Everyone believed Christine Thorne adored me. Even after my father and I were exiled from the family empire, she kept our engagement. She rehearsed our wedding ninety-nine times for perfection. What no one knew? Each rehearsal had a different groom—one of her ninety-nine lovers, chosen by lottery. “Scott, darling,” she’d purr, “you’re already my husband. Let them have one wedding each… that’s fair, no?” I’d take her cash and rush to the hospital. The charade shattered on our real wedding day. When she walked down the aisle with my mother’s illegitimate son, I broke. “Anyone but him!” I begged. Her smile was icy. “I’m pregnant with his child. Don’t be like your pathetic father, begging for his hospital bills.” Under a hundred mocking stares, I fled with the money—just in time to see my father jump. His blood hit my face as his dying whisper came: “Stop begging her.” 1 I held my father’s cooling body, my own blood turning to ice in my veins. My mouth was open, but no sound came out. Christine’s ringtone sliced through the silence. I answered on instinct. Her lazy, sensual voice purred through the phone. “Scott, darling. Leo and I are having our wedding night, but we’re out of condoms. Be a dear and pick some up.” My fingers trembled, about to end the call, but she wasn’t finished. “Oh, and grab a bag of those gummy bears he likes. The boy has a sweet tooth. I need to keep him happy.” My mind flashed back to the night she rescued my father and me from a squalid little apartment. She had slipped a ring onto my finger, her touch gentle. “Trying to hide from me? You made me look for so long.” “Even if you’re not a Vance anymore, you’re still my husband, Scott. I will give you the most perfect wedding.” That first night, I was still in a daze. She popped a candy into my mouth, her voice laced with pity. “Don’t be scared. Have a candy. From now on, life will only be sweet.” I knew about her reputation, her notorious flings, but I fell for her anyway, greedily devouring every scrap of affection she threw my way. I never cared about the lovers; I told myself it was all an act. But Leo was different. She was carrying his child. In our five years of marriage, no matter how passionate things got, Christine always took precautions. My greed had finally caught up to me. The one exception she made was for the person I hated most in the world. If it weren’t for Leo and his mother, my father would still have a wife, and I would still have a mother. As always, she hung up first. I watched, numb, as the men from the funeral home wheeled my father away. When they handed me a small, heavy box, I finally shattered, the sobs tearing from my throat. Just as I received the death certificate, my phone rang again. “Mr. Vance? The DNA results are in. Your father was the long-lost son of Alistair Kane.” “We’ve already booked you a flight. Would you be willing to meet your grandfather? And please, don’t be afraid. The rumors about him are greatly exaggerated.” I clutched my father’s ashes, tears blurring my vision. “Yes,” I whispered. “Excellent. In three days, have your documents ready. Someone will be there to pick you up.” I returned to the villa, a ghost in my own home. A group of drunk women were laughing loudly in the living room. “Christine, isn’t Leo your husband’s half-brother? I thought you hated him. Why was he the groom today?” Christine swirled the red wine in her glass, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across her face. “I had no choice. The father of my child needs to have a respectable lineage.” After a round of boisterous cheers, someone asked cautiously, “But what about Scott?” Christine’s smile turned wicked. “Oh, Scott? He’s so well-behaved. I could fuck other men right in front of him, and he’d just dutifully hand me a condom. It’s just a wedding. I’ll make it up to him later.” The women roared with laughter. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll actually get mad and leave? I mean, if it weren’t for Leo, he’d still be the Vance heir!” Christine shrugged. “He won’t. Even if I kicked him out, he’d get on his knees and beg me not to leave him.” “After all,” she added, her voice dripping with contempt, “his pathetic, dying father depends on my money to stay alive.” I staggered backward, bumping into someone standing silently behind me. “Brother, you’re back.” I turned to see Leo’s face, my eyes hardening. “I don’t have a brother.” I started to walk away, toward the side door, but Leo let out a sudden, sharp cry. “Ah!” The chatter in the living room died instantly. 2 Christine sauntered over, hands in her pockets. She saw Leo on the floor and then gave me a long, meaningful look. “Did you push him?” Leo scrambled to explain. “No, no, it wasn’t my brother! I just tripped.” Then, he started to sob softly. “Christine… my stomach hurts…” Christine clicked her tongue and helped him up, then shot me a cold glare. “Come here.” She guided Leo back into the main villa, lifting his shirt to inspect his stomach as if he were a precious, fragile treasure, completely ignoring my presence. The other women exchanged glances and quietly slipped out, whistling mockingly as they passed me. Before, no matter how promiscuous she was, they never would have dared to be so brazen. They were smart. They could see that Leo was different from the ninety-nine other lovers. And so, I was now relegated to their status—an object to be toyed with and disdained. The realization sent a splinter of pain through my long-numb heart. She didn’t ask a single question. She just looked at me, her face a mask of indifference. “Scott. Apologize.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “I didn’t push him.” A cruel smile touched Leo’s lips as he whispered to the butler, “Go get the master’s cat.” My blood ran cold. “What are you doing?” Christine’s smile was brutal. “Scott, Leo isn’t like those other men. He’s my partner, the heir to the Vance Corporation, and he is carrying my child.” “I will not tolerate anyone hurting the father of my baby. Including you.” “So, you need to learn your lesson. There are consequences.” As she finished speaking, the cat—my cat—was thrown into the scalding hot pot on the dining table. It let out a shriek of agony that would haunt me forever. I lunged forward, but Christine grabbed me, forcing my head down, making me watch as the little creature that had been my only comfort for ten years was boiled alive. She leaned in, her whisper a venomous caress in my ear. “This time, Scott, it’s just the cat. If you dare touch Leo again, the next thing you should weigh will be your father’s life.” A single, silent tear slid down my cheek. The memory of her defending me in front of her other lovers now felt like a cruel joke, a boomerang that had come back to strike me between the eyes. Then, she slid a divorce agreement in front of me. “Sign it. My child can’t be born a bastard.” I stared, trembling, at my cat floating in the bubbling broth. It was the only solace I had left after being thrown out of my home, and now, just like my father, it was gone. This marriage had no meaning anymore. I took the pen and signed my name with a steady hand. Christine’s brow furrowed for a split second, a flicker of surprise that I hadn’t hesitated. She scoffed. “Since you’re no longer my husband, you can move into the servant’s quarters. From now on, you’ll earn your father’s medical fees with your own labor.” A bitter smile twisted my lips as I remembered my father’s last words. “That won’t be necessary.” Just then, the sound of retching came from my room. My heart sank. I burst in to see my bedsheet, a gift from my father, covered in vomit. Leo stood up, a look of faux apology on his face. “Sorry, brother. It’s my wedding day with Christine, I guess I drank a little too much.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. “This sheet looks pretty old anyway. Here’s ten bucks for a new one.” SLAP! My eyes were bloodshot as I struck him across the face. “Leo, you’ve gone too far!” He clutched his cheek, looking tearfully at Christine, who had followed me in. “Christine, I didn’t mean to! I already apologized!” The next thing I knew, a searing pain exploded across my own cheek. 3 She had used all her strength, knocking me to the ground. She didn’t even glance at me. Instead, she rushed to Leo’s side, gently examining his face. “Did that make you feel better?” Leo whimpered, burying his face in her arms. “It was my fault. I ruined my brother’s bedsheet.” Only then did Christine’s gaze fall on the filthy mess on my bed. “Burn it,” she said, her voice flat. “No! My father gave that to me! I can wash it, please, don’t burn it!” She knew. She knew I had nightmares every night, that only by clutching that sheet could I find any peace. But she ignored my desperate pleas, turning to the servants behind her. “The new master of the house has arrived. Throw out all of this old junk.” CRASH! Our wedding portrait was torn from the wall and swept out of the room like trash. All I could hear was the echo of her vow from that day. “I, Christine Thorne, swear to love only Scott Vance for the rest of my life.” As the flames licked at the sheet, I dove toward the fire pit, snatching it from the embers with my bare hands, trying to smother the fire with my own body. Blisters immediately rose on my skin. Christine rushed to my side, grabbing my hands, her eyes sharp. “Does it hurt?” But then Leo suddenly clutched his stomach, pointing at the open urn on my nightstand. “I’m allergic to dust! Brother, what are you doing with a box of ashes?” “Christine, help me! I can’t breathe!” “NO!” I lunged forward, a primal scream tearing from my throat. But it was too late. Leo kicked the urn, sending my father’s ashes scattering across the floor. The rage I’d suppressed for so long finally erupted. I grabbed his hair, my eyes blazing red. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” “You bastard! It wasn’t enough for your father to be a homewrecker who seduced my mother, now you have to be one too and steal another man’s wife!” Leo shrieked, “Christine, he’s lost his mind! He’s trying to kill me!” My hands closed around his throat, but one of Christine’s bodyguards kicked me so hard I flew across the room. I landed on the shattered pieces of our wedding portrait, the shards digging deep into my flesh. Blood began to pool beneath me. Ignoring the pain, I crawled across the floor, trying to gather my father’s ashes, leaving a bright red smear in my wake. Tears dripped onto the gray dust. “Dad, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” But in the next instant, Christine snatched the urn from my hands. And with chilling indifference, she poured what was left of my father into the toilet. The sound of the flush was a roar that threatened to shatter my eardrums. I knelt before the porcelain bowl, stunned, then slowly looked up at her, my eyes blood-red. “Christine,” I whispered, my voice a blade of ice, “I will never, ever forgive you.” For a split second, shock and pain flickered in her eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Leo held up a clump of his hair, his voice tragic. “Christine, look what he did! Maybe we shouldn’t have the baby. If he’s like this over a wedding, what will he do when our child is born? Will he try to kill me?” Christine pulled him into a tender embrace, cooing softly. “No, my love. I’ll protect you.” Her gaze then fell on me, cold and lifeless, as if I were an inanimate object. She called to a servant at the door. “Get the scissors.” She took them and stood over me, grabbing my chin and forcing my head up. “Scott, have I been too lenient with you?” Then, she began to cut. She pressed the cold steel against my scalp, shearing off my hair in rough, uneven chunks, like a patch of worthless weeds. The day before our wedding, she had held my hair in her hands, calling it her most precious treasure. When she was finished, my head was nearly bare, with only a few pathetic strands remaining. She tossed the scissors aside and turned back to Leo, kissing his hair with a reverence that made my stomach turn. “Are you happy now?” Leo’s tears turned to a triumphant smile, his eyes glinting with victory as he looked at me. “Hah! Brother, you look like a clown!”

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1 In the fifth year of my marriage to Paul, I discovered he was secretly planning to divorce me for another woman. And I, fool that I was, still loved him. So, on the very day he was about to serve me the papers, I beat him to it. I handed him the doctor’s confirmation of my pregnancy. That night, Paul stood on the balcony and chain-smoked until dawn. The next day, he broke up with the girl. This fragile peace lasted until I was six months pregnant. That’s when the girl showed up at our front door, a wedding invitation in her hand. “Mr. Crawford,” she said, her voice trembling, “my wedding is tomorrow. If you ask me to stay, just say the word, and I’ll call the whole thing off for you.” With that, she dropped the invitation and fled in a storm of tears. Paul shot up from his chair, ready to chase after her. Watching his back, the back of a man about to abandon me, I clutched my aching belly and my voice cut through the air. “Paul, if you walk out that door today, I’m going to the hospital to have an abortion.” He froze for a heartbeat. But only a heartbeat. Then, he walked out anyway. … I first realized Paul was planning to divorce me when the corporate lawyers started hounding me with paperwork. Changing the company’s legal representative. Switching the corporate bank accounts. He was even trying to offload our properties, selling them at suspiciously low prices. The company’s finances told a similar story. An enterprise that had been thriving just six months ago was now bleeding money, month after month. His excuse was a constant stream of business trips, disappearing for weeks at a time. He claimed the company was in crisis, and he was desperately trying to turn things around. I never called him on his lies. I never told him I’d seen the viral clip of them—him and his precious girl—kissing passionately at a sold-out pop concert. It had even made the rounds on a “CEO scandals” trending list. Why did I stay silent? Why did I endure it all? Because I still loved him. Five years of dating, five years of marriage—you don’t just sever a decade of your life because of an affair. It’s not that simple. So, I pretended not to notice the love bites on his neck when he came home. I ignored the cloying scent of a perfume favored by younger women clinging to his clothes. I even feigned ignorance when he moved into the study, sleeping in a separate bed, refusing to even touch me. I didn’t want a divorce, but he clearly did. As fate would have it, the lawyer he hired to draft the divorce papers worked for a firm I had secretly invested in. So not only did I know how much he agonized over the decision, how stressed and irritable he’d become, but I even knew the exact day he planned to give me the papers. To save our marriage, I took a desperate step. I went through a round of IVF. The night before he was set to end our life together, I called him, insisting he come home. He was clearly annoyed. The dinner I’d cooked for him had to be reheated three times by our housekeeper before he finally deigned to walk through the door. He didn’t even glance at the food on the table. Seeing me on the sofa, he just gave a cold, dismissive nod and disappeared into his study. Two hours later, after a long shower, he finally emerged. “You said you had something to tell me,” he said, his tone clipped and hard. It was the same voice he used with his employees. “What is it?” I didn’t say a word. I just calmly handed him the papers from the clinic. “I’m pregnant. Two weeks.” Paul’s breath caught in his throat. The veins on the back of the hand gripping the report bulged. I knew why this was such a shock. My mother had died in childbirth with my younger brother, and I had seen enough of women sacrificing everything for a marriage. From the very beginning of our relationship, I’d made it clear: I was child-free by choice. I would never have children. Back then, blinded by love, Paul had agreed without a second thought. But after we married, as the years passed, he started bringing it up more and more. Each time, I refused, even lashing out at him for breaking his promise. And now, here I was, handing him proof of a pregnancy. He took several deep, shuddering breaths, as if trying to reclaim his sanity. “Thank you,” he finally managed to say. “Thank you for being willing to do this… for me.” He stood up so abruptly that his knee slammed into the corner of the coffee table. Clutching the report, he stammered, “Sorry, this is just… it’s a lot to take in. I need a minute to process.” He fled back into his study, the door slamming shut behind him. It was only when the echo of the slam faded that I noticed the fruit fork in my hand. I’d been gripping it so tightly it had broken the skin of my palm, a single drop of blood blooming like a dark flower in my glass of water. 2 That night, the faint smell of smoke crept into my room. It was enough to tell me that Paul had probably been on the balcony all night, chain-smoking. The two rooms were close, but not that close. For the smell to be that strong, he must have gone through pack after pack. The next morning, I received a call from HR. Paul’s new secretary had resigned. And just like that, the business deals he was trying to unload were reversed, and the company began to operate normally again. The day I got the news, I lay in bed, my hand resting on my still-flat stomach, and cried until my pillow was soaked. Somehow, against all odds, I had saved our once-beautiful love from ending in a storm of cold calculation and betrayal. After that, Paul slipped back into the role of the loving husband he used to be. He accompanied me to every prenatal check-up. He spent weeks meticulously researching and selecting the best postpartum recovery center. He bought mountains of baby supplies, enough to last until our child was ten. He did everything a father-to-be should do. But he never moved back into our master bedroom. He still slept in the study. And he never, not once, initiated any physical intimacy. I even caught him once, late at night, watching videos and looking at photos of her on his phone while he pleasured himself. The absurdity of it was almost laughable, a bitter, stinging irony. Which brings us to now. To the girl, Jessie, brazenly showing up at our villa. She’d tossed her wedding invitation at me like a gauntlet, spewed some nonsense, and then run off. And Paul’s first instinct wasn’t to explain or reassure me. It was to chase after her. Even when I called out, forbidding him to leave, he just turned on me, his face a mask of pain and frustration. “Ava, I’m already trying to make this work! What more do you want from me?” he roared, his voice cracking. “She’s getting married tomorrow! Can’t I even say goodbye?” I looked at the sharp furrow of his brow, the undisguised disgust in his eyes. I wiped away a tear that had escaped without my permission. “No, Paul, you can’t. If you go after her today, I will abort this child.” His whole body went rigid. He stared at me, his eyes burning into mine. After what felt like an eternity, he exploded in a torrent of frustrated rage. “You are a truly vicious woman, Ava Jiang.” Vicious. The word struck me like a physical blow, leaving me breathless and numb. Was I vicious? For the sake of this marriage, to keep him, I had played blind. I had betrayed my own deepest convictions, enduring a belly bruised black and blue from IVF injections, all to give him the child he wanted. I had fought so, so hard to keep him. And in his eyes, all of that just made me… vicious. Tears streamed down my face like a torrential downpour. But my tears, and the child in my womb, were not enough to hold him back. He kicked the sofa in a fit of raw impatience. “Fine! Go to the hospital! Have your damn abortion! I’m going to her, and nothing you do can stop me!” And with that, he was gone, chasing after her like a reckless twenty-year-old, a desperate, frantic blur leaving my life. Watching him disappear, my fingers trembled as I dialed 911. He had made his choice. Now, it was time for me to make mine. I would abort the child he’d longed for, and then I would burn his entire world to the ground.

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1 I was fitting my wedding dress when my fiancé called, voice shaking. “Scarlett, the new house… it’s burned down!” At the scene, my seven-year-old nephew Ethan sobbed in a reporter’s arms, covered in soot. “It was Auntie! She tried to burn me alive for our family’s money!” Under flashing cameras, he revealed bruises on his neck. “She beats me, drugs my water, even puts thumbtacks on my bed!” The internet erupted: “Her sister’s barely buried, and she’s stealing from a child!” “Monsters like her deserve execution!” My fiancé’s family’s pity turned to horror. What Ethan didn’t know? For him, I’d torn up a deal—his father’s house in exchange for a lighter sentence—and sent the man to death row myself. I’d spent my savings raising him… only for him to paint me a murderer. Nausea hit me. This nephew? I was done. … “Scarlett Evans, you piece of trash!” “How dare you get married after trying to kill your own nephew! Your sister must be turning in her grave!” My phone buzzed relentlessly, the messages on the screen making my scalp tingle. I stood outside the police tape, my wedding dress stained with ash. The phone rang again. It was my fiancé Leo’s mother, her voice like ice. “Scarlett, you’ve dragged the Chen family’s name through the mud! The wedding is off! Off, do you hear me?!” She hung up before I could explain. Through the crowd, I saw Leo. He tried to rush over, but his mother held him back, her grip like a vise. His eyes were filled with pain, but also with a wavering doubt. The way he looked at me, as if I were a monster, froze the last bit of warmth in my heart. Memories from the past few months flooded my mind, each one a knife twisting in my gut. It started with him stealing money from my wallet. Five thousand dollars, gone in less than a day on game skins, virtual items, and tips for streamers. When I confronted him, he ran to school, crying, telling his teachers I had forced him to steal because I wouldn’t feed him. They believed him. At the parent-teacher conference, the other parents looked at me like I was a child-abusing demon. I explained, I begged, I showed them receipts for everything I bought him. It was useless. Then, he deliberately pushed a classmate at school. The little girl broke her leg. When her parents came to our door, he hid behind me, his eyes wide with tears, and whimpered, “My aunt wants me to get expelled so she can send me to an orphanage.” I emptied my savings to pay for the girl’s medical bills. I enrolled him in the most expensive after-school programs, bought him every toy he wanted. In return, his schemes only grew more elaborate. A month ago, in the principal’s office, Ethan sobbed his heart out, pointing a small finger at me. “Teacher, my aunt made me steal it! She said our family was starving and we had to steal something valuable!” The limited-edition fountain pen was worth three hundred dollars. I paid for it on the spot. Worse, I had to apologize in front of all the other parents, admitting to my “improper parenting.” The looks they gave me were the same as the reporters’ now—filled with disgust and contempt. And then, ten days ago, the neighbor’s cat fell from the sixth floor and died instantly. Ethan stood there, his eyes red and puffy, looking aggrieved. “It scratched me. I just gave it a little push. I didn’t think it would fall.” But I had seen the cat’s body. I saw the raw, pink flesh where patches of fur were missing, oozing blood. I saw the small, still-bleeding puncture wounds on its hind leg, clearly made by a small knife. I remember the look in that cat’s eyes before it died—pure terror. And Ethan, once he was back inside, didn’t shed a single tear. Thinking back now, it wasn’t an accident. He did it on purpose. I looked past the police tape to where Ethan was surrounded by reporters. His tears came on command, his trembling voice pitched with just the right amount of fear. “My aunt said I’m a murderer’s son and I don’t deserve to live! She said I’m a burden and she’s wanted to kill me for a long time!” Every word was a bullet, hitting its mark with deadly precision. Watching Ethan’s masterful performance for the cameras, the last shred of hope I had cherished was extinguished. I had naively believed that at seven, he was still just a child who didn’t know any better. That even if he did wrong, with enough guidance and love, I could set him on the right path. But now, watching him expertly manipulate public opinion, calculating every last detail, I finally understood—I could never teach him. 2 A police officer approached, his expression grim. “Ms. Evans, we need you to come with us for questioning. Your nephew, Ethan Thorne, has accused you of arson and attempted murder.” I looked at him and said, word for word, “I did not do it.” I was escorted by two female officers toward the charred remains of my bridal home. Strangers and neighbors pointed and whispered. “That’s the black-hearted woman! Lost all her conscience for money!” “Yeah, that’s her. She always seemed so quiet and gentle, who knew she was so vicious.” “Right, even tried to burn her own nephew to death, what a beast!” I tried to explain that I hadn’t killed anyone. That I had given all my love to care for my nephew. But no one around me believed a word. My legs started to feel weak, a buzzing filled my head. Just then, a familiar voice called out, “Scarlett! Scarlett Evans!” I turned to see my best friend, Kendra. She was desperately pushing through the crowd, trying to reach me. “Let me through! I need to see Scarlett!” Kendra finally broke through to me, her eyes filled with tears. “Scarlett, what on earth happened?!” “Ethan is not just your enemy’s child, he’s also your sister’s only son!” My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. Even Kendra doubted me. “I didn’t do it!” I screamed, my voice raw. Kendra took a step back, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “Scarlett, you need to calm down…” The female officer pulled me forward, and my mind started replaying the past. After my sister’s funeral, my brother-in-law’s parents knelt before me, a property deed and a bank card placed beside them. “Scarlett, sign this leniency plea, let your brother-in-law live, and all of this will be yours!” His mother wailed, heartbroken. “Your brother-in-law just made a mistake. If your sister knew, she wouldn’t want Ethan to lose his father and become an orphan!” I looked at the plea, my hands trembling. A house worth two million dollars, a bank card with half a million. Enough for Ethan to live comfortably for the rest of his life. But my sister, she was only 26, in the prime of her life. She never got to see Ethan grow up. In front of all our relatives, I tore the plea to shreds. “My sister’s life is not something a house can buy!” The relatives gasped. Someone started to reason with me, “Scarlett, you’re being too impulsive.” “Exactly, the dead can’t be brought back. What’s the point of doing this?” “You’re a single woman, raising a child is hard. With the money, at least your life would be secure.” I looked at them, my heart twisting in agony. My brother-in-law’s parents scrambled up from the floor, their eyes filled with venom. “Fine, Scarlett Evans. You want him dead? We’ll make you pay for the rest of your life!” At the time, I thought they were just angry words. I never imagined it was a declaration of their revenge. Even when my sister was alive, her husband had instilled in Ethan the idea that “money can solve everything.” Whatever Ethan wanted, his father bought. The most expensive toys, the finest clothes, the latest gadgets. My sister once worried, “If you keep spoiling him like this, he’ll be ruined.” Her husband was dismissive. “My son deserves the best.” Once, Ethan lied at school, claiming a teacher had hit him. When my sister found out the truth, she spanked him in anger. When her husband found out, he immediately held Ethan and yelled at my sister, “You dare touch my son!” My sister cried in frustration. “I was trying to teach him a lesson, he can’t get into the habit of lying.” “Teach him?” Her husband sneered. “You’re a Thorne. What right do you have to discipline a Chen family child?” That night, my sister cried in my arms for a long time. “Scarlett, am I really not a good mother?” I comforted her. “Sis, you did the right thing. Children need discipline.” Thinking back now, the seeds of Ethan’s evil were planted long ago. 3 I was taken to the scene, the air thick with the acrid smell of smoke. The bridal home was burned to a black skeleton, and my heart felt like it had been ripped apart. “Scarlett Evans, you venomous woman!” Ethan’s grandmother had arrived at some point, and the moment she saw me, she lunged, trying to claw at me, only to be held back by the police. She pointed at me, wailing to the onlookers and reporters, “First she killed my son, now she won’t even spare my only grandson!” Her eyes were vicious, as if she wanted to tear me to pieces. The crowd began to murmur, some taking pictures, others recording videos. “You really can’t judge a book by its cover.” Leo’s mother stood to the side, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Our family almost married a murderer.” Her words were a knife, plunging straight into my heart. This woman, who had once held my hand and said, “Scarlett, from now on, you’re my daughter,” now wished I would just disappear. My eyes started to burn, and I fought back tears. “Scarlett.” Leo finally walked over to me, his voice hoarse. “Tell me, why did you lock the door from the outside?” He used the word “why,” not “I believe you.” My heart plummeted. Even my fiancé didn’t believe me! “I didn’t lock the door!” I screamed. “Auntie said she had a surprise for me.” Ethan, hiding in his grandmother’s arms, pointed a small finger at me, his voice trembling. “After I went in, I heard a ‘click’ from outside. She locked me in!” His performance was flawless. The trembling voice, the perfectly pitched fear, even the “click” sound was mimicked with eerie accuracy. The crowd grew agitated. “The kid’s details are so specific, it must be true.” “Worse than an animal! People like her should get the death penalty.” My breathing quickened, and the world began to spin. “The investigation at the scene confirms the door was indeed locked from the outside.” A firefighter’s words shattered my last line of defense. Leo took a step back, a flicker of fear in his eyes. His mother immediately rushed forward, grabbing his arm. “Son, let’s go. Don’t get involved with a murderer.” “Wait!” I lunged, trying to grab Leo’s hand. But he stepped back, avoiding my touch. The man who once said, “Scarlett, I’ll protect you for the rest of my life,” was now looking at me like I was a monster. Tears streamed down my face. “Leo, you don’t believe me either?” “Scarlett, I…” Leo’s voice was full of pain and conflict. “Forget it.” I wiped away my tears, my voice strangely calm. “You don’t have to say anything. I understand.”

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A year into my overseas assignment, my daughter sent a selfie. “Daddy, I miss you,” read the message. Her downcast face made my heart ache—until I noticed a red scratch on her neck and dark bruises on her arm. Scrolling in shock, I found a post from Stella, the girl we’d taken in. It showed her birthday gifts—designer goods spread out, with my daughter Melinda’s beloved doll perched on her headboard. I called my wife, Leah. “It’s just an old doll,” she dismissed. But checking Stella’s spending on my card confirmed my worst fears. The real shock? My wife was letting it happen. 1 I had just closed a massive, multi-million dollar contract with our biggest international client when Melinda’s selfie popped up on my phone. Seeing the shadow in her eyes, that forced little smile, was a knife to the heart. My first instinct was to tell her I was wrapping things up, that I’d be home in a few days and we’d take that vacation she’d always wanted. But the sight of those faint, half-hidden injuries stopped me cold. I decided to play it carefully. I tried asking a few gentle questions, but her replies were jumbled and vague. Then, she just stopped replying altogether. Hoping to get a sense of her life lately, I checked her social media, but it was quiet. That’s when I saw the post from Stella, our sponsored daughter, from the day before. She was flaunting a haul of new things. What made my breath catch wasn’t the expensive handbag, but the doll sitting on her headboard. Melinda’s doll. The one she’d treasured for years. I vividly remembered a trip to her grandma’s when we’d forgotten it; Melinda had cried herself into a fever so high we’d feared the worst. After that, the doll went with us everywhere. It was her constant companion, her furry little confidant. I called Leah. Her voice was clipped, impatient. “She’s thirteen, Todd. She’s growing up. It’s perfectly normal for her to outgrow a doll.” “Maybe Melinda just didn’t want it anymore and gave it to Stella,” she added dismissively. “Look, just focus on your work. Don’t overthink things.” Then she hung up. Her sharp, defensive tone set off alarm bells. This wasn’t the Leah I knew, or at least, the one I thought I knew. She used to be so fiercely protective of Melinda. I remembered Melinda tripping on the sidewalk as a toddler, and Leah had scooped her up, tears in her own eyes, insisting on a trip to the emergency room. She couldn’t have forgotten the incident with the doll and the fever; it had terrified both of us. But over the last couple of years, a distance had grown. Now, if Melinda got a cut, Leah would just tell her to grab the first-aid kit and deal with it herself. My mind was made up. I handed off the final details of the project to my colleague and booked the first flight home. While waiting at the gate, I opened Stella’s social media profile again. This time, it was completely blank. A wall of privacy settings. I remembered I had an old, unused account that I’d added her on ages ago. I logged in. Her profile was still there, public and proud. She had simply blocked me. I scrolled through the photos, my unease turning to cold fury. Everything she wore, everything she owned, was high-end luxury. A thirteen-year-old girl with a limited edition Louis Vuitton bag. The necklace she was wearing? I did a quick search. It was worth over ten thousand dollars. She was a girl from a disadvantaged background we’d agreed to sponsor. Where was she getting this kind of money? I had always taught my own daughter, Melinda, the value of humility. Her most expensive outfit probably cost less than a hundred bucks. Desperate for answers, I called our housekeeper and our driver. But their answers only deepened the mystery. They spoke of Stella in glowing terms, a chorus of praise. They said she was incredibly frugal, wearing her clothes until they were faded and worn. The more they praised her, the more I felt like I was listening to a script. As if they had all rehearsed their lines. If Stella was so thrifty, then how could she afford designer bags and diamond necklaces? Or was I truly losing my mind? 2 When my team heard I was flying back, they all offered to pick me up from the airport, joking that after a year away, they might not even recognize their own boss anymore. These past few years had been a blur. I’d clawed my way up from nothing, starting a company that was now finally taking off. This last year was the most critical, a whirlwind of travel that had kept me away from my family far more than I’d liked. Before the plane had even taken off, I was already staring out the window, picturing the moment I’d see Leah and my precious daughter. Three hours later, I landed. I turned down my colleagues’ invitations for a welcome-back dinner and grabbed a cab straight home. It was eleven at night, a time when the house should have been dark and silent. But a light was still on in Melinda’s room. I let myself in quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone. I crept up the stairs and peered into her room. She was at her desk, hunched over a textbook, her face etched with anxiety, her eyes hollow and unfocused. My heart clenched. The amount of homework they piled on these kids was criminal. I pushed the door open, ready to surprise her. The moment she heard the sound, she flinched, her arms flying up to shield her face in a reflexive, terrified gesture. She curled into herself like a cornered animal. “Melinda, it’s okay,” I said softly. “It’s me. It’s Dad.” Hearing my voice, she froze. A second later, she launched herself into my arms, burying her face in my chest. “Dad! You’re finally back!” she sobbed, a torrent of silent tears streaming down her face. She was trying so hard not to make a sound, as if afraid of waking someone up. I held her tight, stroking her back. “I’m back, sweetie. I’m back. Why are you still up doing homework so late?” I reached for the notebook on her desk, but she snatched it away. It was too late. I’d already seen the name written on the cover. Stella Vance. It wasn’t her homework. Just then, a figure appeared in the doorway, her voice a saccharine-sweet murmur. “Dad, when did you get back?” It was Stella. I looked from her to the notebook in Melinda’s hands. “Stella, why is your homework in Melinda’s room?” A flicker of panic crossed Stella’s eyes, but her gaze shifted pointedly to Melinda. “My sister saw I had too much work, so she offered to help me out.” Melinda’s head dropped. “It’s… it’s true,” she mumbled, her voice trembling. “I offered to help my sister. It has nothing to do with her.” Her whole body was shaking, a leaf in the wind. I wasn’t buying it. I kept my eyes fixed on Stella. She just shrugged, a small, smug smile playing on her lips. “You heard her. She offered. I didn’t force her.” She paused, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Right, sis?” That one word, drawn out and laced with poison, made the color drain from Melinda’s face. “Yes, sister,” she whispered. Seeing her so small, so humbled, in her own home sent a fresh wave of rage through me. She was supposed to be the princess of this house, not cowering before an outsider. “Stella,” I said, my voice low and firm. “Take your homework and go do it yourself. It’s time you learned to handle your own responsibilities.” Stella didn’t dare argue. She snatched the notebook and stalked back to her room. As I drew Melinda close, I finally saw the full extent of it. The dark circles under her eyes were deep trenches, signs of chronic exhaustion. But it was her complexion that truly shocked me. She was sallow, gaunt, a shadow of the vibrant, rosy-cheeked girl I’d left behind a year ago. She clung to my hand, her grip desperate. “Dad, you’re not leaving again, are you?” The plea in her voice was heartbreaking. “No, sweetie. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.” In my relentless pursuit of success, I’d convinced myself that providing for her was the ultimate expression of love. Now, I saw how wrong I was. I had built a gilded cage but had neglected the soul of the person inside it. No amount of money could replace a father’s presence. I asked her where her mom was. Melinda’s eyes darted nervously towards the door. “Mom said she had something at the office. She’ll be home late tonight.” More questions. Leah’s company had work this late? I told Melinda it was time for bed, but she refused to let go of me, insisting on sleeping in my room. I relented, setting her up in the master bed while I made a spot for myself on the floor. I read her a story, and once she seemed a bit more relaxed, I gently brought up the marks on her neck and arms. Her eyes shot towards the closed door, wide with fear. She stammered for a moment before finally mumbling, “Don’t ask, Dad. Please. I was just… clumsy.” Seeing the terror in her eyes, I didn’t push. But a thorn had lodged itself in my heart. She was in the prime of her youth, a time that should be filled with laughter and light. Instead, she was withdrawn and fearful. The guilt was a physical weight on my chest, a constant reminder of my own neglect. I decided then and there to put work on hold. My only job now was to be a father, to take my daughter away from this house, to help her heal. I tried calling Leah, thinking I could convince her to come home, to be with her daughter. Her response was sharp and dismissive. “I’m busy, Todd. I’ve partnered with a friend on a new startup. You be with her.” A new startup? This was the first I was hearing of it. But this was Leah’s way. She made decisions, and I was always the last to know. I’d grown used to it. Two years ago, she had brought Stella home without warning. She’d said the girl’s story broke her heart, that she was worried Melinda was lonely and needed a companion. I had been against it. Sponsoring her was one thing, but bringing her into our home felt like a massive overstep. Leah gave me the silent treatment until I caved, just to keep the peace. But from the moment Stella arrived, she acted less like a grateful guest and more like a conqueror. She saw Melinda’s beautifully decorated room and demanded it for herself. She helped herself to Melinda’s favorite snacks without asking. Leah dismissed my complaints, saying Stella was just “spirited” and “genuine.” I had hoped having another girl in the house would bring Melinda out of her shell. Instead, it seemed to have plunged her into a quiet, premature sorrow. I couldn’t let my ambition rob my daughter of her childhood. Watching Melinda finally drift off into a peaceful sleep, a small smile touched my lips. But a sudden shout from downstairs shattered the silence, and I felt Melinda jolt awake in the bed, startled. I slipped out of the room. Down in the living room, Stella was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, screaming at the TV. 3 “You bunch of idiots! Do you even know how to play?” My fingers curled into fists, my knuckles white. “Stella, keep it down,” I warned, my voice tight. “Melinda’s asleep.” She didn’t even glance at me, her eyes glued to the screen. “Who cares if she’s sleeping? Don’t bother me, I’m about to lose!” The sheer audacity of it, the absolute certainty that she was untouchable in my own home. I walked over to the router and shut it off. Stella shot to her feet, her face contorted with rage. “What the hell? Why did you turn off the internet? I was at the final boss!” I stared her down, my patience gone. “Do you think this is your house? That you can do whatever you want?” My voice was cold steel. “I told you to be quiet. Did you hear me? One more time, and you’re out. For good.” She saw the fury in my eyes and finally backed down, glaring at me with pure hatred. “My mom never yells at me like that,” she muttered under her breath. She stomped back to her room and slammed the door with such force the entire house seemed to tremble. Right then, I made a decision. As soon as Leah got home, Stella was leaving. The sponsorship was over. The next morning, our housekeeper, Mrs. Vance, knocked on the door to announce breakfast was ready. I helped Melinda get ready, and we went downstairs to the dining room together. As we came down the stairs, we ran into Stella. The change in Melinda was instantaneous. She shrank behind me like a mouse spotting a hawk, her eyes darting away, unable to meet Stella’s gaze. I still couldn’t understand the depth of her fear. I took Melinda’s hand and led her to the table. We sat on one side, Stella on the other. A moment later, Mrs. Vance came out with their breakfasts, and my blood began to boil. “Mrs. Vance,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Why are these two breakfasts different? Stella has fresh milk, but Melinda doesn’t?” Mrs. Vance looked at me as if I were an idiot. “Stella’s at a growing age. She needs the extra nutrition. Melinda… well, she drank milk all the time when she was little. She’s had plenty. Anymore would just be a waste.” I slammed my hand on the table. The sharp crack made everyone jump. “Are you listening to yourself? What do you mean, ‘she’s had plenty’? Is my own daughter not allowed to have a glass of milk in her own home?” Mrs. Vance mumbled something under her breath before reluctantly turning back to the kitchen. “I’ll go get her a glass now.” She was gone for nearly half an hour. When she returned, she slapped a glass of milk down on the table in front of Melinda. “The fresh milk is all gone. This is from the carton in the fridge.” It was ice cold. My brow furrowed. “How could we be out of fresh milk? I have several quarts delivered every single day. There’s enough for the whole family.” Mrs. Vance’s eyes flickered guiltily toward Stella. “Well, with more people in the house, things get used up faster.” I turned directly to my daughter. “Melinda, do you usually drink a lot of milk?” She started to shake her head, but then she saw Stella staring at her. Her expression changed instantly. “Y-yes. Yes, I do.” In that moment, I understood. Something was deeply wrong here. Mrs. Vance’s behavior was more than just suspicious. And then it hit me. Her last name. Vance. Even more unsettling? The driver’s last name was also Vance. Could it all be a coincidence? I remembered now that Leah had hired both of them, saying they were distant relatives of hers, people she could trust. I’d wanted to install security cameras, but Leah had thrown a fit about privacy and refused. Without cameras, I’d have to find another way to get to the truth. I thought about the credit card Leah had asked for a while back. At the time, I assumed it was for her. But a few days ago, I’d gotten a notification for a large purchase at Louis Vuitton. I’d thought it was Leah, but now I realized… she never wore that brand. I opened the banking app and pulled up the statement. My face went dark. In just one month, nearly twenty thousand dollars had been spent on that card. I picked a random charge and called the store. The store manager’s words made my blood boil. He told me the purchase was made by a young girl, about fifteen, with a small mole on her cheek. She’d been feeling generous, he said, and had bought matching bags for her two friends. The girl with the mole on her cheek was Stella. Fighting to control my rage, I pulled up the dashcam footage from the car. The veins on the back of my hand stood out like cords. The driver I’d hired specifically to take my daughter to and from school had, for the past year, been chauffeuring only one person: Stella. So where was my Melinda? How was she getting to school? I was about to storm into Stella’s room and confront her when I ran into a familiar face. It was Ben, our part-time gardener. He was a distant cousin, an older, trustworthy man I’d known for years. He only came a few times a month to tend to the grounds, but I paid him a full monthly salary for his loyalty. He was always diligent, sometimes even doing odd jobs around the house for me. He looked surprised to see me, but there was something else in his eyes, something he was holding back. I pulled him into a quiet corner of the garden. “Ben,” I said gently. “It looks like you have something to tell me.” He hesitated, then let out a heavy sigh. “Todd, I don’t know if it’s my place to say… but you need to be careful. You need to keep a closer eye on what’s happening in this house.” I knew he was holding back. I pressed him, and the whole ugly story came pouring out. “That housekeeper of yours, she’s got sticky fingers. I’ve seen her sneaking things from the house to sell. And when she buys groceries, she gets the vendors to inflate the prices so she can pocket the difference. She caught me watching once and threatened to have my legs broken if I said a word.” “And the driver,” he continued, his voice low and angry, “he’s in on it. I tried to speak up, and she called him over. He said he’d kill me. If it wasn’t for you, Todd, I’d have been long gone.” “And that girl… Stella. She acts like she owns the place. I’ve seen her pouring fresh milk down the drain, using it to wash her face and feet. I told her not to be so wasteful, and you know what she called me? A good-for-nothing old peasant who had no right to talk to a princess like her.” His final words hit me like a punch to the gut. “And I see her with Melinda. I see the way she pushes her around, yelling at her. Hitting her.” My face went numb with fury. I immediately hired a private investigator to look into the housekeeper’s transactions and the driver’s routes. Then, I found Melinda. I asked her, point-blank, if Stella had been bullying her. She stammered and denied it at first, her eyes wide with fear. But then I showed her my phone. I had found a video, sent to me by the investigator. It was a video of my daughter. When she saw it, her composure shattered and the full, horrifying truth came out. The video was grainy, shot in a dark corner of what looked like a school bathroom. My Melinda was pinned against the wall by a group of girls. They were hitting her, kicking her. One of them shoved a grimy mophead into her mouth, while another jabbed her back with the handle. And the ringleader, laughing and directing the whole thing, was the girl I had welcomed into my home. The girl I had sponsored for two years. Stella. I saw red. I couldn’t breathe. I stormed into Stella’s room, my phone shaking in my hand. “What is this?” I roared, shoving the screen in her face. “Explain this to me. Now!” When she saw the video, the color drained from her face.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393551”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 “This woman is bleeding out after childbirth. Isn’t her husband supposed to be watching her? Where is he?” I was about to make an excuse for my husband, Robert, to say he was a doctor and had an emergency at the hospital he couldn’t get away from. Just then, I received a wedding photo from Robert’s best friend, Anna. “Thanks for lending me Robert, sis-in-law,” the text read. “I had a great 30th birthday. Don’t worry, we won’t be consummating the marriage, lol.” In the photo, Robert was kissing Anna’s cheek. Their entire circle of friends surrounded them, their faces beaming with happiness. Meanwhile, I was hemorrhaging so severely that I needed a family member’s signature for emergency surgery, but Robert was unreachable. When I finally managed to get through to him, his only words were, “The baby’s already born. Can’t you just give me a break?” “It’s Anna’s 30th birthday. It’s important. Everyone is here; I can’t leave.” “I promised her I’d be with her for her 30th.” “Why do you have to be such a buzzkill?” Right before I lost consciousness, Anna sent another photo. It was a picture of a large bed. Robert and she were lying on it, surrounded by their friends, who were raucously celebrating their “wedding night.” …“Oxygen levels are dropping. The patient is showing signs of shock. Get blood from another hospital’s bank, now! Notify all specialists to report to the OR immediately!” The hospital’s emergency code, “999,” blared through the halls. Doctors and nurses rushed into my room. I could feel my life slipping away, my body so light it felt like it could float off the bed at any moment. Through the haze, I could hear a nurse’s gentle voice. “You have to fight. Your baby was just born. He’s in the incubator. You haven’t even held him yet.” “Don’t give up on yourself. Please, don’t give up. We’re doing everything we can to save you.” Her voice was urgent, laced with a choked sob. I had no strength to respond, but my mind kept repeating, That’s right, I have my baby. I can’t die, I can’t… The hospital was pulling out all the stops, gathering the city’s top OB-GYN specialists for an emergency consultation, rapidly sourcing blood from every available bank. “We still can’t reach the patient’s family. What do we do?” “What is her husband doing at a time like this? His phone is off?” “The patient’s… parents passed away a few years ago. She only has her husband. If we have to, we’ll proceed with the surgery. The patient’s life is the priority.” The voices around me faded in and out. The silence was terrifying. Are they going to give up on me? Am I going to die on this operating table? Will I ever see my child? No, I can’t die. Robert won’t take care of my baby. If I die, my child’s life will be ruined. I wished I could just be well again. But all I heard were the frantic shouts of the medical staff. “Where is that blood? The patient is fading!” “Have you contacted Dr. Robert from Central Hospital? He’s the top authority in OB-GYN. With him here, the success rate would be much higher.” Dr. Robert? I wanted so badly to speak. To tell them that Dr. Robert, my Robert, was the husband they couldn’t reach. But I had no chance. Someone said with a sigh, “Dr. Robert probably won’t come. He took a special seven-day leave. Said he was getting married to his childhood friend and going on a honeymoon.” “I thought Dr. Robert was going to be a bachelor forever. Whenever we asked if he was married or dating, he always said he didn’t need to. Turns out he was in love with his best friend all along.” So, he had never told his colleagues he was married. No wonder he never let me go to his hospital for my check-ups. He said it would be an inconvenience for his coworkers, but the truth was he didn’t want them to know he had a wife of seven years. “Forget Dr. Robert. He’s probably celebrating his wedding night right now. Let’s just focus on saving this patient!” Their words were so clear, yet I couldn’t react. The anesthesia seemed to dull the pain but didn’t put me completely under. It was torture. I could feel the cold steel of their instruments, sense their tension, and feel the creeping cold in my own body. Just when I thought I was done for, the head nurse shouted, “Dr. Robert answered his phone!” 2 But the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Robert’s. It was Anna’s. Her voice grated on my nerves, making the already ineffective anesthesia even more useless. I could feel my chest heaving, the pain unbearable. “Robert, you should thank me. If I hadn’t made you keep your work phone on, you would have missed this call.” “Yeah, yeah,” Robert’s voice was full of affection. “You’re the best, the smartest.” When he took the phone, his tone became serious. “I saw the patient’s chart you sent over. With her rare blood type and gestational hypertension, it’s a very difficult case. You need to contact the family as soon as possible and get their consent.” “Dr. Robert, we can’t reach her family. We’ve been trying, but his phone is off.” Robert sounded angry. “His wife is giving birth, and he won’t even answer his phone? What kind of animal is he?” “Dr. Robert, can you come over now?” Anna’s complaining voice drifted through the phone. “Go on then… Just leave me here to celebrate my birthday all by myself.” “No way, I’m not going.” After comforting her, Robert spoke into the phone again. “I’m sorry, I can’t make it. We’re about to board a flight for a little getaway. I can connect you with someone else, though.” Then he hung up, as if afraid they would try to persuade him further. And that’s when I realized he had a separate work phone, a phone I had never even seen. A nurse standing beside me, monitoring my vitals, murmured, “For a second there, when Dr. Robert was talking, I thought it was this patient’s husband. Their voices are identical.” “Don’t be ridiculous. His wife was right there with him, you heard her.” At that moment, the blood from the other hospitals arrived. Along with the plasma came another doctor. I heard a chorus of excited voices calling him “Professor.” He immediately had the anesthesiologist check my dosage and increase it. I drifted into a deep sleep and endured a long, life-saving surgery. When I woke up, a nursing intern was sitting by my bed, recording my vitals. When she saw my eyes open, she immediately called in a team of doctors and nurses. “Are you feeling any discomfort?” I shook my head. The lead doctor examined my incision and my chart, then looked at me. “Chloe Shaw, how long has it been since you graduated? Have you forgotten everything you learned?” I looked up at him closely. It was Aaron, the senior student who had supervised our lab work back in grad school. He seemed even more serious than I remembered. He studied me for a moment. “Your husband just sent a message to your phone. Do you want me to open it for you?” I managed a weak nod. He unlocked my phone with my face ID, and a notification popped up instantly. It was a charge alert from my bank account. A nineteen-thousand-dollar expense at a seaside resort for a honeymoon package. Then, a message from Robert. “On a business trip. Be back in a week. Sorry, babe, just been so busy.” But right after he sent that, a message from Anna came through. [Sis-in-law, this ocean-view room is gorgeous! I had to share it with you.] The accompanying photo was of her and Robert in a bathtub, looking out at the sea. There were even hickeys on her neck. [Don’t you think it’s beautiful, sis-in-law? Robert said he’ll bring you here for your anniversary. Same room, same bed.] 3 Everyone in the room saw that message. A heavy, awkward silence fell. Aaron didn’t say anything. He just turned off my phone and instructed the intern to monitor me closely. The nurse nodded and said something I couldn’t quite hear. I only saw everyone else trying to hide their smiles. Aaron’s face turned red, and he quickly left the room. I was alone in that private room most of the time, with only the beeping machines for company, even on my birthday. On my birthday, my condition worsened, and I was rushed back into surgery. Robert sent a red envelope with a simple “Happy Birthday” in the morning and then disappeared. His social media profile was a blank line. I spent my entire birthday in the ICU. Aaron came to see me constantly, looking more and more exhausted each time. When I was a little more lucid, I saw him standing outside the glass window, holding up a small cake. He mouthed the words, “When you’re better, you can have your birthday cake. Happy birthday, Chloe!” He paused after each word, making sure I could understand. I managed a small smile and a weak nod. Finally, just before midnight, my condition stabilized, and I was moved out of the ICU. Aaron was there with the cake, the candle lit. He asked me what my wish was. Without a moment’s hesitation, I mouthed, “A divorce.” Aaron paused for a second, then blew out the candle for me. “The heavens say your wish will come true,” he told me. I didn’t get to eat the cake, but the fact that he remembered was enough. The next day, feeling a little better, I was about to call my office to request leave when I saw a birthday message from Anna. It was a video. A spectacular fireworks display over the ocean, with drones spelling out “Happy Birthday to You.” The caption read: “Oops, wrong person, sis-in-law. This was from when Robert celebrated my birthday. Isn’t it beautiful?” She then sent a series of photos. They were private maternity photos she had taken of me when I was pregnant. Robert had convinced me it was to capture a beautiful memory, that the body was something to be celebrated, not hidden. So I had agreed. But Anna had taken those photos and entered them into a photography competition. And she hadn’t chosen the tasteful, discreet ones. She used the ones where my face was clearly visible. “Sis-in-law, your photos won an award! Though a lot of people said your stretch marks are disgusting. They just don’t have an eye for art.” After sending that, she pretended to hit the wrong button and sent a voice message. It was Robert’s voice. “They’re not wrong, you know. Sometimes when I see all those stretch marks, I feel disgusted too.” Anna not only won an award with those photos but also a hefty cash prize. Robert, who had been absent from social media for days, suddenly reappeared. Everyone in their little group was congratulating Anna, sharing my photos without blurring my face. After I ‘liked’ one of the posts, Robert finally contacted me. He said he was coming back soon to see me and the baby, then casually ordered, “You should be getting discharged soon. Perfect timing, you can go home and look after Anna’s cat for a few days.” I simply replied, “Okay.” After a few more days of recovery, I contacted a divorce lawyer, had the papers drawn up, and sold the house that was in my name, along with everything Robert had ever given me. I started a short-form video account, using the persona of the woman from Anna’s controversial maternity photos. It quickly gained traction. The photography association even contacted me, inviting me to be a special guest at Anna’s award ceremony. Robert never came to see me, not even on the day I was discharged. His excuse was that he was too busy at the hospital. But Anna had already told me the truth: he was with her, helping her prepare for the ceremony. The day of the awards was a grand affair. My photos were projected on a giant screen, cycling on a loop. Robert sat in the family section, his eyes full of adoration for Anna. He was even wearing the tie I had given him. Anna held up her trophy, beaming. “I want to thank my dearest, most beloved friend, Robert. Without his constant care and support, I wouldn’t have achieved this today.” Robert walked onto the stage with a bouquet of flowers. They embraced deeply. Just as Robert leaned in to kiss the corner of Anna’s mouth, the doors burst open. It was the police. “Mr. Robert, Ms. Anna, please come with us.” 4 They stared at the police, stunned. They had no idea what they could have done wrong. Anna shrank into Robert’s arms, looking wronged. “Robert, I didn’t do anything. Why are the police here? It wasn’t Chloe, was it?” “She’s still in the hospital. And what could she possibly report us for?” At that moment, I stood up. The video on the screen had just switched to one of my more revealing maternity photos. This wasn’t one of the angles she had taken with my permission. It was clearly a candid shot, taken while I was changing. I hadn’t even known she was taking a picture. But she had used this photo for the competition. Her motive was crystal clear. She wanted to humiliate me, to show everyone that I, with my imperfect body and stretch marks, was unworthy of a genius doctor like Robert. That she was the one who truly deserved him. This was the photo that everyone in their friend group had shared. It proved they all knew what Anna was doing and supported her. Robert had probably given them some subtle encouragement, confident that I would just take it, that I wouldn’t make a fuss, especially now that I had his child. So they had all felt free to bully me, to share my private photos, some even posting them on public platforms, leading to a barrage of hateful comments. I had screenshots of it all from the backend of my own video account. All of this was evidence for my police report. The moment I received the invitation to this ceremony, I knew what I had to do. I looked at Robert. “What could I report you for? This photo alone is enough. And even without it, I have other things. Do you want to hear them?” Robert was shocked to see me. I had lost a lot of weight and looked much more haggard than a new mother should. “You… what are you doing here?” He started to walk towards me, but Anna held him back. He didn’t push her away, just kept asking me what was wrong, why I was so thin. “Where’s the baby? Why are you alone? Is the baby okay?” I let out a cold laugh. “So you do remember you have a child? You remember you have a child, yet you were shacked up with Anna in another city while I was hemorrhaging after childbirth!” The moment the words left my mouth, the media outlets covering the event swiveled their cameras towards me. This was much more interesting than an awards ceremony. With the heat I’d already generated online, they weren’t about to miss this opportunity. Robert and his little group of five immediately turned on me. “Don’t you dare make things up! You know we can sue you for slander!” “That’s right! Robert was just celebrating Anna’s birthday with her. We’ve been doing that for years. Why should he stop just because he’s married to you? Anna buys you makeup, and gifts, she’s so good to you! Why are you so petty?” “Yeah!” After the chorus of accusations, Robert turned to the police. “I’m so sorry about this. My wife just gave birth, she probably has some postpartum depression. This is all just a domestic dispute. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” But the police officer was firm. “Your wife has provided a complete chain of evidence. It strongly suggests that you and Ms. Anna have illegally recorded and used another person’s image for profit.”

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1 The moment I saw the positive pregnancy test, I rushed home, eager to surprise Clark. Instead, I was abducted and thrown onto the stage of an organ auction. A hood was thrown over my head, my body bound to a cold, metal platform. I could hear the voice of Clark’s best friend, Raymond. “Clark, what are you doing here instead of being with your lovely wife? Is the little mistress giving you trouble again?” Clark chuckled. He ran a hand over the woman nestled in his arms, eliciting a playful giggle from her. Her name was Ivy. “You know it. Ivy’s been clamoring for a new nose, and she fancies one made from a rib. My dear Alice, bless her heart, thought I had a business deal and practically kicked me off our honeymoon to come back. She’s adorably naive.” I thrashed against my restraints, desperate for him to notice me. Ivy complained about the noise, and Clark, without a second thought, pressed a button. A jolt of electricity shot through me. A sharp, searing pain tore through my abdomen, and I went limp, tears streaming down my cheeks. A crisp gavel sound echoed through the hall, and the bidding began. “Two hundred thousand! I’ll take a cornea!” “Five hundred thousand! The left kidney is mine!” Soon, my body was a canvas of circles, marking the parts that had been sold. Then, Clark lazily raised his bidding paddle. “One million. I’ll take the heart. A new plaything for my Ivy.” “Mr. Thorne is truly generous!” Raymond boomed. “Alice’s wedding ring was only half a million, wasn’t it? She’d be furious if she knew! Hahahaha!” Clark blew a smoke ring, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ivy’s been with me for five years, and she certainly knows how to please a man. She’s earned it.” “As for Alice? She’s sweet and obedient. A few bouquets of flowers when I get back, and she’ll be happy.” He compared me to his mistress with such casual cruelty. My tears fell, hot and silent. Eight years we’d been together, a love story everyone envied, culminating in a fairy-tale wedding. I never imagined half of that love was being given to someone else. Through the suffocating hood, I could sense him stroking Ivy’s hair. And I was here, trussed up like an animal for slaughter. Rough hands dragged me off the stage. Blinded, I missed a step and tumbled down, the impact jarring every bone in my body. A wave of laughter washed over me, Clark’s voice the loudest and most piercing. Before I could recover from the blinding pain, a rope was yanked around my neck, and I was forced to stumble forward. As I passed Clark, he grabbed my wrist, his brow furrowing as he stared at the sun tattoo there. I tried to make a sound, any sound, to make him see me. We had gotten those tattoos together the day he proposed. He had looked at me with such tenderness. “Alice,” he’d whispered, “you are my sun, illuminating my world. A life with you is a life complete.” But now, his eyes filled with disgust. Without hesitation, he took a scalpel from a nearby tray and carved the tattoo from my flesh. “Only Alice is worthy of this tattoo!” he snarled. “Does every stray cat think she can imitate her now?” “To think you’d stoop this low just to get close to me. You’ve got nerve, but a tattoo will never make you her replacement!” Raymond led a round of applause. “I’m telling you, Alice Thorne has the life. To be cherished by Clark for so many years!” A bitter smile twisted my lips. Yes, in all our years together, Clark had never said no to me. If I wanted the stars, he would have plucked them from the sky. I had never once doubted his love. But now, watching his hand rest possessively on Ivy’s waist… did he truly love me? Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. I tried to reach for him, but he was busy, meticulously peeling a grape for Ivy. I was dragged away, watching in despair as the distance between us grew. The dissector began laying out his instruments. I used every last bit of my strength to crawl, to try and save myself. A pair of high heels stopped in front of me. Ivy ripped off my hood and blew a puff of smoke in my face. “Funny he didn’t recognize you. Then again, you’re always so poised, so perfect. You’ve never looked this pathetic before, have you?” “I want him to be the one to kill you. Then I’ll be his one and only.” “Did you know? On your birthday, when he said he was busy with work? He was busy learning new positions with me.” “Your mother, when she needed help and he didn’t answer? My hand had a tiny little scratch. Every moment he wasn’t with you, he was with me.” With every word, the color drained from my face, until the pain in my heart drowned out everything else. Ivy watched my anguish with a satisfied smirk. 2 Footsteps approached, and she quickly pulled the hood back over my head. I was hoisted onto the dissection table. The cold steel of a blade traced patterns on my skin. The dissector frowned and looked at Clark. “Mr. Thorne, she’s pregnant…” Clark stepped forward and pressed down hard on my abdomen. The pain was so intense I felt like I was being torn in two. He casually stubbed out his cigarette on the raw, bleeding wound where my tattoo used to be and told the dissector to proceed. My hand trembled as I reached for the hem of his coat. Just then, his phone rang. His expression instantly shifted to one of pure joy. “Alice’s pregnant? Don’t tell her I know, she’ll want to surprise me.” “Go! Buy out every baby store in the city! Book the finest birthing center! Boy or girl, this child will be the heir to the Thorne empire.” The delight of a first-time father was written all over his face, and it was a dagger in my heart. The child you’re so excited for is right here, and you have no idea. A flash of jealousy crossed Ivy’s face. She gave the dissector a look. He continued. The scalpel sliced into my skin. A piercing scream tore from my throat. I thrashed wildly, my bound wrists scraping against the metal, sending rivulets of blood down my arms. Clark turned and our eyes met, though he couldn’t see my face. “That voice… it sounds so much like Alice’s.” Hope surged through me. He would save us. He would save me and our child. Ivy clung to his arm, her face a mask of shock. “Did she have surgery on her vocal cords to sound like Alice? That’s terrifying!” Clark’s brief moment of consideration was replaced by revulsion. He strode over and stuffed a wad of cloth into my mouth, silencing me. Ivy began fiddling with a nearby machine. Seeing her curiosity, Clark walked over, took her hand, and guided it to a button. “This is for electrocution.” A burning sensation shot through my limbs. The powerful current made my muscles contract violently, a tearing feeling overwhelming me. A warm gush of fluid flowed from between my legs. “And this is for needles.” My fingers were pried apart. Five long, sharp needles appeared and pierced through my fingertips. Every bone in my body felt like it was being crushed by a millstone. I was on the verge of blacking out, gasping for air. … I don’t know how much punishment I endured. My vision swam with black spots, my consciousness fading. A shrill alarm cut through the haze. Clark pulled out his phone and dialed, but there was no answer. His brow furrowed with anxiety, and he quickly dialed his secretary. “Where is Alice?! Why isn’t she answering her phone? We talk every day at this time! Find her! If you can’t find her, you’re all fired!” He hung up, agitated. In the distance, an attendant led in several small ponies. Clark’s eyes lit up. “Go on, bring me the best one! A gentle one, so it doesn’t hurt Alice. She must be upset with me for not being there!” Ivy whispered something in his ear, a sly smile on her face. The next moment, I was dragged off the table like a sack of garbage, my hands tied securely to the back of a pony. My eyes widened in terror. I tried to scream Clark’s name, but only a strangled hiss escaped my lips. I remembered the water they’d forced me to drink before bringing me on stage. Despair swallowed me whole. Ivy mounted the pony with a gleeful shout, urging it faster and faster. The pain was a contorting mask on my face. I tried to curl into a ball to protect my stomach, but the rough ground tore at my back, leaving a long, bloody trail. Finally, satisfied, Ivy dismounted. “This pony-dragging is so much fun! In the future, Alice can pull the baby in a little cart!” Clark smiled and playfully tapped her nose. “You’re so thoughtful. Alice will definitely like you.” Beads of sweat popped out on my skin. I lay crumpled on the ground, the agony of my baby being ripped from my body a sharp, clear reality. Clark kicked me in the stomach with disgust, shielding Ivy’s eyes with his hand. “Filthy. Don’t look.” My body felt broken in half. I could barely feel my own existence. I looked at Clark’s profile, my heart filled with a desolate sorrow. The same Clark who had once thrown himself in front of a car to save me, the Clark who had sworn he would find me no matter where I was in the world, now couldn’t even recognize me. He was so excited for our child’s arrival. When we learned I might have trouble conceiving, he had gone to a monastery and performed a pilgrimage of nine steps and a bow, his knees raw and bleeding. And now, he had killed his own hope with his own hands. The buyers were getting impatient, urging the dissector to hurry. Clark slowly wiped his hands. 3 “You’ll have to wait for the next shipment. Five million. I’m buying this one.” He then carefully wiped Ivy’s hands, his gaze tender and affectionate. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this happy. We’ll buy her as a little toy for you.” Their eyes met, a shared, unspoken intimacy passing between them. I was thrown into a cage, left to die. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible rope, heavy and suffocating. Clark squatted in front of me, a playful look in his eyes. “Serve Ivy well, and maybe I’ll save your child.” I struggled to reach up, to pull off my mask, to make him see me, to save our baby. Clark’s eyes darkened. He reached out and snapped my wrist. “Aaargh!!” My bloodcurdling scream echoed through the room. Even some of the hardened onlookers flinched. He dragged me up and slammed me against the wall. I didn’t even have the strength to get up. Clark turned to his secretary. “Still no sign of Alice?! Search everywhere! If you can’t find her, you’ll all be in this cage instead!” Ivy, her eyes red, tried to comfort him. “Don’t worry, Clark. I’m sure Alice is fine. Let’s do something else to distract you, shall we?” Clark glanced at her. Ivy blinked playfully. “The doctor said it’s safe for pregnant women, but I don’t believe it’s not dangerous. Why don’t we… test it? Then you and Alice will know the limits.” I used every ounce of my strength to back away. The glint in Clark’s eyes sent a chill down my spine. He gave a look, and a group of large men approached me. Rough hands groped me, sending shivers of terror through my body. I wanted to scream, but my throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “Serve me well, little slut, and maybe I’ll ask Mr. Thorne for a favor for you!” A foul stench filled the air. A hand grabbed my hair and forced my head towards the man’s crotch. I pushed him away with all my might and was slammed headfirst into the wall, stars exploding behind my eyes. My fingernails clawed at the floor, leaving bloody streaks. The man watched me for a moment, then released me. Just as I was about to crawl out of the cage, he snatched me back. I screamed with everything I had left. “The child…!” The man’s underwear was shoved into my mouth, and tears of humiliation streamed down my face. Clark, who had been ignoring the scene, frowned and turned. “That’s enough. All of you, back off. I should earn some good karma for my child with Alice.” At the mention of the child, his expression softened, a hint of anticipation in his eyes. Ivy pouted. “It’s just a baby. I can give you one, too.” She was met with a crisp, resounding slap. Clark’s gentle face turned dark and menacing. He grabbed Ivy’s chin. “You’ve been around me for a few years and you think you can compare yourself to Alice? My children will only come from her belly!” Ivy’s eyes instantly filled with tears. Her gaze towards me turned twisted and venomous. She quickly composed herself, her voice a coquettish whine. “I was wrong. I’m just tired and not thinking straight. Don’t be angry with me.” “You hit me, so you have to make it up to me! Make me a shuttlecock to play with!” Clark squinted, then after a moment, a slow smile spread across his face. He rummaged on the dissection table and then walked towards me, a silver knife scraping against the bars of the cage with a piercing screech. Looking at where his gaze was fixed, I finally understood. The shuttlecock Ivy wanted to play with was my heart. I tried to raise my hand to tear off the mask, but even the slightest movement sent waves of agony through my body. My gagged mouth could only produce muffled whimpers. Clark, thinking I was trying to escape, slapped my face hard. “Trash like you should be grateful to be a toy for Ivy. And you want to run? Don’t worry, I’ll compensate your family. But if they cared about you, you wouldn’t be here in the first place, would you?” As a smile touched his lips, the sharp knife plunged into my chest without hesitation. My life with Clark flashed before my eyes. His laughter, his tears, everything he had done for me and our child—all of it vanished like smoke. Clark raised the knife for another cut. My eyelids grew heavy, too heavy to lift. My hand fell limply to my side. The secretary burst in, his face a mask of terror. “Mr. Thorne! We’ve found Mrs. Thorne!”

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I was a Riverwarden, retrieving drowned bodies from the Serpent’s Coil. My quiet life ended when I saved two men—the Crown Prince and his brother. In the chaos, I became pregnant with the Prince’s child. Yet on our wedding day, he vanished, marrying Duke Isolde instead. His brother, Kaelan, confessed hewas with me that night. He swore to marry me and raise the child as his own. A month later, bandits slaughtered every soul in Serpent’s Hollow. The grief stole my unborn child. Kaelan stayed by my side, his devotion unwavering. Three years later, pregnant again, I overheard Kaelan’s truth: “I married her for Isolde. If Moira’s son was firstborn, Isolde’s position would be threatened.” “Did you truly have to massacre Serpent’s Hollow?” “They knew too much.” Loving the Crown Prince was a tragedy. Loving his brother damned me twice. 1 A maid from the palace had just come and gone, intercepted by one of Kaelan’s guards. I only caught a whisper of her words as I passed the study: “…heard that Moira is with child…” Inside, Kaelan’s hand clenched, the porcelain cup in his hand rattling in its saucer. He was a man of immense self-control, and his composure returned in an instant. “I will not allow her to bear it.” His voice was cold as the river in winter. His friend sounded shocked. “But it’s your own flesh and blood.” “Her womb has carried another man’s seed. It’s fouled. Besides,” Kaelan added, a note of revulsion in his tone, “she spent her life pulling corpses from the water. I fear what monstrous thing might be born of it.” He turned to a servant lingering in the shadows. “Have Gisela mix blood-thistle into the Princess’s meals. Be careful. I don’t want her to know.” The friend sighed. “The girl is a pitiful creature, in her own way…” Kaelan’s gaze grew distant, lost in the depths of his tea. “I will allow her to live out her days as a princess,” he murmured. “That will be her compensation.” I clapped a hand over my mouth, stumbling back, my vision tunneling. Ignoring the confused stares of the servants, I fled back to my chambers. In the darkness of my room, I wept. So, the man that night hadn’t been him after all. Yet, for Isolde’s sake, he had willingly married me, a “fouled” woman, and prepared to accept a child that shared none of his blood. I remembered the day of the massacre. He had looked at my blood-soaked dress, his own tears streaming down his face as he held me. “Moira, I swear to you,” he’d choked out, “I will not let our people die in vain. I will not let our child’s death go unavenged.” He was true to his word. Within three days, he had located the bandits’ lair and slaughtered every last one of them. For years, my heart had overflowed with gratitude. I never suspected that the monster I mourned was the same man who held me while I wept. A knock at the door. It was the maid, Gisela. “Your Highness, your dinner is ready.” “Leave it. I’m not hungry.” I couldn’t eat the food laced with poison. The royal physician had told me my first loss had left my body weak. If I miscarried again, I might never bear a child. I wanted this baby. Before, I’d wanted it for Kaelan. Now, I wanted it for my people, for the kin who had died because of me. I couldn’t save them. But I could ensure the line of the Riverwardens did not die out. It was the only atonement I could imagine. Later, heavy footsteps echoed in the courtyard. “Your Grace, the Princess refuses to eat.” “I’ll handle it.” I hastily wiped my eyes, but their swollen redness betrayed me. Kaelan knelt before me, his touch gentle as he stroked my cheek. “Tears and no food. Who has been mistreating my Moira?” “Only the little one in my belly,” I whispered, forcing a smile. Kaelan froze for a second, then his face broke into a masterful performance of joy. “Truly? I’m to be a father?” “Truly.” My heart was a block of ice, but for the sake of my child, I had to play my part. “Kaelan, if… and this is only if… you do not want this child, I will raise it myself. I promise it will never be a burden to you.” A flicker of alarm crossed his eyes, but he masked it with a strained laugh. “What nonsense is this? How could I not love a child you give me, Moira?” He pulled me to my feet. “Come, no more dark thoughts. You must eat.” He led me to a table laden with food. I turned my head away, my stomach churning with revulsion. He placed a piece of steamed greens in my bowl, his voice a soft caress. “Just a little. The child needs you to be strong.” He was so convincing, his affection so seemingly genuine. How could it all be a lie? “I truly cannot eat…” At that, his patience snapped. “You may not wish to eat, but the child must! Will you stop this childish petulance?” He grabbed my chin, his grip like iron, and tried to force the food into my mouth. I wrenched myself free, but in that moment of violence, I understood his resolve. Despair washed over me. Choking back tears, I picked up my fork. “I will eat myself.” Once this meal was finished, everything would be over. In the dead of night, the agony began. A sharp, cramping pain in my belly, and a flow of blood that slowly soaked the bedsheets crimson. Kaelan shouted once, and the royal physician, Master Elian, entered as if he had been waiting just outside the door. The pain was a white-hot haze, but through it, I heard Elian’s cautious whisper. “Your Grace, the Princess’s body was already weakened by her first miscarriage. If we do not save her now, she may never be able to conceive again…” There was a long silence before Kaelan spoke. “It doesn’t matter. When I take other wives, I can grant her a child to raise in her old age.” It doesn’t matter. So it was true. He found me foul. He never wanted my child. My last shred of hope turned to ash. As Elian worked, a lady-in-waiting from the palace burst in. “Your Grace! The Crown Princess is suffering from a stomach ache. She requests Master Elian’s presence at once!” Kaelan’s expression transformed. The concern on his face was raw, undisguised. Without a second thought, he grabbed Elian by the arm to leave. My loyal maid, Carol, threw herself at Kaelan’s feet, her voice a desperate wail. “Your Grace, if you take the physician now, my lady will die!” “The Crown Princess only has a stomach ache, any court doctor can see her! But my lady is on the verge of death!” “I beg you, Your Grace, have mercy on my mistress…” “Insolence!” Kaelan’s heart was already gone. “The Crown Princess is of royal blood! How dare a servant dictate her care?” He kicked Carol aside and threw a dismissive order to a guard. “Brew her some ginseng broth to keep her alive. I will bring Master Elian back as soon as the Crown Princess is well!” Carol tried to follow, but I stopped her. “Carol… don’t.” Her eyes were red and swollen as she looked at me with pity. “My lady, wait for me. I will fetch another physician…” With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pushed myself up. From under the bed, I pulled out a small wooden box and gave Carol the iron seal within—the Riverwarden’s Seal. “Carol, go to the palace. Give this to the King himself. Tell him Moira asks for a writ of separation.” When the King had come to my village to retrieve his sons, he had been so grateful for my aid that he’d granted me a single boon. I had never dared to use it. Now, the time had come. It was the afternoon of the next day before Kaelan returned with the physician. By then, another doctor, one Carol had summoned, was just leaving. Kaelan grabbed the man’s arm. “How is the Princess?” “Her life is saved, but alas…” For the first time, Kaelan seemed truly flustered on my account. His voice was low. “Alas, what?” The physician shook his head with a sigh. “Her body is broken. I fear she will live the rest of her life in pain.” A flicker of guilt crossed Kaelan’s face. He came to my bedside and tried to gather my frail form into his arms. “I’m sorry, Moira. It’s not that I didn’t want to care for you, but the Crown Princess carries the royal heir. There could be no delay…” I pushed myself away from his embrace, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through me. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve been up all night, Your Grace. You should rest.” His hands froze in mid-air. His voice was hoarse. “Moira… are you angry with me?” I closed my eyes. “This common woman wouldn’t dare.” “Common woman?” He heard the shift in my words, the icy formality. He stared at me in disbelief. I had always referred to myself as his humble wife. To change my address now was to draw a line in the sand between us. “Yes. I am of low birth. I cannot be compared to the Crown Princess. You did nothing wrong, Your Grace, and I dare not blame you.” A violent cough shook my frame, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the sheets. Seeing this, Kaelan didn’t press the matter. He gently patted my back. “Moira has always been the most understanding. It was foolish of me to doubt. You rest now. Your husband will stay right here with you.” I don’t know how long I slept, but I was awakened by a commotion in the courtyard. I opened my eyes to see Carol lying in the center of the yard, being beaten with rods. Her clothes were soaked in blood; she was barely breathing. The Crown Princess, Lady Isolde, sat nearby, watching with a cold, detached air. Seeing me awake, Kaelan didn’t bother with an explanation. He simply placed a hand on my shoulder, holding me down. “The Crown Princess is disciplining a servant, Moira. Do not interfere.” I learned the reason for this brutality. After delivering my request for separation, Carol had fetched the doctor for me. The King and Queen, already feeling guilty over the Crown Prince’s broken betrothal, were furious when they heard how Kaelan had abandoned me for Isolde’s minor complaint. They had harshly reprimanded Isolde, calling her a viper. Unable to touch me, Isolde had decided to take her anger out on Carol. Tears streamed down my face as I watched my friend dying. I clutched Kaelan’s sleeve. “Your Grace, I beg you, save her. It is all my fault.” “Carol was only worried for me.” Kaelan looked pained. “Moira, she is just a servant. Let the Crown Princess vent her anger, and this will all be over.” I stared at his handsome face, unable to comprehend the blackness of the heart that beat beneath it. Just because we were born common, did our lives not matter? Me. Carol. The hundred families of Serpent’s Hollow. I could no longer contain my rage. “Is this how you felt when you butchered Serpent’s Hollow?” I screamed. “They were just commoners, after all!” His face contorted as if I had struck him. He lunged, his hand clamping around my neck, his eyes burning with fury. “Moira, what nonsense are you spouting?!” I struggled, and the movement tore open the wounds in my lower body. Blood gushed out, staining the bed anew. The sight of it seemed to break his rage. He panicked, fumbling to hold me. “Moira, stop moving, don’t move!” I pushed his hands away, my gaze filled with hatred. “Kaelan, was it fun? Lying to me for all these years?” “Hundreds of lives, and my two children. Does your conscience never torment you at night?” His hands hovered in the air, trembling uncontrollably. “You know?” When I didn’t answer, he began to explain. “Moira, I had no choice! Someone in Serpent’s Hollow saw you with the Crown Prince. If word of the pregnancy got out, it would have thrown the entire court into chaos!” I laughed, a cold, broken sound. “Was it the court you feared for, or were you afraid your precious Isolde would lose her power?” His brow furrowed, his guilt instantly replaced by annoyance. “This was my decision. It had nothing to do with Isolde. Do not drag her into this.” Even now, he was protecting her. I was a fool. “And my children? The first I lost to grief, a grief you caused. What about the second?” Now that I had torn away the last veil of deceit, he dropped the act. “Yes. I had it taken from you.” “I wasn’t ready to be a father.” “Even now, you lie to me…” “Moira, enough of this madness! Whatever I have done, consider it my debt to you. I swore I would make it up to you. I will let you live out your days in splendor, secure as a princess!” I didn’t want to hear any more of his empty promises. “Kaelan, I want nothing from you. I will give up everything for a separation. Let me go.” “If you fear I will silence you as I did my village, you can take my life as well.” “I only ask that you save Carol.” I thought the weight of hundreds of lives on his soul might be enough to bargain for one. I had underestimated his depravity. “Moira, stop. This time, I cannot help you.” “Isolde’s heart has been wounded. She is a sensitive, fragile soul. If Carol lives, she will not be able to sleep at night.” I finally understood. In Kaelan’s world, a commoner’s life was worth less than Lady Isolde’s peaceful slumber. I shoved him away and dragged my broken body into the courtyard. I fell at Isolde’s feet, clutching the hem of her dress. “Your Highness, I beg you, spare Carol. It is all my fault.” Isolde smirked. “And what was your fault?” “I am low-born. I should not have troubled the royal physician.” “I should not have displeased Your Highness.” “Enough,” Isolde said, kicking my hand away in disgust. “You are covered in filth. It’s nauseating.” She turned to Kaelan. “Kaelan, I’m tired. Will you take me home?” Kaelan glanced at me, crumpled on the ground. He hesitated for a moment, but in the end, he chose Isolde. I felt for Carol’s faint pulse. I called out to Kaelan one last time. “Your Grace, can you at least send for Master Elian?” Kaelan started to give the order, but Isolde cut him off. “No physician is to be called. I have spared her life. Whether she lives or dies is up to fate.” Kaelan gave me one last, complicated look, then clenched his jaw and turned away. At that moment, something inside me shattered. I screamed at his retreating back. “Kaelan, let us separate!” Isolde, hearing this, laughed aloud. “She wants a separation, Kaelan. Aren’t you going to comfort her?” He shot me a look of pure annoyance. “She doesn’t need comforting. It’s just an empty threat. Outside this manor, she cannot even feed herself.” “Besides,” he added, his voice laced with contempt, “she’s carried two children and been married twice. Who else would have her?” He was right. Outside these walls, I would likely die. But to stay here was a fate worse than death. Ignoring the pain, I crawled back inside and placed the writ of separation on the table. I found a rickety handcart in the stables, and with Carol inside, I left the manor. This time, I was finally free. On his way back from escorting Isolde, Kaelan saw a familiar figure walking towards the city gates. He squinted, but couldn’t make out the face. “Is that Moira?” he asked his attendant. The attendant followed his gaze. “Your Grace, your eyes must be playing tricks on you. Why would the Princess leave the city alone?” Leave the city? A sharp pain, like a needle, pierced Kaelan’s heart. He felt breathless. There was only one reason Moira would leave the city. The separation was real. If it was real… was she gone from the manor? A cold dread enveloped him. He was afraid. Afraid that she was gone, and he would have no idea where to even begin looking for her. “Back to the manor! Now!” As he arrived, he saw Isolde’s maid waiting anxiously at the gate. He rushed forward. “Isolde… is the Crown Princess alright?” “Your Grace, Master Elian’s calming drought for the Princess is missing a key herb. I’ve checked every apothecary in the city. I came to see if the manor had any in its stores.” The household steward was just coming out. Kaelan lunged towards him, but the herb was the last thing on his mind. “Is the Princess in the manor?” “Her Highness has left.” “Where did she go?” “I do not know, Your Grace.” The steward then turned to the maid, bowing apologetically. “I have searched our stores. I’m afraid we are also out of that herb.” The maid wrung her hands. “What shall we do? The Crown Princess’s pregnancy is already so fragile…” Kaelan stared at Moira’s empty chambers, hesitating. His attendant saw his conflict. “Your Grace, help the Crown Princess find her medicine first. The Princess Moira loves you so much. How could she truly leave you? She is likely just angry, throwing a tantrum. She will probably return on her own by nightfall…” Kaelan allowed himself to be convinced. “You’re right. Where else could she possibly go without me? Let her have her tantrum. I will soothe her when she returns.” …

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Outlaws raided our town while my husband, the Marshal, took all the men to escort Lily to a traveling show. The mayor begged me to fetch him. I refused. In my past life, I’d ridden pregnant through the ridge trail to drag him back, saving the town—but escaping outlaws caught Lily. They violated her and left her for the wolves. My husband hunted them down, then locked himself away for three days. He never spoke of it—until the county gave me Lily’s role as head of the Women’s Society. On our child’s birth day, he dragged me into those same woods. “You conspired with them!” he snarled, breaking my legs and slitting my belly open. “Now you’ll die like she did.” When I awoke, I was back on that fateful day. This time, he could protect Lily himself. … 1 The crack of a rifle shot was the sound of my second chance at life. I scrambled for the door, but just as I threw it open, the town mayor, Elias, stumbled in, his face pale. “Treisa! The outlaws are here! Get your husband up! He needs to rally the men and protect the town!” Before I could answer, Elias’s wife rushed in behind him, her voice trembling. “Elias, I’ve looked everywhere! The young men are all gone, and the guns are missing from the Marshal’s office.” I looked past her and saw a crowd of the town’s women, their faces etched with a primal fear. Elias was stunned. “Gone? Where could they all be?” As the only one who knew the bitter truth, I had no choice but to speak it. “Jed took them. They’ve all gone to escort Lily to the show in Red Creek.” “Fools!” Elias slammed his fist on the table. “The circuit judge just warned us! Said Silas Vance’s gang was getting bolder. He ordered Jed to double the patrols, and they desert their posts for a theatre show?” A few of the women spat on the ground, cursing Lily’s name for bewitching so many men. Just then, another volley of shots echoed through the gulch. Screams erupted. Elias, to his credit, kept his head. “The rest of you men, get the ironwood gate barred! Women and children, into the root cellar beneath the general store! Don’t you dare come out until you hear a friendly voice!” Our town, Stonegate Gulch, was nestled in a remote canyon. Two paths led in. The main road was wide and well-traveled, guarded by a massive ironwood gate our founders had built. This land was harsh, the people poor, and outlaws were a constant threat. That gate had saved us more than once. Once barred, it was nearly impossible to breach. The other path was a treacherous ridge trail behind the mountain. It was a winding, dangerous track where one wrong step could send you plummeting to your death. Though it was a half-hour ride to the next town, no one ever used it. After giving his orders, Elias turned to me. “Treisa, you know how to ride, and you’ve taken that ridge trail before. You have to go. Find Jed and bring him and the men back. They’re our only hope.” I bit my lip, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. “Mayor, it’s not that I won’t go. But I fear even if I find him, Jed won’t come back.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Ever since Lily had arrived in town as the new schoolteacher, my husband’s eyes had been glued to her. Everyone in Stonegate Gulch knew the screaming matches we had over her. As their gazes burned into my skin, my sister-in-law, Abigail, stepped forward, saving me. “I’ll go. I know the trail, too. Besides,” she added, glancing at my belly, “Treisa’s with child. A ride like that could be… unwise.” Elias nodded grimly, and without another word, Abigail ran home to saddle her horse. The mayor’s wife herded the rest of us into the damp, dark root cellar to wait. An hour and a half later, Abigail returned. When her silhouette appeared at the cellar entrance, a cheer went up. We thought the men had returned. But her face was ashen. “They won’t come back,” she whispered, her voice cracking. The crowd fell silent. “Why?” someone asked. Tears streamed down Abigail’s face. “They said I was lying. Jed… my own brother… he accused me of conspiring with you, Treisa, of making it all up to ruin his day with Lily. I got on my knees and begged him, but he just called me a shameless liar and turned his back.” The story came tumbling out, punctuated by heart-wrenching sobs. The injustice of it infected us all, and the cellar filled with muttered curses against Lily, the so-called teacher who cared nothing for the women of this town, only for the attention of its men. Before the anger could fully boil over, a deafening BOOM shook the very earth beneath us. We all shot to our feet. Elias appeared at the cellar door, his face grim. “They have dynamite. They’re going to blast the gate.” “What do we do?” a woman wailed. “Are we all going to die in here?” Fear, thick and suffocating, filled the small space. Looking at their terrified faces, an idea sparked within me. “If our men won’t come,” I said, my voice steady, “then we’ll get help from another town.” “I’ll go!” Abigail declared, her tears still wet on her cheeks. But as she tried to stand, she cried out and stumbled. We forced her to sit, and when we pushed up her pant leg, we saw her shins were bruised and swollen to twice their normal size. She admitted sheepishly that she’d pushed her horse too hard and taken a bad fall on the trail. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, trying to stand again. “I can still ride.” I pushed her firmly back down. “No. You stay. I’ll go.” Ignoring their protests, I scrambled out of the cellar and swung myself onto my horse. Elias ran to my side. “Treisa, you have to bring help back within two hours. That gate won’t hold for long.” I nodded, a grim resolve settling in my heart. Halfway down the ridge trail, a figure darted out from the pines, forcing me to yank hard on the reins. My heart leaped when I saw who it was. Caleb, the Marshal from the neighboring town of Red Creek. I slid off my horse, relief flooding through me. “Caleb! Thank God you’re here!” I was about to pour out the whole story when he grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip. “I know,” he said, his voice cold as a tombstone. He sneered, his expression twisted with disgust. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 2 A numbing shock shot up my arm. “What are you talking about?” “You’re on your way to meet the outlaws, aren’t you?” Caleb’s eyes burned with contempt. “Jed came to me this morning. Told me to watch this trail, said you’d use it to rendezvous with Vance’s gang. Treisa, your father was a legend, a Ranger who hunted men like Vance to the ends of the earth. And you’re spitting on his grave, colluding with them out of petty jealousy!” His words hit me like a physical blow. It took a moment for my brain to even process the accusation. In my last life, when Jed was killing me, he’d screamed the same things. That I’d summoned the outlaws to make myself a hero and steal Lily’s position. That I’d orchestrated her rape and murder. In that instant, I knew. Jed had been reborn, too. That’s why he’d ignored Abigail’s pleas. But I never imagined he’d go this far—blocking our only path to salvation. There was no time for anger. I swallowed my pride. “Caleb, I swear to you, I’m not colluding with anyone. Silas Vance and his men are in Stonegate Gulch right now. They have dynamite, and they’re blowing the gate apart. Jed took all our men to go see a show with Lily.” I stared into his eyes, trying to will him to believe me. “Please, get your men. Ride to Stonegate. If you don’t, everyone will be killed.” For a second, my earnestness seemed to give him pause. Then he threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Treisa, you’re a hell of an actress. You almost had me. But saying Jed would abandon his post for a woman? That’s where your story falls apart.” “Jed?” he scoffed. “He’s the most responsible man I know. An old soldier. He wouldn’t do that. He’s my friend.” His ridicule was a knife in my heart. “I’m telling the truth,” I pleaded. “Go and see for yourself.” “I see you’re just trying to get me to leave so you can meet your outlaw friends.” Caleb shook his head, his face hardening into a mask of grim righteousness. “Listen to me, Treisa. Jed asked me to stop you, to talk some sense into you. Do you know why I’m here alone? Because he still loves you. He didn’t want to turn you over to the U.S. Marshals. He wanted to give you a chance to turn back from this path.” Jed loves me. Before Lily arrived, I might have believed that. He and Abigail were orphans my father had rescued from a bandit raid that killed their parents. He was ten when he came to live with us. We grew up together, inseparable. When I was sixteen, my father was killed in an ambush, an act of revenge by the very men he used to hunt. On his deathbed, he entrusted me to Jed. Jed promised. Then he left to join the army, telling me to wait for him. He served for five years. I waited for five years, raising Abigail on my own. When he returned, we were married. But he was always distant, lukewarm. People told me it was because we’d known each other too long, that we were already like an old married couple. I believed them. Until Lily arrived. Then I saw the light that could truly shine in Jed’s eyes. He would help her with her chores, stare at her for long moments when she wore a pretty dress, and secretly save his money to buy her expensive scented soaps from the city. The memory was a familiar, sharp pain. But this was no time for heartache. If Caleb wouldn’t help, I had to find someone who would. There was an army fort twenty miles away. I was a better rider than most men. If I pushed my horse, I could make it in an hour. Our town still had a chance. I tried to vault back onto my horse, but Caleb grabbed me again. “So you’re still going to them?” “If you won’t help, I’ll find someone who will,” I spat, struggling against his grip. “Let me go!” “I can’t let you do that.” Caleb twisted my arm, and a sickening pop echoed in the silence as my shoulder left its socket. He pulled a rope from his saddlebag, bound my wrists, and began leading me toward Red Creek. Tears of frustration and pain streamed down my face. “Caleb, let me go! I have to save them!” “Stop your damn play-acting,” he grunted, hoisting me onto his horse. “You’re not going anywhere today.” He led the horse toward his town. As we neared the outskirts, we saw several of his deputies rushing out, rifles in hand. Caleb called out, “What’s happening?” “A prospector just rode in! Said he saw Silas Vance’s gang swarming Stonegate Gulch! We’re riding to help!” Caleb’s face went white as a sheet.

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1 In the main hall of the nightclub, my pregnant sister was shoved onto a stage. Below, a crowd of men, faces flushed and red, argued over the child in her belly. “It’s definitely mine! I was the most energetic that night!” “Bullshit! I went more times, so my chances are higher!” My sister’s face was ashen. She turned to the man beside her, her voice trembling with tears. “Asher, you’re my fiancé. How could you do this to me?” Asher wrapped his arm around a delicate-looking girl and sneered. “You don’t even know whose kid you’re carrying. You have the nerve to ask me that?” The girl covered her mouth in a shy smile, but her eyes, fixed on my sister, were filled with triumph. I sat in the shadows below the stage, my eyes turning to ice. I’d been away for a few years, and someone had dared to bully a member of the Cannon family. … My assistant leaned in and whispered, “Should I have Mr. Cross, the owner of the club, come over and give you an explanation?” I scoffed. “What’s the use in calling him? Have everyone on standby.” “Yes, ma’am.” My assistant quickly withdrew. They dared to touch my sister? Not a single one of them would be leaving this place in one piece tonight. My sister’s voice shook. “It was only you that night! How could I be pregnant with someone else’s child?” The girl in Asher’s arms, Sierra, giggled. “Oh, Olivia, don’t you remember? After you got drunk, you kept saying ‘one isn’t enough’ and dragged several men into the room. Did you forget?” My sister’s face went white. “Impossible! Only Asher was in the room…” Her words trailed off. She froze, her eyes locked on Asher. “It was you… that glass of red wine… you drugged me?!” Asher didn’t deny it. He didn’t even look at her. Instead, he pulled a stack of photos from his pocket and scattered them across the stage. “Come on, place your bets! Whoever guesses right gets a bonus—the hot video from that night!” The crowd below erupted in cheers. “Damn, this is intense! Not a scrap of clothing. You can see everything so clearly!” “Hotter than a porn cover! Just one look and I’m burning up!” Sierra picked up a photo, glanced at it with disgust, and tossed it aside. It fluttered down in front of me. I picked it up. One look, and my vision went black with rage. These people were insane. They were about to find out what happens when you mess with the Cannon family. The men below were like a pack of wolves, fighting over the photos of my sister. Bills slapped onto the card tables, their eyes red as they placed their bets, as if they were auctioning off a piece of merchandise. I sat in the darkness, swirling the wine in my glass, my eyes cold as I watched the absurd spectacle unfold. My assistant wasn’t back yet. I just had to wait a little longer… “All bets are in!” The dealer’s voice cut through the noise. “Now, let’s bring in the professionals to reveal the answer to our little wager!” Several men in white lab coats rushed onto the stage with their equipment. Without a word, they grabbed my sister’s arm. The needle glinted under the lights, about to pierce her skin. “Get off me!” My sister, usually so gentle, suddenly fought back with surprising ferocity. She wrenched her arm free, her nails scratching bloody lines across one man’s face. “Where’s Cross? Get him out here! If I lose a single hair on my head tonight, this shithole of a club will be shut down tomorrow!” My sister’s voice was raw and desperate, but the crowd just roared with laughter. Sierra giggled, her body shaking. “Oh, is our little Miss Cannon still dreaming?” She suddenly grabbed a handful of my sister’s hair and whispered in her ear, “Did you forget? Mr. Cross is my brother. He bankrupted the Cannon family a long time ago. Where do you get the nerve to make threats in his club?” I, who had already moved to the foot of the stage, ready to intervene, felt a jolt of shock. Cross’s sister? The Cannon family, bankrupt? How did I not know this? Asher pulled Sierra into his arms. “Why are you wasting your breath on her?” He turned to the men in lab coats. “Hurry up. Don’t waste any more time.” Just as the needle touched my sister’s skin, the dealer beside them cried out in alarm. “Stop!” he bellowed. 2 Everyone froze, including me. He was trembling as he pulled a jade seal from my sister’s waist, a cold sweat instantly soaking his back. “The… the Cloudwater Seal?!” In his shock, he pressed the button for the club’s highest-level emergency line. “Mr. Cross, the Cloudwater Seal has appeared. Please come and verify its authenticity!” Asher’s face darkened, and even Sierra, in his arms, fell silent. Cross, the “Mr. Cross” they were talking about, was just an adopted son of my father’s. By age, he should be calling me “big sister.” Knowing this was his territory, my taut nerves relaxed slightly. I waited, my expression unreadable, for my assistant to return. Soon, Cross’s personal secretary, Bianca, arrived. “Mr. Cross will be here shortly. Let me assess the situation first.” The moment her fingers touched the seal, Sierra, still in Asher’s embrace, let out a sweet laugh. “What a coincidence. I have one of those cheap things too.” She pulled a brocade box from her purse. The moment the box sprang open, the entire room gasped. Two Cloudwater Seals. Identical. “Hers has a crack in it,” Sierra said, her red lips curving into a smirk. “It’s a fake.” My sister cried out desperately, “My sister gave this to me herself! How could it be fake?” “I’m Evelyn Cannon’s real sister!” The words had barely left her mouth before Sierra laughed again. “I’ve lived in the Cannon family home for years, and I’ve never seen you with a sister. You’re such a pathological liar, you’d even make up a fake sister!” Bianca, after examining the seals, respectfully returned Sierra’s and smoothly joined the conversation. “Evelyn Cannon?” A look of contempt crossed her face, as if she’d heard a joke. “I’ve never heard of anyone by that name.” “Since the real Cloudwater Seal is in Miss Sierra’s possession, we won’t interfere in Miss Olivia’s affairs. You may continue.” With that, Bianca stepped aside, an air of detached indifference about her. The men in the crowd erupted. “Get on with it! I bet a hundred grand that she’s carrying my kid!” “After the test, we can all take turns for a taste.” The men were like flies to blood. One even started unbuckling his belt. “I’m raising my bet! The moment the test is done, I’m getting a piece of that!” The men in lab coats once again pinned my sister to the stage. The needle glinted, aimed straight for her pale skin. My assistant still hadn’t returned, but I couldn’t wait any longer. “Stop!” I leaped onto the stage and kicked over the metal tray of instruments with a deafening crash. Bianca’s pupils constricted. “Who is this crazy woman? How dare you cause trouble in Mr. Cross’s club?” I gave a cold smile. “Cannon family. Evelyn Cannon.” 3 The entire hall fell into a dead silence. But the silence only lasted a second. “Hahahaha—” The room exploded with deafening laughter. Some people were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes. “Evelyn Cannon? You?” “She’s a legendary figure, someone who could shake the capital to its core! We haven’t heard anything about her for years. Why would she show up here?” Sierra clutched her stomach, laughing uncontrollably. “Olivia, which acting troupe did you hire this one from? She’s actually pretty convincing!” Asher frowned, his gaze full of disgust. “Olivia, get this imposter out of here. Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” My sister gripped my arm tightly, her eyes filled with a disbelieving excitement. The veins in my temples throbbed. I fought to suppress my raging fury. “When Cross gets here, we’ll see who’s who.” I pulled my sister behind me, my gaze as sharp as a knife. “Until then, whoever touches a single hair on her head, I’ll chop off their hands.” Sierra covered her mouth in a mocking smile. “Oh, she’s really into her role. If the real Evelyn Cannon were here, she’d have a whole entourage, not just be by herself.” I glanced at my team of bodyguards, currently stuck in a corner, and a cold smile touched my lips. “Get Cross out here! I want to ask him if he still has any respect for me, his sister.” Bianca narrowed her eyes, looking me up and down, a sneer playing on her red lips. “Who do you think you are, to use Mr. Cross’s full name like that? You really don’t know your place.” She slowly twisted the jade bracelet on her wrist, her voice suddenly dropping. “Men, take her down!” “I want to see just how much you’re really worth.” Several burly men heard her and grinned greedily, their voices dripping with malicious amusement. “Yes, Miss Bianca! I’ll make sure to strip her down to nothing and weigh every last ounce for you!” As they spoke, their hands reached for my sister and me. I slapped one of the men across the face. “How dare you! Are you looking to die? Do you have any idea what will happen if you touch me?” The man’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. His eyes turned vicious, and he lunged, his hands closing around my throat. “You bitch, you think you’re something special, huh?” “Today, in front of everyone, I’m going to teach you some manners!” A wave of jeering laughter erupted from the crowd. Several men closed in, some even taking out their phones to record. My sister cried out, trying to rush to me, but Sierra grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground. “Olivia, who is this person you found? Is she crazy, causing trouble here?” “You play the part of the innocent debutante so well, but who knows whose bastard you’re carrying in that belly of yours!” With that, Sierra slapped my sister across the face, so hard that blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. I kicked the man beside me, trying to get to her, but several strong arms pinned me down. My bodyguards were blocked by the chaotic crowd, unable to move an inch. “Tsk, tsk. The imposter is really getting into character, isn’t she?” Sierra, in her high heels, pressed the tip of her shoe against my sister’s chin. “Get on your knees and kowtow three times. Maybe then I’ll ask Bianca to let your fake sister go.” My sister looked at Asher, her voice trembling. “Asher, she really is my sister. If you hurt her, you’ll all regret it…” Asher coolly adjusted his cuffs, his eyes looking at us as if we were trash. “If it weren’t for you, none of this would be happening. Apologize to Sierra. Now.” “Kowtow! If you don’t, we’ll strip her clothes off right now!” The men sneered, their hands reaching for my collar. “I’ll do it!” My sister’s knees slammed onto the marble floor. Her forehead pressed against the cold stone. “Please… don’t touch my sister…” I watched her slam her head against the ground, over and over. With every kowtow, it felt like a sharp knife was carving a piece out of my heart. My assistant was still gone. The bodyguards at the door were strangely inactive. Something was very wrong. Bianca looked at my face, her eyes flashing with jealousy. She had produced a scalpel from somewhere, and now the blade was pressed against my skin. “Such a beautiful face. I wonder if Mr. Cross will still recognize you after I’m done with it.” “Don’t touch my sister!” my sister suddenly struggled. “Cross will make you wish you were never born!” “You really think you’re the great Miss Cannon, don’t you? Too bad the Cannon family doesn’t go by that name anymore.” Bianca mocked my sister as she pressed the blade deeper, a warm trickle of blood sliding down my neck. Just as she was about to cut again, the main doors burst open with a deafening crash. Cross entered, flanked by a team of his men. His eyes swept over my sister’s bloodied forehead and the cut on my face. The atmosphere in the room instantly dropped to freezing.

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My five-year-old daughter learned to lie. During her teacher’s home visit, she clung to the woman’s legs, sobbing that I’d broken her fingers to avoid homework. The teacher called the police. I was arrested in cuffs and lost my job. Returning home, I found she’d secretly photographed me with the teacher, sending it to our family group chat: “Teacher visits Mommy daily when Daddy’s gone. When he’s home, Mommy doesn’t hit me.” My furious husband kicked my leg until it snapped. As I wept on the floor, our daughter tilted her head innocently: “Kids don’t lie, right?” He divorced me. In court, my daughter begged him: “Save me from Mommy’s photo shoots with strange uncles!” My phone revealed edited logs of me selling inappropriate photos of her. A mob of “child protectors” crushed me to death. Dying, I couldn’t fathom why my cherished child would destroy me. Then I woke up—back to the day she first accused me. … 1 “Mr. Peterson, I finished all my homework, I swear. But last night, my dog, Buddy, he… he ate it all. I don’t have it to give you right now.” My daughter, Zoe, hugged her teacher’s leg, her face a perfect mask of sincere pleading. Mr. Peterson looked helplessly from her to me, seeking confirmation. “Mrs. Miller, is this… is this true?” I looked at Zoe’s innocent smile, and a deathly chill crawled up my spine. I was back. I had been reborn. In my past life, when Zoe used the same clumsy excuse, I had patiently tried to guide her. “If you didn’t finish your homework, you need to be brave and admit it, honey. Mommy will help you with it. But lying is a very bad thing to do. You should apologize to your teacher.” But before Mr. Peterson could even scold her, Zoe had thrown herself onto the floor, wailing as if her heart was breaking. “Mr. Peterson… I really couldn’t do my homework! Mommy comes home drunk every night and she hits me! She just broke two of my fingers. I can’t even hold a pencil! Please don’t be mad at me!” Mr. Peterson immediately scooped her into his arms. He saw the faint, bluish marks on her fingers and, without another word, called the police. I frantically explained to the officers that she’d hurt her fingers on the slide at the playground the day before. It took pulling the security footage from our apartment complex to finally make them believe me. But the damage was done. Word got back to my company, my reputation was ruined, and I lost my six-figure job. I couldn’t fathom it. My daughter, who was always so well-behaved and sensible, why would she tell such a monstrous lie just to get out of homework? When I dragged my exhausted body home that day, I was met not with the chance to discipline my daughter, but with a kick from my husband, Mark, that shattered my leg. “You filthy cheat! I break my back working to support you two, and you dare bring some pretty boy into my house behind my back?” I was completely bewildered as he pinned me down, hitting me, until I saw the photo Zoe had sent to the family group chat. Only then did I understand. [This is so nice! Mr. Peterson is visiting Mommy again! She’s always in such a good mood when he comes over, so she probably won’t hit me today. I wonder if he’ll sleep over at our house again tonight…] I looked at my daughter in disbelief, desperately trying to explain to my enraged husband that it was all a lie. But Zoe just looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Daddy, I don’t know what ‘lying’ is. I only say what I see.” Mark had completely lost his mind. He landed another heavy punch on my face. “She’s four and a half years old! How could she possibly know how to lie? You’re not fit to be a mother! You’d throw your own daughter under the bus just to cover up your affair!” I was beaten until I was legally disabled, and he filed for divorce. In court, terrified that Zoe’s habit of lying would only get worse, I fought with everything I had to keep her with me, to guide her. But she knelt on the floor, crying, begging Mark to take her. “I don’t want to wear those weird clothes for those gross uncles anymore! I want to go with Daddy so I can study and be a good girl. I don’t want Mommy to hit me anymore. Please, please save me!” I froze, stunned. Before I could even process what she’d said, my mother-in-law rushed forward, snatched my phone, and handed it to the judge. The screen was filled with lurid photos of Zoe in white stockings and dark frilly dresses, posed in ways that made my stomach clench. Alongside them were countless transactions from anonymous accounts, all with suggestive notes attached. “Claire! Zoe is your own daughter! How could you be so depraved, using her to make money? She’s not even five years old… and you’ve ruined her!” I never got a second hearing. I was ambushed by a group of enraged parents and “child safety” fanatics outside the hospital. They pinned me down and choked the life out of me. My last sight was of Zoe, nestled in her father’s arms, a sly, triumphant smirk flashing across her face. Even in death, I couldn’t understand why the sweet, obedient child who used to love helping me with chores would tell lie after lie to see me destroyed. Now, reborn, I wondered: if I make a different choice, can I prevent it all from happening again? 2 I forced a smile, meeting Mr. Peterson’s questioning gaze. “I’m not sure about the dog eating her homework, but Zoe hasn’t been feeling well these past few days. Could we perhaps put the homework on hold for a bit?” Mr. Peterson nodded, not pressing the issue further. I looked at Zoe and saw her smiling sweetly back at me, with none of the sinister energy I remembered from my past life. A wave of relief washed over me. Maybe she was just being a mischievous kid. Maybe I had pushed her too hard with school in my past life, and that’s what made her act out. She was just a child, after all. If I communicated with her properly, a small problem like lying could surely be fixed. I stood up to walk Mr. Peterson to the door with Zoe. But the moment I opened it, my world froze. Mark was standing there. He threw a punch that connected squarely with Mr. Peterson’s face, sending the teacher stumbling back into the apartment. “You dare carry on your affair in my house! I’ll kill you, you bastard! If my daughter hadn’t told me the truth, I would’ve been wearing these horns for the rest of my life!” I stood, paralyzed, feeling as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I had given Zoe what she wanted. Why did she still lie? A notification popped up from the family group chat. It was the same message as last time, only this time, Zoe’s tone was even more pitiful. [Mommy wants me to call Mr. Peterson ‘Daddy.’ I don’t want to, but what if she hits me if I don’t?] Seeing Mark, Zoe ran to him and burst into tears. “Daddy, you’re finally back! Mommy and Mr. Peterson were hitting me together! I thought I’d never see you again!” Mr. Peterson, dizzy and stunned from the unexpected blow, stared at Zoe in disbelief. “Zoe, I’m just here for a home visit to check on your homework. Why would you lie like that?” Zoe’s sobs grew louder. “But… but why do you only ever come to our house for visits? I’m so scared…” Mark’s face was purple with rage. “My daughter is four and a half! She doesn’t know how to lie! You two adulterous scumbags, you have the nerve to blame your filth on her? I’ll teach you both a lesson you’ll never forget!” As Mark raised his fist again, I threw myself between them. “If you want to know if Mr. Peterson comes here often, just check the security camera footage from the lobby! You’ll see if Zoe is telling the truth!” I turned to Zoe, my brow furrowed, and deliberately softened my voice. “Zoe, sweetie… if you admit right now that you were lying, Mommy will forgive you. If you just apologize to us, we can pretend this never happened. Okay?” Perhaps my confidence gave him pause, because Mark looked down at our daughter, his fury wavering. “Zoe, just tell us the truth. If your mom really hit you, Daddy will make it right.” Mr. Peterson, though flustered, managed to speak calmly. “Zoe, perhaps you’re mistaken about the time? I only do a home visit once a week, at most.” Zoe chewed her lip, crying for a long moment before she slowly looked up at Mark. “Daddy, don’t check the cameras. You won’t find anything.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, a flicker of hope warming my chest. Maybe she was just being naughty, not completely lost. With proper guidance, she could still get back on the right track. But in the next second, Zoe shook her head helplessly. “Mr. Peterson always stays for a really, really long time. The security cameras don’t record for that long. He stays for hours and hours. I’m not lying.” A bomb went off in my head. Mark’s face, which had begun to soften, instantly turned to stone. “So that’s your game! Trying to threaten your own daughter into lying for you! How can you call yourself a mother? God knows what you’ve put Zoe through!” He stormed into the storage closet and came back with a golf club. He was going to teach me and Mr. Peterson a lesson. Zoe flinched beside me, her voice a tiny, terrified whisper. “Mommy hits me on the head with that all the time. It hurts so much… she almost killed me once…” I stared at the club, speechless. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, clearly untouched for a very long time. But Mark was beyond reason. He swung the club at us. Just as it was about to connect with my skull, I reacted, grabbing a chair to block the blow and screaming with all my might. “Stop! I have a witness who can prove Zoe is lying!” 3 Mark’s hand, gripping the club, trembled violently, but he didn’t swing again. “I work a nine-to-five job every single day, and your mother, who lives downstairs, sees me come and go! If you don’t believe me, you can’t possibly disbelieve your own mom, can you? Just ask her if I’ve ever laid a hand on Zoe!” Mark’s face was a grim mask, but he gave a curt nod. He would go ask. Zoe, who had been sitting quietly on the sofa, glanced nervously at her little wristwatch and then looked back at Mark. “Daddy… it’s… it’s getting late. Zoe needs to sleep. Can we not go?” A child’s guilt is a transparent thing. This time, even Mark could see something was wrong. Without another word, I picked Zoe up and marched downstairs to my mother-in-law’s apartment. Thankfully, we had bought her a place on the ground floor of our building years ago to better care for her. Otherwise, I’d have no one to vouch for me. Tonight, I was going to break this destructive habit of lying, once and for all. I couldn’t let it fester like last time. I knocked firmly on her door. “Mom, Mark thinks I’m seeing other men. He also says I beat Zoe all the time. Can you please set the record straight for us?” My mother-in-law had always been good to me over the years, helping with laundry, cooking, and watching Zoe. I loved her like my own mother. I didn’t need her to embellish anything, just to tell the simple truth: that Zoe was lying today. She wrapped her arms around Zoe, her eyes darting nervously between us. “Well… Claire does go to work on time every day. And I… I certainly don’t see her bringing men home.” I silently breathed a sigh of relief. As I prepared to confront Mark, my mother-in-law’s expression suddenly changed, and she began to sob quietly. “Oh, what a tragedy for this family… My poor Zoe, to have a mother like you. My son… oh, my son… can your mother speak honestly?” I froze, completely baffled by her sudden performance. She wiped her eyes, tears and snot streaming down her face. “Every time you beat her, Zoe comes crying to me! It breaks my heart to see my granddaughter suffer so much. I was just so afraid you two would get a divorce that I never dared to say anything. It’s my fault… it’s all my fault for letting Zoe get hurt.” I stood there, rigid, a cold blade twisting in my heart. “Mom… what are you talking about? Why would you slander me in front of Mark?” My mother-in-law seemed even more furious than me. She snatched my phone from my hand, her voice shaking with rage. “Then you explain this! Where did these pictures on your phone come from?” She held up my phone. The screen was filled with images of Zoe in revealing clothes, tears glistening in her eyes as she forced a smile for the camera. It felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I stared at the phone, my head roaring. In my past life, those strange photos and contacts had mysteriously appeared on my phone, leading to my wrongful death. The moment I was reborn, the very first thing I did was delete every single one of those photos and any suspicious apps. I left no trace. There was absolutely no way those photos should be on my phone again. But I couldn’t understand how. I had just deleted them. No one else had touched my phone since. I reached for the phone, needing to see for myself, but Mark kicked me to the ground before I could touch it. “You make me sick! Zoe is just a little girl! You’re her mother! Making her take pictures like that for money… are you even human?” His voice was low and menacing. “Today, even if I go to prison for it, I’m going to get rid of a monster like you. I’d be failing Zoe as a father if I didn’t.” I clutched my stomach, the pain sharp and deep. “Zoe… why are you lying? Who took these pictures of you?” Mark kicked me again, and I tasted blood. My mother-in-law fanned the flames. “I only tolerated you this long because I wanted Zoe to have a happy family. But you beat her half to death, you torture her into taking those disgusting pictures! Do you really think she could just make something like that up?” Zoe stood in the corner, a bizarre, knowing smirk playing on her lips. She didn’t look like a kindergartener at all. “Daddy,” she said, her voice soft and sweet, “if Mommy dies… will that mean no one can bully me anymore? And I won’t have to take weird pictures, and I can just focus on school? Is that right?” Her voice was as soft as cotton, but it sent a freezing dread through my entire body. Mark, pushed beyond his limits, let his gaze fall on a heavy, metal stool nearby. His eyes went blank and cruel. I scrambled backward, knowing there was nowhere to run. With a final, desperate surge of strength, I lunged for my phone. I just needed to understand before I died. The moment my fingers closed around it, I saw it. And I was struck absolutely speechless. The reason for all of Zoe’s strange behavior and lies finally became clear in that instant. So that was it. The truth had been right in front of me all along.

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