down my face. I lunged forward and started ripping the black fabric off the car. “Who gave you permission to touch my wedding car? What gives you the right?” Chloe rushed over to stop me. “Evelyn, please don’t! Today is Dot’s funeral. Please, let her go in peace.” “Get away from me!” I shoved her. She stumbled back and fell into Alex’s arms. He steadied her, then grabbed me and pushed me to the ground. “Haven’t you had enough? Your wedding dress is white, isn’t it? What’s wrong with white seats? Is this some kind of double standard? Have some decency.” My hand slammed against the pavement. A sharp pain shot through my palm, and blood began to well up. I pointed a trembling finger at the urn in Chloe’s arms. “Alex, do you hear yourself? Have you even for one second considered my feelings?” “A woman gets married once in her life, and you want me to ride in a hearse? Do you even want to marry me?” Alex was about to argue, but Chloe stopped him. “Alex, it’s all my fault. I was just so heartbroken about Dot, I didn’t think about Evelyn’s feelings. The wedding is much more important than Dot. And she was just my pet. I can handle this myself.” Her tears fell onto the small urn. “I don’t have any family in this city. Dot was all I had. She was like family to me. I’m sorry. I just wanted to give her a perfect funeral.” Her voice cracked. “Even if I have to walk, I’ll get to the cemetery.” She opened the passenger door and stumbled out of the car, a fragile, pitiable figure in her black dress. She looked at me, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, Evelyn. Please, get in the car.” Alex got out and grabbed her arm. “You’re not going anywhere. I said I’d give Dot a ride, and I will. Don’t you remember? I said I’d be her daddy, didn’t I?” Suddenly, Chloe’s social media post from this morning flashed in my mind. “Mommy and Daddy will love you forever.” She was Mommy, and Alex was Daddy. And that familiar shoulder… it was his. Chloe had joined Alex’s company as a secretary a year ago. He praised her for being meticulous and thoughtful and quickly promoted her to his primary assistant, entrusting her with many important tasks. I’d heard whispers from older colleagues, subtle hints that I should watch out for Alex and Chloe. But this was Alex, the man I had loved for years, the man who loved me deeply. I would have suspected any other man of cheating, but never him. Now, the truth was staring me in the face. Chloe was more than just a secretary, and Alex was no longer the man I knew. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I choked, unable to speak. Today was supposed to be the culmination of our ten-year love story, and this was happening. Alex turned back to me. “Do you have to be like this? Do you know how far the cemetery is? Do you know how long it would take Chloe to walk there? You know no one will give her a ride while she’s carrying an urn. Do you really have to pick a fight with her when she’s at her most vulnerable?” As he got closer, I caught a whiff of camellia perfume. It was Chloe’s scent. I felt a wave of nausea and took a step back, covering my mouth. He opened the car door and helped Chloe back in. “You don’t have to get out. I said I’d take you, and I will.” He got back in the car and looked at me. “Get in. The wedding is about to start, isn’t it? I promised we’d have the ceremony first. You’ll still be a beautiful bride. After the wedding, we’ll go with Chloe to bury Dot.” 3 Rage surged through me. I yanked open the car door. “Chloe, this is my car. Please get out. I do not consent to you taking this car to a cemetery. I can call a taxi for you, or have a friend drive you.” “Alex, call the wedding planner right now and have them restore this car to its original state.” Chloe looked at me, tears streaming down her face. She wiped her eyes fiercely. “Fine. I won’t disrupt your wedding. I wish you both happiness.” She gently pushed Alex’s hand away and looked up at him, her face a mask of tragic beauty. “Go get married. I told you we weren’t heading in the same direction. Why did you have to make Evelyn angry?” “Just let me take Dot myself.” She pressed her face against the urn. “Dot, Mommy will take you.” Alex exploded. He shoved me away, and I stumbled back into a flower bed. The sharp edge of the planter dug into my back. A searing pain shot through me, and my vision went black. The bouquet fell from my hand. “Enough! Are you done? How long are you going to throw a fit over a car? As long as I’m the one marrying you, that should be enough. What more do you want?” “You’re about to be Mrs. Reed. You’ll have everything. Why are you making things so difficult for Chloe? All she had was Dot, and now she’s lost her too. Are you really going to push her to the edge?” “If I had known you would turn into such a cruel, unreasonable person, I never would have agreed to marry you.” His words were a knife, twisting in my heart. Alex and I were college sweethearts. He was on a full scholarship, from a poor family, and had taken out loans to get through school. We fell in love on campus. To protect his pride, I hid my own family’s wealth and started a business with him. After graduation, we struggled together, enduring countless hardships. Finally, things had started to look up. We had our own company. With my father’s secret help, Alex’s business grew, and he became a rising star in the city’s business world. He had proposed, and today was our wedding. I had invited all our friends and family. I was going to reveal my family’s identity to him at the wedding. I believed we could live happily ever after. But now, as I watched him hold his fragile secretary, as I looked at the car I had bought, now transformed into a hearse, I closed my eyes. Maybe things had changed a long time ago. Maybe I just hadn’t been willing to see it. Alex looked at me coldly. “I’m giving you two choices. One, get in the car now, and we’ll go to the hotel for the ceremony.” “Two, if you’re going to keep throwing a tantrum, then you can walk. After all, you’re the one who doesn’t want to ride in a hearse, right?” Through the car window, I could see Chloe still nestled in his arms, her eyes, when she glanced at me, full of triumph and provocation. She “helped” by saying, “Evelyn, don’t be angry. I’ll try to talk to Alex.” Then she turned to him, her voice a coquettish whisper. I could just make out the words: “Evelyn has been dreaming of marrying you. Even if you leave her here, she’ll forgive you. She’ll find a way to the hotel. But can’t you just humor her a little?” “You can’t just assume she’ll marry you no matter what and treat her like this.” “I’ve spoiled her,” Alex said coldly. “That’s why she’s so unreasonable.” I stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. He gritted his teeth. “Fine. If you’re not getting in, then walk.” He stomped on the gas. The car sped off, leaving me standing there. My bridal bouquet was crushed under the tires, a mangled, unrecognizable mess. I sank to the ground, covering my face, and sobbed. A text message came through. It was from Alex. Since you’re being so childish, you must not be in a hurry to get married. We’ll postpone the ceremony until tonight. I’m taking Chloe to bury Dot first. You should take this time to reflect on your behavior. The Mrs. Reed I want is obedient, sensible, and understanding. Not a hysterical brat like you.

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1 The nanny wanted to become the lady of the house. She secretly taught my son to call her “Grandma.” She was always lecturing me like a mother-in-law, pushing me to have a second child. “If a woman doesn’t have children, is she even a woman?” she’d say. When I finally had enough and tried to throw her out, she declared with arrogant pride, “You’re the one who should get lost. I’m Asher’s real mother!” My husband and I stared at each other, utterly horrified. “Since when,” we both stammered, “was he an illegitimate child?” … I got off work early and went to pick up my three-year-old son, Finn, from his preschool. As I approached the school gate, I saw our nanny, Mrs. Quinn, holding his hand. She held a lollipop in front of him, her face a mask of grandmotherly affection. “Finn, darling, what did I teach you to call me yesterday?” Finn hesitated. Mrs. Quinn dangled the lollipop tantalizingly. “Grandma!” he chirped immediately. “That’s right! Grandma’s good boy! Here you go.” Watching this exchange, my face went cold. Mrs. Quinn was a long-time fixture in my husband Asher’s family. She hadn’t just raised Asher; she had once saved his life. Now, she had volunteered to look after our son, Finn. The entire family respected her deeply. But my relationship with her was… strained. It had gotten particularly bad about a month ago, when Asher and I decided to enroll Finn in an early education program. When Mrs. Quinn found out, she cornered me. “Zoey,” she said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp, “Finn is three now. Don’t you think it’s time for you and Asher to start thinking about a second child?” I was completely blindsided. Asher’s parents had divorced years ago. I had no mother-in-law. Since marrying into the Vance family, Mrs. Quinn had taken it upon herself to act as the family matriarch, constantly lecturing me. Asher respected her, and since her meddling was usually minor, I let it slide. But now she had crossed a line, pushing me about having more children. I didn’t bother to hide my displeasure. “Mrs. Quinn, that is not your place to ask.” She ignored my irritation. “I know you young people are shy about these things. But having babies is a race against time. A woman over thirty has a much harder time conceiving.” Her voice warmed to her subject. “Where I come from, a woman should have at least three to five children. And it’s best if they’re all boys.” As her pronouncements grew more and more outrageous, I raised my voice to cut her off. “Mrs. Quinn, let’s be clear. You are a nanny. That’s all.” Even Asher’s own mother had never pressured me. Seeing the anger in my eyes, Mrs. Quinn finally, reluctantly, fell silent. But I never imagined she’d hold such a grudge. A nanny, secretly coaching my son to call her “Grandma.” If any of our friends heard that, they’d think I was cheating on Asher! 2 I suppressed my fury, forced a pleasant expression onto my face, and walked over. I buckled Finn into his car seat first. Then I turned to Mrs. Quinn, my face a cold mask. “Mrs. Quinn, a person should know their place,” I said, my voice low and even. “I shouldn’t have to teach you what you should and shouldn’t do, should I?” I was giving her one last chance to save face by not spelling it out. But she didn’t take it. She jutted out her chin and reprimanded me. “Zoey Vance, is that any way to speak to an elder? I raised Asher. He’s like a son to me. In the old days, I would have been his wet nurse. It’s only right that Finn calls me ‘Grandma’!” She sniffed. “It’s just like I thought. Someone from a common family like yours has no manners.” I was floored. What kind of twisted logic was that? By her reasoning, if she nannied for a few more families, she’d have children all over the city. I was done arguing. I held up my phone. “I wonder what Asher will think when he finds out he has a new mother.” The Vances treated their staff well, but not so well that they’d let a nanny walk all over them. Thinking I had recorded her, Mrs. Quinn’s face finally changed. Her tone softened, and she mumbled an apology. “Don’t let it happen again,” I said coldly. … Later that evening, I was still mulling over Mrs. Quinn’s recent behavior. When I first married Asher, she had been respectful, keeping to her duties. That all changed about a month into our marriage, when she found Asher in the kitchen late at night, making me a snack. The look on her face had curdled instantly. The next day, while Asher was at work, she confronted me. “Zoey, you have a perfectly good pair of hands and feet. How could you order Asher around like that?” I was baffled. “He’s my husband. Making me a bowl of noodles is hardly ‘ordering him around.’” “No, no, no,” she corrected me, her expression deadly serious. “It is the natural order of things for a woman to serve a man. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping conspiratorially, “Asher is the heir to the Vance family! If people found out he was waiting on you, they’d laugh him out of town!” I was stunned by her archaic mindset. What century was she living in? She was a relic from a bygone era. I tried to reason with her, my temper still in check. “Mrs. Quinn, it’s not ‘waiting on me.’ It’s called taking care of each other. That’s what married couples do.” She just sighed and shook her head. “A girl from a common family. You’ll never understand. The Vances are a prominent family. You can’t compare them to common folk. I think you should quit your job and learn how to be a proper wife.” 3 Before I could protest, she shoved a pile of laundry into my arms. It was Asher’s from the day before. “From now on, you will be washing all of Asher’s clothes,” she instructed. “His underwear and socks must be washed by hand. And when he leaves for work in the morning, you must be up to see him off.” She paused, then added, “That three-thousand-a-month job of yours is pointless. Just quit and focus on taking care of Asher at home. The most important thing now is to get pregnant.” I stared at her, dumbfounded, as she prattled on. This fossil wasn’t going to be reasoned with. So, I threw the clothes right back at her. Especially the two smelly socks. They hit her squarely on the head and face. The pungent odor of a man’s sweaty feet is not a pleasant one. Mrs. Quinn shrieked like a scalded chicken. “Zoey Vance!” I just shrugged, a cold smile on my face. “Whoever wants to wash them can wash them. I’m not doing it.” That was our first major confrontation. I told Asher about it that night. He promised to talk to her, reminding me that she was a long-time family employee and deserved another chance. Of course, he said, if I wanted her gone, she’d be gone. But we were newly married, and I didn’t want to cause a huge scene. I relented. After that, Mrs. Quinn seemed to understand that I wasn’t a pushover, and she backed off. Until I got pregnant. That’s when she started acting up again. 4 When we found out I was pregnant, the whole family was ecstatic, especially Asher, who had always wanted a daughter. But it was Mrs. Quinn’s reaction that surprised me the most. She wept with joy, clasping her hands together in prayer. “Asher has an heir! Thank you, ancestors!” She was more emotional than my own mother-in-law would have been. Not only that, she started doting on me, fussing over my every need, cooking me elaborate meals. The tension between us began to melt away, all because of the tiny life growing inside me. Until I was seven weeks along. One day, Mrs. Quinn grabbed my arm, her face taut with anxiety, insisting we go to the hospital. I was confused. “Didn’t we just have a check-up last week?” She smiled. “We’re not going for a check-up. We’re going to find out if the baby is a boy or a girl. If it’s a boy, we’ll keep it. If it’s a girl, we’ll get rid of it. The firstborn must be a son!” I snatched my hand away, horrified. “Mrs. Quinn, have you lost your mind? My child’s fate is not for you to decide. You’re just a nanny in this house. This has nothing to do with you!” My outburst left her red-faced and sputtering. She bit out, “I’m only doing this for your own good!” “Why don’t you mind your own business?” I retorted sharply. “The Vances give you an inch, and you think you’re the queen of the castle. You have no say over my child!” My words were merciless. Mrs. Quinn was fuming, but there was nothing she could do. I waved a dismissive hand and banished her from my room. I was about to insist on hiring a new nanny, but Mrs. Quinn beat me to the punch with a preemptive strike. 5 After I became pregnant, I started taking a nap every afternoon. That day, I had just fallen asleep when a sharp pain shot through my fingertip. I’m terrified of pain, and it jolted me awake. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into a pair of cold, narrow eyes. I screamed, grabbing whatever was on my nightstand and hurling it at the figure. Only when I heard a familiar cry of pain did I realize it was Mrs. Quinn. Her forehead was bleeding where an object had struck her, and her chin was cut. In my panic, I had even ripped out a chunk of her hair. She was a complete mess. “Mrs. Quinn, what are you doing?” I demanded, my voice trembling. She stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. Then I saw the test tube in her hand and the syringe on the floor beside her. It all clicked. She hadn’t given up. She had snuck into my room while I was sleeping to draw my blood for a gender test. I couldn’t believe it. She was a nanny, not the lady of the house. Why was she so obsessed with my pregnancy? Asher was furious. This was his first child. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone, regardless of gender, trying to harm it. Mrs. Quinn was finally scared. Scared of being thrown out for good. She tearfully reminded Asher of how she had saved his life, begging for forgiveness. She banged her head on the floor until the carpet was stained red. Finding a good nanny isn’t easy, and Asher hadn’t been feeling well himself lately, so I agreed to give her one more chance. After that incident, Mrs. Quinn did seem to behave. She took good care of Finn over the years, and I stopped thinking about replacing her. But I was wrong. Her ambition to be the “mistress” of the house had never died. 6 Lately, I’d noticed Finn seemed withdrawn and unusually clingy. I assumed it was just trouble adjusting to his new school. Until tonight. As I was tucking him into bed, he looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Mommy,” he whispered, “please don’t leave. I don’t want Daddy to get me a new mommy.” My heart sank, but I kept my voice gentle. “Mommy’s not going anywhere. Who told you Daddy was going to get a new mommy?” He was silent for a long time before his voice came out in a choked sob. “It was Grandma Quinn. She said she’s going to be my real grandma soon. And that if you don’t behave, Daddy will get me a new mommy.” A fire ignited in my chest. Not only was Mrs. Quinn defying me, she was threatening my son. And what did she mean, “she’s going to be my real grandma soon”? I pushed down my anger and questions and focused on comforting my son. “Don’t you worry, Finn. Daddy would never, ever replace Mommy.” After reassuring him until he finally fell asleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. A bizarre thought popped into my head. Had Mrs. Quinn started something with my father-in-law? What other explanation could there be? My father-in-law had been a bit of a playboy in his younger days. When Asher was ten, a mistress had even shown up with an illegitimate son of the same age. Asher never went into detail, but the mistress and her son were sent packing. His wife, heartbroken, had insisted on a divorce. My father-in-law, suddenly repentant, had been trying to win her back ever since. For years, his life had been nothing but work and futile attempts at reconciliation. Given his history and heartbreak, it seemed unlikely he’d fall for the aging Mrs. Quinn. But then again, some people have strange tastes. Maybe years of rejection had changed his palate. It was the only way Mrs. Quinn’s recent behavior made any sense. She was acting like she was already the lady of the house. A shiver went down my spine. I shook Asher, who was sound asleep beside me. “Wake up! If you keep sleeping, you’re going to have a new baby brother!” Asher’s eyes fluttered open. He rolled on top of me. “What? Honey, you want to give Finn a baby brother? I’d better get to work!” “Asher!” My protest was swallowed by his kiss.

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1 Reborn, my first act was rejecting my parents’ $50K allowance—and taking a predatory loan instead. In my past life, my roommate Jessica bound me to a “system” that swapped our finances. No matter what, my account never held over $30. With my money, she became the campus queen—dating heartthrob Ethan Virtue while painting me as her pitiful charity case. When I showed bank statements, every transfer magically shrank to $30. Jessica would flash her phone, crocodile tears gleaming: “See? My parents send $50K monthly. Why can’t Freda face reality?” The backlash was vicious. Relatives who defended me died in “accidents.” My body withered mysteriously. Finally, Ethan’s friends dragged me into the woods—I died after hours of torture. Then I woke up, back in time. This time, I’d see how long the campus princess lasted without my money—and with crushing debt. … “Seriously, Freda, you’re pathetic. All your designer clothes were bought with handouts, and you have the nerve to be flashier than Jessica?” “She’s so generous to you, and you just waste her money. If Jessica wasn’t such a saint, she would’ve kicked you to the curb ages ago!” “Say something! Stop playing dead! Get on your knees and apologize to her right now, or we’ll make you.” The jeers echoed in my ears, and for a dizzying moment, I struggled to place myself. Then it hit me. I was truly reborn, thrown back to the very day my roommate, Jessica Price, used her system to frame me as a poor student living off her charity. Seeing my silence, Jessica stepped forward, her voice dripping with fake empathy. “Freda, don’t tell me you’re going to claim that money came from your parents. That you’re the rich one? If that’s the case, why don’t you show everyone your bank balance?” She smiled sweetly. “Or better yet, have your parents wire you a few hundred thousand right now. That would shut us all up.” Last time, I fell for it. I stared at my thirty-dollar balance in disbelief and frantically called my parents, begging them to send more money. My desperation to prove the truth only played into her hands, funneling immense wealth directly into her account and solidifying her status as the campus queen. When I held up my phone to show the incoming transfers, the numbers had magically changed to pocket change. In an instant, I became a public enemy, accused of being a vain, selfish leech who was bleeding her poor, hardworking parents dry. As I was plotting my next move, the campus heartthrob, Ethan Virtue, finally spoke up, his voice laced with contempt. “Freda, it’s over. Stop being so stubborn. A vain, selfish person like you doesn’t deserve Jessica’s kindness. The thought of you chasing after me makes my skin crawl!” His brow furrowed in disgust as he strode forward and shoved me hard. I stumbled and fell to the ground. It was ironic. During freshman orientation, he had approached me, commenting on the beautiful necklace I wore and asking if he could borrow it to buy a similar one for his mother. Now, a sharp pain shot through my shoulder where I’d hit the floor. The crowd around us erupted in cheers, shouting that Ethan had done the right thing. This only fueled Jessica’s performance. She bit her lip, looking down at me with tear-filled eyes, making no move to help me up. “Freda, I can’t believe it’s come to this. We’re roommates. All you had to do was admit you were wrong. I would have forgiven you. Why do you have to be so stubborn and twist the truth…?” “Who said I was going to be stubborn?” I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up from the ground, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry, your highness. I was being vain. I took the money you gave me and bought all this stuff. As punishment, I’ll donate every last piece to charity for them to sell.” I looked at her with wide, pleading eyes. “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and… continue supporting me.” The crowd, which had been ready to tear me apart, fell silent. They exchanged confused glances, unsure of what to say. Jessica was stunned. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes. “Freda, you don’t have to do that. If you’re really sorry, maybe you should sell the items first and then donate the cash. What if the charity damages them…?” “Oh, I’m sure the professionals can handle it.” If I sold them first, would there be any money left for me to donate? It would go straight to her account. I turned away, my expression turning to ice. I pulled out my phone, opened a predatory loan app, and applied for a small, one-hundred-dollar loan. As expected, the moment the loan was approved, the money never hit my account. I refreshed the app. The name on the loan agreement was now Jessica Price. So, the system was thorough. It didn’t just swap money; it swapped the source, too. I almost laughed out loud. Jessica, your nightmare is just beginning. 2 I took out one hundred thousand dollars in high-interest loans in a single sitting. Then I called my parents, told them I didn’t need an allowance anymore, and applied for off-campus housing. I would live off what I already had. Even so, a heavy pressure lingered in my chest. The system’s parasitic effect on my body hadn’t vanished completely. That afternoon, as I was leaving campus with a small bag, I saw Jessica and Ethan waiting for a car by the road, surrounded by a gaggle of their followers. They spotted me, their faces twisting into identical sneers. “Freda!” Jessica called out, jogging over to me with a bright, cheerful expression. “What a coincidence! We were just talking about you. I’ve been thinking, ‘give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.’ I’ve decided to stop giving you money and help you find a part-time job instead.” It’s amazing what money can do. Dressed head-to-toe in luxury brands, the old, insecure girl who used to subsist on the cheapest cafeteria food was gone. It was hard to believe this was the same person. I couldn’t help but wonder what dark magic she’d used to bind me. She shoved a stack of flyers into my hand, her expression earnest. “I picked out all the best-paying jobs for you. Once you donate money you’ve earned with your own two hands, everyone will forgive you.” She sighed dramatically. “My eyes are killing me from searching for these. Anyway, I’m about to treat everyone to a five-star hotel buffet. How about you pick up the tab this time?” I had never met anyone so shameless. She was spending my parents’ money while trying to force me into working to fund her lifestyle. I glanced at the flyers. They were filled with shady gigs, including an ad for selling my own eggs. Just then, Ethan and the others sauntered over. “What are you waiting for, Freda?” one of them scoffed. “Some of those jobs have application deadlines today. You’d better hurry. They won’t wait for you.” “Jessica’s parents just sent her another hundred grand,” another chimed in. “That’s more than your parents probably make in a lifetime. How can a poor girl like you just stand around doing nothing?” A glittering Rolex had appeared on Ethan’s wrist, a model that screamed “chosen by a girlfriend” and was easily worth tens of thousands. He was burning through my money fast. No wonder he was so eager for me to earn more. I couldn’t help but smirk. “As a student, I think my priority should be my studies,” I said with a pleasant smile. “From now on, I plan to live on thirty dollars a month. Not a penny more. I’d appreciate it if you all held me to that.” I turned to leave, but a hand clamped down on my arm. “Is that how a charity case speaks to her benefactor?” Ethan snarled, flinging my arm away as if he’d touched something filthy. “Jessica went to all this trouble to help you, and you’re just going to walk away? Do you enjoy being a parasite?!” His cold, menacing gaze merged with the memory of his eyes as he watched me die in my past life. My breath caught in my throat. He shoved me to the ground again before turning to leave with Jessica. But this time, a thought struck me. It wasn’t just about sucking up to Jessica. It felt like… he genuinely hated me. 3 It felt like an eternity before my family’s Rolls-Royce finally pulled up to the curb. By then, I was drenched in sweat, on the verge of heatstroke. My driver, Mr. Virtue, took his sweet time parking before giving a cursory double-tap on the horn. “Mr. Virtue, what took you so long?” I asked, collapsing into the back seat, my shirt already soaked through. He, on the other hand, was in a noticeably cheerful mood. He shot me a stern look in the rearview mirror. “You know, miss, you really need to work on that princess attitude. I’m your family’s driver, not your personal slave. I’m an elder, you should show some respect.” He sniffed. “It was just a few minutes of waiting. Most girls aren’t nearly as fragile as you. I’d never let my son date someone with your attitude!” Just then, my phone buzzed with notifications. It was my classmates’ social media feeds. [OMG, Ethan’s family is seriously loaded! He let us ride in his Rolls-Royce! Look at that starlight headliner!] [It was so epic! Next time, we need a second car, though. I’m calling dibs on the Maybach!] [If we hadn’t wasted so much time dealing with that shameless pauper, we would’ve been cooling off in this luxury car ages ago!] I froze. That wasn’t his car. That was my family’s car. I immediately made a call. The results of a quick background check confirmed it. Mr. Virtue’s son was none other than Ethan Virtue. It all clicked into place. No wonder my every attempt to prove my identity in my past life was thwarted. There was always a mole leaking information. And no wonder Ethan was so determined to destroy me. He and Jessica were working together from the inside. My hand instinctively went to the necklace Ethan had “borrowed” during orientation. That’s when it all started. Right after that, Jessica, the girl who could barely afford food, suddenly became incredibly wealthy. Back then, I used my meal card for everything and never checked my bank balance. I had handed them the perfect opportunity. “Miss Freda, what are you doing?” The car screeched to a halt. Mr. Virtue was staring at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide with panic, fixed on my hand as it was about to unclasp the necklace. “That was a coming-of-age gift from your mother,” he stammered. “You’re not taking it off, are you?” His panicked expression was all the confirmation I needed. “Of course not,” I said with a small laugh. “Just admiring it.” I closed my eyes, and from the driver’s seat, I heard a quiet sigh of relief. The moment I got back to the villa, I ripped the necklace off. I called my father and told him Mr. Virtue had been disrespectful and needed to be fired. Then, I enjoyed a gourmet meal prepared by our French chef, and after eating my fill, I collapsed into bed. As I suspected, without the necklace, the crushing weight on my chest lifted. It was as if a massive boulder had been rolled off me. To avoid tipping my hand, I found an identical-looking necklace in my jewelry box and put it on. And now, Jessica, all you have left… is that hundred-thousand-dollar debt.

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Jenna Reed, St. Jude’s new intern, boasted a miraculous gift—performing surgeries without anesthetic, leaving patients pain-free. The truth? She was a parasite, funneling their agony into me. As her fame grew, patients paid fortunes for her procedures while I endured the consequences. Phantom pains left me bedridden, my body failing—hair falling out, bones protruding, every movement agony. When the hospital fired me over complaints, I confronted her. They all pitied me, thinking me insane. Jenna just snapped on gloves, coldly dismissing me: “Save the drama, Claire. I’m prepping for a brain resection.” Five minutes later, a vessel burst in my brain. I died instantly. Then—I woke up. Back on the day Jenna became a star. This time, I paid my way to the front of her line. “I’d like your ‘painless’ procedure too,” I said steadily. … “Are you kidding me, Claire?” Jenna Reed, the hospital’s brand-new intern, looked me up and down with a sneer that sent a chill crawling up my spine. I forced myself to meet her gaze, refusing to flinch. “I have stomach problems,” I said, my tone even. “I was hoping to experience your famous painless gastroscopy. Is that a problem?” On her very first day at St. Jude’s, Jenna had made the audacious claim of performing painless procedures. To prove it, she’d done a bone marrow aspiration on a walk-in patient, right there in the open. She used no anesthetic, and her technique was horrifyingly clumsy—a textbook example of what not to do. I watched, my heart pounding, but the patient didn’t so much as wince. Moments after she finished, a lightning bolt of pain shot through my own right femur. I collapsed, my leg refusing to hold my weight. Jenna, seizing the opportunity, took over all my scheduled surgeries for the day. That was the day she became a legend. Her rise from intern to chief resident was faster than a rocket launch. But while she was being celebrated, I was in a hospital bed, being ripped apart by waves of agony. One moment, it was my leg. The next, a stabbing pain in my heart, followed by the searing burn of a perforated stomach. I had always been the hospital’s rising star, a pillar of the surgical department. When the hospital director, Dr. Finch, heard I’d collapsed, he came to examine me himself. The results? Nothing. Every test came back clean. Dr. Finch’s face went cold. “Claire, I know we’ve been loading you up with work lately, but that’s because we believe in you,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment. “To think you’d fake an illness and push your responsibilities onto an intern… You’ve let me down. You’ve let us all down.” I tried to speak, to defend myself, but a sharp, cutting pain seized my throat. I glanced at the surgical schedule. At that exact moment, Jenna was performing a laryngoscopy on a patient with severe throat inflammation. There’s no such thing as a coincidence that perfect. The connection was undeniable, but in my previous life, no one—not my colleagues, not the patients—had believed me. A dark resolve settled in my heart. This time, I wouldn’t make a sound. I would play the long game, uncover the truth, and avoid the same fate. As I expected, Jenna refused to perform the gastroscopy on me. She let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Claire, let’s be honest,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “We both know you’re not here for a check-up. You’re here to steal my technique.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “If you want to waste time, be my guest. But every minute we stand here is a minute another patient has to wait. Their pain will be on your head.” Her words were a spark in a tinderbox. The other patients who had paid a fortune for their appointments turned on me. “You’re a doctor!” one man shouted. “You’re always telling us to ‘tough it out.’ Why can’t you handle a little discomfort?” “You must make a good living,” another sneered. “If you want a painless scope, pay for a capsule endoscopy. Stop wasting our time!” Suddenly, a middle-aged woman lunged forward, and the sharp sting of a slap exploded across my cheek. CRACK. “My son has been clutching his chest in agony all afternoon!” she shrieked, her face contorted with rage. “If anything happens to him, I’ll hold you personally responsible!” Her violence broke the dam. The crowd surged forward, a wave of fists and feet. While they were distracted, Jenna coolly ushered her first patient into the operating room. A moment later, an excruciating pain erupted in my chest, as if a pair of forceps were stabbing me again and again. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor, my head cracking against the leg of a chair. Warm blood streamed down my face. The sight of my own blood made the mob recoil. “Look at her, faking an injury! She has no shame!” “We just pushed you! We didn’t touch your chest! Don’t you dare try to pin that on us!” Just as the world began to fade to black, I heard a little boy’s voice ring out, clear and bright. “Mommy, Dr. Reed is amazing! I didn’t feel a thing, and the pain is all gone!” The crowd immediately swarmed around Jenna, showering her with praise, leaving me forgotten on the cold floor. As patient after patient went into her room, new agonies bloomed across my body until, finally, I surrendered to the darkness. I woke up in a quiet hospital room. My best friend, Gloria, was sitting by my bed, her face etched with worry. “Your phone,” I rasped, my first thought a desperate one. “Give me your phone.” Gloria had also been one of Jenna’s patients today. It was all part of my plan. Knowing Jenna would never let me observe her, I had asked Gloria to go in my place, a tiny spy camera hidden on her person. The footage on the phone made my blood run cold. Gloria didn’t have a serious condition, just a sprained ankle from a few weeks ago. Jenna didn’t bother with an X-ray or even a basic examination. She went straight for acupuncture. But she wasn’t using proper needles. My temples throbbed as I watched her grab a thick suture needle and start jabbing it into Gloria’s foot. She was hitting all the wrong points, a chaotic, reckless assault that could cause permanent nerve damage. It was pure malpractice. I struggled to sit up, but my right ankle was completely numb and useless. When I tried to move it, a fire shot up my leg, leaving the whole limb tingling and dead. I grabbed Gloria’s hand. “What did you feel when she did that? Does your foot still hurt?” Gloria sighed, a look of bewilderment on her face. “That’s the crazy part. It was a huge needle, but it was like my foot was completely numb. I felt zero pain. And she didn’t even touch the spot that was actually sprained. But here’s the thing, Claire… my ankle is completely healed. The pain is gone.” I sank back against the pillows, my body feeling like a collection of broken parts. I forced my mind through the haze of pain, piecing it together. Jenna could somehow transfer a patient’s pain, and even the post-operative side effects, directly to me. The damage she inflicted on my body was real, but it was invisible to any medical scanner. And because I was her… her vessel, she couldn’t perform any procedures on me. That’s why she had refused. My mind reeled. How could something so bizarre, so monstrous, be real? Then, another thought struck me, a desperate gamble. I dragged myself out of bed and went straight to Dr. Finch’s office to submit my resignation. He stared at the letter on his desk, his fingers drumming a slow, angry rhythm on the polished wood. After a long silence, he looked up, his eyes filled with a deep, profound disappointment. “You’re quitting because I accused you of faking an illness? Or is it what Jenna said? That her promotion threatens you, and this is your way of blackmailing me?” Without another word, he stamped the papers and waved a dismissive hand. “Get out.” That same day, the hospital’s official social media page posted an article. It was a glowing announcement, congratulating Jenna Reed on her promotion to Vice President of Surgical Operations. The comments section was a flood of praise for her, peppered with insults aimed at me. Someone even posted a video of me collapsing at the clinic. “What kind of doctor stoops this low?” the caption read. “She’s so desperate for patients she’d sabotage someone else’s treatment!” Overnight, I became a pariah. The internet wolves descended, calling me unethical, incompetent, a jealous hack. My phone number and home address were leaked. I received a deluge of hate mail, death threats, even photoshopped images of my own tombstone. I had no choice but to move in with Gloria. My reputation was in ashes, but I couldn’t afford to care. Staring at the new surgical schedule Gloria had smuggled out for me, my palms began to sweat. Tomorrow, Jenna was scheduled to perform a gastric suture on a patient. I was no longer an employee. I was no longer even in the hospital. Let’s see if you can reach me now, Jenna. The next day, Gloria set up the camera, pointed at a live feed of the local news channel covering the hospital. I sat on the bed, my eyes glued to the clock, waiting for 10 a.m. When the alarm blared, nothing happened. Tears of relief streamed down my face. I had found it. The medium for the transfer had to be my physical presence in the hospital. I was free. But my relief lasted only five minutes. Then, the agony hit. A convulsion wracked my body. My stomach felt like it was being roasted over hot coals, a searing, fiery torment. I could feel the phantom needle piercing my flesh, the pull of the thread. A cold sweat beaded on my forehead, and the pain was so intense I didn’t even have the strength to scream. A moment later, blood welled up in my throat, and I choked, spitting a crimson spray onto the bedsheets. Gloria rushed to my side, forcing a painkiller into my mouth, but it was useless. It was like trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol. The torture lasted for thirty minutes before it began to subside, leaving me a trembling, hollowed-out wreck. I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat anything. The nausea was overwhelming. Just then, a notification popped up on Gloria’s phone. A top local news story. [Medical Miracle: Patient Eats Minutes After Stomach Surgery! A Genius Is Born!] The patient, a middle-aged man, looked euphoric. There he was, on camera, not a hint of discomfort on his face. He even grabbed two bottles of hard liquor and chugged them down for the reporters. “Dr. Reed is a living saint!” he boomed, his face flushed with excitement. “No anesthesia, and I didn’t feel a thing! Any other surgeon would have me on a liquid diet for months, but Dr. Reed said if I mess it up, she’ll just fix me again, pain-free! Now that’s a doctor who serves the people!” Watching the news, a bitter chill of hopelessness washed over me, wrapping me in a shroud of despair. Why? I wasn’t in the hospital. How could she still be doing this to me? My body was too weak to move, so I had Gloria arrange a video call with a journalist. I had chosen her carefully. Her name was Isabelle Vance. Years ago, she’d gone undercover in a human trafficking ring to expose them. She had even gotten herself committed to a psychiatric ward to uncover patient abuse. She was relentless in her pursuit of the truth. Over the call, Isabelle studied my pale, haggard face, her brow furrowed. “So, you’re claiming that Dr. Jenna Reed is using some kind of… supernatural means to transfer her patients’ pain onto you, all to build a reputation as a medical genius?” She replayed the video of me convulsing in agony, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Finally, she nodded. “I can’t stand by when someone’s life is being destroyed for another’s gain,” she said, her voice firm. “But that doesn’t mean I’m on your side yet. I will help you find the truth, but I reserve the right to believe you might be setting her up.” That was all I needed. I was running out of time. In two weeks, Jenna was scheduled to perform the brain tissue resection on the billionaire’s daughter. If I hadn’t found the truth by then, I would die all over again. Tears of raw fear streamed down my cheeks, my body shaking uncontrollably. I saw a flicker of sympathy in Isabelle’s eyes before she ended the call without another word. The days bled into one another until it was the night before the big surgery. Isabelle was now a true believer. She had hired an informant to pay the exorbitant fee for one of Jenna’s procedures and had watched from Gloria’s apartment as the surgery began. The moment the informant’s minor procedure started—a simple suture for a deep cut—I had screamed out in pain as faint, bleeding pinpricks appeared out of thin air on my own arm. But we were no closer to understanding how. We couldn’t find the mechanism, the key to stopping it. Despairing, I told Gloria to start looking into funeral plots for me. Hearing this, a look of fierce determination hardened Isabelle’s face. The next morning, she marched into the hospital with a camera crew, broadcasting live. “Dr. Reed!” she called out, her voice projecting through the crowded lobby. “A medical gift like yours should be shared with the world! By monopolizing this technique, how many people are being denied a chance at a painless recovery?” Her words struck a chord. Other doctors were resentful that their own waiting rooms were empty. Patients were frustrated that only the wealthy could afford a spot in Jenna’s schedule. A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Isabelle had given them a voice. “That’s right! This is a public hospital, for the people! How can you be so selfish?” “Is the billionaire’s daughter’s life more important than my grandfather’s? What are you trying to say?” Trapped, Jenna’s eyes shot daggers at Isabelle, but with the billionaire himself standing nearby, she forced a strained smile. “This technique was taught to me by my mentor. I… I don’t know how to teach it.” “Then let us record it,” Isabelle countered smoothly. “Let the other doctors learn by observing.” Jenna was cornered. Everyone was watching, and even the billionaire chimed in. “She’s right, Dr. Reed. A breakthrough like this should benefit everyone.” Through gritted teeth, Jenna nodded. Isabelle called it ‘recording a lesson,’ but the moment the camera was in the operating room, she started a live stream. The world watched as Jenna prepared for surgery. She didn’t even sterilize her scalpel. Dr. Finch and the billionaire both flinched. And then, her next move made jaws drop across the globe. She sliced open the girl’s scalp. As she did, a splitting agony tore through my own head. I stared at the screen, my vision blurring, forcing myself to focus on her hands. As she reached for the resection tool, I saw it. The one tiny detail I had ignored from the very beginning. I finally knew. I knew how she was transferring the pain. The truth had been right in front of me the whole time.

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I run a pet clinic and often treat stray animals. After stumbling upon a mysterious online forum, I discovered they revere me as their “Godmother.” Scar_the_Ranger: [The Godmother’s getting off work. Who’s on escort duty?] The_Bitty_Brawler: [Pausing my sparring match. I’ll go.] Ambassador_of_Good_Taste: [Treasure hunt canceled. I’ll go.] Mount_Mochi: [Date postponed. I’ll go.] Cheeseburger: [Mouse hunt called off. I’ll go.] I looked out the door at the neat rows of cats and dogs, all standing at attention. No wonder my walk home at night was never lonely. 1 I own a small veterinary clinic called “The Healing Paw.” Most days, the paws I heal belong to cats and dogs. When work is slow, I also treat the stray cats and dogs in the neighborhood. Of course, my services aren’t exactly free. The animals I treat often pay a terrible price. Neutering. You’d think that after “the snip,” the cats and dogs would be psychologically scarred by my clinic and grow to despise me. But surprisingly, the number of new faces only increased, while the old ones became regulars. Lately, even perfectly healthy cats and dogs have been loitering around the clinic. Some have even been tailing me, their movements furtive and suspicious. I suspected they were forming a gang to case the joint, planning some kind of massive revenge plot. But when I looked closer, their big, clear eyes held no trace of malice. Their strange behavior was utterly baffling. 2 During dinner, I noticed a strange new app on my phone. The name was a string of gibberish, and the icon was a single paw print. It looked suspiciously like some kind of scam software. But my anti-fraud app didn’t raise any alarms. Curiosity and fear wrestled in my mind, but curiosity won out. What could a scammer possibly want from a broke, single vet? With that reassuring thought, I tapped the app open and discovered it was an online forum. The posts were bizarre: • Attention! Poisoned bait at Lakeside Park! Everyone be on high alert! • Successfully snuck into the university. From now on, I’m a top cat. • Day 67 of my journey to quit eating poop. These didn’t seem like they were written by people. Not even by an AI trying to act like a person. Based on the keywords, the posts seemed more like they were written by… cats and dogs. I kept scrolling, trying to confirm my theory. • The cat I hate most just got adopted by a human. I’m so jealous I could scream. • WHO THE HELL PEED ON MY TURF AGAIN? DON’T LET ME CATCH YOU! • A Guide to Gourmet Poop. Yep. The users of this forum were definitely cats and dogs. No human could possibly write a post as bizarre as “A Guide to Gourmet Poop.” Considering I was still eating, I avoided that one and refreshed the forum. A new post from an administrator had just appeared: • Sign-ups for Today’s Joint Cat-and-Dog Protection Squad Scar_the_Ranger: [The Godmother’s getting off work. Who’s on escort duty?] The_Bitty_Brawler: [Pausing my sparring match. I’ll go.] Ambassador_of_Good_Taste: [Treasure hunt canceled. I’ll go.] Mount_Mochi: [Date postponed. I’ll go.] Cheeseburger: [Mouse hunt called off. I’ll go.] A little while after dinner, I glanced outside. Cats and dogs stood in neat, orderly rows. Organized. Disciplined. Each one held its head high, its expression deadly serious. The more serious they looked, the more adorable they were. A thought crossed my mind. Could this be… the protection squad? 3 My apartment is close to the clinic, just a seven-minute walk. On my way home, the cats and dogs escorting me were highly trained, flanking me on all sides at a respectful distance. Perhaps because I had joined their secret forum, I could now magically understand their chatter. “Daisy, you mutt, slow down up there! The Godmother is tired after work; she can’t walk that fast.” The mixed-breed dog in front of me visibly slowed her pace. “But don’t get too close, either. It looks too obvious.” Daisy let out a low growl. “Ginger, what is your problem? Always got something to say about me!” A fight was about to break out, but the other members quickly intervened. “Alright, alright, the mission comes first! Street rules: in front of the Godmother, we keep the peace!” Two simultaneous huffs. “Fine. For the Godmother’s sake, I’ll let it slide!” It sounded like these were street cats and street dogs. They had their own world, their own feuds and dramas. I used to think they were just hungry and looking for a handout. Today, I learned they were on a mission to protect me. And I, somehow, had become their “Godmother.” 4 I, a notorious early bird, stayed up half the night. The forum was just too fascinating. The posts were a wild mix of everything: planned rumbles, turf wars, torrid love scandals… Each one was more hilarious and explosive than the last. For example, two packs of dogs traveled miles to fight, only to discover they had friends in the opposing crew. After some negotiation, they called a truce and traveled all the way back home, their limbs aching despite not having thrown a single punch. Then there was the group of tomcats who fought tooth and nail for the affection of a beautiful calico, only to find out the calico was also a tom. As I scrolled further back, I saw my own title mentioned multiple times. • Aroo? Anyone ever made a deal with the Woman in White? Is she legit? OP: [Heard there’s a woman in a white coat in the house on the corner. They say she can snatch you from the jaws of death. All you have to do is give up your… little swimmers… and you’ll be safe for life. Is it true?] Reply 1: [Totally true, my dude! Her skills are top-notch, you can trust her. The word on the street is golden.] Reply 2: [Show some respect, you punk. She’s not just some ‘woman in white,’ she’s a goddess in white!] Reply 3: [Goddess? What’re you, a house pet? Obviously not from the streets. We call her the Godmother!] Reply 4: [Hey, it’s just giving up your baby-makers! For us strays, who can afford to raise kids anyway? Your life is more important!] Reply 5: [After you make the deal, the Godmother even lets you stay for a while and gives you a mother’s care. It’s so warm. My only regret is that I can’t grow another pair to give her!] There were more and more posts like this. It turned out that in their eyes, ordinary me was something magnificent, practically a deity. The flood of praise was overwhelming. I drifted off to sleep feeling giddy and light-headed. In my dream, a horde of cats and dogs bowed to me dramatically, their paws clasped together. “In the city’s neon glow, where a stray will stand or fall, the Godmother’s got our back, she protects us all!” 5 Damn it. I slept through my alarm. When I opened my eyes again, it was almost noon. I shot out of bed and rushed to the clinic. What if a stray had gotten hurt while I was gone? I would be letting down the entire stray community! Yesterday’s forum binge and that surreal dream had filled me with a sense of sacred duty. I was their Godmother, after all. As I left my building, I saw a few cats and dogs peering around corners, their heads popping in and out of view. When they saw me, their eyes lit up. “The Godmother is out! Tell everyone not to worry.” “Beginning escort mission to the Godmother’s workplace. Mission will be completed.” So, all morning while I was gone, the entire stray population had been worried sick about me. A warm feeling spread through my chest. I quickened my pace towards the clinic. I hadn’t gone far when I saw a familiar figure. It was one of my regulars, the owner of a cat named Little Meow. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face etched with anxiety as she clutched a thick stack of flyers. When she saw me, her voice choked. “Dr. Lynn, have you seen my Little Meow? “He was gone when I woke up. “I’ve been looking all morning. I think… I think he’s ‘abandoned’ me.” The flyer showed a picture of her grey tabby. I remembered this cat vividly. He wore a little ID tag—clearly a house cat—but he often snuck out to play with the strays. He was an incredibly smart and perceptive cat. How could he have suddenly disappeared? I patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Little Meow is a smart boy. I’m sure he’ll be home before you know it.” I also shared her “Missing Cat” flyer on my social media. Then, an idea struck me. The cat-and-dog forum. Maybe I could post a request for help there? 6 • Has anyone seen Little Meow? His mom is looking for him! I attached the “Missing Cat” flyer to the post. Replies flooded in almost immediately: [Pfft, who would name their cat something so cute? (This is pure malice.)] [Shame, shame, so big and still needs his mommy to find him, hahahaha sob sob sob, I’m not jealous at all!] [Hey, isn’t that Scar? So his real name is Little Meow. What a contrast.] [SHOCKING! The fearsome forum admin Scar is actually named Little Meow.] [Cat-finding services, now taking orders. DM for details.] [Wait a minute… why is the OP’s identity verified as… human?] [OH MY GOD, A HUMAN IS HERE!] The replies poured in, the post’s popularity skyrocketed, and the forum descended into chaos. Amidst a flood of private messages questioning my identity and motives, one stood out: [Delete the post!] The sender was Scar_the_Ranger. Or, as I now knew him, Little Meow. After obediently deleting the post, I asked Scar—no, Little Meow—when he was coming home. Scar_the_Ranger: [I am getting my mom a new home.] So cool and commanding. I had a feeling he wasn’t the type to cuddle with his mom. I didn’t question him. I suppose I figured that a cat who could be a forum administrator must have some kind of superpower. Though I didn’t get a clear answer, at least I knew Little Meow was safe. I sent a few more reassuring messages to his owner and prepared to open the clinic for the day. I had no idea the forum had already imploded. Users were demanding to know how a human had managed to infiltrate their ranks. Scar, the admin, racked his brain. “My master said… except for the one who saved his life…” Then it hit him. “The one who saved his life is the Godmother!” He quickly made a new post, informing the entire forum: Everyone, don’t panic! It’s the Godmother! I don’t know who started it, but soon the replies were all the same: [In the city’s neon glow, where a stray will stand or fall, the Godmother’s got our back, she protects us all!] 7 The next time I opened the forum, my screen was filled with posts welcoming and professing their love for me: • This is great! It’s the Godmother! We’re saved! • All hail the Godmother! Long live the Godmother! • Godmother, we will follow you forever! • A divine doctor with sacred hands, curing cats and saving canines! The enthusiasm was overwhelming. Little Meow suggested I make a new post to say hello and share my thoughts. After some careful consideration, I earnestly typed out a title: All Un-neutered Animals, Report to Me Immediately. It was, truly, what was on my mind. I wanted to complete the TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) for every cat and dog in this area. To use limited neutering to stop unlimited culling. My call to action received a massive response: [Playtime is playtime, but don’t joke about the Godmother’s orders.] [Getting fixed is the law. If you don’t wanna, we’ll make you!] [First the snip, then the pledge, then you’re one of us for life.] Not long after I posted, cats and dogs started showing up. Some came willingly; others were escorted by their peers. The turnout was unprecedented. There were too many of them to perform all the surgeries at once. I categorized them by species, gender, age, and weight, assigning each a number for batch surgeries. “Everyone, remember your number. I’ll post on the forum each day to let you know whose turn it is.” “If anyone can’t make it—” Before I could finish, a chorus of voices interrupted me. “Godmother, no matter what, I’ll be here, rain or shine!” “Me too!” “Don’t worry, Godmother, we’ll help you! Whoever’s turn it is, we’ll go get ’em. They’ll come whether they want to or not!” “Yeah! We’ll beat up anyone who doesn’t show!” I rubbed my temples, a headache brewing from the noise. I raised a finger to my lips. “Quiet now.” The entire room fell silent. Cats and dogs sat obediently, some even holding their breath. “Before you come to the clinic, no food for eight hours and no water for four hours. Remember to prepare yourselves.” After explaining the pre-op instructions, I casually told them to go home. They all suddenly looked crestfallen, murmuring in unison, “But Godmother… we don’t have homes.” A tiny voice, barely a whisper, added, “I never had a home.” Many of the younger ones nodded in agreement. “Me neither.” “Me neither.” They were the second and third generations of strays. I seized the moment to explain the purpose of neutering. “That’s why we do this. To end the cycle of new generations being born on the streets.” They nodded, a flicker of understanding in their eyes. Even the ones who had been resistant to the idea seemed to relax their tense expressions. Another quiet voice added, “I used to have a home, but…” You see, every stray cat and dog cherishes the memory of their former sanctuary. They cling to that warmth, using it as fuel to survive. All I could do was sigh. “It’s okay. You will go home again. And you will have homes.” The city is a jungle of concrete and steel, not a place for wild cats and dogs to thrive. The stray population originates from human abandonment. Some foolish people, thinking they are granting freedom, only commit a new kind of cruelty. For a pet, being a stray isn’t freedom. It’s danger and despair. Watching their retreating figures, a crazy idea began to form in my mind. I would do everything in my power to find them all a home. 8 I asked Little Meow for a detailed file on every user in the forum. The more detailed, the better. Photos, names, genders, ages, hobbies, life stories… Using this information, I first filtered out the pets that had gotten lost by accident. I posted their profiles on every social media platform I could find. I reposted them periodically. Over and over, my persistence finally gained traction. Many kind-hearted people started sharing the posts. Some even learned about my crazy idea and offered financial support. I thanked them with all my heart. The news spread like wildfire. Some owners saw the profiles and contacted me, stunned, to verify the information, realizing it was their long-lost pet. Once the information was confirmed, they could take their furry family members home. The owner of a small, champagne-colored poodle had moved out of the city last year. Upon learning her dog was still alive, she drove for hundreds of miles, crossing several cities, just to bring him home. When she saw her poodle, she burst into tears. “Bubbles, Mommy thought I’d never see you again!” Bubbles, the poodle, stared back with wide, disbelieving eyes. He crept closer to his owner and sniffed her pant leg. “Oh my gosh, it really is Mommy…” Reunited at last, the owner held him tightly, too choked with emotion to speak. Before they left, she bowed low, thanking me over and over. Bubbles copied his mom, nodding his little head repeatedly. “Thank you, Godmother.” He finished with a final wave of his paw. Most of the truly lost pets were eventually reunited with their owners. The ones left behind… maybe their owners hadn’t seen the posts yet. Or maybe, they weren’t lost by accident at all. They were abandoned. I messaged each of the remaining cats and dogs privately, asking if they wanted me to find them a new owner. After a long, long pause, each one replied with a single word: [Okay]. All except for a Maltese named Sweetie. [Godmother, I have to wait for my mommy. She loves me very much. She probably just hasn’t seen my profile yet. [I was the most expensive puppy in my litter. When Mommy saw me, she brought me home without a second thought. [She told me I was her most precious baby, and that she would definitely come back for me. [I believe her.] I respected her choice. To have such unwavering faith, her mother must have loved her very, very much to give her that kind of confidence.

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After my family’s bankruptcy, my eerie former follower took me to his tiny apartment. Used to luxury, I scorned the poor food and cramped space. To support me, he worked eight jobs daily—his gaze growing darker each time he watched me. When I finally snapped and prepared to storm out, glowing text appeared in my vision: [Just leave, stupid villainess. Abandon the only person who can restore your fortune.] [Later, she crawls back after learning he could’ve helped her. So pathetic. Then—car crash. The end.] [Go on, throw your tantrum! Our sweet heroine needs you gone to win the male lead~] I froze at “restore your fortune.” “Is the food bad again?” he asked coldly. My hand, mid-slam, hesitated. “…Adequate,” I muttered. 1 To show my sincerity, I scooped up a large spoonful of porridge and stuffed it in my mouth. I didn’t realize that while the surface had cooled, the porridge beneath was still scalding hot. I flinched in pain. “Adrian Denton! Why didn’t you let this cool down before serving it to me!” Tears welled in my eyes. I stuck out my reddened tongue, glaring at him accusingly, completely forgetting my plan to be nice to him for the sake of my inheritance. [I thought the villainess had changed, but nope, still a drama queen! Even if she doesn’t leave, the male lead will get sick of her eventually!] Reading that comment, my arrogant bravado deflated. I was just about to stammer out an apology when Adrian turned and walked away from the table without a word. Panic seized me. I stood there, helpless and frozen. I only snapped out of it when a hand tilted my chin up. Adrian’s gaze, quiet and intense, was fixed on one point. Realizing where he was looking, I tried to retract my trembling, red tongue. An ice cube touched my lips, his fingertips brushing against them. “Keep it in your mouth.” Who gave you permission to order me around? I puffed out my cheeks in protest but, for once, held my tongue. Adrian’s time was limited. After cooking for me, he would quickly wolf down a few bites himself before rushing off to his next part-time job. Before he left, he stared at me for a long moment, his voice low and deliberate. “Wait for me to come back, okay?” I felt a twinge of guilt. If it weren’t for those comments, I would have already stormed out in a righteous huff. But now… running away like a coward wasn’t my style. In Adrian’s eyes, my guilty silence was an admission of my plans. His face darkened, and he strode back, clamping his hand around my wrist. “I’m not going. Helena Vaughn, don’t even think about leaving.” I was on the verge of tears. Our quality of life was already abysmal with him working eight jobs a day. What would happen if he skipped a whole afternoon of work? “I’m not leaving! Adrian, do you still want to buy me designer bags or not? Get to work, now!” After finally shooing him out the door, I collapsed onto the rock-hard bed. The thought of enduring more days like this made me burst into genuine tears. Sob… If I had known, I would have rather died than go home with Adrian that day. 2 For the first twenty-some years of my life, I had everything I could ever want. I was Helena Vaughn, the cherished heiress of the city’s wealthiest family. I was surrounded by an entourage who catered to my every whim. Adrian Denton was the quietest, most unlikable one in the group. As a student my family sponsored, he was quite handsome, and normally I would have enjoyed having someone like that around. But he was utterly incapable of flattery, choosing instead to just stare at me with those somber, unsettling eyes. His constant gaze made me uncomfortable, and I had publicly humiliated him several times because of it. Then, my father’s business went bankrupt, and he was framed and thrown in jail. My former followers moved into my home, and I was thrown out onto the street barefoot. My so-called friends and classmates just laughed at my misfortune. My entourage, threatened by the new powers that be, didn’t dare to help me. Shivering in the cold wind, I was subjected to a level of mockery I had never known. Just as I was sinking into despair, Adrian found me. He gently brushed the dirt and gravel from my feet and, without a word, lifted me onto his back. The hands of this gloomy, cold man were searing hot against my thighs. I sniffled. “What are you doing here? Come to laugh at me, too?” His reply was brief. “I’ll take care of you from now on.” “Why?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I was so awful to you.” I regretted it instantly. Someone was finally here to rescue me, and I was about to freeze to death. After a long pause, Adrian finally spoke. “I’m just repaying a debt. Don’t overthink it.” I was surprised. He actually had a conscience. Shivering, I clung tightly to his back. Adrian looked thin, but his broad shoulders shielded me completely from the wind. He carried me with a steady, unwavering gait, and a strange emotion began to stir within me. I felt an inexplicable urge to cry. I tilted my head up and said, trying to sound nonchalant, “Well… I suppose I’ll allow you to take care of me. For now.” 3 It was only later that I figured it out. That strange emotion must have been gratitude. I was hardly ever grateful to anyone. Since birth, I could have anything I wanted. All the best things in the world were supposed to be mine, so why would I need to be thankful? As a result, my capacity for gratitude was extremely weak. After just one day with Adrian, I was filled with regret and on the verge of a meltdown. When Adrian brought me a glass of water, I sneered, “Did you boil toilet water and decide it was drinkable?” When he cooked for me, I scoffed, “Cheap ingredients combined with your abysmal cooking skills. This is the garbage of all garbage.” I complained all day, right up until bedtime. The moment I lay down, I burst into tears. How could a bed be this hard! Adrian piled everything he could find underneath me, but I still couldn’t sleep. After tossing and turning, I finally sat up. “Hey, stop sleeping on the floor. Get up here.” Adrian’s breathing hitched. “Don’t be ridiculous, Helena. How could I sleep with you?” Everyone else called me “Miss Vaughn.” Only Adrian refused. His defiance only fueled my own. “I don’t care! I want you to be my human mattress!” He didn’t move or speak. I pouted. “Fine. If you don’t come up here, I’m not sleeping.” I sat cross-legged on the bed, ready for a standoff. Moonlight streamed through the window, and I saw a flicker of conflict on his face. Finally, he relented. “Just… don’t move around too much. And I won’t either, of course…” Adrian cautioned. But I had already picked my spot. I curled up expertly and wrapped my arms around him. Adrian’s voice caught in his throat. I felt much better. I used to sleep hugging my giant polar bear plushie. Adrian wasn’t as soft, but he was about the same size. My mood lifted. “Good night,” I announced, and promptly fell into a deep sleep. In my dream, the plushie in my arms grew warmer and warmer, like a little furnace. It was so cozy. I hugged it even tighter. 4 From then on, I always slept in the same bed as Adrian. Tonight was no different. Adrian, looking exhausted, brought me a basin of water for my feet. “Wash up and get into bed. I’ll dump this for you after I shower.” The pop-up comments exploded. [Is this villainess for real?! She eats his food, lives in his house, and still makes him dump her foot water? She should be washing his feet!] [Ugh, when is our sweet heroine going to show up? Only she will truly care for our male lead.] [Soon, soon! Then the shameless villainess can get kicked out and live on the streets!] I was a bit stunned. People had always washed my feet for me; I was used to it. It never occurred to me that there was anything wrong with Adrian doing it. I mentally kicked myself. I had just resolved to be nicer to him today. So, I got out of bed and clumsily emptied the basin myself. Water splashed onto my hands, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust, washing them several times over. When I returned, Adrian was just getting out of the shower. He froze when he saw me with the empty basin. “Why did you empty it yourself?” I pouted. “Because I felt like it.” Once in bed, Adrian habitually tried to pull me into his arms. I refused. I thought to myself, I emptied the water, and I’m not making you my mattress. That’s good enough, right? He won’t kick me out now. Unexpectedly, Adrian sat up, his face dark, his eyes glinting ominously. “Helena, what’s wrong with you today?” I felt incredibly wronged. I was being so nice to him, and he was still scolding me. I snapped, “I’ll sleep how I want to sleep! Is there a problem?” At my words, his eyes turned red, and his expression became even more terrifying. He gripped my wrist so tightly it left a red mark. “Helena, do you think I’m a toy? Something you can just toss aside when you’re done with it?” He guessed right.

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After marrying my childhood friend, we were like polite strangers. He was a man of few words, and I was cold by nature. Our marriage bed remained untouched. What I didn’t know was that he could hear my every thought. In the bedroom, I watched him, fresh from the shower, with a placid, emotionless expression. But inside, my mind was racing: Would making love to him send me into a dead faint? 1 He’d probably rock my world. What was it that book Marcia showed me said…? Something about your vision blurring… About your mind going completely blank. James’s foot slipped on the wet floor, and he nearly crashed to the ground. I lunged forward to steady him. “Are you okay?” Why won’t that towel just fall? What’s he hiding under there? It’s not like a quick peek is going to make anything fall off. God, those muscles are perfect. His fingers are so long, too. “I’m fine.” James’s words tumbled out, fast and clipped, as if he were trying to stop a runaway train. He clutched the towel tightly around his waist. “Sorry, I couldn’t find my bathrobe, only this…” Of course you couldn’t. I threw it out. It’s probably been shredded at the dump by now. Tomorrow, the towel goes, too. I released my grip on him and said coolly, “Be more careful next time.” “…Right.” 2 James changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed. I pretended to flip through a book, my eyes darting towards him from the corner of my vision. He was wearing a dark, long-sleeved pajama set. An old, worn-out tee would be better. Easier for a little late-night groping. A shame I’d only ever dare to touch him while he’s asleep. I’m too scared he’d wake up. God, I’m tempted to slip him a sleeping pill. Then I could have my way with him. I stared blankly at the words on the page. James, who had just settled in, suddenly threw back the covers and got out of bed. I feigned surprise. “Not sleeping?” “Been having trouble sleeping lately. Going to take a sleeping pill.” I didn’t think much of it and went back to my book. When James returned, he was wearing a different shirt. It was that old, worn-out tee. “It’s too hot,” he explained. I gave a faint, “Mm,” in response. He lay down, and perhaps it really was too hot for him. He only pulled the covers up to his navel. One arm was bent behind his head, displaying a broad chest with muscle contours so defined it was hard to look away. He looked better than any of the heroes in my romance comics. He fell asleep quickly. I thoughtfully turned the AC down a few degrees. After reading for a little while longer, I turned off the light and went to sleep. In the suffocating darkness, James’s eyes slowly opened. He turned to look at me, his expression a complicated mess. I was fast asleep, breathing softly, my eyes shut tight. There was no groping. No mind-melting climax. Only James, lying awake, staring into the darkness until dawn. The next morning, I stumbled out of the bedroom, still half-asleep. The delicious aroma of breakfast being cooked by our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, wafted from the kitchen, instantly waking my appetite. I obediently took a seat at the table. Today, it was thin sweet potato crepes and a freshly made smoothie. Mrs. Gable beamed at me. “How is it, dear?” My mouth was too full to answer, so I just nodded enthusiastically. “Don’t choke, now,” she chuckled, placing the smoothie in front of me. “My own sons won’t even touch my cooking anymore.” She sighed, a familiar lament whenever she spoke of her children. “They don’t know what they’re missing,” I mumbled through a mouthful of crepe. Mrs. Gable was genuinely fond of me. Though I appeared cold on the surface, my eyes would light up like a firework display whenever I tasted something delicious. It gave her a real sense of accomplishment. “By the way, where’s James? He’s not usually up this late.” “He took a sleeping pill last night.” A sleeping pill? Mrs. Gable thought back to her morning cleaning routine. The bottle of sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet had looked untouched. The lid on the instant coffee, however, hadn’t been screwed on tight. 3 I hadn’t expected James to sleep all the way until the afternoon. Even after all that rest, he still had dark circles under his eyes. His sleep quality must be terrible. Good thing I kept my hands to myself last night, or he’d be even worse off. I should probably behave myself from now on. James, who had his back to me, suddenly spun around. He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I slept great.” “?” And what does that have to do with me? He turned away again, ignoring me. Men. So moody. Annoying. The bedroom door slammed shut with a sharp crack. That evening, the high school group chat lit up. The class president was organizing a reunion. My best friend, Marcia, called me. “Lynn! You’re going, right?” “Yeah, I’m free.” Marcia and I met in high school and, by a stroke of luck, ended up at the same university. We’ve been inseparable ever since. “What about your husband? Is he coming?” Her voice was loud enough to carry. I glanced up at James, who was sitting across from me. He opened his mouth to speak. Don’t you dare say yes. The last thing I want is to bring him. James closed his mouth. He gave a slight shake of his head. Satisfied, I told Marcia, “He’s not coming.” Marcia sounded relieved on the other end. “Oh, good. Because Jason will be there. You know, your old high school flame? Remember him? He’s been single ever since you two broke up. I heard he still wears that beaded bracelet you gave him.” Her voice was crystal clear. “…I see.” I replied, my own voice suddenly feeling dry. “Okay, well, great! Next Tuesday, 7 PM. Don’t be late!” The call ended. Seeing how calm and composed James looked, the flicker of unease in my heart vanished. What am I worried about? He wouldn’t care if I actually cheated on him, let alone over something so small… “No!” James’s expression turned icy in an instant. I jumped, startled, and stared at him, bewildered. What is his problem?! His eyes met mine, and his brow twitched. The tension in his face relaxed. “I meant… I don’t think Mrs. Gable’s cooking is any good.” Mrs. Gable, who had rushed in with a spatula in hand, stood frozen. “?” 4 Before I left on Tuesday, James spent an eternity in front of the mirror. From head to toe, every detail was perfect. He was already handsome, with a body like a clothing mannequin. All this primping just made him even more eye-catching. Marcia always says a man who dolls himself up like that is probably looking for a mistress. James’s hand, poised to spray his hair, froze mid-air. He sheepishly put the can of hairspray down. Turning, his gaze landed softly on my shoulders. “It’ll be cold tonight. You should take a shawl.” “It’s going to be eighty-five degrees.” “…Drive safe.” When I arrived at the reunion, the private room was already packed. Marcia waved me over. I sat down next to her. She nudged me, whispering, “Look at his hand.” Jason had shed some of his boyishness, replaced by a confident ease as he chatted with others. He held a glass in his right hand, and as his sleeve slid back, it revealed a faded, old beaded bracelet. A cheap trinket I’d bought him from a street vendor across from our high school. In high school, James was in the class next to mine. We weren’t close, our bond barely held together by the thread of having grown up together. We hardly spoke at school. But his mom was always asking him to bring me things, and he’d wait for me by my classroom door every day after school. Over time, everyone just assumed we were a thing. Then they started to misunderstand what kind of “thing” we were. I tried to explain a few times, but no one listened, so I gave up. Then, one day, the rumors just stopped. Because of Jason. He took every opportunity to set the record straight for me, more fervently than I ever had. Under his relentless campaign, our classmates grew bored of the gossip and finally left us alone. To thank him, I treated him to a milkshake at the shop across the street after school. It was the first time I hadn’t walked home with James. When I told him, James didn’t say much. He just nodded once and left. Jason was James’s complete opposite. He was warm and bright, his heart always on his sleeve. If he was happy, you knew it. If he was upset, you knew that too. On his eighteenth birthday, he confessed his feelings for me. I didn’t really understand what it meant to like someone or not. But on the thirty-fifth time he asked me to be his girlfriend, I finally agreed. He pestered me relentlessly, begging me to say I liked him. Worn down, I finally gave in. “Fine. I like you.” As the words left my mouth, I saw him. James. He was standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the light, his handsome features cast in shadow. The setting sun made his dark hair look soft and fluffy, rimmed with a golden halo. His expression was distant, impossible to read. I felt a pang of embarrassment. Jason, one hand in his pocket, the other holding my backpack—which still had the little rabbit keychain James had given me—smiled with a wild, triumphant grin. “Hey, James. Lynn and I are together now. I’ll be walking her home from now on. Thanks for all your help before. I’ll buy you dinner sometime.” James stared at Jason, his lips pressed into a thin, straight line. Even someone as dense as me could feel the tension crackling in the air. I walked over and tugged on Jason’s arm, turning to James. “James, I’ll be home late. Can you let my parents know?” “…Sure.” After that day, I never walked home with James again. 5 Everyone in our class knew about my history with Jason. But they also knew I was married, and they tactfully avoided bringing up the past. One classmate, who wasn’t in on the gossip, noticed the bracelet on Jason’s wrist. “Man, Jay, you’re doing so well for yourself. Why are you still wearing a cheap thing like that?” The room fell silent for a beat. All eyes flickered between me and Jason. “It was a gift from someone important,” Jason said, his voice smooth. “It’s priceless.” The classmate nodded, understanding. “Ah, well, then you gotta treasure it.” Jason rubbed the red bead on the bracelet, his gaze drifting over to me, a little too casually. Halfway through the night, I slipped out to use the restroom. When I came out, Jason was there, waiting. He stood with his hands in his pockets, the top button of his shirt undone. “Long time no see.” I glanced at the sinks. “This isn’t the best place to catch up.” “Then let’s go somewhere else.” “We’re not exactly on ‘catching up’ terms.” Jason didn’t seem surprised by my response. “Lynn, you haven’t changed a bit. Just as calm and direct as when you broke up with me. You’re just like him, your precious childhood friend.” My relationship with Jason ended the summer after our senior year. There was no dramatic reason. He was going to study abroad, a decision made by his family. When I suggested we break up, he was incredulous. “I’m not going to be gone forever. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done with school. Why do we have to break up?” “The future is too unpredictable. I don’t like it.” His brow furrowed, a hint of resentment in his voice. “We have something great. We should be able to face the future’s uncertainties together. Lynn, why won’t you sacrifice a little for me?” I calmly retorted, “Why shouldn’t you be the one to sacrifice for me?” He was speechless. We both chose our own paths. We went our separate ways and never saw each other again. “You married James, didn’t you?” Jason asked, following me down the hall. I nodded. “Why? You didn’t even like him in high school. You thanked me for clearing up those rumors about you two.” “I don’t dislike him.” Jason seemed unwilling to let it go, his eyes boring into me. “But a quiet, withdrawn guy like James is all wrong for you. He’s cold, and you’re cold. How does that even work for a married couple?” My footsteps faltered. It was James. He stood at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, clean forearms. His gaze lingered on Jason for a moment, his eyes darkening.

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1 Three years. For three years, a stranger wore my skin, lived my life, and shattered my world. Today, I finally clawed my way back. I flipped open my phone, my hands trembling as I scrolled through the cloud-saved security footage. The last three years played out in a horrifying montage: 2021: My daughter, my sweet Rosie, hurt herself for the first time. After that, she never spoke another word. 2022: My husband, Julian, crumbled into a clinical depression. He had me—or the thing wearing my face—sign the divorce papers. 2023: Julian broke completely. He ran his company into the ground and then simply… vanished. No one knows where he is. The last video was from yesterday. The woman who had stolen my life waved cheerfully at the camera. “Mission complete! Company’s bankrupt, husband’s driven mad, and the kid’s a write-off. System upgraded! So, I’m leaving this dumpster fire for you to handle~” Before the shock could even register, my vision was flooded with a stream of translucent comments, like a ghostly chatroom layered over my reality. 【LOL, the transmigrator actually made the villain’s family more villainous. She leveled up her system by maxing out their corruption stats.】 【The daughter bites anyone who comes near her now. The husband drinks himself into a stupor every night.】 【The original owner comes back to find the ‘conquest’ progress bar went in reverse. This is Hell Mode, for real.】 I shut off the video, my stomach churning. As I looked up, my eyes met a pair of small, guarded ones. It was Rosie. In her tiny hand, she clutched a crayon stained with blood. “Rosie…” I whispered, slowly sinking to my knees to meet her gaze. She scrambled back instantly, the crayon dragging a jagged red line across the wall—a warning. My eyes fixed on the back of her right hand. I saw the faint, puckered outline of a burn, the same one I’d seen in the footage, where the impostor had “accidentally” spilled scalding milk on her. Seeing it on a screen had felt suffocating. Seeing the raised, uneven scar in person made the taste of bile and blood rise in my throat. 【Lmao, who is this gentle act for?】 【The little villain won’t fall for that. The impostor brought in a dozen therapists over the years. None of them worked.】 【Honestly, just tie her up and give her a good spanking. A kid this broken is just gonna grow up to be a menace anyway.】 I ignored the floating text, pulling a small object from my pocket. “Look what Mommy found.” It was her favorite strawberry-shaped hair clip from when she was three. A tiny, dried smudge of jam was still stuck to it. The impostor had deliberately thrown it in the trash before she left. Rosie’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. The tip of her crayon pointed at me, a tiny, makeshift weapon. “Mommy washed it,” I said softly, placing the clip on the floor and gently sliding it toward her. “Does Rosie want it?” She stared at the clip for a long moment. Then, with a jerky motion, she scrawled a single word on the wall: LIAR. 【Pfft, the little psycho is smarter than she looks. No trust there.】 【The transmigrator must have lied to her constantly. She did everything she could to crank up the kid’s darkness points.】 【Just give up. You can’t tame a wild animal like that.】 【Am I the only one who thinks the kid is just… a kid? She’s the victim here. I remember Rosie used to be so sweet.】 A sharp pain lanced through my chest. My daughter was six. She should be lost in a world of fairy tales and scraped knees, not armed with the word “liar” to fend off the person who was supposed to be her safest harbor. “I know Rosie doesn’t believe me,” I said, keeping my distance. I pulled a photo album from my bag. “But look. This is Rosie’s third birthday…” In the photo, she was wearing a little yellow duck raincoat, laughing so hard in my arms that her face was a smear of birthday cake and pure joy. The Rosie in front of me now was drowning in a pajama set that was too small, the cuffs frayed and worn. Her gaze lingered on the photograph for a few seconds. Then, in a flash, she lunged forward, snatched the album, and clutched it to her chest as she retreated to the corner of the room. The crayon fell, the red wax snapping in two. 【Whoa, she didn’t bite?!】 【Did the little villain have a change of heart? This is weird. I thought she attacked everyone.】 【This isn’t normal. For three years, that kid hasn’t willingly touched another person. Every time she tried, the impostor would catch her and, well… you know…】 I knew exactly what unspeakable cruelties were hidden behind that unfinished sentence. I forced myself to inch forward. “Rosie, are you hungry? Mommy can make you—” She suddenly flew into a frenzy, tearing at her own hair, her mouth opening in a silent scream. A choked, guttural sound escaped her throat, a desperate, animalistic noise of pure terror. My heart seized. I froze. In the videos, every time the impostor said she was “making food,” she would end up dumping it over Rosie’s head. I didn’t say another word. I just turned and walked into the kitchen. Rosie didn’t move. She just stood there, her eyes locked on me, wide with suspicion. Half an hour later, I came back and slowly pushed a small food container across the floor. “Mommy will leave the food right here, okay? It’s Rosie’s favorite strawberry cake. And no carrots.” She used to hate carrots with a passion. The impostor had made a point of mixing carrot purée into everything she gave her. Rosie’s little nose twitched. Her eyes darted to the container and then quickly away. But I saw her fingers, which had been clenched around the photo album, loosen just a fraction. 【She actually remembered her daughter hates carrots. Wonder if the kid can be saved after all.】 【Don’t get your hopes up. The little villain is definitely going to kick it over.】 As if on cue, she lifted her foot to kick the container, but her movement was so frantic that she tripped over her own feet. My instincts screamed. I reached out to steady her. She flinched back like a startled cat, her body curling into a tight ball, the album her only shield. “It’s okay, it’s okay! Mommy won’t touch you,” I said, quickly pulling my hand back and retreating. I pushed the container a little further away. “It’s alright if the cake gets smashed. Mommy can always make more.” She peeked at me from behind the edge of the album, one eye visible. Her fingers unconsciously traced the image of my smiling face in the photograph. The sun was setting, casting a single golden ray through the curtains that landed on her hair. I realized then that it had grown all the way to her waist. The impostor never cut it. Once, she’d even threatened Rosie with a pair of scissors, telling her she’d cut off her fingers. “Rosie’s hair is so beautiful,” I said, my voice soft. “Does Mommy want to help you braid it? Like we used to, with two little pigtails…” Suddenly, she threw the album to the floor. Photos scattered across the wood. I bent down to pick them up, but she was faster. She snatched the birthday picture, shoved it deep into her pajama pocket, and then grabbed the container of cake and fled into her room. 【??? The little villain actually took the cake? She’s going to eat something the original owner made?】 【Holy crap, the world’s ending. Did the little villain just crack? The impostor worked for three years to make her like this.】 【Don’t get too cocky, original owner. Just wait until the villain husband gets back. You’re in for it then.】 I knelt and picked up the broken pieces of red wax from the floor. The tip was wet. It wasn’t blood. It was Rosie’s tears. 2 When Rosie finally emerged from her room, the container was empty. She’d eaten every last crumb of the cake. A fragile warmth bloomed in my chest as I looked at the empty box. But as she stepped out, her large eyes were still filled with that same wariness, like a fawn poised to bolt at the slightest sound. Her gaze kept flicking toward her bedroom door—a door that had no lock. To make monitoring her easier, the impostor had removed the entire mechanism. 【Hah, the little villain is still paranoid about surprise inspections. She used to put a single hair on the door to see if it was opened. Looks like the hair is still intact this time.】 【Seriously, that transmigrator was messed up. Doing that to a little kid… Who could stomach that? She’s just a child.】 【Hey, don’t forget she’s the villain’s daughter. She’s destined to be a villain too. Stop with the bleeding-heart act.】 【Yeah, this original owner is just dithering around. The divorce papers are signed, the kid was given to the father. What is she even still doing here?】 Rosie’s fingers twisted the hem of her pajamas, her knuckles white with tension. I followed her gaze to the door and understood her constant, gnawing anxiety. “Rosie,” I said, crouching down to her level. “Mommy has a present for you.” Half an hour later, a repairman finished installing a brand-new lock. With Rosie watching, I placed the one and only key into her small palm. “From now on, only Rosie can open this door,” I said, gently closing her fingers around the cool metal. “Anyone who wants to come in has to knock first. That includes Mommy.” She stared down at the key, her long eyelashes trembling. The sunlight streaming in from behind her cast a tiny, fluttering shadow beneath her lashes, like a butterfly had momentarily paused there. 【Is the original owner insane? Giving the villain-in-training a lock?】 【Get ready to be locked out and left to cry. The kid’s already a recluse. If something happens to her in that room, the villain dad will literally strangle her.】 【My advice: fill the keyhole with superglue. Don’t show mercy to a villain. What a waste of my premium subscription.】 Suddenly, Rosie reached out her other hand. Her fingertips brushed against my wrist, a touch so light it was like the whisper of a feather. It was enough to make my nose sting with tears. But just as quickly as it came, the touch was gone. She spun around and ran back into her room. A moment later, I heard the solid, reassuring click of the new lock. 【Welp, she’s feeding the tiger that’s gonna eat her.】 【Just waiting for the little villain to sneak out with a pair of scissors in the middle of the night.】 【The original owner is gonna get what’s coming to her.】 【Wait, am I the only one who noticed? The little villain hasn’t bitten anyone in two days.】 I leaned against the wall outside her door, listening to the soft rustling sounds from within. As curious as I was about what she was doing, I refused to disturb her. I trusted my Rosie. She was my daughter, after all. Later that night, I found the empty food container placed outside her door. Tucked inside was a wrinkled piece of paper. On it were two wobbly, lovingly drawn strawberries. 3 Contrary to the grim predictions of the floating comments, Rosie didn’t do anything extreme. That night, we both slept soundly. She didn’t emerge with scissors to stab me, nor did she barricade herself in her room forever. In fact, she was up early the next morning. I found her standing in front of the mirror, a comb clutched in her small hand, looking at me with hesitant eyes. It took me a second to understand. She was waiting for me to brush her hair. “Does Rosie want Mommy to do your hair?” I asked softly. She didn’t speak, but she held the comb out to me and then sat dutifully on the little stool, her back straight and facing me. I began to carefully comb through her long hair, my fingers gently working through the knots, terrified of hurting her. It was so long, nearly to her waist, the ends dry and brittle. The impostor had never brushed it properly, often yanking it on purpose to make Rosie fear the simple act of grooming. But today, she had invited my touch. My eyes started to burn. I braided her hair into two small pigtails, and as a final touch, I fastened the little strawberry clip she loved so much when she was three. In the mirror, Rosie stared at her reflection for a long moment. Her small hand reached up to tentatively touch the clip. The corner of her mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. I knew she was happy. At the breakfast table, I set out strawberry toast and warm milk, along with a bowl of fresh strawberries. She ate with her head down, occasionally glancing up at me before quickly looking away. After she finished, I helped her change into a new strawberry-print sundress I’d bought. Strawberries had been her absolute favorite, but the impostor had deliberately dressed her in clothes covered in carrots, the one thing she detested, making the simple act of getting dressed a daily torment. Today, she finally wore something she loved. She stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that. She was silent, but I could feel the quiet joy radiating from her. When it was time to leave, Rosie paused at the front door. She hesitated for a second, and then— She reached out and took my hand. Her small, cool fingers curled nervously inside my palm. She held on. My heart skipped a beat. I stood perfectly still, afraid that any movement would make her let go. It was the first time she had willingly initiated contact. But the closer we got to the school, the tighter her grip became. Her steps slowed, her eyes started darting around, and she began to shrink behind me. I knelt down, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Is Rosie scared?” She didn’t answer, but her eyelashes fluttered. I took out her smartwatch and pulled up the emergency contact screen. My number was the only one there. “If you’re not happy at school today, or if anyone is mean to you, you just press this button. Mommy will come get you right away, okay?” She stared at the watch for a long time. Then, she gave a tiny nod. 4 School let out, but after waiting at the gates for what felt like an eternity, there was still no sign of Rosie. The other children had all streamed out, their laughter and chatter filling the air, but my daughter was nowhere to be seen. A cold dread began to seep into my heart. I rushed into the school building and finally found her cowering behind the classroom door. She was alone, huddled in a corner, her hair a mess. The strawberry clip was gone, and the hem of her new dress was torn. A group of kids stood over her, chanting, “Monster! You’re a thief! Little thief!” Rosie just kept her head down, her hands clenched so tightly in her dress that her knuckles were white. Tears fell, one by one, splashing silently onto the floor. But she hadn’t pressed the button on her watch. 【Why didn’t she call?】 【Didn’t you see? In the past, whenever she was bullied and called for help, the impostor would just scream at her. She’d get punished even worse at home.】 【I don’t think she’s afraid of being yelled at. I think Rosie’s afraid that if she causes any trouble, her mom will decide she’s not worth it and leave her.】 【My heart… that last comment makes so much sense. What did she ever do to deserve this? She’s only six.】 I strode over and knelt in front of her, gently cupping her face in my hands. “Rosie. Mommy’s here.” She looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her lips trembling. She was too scared to even try to speak. My gaze snapped to the other children. “Which one of you did this?” They fell silent. One boy, bolder than the rest, jutted out his chin. “She stole my eraser!” Rosie’s head whipped up. She shook it frantically, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me, desperate to explain but unable to form a single word. Seeing her like this tore me apart. I smoothed her hair back, trying to calm her. 【Oh no, Rosie can’t talk. How can she defend herself?】 【How is she supposed to prove anything?】 I looked back into her desperate eyes and asked gently, “Rosie, where is the eraser?” Her hand trembled as she pointed toward a schoolbag lying in the corner. The bag had been ransacked, its contents strewn about. I walked over and lifted it. Lying underneath was a dirty eraser, clearly stamped with a shoe print. 【They went through her bag?】 【Of course the villain’s daughter is a villain. Like father, like daughter. Stealing things, just as expected.】 【Seriously, this original owner needs to stop being a saint. A kid like that should just be gotten rid of.】 I picked up the eraser and turned to the children. “Who stepped on this?” They exchanged nervous glances, no one daring to speak. I fixed my eyes on the boy. “You said she stole your eraser. What does your eraser look like?” He stammered, “It… it looks just like that one!” “Really?” A cold smile touched my lips. “Because this eraser has a name on it. It says ‘Rosie.’” In the corner of the eraser, written in shaky, childish letters, was her name. 【!!! The mom is a genius!】 【Rosie’s writing is so small, I almost didn’t see it.】 【Hahaha, the look on those kids’ faces!】 The boy’s face paled. He turned and ran, and the other children scattered like frightened birds. I knelt down again, gently wiping the tears from Rosie’s face. “It’s okay, Rosie. The bad people are gone. Mommy believes you.” She froze, a tear hovering on her eyelash, and just stared at me. “Rosie would never steal anything. Mommy knows that,” I said, taking her small hand in mine. “If anyone ever bullies you again, you have to tell Mommy, okay?” And then, it happened. A heart-wrenching sob broke from her lips, and she threw herself into my arms, her little hands clutching my shirt as if she was afraid I would vanish into thin air. She finally believed it. She finally believed her mother was really here to protect her.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393606”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

An old man waved his passbook at me, demanding I transfer his $3 million. The recipient? An offshore shell company—a classic scam. “I can’t do this!” I slammed his passbook down. “Sir, just wait five minutes—” “Don’t ruin my fortune!” he snapped. I called the police and stopped the transfer. Furious, he turned on me: “She’s after my money! Waiting for me to die!” Tabloids twisted his words, fueling a viral hate storm. I begged my coworker Ava to defend me—instead, she testified against me: “She stuffed her underwear in his pocket!” Branded a gold-digger, even my husband Jonny left me. Broken, I jumped from the bridge. Then I woke up—back at my teller window, on that day again… 1 “Next customer, please!” The mechanical voice sent a jolt through my entire body. I snapped my head up. The screen above glowed with the number “023,” and standing before me was an old man with thinning, gray hair. Mr. Davies. The man who had orchestrated my ruin and death was now scowling at me through the bulletproof glass. My breath caught. For a moment, my heart felt like it would hammer its way out of my chest. This wasn’t a dream. I had been reborn. “Miss! Are you deaf? I need to make a transaction!” Mr. Davies tapped impatiently on the glass, his amplified voice yanking me back to reality. I shot up from my chair, forcing a brittle smile onto my face. “Sir, I’m so sorry, but this window is now closed. Please see one of my colleagues for assistance.” Before he could reply, I bolted for the staff-only door behind me. “Hey! Where are you going? Get back here!” the old man shouted after me, his voice muffled by the glass. I didn’t look back. Under the counter, my fingers fumbled with my phone, quickly hitting the record button. No matter what happened this time, I was getting proof. Mr. Davies was still yelling. “What kind of service is this! I have your employee number! I’m going to file a complaint!” I rattled off the standard bank script. “Large transfers require dual authorization. I’d advise you to contact a family member to confirm the transaction first.” “Bullshit! You’re just trying to ruin my good luck!” he sputtered, his face turning red. Ava poked her head out of the breakroom, a look of confusion on her face. “Chloe? What’s going on?” I stared at her, at that face filled with feigned concern, and a wave of nausea washed over me. In my past life, that was the same mouth that had confidently told the entire country I had tried to seduce Mr. Davies. “Stomachache,” I said curtly. “Going to the hospital.” She hurried after me, blocking my path. “Can’t you just tough it out? There’s a customer waiting!” “Move,” I said, shaking her hand off my arm. “Are you crazy?” she hissed, her voice low and threatening. “You want to lose this month’s performance bonus?” I raised my voice, making sure the entire lobby could hear. “If I drop dead at my desk from the pain, are you going to be the one to collect my body?” The bustling bank hall fell silent. Every eye was on us. Ava, clearly not expecting such a forceful response from the usually gentle me, was momentarily speechless. I seized the opportunity, grabbed my bag, and headed for the exit. “Chloe Harris! If you leave without taking official leave, you’ll be fired!” Ava threatened from behind me. I muttered under my breath, “What’s a job when my life is on the line?” With a shove, I pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped out into the world. I burst into a nearby convenience store, nearly knocking over a rack of chips. I snatched the cheapest bottle of vodka I could find, ran into the restroom, twisted the cap off, and took a swig. Then I fished a compact out of my bag and violently dabbed bright red blush onto my cheeks. Once I was sure I looked sufficiently flushed and drunk, I got into my car and gunned it toward the nearest police station. Sure enough, I didn’t make it two blocks before the flashing lights appeared in my rearview mirror. “Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle.” I stumbled out of the car, purposefully breathing a cloud of alcohol-scented air in the officer’s direction. “Have you been drinking?” the officer asked, his brow furrowed. I feigned guilt, slurring my words. “I have a canker sore… just used a little alcohol to rinse my mouth.” He was obviously unconvinced. He steadied me as I pretended to lose my balance. “Ma’am, I need you to cooperate with a breathalyzer test.” I dutifully blew into the device, watching with satisfaction as the numbers skyrocketed. “Ma’am, you’re suspected of driving under the influence. We need to take you to the hospital for a blood test.” I put up a token struggle before “reluctantly” letting them guide me into the back of the patrol car. I could have smiled from ear to ear. In the hospital’s phlebotomy room, the nurse had just withdrawn the needle when the young officer exclaimed, “Her blood alcohol level is zero?” I put on my best aggrieved expression. “I told you, I was just rinsing my mouth.” The officer cleared his throat and pulled out his phone. “Standard procedure requires us to notify your next of kin.” The call connected, and Jonny’s cold voice came through the line. “What is it now?” “Mr. Harris, your wife is at the hospital—” “I’m in a meeting. I don’t have time for this.” The line went dead. The officer awkwardly put his phone away. “Well… how about I give you a ride home?” I nodded enthusiastically, a wave of relief washing over me. I’d dodged the bullet this time, right? Suddenly, my phone vibrated violently. A news alert, emblazoned with a fiery “BREAKING” icon, popped onto the screen: #BankTellerChloeHarrisDefraudsSeniorCitizenOfRetirementSavings The smile froze on my face. 2 I stared at the headline in disbelief, my finger trembling as I tapped on the link. I was met with an avalanche of insults and doxxed personal information. Someone had even crudely photoshopped my face onto a funeral portrait. The comment section was a cesspool of words like “die” and “slut.” Pinned at the top was a video of Mr. Davies, weeping as he gave an interview. “She told me she could help me invest my money, but as soon as the transfer went through, she vanished! That was my life savings!” The memories of my past life—the public crucifixion, the loss of my family and my life—came flooding back, and I began to shake uncontrollably. I hadn’t even processed his transaction this time. How could this still be pinned on me? When the police car pulled up to my apartment building, I gasped. The entrance was swarming with people. Reporters with cameras and microphones, neighbors pointing and whispering, and a group at the front holding a banner that read, “FRAUDSTER, GIVE ME BACK MY HARD-EARNED MONEY.” “There she is! That’s Chloe Harris!” someone shouted, and every camera instantly swiveled in my direction. Flashes exploded like a thousand tiny suns, blinding me. A reporter shoved a microphone so close to my face I could smell his coffee breath. “Ms. Harris, do you have anything to say about defrauding an elderly man?” “Where did the three million dollars go?” I stumbled backward, my back hitting a solid chest. Two police officers were already striding toward me. “Chloe Harris? You’re under suspicion of financial fraud. Please come with us.” As they moved to cuff me, I forced the words through gritted teeth. “I took the day off work as soon as I got in! What does this have to do with me?” The officer frowned and glanced at a document in his hand. “According to the bank’s system logs, at 9:47 this morning, you processed a three-million-dollar transfer for a Mr. Davies.” I snatched the paper from him. The transaction record was there in black and white, clear as day, with my employee ID and name. “How is that possible?” I whispered, my mind reeling. Just then, a familiar voice cut through the crowd. “Chloe! You have the nerve to show your face here?” I looked up to see Jonny pushing his way through the onlookers, his face a mask of cold fury. “The police showed up at my office! You have a perfectly good job, and you throw it all away to become a con artist?” Hearing the same words in two lifetimes still felt like a punch to the gut. “You’re my husband. Did it even occur to you to ask me what happened before you pronounced me guilty?” He scoffed. “The police are here. What’s left to argue about?” Before I could respond, another commotion broke out. Ava was helping Mr. Davies push to the front, a camera crew trailing right behind them. “That’s her!” Mr. Davies shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. “That black-hearted woman scammed me out of my life savings!” Ava, for her part, looked heartbroken. “Chloe, we’ve been best friends for ten years. I can’t believe I never saw this side of you.” I stared at her, my gaze like ice. “Ava, perjury is a crime. Are you sure you want to do this?” She avoided my eyes, sighing with theatrical sadness. “Even if we are best friends, I can’t cover up a crime for you!” Then she turned to my husband, her voice softening. “Jonny, you should convince her to turn herself in…” “Enough!” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “If you’re going to frame me, you’d better have some real evidence!” My eyes flickered to Ava’s hand, which was still resting on Jonny’s arm. I let out a cold laugh. “The two of you are so eager to sling mud at me. You haven’t been sleeping together, have you?” 3 That question was a bomb that detonated in the middle of the crowd. “Are you insane?!” Jonny’s face paled. He instantly shook Ava’s hand off his arm and roared, his voice betraying a hint of panic. “How dare you say something like that in front of all these people!” Ava’s reaction was even faster. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears, and she pointed a trembling finger at me. “Chloe! You’re the one who’s done something shameful, and now you’re trying to blame us?” She turned to the onlookers, her voice catching with a perfectly timed sob. “This is the woman I’ve called my best friend for ten years!” Whispers rippled through the crowd. A few older women shot me looks of disgust. “Enough! Save your act!” I raised my voice. “The issue here is, on what grounds are you accusing me of fraud?” I pointed to the young traffic cop who had brought me home. “He can be my alibi! I’ve been with him since nine o’clock this morning!” Every head turned to the officer. He looked momentarily surprised, then stepped forward. “That’s correct. I pulled this woman over at 9:10 AM for a suspected DUI, and she has been with me, cooperating with the investigation, ever since.” “This is a police matter! Unrelated personnel should not interfere!” Ava shrieked without thinking. I laughed coldly. “He’s a police officer. How is he ‘unrelated personnel’?” She blurted out, “You… you must have hired an imposter! Are you crazy? That’s a felony!” The traffic cop’s expression hardened. He pulled out his badge and presented it to the investigating officers. “I’m with the East Precinct Traffic Division. Here’s my identification.” The officer took the badge, examined it, and spoke into his radio to confirm. When he looked up again, his eyes were sharp. “This officer’s credentials are real. I’m going to need an explanation.” His gaze darted between Ava and Jonny. “Why would you identify someone as a suspect when she has a confirmed alibi?” The statement landed with the force of a thunderclap. Ava, who clearly hadn’t anticipated this turn of events, took a nervous step back, trying to hide behind Jonny. I was about to press my advantage when Mr. Davies suddenly lunged forward, pointing a finger at my face. “I can prove she’s the fraud!” He shakily pulled a crumpled piece of paper and a scrap of fabric from his pocket and handed them to the officer. “Here’s the evidence, officer!” “Last week, at a community event, it was her! She kept pestering me to invest in some retirement project, making it sound like the deal of a lifetime.” “She specifically told me to come to the bank today, said she’d get a commission.” “I was foolish enough to transfer the money, and then she ran off without even giving me a proper contract!” I countered, “I’ve never even been to your neighborhood, and I don’t handle investment products.” “Besides, you’d believe a total stranger just like that?” Mr. Davies licked his lips, his cloudy eyes raking over my body. “Such a bad memory for a young girl. You worked very hard to get me to invest, you know.” He lowered his voice, but just enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Those three nights… you were very enthusiastic. It’s been a long time since this old man has been taken care of so well!” Camera flashes erupted. The crowd gasped. “Shut up!” A chill ran down my spine. “I can sue you for slander!” Unfazed, he pulled a pair of lace panties from his other pocket and shook them out for everyone to see. “Here’s the proof. You left in a hurry that morning and forgot these on my bed.” “I’ve been cherishing them.” The dubious stains on the fabric were sickeningly visible in the daylight. But what truly made my blood run cold was that they were, unmistakably, a custom-made pair my husband had given me for our wedding anniversary. On the inside, my initials were embroidered in silk thread. C.H. 4 The crowd exploded. “Tsk, tsk. She looks so proper, but she’s doing things like that!” “Don’t you get it? The old guy’s got a pension! That’s prime real estate!” “Her poor husband! Cheated on with an old man!” Jonny seized the moment, lunged forward, and slapped me hard across the face. “No wonder you never wanted to have kids with me! You were sleeping around this whole time!” “What did I ever do to you to deserve this humiliation?!” An officer immediately stepped between us. “Sir, please remain calm! Settle your personal matters in private!” Jonny reluctantly backed away, his face a mask of feigned heartbreak. I wiped the blood from my lip. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. He was using the child we lost… as a weapon against me. The child I had given up to honor his wish to be child-free was now just another tool for his moral grandstanding. The officer picked up the underwear with two disgusted fingers. “Ms. Harris, does this belong to you?” I took a deep breath. “Yes, it’s mine, but…” The reporters pounced on my hesitation, their cameras flashing relentlessly. “But I have no idea how it got there,” I finished, swallowing my humiliation. “I lost that pair a while ago.” Jonny sneered. “How else? You tried to seduce him and failed, didn’t you?” But I didn’t break. I pulled out my phone and calmly played a recording. It was the audio of me calling Ava to ask for time off. Her voice was crystal clear. “Okay, I’ll cover for you. You just focus on getting better.” I held the phone out for the officer to hear, showing him the time-stamp on the recording. Ava’s face went slack with shock. “You… you recorded me?” she stammered. The next second, she was scrambling to recover. “That’s impossible! It must have been edited!” “If you don’t believe it,” I said calmly, “we can have it professionally authenticated at the station.” Ava seemed to receive a message on her phone, because she suddenly grabbed the officer’s sleeve. “Officer, I just got the bank’s surveillance footage! It’s much more reliable evidence than some recording!” The video that played on her screen made my blood run cold. It showed me, after leaving the bank, returning to my station to process Mr. Davies’s transaction. The “me” in the video was wearing the exact same beige trench coat I had on today, right down to the hairstyle. A smug, triumphant look crossed Ava’s face. “See? Who are you trying to fool with an edited recording?” “Everyone, look closely! She asked for a day off, then turned right around to scam an old man!” “That’s impossible! I was at the hospital getting my blood drawn! The police and the hospital have complete records!” “This is obviously a deepfake!” I whirled on Ava. “Do you get some kind of sick thrill from framing me?” She stood up straighter. “What are you talking about? That’s you in the video. I didn’t have time to fake anything. You’re just a coward who can’t admit what you’ve done!” Jonny immediately jumped in to support her. “Ava is just trying to help you get on the right path! If you can’t even see that, then I want a divorce!” The crowd began to stir again, a fresh wave of murmurs washing over me. My temples throbbed. Remembering the tragedy of my past life, I gritted my teeth. “I have video evidence, too!” The traffic cop retrieved his body camera from his patrol car. “From 9:10 AM onward, Ms. Harris was under my surveillance the entire time. That includes the blood draw at the hospital, which was also fully recorded.” He played the video. The footage clearly showed my movements at the exact same time as the bank video, creating a direct and impossible conflict. The scene fell into a dead silence. Faced with two completely contradictory videos, everyone was stunned.

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The day high school ended. My sister was raped and her body dumped. The killer was never found. Ten years later. I went live online and confessed. [I’m the one who raped and murdered my sister.] The internet exploded. My girlfriend broke up with me, my boss fired me in a rage, and my inbox flooded with messages so vile I couldn’t read them. In the interrogation room. A detective watched me, his eyes sharp. “We did find male DNA on your sister’s body back then,” he said. “It doesn’t match yours.” “So what is this all about? What’s your real game here?” 1 [So, streamer, you’re really saying you raped your 18-year-old sister right after she finished her finals, and then you dumped her body in the woods??] [That was your own half-sister. Are you even human?] [Is this a script or for real? You’d sell your soul for clout!] The comments in my live stream were a torrent of fury. I sat bolt upright under the harsh glare of the overhead light, the white glow making the world feel a little hazy. “That’s right,” I said, my voice steady. “I did it.” The moment the words left my lips, my stream blew up. Viewers flooded in so fast the chat began to lag. Newcomers were lost, so the regulars quickly brought them up to speed: [The Brookwood County Jane Doe case. It’s infamous around here.] [The victim was on her way home from her last day of school. It was just a two-mile walk. The killer raped her, mutilated her… He even pulled out her intestines and tied them in a knot…] [I went to high school with her. The victim, Lyla, was beautiful and kind. She got the highest SAT score in the state. She was a shoo-in for an Ivy League school!] [Back then, her father offered a $100,000 reward for any leads, but they never found the bastard. After that, no one in our town let their kids walk anywhere alone.] Another comment chimed in: [I lived in their neighborhood! Her brother, Liam, used to be so good to her. He’d buy her candy all the time. He even dropped out of school and took on odd jobs just so she could stay in a good high school.] [Reading that now sends a chill down my spine. Who knows how long he was abusing her in secret…] The chat room erupted. [You disgusting animal!! You destroyed a genius!] [I hope you rot in hell, streamer!] [Hey streamer, I bought you a VIP ticket for the express lane to hell. Next time you see a semi, just do a swan dive in front of it, will ya? Give the driver a little scare.] People started spamming the police. [@BrookwoodPD, get in here! We’ve got a live one!] In the middle of the chaos, a pig’s head emoji suddenly appeared over my face. Someone had sent me a gag gift. I froze for a second, then a shameless smile spread across my face. “Hey, thanks for the gift,” I said. “And we just hit 100,000 followers. Thanks for all the attention, everyone.” 2 That just made them angrier. [Shameless!!] [I’m now convinced some people are just demons reincarnated.] [Did you really kill your sister or is this just a sick stunt for followers? You’ll do your time for this fake-out and then come back to open an online store?] [Don’t worry, I’ve already called the cops! If he’s telling the truth, he’s going to prison for life! If he’s lying, it’s a public disturbance charge, and he’ll still get locked up!] [Why is this scumbag still allowed to stream and make money? Everyone, report his account!] A red warning box popped up on my screen. [Your stream has been reported for disturbing content. Please moderate your broadcast.] By now, my stream had skyrocketed. From number one in Brookwood County, to number one in the “Lifestyle” category, to the top of the entire platform. Over a million people were watching. I figured the only reason I was still live was because the police were using it to pinpoint my location. Otherwise, the platform would have banned me instantly. A few viewers caught on. [Hey, everyone, stop reporting him. What if he logs off and makes a run for it?] Just then, a comment from an account named “Officer Miller” appeared: [We have officers en route.] [Justice may be delayed, but it is never denied.] I shrugged at the camera. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.” I leaned in closer, looking directly into the lens, and spoke each word with chilling clarity. “I’m at 6 Garden Apartments, Unit 502.” “I’ll be waiting for you, Officer.” 3 In the interrogation room, two officers sat across from me. The younger one glared at me every few seconds. The name on his badge was Miller—probably the righteous “Officer Miller” from my chat. The older detective, however, was calm, even offering me a small, disarming smile. “No need to be tense, Liam. We’re just here to ask a few questions.” “What you said on your live stream… was it all true?” I nodded. “Every word.” His expression hardened. “Can you describe the events of that day?” I closed my eyes, dredging up the memory. “June 8th, 2013. A day I’ll never forget.” “It was the last day of final exams. My dad was ecstatic. He’d already booked a table to celebrate, ordered flowers, and sent me to pick up a cake for my sister, Lyla.” “Lyla’s school was about two miles from our house. I was on my way back from the bakery when I saw her walking home.” “It was hot that day. She wasn’t in her uniform, just a simple white dress. I followed behind her, my eyes fixed on the pale, smooth skin of her calves. I realized, somewhere along the way, she’d blossomed. She was a woman now.” “I don’t know… something just snapped. I came up from behind, clamped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her into a nearby alley. And I… I took her.” The old detective’s voice was steady. “And why did you mutilate her?” “Because…” I paused, a sneer twisting my lips. “She fought back.” “Why would she fight back?” I asked, my voice rising. “I was so good to her. The money for her school? That was me, working my ass off! She was so pretty and perfect, all because of me. What was wrong with letting me have a little fun?” Officer Miller slammed his hand on the table, his face contorted with rage. “She was your sister, you sick bastard!” I laughed, a short, ugly sound. “Maybe not. Her mom was a tramp. She cheated on my dad, that’s why they got divorced. Heh. Mother and daughter… both bitches.” The older detective cut me off. “Was this the first time you assaulted her?” “Yes,” I said. “But I’d touched her before. Kissed her at home.” Officer Miller let out a loud, contemptuous snort. The detective pressed on. “Why did you choose the alley? You could have waited until she was home, like the other times you mentioned.” I hesitated. “Like I said, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Besides, it’s more exciting outdoors.” Miller looked like he was about to lunge across the table and strangle me. The older detective put a restraining hand on his arm. “And then what happened?” the detective asked. My fingers twitched, a nervous tremor. I glanced at the case file on the table in front of him and smiled, a wide, triumphant grin. “The rest is all in that file you’re looking at.” “I used a knife. 36 times. I pulled out her intestines. I was going to tie them into a pretty butterfly knot, but my hands were too slippery with blood… so I just kind of tangled them up.” 4 “Did you hate her?” “Maybe,” I mused. “When her mom was in charge, she was never good to me. Always shorting me on my allowance.” “Eventually, I started to hate Lyla, too.” “I hated how she knew nothing, how she’d act all innocent and ask me for things. ‘Brother, can you buy me this dress? Brother, can I have money for a milkshake?’ All while I was breaking my back for her.” I curled my lip, continuing my story. “When I came to my senses, I wiped my prints off the weapon. The alley had no cameras. I left her there, clothes torn, and walked home with the cake like nothing happened. I even said hello to a neighbor on the way.” “It wasn’t until 8 PM that night, when my dad still couldn’t reach her, that he finally called the police.” I chuckled mockingly. “You cops were a bunch of useless fools back then. Rushed around for weeks and found nothing. And now, ten years later, the case is colder than a morgue slab.” The old detective didn’t take the bait. Instead, his gaze sharpened. “So why confess now? And why do it on a live stream?” “For the clout,” I said with an indifferent shrug. “Making money is hard these days. I’m tired of working. I figured I could become an influencer, rake in millions. Didn’t you see? One hour on stream and I gained over a hundred thousand followers.” “A while back, some girl went viral for being the ‘Hottest Fugitive.’ I figured I could aim for ‘Most Handsome Killer.’” The detective was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “And what evidence do you have to support any of this?” “Lyla was buried,” I said. “You can get a court order, exhume the body. The DNA in her system will prove it.” “It’s been ten years. I assume your forensics department isn’t as useless as it used to be. Don’t disappoint me.” This time, Officer Miller couldn’t hold back. “Of course it’s not!” he roared at me. “Nothing stays buried forever. Every crime leaves a trace. Liam, I swear to God, I will see you brought to justice!” I didn’t argue. I just smiled, a faint, chilling curve of my lips. “I’m counting on it.”

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