While I was still healing from childbirth, my husband, Evan, was carried home from a karaoke lounge by a group of his friends. They weren’t just carrying him; they were carrying a woman, too. He threw up all over the floor, and I quietly tended to him all night. I never imagined that the first words out of his mouth when he woke up would be, “She’s pregnant. Let’s get a divorce.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just calmly nodded. In my last life, I had clutched my newborn daughter and raised hell, taking the fight all the way to the community council. The whole town soon knew the other woman was a tramp. Her family threw her out, and in her despair, she jumped into the river and drowned. Evan was fired from his job for the scandal. But he never blamed me. Instead, on our daughter’s first birthday, he lit a fire in our yard and burned me, our child, and my parents alive. As I died, the last thing I saw was his twisted, terrifying smile. “All of you can go to hell and keep my Misty company.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that moment, him telling me he wanted a divorce. 1 “Misty’s not like you, Sienna,” Evan said, his eyes bloodshot from the hangover. “Her family will kill her if they find out she’s pregnant out of wedlock. You can’t just stand by and watch her die, can you?” Beside him, the woman, Misty, whimpered softly and rolled over, her hand falling possessively onto Evan’s waist. The memories flooded my mind like a tidal wave. The searing agony of the fire felt like it was still scorching every nerve in my body. A violent tremor ran through me as I realized: I was reborn. Seeing my silence, Evan frowned. “I promise, after the baby is born and we get the birth certificate sorted, we’ll get remarried.” I dug my nails into my palms, forcing myself to stay calm. This time, there were no tears, no hysterics. Just a simple nod. “Fine. Let’s do it. Pack your things and go.” I didn’t expect his reply. “Misty’s pregnant. She can’t handle the stress of moving. I’ve already arranged for her things to be brought here this afternoon.” This house was company housing, assigned to me from my job. I had also been pregnant before we were married. My mother slapped me a dozen times, hard enough to make my lip bleed, and still, Evan never mentioned marriage. I was the one who had to force the issue, moving into his family’s home until his mother finally relented and let us get the license. We lived in a tiny brick shed at the edge of their yard, barely big enough for a bed. Through the dead of winter, heavily pregnant, I tended the fire, cooked, and served his entire family. He never once showed a shred of concern, just kept spinning tales of a glamorous, imaginary future to keep me placated. It was my father who couldn’t bear to see me suffer. He took early retirement so I could take over his city job, which was the only reason we were assigned this house with its own yard in the first place. And now, after cheating on me, he had the audacity to bring his mistress into my home. I never knew he could be so shameless. But the phantom burn of the flames was still vivid in my memory. I couldn’t repeat the past. I didn’t argue. I just turned and walked away. Last night, when his so-called artist friends had carried him home, I’d tried to direct them to the spare bedroom. But one of them, a guy named Six, ignored me and hauled them both straight into the master bedroom. “What kind of wife makes her husband sleep in the guest room?” he’d sneered. I’d had no choice but to take our daughter and sleep in the spare room myself. It seemed now we would never be moving back. I gathered a few of our things and walked out of the house with my baby in my arms, heading straight for the public phone booth outside the downtown department store. I dialed the number from a crumpled piece of paper. Someone picked up almost immediately. “Do you mind that I have a child?” I asked, my voice steady. “If you don’t, then come and get me.” 2 The man on the phone was Alex, my childhood neighbor. He’d always told me I was beautiful and joked that he’d marry me when we grew up. But then he got caught up in some shady deals and ended up in prison. By the time he got out, I was already married to Evan. He never said a word, just had someone deliver a hundred-dollar bill as a wedding gift before he left town. That was a year ago. A few weeks back, his friend had given me that slip of paper with his cell number, telling me Alex was a small business owner now and that I could call him if I ever needed anything. The line was silent for a few seconds. Then, his voice, firm and clear. “Ten days. Wait for me.” I walked for a long time under the hot sun, my daughter in my arms, my face flushed from the heat but my heart frozen solid. Without realizing it, I found myself standing below my parents’ apartment building. They were sitting at their window, looking out at the world from the second floor. I quickly ducked into a corner, silent tears streaming down my face. In my last life, my mother had been vehemently against my relationship with Evan. She had yelled at me, even hit me. For a long time, I hated her for it, convinced she couldn’t be my real mother. I didn’t know how much she loved me until the day of the fire. When a burning beam fell from the ceiling, heading straight for me, she shoved me out of the way without a second thought. My father pushed me desperately toward the door, then turned back to my mother’s side. “Honey,” he told me, his eyes filled with tears, “Dad can’t let your mom go alone. She’s afraid of being lonely. And don’t you grieve for us. Your aunt and uncle… they’re your real parents. We just adopted you. Now listen to me, you have to live.” But every door in the house was locked. There was no escape. The fire consumed all four of us. My one wrong choice had led them, my adoptive parents, to a fiery grave for a daughter who wasn’t even their own blood. I didn’t have the courage to face them now. Clutching my daughter, I ran all the way back home, tears blurring my vision. When I pushed open the gate, Evan’s deadbeat friends were already set up at a table in the yard, drinking. Six, in his leather jacket and bell-bottoms, was howling into a guitar. The noise startled my daughter, and she began to wail. “Make her stop crying,” Evan snapped, annoyed. “She’s ruining the mood.” Six just grinned. “Hey, sis-in-law, how about whipping us up some snacks? I love that stewed pork you make. Make a lot, okay?” Evan chimed in. “And make some chicken soup for Misty, to help with the pregnancy. Now go on, the baby’s crying is giving me a headache.” I bit my lip, said nothing, and carried my daughter into the house. 3 Evan had a stable job with the city’s seed company, but he was hardly ever there. He was a gifted painter—he’d painted the mural at the town’s train station, which had caused quite a stir and brought him into contact with this crowd of so-called “artists.” In reality, they were just a bunch of freeloaders who spent their days drinking and dancing at karaoke lounges, men and women messing around together. That’s where he met Misty, a singer at the lounge. After that, they made a habit of showing up at my house, expecting me to wait on them hand and foot. I’d complained to Evan about it before. “You just don’t understand art,” he’d said. “They’re my soulmates. We connect on a deeper level. I’m doing this for our family. When I’m a famous painter, you’ll be living the good life.” Before, because I loved him and wanted a future with him, I had endured it all. Now, there was no reason to suffer this humiliation. I went into the kitchen, made a simple bowl of egg noodles, and took it to my room to eat. After a long wait with no food appearing, Evan came in to find me. When he saw me eating alone, he flew into a rage and smashed the bowl on the floor. “You’re just stuffing your own face while the rest of us starve!” I soothed my crying daughter and met his furious gaze with a cold stare of my own. “Evan, we’re getting divorced tomorrow. I have no obligation to serve you or your friends.” He was taken aback. In all the time we’d been together, I had never spoken to him with such cold finality. A flicker of unease crossed his face, and his tone softened. “We agreed, didn’t we? We’ll remarry after Misty has the baby. It’s not a real divorce.” Before I could answer, his friends crowded into the room to stir the pot. “Whoa, what’s with the attitude? You don’t want your friends here? No need to be so rude about it. Evan, can’t you control your wife? What a pushover.” Misty’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “She’s not mad at you, she’s mad at me. I’m the one who’s not welcome here. Evan, don’t let me ruin your relationships. I’ll just go… I’ll go get rid of our baby.” Evan’s ego was his weak spot. Goaded by the crowd, his face flushed with shame and he lashed out, slapping me across the face. The force of the blow sent me sprawling from the chair to the floor. My daughter, still in my arms, fell with me, letting out a piercing, agonized shriek. I scrambled to pick her up, my heart seizing when I saw her face was turning a deep, alarming red. “Evan, her cry… it’s not right,” I said, panic rising. “I have to get her to the hospital!” I tried to run, but his friends blocked my way. Six sneered. “Kids fall all the time. They’re not that fragile.” I shot a desperate, furious look at Evan. “Tell them to move! Evan, she’s your daughter, too! Can you really just watch her be in danger?” My baby’s cries were growing weaker, her face turning from red to a terrifying shade of purplish-black. In a flash, I spun around, grabbed a pair of scissors from the table, and held them to Misty’s throat. “Let me pass, or I’ll kill her.” Misty’s face went white. She clutched her stomach and stumbled back. “Evan, I’m scared! My stomach hurts.”

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1 My mother was on her deathbed. I called my brother, who was on vacation in Egypt with his wife, and begged him to come back to see our mother one last time. By some miracle, she pulled through. But his wife, my sister-in-law, died in a tragic accident abroad. While sorting through her belongings, my brother found her diary. In it, she wrote about how my mother and I had alienated her, how she felt she had no place in our family. That was the last straw. My brother cut us out of his life, and for nine years, we didn’t hear a word from him. Then, on the tenth anniversary of his wife’s death, he set our house on fire, killing us all. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother was first admitted to the hospital. The first thing I did was rush to her side. Her condition was already critical, her life sustained only by the rhythmic pulse and hiss of a ventilator. The room was silent save for the sterile, incessant beeping of the machines. A knock at the door broke the quiet. The doctor beckoned my father and me into the hallway. “I need you to sign the critical condition notice,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “We’re at the final stage. Whether she makes it through is… well, it’s up to her now.” The pen trembled in my father’s hand, the tip hovering over the signature line, unable to make its mark. Seeing his anguish, I took charge. I gently took the pen from him and signed my name, Anna. The doctor took the clipboard. “If there are any other close family members,” he advised, his eyes full of sympathy, “you should call them. She may not last the night.” At those words, my father’s composure shattered. He broke down, sobbing like a child. After a long moment, he wiped his tears, his face etched with grief. “Anna,” he rasped, “call your brother. Tell Nicholas to come home.” My immediate instinct was to refuse. In my last life, I did exactly that. I called Nicholas, and he caught the first flight back from Egypt. The good news was that my mother, seeing him, rallied. She fought off the illness and made a full recovery. The bad news was that his wife, Rachel, left alone in a foreign country, was abducted. The next time we saw her, she was a body in a morgue. Nicholas never blamed us to our faces, but I knew he could never forgive us. The memory of the fire he set, the heat and the smoke, was a phantom limb I could still feel. I couldn’t go through that again. “Dad,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s halfway across the world. Even if we called him now, he’d never make it in time. I’m here. I can take care of everything. We don’t need to bother him.” My father looked at me, confused. I was the one who always ran to my big brother for everything. Why the sudden change of heart? “Anna, I get that you want to step up, but if your brother doesn’t get to see your mother one last time, he’ll hate you for it!” But Dad, you don’t understand, I thought. If he comes back, his wife will die, and he’ll hate all of us. I couldn’t voice those fears. Instead, I gripped his hand, my voice steady and urgent. “Dad, trust me. Mom is going to pull through. I know it.” He stared at me for a long time before finally putting his phone away. Just then, our family group chat buzzed. It was Nicholas. I opened the message, my heart sinking as I read. “I know you guys never liked Rachel, but we’ve been on this trip for days. Has it occurred to any of you to even ask how we are?” “Other people’s families are a safe haven. You all just treat me like I’m invisible, don’t you?” “Anna, say something. You fall off the face of the earth?” I didn’t have to guess. Those were Rachel’s words, channeled through my brother. She had a major princess complex with a pauper’s reality, always finding fault, always dreaming of a life she couldn’t afford. But I couldn’t say that now. With a sigh, I typed a reply while we waited for news about Mom. “Nicholas, Rachel, hope you made it safely! Have an amazing time. Things are just a little crazy at home right now, Mom and Dad are swamped.” That night, luck was on our side. Mom’s condition stabilized enough for surgery. “If she wakes up on her own after this,” the surgeon told us, “she’ll be out of the woods.” My father, overwhelmed with gratitude, shook the surgeon’s hand, repeating “thank you” over and over. As we waited outside the OR, a nurse from admissions approached us. “Excuse me, who is the family of Helen Miller?” My father and I raised our hands. “Her bill is overdue,” the nurse said, handing us a statement. “And this doesn’t include the costs for the upcoming surgery.” My mother had been in the ICU for three days. There was one surgery when she was admitted, and now this was the second. All told, the medical bills had climbed to an astronomical forty-eight thousand dollars. 2 I was a recent graduate with barely any savings. My parents were hardworking, blue-collar folks their whole lives; the fifteen thousand they’d managed to put away was the fruit of a lifetime of labor. We pooled everything we had, called in every small favor, and still came up five thousand dollars short. With no other choice, I dialed my brother’s number. “Nicholas? It’s me. Listen, something’s happened at home. Could you possibly lend me five thousand dollars?” His response was immediate and scathing. “Have you no shame, Anna? Rachel and I are on a budget over here, pinching every penny, and you have the nerve to ask for five grand? Do you think money grows on trees?” “No, it’s not for me,” I stammered. “It’s for the family. It’s an emergency…” He scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. “An ‘emergency’? Let me guess, you got yourself into debt with some online loan shark, didn’t you? Rachel saw right through you from the start. She told me to set you straight, but I actually defended you. I thought you were better than that. Turns out…” I opened my mouth to explain, but he cut me off. “Listen to me. I’m having a great time with my wife, and I don’t want you ruining our mood. We don’t have a leech like you in our family, Anna!” He hung up. When I tried to call back, it went straight to voicemail. Desperate, I sent him a text. “Nicholas, this is seriously urgent. Please, just lend me the five thousand. I’ll write you an IOU, I promise.” His response was to block my number. Seeing my distress, my dad took his phone and called him himself. “Nicholas? Anna tried to borrow money from you. Why did you block her?” At the sound of my name, my brother’s voice turned ragged with irritation. “Anna, Anna, it’s always about Anna with you guys. You don’t give a damn about your son all the way out here, do you?” My dad tried to placate him. “Son, it’s not what you think. We’re at a downtown hospital. You know people here. Even if you can’t give us the money, maybe you could help us out, make a few calls?” But Nicholas had no intention of helping us. Or rather, of helping me. Hearing we were at the hospital only fueled his bitterness. “I remember when I was a kid with a stomach ache, begging to go to the doctor, and you told me to tough it out. But now little Anna needs a hospital, and you rush her right over? Other families favor the son; you two don’t even care about your firstborn!” “Since you obviously don’t care about me, let Anna handle everything! Why are you even calling me?” It was like he’d been brainwashed, spouting nonsense without a second thought, refusing to listen to a word of explanation. The only person who could ever talk sense into him was Mom, and she was lying unconscious in a hospital bed. My dad looked lost, utterly bewildered by his son’s behavior. “Did we do something to upset him? Why is he acting like this, like he’s a different person?” One person came to my mind: my sister-in-law, Rachel. She’d always looked at my mother and me with suspicion, as if we were plotting against her. After she had a miscarriage, she treated us like enemies. None of us ever understood why. Maybe only she knew the real reason. “Dad, forget it,” I said, my voice heavy. “If Nicholas won’t help us, we’ll figure something else out.” We couldn’t just give up. It was only money. I’d swallow my pride and call our relatives. If that failed, I’d beg the doctors for a payment plan. But when I called my uncle, the response I got was completely unexpected. “Anna? Oh, it’s you,” he said, his tone thick with disapproval. “Look, I know I’m old-fashioned, but for a young girl like you to get pregnant out of wedlock… and then to call your family asking for abortion money? Doesn’t that make you feel cheap? It just reeks of desperation. Don’t you have any self-respect?” I was floored. “Uncle Mark, what are you talking about? Unwed pregnancy? Abortion? I’m calling to borrow money, yes, but it’s not for… I’m not…” He wouldn’t let me finish. “Your brother already gave us all a heads-up. He said you needed to be taught a lesson this time, to stop being so reckless. And look, I get it. You’re a young woman, you have certain… desires. But you need to protect yourself, kid.” He hung up, leaving me in stunned silence. I finally understood. Nicholas had anticipated I’d turn to our relatives and had systematically poisoned the well, cutting off my last resort. I made several more calls, but the answer was always the same. In that moment, I was hit with a profound, soul-crushing helplessness. I had truly hit rock bottom. 3 How could my own brother be so cruel? How much did he have to hate me to do this? My constant calls must have annoyed my uncle, because he showed up at the hospital, ready to lecture me in person. “Anna, you’re not a kid anymore, but you sure are reckless. You don’t even know the first thing about men, and you go and get yourself pregnant? And you,” he said, turning to my dad, “you need to keep a better eye on her, not just dote on your precious son.” My uncle had always favored Nicholas. He didn’t like me, and he certainly didn’t like my father. He wasn’t here to help; he was here to gloat. I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the billing office. “Uncle Mark, please, just lend me the five thousand dollars. I’m begging you. After this is over, you can yell at me all you want!” He shoved me away, and I stumbled, falling to the polished floor. “You think money just appears out of thin air? Five thousand dollars? You’ve completely lost your mind.” He was about to launch into another tirade when a sound from my mother’s room cut through the air. A long, piercing beep. The line on her heart monitor went flat.

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When the fire broke out, my mother grabbed my little sister, and my father hoisted my older brother onto his back. They ran. They left me behind in the flames. My face was burned. And just like that, the demanding, spoiled girl who fought for every scrap of affection vanished. I became obedient. It didn’t matter. I was dying anyway. Let them have the little love there was to give. But then, they were the ones filled with regret. They would clutch my skeletal hand and plead, “Can’t you throw just one more tantrum for us? Please?” 1 My mother, clutching my sister, and my father, carrying my brother, burst from the inferno. They clung to each other, their sobs of relief echoing in the night. “Is there anyone else inside?!” a firefighter shouted, rushing toward them. My mother spun around, her eyes wide with panic as she did a frantic headcount. She pointed to my brother and sister. “Leo, April—the two kids are here! They’re both here!” “Are you sure no one’s left?” the firefighter pressed. But my mother’s gaze was locked on her two precious children. She didn’t answer, just kept murmuring, “They’re safe, thank God, they’re safe,” pulling them into an even tighter embrace. At that exact moment, I stumbled out of the fire, my hand clamped over my mouth to keep from inhaling the smoke. Her words made me feel like a pathetic joke. I was covered in soot, my clothes in scorched tatters. They, having escaped earlier, were practically untouched, their clothes clean. The strength that had carried me this far evaporated. My mother’s words hit me like a physical blow, and I collapsed. The ground met my back, and an excruciating, searing pain shot through me. My name is Faye. My full name is Fayleen. But I’ve always just been “Faye,” the one who fades away. The leftover. 2 “Leo, stop tickling me!” Once clear of the danger, my sister and brother started roughhousing. Their laughter seemed to ease the worry from my parents’ faces. But then, April stumbled and her hand landed squarely on the wound on my back. “Ah!” A scream ripped from my throat. I could feel the freshly bandaged wound tear open again, blood seeping through, the pain a white-hot agony. April scrambled to her feet, her dark eyes wide with fear as she hid behind Leo. “Honestly, Faye!” My mother’s glare was instant and sharp. “Throwing a tantrum again? Why would you scream at your sister like that?” Her eyes met mine, and she flinched, a flicker of disgust crossing her face. It was probably because of the burns on my face. She thought I was acting out because she hadn’t been paying attention. She hadn’t seen the firefighter carefully dress my wound. She never saw me. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I ran to the side, buried my face in my hands, and sobbed. My cries echoed in the vast, empty night. They all fell silent. When my tears finally subsided, my mother approached, holding April’s hand. She sighed, reaching for mine. I flinched away. Her hand froze in mid-air. “Faye, please try to understand,” she said, her voice strained. “It’s not that we don’t love you. But Leo is at a critical point in his career, and April is so young…” I looked at her, my throat thick with unshed tears. “Can’t you just be a little more considerate?” Seeing her earnest, pleading face, I laughed. A bitter, hollow sound. It was laughable. The love I received was always just the leftovers, the crumbs. My mother, perhaps mistaking my laugh for forgiveness, grabbed my hand and placed it on top of April’s. “There, that’s better,” she cooed, trying to smooth things over, to create the illusion of a happy, united family. “Now, why don’t you tell your sister you’re sorry, and we can all move on. We’re a family, after all!” Though she spoke to me, her eyes were fixed on April, her voice a gentle caress meant to soothe my crying, pitiful little sister. I snatched my hand back as if I’d been burned. My mother shot me a look of pure disappointment. “I have three children,” she said, her words like knives, “and you’re the only one I’ve managed to spoil so rotten.” Then she swept April into her arms and stormed away. Yes. This was what she called spoiled. Inconsiderate. I used to be the one who was always wheedling and whining, begging my parents for things. But that was because I knew I wasn’t their favorite. If I didn’t fight for their attention, I would get nothing at all. Now, I was dying. I was sick. I wasn’t going to fight for the scraps anymore. 3 Our house was gone, so we had to find a new place to live. Luckily, it had been a detached villa, so the fire hadn’t spread. “Finding a new place is a nightmare,” my father said one evening. “It’s hard enough with three kids. We can only take two for now. We’ll have to send one to stay with family.” As he spoke, every head in the room turned to me. I gave a weak, bitter smile. The old me would have thrown herself into their arms, sobbing and pleading until they gave in with a weary, “Oh, what are we going to do with you? We’ve spoiled you too much, that’s the problem.” But Leo and April never had to plead for what they wanted. This time, I didn’t make a scene. I just gave a small nod, took a step back, and said in a raspy voice, “I’ll go.” They all stared at me, surprised, but no one said a word. So, I was sent to my uncle’s house. Every day, I lived under the watchful, critical eyes of my aunt and uncle. At first, they offered forced smiles. Soon, they didn’t even bother with that, their faces cold and stony. It didn’t matter if I woke up early to do all the chores or collected plastic bottles to exchange for a few coins to give them. They would just purse their lips, their expressions unreadable but clearly displeased. One afternoon, after scrubbing the bathroom, I overheard them talking. “When is she leaving?” my aunt complained. “Just a couple more days,” my uncle sighed. “Ugh, have you smelled her? I feel like I have to take two showers every time I talk to her. And another mouth to feed… it’s a lot of pressure.” I looked down and sniffed at my clothes. They didn’t like me using their shower, so I hadn’t dared. That night at dinner, I forced a smile. “Uncle, Auntie,” I said as casually as I could, as if I were just sharing a funny story, “I don’t think my room is very comfortable. Maybe I should move into the basement? And I don’t need to eat with you all anymore. I can just scrounge something up for myself.” I carefully controlled my expression, my tone, terrified of upsetting them. They nodded, their frozen faces thawing slightly. “Here, Faye,” my aunt said, actually putting a piece of egg on my plate. “Don’t just eat plain rice. Have some of this.” 4 The basement was freezing. The door was no match for the biting wind that stabbed at my wounds, making them ache and itch. I wrapped the threadbare blanket around myself, tears and snot streaming down my face. My mouth was parched. I hadn’t had a drop of water all day. The thirst was agonizing. Finally, I crept out of my hovel. A puddle of dirty water had collected on the ground from a leaky pipe. A stray cat was lapping at it. After a moment’s hesitation, I knelt down beside it. When you’re dying of thirst, dignity doesn’t seem so important. The water was cool and, to my parched throat, sweet. When I had drunk my fill, I wiped my mouth and stood up. And there was Leo, my brother, standing over me, his face a cold mask. I had no idea how long he’d been watching. He’s here. He saw me. My body swayed, and I wanted to run, to hide. “Come on,” he said abruptly. “We’re going home for New Year’s dinner.” I hadn’t expected this. I scrambled backward, terrified that my smell would offend him. But he just frowned, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward his car. “Let’s go!” The entire ride, I sat in a state of anxious dread. When we arrived at their new house, I hesitated. It was a two-story house with a small, neat yard. Clean and tidy. It didn’t look like they were struggling financially at all. So why couldn’t they have taken me? I hung my head, reluctant to go inside. They didn’t know I was there. I could hear their laughter echoing from within. My parents were cooing over April, calling her their “sweet baby.” Their joy was a stark contrast to my own misery, making me feel even more like an outsider. Then, April’s voice piped up. “Where’s my sister?” The laughter died. The house fell silent. Leo stood beside me, his expression unreadable. “Her?” my mother’s voice, sharp and cold, cut through the silence. “She burned our house down. What right does she have to come back? Let her come for dinner, and then we’ll give her a piece of our minds!” I stared at Leo in disbelief. “You were there,” I whispered. “You know it wasn’t me. It was April…” Before I could finish, Leo whipped his head around, hissing, “Shut up!” His voice was like a whip. I shrank back into the corner. I don’t know when it started, but I’ve become so sensitive to sounds, to people’s emotions. Disgust, anger, annoyance—they all make me tremble. “I’m sorry…” I mumbled. But Leo’s face grew even colder. “My sister is a timid girl,” he said in a low voice. “It’s New Year’s. Don’t cause any more trouble. Does it really matter who started the fire?” The way he said it, it was as if I wasn’t his sister at all. I touched my own bony arm and nodded. “I won’t tell anyone.” His expression softened slightly. “Come on, let’s go eat. Mom and Dad sent me to get you.” I shook my head. “Can you just give me some money? I need to buy medicine.” His face hardened again, his dark eyes filled with revulsion. “Do you have a conscience? You finally come home, and the only thing you can think about is asking for money?” He grumbled, but he still pulled a few red bills from his pocket and threw them at my face. I didn’t react. I just knelt down and started picking up the money. Leo clenched his fists, looking even angrier. “You’re pathetic,” he sneered. “I’m humiliating you like this, and you don’t even fight back?” The old me would have been furious, would have started a fight with him. This time, I ignored him. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. My period had started. And I had just drunk that cold, dirty water… “Can I have a cup of hot water? Please…” I clutched my stomach, my eyes welling with tears. Seeing me suddenly so weak, a smug look crossed his face. He said nothing. He just strode to the door, opened it, and slammed it shut behind him. “She’s not coming!” I heard him shout from inside. “Refuses to come, no matter what!” The pain in my stomach was a twisting agony. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, and a wave of nausea rose from my gut. My legs cramped, and I collapsed, fainting on their cold, clean doorstep. Through a hazy fog, I thought I saw their panicked faces.

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When Alaric Gunn fell into a coma, I scavenged streets to pay his bills while our daughter Joy grew up on charity. Eight years later, he awoke remembering only Erin as his true love. He called Joy a stray to be abandoned, locking me in the basement for three days until she vanished—replaced by pregnant Erin in our home. “Your only job is to serve her,” he said, as others urged patience for his recovery. Until I overheard his doctor expose his fabricated medical history. “A scavenger like you can’t survive alone,” Alaric sneered, unaware I’d sacrificed family and career for him. If his heart held no love, I’d vanish. The doctor’s words sent an icy chill through my body, and I began to tremble uncontrollably. From outside the door, Alaric’s impatient voice cut through the air. “Are you dead in there, Lara? Get out here!” I ignored the pity in the doctor’s eyes, swallowed the acid burn in my throat, and hurried out. Erin was draped over Alaric’s arm. “Alaric, darling,” she cooed, “I haven’t had my transfusion today.” Ever since she’d announced her pregnancy, serving as her personal blood bank had become my duty. I looked down, and a tear splashed onto the cold linoleum floor. “After this one,” I whispered, “I’m leaving.” Surprise flickered in Alaric’s eyes. He glanced at my arm, a canvas of purple and blue bruises dotted with needle marks, and hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Then get out now,” he snarled. “I’ve had enough of a filthy scavenger living in my house. The sour stench clinging to you makes Erin’s morning sickness worse!” As I turned to leave, Erin’s voice stopped me. “You can go. But the gold bracelet stays.” It was the bracelet Alaric had given me on our wedding day. Through all the years of hunger and despair, it was the one thing I could never bring myself to sell. But I knew better than to defy her. The last time I’d failed to peel her shrimp at a restaurant, Alaric had knocked a tooth out of my mouth. I slipped the bracelet off and held it out to her. “Consider it a gift for the baby.” A soft, cruel laugh came from beside me. “It’s just plated,” Alaric murmured. “Worthless.” My hand trembled, and the bracelet clattered to the floor. So even the one memory that had sustained me, the one symbol of a love I thought was real, had been a lie. “Your memory…” I stammered. “It’s back?” “What if it is?” he said, his arrogance staggering. “Erin is pregnant. I have a responsibility to her.” If it weren’t for the hope of finding my daughter, I never would have bowed to them for a second longer. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood and walked away. But just as I reached the hospital exit, two of his bodyguards grabbed me and dragged me back. When Alaric fell into his “coma,” his assets were frozen. I was left with a mountain of medical debt. I had survived, with my daughter, by begging on the streets. But the moment he “woke up,” he was buying Erin the finest delicacies, surrounding her with guards to protect the precious life in her womb. They threw me back into the room. Alaric looked down at me, his eyes cold and imperious. “You dare to leave before giving your blood?!” The needle pierced my bruised skin again. “Please,” I begged, “after this is done… just tell me where Joy is. Please?” For a moment, a flicker of something—pity? regret?—crossed his face. He reached out as if to steady my swaying body. But then Erin, her eyes flashing with jealousy, let out a soft cry. “Alaric, I don’t feel well.” He immediately spun to catch her, his concern for her absolute. He barked at the nurse, “What are you waiting for? Take more! As much as she needs! She won’t die from it!” As my consciousness faded, the last thing I heard was his chilling, detached voice. “Lock her in the basement. Let’s see her run now.” I woke in the damp, putrid air of the basement, the blood on my clothes dried and stiff. A maid stood over me with a bowl of congee. She tipped it, and the hot gruel poured over my head. “Who do you think you are?” she sneered. “Expecting me to feed you.” My hands were bound tightly. The searing heat on my scalp made me scream. A moment later, I heard the maid’s frantic, lying explanation to someone at the door. “She wouldn’t eat! She knocked it out of my hands!” I forced my swollen eyelids open. Alaric knelt beside me, his fingers digging into my chin, forcing my head up. His eyes were like chips of ice. “Playing the victim for me, Lara? Do you think I feel sorry for you?” “I don’t need your pity,” I rasped. “But our daughter… you have to care about her. Please, just give her back to me.” “Oh, she’s fine,” he said casually. “You just serve Erin well, and you’ll get her back. Don’t forget, this is what you both owe her.” In the shadows, a single tear of agony slid down my cheek. So that’s it. You’ve always believed it was my fault Erin left all those years ago. No wonder you faked a coma for eight years, just waiting for her to come back. No wonder you care so little for our child. No wonder you look at me as if you want to flay me alive. Alaric was throwing a birthday party for Erin, and he let me out of the basement to “help.” When I refused, his voice turned to steel. “Do you think you get to live here for free? You will be at this party. And if you do anything to upset Erin, I’ll make you regret it.” He added, as a final hook, “Behave yourself, and I might grant you one request.” After he had ground me into the dust, what could I possibly dare to ask for? The entire Gunn mansion buzzed with excitement for Erin’s birthday. She wore a gown that glittered with a thousand tiny diamonds, while my own t-shirt was faded and covered in patches. She found me in a corner and dug her sharp, manicured nails into the raw, scalded skin on my arm. I met her gaze, my voice flat. “Don’t get your hands dirty, Miss Vance.” For a moment, she was speechless. Then she leaned in close, a wicked smile playing on her lips. Her voice was a demonic whisper. “Do you know where your daughter is?” “I have her locked up. A few old men come to… play with her every day.” The words exploded in my head. I felt a cord inside me snap. Harm me, break me, but you do not touch my daughter. “You bitch! I’ll kill you!” My hands closed around her throat, but a violent force threw me backward. Alaric was there, cradling a gasping Erin. I hit the floor hard, coughing up a mouthful of blood. “You’re not human, Alaric!” I screamed, the blood staining my lips. “You’d let this monster hurt your own child!” His face was thunderous. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Stop making a scene!” The guests were arriving, their numbers swelling. Their whispers were like hammer blows, crushing the last of my dignity. “Look at that trash-picker. How dare she even compare herself to a renowned jewelry designer like Miss Vance?” “She really thought having a daughter would tie her to the Gunn family. Only Miss Vance’s child will ever matter to him.” “Shameless. Look at her, crawling on the floor like a dog.” “I can smell the rot on her from here.” I finally found the strength to push myself up, ready to walk away from it all. But Alaric’s voice, cold and absolute, commanded me. “Crawl over here and apologize to Erin. You scared her and the baby.” One step. Two. I didn’t look back. But then his voice turned cruel, twisting the knife. “Don’t you want to see your daughter again?” He knew my weakness, and he used it to gut me. I turned back, defeated. As I finished kowtowing to Erin, my head touching the floor three times, I looked up and my eyes met a pair in the crowd—brimming with tears. After the party, my phone buzzed with a message I hadn’t expected. [Sis, let me come get you. Please? He’s no good for you.] My fingers trembled as I typed a single word: [Okay.] Suddenly, Alaric’s roar echoed behind me. “Lara! Are you good for anything besides lazing around?!” I shoved the phone into my pocket and scrambled to clean the blood I’d coughed up from the marble floor. My tears fell, smearing the crimson stain. I looked up and saw a complex expression on Alaric’s face. “Enough with the crying,” he muttered, sounding almost weary. “It’s bad luck.” He held out his phone. “Here. See for yourself.” A video call. I lunged for the phone, my heart aching more than any needle ever could. It was Joy. Her face was pale and thin. She saw me, but she didn’t dare call out “Mama.” Before I could even speak, the call ended. Alaric crossed his arms, a cold smile on his face. “I told you she was fine. You want to see her? Then you’ll be obedient.” “Have you seen her?” I choked out. “In person? Do you have any idea what Erin is doing to her? Why won’t you let me see my own daughter?!” “Erin is taking perfectly good care of her,” he said, his patience wearing thin. “Stop making trouble. When the time is right, I’ll take you to her.” I looked up at him, my eyes as dead as a stagnant pool. “I see.” There was no “right time.” I couldn’t wait any longer. Alaric opened his mouth to say more, but a call from Erin summoned him upstairs. “Bring up a basin of hot water,” he called over his shoulder as he left. When I entered their room with the water, he was massaging Erin’s swollen calves, a gentle smile on his face. “Is the little one giving you trouble again, my love? Just this one, and then no more, okay? You’ve been through so much.” A bitter smile twisted my own lips. When I was pregnant with Joy, Alaric was already in his “coma.” He had ignored my entire pregnancy, my struggle to survive while carrying his child, all while he peacefully slept, waiting for his golden girl to return. I knelt and expertly began to soak Erin’s feet, my heart a placid lake of indifference. Alaric paused. “Let me do that.” “No need…” I said tonelessly. Before I could finish, the basin was kicked over. Erin shrieked. “Are you trying to scald me?!” The water was only warm, but it soaked me to the bone, leaving me dripping and humiliated. Alaric waved a hand in disgust. “Get out and change. You can’t even do one simple thing right. What use are you? If anything happens to Erin, I’ll hold you responsible!” As I walked downstairs, a new message from him popped up. [I’ll take you to see Joy tomorrow.] But I didn’t believe him anymore.

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For eight years, I secretly dated my best friend’s sister, Eleonora Chan—the powerful CEO who was my boss by day, my lover by night. I discovered the receipt for a one-of-a-kind engagement ring and followed her to a lavishly decorated venue, heart pounding. But it wasn’t me she proposed to—it was a man who looked exactly like me. “Finally got your golden boy back,” her friend smirked. “When will you dump the substitute?” Nora exhaled cigarette smoke lazily. “The poor boy’s too in love. I’ll deal with him later.” That night, I texted my mother: [I’ll accept the arranged marriage.] And when Nora saw my marriage license photo on her wedding day—the color drained from her face. 1 After confirming the marriage alliance with my mother, I booked the first flight out. Forcing the image of Nora’s proposal from my mind, I rushed back to the apartment we shared and threw my belongings into a suitcase. I was in the living room, grabbing my last few things, when Nora walked in, her face lit with a joy I’d never seen before. “Oh, Dustin,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “I love you so much. Let’s be together forever, okay?” She leaned in to kiss me, her breath thick with the scent of alcohol and a sharp, overpowering cologne. It was the same classic cologne she always insisted on buying for me, no matter how many times I told her I preferred the warmer, woody scent of cedar. I’d even gotten an earful from her the few times I’d forgotten to wear it. Now I understood. The man she loved, the man who wore this scent, was someone else entirely. From the very beginning, I was nothing more than a replica she was crafting. A wave of disgust washed over me, and I flinched away from her touch. But the desire in her eyes didn’t fade. She slammed me against the door, her cool hands already sliding under the hem of my shirt. “Nora! Get off me!” Surprise flickered in her eyes. I had never spoken to her like that. She opened her mouth to question me, but the doorbell chimed, interrupting the moment. She opened the door, and a man burst in, sweeping her into his arms and planting a quick kiss on her cheek. Then he saw me, his smile a blinding, triumphant glare. “You must be Dustin,” he said, his voice dripping with false cordiality. “The secretary who’s been by Nora’s side for eight years, right?” “Pleasure to meet you. I’m James, Nora’s fiancé. Thanks for looking after her for me all these years!” The rich scent of that same cologne wafted off him, identical to the one clinging to Nora. It was suffocating. I didn’t move. I just stared at her. Nora faltered for a second before her gaze slid away from mine. “Yes,” she confirmed, her voice suddenly flat. “This is the junior secretary I told you about. He doesn’t make much, so I let him stay in the guest room. It’s convenient for when I need help with odd jobs.” James waved a dismissive hand. “Nora, darling, why are you explaining again? I’m not some petty man who can’t separate business from personal life. Besides,” he added, his eyes scanning me up and down, “he looks so much like me. It must have been comforting for you to have him around. In a way, I should be thanking him!” He then gestured grandly towards his luggage. “Since Dustin knows the layout, perhaps he could be a dear and move my things into your room? We’re getting married soon, after all. It’s about time we started living together properly!” He issued the order with a beaming smile, and Nora said nothing to object. I thought of all the times I had pleaded to move into the master bedroom with her. She had always refused, insisting that couples needed their own space. Only on nights when passion overtook her would she let me stay. If I ever accidentally left so much as a sock behind, her face would cloud over, and she’d lecture me about respecting boundaries. I had always thought it was just a part of her meticulous, self-disciplined nature. But the truth was, the role of the man of the house was never meant for me. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Nora. [Babe, it’s just a business arrangement with James, a sham marriage for the company. Don’t misunderstand.] I almost laughed. She was still treating me like a child. Fine. If she said her marriage was fake, then it was fake. As long as mine was real. I headed towards the guest room to finish packing, but James beat me to it. “Dustin, Nora is quite attached to me, so it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to stay here any longer. You should probably find your own place soon…” He trailed off as he entered the room. “Oh, you’re already halfway packed? And your style… it’s just like mine! What a coincidence!” A chilling coldness crept through me. Buying me clothes and watches had always been Nora’s favorite way of showing affection. I once believed it was proof of her love. Now, looking at the room full of clothes and accessories that never quite suited me, I saw how perfectly they would fit James. It was I who had been the impostor all along. I didn’t have the energy to confront her. But as I turned to leave, Nora grabbed my arm, her face hardening. “Why are you packing? Did something happen? Talk to me!” I looked away, unable to meet her gaze. Just then, I saw James reach for the music box on my nightstand. “Don’t touch that!” I yelled. With a sickening crash, the music box shattered on the floor, its delicate lid and tiny figurines of a prince and princess scattering like broken promises. “Oh… I’m so sorry, Dustin. I didn’t mean to…” James clutched his hand, a thin red line appearing on his palm. “Nora, my hand… it hurts…” Nora rushed to his side, examining the scratch as if it were a mortal wound. The next second, she whirled on me, her face a mask of fury. She stomped on the remains of the music box, grinding the delicate pieces under her heel. “It’s just a stupid trinket!” she spat, her eyes burning with a terrifying rage. “Did you have to scare him like that, Dustin?!” “Get this trash out of here. I never want to see it in this house again!” With one final, vicious twist of her foot, she crushed what was left of the music box into dust. Then, supporting a whimpering James, she walked out without a backward glance. Tears splashed onto the wreckage. Shards of wood and metal bit into my fingers as I gathered the pieces, but I felt nothing. I was sixteen when my parents’ marriage fell apart. Lost and alone, I’d gone to my best friend Leo’s house, hoping to find him. He wasn’t there, but his older sister, Nora, had just returned from a shopping trip. “Hey, kid,” she’d said gently, noticing my tears. “You’re Leo’s friend, aren’t you? What’s wrong? You can tell me.” I tried to leave, too embarrassed to speak, but she held me back. She shooed away her own friends and told me to wait. Then she ran out into the pouring rain and came back with an armful of cakes and pastries from the best bakery in town. She ruffled my hair and, with a conspiratorial whisper, produced a beautiful music box. As its gentle melody filled the air, the tiny prince and princess on top began to twirl. “Don’t be scared, kid,” she’d said, her voice a warm blanket. “No matter what anyone else does, this big sister, right here? I’ll protect you for the rest of your life. I swear it on this music box.” Her simple, earnest promise had captured my heart in that moment of utter despair. I had loved Eleonora Chan for ten years, from that day to this. I still remembered her vow, every word of it. But the woman who made it had long since forgotten. I cradled the handful of sharp memories for a moment longer, then tossed them into the trash. The vow, and Nora herself—I was done with them both.

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Our honeymoon abroad was shattered by a violent uprising. To give his precious Bianca a better chance to escape, my new husband shoved me out of the car. I spent the next week in a war-torn hell, a living nightmare. On the brink of collapse, it was my childhood friend who descended like an angel and saved me. He helped me heal, he proposed, and when he learned I was pregnant, he was ecstatic. But at the peak of my happiness, I overheard him talking to my ex-husband. “Grace’s pregnant now,” he said. “Once the baby is born, we can use the cord blood to save Bianca.” My ex asked him, “Was it worth it? Marrying and having a child with a woman you don’t love, all for Bianca?” My friend gave a bitter smile. “You were willing to risk your life for her. I’m willing to sacrifice my own.” “As long as Bianca can be healthy and happy, I’d do anything.” And just like that, I understood. This beautiful, happy marriage was a lie from the very beginning. Both of my husbands, the men I had given my heart to, had only ever loved one woman: Bianca. If that was the case, there was no reason for me to cling to a loveless marriage. But why, after I left, did the man who swore he never loved me descend into madness, crying out my name? 1 Clutching the positive pregnancy report, I couldn’t wait to share the wonderful news with John. But outside a VIP hospital room, I saw something that stopped my world. My ex-husband and my current husband were both gathered around a hospital bed, fussing over Bianca. John, a man I’d always known to be cool and reserved, was looking at Bianca with a tenderness so profound it was practically liquid. “Bianca, don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ve already arranged for the best medical team. As soon as the baby is born, we’ll do the surgery.” “But… will Grace agree?” Bianca’s voice was frail. “What happened before hurt her so much. I’m afraid if something else goes wrong, she might…” “You’re too kind, Bianca,” John murmured, gently stroking her hair. “You don’t need to worry about her feelings. If it weren’t for you, she never would have experienced my love in the first place. She should be grateful to you.” Inside the room, a picture of tranquil devotion. Outside, I was drowning in my own tears. My mind flashed back to the day my ex-husband, Damien, abandoned me. In a foreign country ripped apart by war, at my most desperate and helpless moment, it was John who had walked against the tide of fleeing people, who had held me tight amidst the thunder of artillery. “Don’t be afraid,” he had whispered, his eyes full of a deep, sincere emotion. “I’m here.” “To the ends of the earth, from this day to our last, as long as I’m alive, I will protect you with my life.” In that moment, I had naively believed I’d found true love. I saw John as my salvation. Who could have known he was the one who would truly push me into the abyss? Saving me, marrying me, having a child with me—it was all for his beloved Bianca. The stream of tears washed away the last vestiges of affection I had for John. I turned, found a doctor, and said, my voice hollow, “Please schedule an abortion for me. I want to terminate this pregnancy.” The doctor stared at me, shocked. “Are you sure? When your husband heard you were pregnant, his eyes were red with joy. If he finds out…” “He is not my husband,” I cut her off. He’s a liar who has ruined my life. The doctor sighed and said no more. After the procedure, I sat in the hallway, my face a ghostly white. John came rushing over, a box of fruit in his hands. “Grace, sorry to keep you waiting. I went to get you your favorite cherries. How did the check-up go? Is the baby okay?” He looked at me with such genuine concern. A bitter smile touched my lips. I had seen that same box of cherries in Bianca’s room. This “special gift” was just her leftovers. As for the baby… he was fine. He would be reborn into a family that would truly love him, not brought into a world of lies and deceit. Lost in thought, I barely noticed when John took my hand and gently rested his head against my stomach. “Grace, you have no idea how happy I am. I swear, after the baby is born, I will spend the rest of my life making you both happy.” Was this ‘happiness’ born from love, or from the guilt and compensation of a man who knew he’d done wrong? I didn’t know what to say. Claiming I was tired, I gently pushed him away. As soon as we got home, John received a text and rushed out the door. I went to his study. The bookshelves, his computer—everything was filled with research on leukemia treatments. This man, so proud his entire life, had humbled himself, begging and pleading for the sake of a sick Bianca. The safe didn’t hold company secrets. It held a notebook, detailing all of Bianca’s preferences. “Bianca has a sensitive stomach. Low-oil, low-salt meals. No spice.” “Bianca loves roses. The rose manor outside the city will be finished by the end of the year. I hope she’ll be happy when she sees it.” “Sweets improve her mood. She studied in France, so French pastries should suit her palate.” He had spent a fortune on jewels for her, built a fairytale manor for her. Every word was a testament to his deep, abiding love for Bianca. There was not a single mention of me, his wife, his childhood friend. The love I had prided myself on was not worth a fraction of what Bianca received. After a moment, my tears flowing freely, I dialed a number. “Hello, I’d like to arrange a faked death service.” “Three days from now. A car accident. One car, two bodies.” 2 After finalizing the details, I sent them the video I had secretly recorded at the hospital, instructing them to release it after my “death.” Then I printed a copy of the divorce papers and waited for John to come home. He didn’t return. By noon the next day, he was still gone. I was about to call him when I saw his face on the television. “John Cross, CEO of Cross Industries, kneels up 9,999 steps to the grand temple, praying for the safety of his beloved.” In the video, John’s knees were raw and bloody, but he ignored everyone’s pleas to stop, bowing his head with every agonizing step, his face a mask of pious determination. He told the reporter interviewing him, his voice thick with emotion, “As long as the one I love is safe, I would give up everything I have.” The interview went viral. Messages started pouring in. “Oh my God, Grace! He’s willing to do that for you when you’re just pregnant? Imagine how he’ll spoil you when the baby comes! I heard he invested tens of millions in the hospital just to ensure you have a safe delivery. He’s so devoted!” “I’m so jealous, Grace! You have a husband who loves you so much. You must be the happiest woman in the world.” Reading the messages, I felt a bitter, ironic twist in my gut. Once, I would have believed it. I would have thought I was the happiest woman in the world. But now, I knew the truth. This profound love belonged to Bianca. I was just a tragic prop in their grand, romantic drama. I cleared my message history and went to the hospital with the divorce papers. The moment John saw me, he became visibly agitated. He ignored the pain in his legs and rushed towards me. “Grace, what are you doing here? I’m so sorry, I must have worried you…” “Where’s the jade amulet?” John’s eyes flickered away. “I… I lost it. I’ve sent people to look for it. If they can’t find it, I’ll get you an even better gift.” How could he not find it? I had seen it hanging around Bianca’s neck when I passed her room earlier. I didn’t expose his lie. I handed him the last page of a document. “No need to wait. I’ve found a house I like. You can buy it for me.” “Of course!” he agreed, signing his name without a second thought. I frowned. “Aren’t you going to look at it? What if… what if it’s very expensive?” “As long as you like it, the price doesn’t matter.” His eyes were bright and sincere, without a trace of deception. I couldn’t help but marvel at it. To love someone so much that you would do anything for them. It was just a shame that the person being loved wasn’t me. I put the signed paper—the final page of our divorce agreement—in my bag and prepared to leave. But John, worried about me traveling alone while pregnant, insisted on taking me home. As we reached the hospital entrance, his assistant whispered something in his ear. John’s face changed dramatically. He grabbed my arm and pulled me in the opposite direction. 3 He pushed me into a room and forced me into a chair. “She’s O-negative! Take her blood!” Before I could react, a sharp needle pierced my skin. They drew six hundred milliliters of blood before they finally stopped. I was dizzy and weak, unable to stand. I heard a doctor say to John, “Don’t worry, sir. Miss Sterling will be fine.” Hearing this, John finally relaxed. He noticed me staring and offered a guilty explanation. “Grace, I’m doing this to build up good karma for our child. Even if it wasn’t Bianca in danger, we couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.” I was too sick to listen. I just nodded numbly. “I understand. It’s fine. You should stay and take care of her. I want to go home and rest.” “Don’t be silly. You’re my wife. Of course I’m staying with you.” John blew gently on the puncture mark on my arm, his face full of concern, and started to lead me home. On our way out, we ran into Bianca. “Grace, thank you for donating blood for me,” she said with a bright smile. “Let me treat everyone to dinner as a small token of my appreciation.” Before I could speak, John had eagerly agreed. At the restaurant, he ordered with practiced ease. He placed a glass of mango juice in front of me. “Bianca doesn’t like this. You have it. It’s good for the baby.” I smiled, a sad, weary thing. He remembered all of Bianca’s preferences but had forgotten my severe allergy to mangoes. Love and the lack of it are hidden in the details. It was painfully true. While John was in the restroom, Bianca casually revealed the jade amulet from under her collar, a smirk on her face. “Grace,” she said, her voice a saccharine whisper, “they say a woman who gets fooled once is a fool. What do you call a woman who gets fooled twice?” “Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with you.” I had no interest in her provocations. But she suddenly ripped the amulet from her neck, smashed it on the floor, and then slapped herself hard across the face, twice. “John!” she shrieked as he returned, “Grace still won’t forgive me! She said I was trying to seduce you and threatened to scratch my face!” She threw herself into his arms, sobbing. Seeing the red marks on her cheeks, John didn’t hesitate. He shoved me, sending me sprawling to the floor. “Grace! How can you be so vicious? How could you attack a sick person like that?!” The ringing in my head, the pain in my body—it all came rushing back, dragging me back to that week in hell. The foreign streets, the constant explosions. I was a leaf in a storm, tossed between life and death. And the man who had pulled me from that inferno, the man who had promised to love me for a lifetime, had now, for Bianca, used that same hand to push me into an even deeper abyss. The pain of the past and present collided. I began to tremble uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face. John, snapping back to his senses, was startled by my state. He started to stammer an explanation. “Grace, don’t cry, I didn’t mean it. I just… I lost my temper…” Beside him, Bianca’s eyes also reddened. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t be here, getting in your way. Grace, I’m married now. I know I did things that hurt you in the past, but now I just want to live a quiet life with my husband.” “Since you hate me so much, I’ll just disappear from your life forever!” With that, she ran directly into the bustling street. John looked at me, his face a mask of conflict. After a brief hesitation, he chased after her. I swallowed my heartbreak and wiped my tears. Ignoring the strange looks from the people around me, I got up and left. On the way home, I received a text from John. “Grace, don’t be angry. Bianca is an important client. I only gave her the amulet to secure our future partnership.” “I didn’t mean to push you. I just saw things wrong. Bianca’s not well. Please, don’t hold it against a sick person. I’ll make it up to you when I get home.” Pathetic excuses. A dismissive attitude. It was all I needed to know that he didn’t care about the pain he had caused me. He was so sure of my love for him, so confident that I would believe anything he said. But how can a dead heart love again? Damien’s betrayal had tortured my body and soul. John’s lies had killed my heart completely. At this point, I didn’t even have the strength to cry. I stared out the window at the fleeting scenery, a single thought in my mind. John, I hope when you see my ‘body’ tomorrow, you can be just as indifferent as you are right now.

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1 At our New Year’s Eve dinner, the mood was heavy, the faces around the table grim. Confused, I shot a questioning look at my husband, Michael, who sat beside me. He looked like he wanted to say something but just shook his head. I shrugged it off and placed a piece of fish, my daughter’s favorite, onto her plate. Just then, a line of text materialized in the air before me. “The supporting character’s mother is so good to her. Too bad her father is about to make her donate bone marrow to the female lead.” Supporting character? Female lead? What on earth is this? I paid it no mind and continued eating. But my husband’s next words made me realize those floating sentences were something I couldn’t ignore. … “Honey, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” Michael said, his voice suddenly grave. I was busy cracking open a crab claw. “What is it? Go on.” Before he could speak, my sister-in-law, Clara, burst into tears. I quickly put down my crab and rushed to comfort her. “Clara, don’t be so upset. Isn’t Bella’s condition improving?” “The doctor said she could be discharged in a few days. Then…” My words were cut short by my husband’s sharp command. “That’s enough, Amelia!” His shout stunned me. I had no idea what I’d said wrong. Our daughter, Daisy, flinched, her chopsticks hovering mid-air. I soothed her, encouraging her to keep eating, before turning to glare at Michael. “What is wrong with you? It’s New Year’s Eve!” “What’s wrong with me?” he shot back, his face a thundercloud. My mother-in-law stepped in to smooth things over. “Alright, alright, let’s just eat.” I ignored my husband’s bizarre behavior and returned to my meal. I sympathized with Clara—her daughter was sick, after all. I’d let her spend the entire day at the hospital while I single-handedly prepared this feast. I wasn’t about to let my hard work go to waste. “Stop eating. I need to talk to you,” Michael said again, trying to stop me. I didn’t put down my chopsticks, just nodded. “I’m listening.” “Bella’s condition has worsened. She needs a bone marrow transplant.” His words hit me like a physical blow. The text from before flashed in my mind. Was this a coincidence? Before I could process it, more words appeared. “Here we go. The scumbag is bringing it up now!” “Shameless. Forcing his own daughter to donate marrow to his niece. He doesn’t care about his daughter at all.” “Yeah, even though the female lead, Bella, gets saved and becomes super successful, I still feel so bad for the supporting character, Daisy. She gets sick from the donation and dies young.” Reading the lines, the situation began to click into place. The “female lead” was my niece, Bella. The “supporting character” was my daughter, Daisy. My daughter would die because she donated bone marrow to Bella, who would then go on to live a life of success and glory. I forced myself to remain calm, looking from Michael to the still-sobbing Clara. I sighed. “Clara, they’ll find a volunteer to save Bella. Don’t be so heartbroken.” At my words, Clara’s crying abruptly stopped. She glanced at Michael. My mother-in-law shot him a look, a clear signal. As if emboldened, Michael declared, “Amelia, I want Daisy to donate her bone marrow to Bella.” “Absolutely not!” I refused without a moment’s hesitation. I stood up and swept the dishes off the table. If I cooked this meal, then no one else was going to eat it. “The supporting character’s mom is a badass!” “If it were me, I wouldn’t let my daughter donate either!” “Exactly! Donating bone marrow is so damaging. I can’t believe this father cares more about his sister’s child than his own.” The dinner ended in chaos. Michael disappeared, and I didn’t bother asking where he went. He could do whatever he wanted, as long as he stayed away from my daughter. I was on high alert now, constantly watching him, terrified he would do something to Daisy. On New Year’s Day, as I was getting Daisy ready to visit my parents, Michael called. “Amelia, Bella is fading fast. She needs the transplant now.” I moved away from Daisy, hissing into the phone, “What does Bella’s transplant have to do with my daughter?!” The familiar text appeared again. “The supporting character’s mom has no idea her husband already took their daughter for a compatibility test.” “Yeah, so tragic. So many people were tested, but only she was a perfect match.” “Well, what can you do? The supporting character only exists to save the female lead.” A chill went down my spine. “Michael,” I growled, my voice trembling with rage, “when did you take Daisy for a compatibility test?” “I went and got tested myself! I gave my blood! Why would you drag a ten-year-old child into this?” The line went silent. He was clearly shocked that I knew. Before he could answer, I cut him off. “If you want to take my daughter’s bone marrow, you’ll have to do it over my dead body!” 2 I slammed the phone down and immediately started packing Daisy’s clothes. I was terrified Michael would try to take her, so I decided we would stay at my parents’ house for a while. Daisy watched me silently, her sweet face devoid of questions. The roads were empty due to the holiday, and a two-hour drive took only ninety minutes. The moment we pulled up to my parents’ villa, they rushed out to greet us. “Daisy’s here! Come see what Grandma got you for New Year’s!” my mother exclaimed, whisking Daisy inside. My father took my bag. “Amelia, why didn’t Michael come with you?” His question sent a pang of sadness through me, but I didn’t want them to worry. I lied. “He had a last-minute thing at work. He’ll probably come in a few days.” With my parents doting on Daisy, the knot of tension in my shoulders finally began to loosen. After lunch, I went to take a nap. I woke up at dusk, groggy and disoriented. The first thing I saw was the familiar, shimmering text. “The supporting character’s dad is so cruel. He actually took her to the hospital to force the donation.” “Yeah, poor girl. Her own father doesn’t love her at all.” “Even though I’m a fan of the female lead, Bella, I can’t help but feel sorry for the supporting character…” I shot upright, instantly awake, and ran out to find Daisy. Only my parents were in the living room, watching a replay of the New Year’s Gala. “Amelia, you’re awake,” my dad said with a smile. “Michael came by this afternoon. He took Daisy to the amusement park.” “He even went to your room to tell you, but you were sleeping so soundly you didn’t even stir.” “She wasn’t just sleeping. The supporting character’s dad injected her with a sedative.” “I can’t believe how heartless he is.” Reading the text, I quickly pushed up my sleeve. Sure enough, there was a tiny puncture mark on my arm. My blood ran cold. Michael had gone this far. When I reached the hospital, Daisy was already lying in a hospital bed. “Daisy!” I screamed, rushing to her side and checking her from head to toe. The nurse who had been watching her saw me and scurried out of the room. The moment Daisy saw me, she burst into tears. “Mommy, I’m scared!” “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay. Mommy’s here. No one is going to hurt you.” I pulled the IV needle from her arm, thanking my lucky stars for the nursing courses I’d taken years ago. Just as I finished changing her out of the hospital gown and was about to leave, Michael and Clara rushed in. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Michael roared. “Amelia, please, have a heart. Save my daughter,” Clara begged, dropping to her knees in front of me. “Bella can’t wait any longer. Please, I’m begging you. She’s already prepped for surgery, just waiting for the donation.” The commotion drew other families from the hallway. Seeing Clara weeping at my feet, they began to murmur their disapproval. “My God, how can that woman be so cruel? Someone’s life is on the line.” “It’s a child’s life! And a relative, no less. She’s so cold-blooded.” I fought to control my emotions and looked at Michael. “Go get the head physician.” Thinking I had given in, Michael eagerly fetched the doctor. “Doctor,” I asked, my voice tight with restraint, “is Daisy really a match?” The doctor’s face lit up. He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Bella is a very lucky girl. Once the transplant is done, her condition can be brought under control.” Michael saw me nod and rushed forward. “The doctor has explained everything. Stop making a scene!” “The surgery is already scheduled. Don’t cause any more delays.” I looked at this frantic, desperate man and felt like I was staring at a stranger. “I’ve already called the police.” The onlookers fell silent, their faces filled with confusion. Only the doctor and Michael’s family looked terrified. Just as I spoke, the police arrived. “I’m the one who called,” I said, pointing at the doctor. “I’m reporting this man for accepting a bribe and attempting to forcibly extract bone marrow from a ten-year-old child!” 3 A wave of shock went through the crowd. The judgmental glares turned to expressions of sympathy. “So it’s not her donating, it’s the little girl.” “What kind of family is this? Making a ten-year-old donate bone marrow? That’s a death sentence!” “Is that man the girl’s father? How could he do this to his own child?” Michael’s face darkened under the weight of their accusations. He looked at me with pure venom in his eyes. “What’s happening? The supporting character didn’t donate?” “What about my Bella? Her illness is so serious!” I read the text, my heart turning to ice. So only the female lead’s life matters? My daughter’s life is worthless? After leaving the police station, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I walked up to Michael and slapped him across the face. “Divorce,” I said, the word hanging in the cold air. Then I took Daisy’s hand and walked away. In the car, Daisy’s small, sad voice piped up. “Mommy, why doesn’t Daddy love me?” My heart ached for her. When she was five or six, she’d asked me the same thing, wondering why her father always seemed to prefer Bella. She had asked if she wasn’t his real daughter. Back then, I had held her tight and made a thousand excuses for Michael. Not this time. At a red light, I turned to look at my daughter in the back seat. “Daisy, sweetie, Bella is sick, so Daddy is giving her more attention.” “But this time, we’re going to leave him, okay?” Daisy nodded. “Daddy doesn’t love Daisy, so Daisy doesn’t love Daddy anymore.” When we got home, my parents were heartbroken to see the tear stains on Daisy’s face. “Mom, Dad. I’m divorcing Michael.” To my surprise, my father immediately objected. “No!” “Your life is so good right now. You haven’t been fighting. Why the sudden divorce?” “Michael just got a promotion last year. Things are only going to get better for you two.” I cut him off before he could continue and told them everything Michael had done. Their faces changed instantly. “That monster! How could he hurt our Daisy like that?” “Divorce him! Immediately! A man like that doesn’t deserve to be our Daisy’s father!” But then, the familiar text floated before my eyes again. “The supporting character’s dad won’t agree to a divorce. He needs all their money to treat the female lead.” “I wish I had an uncle who loved me that much.” “Yeah, even the female lead’s own father gave up on her, but her uncle is still trying so hard to save her. It’s so touching!” I felt nothing reading those words. Michael could use his money to save whomever he wanted after the divorce. But I found it strange. Why had Bella’s own father given up on treating her? I realized I hadn’t seen him at all recently, not even at the New Year’s Eve dinner. Normally, he and Clara would have eaten at my mother-in-law’s before going home. What had changed this year? Despite my confusion, I contacted a lawyer and had the divorce papers sent to Michael. It wasn’t long before he called. “Amelia, I never knew you could be so vicious!” he roared. “Bella is critically ill, and not only do you refuse to let Daisy help, but you want to divorce me?!” I feigned ignorance. “I’m divorcing you because I don’t want Daisy to have a father who doesn’t care if she lives or dies.” I heard him take a deep breath on the other end. “No matter what, I will not agree to a divorce!” he shouted. I calmly tried to reason with him. “Michael, your career is taking off. Divorcing me is actually a good thing for you.” There had always been a huge income disparity between us, a fact he frequently resented me for. If the text was wrong, then divorcing me now would be a blessing for him. But Michael refused to sign the papers. And then I got a call from a real estate agent. She said my husband had listed our house for sale and a buyer wanted to see it. Was I available?

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The day we were supposed to get married, Perry Vance jilted me at the altar. A shocked murmur rippled through the guests. One of his friends let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Damn, Perry. Only a Vance could be that ruthless. You win the bet, man. I’ll pay up.” Perry shot a lazy glance in my direction, his voice a study in casual indifference. “If she hadn’t kept threatening to kill herself, I wouldn’t have even bothered with this ridiculous wedding.” I stood frozen on the stage, the pristine white of my dress concealing the river of blood already flowing down my legs. The System’s cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. 「Mission failed. Male lead has refused to marry. Host termination sequence initiated. Three… two…」 1 A sticky warmth pooled between my legs; I could feel my life draining out of me with every drop. I bit down on my pale lip, the mocking laughter from the crowd washing over me like a toxic tide, battering my fragile sanity. After a few seconds of stunned silence, I forced back the tears, looking at him with disbelief. “Why? You promised… you promised you’d make me the happiest woman in the world. If I don’t marry you, I’ll actually die.” God knows, saying those words felt like my heart was being torn from my chest. He was the one who had stayed up for three nights straight designing every detail of this wedding. I couldn’t believe it was all just a joke. But Perry only spared me a fleeting glance, his reply light as air. “It’s exhausting, you know? The constant drama. Are you always like this?” he drawled. “We’re all adults here. If you take things so seriously, how is anyone supposed to have any fun?” His lazy tone hit me like a bolt of lightning, shattering the last of my composure. “Perry…” Before I could finish, his friends erupted in derisive laughter, their eyes dripping with contempt. “Haha, don’t you get it? Perry’s been in love with someone else for years—Bianca Sterling. You think a nobody like you could ever compare?” “You were just a bet, sweetheart. We didn’t think someone who acts so high-and-mighty would be so easy to fool.” Their words were knives, twisting in my gut. I started to tremble uncontrollably. Perry frowned but offered no explanation. I clenched my fists, a bitter, self-mocking smile touching my lips. I’d gotten into a car accident in the real world. While I was in a coma, I was inexplicably pulled into this one, forced to complete a “mission”: make Perry Vance fall in love with me. If he married me, I could return to my own world and live. If I failed, I would be punished by bleeding to death. I thought my months of devotion had finally won him over. I never imagined I was the punchline. But somewhere along the way, in this calculated game of seduction, I had truly fallen for him. A sharp cramp seized my abdomen, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. My heart felt like it was being shredded, but the pain was everywhere and nowhere at once, as if a saw was tearing my body apart. The warm liquid gushed faster now, trickling down my legs and staining the inside of my gown, slowly stealing the heat from my body. Suddenly, Perry shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and strode off the stage. 「Host’s life force is rapidly depleting!」 the System’s panicked voice screamed in my head. 「There’s still time! You have to stop him!」 The warning jolted me from my stupor. Ignoring the searing pain, I stumbled after him, my small steps leaving a shocking trail of bloody footprints that no one seemed to notice. “Perry, are you really leaving me?” My voice was thick with unshed tears. Even now, a part of me couldn’t believe that the man who had been so protective, so tender, could abandon me like this. He acted as if he hadn’t heard me. His gaze was fixed, burning with an intensity I’d never seen before, on a delicate figure standing at the entrance of the ballroom. He paused, and then a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. “You finally came,” he said, his voice soft. “I knew you wouldn’t let me marry another woman.” I froze. In that instant, my heart didn’t just break. It shattered. He had orchestrated this entire grand, beautiful wedding for one reason: to make his true love jealous. 2 I watched them embrace as if no one else existed. The guests, my wedding guests, erupted in cheers for them. The pain was a physical thing, a blade twisting in my chest as despair washed over me. Just then, a hotel waitress approached, nervously holding a velvet box with a pair of custom-made rings. “Miss Williams,” she began, her eyes full of pity, “Mr. Vance had these specially made for you.” My gaze fell to the rings, and I shook my head with a bitter laugh. “There must be a mistake. We didn’t order any custom rings.” Besides, a single glance told me they weren’t my size. The hotel did offer a ring customization service. I had begged Perry to get a matching pair with me, but he’d refused, claiming he was allergic to metal. At that moment, the two of them broke their embrace. Perry turned, calmly took the ring box from the waitress, and didn’t spare me a single glance. He walked back to Bianca, dropped to one knee, and slid the ring onto her finger. “Bianca,” he said, his voice ringing with emotion, “I had this made just for you. Will you marry me?” Bianca looked down at the ring, a shy, pleased smile on her face, but she didn’t answer immediately. “Say yes!” someone shouted from the crowd. The chant grew, a wave of voices engulfing the hall. “Say yes! Say yes!” And there I stood, on the edge of the crowd, a ghost in a wedding dress, completely out of place at my own wedding, where my groom was proposing to another woman. Their cheers were like spikes, driving deeper and deeper into my heart. The crowd parted. Bianca, radiant in a simple white dress, walked towards me on Perry’s arm. She moved with an effortless grace I could never hope to imitate. “Miss Williams,” she said, her voice soft and melodious, “on Perry’s behalf, I do apologize. I never imagined he would use such a drastic method to get me to see him.” “We’ve discussed it, and we’d like to offer you financial compensation. Please, don’t refuse.” She held out a check. For five million dollars. Her tone was gentle, but her words were a raw, public humiliation. “Wow, five million just like that. She’s set for life.” “You don’t get it. Some girls look all innocent, but they’re masterminds.” “I heard she chased after Perry relentlessly.” The whispers were the final straw. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the crimson drops on the floor. I couldn’t stand anymore. I clutched my chest, my vision blurring as the pain threatened to swallow me whole. “Was this your idea?” I managed to ask, my voice a raw, broken rasp, looking up at him. Don’t people like them understand that a human heart has value? Perry’s gaze flickered to my ashen face, his lips parting as if to speak, but he said nothing. The crowd’s murmurs had turned into outright hostility. They were shouting at me, the “homewrecker,” to get out. They were sycophants, eager to curry favor with the powerful. To please Bianca, some of them even started to push me. I was shoved back and forth until my head slammed against the wall with a dull thud. I sagged, using the wall to stay upright, my face contorted in agony. “Stop it!” Perry roared. His eyes locked onto my colorless face. “Are you alright?” At his side, Bianca’s brow furrowed. She shot me a venomous glare and tugged on his sleeve. It was as if her touch broke a spell. Perry forced his gaze away from me. “Go wait outside,” he said, not looking at me. “I’ll take you home later.” That flicker of concern, however fleeting, was enough to give me a sliver of strength. The fog of pain receded slightly. I glanced at his unreadable expression, then turned and stumbled out of the hall. “Miss Williams!” The waitress who had brought the rings was the first to see the bloody trail I’d left behind. She screamed. I looked back at her and shook my head, a helpless, bitter smile on my face. The blood was real, but there were no visible wounds. If Perry found out now, he would just accuse me of faking it. I couldn’t bear another ounce of humiliation. For the first time, I disobeyed him. I left on my own. I went back to my apartment, lay down on my bed, and quietly waited to die. When I opened my eyes again, it had been two days. To my surprise, I was still alive. My body was incredibly weak, but the bleeding had stopped. I immediately summoned the System. 「Unknown,」 it replied, its mechanical voice tinged with confusion. 「Mission failure was confirmed. By all logic, you should have expired on the wedding night. However, the Host’s life force has stabilized at 0.1 percent and is no longer declining.」 We concluded it must be a bug in the system. Not knowing when I might suddenly drop dead, I dragged myself to my office to resign. The moment I walked in, I was met with a wall of thinly veiled contempt. “I thought she said she’d die. Looks like she’s doing just fine to me.” “Pathetic. Trying to threaten Perry Vance with death.” A lump formed in my throat. I finished my handover in a daze and fled the building. When I got back to my apartment, I found a tall, familiar figure waiting at my door. 3 The second he saw me, his expression turned to ice. He lunged forward, his fingers clamping around my wrist like a vice. “Why didn’t you wait for me that night?” he roared, his voice so loud it made my ears ring. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I found a pool of blood at the venue. I’ve been looking for you like a madman!” “I thought… I thought you…” As he got closer, I saw that his eyes were bloodshot, filled with a raw, undeniable worry. I stared at him, my heart pounding. A wild, impossible thought began to bloom in the back of my mind. “You…?” I whispered. In an instant, the storm of emotion in his eyes vanished, replaced by his usual cold composure. He looked me up and down, then released my wrist with a sneer. “Weren’t you supposed to be dead if we didn’t get married?” I rubbed my bruised wrist, my gaze darkening with self-pity. “I didn’t know you were looking for me. My phone died.” “Sorry to disappoint you by not dying,” I added, a sharp, bitter edge to my voice. He flinched, as if I’d struck him. A complex mix of emotions warred on his face. “That’s not what I meant.” 「System detects male lead is showing concern for Host!」 the System chirped excitedly in my head. 「Try again! Push him!」 A flicker of hope ignited within me. I decided to try. “Perry,” I said, my voice trembling with desperate hope, “I wasn’t lying. I really am dying.” “Can we please… can we have another wedding? Even if it’s just for show. I promise I’ll disappear from your life forever after.” The System had never said we had to be a real husband and wife. I was looking for a loophole, begging for just the ceremony. “Alright.” He only hesitated for a second before agreeing. I was stunned. This time, we planned a simple ceremony at a chapel, with no guests. But I waited from morning until the dead of night, and Perry never showed. He didn’t answer his phone. I sat alone on the chapel steps in my wedding dress, staring up at the stars as silent tears traced paths down my cheeks. I couldn’t understand. If it was all just a bet, he never had to go that far. When I was sick, he had abandoned a billion-dollar project and flown for twenty hours on the first international flight just to see me. When he fed me, he’d always cup his hand under my chin to catch any spills, despite his obsession with cleanliness. I wiped my tears and unlocked my phone to try calling him again. That’s when a headline caught my eye: “City’s Top Heir, Perry Vance, Engaged to Bianca Sterling.” My hand trembled as I clicked on the link. My world imploded. He and Bianca had gotten engaged. Today. He had promised me… A familiar, searing pain ripped through my body as the bleeding started again, more violently this time. I curled into a ball on the cold stone, feeling my life ebb away. A tidal wave of resentment and hatred surged through me, wild and uncontrollable. The System’s voice echoed, filled with something like regret. 「Male lead is now engaged to another. Host termination sequence will commence. Three… two…」 “Wait,” I begged. “Can you… can you let me die in front of him?” 4 The System paused. 「I have set a new program for you to die in the male lead’s presence. However, due to the alteration of game rules, the system is now unstable. I cannot predict the exact time of your death.」 I nodded. As long as I could die in front of him, it didn’t matter when. My wedding dress was soaked in blood. I walked, step by agonizing step, to the hotel where they held their engagement party. I arrived just as they were leaving. “What are you doing here dressed like that?” Perry hissed, rushing towards me. “Get out of here before Bianca sees you.” “And don’t try that ‘I’m dying’ trick again. I’m busy tonight. Go home.” He glanced at my blood-soaked dress, his eyes filled with disgust. He thought it was all an act. A bitter taste filled my mouth. I looked past him and saw Bianca’s pale, drawn face. She looked like she was recovering from a serious illness. A team of medical staff followed her. But I didn’t have the energy to care about anyone else’s problems. I fixed my gaze on his annoyed face. “Why didn’t you come?” I asked, my voice hollow. He heard Bianca’s footsteps approaching and his impatience grew, his expression darkening. “Are you a child?” he snapped. “What kind of nonsense is ‘I’ll die if we don’t get married’?” “Do you look like you’re dying? I felt guilty, that’s the only reason I agreed to indulge you. Something important came up today. Couldn’t it wait?” By then, Bianca had reached us. Perry’s expression softened instantly as he gently took her arm. “Why did you come out? I was just about to clear things up with her,” he chided softly. Seeing his tender care for her, I finally understood. His affection for me had never been unique. Bianca glanced at my attire, a smirk playing on her lips. “I was just worried you’d be too harsh and scare the poor girl,” she said, her smile not reaching her eyes. “She’s not from our world. One’s pride can be so fragile.” “Miss Williams, that check was terribly crass of us. My apologies. Please, think about what you’d like as proper compensation and contact my assistant.” She pressed a business card into my hand, her voice devoid of any real sincerity. I crumpled the card in my fist, then let it flutter to the ground, a perfect mirror of my shattered heart. I had given him my soul, and he had crushed it and handed it back to me. A flicker of pity crossed Perry’s face, but it was gone in a flash. They said nothing more and got into their car. As I watched them drive away, a pain so intense it felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest radiated through my body. I couldn’t stand. It was an agony that invaded every cell, threatening to tear me in two. I panicked, calling out to the System in my mind. 「Host, changing the game rules has a series of unknown consequences. The corresponding punishments are multiplied.」 I regretted it. My desire to make him feel remorse had only brought all the suffering back onto me. It wasn’t worth it. “She’s bleeding! Oh my God, she’s bleeding everywhere!” someone screamed. The cry was piercingly loud in the quiet night. My consciousness was fading, my vision blurring. I heard the screech of tires. A car door flew open. I heard Bianca’s frantic, angry shout. “Perry, come back! Where are you going?” The sound of urgent footsteps grew closer, ignoring her cries. The last thing I saw was Perry’s face, twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.

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On the eve of my coronation, my mother erased me from the royal bloodline, declaring Rose—my lowly scullery maid—the true heir of Beaumont. My once-doting father met me with contempt: “How could I share blood with a slave’s spawn?” At the palace gates, my childhood love, the king, turned me away—only to welcome Rose moments later, his voice dripping with affection: “Nothing stops you from being my queen now.” To ensure Rose’s unblemished debut, Mother ordered the guards to break my legs and discard me like trash. As I lay dying in the storm, fever ravaging my broken body, the face in the rain puddle stared back—undeniable proof of my mother’s features. Then I awoke—reborn on the day of my disownment. I woke to the day it all went wrong. Caskets of jewels and silks, gifts from the palace, were being carried into the Beaumont estate like a river of treasure. Yet, as I stood there, a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air settled deep in my bones. I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning, unable to muster even a flicker of joy. The maids in the courtyard buzzed around the lavish gifts, their chatter a meaningless drone. My eyes, however, found her instantly. Rose. Huddled in a corner with a broom, she didn’t join the others. She just swept silently, her gaze darting towards the treasure, a poison of envy and resentment clouding her eyes. A girl like Rose, a mere drudge, was someone even my personal handmaidens wouldn’t deign to speak to. And yet, this insignificant, overlooked girl… My legs trembled, a ghost of that agony, sharp as shattered bone, shooting through me. Because I knew. This very evening, the mother who had cherished me would storm into my chambers with the elders of our house. Her face, usually a mask of serene grace, would be twisted with a venom I’d never seen. She would point a trembling finger at my face and scream: “Behold! The slave’s whelp who has stolen my daughter’s place for more than a decade!” “Honored elders! Today, I cleanse the name of House Beaumont!” In my memory, my mother wielded a thin, cruel cane, bringing it down on me again and again. The places it struck blossomed into ugly, purple bruises, a testament to her newfound cruelty. I had been raised like a delicate flower, sheltered from the slightest harm. Seeing this stranger who wore my mother’s face, I choked back the pain. “Mother! What are you saying? I am to be crowned tomorrow! How can I not be your daughter?” She paused at my words, and for a fleeting second, relief washed over me. I thought I could reason with her, understand this madness. But her eyes were chips of ice. She turned to the elders, her voice ringing with cold conviction. “You all see it! This pretender still dreams of a crown. If she were to succeed, she would bring shame not only upon our house, but upon the entire kingdom!” “Today, as the Duchess of Beaumont, I declare that Catherine is no longer a daughter of this house! Her name will be struck from our family records!” I was trapped in a vortex of gazes—pity, shock, scorn, and a sickening flicker of triumph from the servants. But what broke me was my mother’s eyes. The love that had once warmed me was gone, replaced by a raw, undisguised hatred. She spat the word “slave” at me, her noble bearing, her years of practiced grace, all forgotten. It was as if I was her most reviled enemy. How? How could the woman who had treasured me for sixteen years, who had held me as the jewel of her life, suddenly despise me? A sob tore from my throat, and I fell at her feet, trying to clutch at her gown as I had done so many times as a child seeking comfort. “Mother, I am your daughter… I am…” She recoiled, kicking me squarely in the chest. “Silence! You are the daughter of a slave!” Her gaze, now filled with a tearful, tender light, found Rose cowering in the corner. “The true lady of this house… forced to serve this impostor for sixteen years!” “Rose,” I whispered the name, the memory sharp as glass. The girl who was still just a cleaner, her face hidden behind a thick fringe of hair, stepped forward, trembling. “Yes, my lady? What do you require?” Though my courtyard was full of servants, I remembered her. She’d started in the kitchens, a small, clumsy girl, always bullied by the others. One day, she’d let a pot burn, nearly starting a fire, and the head cook had beaten her mercilessly. I’d taken pity on her—a girl my own age—and had her moved to the courtyard to do simple sweeping. I never imagined my act of kindness would be seen as an insult. That night, cradled in my mother’s arms, Rose had spoken in a pitiful whisper. “Me? Your daughter? A lady of the house? How can that be…? I’m just a cleaner here. Anyone can spit on me.” My mother’s heart had broken for her. “You are not a cleaner! You are the jewel of this house! From this day on, we’ll see who dares to harm you!” Watching the tender scene replay in my mind, I couldn’t help but speak my past words aloud in a bitter murmur. “If you were unhappy with your duties, you could have said something…” In the memory, my mother’s hand had cracked across my face. “Silence! How dare you, a slave’s child, speak to Rose like that? Do you still think you are a lady?” My cheek had swelled instantly. One of the elders, a man who had watched me grow, spoke with hesitation. “My lady Duchess, how can you be so certain? That Catherine is not your child?” “Because I have proof!” my mother had declared, her voice ringing with triumph. “My true daughter was born with a small, crescent-shaped birthmark on her temple.” She had swept aside Rose’s hair, and there it was, for all to see. A small, faint blue mark. The room was empty now, save for me and Rose. “My lady, I’m not assigned to your personal chambers…” she began, her voice meek. I cut her off. Closing the distance between us, I ripped the heavy fringe of hair from her forehead. There it was. The birthmark I didn’t have. Seeing her flinch and cower, I didn’t mince words. “You already know what’s going to happen today, don’t you?” A flicker of confusion—or perhaps, practiced innocence—crossed her face. “My lady? I… I don’t understand what you mean.” I didn’t miss the glint of something else beneath the fear. I leaned in, my voice a low, deliberate whisper. “Rose. Beaumont.” Her eyes darted away, but not before I saw it: a flash of triumph mixed with her feigned confusion. A cold smile touched my lips. “A rat from the gutter,” I murmured, my voice dripping with scorn. “You’ve certainly schemed hard to reach the palace floors, haven’t you?” Her mask shattered. Her face darkened, the meekness vanishing like smoke. “Catherine,” she sneered, “are you introducing yourself?” Just as I suspected. She knew everything. With her victory so close, she saw no more reason to pretend. She strode to the center of the room, to the magnificent gown displayed on a mannequin. The Queen’s Gown. It had taken a hundred weavers half a year to create, a breathtaking masterpiece of silk and gold thread. Rose caressed the exquisite fabric, her eyes burning with an ambition she no longer bothered to hide. “The title of Lady Beaumont is mine. And the throne of the Queen will be mine, too.” She turned to me, her face alight with petty victory. “This gown should be under royal guard until the coronation. Do you know why it’s here, in your room?” She leaned closer, her voice a triumphant hiss. “It’s because Arthur wanted me to see it first. A private viewing, for his true queen.” She had admitted it. She and King Arthur were already lovers. He knew what was coming today. He was in on it all. And the me of my past life had been blissfully, stupidly, waiting to marry him. I had walked straight into their trap, a lamb to the slaughter, and never suspected a thing. In the years of his ascension, every prince had vied for the support of House Beaumont. But only Arthur, being closest to my age, had gotten near me. He was the one who would ride for hours just to pick the first spring blossoms for me. The one who would recklessly scale the walls of our estate, all for a single glimpse. “To others, you are Lady Catherine Beaumont,” he would whisper, his breath warm against my ear. “But to me, you are just Catherine. It has nothing to do with titles or status. Even if you were a commoner, you would be the queen of my heart.” A young man’s promises. So earnest. So easy to believe. So easy to break. The moment I lost my title and my name, the very gates of the palace were barred to me. The boy who was my last hope for salvation simply turned his back. Then, he emerged from the gates to welcome Rose. “Rose, my love,” he’d said, his voice carrying on the wind. “Nothing can stop you from being my queen now.” From her sedan chair, Rose had shot me a look of pure, mocking triumph. “Did you really think he scaled those walls for you? He was climbing for the quiet maid who tended your gardens. He brought you all those flowers because he knew you’d share them with the staff, and that I would get one, too.” Her smile was a slash of red. “What good were your sixteen years as a duchess’s daughter? The truth is, Catherine, you never even stood a chance.” Listening to her taunts, seeing the guilt flicker in Arthur’s averted eyes, I finally understood the words his chamberlain had spoken to me just moments before, a gentle but firm refusal. “The late king decreed that the eldest daughter of House Beaumont would be the future queen. Even if His Majesty holds some affection for you, my lady, he cannot defy his father’s final command.” Arthur. His charming eyes, so full of practiced devotion, could make anyone feel like they were the center of his world. My gaze fell upon the wedding gown before me. With a swift, deliberate motion, I pulled a long, sharp pin from my hair. Rose gasped and scrambled back. “Are you mad?! If you dare to harm me…” The pin sliced through the priceless silk, a clean, vicious tear. I tossed it aside. “You’re new to this world, Rose,” I said, my voice dangerously calm as she stared in horror at the ruined gown. “You’ll learn that the more beautiful something is, the more easily it can be destroyed.” She rushed forward, cradling the torn fabric as if it were a dying bird. “Do you have any idea how precious this is? What am I supposed to wear tomorrow?!” I shoved her aside, snatching the gown back. “This is my gown. You needn’t worry about it.” Her eyes were daggers of pure hatred. “He doesn’t love you!” she shrieked. “And after today, you’ll be nothing but a slave’s daughter! You dare to still dream of being queen?” I raised an eyebrow and pushed open the doors to the antechamber, where my handmaidens were already gathered, drawn by the commotion. “What are you waiting for?” I commanded, my voice ringing with authority. “This woman has lost her mind. Drag her out.” My maids, loyal and unhesitating, seized a stunned Rose, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Fifty slaps to the face,” I added coolly. “Then lock her in the stables. Let her cool her head.” Rose, with a sudden burst of strength, bit down hard on a maid’s hand and screamed, “We’ll see how long your arrogance lasts!” Another maid immediately struck her across the face, and a rough cloth was stuffed into her mouth. I heard one of them mutter, “What was she thinking? A mere cleaner, insulting her lady.” I looked down at the struggling, muffled form of Rose on the floor. “I’d be quiet if I were you. Don’t tempt me to change my mind and have you dealt with right here, right now.” My voice dropped to a glacial whisper. “You wonder how long I can be arrogant? For now, I am the mistress, and you are the servant. Have sixteen years as a slave taught you nothing?” Fear warred with rage in her eyes, but before she could react, she was dragged away. Watching the sun begin its descent, I clutched the ruined gown. “Prepare the carriage,” I ordered. The Gilded Needle was the most renowned tailor in the capital. Its proprietor was a master artisan, sought after only by the highest echelons of nobility. But when I presented the gown and my request, he shook his head, his face etched with worry. “Lady Catherine, this gown is a masterpiece. You know the work that went into it. It is impossible to repair it in a single night.” “If you can’t, someone else can. I wish to see your master.” “You jest, my lady. My master knows nothing of needlework. How could he possibly fix this?” “Oh, he can fix it,” I said, my voice serene. “And if he can’t, he can replace it.” That night, in the pouring rain of my past life, someone had offered me a hand. But with my legs broken on my own mother’s orders, my spirit had already died. This time, I would not allow myself to be trampled into the dust. The sky was bleeding into shades of twilight when the door finally opened. The man who entered surveyed the room, his eyes finally landing on me. “Do you have any idea what you are doing?” he asked, his voice a low baritone. My gaze fell to the intricate chessboard he kept in the room. “Even the most flawless strategy has a weakness,” I replied, meeting his eyes. “And even if I must become a pawn in my own game, I will still win this wager against fate.” Returning from The Gilded Needle, I was met not by a storm, but a hurricane. My parents stood there, their faces contorted with rage, protectively cradling a weeping Rose, her cheeks swollen and red. The accusations were harsher this time, the curses more vile. One of the elders, the same man from my memory, spoke up. “My lady Duchess, how can you be so certain? That Catherine is not your child?” My mother’s voice was laced with venom. “When Rose was born, the labor was difficult. I never saw her face. That was when some treacherous soul saw their chance to switch the infants.” I seized on the flaw in her story. “If you never saw the newborn’s face, Mother, how can you be so sure your true daughter has a birthmark on her temple?” I expected hesitation, a moment of doubt. Instead, she strode forward and slapped me, hard, all remnants of our shared history incinerated in her fury. “It seems you won’t accept the truth until it’s shoved down your throat! Guards! Bring in the slave!” Her voice was a shriek. “Let’s reunite you with your wretched mother. Consider it my final act of charity after sixteen years of raising you.” Even though I had lived this before, the pain was a fresh wound. Tears welled in my eyes. Sixteen years. From a stumbling toddler to the most celebrated lady in the capital. Even if we shared no blood, had she not raised me? Did she not know the core of my being? My mother was frail, prone to terrible headaches every winter. It was I who sat by her bed through every snowfall, tending to her personally, never entrusting the task to a servant. How could she cast aside sixteen years of love and devotion so easily? A woman in rough-spun clothes, her body covered in bruises, was dragged before us. She screamed, her voice cracking with terror. “Stop hitting me! I confess! I did it! I switched my daughter for the Duchess’s baby! Rose is the true lady of the house! Please, stop… I’ll pay with my life! Is that not enough?!” Before anyone could react, the woman launched herself headfirst at a nearby stone pillar. A sickening crack. And then, silence. The key witness was dead. Case closed.

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My parents called to tell me they were heading to my childhood best friend’s house to meet his blind date. At that moment, my childhood best friend, Frank, was fast asleep beside me. I thought they were joking. “Frank,” I whispered, “they’re saying they found you a blind date.” He hummed, a lazy sound, and pulled me tighter into his embrace. “Alright, Hannah. Pick out an outfit for me in a bit, maybe do my hair.” When I didn’t move, he cracked open an eye and scoffed. “Hey, what’s wrong? We’re just bed buddies. You didn’t actually think I was going to marry you, did you?” I couldn’t process it. All I could do was move, a flurry of awkward motion. I couldn’t look at him. I pushed him away, scrambled to pick my clothes up off the floor, and pulled them on haphazardly. “Hannah, look at me.” Frank propped his chin on his arm, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You didn’t really think we were boyfriend and girlfriend, did you?” The phrase “bed buddies” echoed in my head. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t fasten the clasp on my bra. Frank threw back the covers, revealing the lean, sharp lines of his abdomen, and knelt on the edge of the bed. His hands moved with a familiar ease, fastening the hooks for me. I kept my head down. “Who’s the blind date?” I asked, my voice tight. I forced a bitter laugh. “Please don’t tell me your parents just grabbed some random person from a park bench.” I looked at myself in the mirror, at the constellation of red marks dotting my skin, my legs still aching from the night before. Frank, now wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, came up behind me and buried his face in my neck. “It’s Angela.” He flickered those handsome, almond-shaped eyes at me. “You remember. The senior from the art department in college. Angela.” He added, a genuine note of excitement in his voice, “You know, the thought of seeing her again… I’m actually a little nervous.” My hand, holding a tube of lipstick, froze. Of course I remembered. Frank had a massive crush on her, but before he could confess, she had moved abroad. I thought that was all in the past. Frank watched me in the mirror, his lips pursed. “Hey, Hannah. Don’t go getting any funny ideas about me.” “We grew up in diapers together. I mean, yeah, you’re… beautiful, but I see you as a brother.” “You’re my best buddy—for food, for road trips, for… bed.” It felt like a physical blow. A chill spread through my body. I looked at his smiling face and could only manage a weak, trembling smile in return. He kept going. “Besides, I know you so well. I know what you’re going to wear every day, right down to the matching underwear set.” “It’s almost… boring.” “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and see you sleeping next to me, and honestly? It scares me.” “It scares me that one day, maybe we’d end up like our parents joked, actually married. My whole life, just… mapped out from start to finish.” He shuddered, as if the very thought was terrifying. I dug my nails into my palm, fighting to keep the tears from falling. “I have to go.” I wrapped myself in my coat and fled like a coward. I thought Frank and I were in a relationship. We acted like any other couple. We ate together, went on dates, hung out with friends. During games of Truth or Dare, we would kiss each other deeply and say “I love you” without a second thought. Frank would pick me up from work every single rainy day. He would secretly hold my hand under the table at family dinners. I had no idea that what I thought was a six-month relationship was just a childish game to him. “Hannah?” My mom tapped on the car window, peering in with concern. I snapped back to reality. Seeing my tear-streaked face in the rearview mirror, I quickly wiped my eyes, called out a shaky response, and got out of the car. “Mom!” I threw my arms around her, burying my face in her shoulder to hide my expression. “I missed you,” I said with a laugh. My mom, holding a bag of groceries, took my arm, looking relieved. “Honey, why were you just sitting in the car? You scared me. Didn’t you see the news about people suffocating in their cars…?” I nodded along. Suddenly, her tone shifted. “By the way, Hannah, Frank’s blind date is coming over soon. Your Uncle and Aunt are taking this very seriously. I hear Frank planned this whole thing for a long time. He said he was worried the girl might feel awkward, and having you there would make her more comfortable.” “You know how close I am with his mom. So today, when we go…” She looked at me, her expression pained, trailing off. I forced a smile. “I know, Mom. Don’t worry. I’m great at breaking the ice, saying the right things. I get it.” My mom gave me a look filled with pity. Of course she knew. A photo of Frank and me sat on my nightstand. I treasured every gift he’d ever given me, not to mention the notebooks filled with a love I couldn’t hide. How could she not know? We walked home in silence. As we reached the door, I spoke up, my voice suddenly light. “Dad’s retiring next month. Let’s move to the coast.” I looked at my mother’s startled face and smiled playfully. “You two have always talked about retiring there. I don’t have any big dreams. I’d be happy just being a dance teacher, staying by your side.” Sitting in Frank’s house with my parents felt different this time. We were usually so boisterous, laughing and joking. The last time we were here, we had used a video game as an excuse to sneak into his room and kiss. This time… “Oh, Mary, you have no idea the lengths that boy of mine went to for this Angela,” Frank’s mom said to mine. “A direct pursuit would have been too simple for him. No, he had to insist on the pretense of ‘dating with the intention of marriage.’ He made his father pull all sorts of strings just to get her to show up today for a ‘blind date’.” I looked around the meticulously decorated house, filled with bouquets of roses. There were platters of fruit and sweets on the table. Even their little dog was wearing a bright red sweater. And Frank was standing in front of a mirror, checking his reflection over and over, making sure he was perfect. The irony was laughable. Just last night, we were tangled in the sheets, and he was kissing the small red mole on my waist with such passion. And the underwear he was wearing right now? I bought it for him. “It’s just such a shame…” Frank’s mom sighed, taking my mother’s hand. “We always said we’d be in-laws one day. We even had a childhood betrothal for the kids!” She glanced at me. “I truly adore Hannah. She’s not just beautiful, she’s got such a wonderful, bright personality…” I lowered my eyes, not daring to speak, terrified that a single wrong move would cause my tears to fall. “Mom!” Frank frowned, clearly displeased. “You said it yourself, that was your generation’s thing. You and Aunt Mary are close, why don’t you marry her? What’s it got to do with me?” “What century are we in? Stop bringing up that old-fashioned nonsense.” He showed no regard for his mother’s feelings. He then turned to me, his tone hard, as if I had put her up to it. “Hannah, where’s the bracelet my mom gave you?” When I didn’t respond, he strode over, grabbed my wrist, and pushed up my sleeve. “The one from the betrothal thing. I’m afraid Angela will see it and get upset…” The words hung in the air. My dad and his, who had been drinking tea, stopped. My mom, who was arranging flowers for him, stopped. In an instant, the atmosphere turned ugly. My mother stared at me, then slammed the vase and scissors down on the table with a clatter. She started to stand, but Frank’s mom quickly pulled her back. Frank’s mom stood up, placing herself firmly in front of me and giving Frank a hard shove. “Frank! What do you think you’re doing?” “Putting aside the fact that nothing is settled with this Angela… you were the one who got on your knees and begged Hannah to wear that bracelet when you were seventeen!” It was as if Frank’s soul finally returned to his body. He remembered. He remembered the year someone else confessed their feelings for me. Panicked, he’d gotten drunk, stolen the family heirloom bracelet, and showed up at my house in the middle of the night, crying, pleading, even kneeling, begging me to wear it. He tugged at his collar, took a deep breath, and then smiled at me. “I’m just a little on edge. You’re right, you don’t take back a gift. You should keep it.” “It’s fine. I’ll give it back to you. I’ll go home and get it now,” I interrupted, my voice calm. “I’ll be right back. I won’t be long.” Before anyone could react, I grabbed my bag and walked out. When I returned with the bracelet and was about to knock, a chorus of cheers stopped me— “Welcome…” Frank’s smile froze the moment he saw me. “What are you doing here?” He seemed shocked that I had come back, and even more shocked that I had actually brought the bracelet. When I held it out to him, his face was a mask of disbelief. Finally, he took it and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Hannah, for the sake of our… partnership, don’t cause any trouble today.” “Angela’s a sensitive girl. Don’t say anything to upset her.” I didn’t want to engage with him. Angela was a sensitive girl, and I wasn’t? I looked at the boy I had loved for my entire youth, and a bone-deep chill threatened to swallow me whole. Ten minutes later, Angela was escorted into the house by a family friend. The parents all chatted amiably. That was why my parents were here—to subtly lay out our family’s background and future prospects for the go-between. Throughout it all, Frank sat beside Angela, his every gesture radiating care. He was nearly thirty, but he acted like a nervous teenager. I had nothing to do, which suited me fine. I was just looking for a chance to slip away. Unexpectedly, Angela turned to me, her gaze soft. “You must be Hannah. I’ve heard so much about you. The goddess of the art department, wasn’t it?” Startled to be addressed, I waved my hands dismissively. “Oh, no, not at all. That was just everyone fooling around in school.” I hoped the attention would quickly shift. But Angela persisted. “Not at all! After you performed that classical dance at the ball, the entire area under your dorm was filled with flowers the next day.” Before I could speak, she tugged playfully at Frank’s arm. “You two were childhood sweethearts. How did you not end up together? I remember you were inseparable. Everyone thought you’d get married.” Every eye in the room turned to me. I couldn’t explain it, but this seemingly harmless woman radiated a strange hostility towards me. “Her?” Frank looked at Angela, handing her a peeled apple. “In your eyes, she might be a goddess or whatever. But to me, she’s just a tomboy. The brother I grew up sharing pants with.” As if recalling a memory, Frank let out a chuckle. “You have no idea. When Hannah cried as a kid, snot and tears would just stream down her face. If I didn’t wipe that huge glob of snot for her, it would have gone right into her mouth.” “And when she was fifteen, she fainted during gym class and started talking nonsense, flailing her arms and legs around…” “I have to go, I have something to do.” I stood up, barely containing my anger, and managed a tight smile for the adults. “You all chat.” Angela looked at Frank with a concerned expression. “Did I say something wrong to upset her?” Frank glared at me, as if blaming me for ruining the mood. Before he could speak, I cut him off. “I have a date with my boyfriend tonight. I’ll be late if I don’t leave now.” “When did you get a boyfriend?” I had one foot out the door when Frank grabbed my arm. “How come I don’t know about it?” In front of everyone, including Angela, my face flushed. I struggled to pull my arm free. “What business is it of yours whether I have a boyfriend or not?” I snapped. “My own parents haven’t even asked. Why should you care?” “Frank!” his father said in a low, stern voice. “Sit down! What kind of behavior is this?” I used the opportunity to bow to the adults. “Goodbye, Uncle, Auntie.” From behind me, I heard Angela’s sweet voice. “Hannah is so beautiful and performs on stage so often, she must have plenty of admirers… It’s only natural for her to be dating. I think I even saw a hickey under her scarf earlier.” Realizing she might have overstepped, she paused, adding sheepishly, “Maybe it’s because we art students are different. We painters are a bit quieter, whereas you dancers are more… open. But I respect every girl’s choice.” I didn’t hear what they said about me after that. My style had always been a bit bolder. It was a classic case of lifting one up by putting another down, using me as a foil to make her look better. And I could only imagine how Frank would join in on belittling me. But they didn’t know. My claim about having a boyfriend was a lie, but my plan to leave this place and move to the coast was very, very real. I started researching houses and job opportunities there. I threw myself into the planning, busying myself so I wouldn’t have time to think about Frank. We grew up together. He had always played the part of the warm, caring older brother next door, standing up for me whenever I was bullied. When I was ten, I was being mischievous and begged him to stay with me at the amusement park until nine at night. Both sets of parents were so worried they called the police, finally finding us playing house in a sandbox. He took all the blame, saying it was his fault. That night, his father hit him a dozen times with a feather duster. I cried, insisting it was my idea, but Frank, with a defiant lift of his brow, insisted it was all on him. Later, as I grew more beautiful and he more handsome, we became the “golden couple” in everyone’s eyes. I truly believed I had been given the script for a perfect life. [When are you free?] A message from Frank popped up. I wiped a tear from my eye. Before I could even type a question mark, another message came through. [Come get your stuff from my place. I’m inviting Angela over in a few days.] I took a deep breath, calming myself. Less than twenty-four hours ago, we were cuddling on the couch in that apartment, watching a romance movie, our passion leading us late into the night. And now… I gave a bitter smile. I unpinned his chat from the top of my list and sent a single, detached word: [K.] I locked myself in my room that day. My parents came home not long after I did. “The coast is thousands of miles away, Hannah. Once you’re there, coming back will be difficult,” my mom said, watching me cautiously. My dad, hiding behind his newspaper, was also sneaking glances at me. I pulled on my coat. “The weather there is amazing! Isn’t it your dream to retire there?” I smiled and put my arm around her shoulder. “The only thing is, the job market isn’t great. I’m thinking of opening my own dance studio… As for performing again, you know I don’t really care about that.” “But…” my mom frowned, her mouth opening and closing. “Hannah, you…” I glanced at the time. “It’s fine, Mom. I’m serious about this. I’m fine, and my head is clear. You don’t have to worry about me.” “You two, on the other hand, should start thinking about the money.” I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ve got to run. Talk later.” I thought maybe time and distance would heal the pain. I felt a sense of peace. My devout, passionate love had gone unspoken, but at least I hadn’t lost my dignity. I thought Frank and I could part amicably. I just never expected to be locked out. I stood at the door, keying in the password again and again. [INCORRECT PASSWORD] [INCORRECT PASSWORD] A flame of anger ignited in my chest. When knocking got no response, my rational mind took over. I remembered I could call him. After a series of beeps, the call was disconnected. After my fifth attempt, a text came through: [On a date. Do not disturb.] I took a long breath, resisting the urge to curse him out. [Password.] The next second, a glaring red exclamation mark stung my eyes. Frank had deleted me!

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