On the eve of the surgery, I resigned as the lead surgeon. My colleagues in the department scoffed, calling me unreliable and weak. “And he’s supposed to be a Ph.D. from abroad? More like he bought a degree from some diploma mill.” “He runs away at the first sign of a challenge. He doesn’t deserve to be a doctor!” In my past life, I gave up a spot in the national general practitioner skills competition to take on this exact surgery. But due to the gross negligence of the other lead surgeon, it ended in a catastrophic medical malpractice incident. And my own sister, the department head, pinned all the blame on me. Even my girlfriend stood firmly by his side, accusing me of incompetence. Overnight, I went from a lauded medical prodigy to a pariah. Unable to prove my innocence, I was not only fired but also faced prison time. My parents, who had always been so proud of me, pointed their fingers at me, shouting, “We have no son who is so reckless with human life.” I spiraled into a severe depression and threw myself from the roof of the hospital. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the eve of the surgery. 1 “This is an extremely complex procedure. The hospital has decided to appoint you as the lead surgeon. Are you confident?” In the department office, my sister, Kaitlyn, smiled as she placed a patient’s file in front of me. I looked at the file, and an involuntary tremor ran through my body. Snapping back to the present, I shook my head decisively. “I just got back from my fellowship abroad. I still need some time to get acclimated. I’m not ready for a major surgery like this.” In my previous life, this surgery was the beginning of my ruin. And the person pushing it all forward was the very same sister who had always seemed to dote on me. Back then, I had accepted without hesitation, agreeing to co-lead the surgery with another doctor in our department, Dr. Alex Rivera. But Alex was in no condition to operate, making one critical error after another. Despite my repeated warnings, the outcome was irreversible. And I, who had done nothing wrong, was dragged into the ensuing disaster. As the department head, Kaitlyn shifted all responsibility onto my shoulders. I became a social outcast overnight, losing not only my reputation but also my career. Unable to handle the blow, I ended my own life in a haze of despair. Kaitlyn frowned at me now, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “This is a fantastic opportunity, Chad. It took a lot of work for me to get it for you. Why are you turning it down?” I pushed the file back across the desk to her, a faint smile on my lips. “My skills are not yet up to the task. I can’t take on such a heavy responsibility.” Hearing my words, my girlfriend, Jessica, who was standing nearby, immediately chided me. “Chad, can’t you be a man for once? You’re so timid about everything. How do you ever expect to advance in your career?” Looking at her “tough love” expression, I wanted to laugh. Both of them acted as if they had my best interests at heart. But in their minds, I would never be worth a single hair on Alex’s head. I stood up and faced her. “Alex is a graduate of a top medical school. He’s superior to me in every way. Let him lead the surgery by himself.” The tragic events of my past life were still vivid in my memory. Reborn, I would not make the same mistakes. My words seemed to stun both Kaitlyn and Jessica into silence. Then, Jessica took my hand, her voice turning encouraging. “That’s exactly why you should be learning from him! Strive to become as outstanding a doctor as Alex is.” When she said his name, it was like she transformed. Her voice was filled with a strange, breathless excitement. 2 I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and refused again. “I also have the national general practitioner skills competition to prepare for. I can’t possibly take on this surgery.” The real reason they were pushing so hard for me to co-lead with Alex was that they both knew it. Without me, Alex didn’t have the skill to pull off this procedure alone. And if this incredibly complex surgery were a success, it would be a massive feather in his cap, a huge boost to his career. Seeing the doubt in their eyes, I pulled a document from my folder and placed it on the desk. “What? You don’t believe me?” When Jessica saw the document—my official invitation to the competition—her face flushed with anger. “This is a major competition! Why didn’t you tell Alex?” Her voice sharpened. “Are you afraid he’d outshine you?” Kaitlyn’s expression turned ugly. “We’re colleagues at the same hospital, Chad. Don’t you know how to share? I’ve never met someone so selfish.” I stared at them in disbelief. “I barely know Alex. Why would I tell him?” We were in the same department, yes. But Alex was arrogant and aloof. He treated new doctors like me with a dismissive air. In the six months I’d been here, we had exchanged maybe three sentences. And that was somehow my fault? My answer only seemed to infuriate Jessica more. “You’ve been here this long and you still don’t know what Alex is like? As a colleague, can’t you be more proactive and try to build a better relationship with him?” Without another word, she pulled out her phone and called the competition organizers to try and register Alex. Kaitlyn stormed out of the office, presumably to ask Alex in person. I watched them go, a bitter taste in my mouth. In their eyes, I was just an outsider, an obstacle. A few moments later, Jessica hung up the phone. Registration was full. There was no way to add Alex. Her face was a mask of panic, and she started muttering to herself. “This is such an important competition! If Alex can’t participate, it will seriously affect his career!” Her eyes lit up with a sudden, terrible idea, and she turned to me. “But you have a spot, don’t you? If you just give up your spot, Alex can compete.” Her words sent a tremor through my body. It felt hard to breathe. “So, Alex’s future is important, but mine isn’t?” In all the years we had been together, I had always put her first, valued her more than my own life. But in her eyes, I would never measure up to Alex, a man she barely knew. Jessica’s expression shifted, becoming uncharacteristically coy. “Alex is older than you, Chad. Just let him have this one! You’re still young. You’ll have other chances.” Seeing her fawning, simpering act, I couldn’t help but laugh coldly to myself. The strong, independent woman I thought I knew could turn into this simpering mess for Alex. Too bad for her. I wasn’t the naive fool from my past life. I wouldn’t let them lead me by the nose again. 3 “Chad, Jessica’s right. You’re young. Give this opportunity to Alex.” Just as I was thinking, Kaitlyn walked back in, Alex in tow. I looked up, and my eyes met his. His gaze was filled with undisguised mockery, as if he were laughing at my cowardice. I shook my head firmly. “You don’t have the right to make decisions about my life.” With that, I turned and walked out of the office. To my surprise, they didn’t bother me for the next two days while I was at the competition. I only found out why when I checked my social media: Alex had taken on the surgery by himself. I thought that would be the end of it. But the moment I returned, Kaitlyn and Jessica cornered me, their faces pale with panic. “Chad, you have to save Alex this time. If you don’t help him, he’s finished.” I knew immediately that the surgery had gone wrong. I looked at them, my eyes cold. “What do you expect me to do about it?” This time, I wasn’t even in the hospital. They couldn’t possibly pin it on me. Kaitlyn’s next words made my blood run cold. “I’ll handle the paperwork. You’re going to take the fall for Alex.” Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “You haven’t been at the hospital that long. Even if you make a mistake, people will be more forgiving.” Her words were like daggers of ice. I was her brother, her own flesh and blood, and she was asking me to be the scapegoat for Alex. If I did this, I would not only destroy my career but also face prison. The memories of my past life were still raw and painful. I refused without a second thought. “He’s a doctor. If he messed up a surgery, he needs to take responsibility for it. Why should I take the blame for him?” Jessica’s voice grew shrill with desperation. “Shouldn’t colleagues help each other out? If you help Alex this one time, we’ll all be so grateful.” Her attempt at emotional blackmail finally broke my control. The rage I had been suppressing erupted. “You’re so concerned about Alex, but have either of you ever thought about me?” My voice was trembling, on the verge of a sob. “Have you forgotten? One of you is my sister, and the other is my girlfriend!” In my past life, they had driven me to a dead end for Alex’s sake. Did they really want me to relive that nightmare? But Kaitlyn’s tone was unyielding, absolute. “Chad, you don’t have a choice in this. I’ve already arranged everything. You will take the blame.” She threw a stack of documents onto my desk. They had forged evidence to place me at the scene of the surgery. The fabrication was seamless. To anyone else, it would look completely convincing. They had gone to such lengths for Alex. I had underestimated their devotion. But my face showed no fear. Instead, I smiled at them. “You do realize that if I wanted to, I could send both of you to prison for this, right?”

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After learning my daughter had been crippled by her husband—and that he would face no consequences—I asked the police with an unnerving calm, “Domestic abuse isn’t a crime, is it?” No one knew my history. When my daughter was five, she was mauled by a rabid dog. I kicked it to death with a single blow. At eight, she was harassed by a perverted neighbor. I beat him into a permanent disability. He’s still in a wheelchair today. At fifteen, she was cornered by local gang members. I put a knife through the gang leader’s throat and critically wounded his three accomplices. I spent ten years in a maximum-security prison for that. Today was my first day of freedom. 1 The day I was released, my parole officer told me my daughter, Jessica, had been beaten into a permanent disability by her husband. She was in the ICU, fighting for her life. Her crime? She had taken an extra piece of meat at the dinner table without his permission. For that, he shattered her spleen and broke her spine. For the rest of her life, she would have to wear a colostomy bag. The perpetrator, her husband Edward, was lounging outside her hospital room, casually playing a game on his phone. “It’s a husband’s right to discipline his wife,” he said with a shrug, not even looking up. “The day she married me, she became my property. Even if I beat her to death, the cops couldn’t touch me.” His voice was light, completely devoid of remorse. The wedding band on his finger glinted under the fluorescent lights, as sharp and cold as the blade I had plunged into the gang leader’s throat ten years ago. I stared at him, my mind reeling. How could a husband say such things? My heart bled, and a wildfire of rage ignited in my chest. I lunged forward, ready to kill this animal, but the plainclothes officer who had escorted me grabbed my arm, hissing in my ear. “Don’t be stupid, Sarah! You kill him, you’ll go right back to prison!” He squeezed my arm tighter. “Do you want your daughter to be without a mother for the rest of her life?” His words hit me like a physical blow. My fist fell, limp and powerless, to my side. Seeing my fight drain away, Edward sneered and flicked a business card at my face. “You want to sue me? Go ahead. You can even hire me. I’m the best lawyer in the city.” He smirked. “A backwater hick like you probably doesn’t understand the law, so let me educate you. Domestic abuse isn’t a felony. Even if I kill her, the law can’t do a damn thing to me.” He turned his back to me, his voice growing more arrogant. “I never saw her as anything more than a placeholder when I married her. A common woman with no family to back her up? She’s lucky a lawyer like me even looked at her. My family has connections in the courthouse and the police department. What are you going to do about it?” He shoved me aside, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and sauntered away. He didn’t know. The last person who used my daughter to threaten me was long dead. 2 I stayed by Jessica’s bedside for two weeks, never leaving her side, before she finally woke from the coma. When she saw me, she stared for a few seconds, her eyes wide with disbelief, before a raw, ragged sob broke from her lips. She was a porcelain doll on the verge of shattering—her eyes swollen, her face a ghostly white. “Mom! You’re really back… I missed you so much…” Her voice was a choked whisper. “I thought I’d never see you again…” Her desperate, broken words twisted a knife in my heart. I raised my hand to comfort her, but when I saw the landscape of bruises and cuts covering her body, my fingers froze in mid-air. She had always been so afraid of pain, so meticulous about her appearance. Now, that monster Edward had beaten her into a broken thing, forced to live with a colostomy bag for the rest of her days. I couldn’t imagine the depths of her despair. “It’s okay, Jessica. Shh, don’t be afraid. Mom’s back now. Mom will get you justice.” A bitter, humorless smile touched her lips. Her eyes were hollow, filled with a terrifying emptiness as she looked at me. “It’s useless, Mom. I’ve been trying to divorce that monster for years. No lawyer will take my case. Even the police are on their side.” She took a shuddering breath. “They have eyes everywhere. No matter where I run, his family finds me. Every time I think I’m finally free, he hunts me down like a cat toying with a mouse and drags me back.” Her voice cracked. “Mom… I don’t want to live anymore.” Her words felt like a hand squeezing my heart, tight and merciless. I reached out, my touch feather-light, and stroked her head, just as I had when she was a little girl. After I coaxed her to sleep, I went to the hospital director’s office. I needed her official medical report, the proof I would take to the courthouse to file charges against Edward. The director’s response sent my world crashing down. “Domestic disputes are complicated,” he said dismissively. “It takes two to tango. If she hadn’t done something to provoke him, why would he hit her?” I trembled with rage. It was abuse, pure and simple. What right did Edward have to lay a hand on her? The director waved his hand, his tone patronizing. “Edward’s uncle is a judge. How do you plan to fight someone like that?” He then delivered the final blow, a veiled threat. If I dropped the matter, the family would cover all of Jessica’s medical expenses. “Look, your son-in-law already spoke to us. If you cause any trouble, your daughter can’t be treated here anymore. And if something… happens to her after that, don’t blame us for being heartless.” I stared at his ugly, smug face, a storm of fury and helplessness raging inside me. I wouldn’t give up. I would get justice for my daughter, or I would die trying. The director laughed, a sound dripping with scorn. “Who is your son-in-law? He’s a lawyer with power and connections. And you? You’re nobody.” He leaned forward. “Take my advice and give up. Go home and think about it. He’s been good to your daughter, all things considered. He gave her a home. If you keep pushing this, you’ll ruin what’s left of her life.” I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Edward had done this to Jessica, and we were supposed to be grateful? I couldn’t believe it. Was there truly no place in this world for justice? Suddenly, a nurse’s frantic voice echoed from down the hall. “Code Blue! The patient in 302—she tried to kill herself!” 3 The words hit me, and the world went blank. My legs gave out from under me. I staggered to her room and pressed my face against the glass, watching the medical team swarm around my daughter’s bed. My heart felt like it was being shredded. Jessica’s father died when she was just a baby. It had always been just the two of us. She was my entire world. Ten years ago, when those gang members cornered her, I killed their leader and disabled the others to protect her. After I was done, I turned myself in and was sentenced to ten years. I was supposed to be released in six months, but I was granted early release for good behavior. I never wanted Jessica to know her mother was a murderer, so for a decade, I wrote letters telling her I was working in another state. For ten years, I dreamed of the day we would be reunited. And now, we had just found each other again. Was fate really so cruel as to make me bury my own child? After two agonizing hours, the doctors managed to save her. I finally let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and feeling returned to my numb limbs. But my relief was short-lived. The doctor’s next words sent a spear of ice through my heart. “She’s suffering from severe depression. We can’t rule out another suicide attempt.” Images of Jessica’s bright, youthful face flashed through my mind. That beautiful, kind girl had been pushed to the absolute brink by that monster. Swallowing my rage, I went to the police station. The answer I received there plunged me into an even deeper abyss of despair. An officer took the report, glanced at it, and shifted uncomfortably. “Your daughter’s husband is a prominent lawyer. His family is very well-connected. His uncle is high up in the department. Our hands are tied.” I stared at his helpless face, the brutal reality of the situation crashing down on me. Edward’s power was a fortress, so high that even the police were afraid to scale its walls. I stood up and walked out of the station. The sunlight outside was blinding, but all I could see was darkness. Just then, my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen. A video had just been sent to me from an unknown number. It was Jessica. She was curled in a corner, her body a mosaic of purple and blue bruises, her hair a tangled mess. Her eyes were hollowed out with terror and despair. Her lips were bitten white, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. I gripped my phone, my nails digging into the device, the plastic groaning under the pressure. The world spun around me, and I felt myself collapsing under the weight of it all. Then, a voice message from Edward arrived, dripping with mockery. “You wanted to report me to the police? Here’s the evidence you wanted. If it’s not enough, don’t worry. I’ve got plenty more.”

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After 99 failed blind dates, Mia and I vowed to have kids alone. She picked an MIT genius donor; I chose European aristocracy. After birth, her donor—now infertile—demanded marriage to secure an heir. She agreed. At my prenatal visits, Mia would sneer, arm around her husband: “Poor Lana, cursed to be alone. My Julian just got a national tech lead—his future’s limitless.” She didn’t know my baby’s father was a billionaire who’d soon take me to his private island, adorning me in jewels until I nearly sank. When I posted a yacht photo, her desperate texts poured in: “His project got canceled! I can’t afford baby formula!” She begged for friendship, asked me to be godmother. Then she met me with a chainsaw, screaming: “Why should you have more? Just for picking a better donor?” I woke back at the fertility clinic—decision day. “Lana, what’s so great about marriage anyway? Let’s do this on our own! We can be the powerful heroines of our own lives!” Mia shook my arm, her voice filled with a manic excitement. The sterile, familiar smell of the clinic hit me, and a wave of dizziness confirmed it. I was reborn. After a long string of dates with losers and creeps, Mia and I had decided to come to this exclusive clinic to choose premium donors for IVF. Mia’s sharp voice grated in my ear. “Lana, look! This one’s from an MIT genius. The kid would be brilliant! You should choose this one.” Then, without missing a beat, she pointed to the profile next to it—the one described as having a complex European aristocratic lineage. “You know me,” she said, a little too quickly. “I’m all about looks. I’ve always dreamed of a baby with those classic features. You won’t fight me for him, will you, Lana?” In that instant, I knew. She was reborn, too. And she was making a beeline for the billionaire’s genes she thought would be her ticket to paradise. She put on a show of looking out for me. “This MIT profile is a sure thing, Lana. You’d be crazy to pass it up.” It was the complete opposite of what she’d said in our last life. I looked at her, watching the predatory gleam in her eyes, and slowly nodded. The moment I agreed, her face lit up, and she blurted out, “Don’t you regret it!” Regret what? She was so desperate for me to choose the brilliant Dr. Julian Vance because she wanted the billionaire for herself. She wanted the life of obscene wealth and power. In our first life, she’d claimed she wanted a child prodigy and snatched up Julian’s profile first. When he was later diagnosed with infertility, he tracked her down and proposed. At their wedding, I’d dragged my heavily pregnant body there to give them a gift, only to be stopped at the door. Mia had stood there, proud as a peacock, her eyes raking over me with contempt before she let out a tinkling laugh. “Having a baby on your own? You’re living in a fairytale, Lana. I, on the other hand, am about to secure my future. My husband was just chosen by the government to lead a top-secret project! And you? What do you have? Some fancy ‘aristocratic’ lineage? For all you know, that just means he’s some inbred nobody from a country you’ve never heard of.” But a month after her wedding, a gold-leafed invitation arrived at my apartment, delivered by a towering, white-gloved butler. “My lady,” he said in a crisp, formal tone, “our patron is aware that you are carrying his child. He requests your presence on his estate to be wed.” That’s when I found out. My donor was a reclusive, unbelievably wealthy billionaire. And right after I left for his private island, Mia’s social media became a constant stream of complaints. Vague posts about some “homewrecking Ph.D. student” trying to seduce her husband. She’d post pictures from outside his lab, trying to look like a devoted wife standing guard. Then came the videos of her screaming at the young woman, who, seeing Mia was pregnant, never fought back. Mia crowed about it, taking the woman’s restraint as an admission of guilt. I heard through mutual friends that her constant, baseless jealousy and public scenes got the project shut down. Julian’s career was derailed. But Mia felt no remorse. It was his fault for being weak, for not being man enough to keep his project and his team in line. They fought constantly. Soon, Julian’s reputation was so tarnished by Mia’s drama that no one would work with him. He was unemployed, and the bills piled up. Raising a child costs money, and Mia, who had only married him for a life of luxury, refused to contribute a dime. The fighting escalated from shouting matches to him just not coming home for days at a time. Meanwhile, my feed was filled with pictures of royal galas, super-yachts, and the diamond on my finger that was the size of a robin’s egg. So, this time around, she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the billionaire’s profile and pushed Julian’s onto me. I feigned innocence, playing the part of her naive friend. “But Mia, this profile is so vague. ‘Complex European heritage’… what if the genes are bad?” Mia, who had already signed the paperwork, cut me off, her voice hard. “That’s not your problem anymore. My son is going to be the heir to a dynasty. You, on the other hand, will probably be struggling to afford diapers.” A cold smile touched my lips, one she couldn’t see. A brilliant MIT scientist and a future genius son versus an abusive monster and his equally monstrous child. Only a fool wouldn’t know who to choose. I wondered if Mia would still be smiling when she was locked in a cage with a lion. Because in my last life, I was indeed taken to a private, palatial estate. But the man waiting for me was a brute. He threw me into a room and assaulted me. The slightest resistance was met with a rain of fists and kicks, leaving my body a canvas of bruises. The long, concealing robes worn by the women on the island hid the evidence from the outside world, but I couldn’t even sit without wincing in pain. He had XYY Syndrome, a genetic condition that made him prone to explosive, uncontrollable rage. The priceless, beautiful, and heavy ornaments that filled our rooms were often hurled at my head. I bled so much I often hovered on the edge of death, only to be brought back by their advanced medical team, trapped in a cycle of torture and recovery. He forced himself on me even when I was heavily pregnant. There was no one to turn to; everyone on the island looked at me as if I were a slave. And the child? The “aristocratic heir”? I’d seen the prenatal report before I ever left the country. He didn’t just have XYY Syndrome; he had a rare mosaic variant. He was born to be a menace to society. They wouldn’t let me terminate the pregnancy. Even in my womb, he would kick my thinning uterine wall with such force that I couldn’t sleep for nights on end. The memory sent a shiver down my spine. With the procedure confirmed for a few days later, Mia let out a sigh of relief. She caressed the signed consent form, her eyes gleaming with schadenfreude. “An MIT genius just sounds good on paper. Watch out, Lana. You’ll probably end up with a useless deadbeat, and your kid will be an idiot, too.” I remained placid in the face of her taunts, offering a serene smile. “They say when you mix that many bloodlines, you’re bound to get some… mental instability. You be careful, Mia.” Mia always had to be first, always had to win. She thought a second chance meant she could rewrite her destiny. She never understood the truth: it’s not about the choice you make, but who you are. My words hit their mark. Her face flushed with anger, and she stomped her foot, a trembling finger pointed at me. “You just wait! We’ll see whose kid has the garbage genes!” Two weeks after our procedures, just like in the last life, Julian Vance was diagnosed with infertility. He tracked me down using the clinic’s records. He stood at my door dressed in a well-tailored suit, his brow sharp and intelligent, a pleasant, clean scent of cedarwood clinging to him. His voice was as clear and calming as a mountain spring. “Ms. Lana?” I was momentarily stunned, and in that brief silence, the tips of his ears turned a faint pink. He spoke again, a little flustered. “This is going to sound incredibly sudden, but… would you consider marrying me?” He rushed to add, “I wouldn’t interfere with your life, of course…” “Okay,” I said, cutting him off. “I will. Do you want to go to the courthouse now?” My straightforward acceptance seemed to shock him into silence. He just stared at me, completely at a loss. Just then, Mia’s cackling laughter erupted from my phone. I’d been on a call with her. She knew Julian was coming today and couldn’t wait to watch me walk into the same trap she’d fallen into last time. “Hahaha, Lana, you’re that desperate to get married? I guess with a face like yours, you have to take what you can get before it’s too late!” Her voice was shrill with mockery. “When you two get married, I’ll be sure to send you a huge gift. God knows you won’t have many good days left to enjoy it!” Hearing the cruel voice on the other end of the line, Julian frowned instinctively and murmured, almost to himself, “I won’t let you suffer…” Mia’s voice cut him off, her words growing even more venomous. “What kind of future can two broke losers have together? You probably won’t even be able to feed the kid. You’ll just fight all day and live on welfare!” I ended the call and gave Julian a small, steady smile. “I know we won’t end up like that,” I said, my voice firm with a certainty that surprised even me. “Never.” We picked a date and, with our families’ blessings, we were officially married. The wedding was set for two weeks later. Julian was with me for every step—choosing the dress, booking the venue, tasting the cakes. He never missed a thing. Looking at this kind, attentive man, I felt nothing but profound relief. A gentle, respectful husband was infinitely better than an abusive monster. Mia spent those two weeks bombarding me with texts, all mocking me for marrying a “failure.” But the poverty of her last life was her own doing. If that project had gone smoothly, Julian would have become one of the youngest and most respected experts in his field worldwide. His salary would have easily been in the seven figures. But Mia’s pathological possessiveness had destroyed his future. She stormed into his lab, caused scenes, and alienated all the senior researchers who had once championed him. Remembering this, I turned to Julian with a gentle smile. “If you have project work to do, you know I can handle all of this on my own.” A flicker of deep gratitude crossed his face. He suddenly dropped to one knee and pulled out a ring box. The diamond wasn’t huge, but the stone was a stunning shade of sky blue, my favorite color. It was like a piece of a perfect, cloudless day, something that made you happy just by looking at it. “I know my proposal was… abrupt,” he said, his voice soft. “So I wanted to do this properly.” He looked up at me, his eyes full of sincere emotion. “Lana, will you marry me?” I smiled and nodded, holding out my hand for him to slide the ring onto my finger. It couldn’t compare to the gaudy boulder I’d worn on the island, but this small, perfect ring filled my heart with a warmth that spread through my entire body. On the island, the jewelry was just a tool for a tyrant to flaunt his wealth. Every jewel represented a scar, a slap followed by a hollow apology. He had even, for his own amusement, locked me in a pen with a lioness when I was eight months pregnant, dousing me in a scent irresistible to big cats. So go ahead, Mia. Reject this kind of genuine, unconditional love. Go seek out your suffering. The memory of the chainsaw’s teeth tearing through my flesh still felt lodged in my bones. Thinking of her twisted, furious face, all I could do was wish her luck. I hadn’t even started sending out wedding invitations when Mia showed up at my door. “I’m your best friend! Shouldn’t I be the first one to get an invitation?” she demanded. “I want to see what your pathetic little wedding looks like. You probably won’t get to see mine, but I can guarantee you it’ll be a thousand times better than yours! What future does a broke academic have? You’re so shortsighted, Lana. You have a lifetime of misery ahead of you.” I calmly handed her an invitation, my voice light and cheerful. “I truly hope you enjoy your new life, Mia!” After the proposal, Julian dove back into his work, and I focused on the wedding preparations. He was busy, but he texted me every day, letting me know what he was up to. He said the project was making huge progress and would be officially launching soon. “Lana, thank you for being so understanding,” he texted. “I was worried you’d be angry that I can’t be there more.” “Just don’t miss the actual wedding!” I typed back, smiling. I took the initial project funding he’d received and invested it into a few different funds. On the day of the wedding, Mia showed up dressed more extravagantly than I, the bride. She wore a couture gown that shimmered like a fairy’s wing, carried the latest designer handbag, and had a diamond tiara nestled in her hair. Anyone would have thought it was her coronation. She shoved past the ushers, her nose in the air. “Don’t you dare touch me! My presence here is a gift. It elevates this whole shabby affair!” Julian strode forward, his face grim, and signaled the security. “Please escort this person out. We only want guests here who genuinely wish my wife and me well.” Mia’s face went from smug to livid. The man who was her husband in another life was now yelling at her for another woman. The jealousy was a toxic, visible thing. “You think you’ve won the lottery? After all our years as friends, you think I don’t know her?” she shrieked, pointing at me. “She’s a social climber! She’ll kiss up to you now, but the second you’re a nobody again, she’ll kick you to the curb and cheat on you without a second thought!” SLAP. The sound echoed in the quiet hall. I took a deep breath, looking at Mia’s stunned, hand-printed cheek. “You are not my friend anymore,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “No friend would say things like that, especially not on my wedding day. Take the bitterness you feel from going to your own appointments alone and aim it where it belongs: at the father of your ‘aristocratic’ child.” Stunned silent for a moment, she finally recovered, letting out a wild, hysterical laugh as she lunged at me. Julian immediately stepped in front of me, his body a shield, his eyes daring her to take another step. “You are not welcome at our wedding,” he said, his voice cold as ice. Seeing she was completely alone, with no one to back her up, Mia trembled with rage. “Fine! Burn the bridge! But don’t come crying to me when you’re broke and miserable!” she screamed. “The life I’m about to have is one you could never even dream of. You have fun with your useless professor! You just wait and see!” With that, she spun on her stiletto heels and stormed away. The wedding continued without a hitch. Under the loving gaze of our parents, Julian and I shared a kiss. Three days later, Mia posted a picture of a golden invitation on her Instagram, making sure to tag me. The caption read: Just showing some backstabbing ghosts what a real invitation looks like. I turned off my phone and leaned my head on Julian’s shoulder, focusing on the movie we were watching. Mia’s dream life was finally beginning. I just hoped she survived the first day.

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Four months pregnant. My husband, an OB/GYN, took me to get my prenatal results. His smile froze when he saw the report. He grabbed my arm, steel grip dragging me toward the abortion clinic. I stood stunned—my doctor had just said the baby was healthy. I pulled free. “Why?” He ignored me, already scheduling the procedure. When I tried to run, he hissed, “This baby cannot be born.” I called my parents—both OB/GYNs. My doting father raised a fist at my belly. My mother trembled. “No… not like this.” Then, coldly: “Lock her in with men.” I didn’t understand. They dragged me to a dark room. Blood pooled between my legs—my baby was gone. Later, my mother smiled brightly. I screamed, demanding answers. She had me committed. I was tortured to death. When I opened my eyes—I was back on test day. … My husband, Leo, beamed at me. “Our first child, sweetheart. I can’t wait for the day he’s born.” “Come on, honey, let’s go before the hospital gets too crowded.” His voice jolted me back to the present. I touched my slightly rounded belly and knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I had been reborn. And I had been reborn on the exact day I was to receive my prenatal report. In my previous life, Leo had been the perfect, attentive husband from the moment I told him I was pregnant. He bought something new for the baby every single day and had already compiled a list of over a hundred names. Even though I was getting my check-ups at the very hospital where he worked, he would take the day off just to be with me. His excitement for this child was palpable. At four months, we went for our routine scan. The doctor told us the baby was healthy, that the risk for Down syndrome was nonexistent. Leo, being an OB/GYN himself, glanced at the report. His smile vanished. His face contorted in a rictus of horror. Without a word, he grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the abortion scheduling desk. I dug in my heels, yanking my hand away. “Leo, the doctor said the baby is fine! Why do you want to terminate?” He ignored me, his fingers flying across his phone screen, booking the procedure. I tried to snatch the phone from him. His breathing grew ragged, his eyes bloodshot. He roared at me, his voice a raw, guttural thing. “Iris, this baby cannot be born!” His violence terrified me. My heart hammered against my ribs, my legs turning to jelly. While he was busy with the paperwork, I sent a frantic message to my parents. They arrived quickly. But when Leo saw them, he didn’t look worried. A small, strange smile played on his lips. I shrank into my mother’s arms. My father strode up to Leo and punched him square in the face. “The baby is healthy! Why are you forcing an abortion?” Leo didn’t say a word. He just handed the report to my father. The anger on my father’s face melted into pure terror. His eyes widened, his hands trembling as he held the single sheet of paper. Then, he raised his fist and lunged for my stomach. My mother threw herself in front of me. The blow landed on her back. “Are you insane?!” she shrieked. “That’s your grandson in there!” My father let out a cold, humorless laugh and shoved the report at my mother. My mother, who had just been protecting me, looked as if she had seen a ghost. Her face went deathly pale. She pushed me away from her, shaking her head violently. “No… no, this can’t be.” I knew then that something was terribly wrong with the report. “Mom, what is it? What’s wrong with my baby?” She didn’t answer, lost in her own storm of emotion. “This won’t work!” she said, grabbing my father’s arm. “It’s too public here. I have an idea.” “Find some men. Put them with Iris.” I stood frozen, a cold numbness spreading through me. I couldn’t understand how a single piece of paper could change them all so completely. What was on it? Why wouldn’t anyone tell me? My parents started to lead me away. I turned and ran, but my father’s grip was like a vise. I sobbed, begging them to let me go, begging them to just tell me the truth. They forced me into a car, stuffing a gag in my mouth. They locked me in a small, dark room with five naked men. I was paralyzed with fear, pounding on the door, screaming for them to let me out. But there was no answer. The men dragged me to the floor. Any resistance was met with blows. The baby became a pool of blood that dried on the filthy floor. A week later, my parents and Leo came for me. My mother smiled. “Iris, we’re going home.” I laughed, a broken, hollow sound. How could she pretend nothing had happened? I screamed at them, my voice raw. “Why? Why did you do this to me?!” My mother’s face hardened. My father slapped me. “You ungrateful bitch!” I was stunned into silence. My mother’s eyes were cold and sharp. “Iris has lost her mind. We should take her to a psychiatric hospital.” From the day I was committed, Leo sent people to torture me every day. The man who had once loved me so deeply now wanted nothing more than to see me dead. Three months later, I died. And I still didn’t know why that single piece of paper had made them all want to kill me. The terror of my past life washed over me. I placed a hand on my still-warm belly. I took a deep breath. This time, I would find out what happened. … At the hospital, I made sure I was the first to get the report. Even after the doctor confirmed the baby was healthy, I took it from her hands immediately. If Leo doesn’t see it, I thought, nothing will happen. But as soon as we left the doctor’s office, he asked for it, just like before. My heart pounded, but I forced a smile. “What do you want my report for?” He smiled back. “I’m the baby’s father, and I’m an OB/GYN. It’s perfectly normal for me to want to see it.” “Your own professor just said the baby and I are fine. You don’t trust her?” “It’s not that. I just want to be informed so I can take better care of you.” I deliberately tucked the report into my purse. “Well, today you’re not seeing it.” He thought I was being playful and went along with it. “Fine, fine. As long as you’re healthy, that’s all that matters.” I smiled and linked my arm through his. “I’m just going to the restroom. We’ll go home right after.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the restroom. I had glanced at the report, but so quickly that I hadn’t noticed anything unusual. I was going to study it in the stall, to find out what was so terrible that it could turn them all into monsters. But the moment I opened my purse in the restroom, my heart stopped. The report was gone. I rushed out and saw Leo down the hall, his face pale. The report that should have been in my bag was in his hand. He saw me and started walking towards me. I tried to run, but he grabbed my arm. His eyes were bloodshot, his gaze fixed on me. “Iris, this baby cannot be born. We’re going to the clinic. Now.” In my past life, I had never understood why my gentle, loving husband had transformed into a monster after seeing that report. The malice in his eyes was something I had never seen before. My body trembled, but this time, I was prepared. I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Help! Someone is trying to kill my baby!” The hospital corridor was crowded. My cry brought everything to a standstill. People turned to stare. Leo was taken aback. Then, I did something he never expected. I fell to my knees in front of him. “Husband, the doctor said the baby is healthy! Why are you making me have an abortion?” Leo gritted his teeth. “You bitch, shut your mouth!” he hissed. He tried to drag me away, but a few bystanders had already stepped forward. A man pulled him off me. “What do you think you’re doing?!” “Oh my god, the baby is healthy and he wants to abort it? Does he not want to be a father?” “He didn’t think about that when he was having his fun, did he?” “Forcing a pregnant woman to have an abortion is illegal! Someone call the police!” Leo’s breathing was heavy, his jaw clenched, his eyes murderous. But surrounded by the crowd, he was powerless. I never thought he would do it, but he suddenly smiled at me, a cold, chilling smile, and dialed my parents. When they arrived, they saw us surrounded by a crowd. They knew something had happened. My mother rushed to my side, her touch making me flinch. The kind strangers explained what had happened. My father raised his hand to slap Leo, but before the blow could land, Leo held up the report. “Dad, don’t look!” I tried to snatch it away. But my father was faster. He took one look at the paper. His eyes flickered. “Dad?” I whispered. When he looked at me again, his eyes were bloodshot. He slapped me across the face without a second’s hesitation. “You animal! Leo is doing this for your own good!” I was devastated, but I forced myself to argue. “But the doctor said my baby is healthy!” “I’m an OB/GYN too! You dare to talk back to me?” He was about to punch my stomach when my mother threw herself in front of me, shielding me with her body. “Are you insane?! Your daughter is pregnant!” she roared at him. But my father just laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. “You feel sorry for her? This bitch doesn’t deserve to be our daughter!” “She doesn’t deserve to be our child!” A wave of shock went through the crowd. People began to murmur, to point at my father. How could a father say such a thing to his own daughter? My mother was furious, but she knew my father, usually so gentle, must have a reason. She looked at the report in his hand. “Let me see that!” I tried to stop her, my eyes pleading. “Mom, the doctor said the baby is healthy. Please don’t look.” “Mom, if you don’t believe me, you can go ask the doctor.” I knew that if she saw the report, she would disown me too. She held me close, her voice soothing. “Don’t worry, honey. Your father and Leo are probably just mistaken. They’re not as experienced as me. I was the head of the department, remember? Trust me.” I shook my head frantically. “No, Mom, please don’t look. I trust you, but please, I’m begging you, don’t look.” But the more I tried to stop her, the more curious she became. Seeing that she was determined, I fell to my knees again. “Mom, if you look at this report, you’ll stop loving me, just like they did.” “Of course not, Iris. I’ve seen every kind of report in my career. And even if the baby isn’t Leo’s, I will always be on your side. You’re the person I love most in this world.” Her gentle gaze was so convincing. In the end, I couldn’t stop her. The moment she saw the report, the warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp glint that made me tremble. Her face turned white, and she looked at me with a bitter, twisted smile. She wasn’t as emotional as my father or Leo, and that, somehow, was even more terrifying. “It’s alright, Iris,” she said, her voice like ice. “The baby is fine. Get up. Let’s go home.” She said it was fine, but the hand she extended to me was shaking uncontrollably. She was suppressing a storm. “No, I’m not going home.” I scrambled to my feet and backed away into the crowd. Her brow furrowed, her expression turning venomous. “Iris, what are you doing? You’re pregnant. What if something happens to you out here?” They were closing in on me. I grabbed the clothes of two strangers, falling to my knees again. “Please, help me! I can’t go back with them! They’ll kill my baby!” The strangers hesitated. I was a pregnant woman, but I was also clearly emotionally unstable. And the people trying to take me were my family. But thankfully, someone spoke up. “She’s pregnant and clearly distressed. You shouldn’t force her.” “Yes, what if you hurt the baby?” But my parents and Leo seemed deaf to their pleas, their faces contorted with rage as they advanced on me. “Iris, are you having a paranoid delusion?” “Come home with us! Stop causing a scene!” My parents tried to grab me, but a kind stranger stood in front of me. “We’re in a hospital. A pregnant woman in her state should be seen by a doctor. It could affect the fetus.” “We are doctors!” my father roared. “She doesn’t need to see anyone else!” The kind stranger hesitated. In that moment of uncertainty, Leo pulled me out of the crowd, dragging me across the floor without a shred of compassion. The onlookers, no matter how kind, were not going to physically fight my family for me. But then, a hand stopped Leo. “Who told you you could drag a pregnant woman like that?” A police officer’s sharp voice made Leo release me. My parents rushed to explain. “Officer, this is our daughter. She’s… not well. We’re taking her home.” The officer looked at me with suspicion. I quickly denied it. “No! They want to kill my healthy baby!” The three of them froze, but their faces held a strange, triumphant smile. “If you don’t believe me,” I continued, “you can check the hospital’s security cameras. They all want to kill my baby.” The police had the hospital staff pull up the footage. After watching it, a female officer stood in front of me, shielding me. She turned to my family. “Why do you want to abort this healthy child?” My parents sneered. Leo just looked at me with cold indifference. “Forcing a pregnant woman to have an abortion is a crime!” the officer said sternly. Leo remained unfazed. I grabbed the officer’s hand. “Let me see my prenatal report.” They had all changed after seeing it. The truth had to be on that piece of paper. At the officer’s request, Leo reluctantly handed it over. When I finally saw the report again, I understood. I finally understood why this child had to die.

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My people, the merfolk, were being hunted to extinction. To save them, I came ashore with a single purpose: to find Adrian, my childhood sweetheart, now one of the world’s most brilliant scientists, and bind him to me once more. He still loved me. I could feel it in his touch, a desperate, all-consuming passion. For seven days and seven nights, he held me, refusing to let go, lost in a haze of what I thought was rediscovered love. I woke from a dream of bliss to a living nightmare. A searing pain, and the acrid smell of burning flesh as a bucket of acid was poured over my head. Adrian watched me scream, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “So, the immortal merfolk feel pain after all,” he sneered. “But this? This is nothing. A pittance compared to the pain of losing my parents—a loss your kind inflicted on me.” “This is just the beginning,” he hissed, his voice a blade of ice. “You won’t leave this place until you tell me where they are.” For two years, he held me captive. I was forced to watch as he married another woman. He used the lives of my people as leverage, a chain I could never break. He would cut open my chest to retrieve my Heart-Pearl, using its life-giving essence to nourish his new bride. Adrian shackled my ankle to his bedpost, forcing me to stay awake all night, cleaning up the used condoms from his lovemaking. I had to listen to their passion while enduring my own agony, forced to dance on knives to lull his wife to sleep. When she became pregnant, he began to carve flesh from my body, feeding the mermaid meat to his wife as a supplement. He hated me to the very marrow of his bones. And yet, each time I hovered on the brink of death, it was he who would gently spoon medicine into my mouth. “You’re only this defiant because you know I love you,” he’d whisper, his torment a mirror of my own. “Be a good girl, Coralia. Just tell me where my parents are.” I silently endured his contradictory love. But I wouldn’t have to keep his secret for much longer. A mermaid who remains on land for three years without returning to the sea is doomed to die. And my deadline was in three days. … Three in the morning. The cellar door splintered open, kicked in with brutal force. I was hauled to my feet by my hair, and a series of stinging slaps snapped my head back and forth until my lip split and I tasted blood. Adrian’s personal assistant dragged me out by my legs, his voice a low growl of contempt. “The mistress is hurt, and you have the gall to sleep so soundly?” The salty sea air was thick with the scent of blood. A trail of it led directly to Adrian’s bedroom. He saw the bloody path I left on the floor and his brow furrowed in distaste. “Lilah’s been injured. Go and heal her.” I lifted my gaze, my eyes falling first on Lilah’s flushed, dewy face, then to her swollen belly— SLAP! The blow from Adrian sent my head ringing. He loomed over me, his voice dripping with venom. “I told you to heal her. Are your eyes even worthy of looking at her?” I immediately lowered my head. “I’m sorry.” Slowly, I crawled to the bedside. Only then did I learn the cause of the commotion. Lilah had woken in the night to feed the piranhas and one had nipped her finger. Over the past few years, I had grown accustomed to Lilah’s various “illnesses.” I had done this countless times. With a practiced, weary motion, I pulled aside the rags I wore as a shirt. My own sharp fingernails pierced the skin over my heart. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I fought back a cry, digging deep to extract the shimmering Heart-Pearl to heal Lilah. Through the haze of my pain, I heard Adrian’s cold voice. “It’s no use playing the victim, Coralia.” In his eyes, this was just an act. Because a mermaid’s blood could also heal. But my blood… my blood no longer had that power. Lilah awoke with a soft cough, and Adrian immediately rushed to her side, gathering her into his arms. “Does it still hurt?” Lilah bit her lip, her eyes darting to my open wound. “Darling, I don’t know why, but ever since I got pregnant, the smell of blood just makes me want to vomit.” At her words, Adrian kicked me away without a second thought. “Get out and stand guard!” I crawled out of the room, listening to the tender murmur of his voice behind me. “Lilah, my love, you haven’t been sleeping well. Is the baby keeping you up? Let me listen.” My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, clenched painfully. The wound on my chest, not yet healed, began to bleed anew. A maid appeared, dumping a bucket of foul-smelling, fishy water over me. Her face was a mask of disgust. “You filthy monster. Aren’t you supposed to heal? Why are you still bleeding? You’re disgusting!” She threw a mop at my head. It struck my temple, and I flinched from the sharp pain. “Clean this floor. If you don’t, I’m telling Mr. Hayes!” For the rest of the night, I was on my hands and knees, mopping. Through the thin walls, I could hear the sounds of their entangled bodies, the soft moans of pleasure. A single tear escaped and traced a path through the grime on my cheek. Adrian’s look of utter revulsion was burned into my mind. Soon, I thought. Soon I will be free. Even immortal mermaids can die. Three days left. … By the time the last drop of blood was scrubbed from the floor, my wound had finally sealed itself. A new day was dawning at the seaside manor. Adrian emerged from the bedroom, his neck dotted with fresh, red marks. His brow furrowed as he saw the blood-soaked mop. “Why was there so much blood?” I offered no defense, just bowed my head. “I’m sorry. I’ll dispose of this filth immediately.” Nearby, a maid was loudly trimming flowers in the garden, her voice carrying on the morning air. “You won’t believe it, but that monster actually asked me how to make a man happy. Oh my god, is she trying to seduce Mr. Hayes?” “Heh, of course she is. The little tramp. Does she really think she could ever hope to be Mrs. Hayes? If it weren’t for her, Mr. Hayes’s parents would never have disappeared.” I wanted to flee, but Adrian was faster. He kicked the mop aside and dragged me toward his laboratory. He strapped me into the electric chair, the one that could deliver up to a hundred thousand volts. My head swam with nausea. Adrian lounged in a nearby chair, crossing his legs and holding the remote. His face was a thundercloud. “I almost forgot. It’s been a month since your last interrogation.” “Tell me,” he demanded, “where did they take my parents?” He hadn’t even pressed the button yet, but my hands were already clawing at the armrests, a frantic, reflexive terror. My fingers bled. “I don’t know.” The words had barely left my lips before a hundred thousand volts surged through me. My body convulsed in a blinding scream. A hot liquid gushed down my legs. The first jolt ended, but I was still twitching. Adrian shot out of his chair, his jaw clenched. “I’ll ask you again.” I coughed up a mouthful of blood. Every organ in my body screamed in agony. “I won’t tell you.” I couldn’t. It was a secret that protected them. This time, Adrian didn’t press the button. Instead, he had one of his assistants bring him a small pouch. Inside were the few Heart-Pearls I had managed to hide in a crack in the floorboards. My eyes widened in horror. “What are you doing?” “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m about to do.” A cruel smile played on his lips as he tossed one of the pearls to the floor and crushed it under his heel. My bloodcurdling shriek was music to his ears. “Was that your father’s? Or your mother’s?” he laughed. “I hear the only way to truly kill one of you is to shatter your Heart-Pearl. Otherwise, you just keep coming back.” “You’re a stubborn race… still not talking?” My fingernails had broken, exposing the raw bone beneath. Tears of blood streamed from my eyes. “Adrian, I hate you.” His response was a kiss so brutal I thought he would bite through my tongue. His kiss, brutal as it was, sent a jolt of memory through me, a phantom echo of a time before the hate. My body was growing weaker by the day, and I had almost forgotten how deeply we once loved each other. The merfolk have always been drawn to humans, often taking human form to live and love among them. I was three when I first met Adrian. The first time he saw me, he looked up at his mother and asked, “Mommy, is this the bride you found for me?” She had laughed and tapped him gently on the head. Our families became inseparable. We were always together. Then, when I was fifteen, humans began to hunt and drive out the merfolk. We had to leave. But sometimes, I would sneak ashore to see him. When people asked who I was, I was about to say I was his sister. But he would always correct them, his voice serious and proud. “She’s my girlfriend. And my future wife, Coralia.” That was the moment my heart truly became his. Later, a pact was made between the leaders of the merfolk and a group of elite human scientists. The envoys for this transaction were my parents, and Adrian’s. And then, Adrian’s parents vanished. I was the prime suspect. He hated me. I knew that. But I couldn’t tell him the truth. Years later, Adrian became a brilliant scientist himself. And I, for the sake of my people, had to get close to him again. So many times, I wanted to tell him everything. But I couldn’t. It didn’t matter. The waiting was almost over. Adrian’s fingers trailed fire across my skin. Suddenly, he stopped, staring at the blood on his hands. I looked down and saw that all my old wounds—the places where he’d cut me for flesh and blood—were beginning to reopen. A numb smile touched my lips. “I’m dying, Adrian.” It was as if I’d spoken a forbidden word. He went berserk, grabbing a bottle of pills and forcing them down my throat. His voice was like a glacier. “You don’t get to die without my permission.” He unlocked my shackles only to drag me to a basin of medicinal fluid, forcing my head under the surface. I held my breath, watching him through the stinging liquid. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged and heavy, as if he were the one suffocating. My face turned blue, my lungs burning. He held me under until the potent healing pills took effect and my wounds stopped bleeding. Only then did he yank me up by my hair. The moment I could breathe again, he shackled me once more. He chained me to the bedpost like a dog. Lilah, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire, curled up against him. Her gaze shifted to me, a strange and venomous light in her eyes. Her red lips formed the words silently, a private, vicious promise. “Coralia, I’m going to kill you.” … In the twilight of a half-sleep, I felt a gentle hand stroking my hair. A tear fell from the person’s eye, landing on my lips. It was salty. “Coralia, if none of this had ever happened… wouldn’t that have been wonderful?” Adrian? Was he… crying? I struggled to open my eyes, but there was no one there. Adrian’s assistant was tugging on the rope tied to my shackle, dragging me out into the manor’s courtyard. Merfolk despise the sun, especially a dying one like me. Lilah smiled sweetly when she saw me. “Coralia, are you hungry?” Adrian was holding her. When I didn’t answer, he kicked me. The blow landed squarely on a wound that was about to burst open. Blood instantly soaked through the fabric of my clothes. Agitated, Adrian refused to even spare me a glance. He tossed the coat from his lounge chair over me. “Lilah can’t stand the sight of blood. Cover yourself!” Lilah’s eyes flickered, and then she smiled again, tossing a chunk of raw meat and a handful of dirt-caked vegetables in front of me. Her voice was like honey. “Go on, Coralia. Eat.” For some reason, I looked up at Adrian. Why did I ever think he felt sorry for me? I lowered my head and began to gnaw on a muddy cabbage leaf, my fingers digging into the earth in humiliation. Lilah’s concerned voice floated over. “Coralia, why aren’t you eating the meat? You need to eat meat to be healthy.” Without thinking, I tore off a piece. My sense of smell was nearly gone, a side effect of my body’s decay. I couldn’t tell what kind of meat it was. “Is it good? Mermaid meat is very nutritious, you know!” I froze, my hand halfway to my mouth. I stared at Lilah. Her smile widened, and a wave of nausea roiled in my stomach. “Ugh—” “Ah! My shoes!” The vomit had splattered on the heel of her shoe. The assistant, without needing to be told, grabbed me by the collar and slapped my tear-streaked face. Adrian, despite his obsessive cleanliness, knelt and began wiping Lilah’s shoe with his own handkerchief. He was so gentle, so meticulous. I remembered how, after he’d used my body for his own release, he wouldn’t even bother to clean me. His displeasure was a cold front. “Ungrateful bitch. If you don’t want to eat it, we’ll feed it to the dogs!” Lilah gave a weak, magnanimous smile. “Coralia’s just not hungry. We shouldn’t force her.” “Why don’t you let her sit with me while I paint? As a way to make up for it.” Adrian sighed, a flicker of something like affection in his eyes. “You’re too kind, you know that?” He shot me a cold glare, about to say more, but his phone rang. He whispered something loving to Lilah, then bent down and gently kissed her pregnant belly. A strange ache bloomed in my chest. After he left, Lilah’s expression turned frigid. “I don’t like being watched when I paint. Go wait in the basement.” I said nothing and went. A maid tossed several small buckets at my feet. Her voice was a pinched, condescending whine. “Hey, the mistress needs red for her painting, and there’s no red more beautiful than blood. Fill these three buckets. Now.” A rusty razor blade was thrown at me. “Use this.” I mumbled, “It’s rusty.” The maid spat on the floor. “What do you think you are, a princess? A monster that can’t die doesn’t deserve anything good.” She crossed her arms, watching me. I picked up the blade without another word and sliced open my wrist. Hot, red blood dripped into the bucket. I didn’t stop until my body was wracked with chills and my lips were blue, the three buckets finally full. I leaned against the wall, dazed. Two maids passed by, carrying laundry and gossiping. “The mistress’s paintings are so beautiful. It’s a shame the materials are so hard to find. She had to kill several mermaids just for a tiny bit of Heart-Pearl dust.” “And some of the blood isn’t pure. Monsters are just monsters, not like us humans.” The hair on my body stood on end. I pushed myself up and staggered toward the courtyard. The first thing I heard was the high-pitched wail of agony. Lilah’s feet were surrounded by the mangled corpses of merfolk. She had her foot on a young mermaid’s tail as she carved out a translucent Heart-Pearl, only to crush it under her heel. I felt my own heart shatter with it. Lilah stood against the light and waved at me, a malicious curve to her lips. “Coralia, I just learned something today! Every Heart-Pearl is a different color!” “Unfortunately, I only want white ones. Why don’t you help me? Dig out all of their Heart-Pearls—”

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My husband’s business empire crumbled, a casualty of failed investments and crushing debt. I decided to sell the gold jewelry he’d given me over the years, one piece for every anniversary. I wanted to see how much of a dent it could make in his financial ruin. That’s when I was told it was all fake. Next, I went to a real estate agent for a property appraisal. He pulled up the records right in front of me. The deed was a forgery. But the house—a five-million-dollar property—was a wedding gift from Kevin. He’d promised it would be in my name, and my name alone. What else was a lie? On a whim, I snapped a photo of our marriage certificate and sent it to my best friend, Lily, who worked at the county records office. Her reply came back in minutes. “Fake.” I stared at the crimson-bordered certificate, the official-looking seal, and a laugh escaped my lips, brittle and sharp. “Thank God,” I whispered. “It was all fake.” 1 My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited for Lily’s final confirmation. In the five years I’d been married to Kevin, I had never once doubted his love for me. His work was demanding, and he often missed our anniversaries, but he always made up for it. He’d shower me with lavish gifts as compensation, and in the days that followed, he’d be doubly attentive, doting on me. I never questioned the authenticity of those gifts. He was my husband. I loved him unconditionally. So I’d spent the entire day, from sunrise to sunset, clutching the tokens of his affection, visiting one high-end boutique after another. I’d grilled every clerk, my last shred of hope evaporating with each sympathetic shake of the head. The final blow came when a jeweler, to prove his point, held a piece of the “gold” to a flame. It blackened and crumbled into ash. The blade that had been hanging over my head finally fell. I steadied myself against the polished glass counter. “Then why,” I asked, my voice trembling slightly, “does it have a receipt from your store?” The clerk checked his system. “The receipt is real, ma’am,” he said gently. “But the jewelry you brought in isn’t ours.” So Kevin had bought the real pieces. He just hadn’t given them to me. I stared at the forged property deed in my hand and dialed the city’s land registry office. “I’d like to check the owner’s name for the property at One Riverside Drive, Apartment 101.” “Of course, one moment please,” a calm voice replied. Just then, my phone buzzed with Lily’s final, damning message. It was the death sentence for my marriage. “Julie, it’s a fake. But I checked Kevin’s records. He has a legally valid, existing marriage. The woman’s name is… Jasmine Vance.” The voice from the land registry returned. “Ma’am, the registered owner of that property is a Ms. Jasmine Vance.” Ten years ago, I had defied my parents to be with him. I’d packed my savings and moved from the quiet South to this bustling northern city to build a life with him. Back then, Kevin’s career was just taking off, and he was out networking until the early hours of the morning. To make him more comfortable when he stumbled home, drunk and exhausted, I’d wait up for him every night with a thermos of hot, soothing broth. For a decade, I never once slacked. I appreciated how hard he worked to provide for us, so I took on everything at home. I was the cook, the cleaner, the planner. He never once set foot in the kitchen. As his business thrived, the smoke and fire of my domestic life slowly transformed me into the weary, worn-out housewife he now seemed to despise. The years of household labor left me with a chronic ache in my lower back; sometimes if I bent over for too long, I couldn’t straighten up. He’d say he didn’t mind, but whenever his gaze fell on me, I’d catch the flicker of aversion before he looked away. I told myself it didn’t matter. As long as we were together, everything was fine. But the husband I thought loved me down to my bones had been living a sweet, secret life with someone else for the entire decade. Jasmine Vance. Kevin’s high school sweetheart, the one that got away. Now, she was a massively popular influencer. She’d started out with suggestive, borderline-NSFW live streams but had recently rebranded, championing a new philosophy she called “Single and Sovereign.” She preached to her legions of devoted followers that being an unmarried woman was the ultimate form of empowerment, a life of freedom to be enjoyed to the fullest. Just last week, she was trending for her “unapologetically unattached” lifestyle. I opened TikTok and found her profile. A single account had liked every single one of her videos. A quick search confirmed it: the account was linked to Kevin’s phone number. They even had matching profile pictures, a subtle couple’s set. I used to make silly videos myself, nudging him to like them like other couples did. He wouldn’t even glance at my screen, his face a mask of annoyance. “Look at that filter, Julie. It’s embarrassing. Besides, I don’t even have a TikTok.” But under Jasmine’s very first video, he had commented: “Stunning.” I looked at my own reflection in the mirror and saw a ghost of the woman I was ten years ago. I thought my devotion would be seen, would be cherished. I never imagined he didn’t even want to look. Just then, the front door clicked open. Kevin was home. He dropped onto the sofa in silence, waiting for me to scurry over with a hot drink, as I always did. When I didn’t move, he huffed, got up, and began rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “Where do you keep the water?” he finally barked, his voice laced with impatience. Of course. After all these years, he didn’t even know where to find a glass of water. This man, who had never lifted a finger at home, had meticulously schemed to buy fake jewelry and forge official documents just to deceive me. What was I to him? An unpaid maid? I tossed my phone onto the coffee table in front of him. “Kevin, I thought you didn’t have a TikTok account. Then why have you liked every single one of Jasmine Vance’s videos? I checked. The account is registered to your phone number.” He looked startled, as if it had never occurred to him that I might check. He had been so brazen because he thought I was blind. After a long moment, he finally muttered, “It’s just business.” “Business? You’re too busy to look at your phone? You take hours to reply to my texts, but you have time to—” “Will you drop it?!” he snapped. “Her career depends on engagement and traffic. What’s the big deal if I give her a like?” It was just like before we were married, when Jasmine’s shadow loomed over our lives. Kevin remembered she was afraid of thunderstorms and would video chat with her every time it rained, even though I’d told him, countless times, that I was scared of them too. He knew all her favorite foods, and over time, they somehow became my favorite foods too. After we got married, I threw a few tantrums about it, and he finally seemed to back off. I thought his heart was finally mine. I never realized they had just found a new, more discreet way to be together. Despair washed over me. I turned and walked into the bedroom to pack. “Sweetie, I’ve got the paperwork for the capital injection into Kevin’s company almost finalized. Just waiting on your go-ahead.” It was my father on the phone. I was in the middle of stuffing clothes into a suitcase. I let out a long sigh. “Dad, cancel it. We’re not investing.” “What happened? I thought he was having cash flow problems. Tell me, did that boy do something to hurt you? I told you not to run off so far away, all alone with no one to fall back on, but you wouldn’t listen…” “No, it’s not that. I’m just… a little tired.” “My dear girl,” he said, his voice softening. “If you’re tired, you come home. Dad will take care of you.” Before I moved to this city for Kevin, I’d tested the waters, but he’d always claimed he was too busy with work to even visit my parents once. When we got married, I had a huge falling out with my family, and they didn’t attend the wedding. So, to this day, Kevin had never met them. He believed I was utterly alone, with no one to rely on but him. But what fight between a father and daughter can’t be mended? Years ago, Dad had secretly come to see me, and we had long since reconciled. When I learned Kevin’s company was in trouble, I had prepared a two-pronged plan: first, I would liquidate my own assets to help him pay off his debts; second, I would have my father inject capital to get his company flowing again. A few days ago, Kevin had excitedly told me that an investor from the South had contacted him, and the company was saved. I was genuinely happy for him, smiling and congratulating him, believing I would soon see that confident, ambitious man again. I never imagined that in this marriage I had poured my entire soul into, I was the most insignificant person in his eyes. When I walked out with my suitcase, Kevin looked baffled. “What is this? Are you really doing this over a TikTok account? Seriously? Besides, you don’t know anyone in this city. Where are you even going to stay?” I didn’t answer. I just walked out the door and didn’t look back. But Kevin followed me. I knew exactly what he was thinking. With the investment on the line, he couldn’t afford any drama. He’d once told me that these southern entrepreneurs valued character above all else, and the most direct reflection of a man’s character was his family life. Kevin followed me into my hotel room, his eyes scanning the luxurious suite. “You rented a place this nice? This must cost a fortune.” I just smiled and shook my head. This apartment, located in the heart of downtown, was worth millions. My father had secretly bought it for me the year I got married. After we reconciled, he had the deed transferred to my name. And this wasn’t all. I had over a dozen other properties in my name back south. I had originally planned to use these assets to help Kevin get back on his feet, no matter how badly his company failed. We could have started over. Now, I was just thankful I had decided to check on the gold jewelry first. What a close call. I had almost helped him rise from the ashes. Kevin sat rigidly on the sofa, waiting for me to fawn over him. He still believed he had done nothing wrong. I glanced at the tie he was wearing, a terrible mismatch with his shirt, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. For all these years, I had picked out every single one of his outfits. And all his love, he had given to Jasmine. “Julie, stop this nonsense. Come home with me,” he said, reaching for my hand. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his fingers digging into my wrist. It hurt. “Kevin, what are you doing?!” “I said, come home with me!” I twisted my wrist sharply, breaking his grip. “And what gives you the right to take me anywhere?” He sneered. “What right? We’ve been married for five years. We are a legally married couple!” His eyes were firm, confident. “What kind of wife just walks out like this?” “Is that so? A legally married couple?” “Of course!” That’s when I threw the crimson-bordered certificate on the table. “You mean, with this marriage certificate? The one with a forged seal?” His face went pale. “You… you…” “I had Lily check. Your legal wife’s name is Jasmine Vance.” I watched his expression shift from shock to panic. He tried to deny it. “That friend of yours is just jealous of us, she’s lying to you! You can’t just believe everything she says.” I was prepared for this. I pulled out my phone and showed him the official registration document Lily had sent me. The name ‘Jasmine Vance’ was printed neatly right next to his. His face fell. “Julie, listen to me. I didn’t mean to deceive you. It’s just… she was threatening to kill herself. I did it to calm her down, that’s all… But I’ve been with you all these years! You’re the one I love, you know that!” I let out a cold laugh. “So the fake jewelry, the forged deed… you call that love?” Kevin wouldn’t leave. He kept stammering, pleading with me to go back with him. Perhaps he had forgotten that before I became his wife, I was a doctoral candidate in law. I picked up my phone. “Mr. Hayes, if you don’t leave now, I’m calling the police.” After Kevin left, I stretched out on the plush king-sized bed. So this is what it felt like to do nothing for a whole day. The release of tension was so complete that I fell into a deep sleep and didn’t wake until dusk. When I did, my phone was blowing up with hundreds of notifications. I thought maybe one of my old, silly videos had gone viral. But when I opened TikTok, I saw my inbox was flooded with vicious messages from strangers. “You’re just a housewife, what gives you the right to throw a tantrum!” “You think you can compete with our Jasmine? She’s a queen, single and sovereign!” “Get lost, you bitter hag. Stop trying to ride Jasmine’s coattails!” “With a face like that, playing the victim is your only move. Just leave our Jasmine out of it!” … Confused, I started searching online. Jasmine streamed every day, and screenshots were everywhere. It didn’t take long to find it. During her latest stream, Kevin had suddenly appeared on camera and launched into a tirade, painting me as a freeloader who had lived off him for a decade, now throwing a fit and running away from home over nothing. Jasmine fanned the flames. “It’s just typical little-woman drama. She’ll cry for a day or two and be back home in a week, guaranteed.” Then, feigning innocence, she added, “He’s just my buddy, everyone, don’t get the wrong idea.” It was clear she had no intention of making their real relationship public. At the end of the stream, Jasmine even shared my TikTok handle, encouraging her fans to “go talk some sense into her.” Kevin thought this public humiliation would break me, that I’d come crawling back to be his beast of burden. The last message in my inbox was from Jasmine herself.

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1 I was reborn at fourteen. My father’s smooth voice asked: “Stay with your mother, or take a $20 million trust fund abroad?” In my past life, I’d sobbed “I want Mom!”—only to watch him move his mistress (a company executive) into a mansion, raising their three illegitimate kids while tormenting my mother. She wasted decades before being discarded without a cent. I died destitute overseas, my corpse shipped home via crowdfunding. This time, I signed the papers. “Twenty million. I’ll take it.” Not heartless. Just awake: no one here ever loved us. I won’t be that pitiful girl again. This life, I’ll amass wealth, control the game—and when I’ve won everything, I’ll bring my mother home myself. … I was reborn at fourteen. My father had just come home from a board meeting. His suit was immaculate, his tie perfectly knotted. He sat on the sofa in the study of our old family home, a contract laid out on the table beside him. I stood before him in my wrinkled school uniform, my hair a mess from a long day of tutoring, looking every bit the clueless teenager, utterly ignorant of the family’s turmoil. “Anne,” he said, his voice soft. “Your mother has been… emotionally unstable lately. You have a choice. You can stay here and keep her company, or you can go abroad, to any school you like. When you graduate and come back, I can even let you start managing a portion of the company shares.” He sounded so sincere, so reasonable. The perfect, enlightened father. “I’ve already prepared your living expenses for when you’re abroad. Twenty million dollars, deposited into your personal account, for you to manage as you see fit.” In my past life, standing in this exact spot, I was terrified. Twenty million dollars. It was an astronomical sum. And it was. But what I know now is that it was nothing more than a strategic transfer of assets. My mother sat on the living room sofa, silent, her eyes red and raw. I had cried, torn the agreement to shreds, and thrown the pieces at my father’s feet, screaming, “I want my mother!” I truly thought I had won. Looking back, I was such a fool. I chose to stay with my mother, and what was the result? Within six months, my father sent me abroad anyway, dumping me in his mistress’s home in America. He called it “broadening my horizons,” “training the future successor.” I became the only person in that mansion with no one to rely on. By the end, even the nanny felt she could order me around. The mistress’s twins, a boy and a girl, seemed harmless enough. But they were my father’s secret children, and they were rotten to the core. They would eventually fight for the family fortune, and I, idiot that I was, had treated them like my own siblings. And me? In the end, no one even remembered that I was the eldest daughter of the Sterling family. My mother was still back home, guarding the empty mansion, desperately trying to contact schools, learn English, hire lawyers—anything to bring me back. She thought she was the rightful wife. She thought she still had a voice. Until the day she received a letter from a lawyer, informing her that the title to the house was being reclaimed. She didn’t move. She sat in the cavernous living room, not even bothering to boil water, eating cold leftovers bite by bite. “I’m waiting for Anne to come home,” she’d say. I heard the rattle of pill bottles over the phone and knew. She was so depressed she was afraid to fall asleep. I graduated at nineteen. My first job was scrubbing floors in a diner in Melbourne. My second was cleaning dog kennels for a wealthy family. The day my mother was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, I was handing out flyers in a parking garage. The doctor called me from across the world. “She’s tried to jump from her window three times tonight, but we don’t have your father’s authorization for involuntary commitment.” I stood on the street below the hospital, the phone pressed to my ear, unable to speak. The last time I saw her was five minutes before her cremation. She couldn’t hear me calling her name anymore. It was only then that I understood. She didn’t lose to my father, Edward Sterling. She lost to me. The daughter she had spent her life trying to protect wasn’t strong enough. This life, the agreement was on the table again. I didn’t cry. I picked up the pen and signed my name—Anne Sterling—with a clean, decisive stroke. My father raised an eyebrow, as if seeing me clearly for the first time. “You’re sure about this?” “I’m sure,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, my voice calm. I paused, then added, “As your only child, it’s about time I went out and got some experience.” I put a sharp emphasis on the word only. He froze for a second, then let out a low chuckle. “That’s my girl. Spoken like a true Sterling.” I smiled too. But my smile was colder, clearer than his. He thought I had finally come to my senses, that I was willing to be obedient. But I knew the truth. Sending me away was just an excuse to start bonding with his illegitimate children. He needed me out of the picture so he could finally get rid of “Mrs. Sterling” and install his mistress in her rightful place. My mother would never understand this. She was still living in a dream, believing he would eventually come back to her. She had no idea that the moment I signed that paper, she and I had both been kicked off the Sterling family game board. That night, I closed my bedroom door. The moon outside was a cold, indifferent sliver. I didn’t cry. I just opened my laptop and logged into the black card account he’d set up. Twenty million dollars. Confirmed. I stared at the balance for a full minute, then pulled open a drawer and took out a small notebook. On the first page, I wrote: • Edward Sterling’s illegitimate children: Julian & Aria Vance. Born: New York City. • Edward Sterling’s offshore trust accounts: To be investigated. • Disposition of Mrs. Sterling’s dowry shares in the company: To be investigated. • Objective: Within four years, reclaim everything that belongs to me and my mother. I clicked on a photo of my mother. Her young, smiling face stared back at me. She was wearing a ten-year-old trench coat, her smile endearingly goofy. She later gave that coat to the nanny, saying the woman’s family wasn’t well-off. I found it in the trash later, stained with cake frosting and a dirty footprint. This life, I would trust nothing and no one. It’s not that I’m merciless. It’s that I finally see the truth—in this family, no one ever truly cared about me or my mother. Starting today, I, Anne Sterling, will use this twenty million dollars to burn the entire Sterling family to the ground. 2 The night I signed the papers, the house was dark, but the lamp in the living room was still on. As I started up the stairs, I glanced back and saw my mother, still sitting there. Her eyes were as red and raw as shucked oysters. In her hand, she clutched a small pencil case I’d used in elementary school. My name, Anne Sterling, was spelled out on it in faded stickers. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she closed her mouth, lowered her head, and drifted off, either lost in thought or trying to convince herself of something. I didn’t say a word. I turned and went to my room. The moment the door clicked shut, the world went silent. But my heart was pounding like a war drum. I lay in bed and counted to five hundred, but sleep wouldn’t come. The moon hung frozen in the sky, and she was still awake. I could hear the faint rustle from her room, the soft clink of a pill bottle, the sound of a water glass falling to the floor, and a whisper so quiet it was barely there: “She’s changed…” Of course, she had no idea. What had changed was an entire lifetime of regret and tears. At 2 a.m., I tiptoed downstairs. She was still on the sofa, leaning against a pillow, her eyes wide open, like a doll whose batteries had died. I walked over and draped a light blanket over her. She flinched, startled, and slowly looked up. “You’re still awake?” Her voice was hoarse, like an echo in a sand dune. “Writing my application essays,” I said, a small lie. She nodded. I looked at her, and she looked at me, searching my face for any sign of softness, of hesitation. But there was none. The hope in her eyes died out, like the last rain of summer. “Are you blaming me?” she asked, her voice raspy. “No,” I said. She gave a bitter smile. “Your father didn’t just offer you twenty million dollars out of the blue. He’s not sending you abroad. He’s sending you away.” “I know.” She looked up at me, her eyes suddenly bright with a frightening intensity. “Then why did you sign it?” I didn’t answer. Because I couldn’t explain it to her. I couldn’t explain that I had already lived through one version of her defeat, that if I didn’t leave now, it would be too late for both of us. She clutched the copy of the agreement, and a tear splashed onto the paper, pinning me to the spot. “It’s not that I didn’t try,” she murmured. “I fought with everything I had. But he never intended to let me win.” In that moment, I wanted so badly to hold her, to tell her that this time, I would protect her. But I didn’t move. I just watched as she curled into a ball on the sofa, wiping away tears, biting her lip, looking like a small child who had been cast out of her own home. My chest tightened. But I couldn’t be soft. I knew that in my past life, it was a single hug on this very night that had dragged me back into the emotional quicksand. I let her emotions guide me, and the result was her jumping off a building while I was slaving away at a dead-end job just to save enough for a plane ticket home. This time, I could not afford to be soft. I turned and went back to my room. At 4:30 a.m., she finally fell asleep. But I was wide awake. I opened my email and began preparing. Transfer applications, visa documents, a plan to move the funds before the account was frozen, and the B-plan I had never told my mother about: • A list of all executives in Sterling Corporation’s subsidiary branches. • Records of all recent property transfers under the family name. • A list of all known contract loopholes. • The contact window for the offshore asset management trust. • And—the training program list for the “Future Heirs Initiative.” The first name on the list: Julian Vance, age 3, future student at a prestigious preparatory school in New York. I chewed on the end of my pen and circled the name Julian three times. Julian Sterling. The future heir. How laughable. To think that in a few years, the world would be told that the renowned Sterling Corporation had only one child, a daughter treasured by her father. The thought made me want to vomit. In my last life, I watched him join the company, sign contracts, lead projects, and be praised by the media as a young prodigy, while the world conveniently ignored the fact that he was illegitimate. This life, he would have to go through me first. At 7 a.m., my mother woke up, her eyes swollen, her face sallow. As I was getting ready to leave, she stood in the doorway, blocking my path. “Anne,” she called, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s not too late to change your mind.” I stopped and turned back. “Not this time,” I said. “I’m going out there to win. And then I’m coming back for you.” She looked at me, silent for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. Not a single tear fell. She just said, “Then don’t you dare lose.” I smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” The moment I closed the door and walked away from the Sterling house, the sun was bright, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the wind was cold. 3 The day I left for good, my father, Edward Sterling, drove me to the airport himself. My mother was in the passenger seat, silent. She had spent three hours on her makeup. Her lipstick was a defiant red, the powder on her face too thick, but her complexion was still ashen, bloodless. She stared out the window the entire time, watching the familiar roads pass by, as if sealing herself away in her memories. Edward wore a slightly worn navy blue suit, his smile impeccable. To any outsider, he was the perfect husband and father. He gripped the steering wheel, talking to me about school, then turning to my mother. “I’ve already arranged Anne’s accommodations. Serena Vance will look after her. The child will be much more settled at her place.” My mother didn’t respond. She just tightened her grip on her handbag, her knuckles turning white. Of course she knew who Serena Vance was. The youngest female executive in the company. Thirty-five years old, a double MBA, beautiful, charming, and most importantly—three years ago, she had given birth to Edward Sterling’s twins. The HR department at Sterling Corp even had a nickname for her: the Corporate Princess. My mother wasn’t ignorant. She just pretended to be. Just like now, she was wearing her most expensive dress, a champagne-gold sheath, supposedly the first expensive gift he’d ever bought her after making his fortune. She sat bolt upright, her posture rigid. She was sending me off, and she was going to do it looking like a proper wife. Even if, after I was gone, she would be just another forgotten woman. At the airport, my father’s driver was already waiting in the VIP lane with my luggage. My mother held my hand, her voice a soft whisper. “Do you have your passport? Your allergy medicine? Don’t forget that cashmere scarf…” I nodded, watching her eyes redden. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. Her voice tightened. “If it gets cold over there, video call me. I’ll mail you some clothes…” My own eyes started to burn, but I held back the tears. This wasn’t a goodbye. It was a deployment. My father stepped forward and wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulders, smiling at me. “Your mother’s been so worried. She hasn’t slept well these past few nights.” My mother flinched, visibly shaken by his use of the phrase “your mother,” as if it had jolted her out of a daze. Her eyes actually welled up, as if she were being loved again. I looked at her, my heart aching with a mixture of anger and pity. This was her. Even knowing she had been betrayed completely, she would still try to scrape together a shred of security from the smallest crumb of false affection. Maybe it was because she had spent her entire youth by his side. I stood up. Just before I walked through the gate, my mother suddenly hugged me. “Anne…” She buried her face in my shoulder, her body trembling. “If it’s too hard over there, just come home. Mom will always be here.” I patted her back. “Mom, wait for me.” “Wait for what?” “Wait for me to come back and take everything that belongs to you.” I whispered it in her ear. She froze, her eyes going blank for a second. Then she nodded. “Okay… Mom will wait.” When I looked back, my father still had his arm around her. They looked like a loving old couple, seeing their daughter off on her great adventure. Only I knew that in his office drawer, there was a photo of Serena with their two children at Disneyland, their smiles more genuine than any in our family portraits. Only I knew that this tender moment wouldn’t stop him from leaving his entire fortune to his children on the side decades later. I walked into the VIP lounge. Serena Vance was waiting for me on a plush sofa. She wore a camel-colored trench coat, her makeup was flawless, her lipstick a cool shade of rose. Her Chanel earrings sparkled. It was clear my father had been generous. She stood up and extended a hand with a smile. “Anne, it’s so good to see you again. Your father has told me so much more about you.” I didn’t take her hand. I just nodded. “Thank you for going to all this trouble.” She wasn’t offended. She smoothly retracted her hand and picked up her tote bag. “It’s no trouble at all. From now on, just think of me as family in America. If you need anything, just ask.” I smiled. She thought I didn’t know who she was. In my last life, I lived in her house for four years. I knew which drawer held the children’s vaccination records, which passport was hidden in the safe, how many nannies she’d gone through, and what time of night she liked to call Edward. She thought I remembered nothing. She didn’t know I was back to settle the accounts. Serena led me onto a private jet. The seats were spacious, a flight attendant bowed as she offered me water. It was all like a fairy tale. I didn’t say a word after I sat down. I just inserted a new SIM card into my phone, enabled location services, network access, and voice recording, and linked my financial accounts to the new number for text verification. I knew that this departure marked the final farewell to my identity as the eldest daughter of the Sterling family. They could now raise their illegitimate children in peace. But they would soon find out that I wasn’t a daughter being sent away. I was a creditor coming to collect.

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1 Thirty years into our childfree marriage, my husband’s twenty-eight-year-old son showed up on our doorstep. This was the second year his son had a legal claim to inheritance, so his reason for being here was painfully obvious. When I asked my husband, Robert, what he was thinking, his eyes darted away. He mumbled something about us getting older and needing someone to look after us, and then, inevitably, “He’s my blood, after all.” Seeing my stony silence, he closed his eyes and played his trump card. “If you had a secret child out there, you could bring them home, too. They could inherit our assets right alongside him.” We’d been together for thirty years, never apart for more than a few months at a time. He was certain I couldn’t possibly have a secret child. But if that was the game he wanted to play, then my guilt vanished. A secret child, you say? Did he really think I didn’t have one? Oh, I did. And I had more than one. … When the young man at my door said he was looking for his biological father, my brain short-circuited for a moment before I told him, logically, “You have the wrong address.” My husband and I had agreed to be childfree before we even got married. How could we possibly have a child? The young man’s polite smile didn’t falter. His gaze slid past me to someone standing behind me, and his voice filled with a sudden, bright surprise. “Mr. Thompson… no, I mean… Dad?” Dad? I turned stiffly, following his line of sight. There, in the middle of our living room, stood my husband, Robert. He looked at us, his expression a guilty, complicated mess. His eyes shifted, darted, and did everything they could to avoid meeting mine. A deep, bone-piercing chill spread through me. At that moment, what was there left to misunderstand? The three of us sat on the sofa. Robert and the young man, Leo, exchanged countless glances, silent messages passing between them. They were already familiar. They must have met in private many times. I was the only stranger in the room. I said nothing. Thirty years of marriage. A husband who had insisted on being childfree now had a twenty-eight-year-old son. I didn’t know what expression to wear, what emotion to feel. We were both nearly sixty, recently retired, and holding onto the life savings we had spent our entire careers building. And now, in the second year that illegitimate children had a legal right to inheritance, this young man’s intentions couldn’t be clearer. 2 Now that the truth was out, all Robert could do was apologize and explain. His excuse was pathetic, boiling down to a single, tired cliché: a drunken one-night stand in his youth. It was laughable. Robert was famous for being able to hold his liquor when he was young. And even if he had gotten drunk, was he even capable of… performing? After more than thirty years together, this man with his salt-and-pepper hair felt like a complete stranger. I looked from him to the young man and asked my first question since Leo walked in. “Why didn’t your mother come with you?” Leo’s lips twitched in a smirk, a look that said, I knew you’d ask that. “Julia, my mom’s a very busy woman. She’s on a trip with some friends right now. She didn’t have the time.” I narrowed my eyes, studying the young man who shared a faint resemblance to Robert. I had a few decades of life experience on him; I wasn’t deaf to the barbs hidden in his words. He held his chin slightly raised, an unconscious air of arrogance about him. Just a secret son, and he thought he had the upper hand with me? A cold laugh escaped me. “So, your mother raised you for all these years without looking for a father, but now she sends you? Did she finally run out of money to support you?” Leo’s face darkened. Before he could speak, Robert barked from the side, “Julia!” I shot him a frigid glare. He still couldn’t meet my eyes, only muttering that I shouldn’t take my anger out on the boy, that the boy was innocent and didn’t know anything. Was the boy innocent? Of course not. As a child born of an affair, his very existence was a sin against our marriage. Leo didn’t stay long. His visit was meant to deliver a single message: he had a girlfriend he wanted to marry, but his current apartment was too small. He wanted to move in with us. After all, our home was a sprawling three-thousand-square-foot condo. What a ridiculous fantasy. I hadn’t worked my entire life just to hand it all over to someone else. I immediately refused. Robert just lowered his head and said nothing. As Leo left, he gave me a look that was half-smile, half-sneer. Robert had already done a DNA test. Even as a love child, his right to inheritance was set in stone. I could block him for now, but I couldn’t block him forever. 3 After Leo left, Robert and I sat in the living room in heavy silence. The situation was what it was. Words felt feeble and pointless. After weighing my options, I swallowed the rage that was threatening to choke me and asked Robert, “What’s your plan?” He hemmed and hawed for a long time. “Julia, look, we’re both getting on in years. We’re not as healthy as we used to be. Having someone around to look after us would be…” “Don’t give me that,” I cut him off. “I will not accept him.” He was his son, not mine. Let him look after us? Was I in a hurry to die? I wasn’t blind. I could see the open hostility in Leo’s eyes whenever he looked at me. It’s not that I hadn’t considered divorce. But divorce meant splitting our marital assets down the middle. Everything we had, we’d earned together over a lifetime of work. I couldn’t stomach the thought of even half of it going to someone like Leo. Robert’s expression shifted, but he managed to suppress his temper. He went on and on, the gist of it being that what’s done is done, Leo was his blood, and he couldn’t just abandon his own son. It wasn’t like he was royalty with a throne to pass down. All this talk of his “only bloodline” was nonsense. Seeing my unwavering coldness, Robert finally gritted his teeth and played his trump card. “Julia, if you have a child out there, you can bring them home, too. They can share the inheritance with Leo.” He dared to say this because we’d spent thirty years together, never apart for more than a few months. He was certain I had no way of having a secret child. I was fifty-seven, well past childbearing age. Their plan was perfectly timed. They’d waited until now to show up, probably fearing I might have changed my mind about being childfree earlier and had a child of my own. But who can really say when it comes to secret children? Noticing my grim expression, Robert softened his tone. “Julia, I admit I made a small mistake when I was young, and I’m sorry. But we’ve been through thirty years of storms together. How many years do we even have left? It’s not like we can raise a child at our age. And Leo… he has half my blood. He can’t be a bad person…” He probably didn’t even realize the smug, triumphant look on his own face. He was the one who had wanted to be childfree, claiming he disliked children, that he had a physical aversion to them. I didn’t care for children either, so we’d reached a consensus. Now, he had stabbed me in the back and was laughing at me for being a fool who didn’t know how to protect herself. 4 Three days. Robert only managed to act meek and subservient for three days. After that, he began contacting Leo openly in front of me. They had voice chats, video calls, phone calls. The once-quiet living room was now filled with their laughter. In the last two days, Robert had even suggested officially changing Leo’s last name to his. I ignored him, watching his smug performance with cold eyes. Scum like him were masters of disguise, their true nature lying dormant for years. But to maintain a facade for thirty years… that was a rare talent. I was nearly sixty. The ambition of my youth had faded. I lacked the courage to start all over again. Besides, the assets Robert and I had built up were already tied together. Making him walk away with nothing wouldn’t be easy. My silence made Robert believe that accepting Leo into the family was a done deal. After all, there was no denying Leo was his biological son. Even the law recognized it. I couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. I decided to call my best friend, Claire, and get away for a few days. Robert thoughtfully packed my suitcase for me. As I was leaving, he said with a cheerful smile, “Julia, at our age, there are some things you just can’t change. The best thing to do is to learn to let go.” Claire took my suitcase from him, her smile even wider than Robert’s. “You know, Rob, it’s because of that attitude of yours that Julia and I can go on our trips without a single worry in the world.” Robert didn’t catch her double meaning. He just assumed I hadn’t told Claire about his son and thought she was praising him. The car door closed, and Robert’s figure shrank in the rearview mirror. I turned to Claire. “Are the kids back?” Claire nodded. “They all got back last night. They’re waiting for you at the house.” I didn’t say anything more, just wearily pinched the bridge of my nose. She took my hand. I looked down at it. Claire was only a year younger than me, but the wrinkles on the back of her hand were just as pronounced as mine. I sighed silently and gently squeezed her hand back. 5 I was gone for five days, with no contact with Robert. When I returned, the first thing that shot out as I opened the door was a yapping mutt of some unknown breed. The dog barked furiously at me from inside my own home. A strange woman’s voice called out, “Fluffy, what are you barking at? Is that a guest at the door—?” The woman walked to the doorway and froze when she saw me, swallowing the rest of her sentence. Clearly, she knew who I was. And in this house, she was the guest. An unwelcome one. She looked to be about my age, wearing a pale pink dress and a perm of big, rolling waves. Her face was caked in a thick layer of foundation that couldn’t hide the deep lines around her mouth. She looked both overdone and cheap. Our eyes met. My face was a mask of cold fury. Though I had already guessed her identity, my tone was accusatory. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?” Panic flickered across her face for only a second before she composed herself, offering me a decidedly unfriendly smile. “You must be Julia. I’m Renee.” Renee. Leo. Another voice came from inside. “Mom, who is it?” Leo and Robert appeared together behind Renee. Well, look at that. The happy family, all assembled. Robert, at least, had the decency to look guilty. “You’re back early,” he stammered. “You didn’t say anything.” I scoffed. “And if I had, would I have been able to see this little show?” As I walked into the living room, I realized it wasn’t a family of three, but four. Leo’s girlfriend was lounging on the sofa, playing on her phone with her feet propped up on my coffee table. When she heard me come in, she glanced up for a second before returning to her game. To actually bring his old flame and his secret son into our home… Robert had gone too far. 6 I slammed my suitcase down on the table. The girl on the sofa snapped her feet off the table and shot me a dirty look. Leo, her loyal puppy, immediately jumped to her defense, yelling at me, “Can’t you be a little quieter?” I didn’t even bother to look at him. “This is my house. I’ll do whatever I want. What does it have to do with an outsider like you?” “This is my dad’s house, too,” Leo sneered, tilting his chin up to look down his nose at me. There was that bizarre sense of superiority again. “Aunt Julia, at your age, you need someone to rely on. I think it would be wise for you to be a little more polite to me.” I met his gaze and memorized his arrogant face. Renee stood next to Robert, a faint smile playing on her lips. Like a wilted white flower. I ignored them and looked directly at Robert, my voice as even as I could make it. “Robert, sit down. We need to talk.” Robert instinctively glanced at Renee and her son. Renee seemed to let out a cold huff, making no move to leave. Instead, she sat down directly across from me, and Leo sat beside her, his eyes full of hostility. They had no understanding of their place here, and clearly, Robert had allowed it. Robert looked at them, then at me, and finally sat down on the other side of Renee. They flanked her, one on each side, as if protecting her from me, the evil villain of this story. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Robert, you know exactly how much money we have saved up over the years.” At this, everyone’s eyes snapped to Robert. Even the girlfriend, who had been playing her game, turned the volume down and pricked up her ears. A strange silence fell over the living room. Robert looked at me for a long moment before finally nodding. “I do.” Our savings were in a single joint account. The card had a six-digit PIN. I knew the first three digits; Robert knew the last three. When we were younger, we were both reckless spenders. After Robert had a serious health scare and we couldn’t even scrape together enough for the surgery, we realized the importance of saving. To prevent either of us from slipping back into bad habits, we’d come up with this two-part PIN system. In front of everyone, I took the bank card out of my purse and placed it on the table. “There’s three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in that account.” Hearing the amount, no one but the girlfriend showed any surprise. It seemed Robert had already told them. Robert rubbed his hands together, forcing a sheepish smile. “Julia, uh, I’ve calculated the costs for Leo’s wedding. We’d only need about a hundred and fifty thousand—” Before he could finish, Renee cut him off. “Robert, you don’t understand how things are these days. The reception, the rings, the bride price, the photos… we have to do it properly. That’s nowhere near enough…” The girlfriend, who had been lounging, was now sitting bolt upright, her feet planted firmly on the floor. She nodded eagerly. “Your mom’s right, Leo. My best friend got married last year, and her fiancé’s family gave her a hundred thousand dollars. I’m not worth any less than her, am I?” Leo moved closer to her, stroking her head indulgently. “Don’t worry, you’ll get just as much, if not more. Right, Dad?” The ball was back in Robert’s court. He didn’t answer, just shot me a cautious look. “Julia, a wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. What do you think…?” “Let me finish,” I said, opening the calculator on my phone. “The mortgage on the condo has five years left. That’s eight hundred a month. To pay it off in one go, we’ll need eighty thousand.” We’d bought the three-thousand-square-foot condo early, when prices were low. We’d already paid off fifteen years of a twenty-year mortgage. The only reason we hadn’t paid it off sooner was that most of the interest was already paid, and the remaining payments were manageable on our retirement incomes. Before Robert could speak, Renee frowned. “After that, there’s only about two hundred seventy thousand left. That’s barely enough for Leo’s wedding.” Leo chimed in right on cue. “Dad, we have to pay off the mortgage first. Keira’s and my salaries are just enough to cover our monthly expenses. We can’t handle anything else.” I looked up from my phone, taking in their greedy faces, and a slow smile spread across my lips. “What are you all thinking? Do you really believe you’re entitled to any of that one hundred and seventy thousand?” Their faces fell. Robert’s brow furrowed so deeply you could have lost a fly in it. “Julia, I thought you’d come to terms with this. Why are you saying things like this now? I told you, Leo is my only child—” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “You have one child. That’s your business. This is our joint property. So, of course, it should be split equally between our children.” Before Robert could process what I’d just said, I made a call. “Bring the children in.”

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The night before my wedding, I found the pictures on Lawrence’s phone. A girl with a sweet, vibrant smile, captured mostly in candid, stolen shots. I didn’t bottle it up. I didn’t let the poison of doubt fester. I walked straight to him, held out the phone, and demanded an explanation. Lawrence smoked in the living room all night. As dawn broke, he walked into the bedroom and said to me: “I’ll admit it, I have feelings for her. But that’s all.” Ten years. We’d been in love for ten years. Was I really going to throw it all away over a few pictures? The thought was unbearable. So I put on my wedding dress, and I let the ceremony begin. But halfway through, Lawrence’s assistant, Leo, burst through the doors, shouting, “Mr. Shaw! Lily found out about the wedding… she tried to kill herself!” The diamond ring, suspended for a heartbeat, clattered to the cold marble floor. Lawrence bolted for the door like a lightning strike. My eyes burned with tears as I screamed after him, “If you walk out that door, Lawrence, we are done! It’s over!” He paused for a fraction of a second, then vanished without a backward glance. 1. Staring at the endless scroll of photos on the screen, a sharp, cold pain lanced through my heart. There were no intimate selfies, no pictures of them together. Just moments. The glint in her eyes as she focused on her work. The way she pouted, pretending to be mad while eating. The unrestrained joy as she laughed, giddy after getting a bonus. … Most of them were quick, candid snaps. But there were a few where she was looking right at the camera, her face alight with a playful, teasing affection. The old me would have stormed up to Lawrence, smashed the phone against his face, and walked away without a second thought, my pride intact. But now… tomorrow, our ten-year marathon was supposed to reach the finish line. We were supposed to get our happily ever after. We were getting married. We had told all our friends and family, booked the venue, sent the invitations. Happiness was so close I could taste it. And now, at the final hour, I find this. I refused to cry, forcing the tears back, taking a deep, shaky breath. I decided to confront him, to demand the truth. Lawrence is a brilliant man. At such a young age, he had already become the Chief Systems Engineer at a major aerospace firm. Ten years of shared life, of weathering storms together… I thought I knew the man he was. So when I laid the photos out before him, his reaction wasn’t a surprise. He probably never intended to hide it. For eight long hours of darkness, he chain-smoked two packs in the living room while I stared at the stars from our bedroom window. The next morning, just before the makeup artist was due to arrive, he came into the room and confessed. “Her name is Lily Campbell. She’s my assistant.” “And I admit… I’ve developed feelings for her.” The heart I’d been holding in my throat plummeted into the pit of my stomach. But then he continued, his voice earnest. “But Nora, you and I… it hasn’t been easy getting here. I’ll have her transferred out of my team. I promise you, something like this will never happen again.” He looked me in the eye, his promise hanging in the air between us. In ten years, he had never once broken a promise to me. I couldn’t bear to lose him, to sever a love that felt woven into my very bones. So I chose to forgive him. And then, at the wedding, the officiant’s solemn words hung in the air: “Do you, Lawrence, take Nora to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor, and cherish her for the rest of your days?” My heart hammered against my ribs, waiting. Waiting for him to give me—to give us—the perfect ending we deserved. Instead, a single sentence from his assistant was all it took for him to abandon me, leaving the diamond ring to mock me from the cold, hard floor. The entire congregation watched him flee the ceremony. He left me. And just like that, his promise was broken. 2. The venue dissolved into chaos. Our parents, utterly bewildered, rushed to my side. Leo, the assistant, stammered, his eyes darting everywhere but at me. “One of the junior engineers under Mr. Shaw had an emergency… she—she’s got critical project data, and he just had to go check on the situation. I’m sure he’ll be right back.” Leo had worked for Lawrence for eight years. He’d always been respectful, always greeted me with a warm smile and called me “Mrs. Shaw-to-be.” Now, he couldn’t even meet my gaze. I couldn’t begin to imagine how many secrets he’d kept for Lawrence, what role he played in this whole charade with that girl, Lily. A thicket of thorns grew around my heart, the betrayal a physical, piercing pain. My parents held my hands, their voices tight with anger. “This is madness! Who on earth could be more important than his own wedding? To just leave Nora standing at the altar?” Lawrence’s parents were mortified, alternating between frantically calling his phone and trying to soothe me. “Nora, dear, don’t you worry. I’m going to get that boy back here to apologize to you this instant.” The abandoned ring dug into my palm, leaving bloody crescents on my skin. For three hours, every call we made to Lawrence went straight to voicemail. He had run off to be some other girl’s hero, leaving me to burn alone on the pyre of our wedding day, to endure the pitying stares and hushed whispers of our guests. The world tilted, and then it went black. When I woke up, a doctor was speaking to me in a gentle voice. “You need to be careful now. You’re living for two. Try to avoid any emotional distress.” My heart sank as I looked at the ecstatic faces of my parents and Lawrence’s. I managed a bitter, ugly smile as tears finally welled up and spilled over. How was I supposed to tell them that our ten-year love story had just been torn wide open? Not long after, Lawrence arrived. He looked pale, and his eyes were filled with a guilt that felt shallow and distant. My parents left the room, instructing him to apologize properly. The silence in the room was heavy. He took my cold hand, his own grip hesitant. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice hoarse. “Nora, in ten years, I’ve never asked you for anything. We’ve always been so good. But this one time… I’m begging you. Please, don’t let this get out. It could ruin Lily’s reputation. Can you do that for me?” My heart seized, twisting into a tight, painful knot. I could barely breathe. He wasn’t here to apologize to me. He was here to ask for a favor. A person’s first instinct doesn’t lie. He hadn’t spared a single thought for my humiliation at the wedding. He wasn’t worried about why I had collapsed and ended up in a hospital. His first words were for Lily. The tears I’d been holding back broke free, a silent, steady stream soaking the corner of the blue hospital blanket. I forced a single word from my throat. “Fine.” He let out a breath, a wave of relief washing over his face. He continued, “Lily… she didn’t take the news of the wedding well. She’s very unstable right now.” His voice became hesitant, almost pleading. “I was thinking… I need to stay at the hospital with her for a few days, just to make sure she’s okay. Maybe… maybe we can postpone things? Just for a little while. Six months. In six months, we can get married. Okay?” Six months. I had waited ten years. What was another six months? I could wait. I really could. But he didn’t need to do this. It was simple, really. He had fallen for someone else. I could handle that. But a suffocating pressure was building in my chest, a fire searing through my insides. And inside me, a tiny life was waiting, depending on me. I thought for a long, long time. My mind was filled with images of that girl’s smile, and the sickeningly fond look on Lawrence’s face as he had gazed at her photos. The tangled mess of grief in my heart suddenly went still. I didn’t want to wait anymore. I gently pulled my hand from his. “Lawrence,” I said softly. “I’m not a genius. But I fell in love with you when I was eighteen, and I’ve been with you for ten years.” “I remember how your hands trembled when you first asked me out. You were so nervous, it was both funny and endearing.” “I remember you cried when I said yes. You held me so tight, and for the first time, I felt a love as real and powerful as my family’s.” “For ten years, you bought me everything I ever wanted. You kept every promise, fulfilled every vow. For ten years, I truly believed you loved me down to your very soul.” I looked up, and the tears came in a torrent. “But today… today I feel like you don’t love me anymore.” That one simple truth shattered my defenses. We had so many beautiful memories. Lawrence’s eyes reddened, and a single tear traced a path down his cheek. “But Nora,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “She needs me right now.” She needs me. Those three words struck me like a physical blow, grounding me in a new, cold reality. I was finally, completely awake. I didn’t try to stop him. I just watched him walk out of my hospital room, and out of my life. 3. The next day, as I was being discharged, I saw him in the hallway. He didn’t see me. His entire world was focused on the girl he was gently supporting. She was tall and slender, with a pure, innocent face and large, round eyes. So this was Lily. The girl whose suicide attempt had made the unshakable Lawrence Shaw lose his composure and abandon his own wedding. My gaze must have lingered too long, because she noticed me. Her face went white, and she turned away, clutching Lawrence’s arm nervously. Lawrence saw me then. His brow furrowed in annoyance as he walked toward me. “Nora, Lily’s not well. Whatever this is, we can talk about it at home. Don’t make a scene here and embarrass her.” In his arms, Lily looked even paler, as if she were terrified of me. “N-Nora… it’s not what you think. There’s nothing going on between me and Lawrence, I swear.” I clutched the lab report in my hand and offered a small, quiet laugh. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m just here to pay my bill.” Lawrence stared at me, his anger strangely deflating. I walked past them to the payment window without another word. As I was leaving the hospital, a text from him came through. 【Nora, don’t be angry. I was just on edge earlier. I bought you a gift, it’s on its way.】 When the delivery guy knocked, he handed me a cake box. It was the Disney castle cake he always got me when he’d done something to upset me. I was a romantic, and I could be demanding. He thought this was my favorite. The truth was, I’d been sick of it for years. But Lawrence was so busy, so consumed by his work. I loved him, and I didn’t want him to stress over me on top of his all-night research sessions. So every time he sent this cake, I’d put on a show of delight, hoping it would make him happy, too. Now, finally, I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I gave the cake to the neighbor’s kids and texted him back. 【It’s been ten years. Just like with you, even the best cake gets old.】 He must have understood the jab, because he replied immediately. 【I’m sorry. You’re right. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the mall myself and pick out something special for you.】 He didn’t come home that night. It’s not easy to surgically remove a ten-year relationship from your life. I couldn’t sleep. I got up and started packing. As I tossed my things into boxes, memories ambushed me. The year we graduated, Lawrence had just started at the research firm and was constantly buried in work. A year later, he came to me with a ten-year employment contract and a check for a staggering amount of money. He put them both in my hands. “Nora, I told you I’d give you a home. I keep my promises.” The young man in my memory was so earnest, so brave. When he loved me, his passion burned brighter than the sun. I cried and threw my arms around him. We bought this apartment, kissed under the setting sun, and had giddy, endless conversations while picking out furniture at IKEA. The string lights on the balcony, the worn-in rocking chair that held a decade of our whispers, the spot on the living room rug where we’d cuddle with a watermelon and watch cheesy rom-coms… He said he would give me a home. Now, he was forcing me to leave it. 4. It took me three days to clear out everything that was mine. While I was packing the last of the boxes, both sets of parents showed up. I hadn’t had the heart to tell them what Lawrence had done, so to this day, they still didn’t know the real reason we were breaking up. My parents respected my decision, but Lawrence’s mother pleaded with me. “Nora, you’re about to get married! It’s just a little fight. It’s not serious enough to split up over, is it?” I said nothing, just motioned for the movers to continue carrying boxes out. Just as Lawrence’s parents were about to wear themselves out trying to convince me, Lawrence himself walked in. He was holding Lily’s hand. The room fell silent. Everyone stared at them, their faces a mixture of shock and dawning horror. Lawrence’s mother’s voice trembled. “Lawrence… did you… did you do something to hurt Nora?” His father’s eyes widened in fury. “Son! Who is this girl?” Lawrence didn’t answer them. His gaze swept over the half-empty apartment and landed on me. “Where are you moving?” he asked. He was still so calm, so rational. He accepted my departure without a fight. No explanation. No begging me to stay. And he had the audacity to bring her here. “I’m moving back to my real home,” I said, my voice just as level as his. He nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll come find you in a few days.” Then, he pulled Lily forward and introduced her to our families. “This is my assistant from the lab, Lily. She was discharged from the hospital today, so I brought her over for a home-cooked meal.” He said it so casually, so openly, that it made all of our suspicions seem petty and small-minded. Lily linked her arm through Lawrence’s mother’s, her smile cloyingly sweet. “Mrs. Shaw, Lawrence takes such good care of me at work. He even offered to cook for me today to celebrate me getting out of the hospital! But I couldn’t let him go to all that trouble. Since you’re both here, why don’t you let me cook for you? You can try my famous lasagna.” Lawrence’s mother shot me a pained, apologetic look. “Nora, maybe we should all just sit down and talk things through…” I was about to refuse when Lily cut me off, a glint of triumphant provocation in her eyes. “Yes, Nora. Stay for dinner. What do you say?” SMACK. It happened in an instant. My eyes flew open as my mother’s hand connected with Lily’s cheek. “Mom, what are you—?” My mother’s eyes were blazing, her voice shaking with rage as she turned to me. “You are my daughter. Did you really think I wouldn’t know?” “You were eighteen when you got with Lawrence! You’re twenty-eight now! Ten years of your life! You came from a good family, but you learned to cook for him, knit for him, bite your tongue and swallow your pride for him! Do you think I believe you’d be leaving if it wasn’t absolutely unbearable?” Her voice rose, ringing through the room. “I don’t ask for you to marry rich, but today, this boy brings this… thing into your home to slap you in the face? I will not stand for it. If my daughter won’t fight for herself, then her mother will!” Her words hung in the air, sharp and final. Lily clutched her red cheek, stunned into silence. Lawrence looked at her, his face dark with anger as he turned on me. “Nora! How old are you? Still running to your parents to complain—” I didn’t let him finish. A dam of fury broke inside me. I lunged forward, slapping him again and again, the sting of my palm against his cheek a bitter release. Finally spent, I reached under the coffee table, pulled out a folded piece of paper from the drawer, and threw it at his chest. “Do you know what my biggest regret in this life is?” He flinched, then unfolded the paper. As his eyes scanned the page, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. “Nora… you’re… you’re pregnant?”

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Noah Thorne asked me if I wanted to marry him. A one-year contract marriage. The pay: one million dollars, with all daily expenses covered. I accepted with giddy excitement. But one year turned into another, and then another. Ten years passed, and he never once mentioned a divorce. Just when I started to think he might have actually fallen in love with me, he left me seventy million dollars and died. I was flooded with relief. Finally, I could live my dream life: rich, no husband, and no kids. Later, I received a box of Noah’s belongings. Inside was an AI robot dog. As a joke, I named it Noah. It said: “Karina, I’m sorry that I love you.” 1 On our tenth wedding anniversary, Noah died. Just before he passed, he asked me, “Karina, is there anything you want to say to me?” I paused for a moment, then blurted out, “Don’t forget to transfer this year’s million-dollar payment.” A man can die, but he can’t skip out on his final paycheck. When it comes to money, I’m relentless. Noah was silent for a long moment, then he suddenly smiled, a spark igniting in his clouded eyes. “Karina,” he whispered, “I love that about you. It’s good.” I tried to smile back, to joke with him like I always did. But Noah had already closed his eyes, and no matter how many times I called his name, he wouldn’t wake up. The smile froze on my face. “Goodbye, Noah.” I watched, impassive, as they wheeled him into the morgue. I went through the motions of the funeral, a perfect, grieving widow, without shedding a single tear. It was only when Noah’s younger brother, Ethan, handed me a box that my composure cracked. Inside was a debit card with a seventy-million-dollar balance and a small robot dog. My calm expression shattered, not from grief, but from pure, unadulterated joy. Noah had already paid me for the full ten years. Why would he leave me another seventy million? “All of this… for me?” Ethan nodded. “That’s what his will said.” He added, with well-meaning sympathy, “Karina, he’s gone. Try not to be too sad.” Sad? Why would I be sad? I was ecstatic! I could barely contain my laughter. I didn’t know why Noah had left me so much money. Maybe it was guilt, or pity. He was, after all, a deeply kind man. Ten years ago, I had held a knife to him and demanded money. He had just looked at me with his gentle eyes and asked, “Are you in desperate need of money? If so, I can offer you a job.” The job was to marry him. He promised he would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to. He just needed a wife in name only, to fend off his parents’ incessant matchmaking. I agreed. I didn’t care about marriage; I only cared about the money. But Noah was always apologizing. He said he was holding me back, wasting my life. He was a soft-hearted man. It made perfect sense that a man like him would leave me seventy million dollars. And since only a fool would turn down free money, I took it without a second thought. Lost in the euphoria of my newfound wealth, I completely forgot about the unassuming robot dog. Sitting alone in the vast, empty living room, I stared at my bank balance on my phone and, out of habit, asked, “Noah, what am I supposed to do with seventy million dollars?” The room was silent. And then I remembered. Noah was gone. And it was wonderful. No one to nag me anymore. No one to disapprove of my bad habits. When I first married Noah, I went on a spending spree. I’d take one bite of a cake and throw the rest away. I bought the gaudiest jewelry, the most expensive, brand-name dresses and shoes. Everyone mocked my lack of taste, and I became a source of constant embarrassment for him. But Noah never got angry. He would just check on me, his voice full of concern. “Did you eat too much? Are you feeling bloated? Do your ears hurt from those heavy earrings? Are your feet blistered from those heels?” He would gently place my feet in his lap and dab iodine on the sores. “Karina,” he’d say softly, “you have to understand. Money is for making yourself comfortable, not for making yourself miserable.” After that, he started planning my days, from my studies to my entertainment, from my diet to my exercise. He meticulously sculpted me, transforming me from a wild weed into a cultivated rose. Everyone thought he was madly in love with me, that I had won the lottery of a lifetime by marrying him. But I knew the truth. He didn’t love me. He just needed a suitable wife. And now that he was gone, I didn’t have to be Mrs. Thorne anymore. I could do whatever I wanted. 2 I went to the one place Noah hated most: a grimy, chaotic nightclub. I booked the best table, ordered the most expensive champagne, and watched the sweaty, muscular men in the boxing ring. To be honest, Noah was never my type. He was too refined, too fragile. A little exercise would leave him red-faced and gasping for breath. I preferred my men sunny and strong. I used to tease him about it all the time. “Noah, you need to work out. You need to live a long, long life.” “You want me to live a long life?” he’d ask, a strange light in his eyes. “Of course! You’re my meal ticket.” In that moment, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something in his beautiful, almond-shaped eyes—a mixture of resignation and relief. After that, he started jogging and going to the gym with me. But he seemed to be naturally frail. No matter how hard he tried, he remained alarmingly thin. Now, I realize it was because he was sick. “Bored, beautiful? I can keep you company.” A young boxer, fresh from a win, sauntered over to my table, flexing his glistening muscles. I forced the image of Noah from my mind. He was gone. I didn’t have to adhere to the moral code of a married woman anymore. It was time to enjoy myself. I smiled and downed my drink in one gulp. The burn of the alcohol as it slid down my throat was punctuated by the whistles and catcalls from the surrounding crowd. It was a familiar symphony of chaos, vulgarity, and darkness. I was getting drunk. I pulled the young boxer down to sit beside me, my eyes hazy. “Tell me, handsome, how much for a night?” He couldn’t suppress a greedy smile, but he still feigned propriety. “I’m not like that, beautiful. I just like you.” Like. The word instantly killed my mood. I knew, with absolute certainty, that no one could ever truly like me. My mother, unable to bear our poverty, had left us. As she held me tight, her tears soaking my shoulder, she had sobbed, “Karina, my sweet Karina, as soon as Mommy has money, I’ll come back for you.” After she left, my father unleashed all his bitterness and rage on me. He rented me out to an underground boxing ring. “This girl of mine,” he’d boast, “she’s tough. You can hit her as hard as you want, she won’t break. A real bargain!” I became a human punching bag for two hundred dollars a session. There wasn’t a single inch of my body that wasn’t bruised or broken. The only time my father showed me any affection was when he collected his payment, when he would “generously” buy me a small cupcake. That’s when I understood. My father didn’t love me. He loved money. And to earn his love, I had to earn him a lot of it. After I married Noah, he was so generous with me that I had to ask. “Noah, are you giving me all this money because you want me to like you?” He had just stroked my hair and corrected me gently. “Karina, remember this: love isn’t something that can be bought or sustained with money.” I looked into his clear, honest eyes and mumbled, “I know.” And I did know. Noah Thorne didn’t want my affection. He was always so kind, so gentle. His rejection was just as soft, but it was a rejection nonetheless. I should have known better. Who would ever want the love of someone so broken? When I turned eighteen, my body had blossomed into a woman’s curves, and the looks from the men at the gym changed. Their gazes became lewd, their touches exploratory and disgusting. I begged my father to take me away, but he was too busy counting his money. I tried to run, but the owner of the gym caught me. His face was a mask of lust as he lunged at me. 3 He was overconfident. He forgot that being able to take a punch meant I also knew how to throw one. As he tore at my pants, I delivered a crippling blow to his groin. I ran to the police station and reported him. He was sentenced to three years in prison. But my reputation was ruined. I was kicked out of the gym. With no more liquor money coming in, my father’s abuse escalated. “You’re a slut, just like your mother!” he’d scream. “It’s your fault for having a body like that! You’re a shameless whore, seducing married men!” Even my own father said it. So, of course, everyone else believed it. They spat on me, beat me, drove me out of town. I had no education, no skills, and a body covered in hideous scars. No one would hire me. So I found work as a bouncer at a nightclub. I thought time and distance could bury the ugliness of my past. So when a coworker confessed his feelings, promising me a home, a normal life with marriage and children, I gambled. I gave him all my savings, believing he was sincere. He took the money and left, running away with the girl he truly loved. I overheard him later, talking to a friend. “That freak? Being liked by her is disgusting. If it wasn’t for her money, I wouldn’t have even bothered to pretend.” That’s when I finally understood. No one wanted my heart. Not my father. Not my coworker. And not Noah. I hate the word “like.” I smashed my glass on the floor. The young boxer at my side went pale. “This is so boring,” I muttered. I stumbled out of the club and into a taxi. The moment I got home, I went straight to the bathroom to wash off the stench of smoke and alcohol. Otherwise, Noah would find out and start nagging me again. He was like an old man, always gently but relentlessly trying to correct my bad habits. I realized I had forgotten to grab a change of clothes. “Noah,” I called out automatically, “can you bring me my pajamas?” Silence. I froze, the washcloth still in my hand. How could I have forgotten again? He was gone. The first time I came home drunk after we were married, I was a complete mess. I had thrown up all over myself. It was Noah who cleaned me up. When I realized what was happening, I instinctively tried to cover myself. “Noah… is it ugly?” I whispered. I knew how hideous my body was. The scars disgusted even me. But Noah just gently touched the scar on my brow, then pulled me into his arms. He bathed me with a tenderness I had never known, dried me off, and helped me into my pajamas. “Karina,” he said softly, “your body isn’t a test to be graded. Do you understand?” I looked at him, confused. “It belongs to you. You can use it to feel the warmth of the sun, to enjoy the thrill of running, to taste delicious food… Karina, don’t ever judge yourself through someone else’s eyes.” It was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me. It was the first time someone had looked at my body without a trace of disgust. On impulse, I leaned in and kissed him. It was quick, light as a feather, almost a mistake. But to Noah, it was a grave error. For the first time, I saw anger and frustration on his gentle face, mixed with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. In that instant, the warmth that had been blooming in my chest turned to ice. How could I have forgotten? He didn’t want my love. But he was so kind, so gentle, that he was constantly, unintentionally, pulling me in. This was wrong. I pretended it had been an accident, a slip. “This tub is so slippery,” I joked. “I almost chipped a tooth. You’re going to have to pay me extra for this.” Noah, ever the good sport, just nodded. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

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