1 The moment my parents cut off my sister’s medical funds—again—for their precious adopted daughter, my heart finally died. The feed sighed along with me. 【Scarlett, your parents said they’re not doing it because they like the adopted girl more. They’re just afraid of spoiling you two. This is all just a test to toughen you up.】 【Remember last time? When they made you sell your blood for tuition? And the time they hired those thugs to steal your food money? This is the 99th test. They said if you can just get through this one, they’ll finally let themselves love you.】 Get through this one? But my sister was already dead. When I saw my parents standing in the middle of my tiny rental apartment, having broken in illegally, I wasn’t surprised. Ten minutes after I’d posted a desperate plea for help online, they had used their connections—and their money—to have the post scrubbed and my account banned. They had the power to silence me online. But they didn’t have the money to save my sister’s life. I clenched my fists, listening as my father’s voice, cold and final as a death sentence, echoed in the small room. “Scarlett, your allowance for the year is cancelled.” He launched into a tirade. “You and Nina are getting more and more out of control. First, you lie about needing medical fees, and now you’re spreading rumors about us online! Do you have any idea how much it cost me to get that post taken down?” His agitation grew, his eyes darting around the room. “Where’s Nina? Get her out here! It’s time I taught you both a lesson, once and for all!” He pointed a finger at me. “You. Kneel. Now.” My mother stepped forward, feigning protection. “Let’s just talk this out. There’s no need for violence.” She turned to me, her voice syrupy sweet. “Scarlett, dear, where’s your sister? Have her come out and apologize to your father with you. This joke has gone too far. If you keep being stubborn, even I won’t be able to help you.” Help? When had she ever helped us? She was always the silent observer, stepping in only at the end to play the peacemaker. When one of their “tests” succeeded, she’d praise herself for her brilliant parenting advice. When a test failed, she’d brush it off, placing all the blame squarely on Nina and me. Even the feed had seen this script too many times. 【I can’t. This time her parents have really crossed the line. Scarlett was just asking for help to give Nina a proper burial. And they had the post deleted in less than ten minutes.】 【My heart breaks for her. I guess this is just the fate of a side character.】 A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Ever since Stella walked into our lives, I’d been able to see the feed. I knew that my sister and I were just stepping stones for the story’s protagonist, Stella. We were destined to fail. But I refused to accept it. I fought back, again and again, only to be defeated every time. Whenever Stella framed me for something, I would exhaust myself trying to explain, to prove my innocence to my parents. To them, my pleas were just pathetic excuses. Later, I learned from the feed that they were using Stella to “toughen us up,” and that they secretly approved of her cruelty. Finally, I gave up. I accepted their twisted tests and even tried to convince Nina to do the same. I thought if we just endured it, the tests would end. But it had been seven years. The tests never stopped. They just got worse. And my beautiful, precious sister, because of their 99th test, had died alone in a hospital. Even now, her body was lying in a cold morgue drawer. Because I didn’t have the money to lay her to rest. And my father had just cut off my meager $500 monthly allowance. I took a deep, shuddering breath. When they were finally done yelling, I spoke, my voice barely a whisper. “You can stop my allowance.” “But please… just lend me two thousand dollars. Please?” “Nina… she’s waiting to be buried…” My father exploded. He ripped off his belt and lashed it across my back. “So, you’re still lying! What kind of sister are you, cursing your own sibling to be dead?” Pain shot through me, but I pushed through it. “I’m not lying. Nina was in a car accident. When I called you, you refused to pay the medical bills. She bled out and died. The cheapest cremation and burial… it’s two thousand dollars.” My voice trembled uncontrollably. “I don’t have the money… that’s why I posted online for help… You can hit me all you want, but please, can you just lend me two thousand dollars so I can bury my sister…” They had so much money. And my sister had died for lack of it. The irony was a knife in my heart. My mother’s body went rigid. “Scarlett, what are you saying? Is Nina really…” 2 My father shoved my mother’s hand away and struck me again with the belt. “You believe her?” he spat. “These two have been liars since they were children! Faking sick, and now faking dead!” “Stella was right all along. All they’ve ever wanted was money!” He glared at me, his face a mask of fury. “If you were half as well-behaved as Stella, your mother and I wouldn’t have to be so hard on you!” The last of my resolve shattered. “You wouldn’t?” I screamed, the words tearing from my throat. “But Stella is just a tool you found to torture us! You know she bullies and frames us, and you just watch!” “Haven’t we been good enough? We earned our own tuition! We worked part-time jobs for food! We excelled in school, got scholarships every year! And what did you do? You hired thugs to rob us of the little money we scraped together for food!” “I’m just asking for two thousand dollars to bury Nina. Is that too much to ask? She was my sister! She was your daughter!” “Why won’t you believe us, just this once?” They both froze, a flash of embarrassment crossing their faces. They clearly hadn’t expected me to know about their “tests.” My mother wrung her hands, her voice a nervous whisper. “Scarlett, when did you find out… and Nina knew too, didn’t she? Is that why you two have been making up stories to get money from us?” After that raw, desperate confession, that was the conclusion they drew? I laughed, a hollow, self-mocking sound. “If you still don’t believe me, then take this two thousand dollars and buy our relationship. Consider it severed.” “From now on, I’m not a Sterling. You won’t have to worry about me tarnishing the family name. Are you satisfied now?” Two thousand dollars. I wondered if, after they cremated my sister, there would be enough left to cremate me, too. Without Nina, there was no reason to keep living. Before they could respond, a saccharine female voice cut in from the doorway. “Scarlett, you’re breaking Mom and Dad’s hearts!” I turned my head, my face devoid of expression, and looked at Stella. She was dressed in an expensive couture princess dress, a Kelly bag worth tens of thousands dangling from her arm. I glanced down at my own clothes: a t-shirt my neighbor had thrown out, shoes I’d salvaged from a dumpster, and a cloth bag I’d gotten for free during a part-time gig. These were my parents. They would spend millions coddling their adopted daughter but wouldn’t spare two thousand for their biological one. Even the feed was outraged on my behalf. Stella’s face was a picture of earnest concern. “Scarlett, I saw you and Nina at the hospital this morning, buying fake medical records. How can you say she’s dead now?” She turned to my parents. “Since Scarlett wants to cut ties, maybe you should just let her. We can… we can just pretend this is another test.” I laughed again, this time in weary defeat. How could she lie so effortlessly about things that never happened? I was exhausted. I tried to defend myself one last time. “You’re so powerful. Why don’t you just check the hospital records? See if a patient named Nina Sterling died there. Then you’ll know who’s lying!” But my mother’s trust in Stella was absolute. “Stella isn’t like you. Would she lie to us? Nina is your own sister, and you keep talking about her being dead. Are you trying to curse her, or us?” “You get Nina out here to apologize right now, or she’ll never see another cent of allowance from us again!” I looked up at the feed scrolling in my vision. They were all angry for me, trying to comfort me, suggesting solutions. But I was completely numb. I had stopped expecting them to understand a long time ago. When Nina had the accident, I had begged them for the money. They had turned it into a test and refused to pay. Nina had clung to life for three days on a gurney in a hospital hallway before she finally gave up. In a way, we were all free now. As soon as I laid Nina to rest, I would go and join her. I just never imagined I wouldn’t even have the money to say goodbye. As despair washed over me, my father snorted. “Since you know about the tests, fine. I’ll give you one last chance. Pass this test, and I’ll give you your two thousand dollars.” 3 “And I’ll give you anything else you want in the future.” Stella’s face fell. She clearly hadn’t expected my father to offer another test. To be honest, neither had I. I looked up, and the feed was filled with advice. 【Scarlett, you should probably agree. They are your biological parents, after all. They probably won’t make it too hard.】 【Yeah, and Nina’s body is still at the hospital. You can’t wait forever. How long would it take you to earn that kind of money working part-time? Nina can’t wait that long.】 They were right. Nina couldn’t wait. I had already tried everything. Borrowing money, applying for loans, looking for work… every time I saw a glimmer of hope, my parents would send someone to sabotage it. I was out of options. That’s why I had resorted to revealing my identity as a Sterling online, hoping public pressure would be my salvation. And in the end? I was still being forced by my own parents to pass a twisted test just to bury my sister. The irony was suffocating. After a long silence, I finally spoke. “Fine. I agree.” For Nina, I had to. Stella shot me a look of pure hatred. I ignored her and held out my hand. “But please, can you give me the two thousand dollars first?” “Her burial really can’t wait.” Stella burst out laughing. “Scarlett, you’re really pushing it, aren’t you?” “Still lying about Nina being dead?” She turned to my parents. “Actually… Mom, Dad, I happened to see Scarlett outside a hotel with a boy the other day. This two thousand dollars, I wonder if she’s…” She trailed off, her eyes darting pointedly to my stomach. My parents’ suspicion was instantly ignited. My mother’s hand flew out and slapped me across the face. “Scarlett! You’re only eighteen and you’re already fooling around with men? You want two thousand dollars from us? Not a chance!” My father’s face was grim. “You want two thousand dollars that badly? Fine. Here’s your final test.” “Earn two thousand dollars in one week.” Stella couldn’t hold back a triumphant smirk. I felt like I had been plunged into ice water. My chest heaved, a fire of helpless rage burning within me. They left without another word. Stella lingered, her eyes scanning the tiny, squalid apartment. “I was a little worried for a second there. I almost thought you’d win this time. Good thing Mom and Dad don’t believe you, as usual.” “I don’t see how you’re going to pass this final test. Why don’t you get on your knees and beg me? I could help you out.” “It’s just two thousand dollars. I can introduce you to a few benefactors. You take good care of them, and you could make not just two thousand, but two hundred thousand.” “Besides,” she added with a vicious smile, “Mom and Dad already think you’re shameless. What difference does it make now?” The feed erupted, cursing Stella, urging me to explain everything to my parents. But what was the point? They were always like this. They would act like they cared, calling me incessantly to make sure I paid my tuition, threatening to disown me if I didn’t get an education. But when I asked to borrow the money, they would say: “School is your own responsibility, Scarlett. You and your sister need to figure it out yourselves. There are plenty of opportunities in this world. If you’re willing to work hard, you can easily earn the money instead of just expecting handouts.” They said this when I was still a minor, when it was illegal for me to work. I had to travel to a remote town, lie about my age, and sell my blood to pay for my education. If they really cared, they would have investigated the moment they heard Nina was dead. But they didn’t. No matter how many times I told them, they were convinced I was lying. After her final taunt, Stella left. I collapsed to the floor, powerless. Utterly lost. I needed two thousand dollars. Not to pass their test. But to bury Nina. And a body… a body couldn’t wait a week. After a long time, I finally made a decision. I walked towards the city’s bar district. What was a little more degradation? If it meant Nina could finally rest in peace, I would do anything. 4 But the seedy, chaotic world of a nightclub was no place for a novice like me. Night after night, I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to endure the grasping, malicious hands. I begged and pleaded, finally convincing two gold-toothed executives to buy a single bottle of champagne. I survived like that, day after day. On the fifth day, the bar owner took pity on me. He sighed, his face etched with weariness. “I hear you’re in a rush for two thousand dollars. How about this? I’ll advance you your wages and tips from the past few days. I’ll have two thousand for you in the morning. After you’ve taken care of your business, you can come back and work in the back office. Away from the customers.” “A young girl like you… it’s not good to go through this kind of hardship so early.” This small act of kindness shattered my composure. I burst into tears, dropping to my knees and bowing my head to the floor three times in gratitude. That night, I called the funeral home and arranged a time for Nina’s cremation. But the next morning, when I arrived at the bar, I was met by the owner’s troubled face. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. His expression was a mixture of guilt and pity. He let out a long sigh. “Scarlett, I’m so sorry.” “The two thousand dollars…” “I can’t give it to you.” The feed, which had been celebrating with me just moments before, went silent. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I started to tremble, tears blurring my vision. Then I saw the feed light up again. 【Scarlett, it looks like your parents pressured the owner. If he gives you the money, he’ll lose his bar…】 【This guy has it tough. His mother has a heart condition, his son is autistic… the bar is all his family has. He had no choice but to say no.】 【But what is Scarlett going to do now? The funeral home is already preparing for the cremation.】 I looked at the owner’s bloodshot eyes. Numbly, I bowed to him. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have caused you trouble.” I wiped my tears with a stiff, mechanical motion and turned away, wandering aimlessly through the streets. I was completely and utterly hopeless. Why was it always like this? Every time a sliver of hope appeared, they would crush it, forcing my sister and me deeper into despair. I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the sidewalk, my grief cut short by the ringing of my phone. It was Nurse Thompson from the hospital. “Hello? Young lady, you are coming to pick up your sister today, right?” “Every extra day is another fifty dollars…” “Nurse Thompson, I…” I didn’t know how to explain. The words caught in my throat. Before I could speak, a sharp blow struck the back of my head. Someone clamped a cloth over my mouth from behind. A sharp, suffocating smell filled my lungs. The world swam. The last things I saw were the frantic messages on the feed flashing 【RUN】 and the nurse on the other end of the line, her voice faint and distant as she called my name. But I couldn’t answer. A wave of cold washed over me. I forced my eyes open, squinting against a blinding light. “Heh, told you a splash of water would work.” I flinched, trying to move, only to realize I was bound. The man who had spoken walked over, grabbing my jaw and forcing me to look at him. “Tsk, tsk. Not bad looking. This should be a profitable job.” “Don’t be scared, little girl. We’re going to take good care of you.” He smiled, his hand stroking my cheek, then moving slowly, deliberately, downward. With a jolt of horror, I realized I was completely naked. Panic seized me. “What do you want? Who hired you to kidnap me?” The man chuckled, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. “You pissed off the wrong person. Don’t you even know who?” “A little girl like you… why would you pick a fight with the great Miss Sterling?” Miss Sterling… The name clicked, and just then, Stella emerged from the shadows. Her face was a mask of disgust. She circled me, filming me with her phone. “This is the price you pay for trying to compete with me for Mom and Dad’s love, Scarlett.” “You needed two thousand dollars for Nina’s funeral, right?” She laughed, pulling a bank card from her purse and tossing it at my feet. “Consider this a gift from me. And I was thoughtful enough to find you a few men to help you experience the joys of life.” “You’re welcome. I know you’ll thank me for it.” “Oh, and one more thing.” She smiled, pulling a piece of paper and an ink pad from her bag. She grabbed my hand and pressed my thumb onto the paper.

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A massive snakeskin appeared in the building’s hallway. I immediately posted in the residents’ group chat, warning my neighbors to be careful. “Lock your doors and windows! A snake can swallow something several times its size. This one is huge, and after shedding, it will be hungry and hunting!” My neighbors were dismissive, mocking my paranoia. The building manager quickly followed up: “There are no snakes in this building. We ask certain residents to refrain from fear-mongering.” Hiss. Then what was that sound, slithering in the hallway right now? 1. I grew up with my grandfather in the mountains, so I knew a snakeskin when I saw one. When the cleaning crew found it, everyone else thought it was a prank, a cheap rubber prop. How could a real snake get into a luxury high-rise like this? But I could tell. This was a fresh shed. The snake that left it behind was now even bigger. I had to warn them again. “Lock your doors and windows! A snake can swallow something several times its size. This one is huge, and after shedding, it will be hungry and hunting!” The response was a wave of ridicule. We were in the heart of the city, miles from any real wilderness. If there was a giant snake on the loose, someone would have seen it by now. Mom_from_606: “908, stop being so dramatic, you’re scaring people! This is a luxury apartment building, not a shack in the woods. Where would a snake even come from?” She had a point, but what if someone was keeping it as a pet? It wasn’t unheard of. I typed again, unable to let it go. Me (908): “Maybe it’s someone’s pet. Just please be careful.” The chat flooded with snake emojis. No one was taking me seriously. Only the resident in 707 seemed to show a flicker of concern. Resident_707: “If someone was keeping a snake that big, don’t you think its owner would have been eaten by now?” That quieted the chat for a moment. The building manager stepped in with a placating, yet passive-aggressive tone. BuildingManager: “There are no snakes in this building. We ask certain residents to refrain from fear-mongering.” Just then, my food delivery arrived. I went to the door to grab it. A blood-curdling scream echoed from the hallway, followed by silence. I tried calling the delivery guy. The call wouldn’t go through. A primal fear rooted me to the spot. I crept to the peephole. A moment later, I saw a single foot being slowly, unnaturally dragged out of my line of sight. I pressed my ear against the door, my heart pounding. Over the frantic beating in my chest, I heard a clear, distinct sound. Hiss. No snakes? Then what was in my hallway? 2. The delivery guy was probably gone. Whatever was out there had taken down a grown man in seconds. This snake wasn’t just big; it had to be venomous. I immediately called Animal Control, then frantically typed in the group chat: Me (908): “DO NOT LEAVE YOUR APARTMENTS! Something happened to the delivery guy. Wait for the professionals to arrive!” Mike_1008: “Is this some new kind of prank? Maybe the delivery guy is just messing with you.” Resident_707: “I can’t stay in, I have a package to pick up.” Mom_from_606: “I have to take my baby out for his daily walk in the sun!” You can lead a horse to water… Fine. Let them be idiots. I couldn’t save people who didn’t want to be saved. They would have to face the consequences themselves. All I could do was lock my doors and windows and wait. Then, a horrifying thought struck me. My best friend, Beth, was supposed to come over in two hours. I quickly started a video call to tell her to stay away. She answered with a huge grin. “Surprise! I’m already in your lobby! Aren’t you going to come down and greet me?” “Don’t come up! Get out of the building! There’s a snake!” The video feed froze. From the background, I could see she was already in the elevator. The signal had dropped. If she just stayed in the elevator and went back down, she’d be fine. I sent her a flurry of texts, praying she wouldn’t step out. At the same time, the once-jovial group chat exploded. The building manager posted a grainy screenshot from a security camera. A massive, shadowy serpent was slithering through the halls. Their nonchalant attitude vanished in an instant. An official notice went out telling everyone to remain in their apartments. They started demanding to know if anyone was keeping a pet snake. The chat filled with accusations and panic, but no one confessed. If this snake was wild, it would be even more aggressive. I could only hope the professionals would get here in time. My phone buzzed. A new message from Beth. “Almost on the ninth floor! Come out and help me with my bags!” My warning had arrived too late. She hadn’t seen it. Her chat bubble showed she was typing… Then, a frantic knocking echoed from my front door. Was it her? 3. “Beth, is that you?” I yelled, inching toward the door. No answer. Just more knocking, louder and more desperate now, as if something was chasing the person on the other side. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Beth. “Oh my god, Shawna!” she gasped, out of breath. “I heard your voicemail just as the doors opened! I slammed the button and got the hell out of there!” If Beth was out of the building, then who was at my door? My stomach churning, I crept back to the peephole. It was the young woman who lived across the hall. Her lips were blue, her eyes darting around in terror. We exchanged pleasantries sometimes; she seemed nice enough. She’d been texting in the group chat just a few minutes ago. What was she doing out here? “Help me!” she screamed, her voice cracking. She started pounding on my door with her fists, the sound booming through the hallway. “I locked my keys inside!” Her cries were so pitiful, so desperate. My heart went out to her. My hand was on the deadbolt when I heard her whisper to someone else, her voice trembling. “Don’t bite me… I’ll find you more food… I promise…” Then a terrified shriek. “No!” Hiss. Silence. I didn’t have the courage to look through the peephole again. I could imagine the gruesome scene all too well. When the initial wave of terror subsided, a cold realization washed over me. The girl across the hall… she was trying to feed me to the snake to save herself. If I had opened that door, I would be dead. Another victim in the serpent’s path. But wait. The snake had already taken the delivery guy. Why was it still hunting? Unless… there was more than one. 4. I relayed what happened to the building manager, telling them to check the cameras and pinpoint the snake’s location. The group chat was in chaos, residents demanding action. But the management was useless. They claimed the situation was too dangerous to send anyone in; we just had to wait for the professionals. Then came another update. The snake that had been on camera had vanished. They had searched every feed and couldn’t find a trace of it. Someone offered a wild theory: “What if this thing is supernatural? It knows how to avoid cameras.” The chat descended further into panic. [Unknown User]: “Is someone in this building raising this thing? It seems to know the layout of every floor so well.” I suspected the same thing. Someone was hiding it. Suddenly, the Mom from 606 turned on me. Mom_from_606: “Maybe it’s 908! The thief crying ‘thief’!” After everything I did to warn them, this was the thanks I got. I decided to stay quiet. A moment later, the manager posted a photo of the first snakeskin again, asking everyone to confirm it wasn’t from their pet. I zoomed in on the image. At first glance, it looked the same. But the patterns… they were completely different. My theory was correct. There wasn’t just one snake. And the snake that shed this second skin was even bigger. I was still debating whether to say anything when a new message popped up from the manager. The snake had been caught. They attached a video of a small python being wrangled by a man in uniform. It was obvious the snake in the video was far too small to have shed either of the massive skins. But the residents didn’t care. They were just relieved. The chat filled with thumbs-up emojis, praising the management for their efficiency. I didn’t know what to do. I still had to live here. If I exposed their lie, they would make my life hell. More importantly, I had already decided to stop getting involved. But my conscience won. I laid out my reasoning for them all to see. The manager was the first to attack, calling my claims nonsense and insisting the snake was caught. The property manager himself called me directly, and the moment I answered, he unleashed a torrent of abuse, even threatening me. “You residents are nothing but trouble! I’m warning you, if you want to keep living here peacefully, you’ll shut your mouth!” I recorded the entire call. Just in case. The group chat split into two factions. One side believed me and urged caution. The other trusted the management and was already preparing to go about their day. I messaged Beth, telling her to go home and not to linger around the building. She loved drama, and I was terrified she’d get too close and get bitten. But she hadn’t replied since she sent me an emoji twenty minutes ago. I remembered my balcony overlooked the front of the building. I rushed over and peered down. She wasn’t there. Maybe she’d gone home? Then my eyes caught something. A massive, scaled tail, dangling from the balcony of a unit below me. And the sliding glass door to that apartment was wide open. 5. I snapped a photo and posted it in the group chat, warning the residents on the floor below. The Mom from 606 exploded. She recognized the baby bib hanging on the balcony railing. It was hers. A stream of frantic voice messages flooded the chat. “That’s my apartment! Someone help my baby!” “My mother-in-law and my son are the only ones home! Why didn’t she close the window?!” The chat went silent. Everyone knew that responding meant getting involved. No one was willing to take that risk. The Mom tagged the building manager over and over, but they had gone silent again. I couldn’t stand it. I messaged her privately, telling her to call home immediately and tell her mother-in-law to hide somewhere safe until the snake left on its own. Ten minutes later, she sent me a friend request. Then she started spamming me with video calls. I didn’t answer. In a situation like this, it was every man for himself. I didn’t want to get dragged any deeper into this mess. She then took to the public chat, demanding I help. Mom_from_606: “908, why are you ignoring me? Just go check on my son and mother-in-law. Bring them to your apartment where it’s safe!” Are you kidding me? Even if the snake wasn’t in the hallway, there was no guarantee it wasn’t still in her apartment. Going there would be a suicide mission. The best thing to do was wait. I had already done more than enough by warning her. I steeled myself and ignored her. Mom_from_606: “@Shawna_908, why aren’t you answering my calls? Are you just going to let them die?” Sensing a new target for their fear, other residents chimed in, criticizing me. [User]: “Yeah, you saw it, you have to help!” [User]: “We’re all neighbors here. Help them out! She’s a single mom with a baby, don’t be so selfish, 908!” The hypocrisy was staggering. A minute ago, they were all playing dumb. Now they were saints. I was furious. I fired back: Me (908): “Anyone who just typed, why don’t YOU go? I warned everyone multiple times to lock their doors and stay inside. They didn’t listen, and now it’s my fault? @Resident_608, you’re right next door. @Resident_605, you’re across the hall. It’s an easy trip for you. GO!” The conversation shifted instantly. The resident in 608 claimed they weren’t home. The one in 605 quickly agreed with my original point. The Mom was still frantic. Her latest private message was a desperate plea. “Please, my baby isn’t even a year old. Please help me!” She forwarded a video her mother-in-law had just sent her. The baby was wailing, his face red and scrunched up. The grandmother paced back and forth on the hardwood floor, trying to soothe him. I quickly told her to have her mother-in-law stop moving. Snakes are sensitive to vibrations. She thanked me profusely, then sent a dozen more video clips, repeatedly asking if I could see the snake. Then she suggested her mother-in-law add me on a video call so I could “keep an eye on the baby” for her. The audacity of some people. I refused, telling her to contact management and Animal Control if she was that worried. Speaking of which, where were they? It had been over twenty minutes. Suddenly, a new message from the Mom. “My mother-in-law was bitten! Go save her!” How? I had scoured the video she sent. The room was clear. A tearful voice note followed. “My mother-in-law said the baby wouldn’t stop crying… I thought it would be safer for them to come to your apartment than stay in there with the snake… so I told her to make a run for it. She was bitten as soon as she opened the door.” If it weren’t for the innocent child, I would have blocked her. She basically sent her own mother-in-law to her death. “She’s still breathing! She managed to crawl back inside with the baby. Please, go save her! You know about snakes, you must know how to treat a bite, right?” I’m not a doctor. Her only hope was an ambulance. Her crying intensified. “The city marathon is today! All the roads are blocked. An ambulance can’t get through! Not even a fly could get down our street.” So that’s why no one had arrived. The marathon. But why today of all days? She then sent me a screenshot from a video call. In the blurry image, I could see the shadowy form of a massive snake. I was right. And next to the snake, just for a split second, I saw a pair of sneakers. 6. I had a strong, chilling premonition. This snake wasn’t just a pet. It was being controlled. The attacks were deliberate. The grandmother in 606 was hovering between life and death, and the Mom was having a complete breakdown in the group chat. Finally, the management responded: BuildingManager: “Resident in 606, please remain calm. We are dispatching personnel to check on the situation immediately.” Strangely, a few moments later, it was my door that started knocking. I peered through the peephole but saw no one. Yet the knocking continued, rhythmic and persistent. Then it stopped. I heard it again. The soft, dry, slithering sound of a snake. Hiss. Was the snake… knocking on my door? How could it knock with such a perfect rhythm? As I was trying to wrap my head around the impossibility of it all, the management sent another update. BuildingManager: “We have confirmed the presence of two large pythons in the building. One has now been successfully captured. The resident of 606 is being transported to the hospital. We have brought in professional snake handlers who will be conducting a door-to-door search. Please cooperate and open your doors when they arrive.” They even attached a photo of a captured snake. Suddenly, the incompetent, ghosting management team was a model of efficiency. The group chat erupted with praise. But I noticed something odd. The few residents who had been actively speaking up just a moment ago had gone completely silent. My phone rang. It was Beth. The moment I answered, the knocking at my door started again, faster and more urgent this time. I was certain it was a person. A wave of relief washed over me. A man’s voice called out, impatient and gruff. “Open up! Building management! We’re here for the snake!” My hand was on the doorknob when Beth’s voice screamed through the phone. “SHAWNA, DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!”

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Seven years of marriage, and my husband had slept his way through half of Hollywood. I was thirty-nine weeks pregnant when his latest pet, a starlet he was bankrolling, offended a major client at a gala. To save the deal, Chris demanded that I kneel and apologize on her behalf. I stared at him in disbelief. “I’m pregnant, Chris. How can I kneel? What if I hurt the baby—” He cut me off, his voice laced with ice. “It’s just kneeling. Since when did you become so fragile?” He dragged me in front of the client and forced my head down. The sudden, violent motion sent a sharp pain through my abdomen, and my water broke. Beside me, the starlet, Evelyn, pinched her nose with a sneer. “Oh, dear. Did she just piss herself from fright?” That same day, I hemorrhaged during labor and nearly went into shock. Meanwhile, photos of Chris and Evelyn tangled in bed together were trending online. When his sister, Isabella, rushed to the hospital, my voice was unnaturally calm. “You promised me,” I said, my gaze fixed on the sterile white ceiling. “You promised that once I had the baby, you’d let me go. Can I leave now?” 1 A flicker of hesitation crossed Isabella’s eyes. “Heidi, are you really sure about this? Chris… he’s just lost right now. He doesn’t understand how good you are for him. Maybe if you just—” Just then, a push notification lit up my phone screen. It was a video of Chris celebrating Evelyn’s birthday. He stood behind her, his hands covering hers as they sliced into a towering cake. Evelyn wore a high-necked dress, a futile attempt to hide the faint bruises of love bites on her exposed skin. “They say Mr. Astor can’t stand his wife,” someone cooed off-camera, “but look how he dotes on her. Mrs. Astor is such a lucky woman.” The speaker, a sycophantic industry type, slid a business card toward Evelyn. Hearing the words “Mrs. Astor,” Evelyn beamed and accepted the card. Someone else, clearly in on the joke, chimed in. “Come on, Chris! Give your ‘wife’ a proper French kiss!” Chris didn’t bother to correct them. He simply wrapped a hand around Evelyn’s waist and pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. Isabella looked at me, her face burning with shame. Expecting tears, she pulled me into a hug. “Heidi, I was wrong. I was so wrong to force you two together. I agree. You can leave.” But I didn’t cry. I had cried myself dry on the delivery table. “Do you want to see the baby before you go?” she asked softly. The baby. My heart clenched, a fist squeezing it tight. The precious child I had walked through the gates of hell to bring into this world. To say I felt nothing would be a lie. My thoughts were interrupted as Isabella returned, carrying a small, swaddled bundle. “Heidi, look at him. He’s so perfect. The doctors said he’s a healthy six and a half pounds—” “Enough,” I whispered, turning my head away, my nails digging into my palms. “Don’t say any more.” Don’t look back, Heidi. The voice in my head was firm. If you’re going to leave, you can’t have any attachments. Isabella froze, her steps faltering. She handed the baby back to a nurse before furiously dialing Chris’s number. “Isabella, I told you, I’m on a business trip,” Chris’s voice came through the speaker, slick and annoyed. “Don’t call me—” “A business trip? Your ‘business trip’ is headlining every gossip site in the country! Do you think I’m blind?” The playful tone in Chris’s voice curdled into anger. “I take it Heidi has been whining to you again. I should have known. Put her on.” Isabella handed me the phone. As I brought it to my ear, I could hear a woman’s soft, breathy moans in the background. Tears of rage and shame welled in Isabella’s eyes. “Heidi,” she said, her voice thick with regret. “As soon as you’re recovered, in one week, you’re free to go.” 2 After I was discharged, I was a ghost in my own home. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. In a shocking turn, Chris wired me a substantial amount of money for living expenses. It was the first time in seven years he had ever made a gesture of peace. In the past, a single text from him would have sent me into a flurry of a hundred replies. This time, I declined the transfer. An angry voice memo arrived moments later. “Heidi, don’t be ungrateful. Take the damn money or don’t, I don’t care!” That night, he brought Evelyn back to the villa. He watched my face, looking for a reaction. When he found none, only a placid emptiness, his own expression soured, and he retreated to his study for a video conference. Evelyn slinked over to me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Look at you. Childbirth has completely wrecked your body. If I were you, I’d be too ashamed to even be in the same room as Chris.” She was trying to provoke me, to bait me into a fight. In the past, it would have worked. The slightest provocation from her, and I would have lunged. But now, I just watched her, my silence a mirror to her one-woman show. My direct, unblinking gaze seemed to unnerve her. Just as Chris emerged from the study, Evelyn snatched a fruit knife from the table and swiped it across her own palm. Blood welled up instantly. She shoved the knife into my hand and collapsed dramatically onto the floor. “Mrs. Astor, please! I just love Chris! I only want to be near him! You don’t have to kill me for it!” It was her favorite trick. The one she used time and again. In the past, I would have dropped the knife and frantically tried to explain, to tell Chris how she had orchestrated the whole thing. This time, I held onto the knife. I let her cast me as the villain. And Chris, as always, played his part. He shoved me aside with a roar. “Heidi, jealousy has its limits! Are you trying to become a murderer?” I stumbled backward, off-balance, and fell. The blade of the knife sliced a deep gash across my wrist. I stared at the new wound, mesmerized, as Chris’s cold voice washed over me. “Apologize to her. Now.” When I didn’t move, he hauled me to my feet and pushed me in front of Evelyn. An apology? Fine. I picked up the fruit knife from the floor, pressed it against the fresh cut on my wrist, and dragged it deeper. Then I looked up at Chris, a faint, chilling smile on my lips. “Is this the kind of apology you were looking for? If not, I can always—” “Enough, Heidi!” Seeing the blood pour from my wrist, a flicker of something—worry? panic?—crossed Chris’s eyes. He snatched the knife away. “Have you lost your mind?” His gaze fell to my arm, and his voice trembled. He had finally noticed the dense lattice of pale, faded scars that covered my skin. “Where… where did all these cuts come from?” For seven years, he had paraded a revolving door of women through our home. None of them were simple. Like Evelyn, they all loved to play games, to push and provoke, to rub salt in my wounds. Some of these scars were gifts from his lovers. Others were from him, when he was defending them. Chris stared at my wrist for a long, silent moment. So long that I thought he might actually remember. But then, a cruel, mocking smile spread across his face. “So this is your new tactic, Heidi? When catching me with other women didn’t work, you decided to try self-harm to get my attention?” He squeezed my wrist, his fingers digging into the wounded flesh. The pain was sharp, and I winced. But then I remembered. Only three more days until I was free. Suddenly, it didn’t hurt at all. 3 After Chris left, I took down the wedding photograph from our bedroom wall. Seven years of marriage, and the only thing Chris and I truly shared was this single picture. How pathetic. In the photo, the groom’s smile was stiff, a tangible gap separating him from his bride. I remember the photographer had to take it more than a dozen times. “Is this a wedding shoot or a hostage situation?” I overheard him mutter to his assistant. “The groom looks like he’s at a funeral. I ask him to move closer to the bride, and he just glares at me. If you don’t want to get married, then don’t.” It was the only photo of us where he was even attempting a smile. But Chris hated it. I would hang it up, he would take it down. I would hang it up again. Eventually, he grew tired of the game and let it be. I carefully removed the photograph from its frame. Suddenly, Chris’s voice echoed from behind me. “Isn’t that your most prized possession? You’re finally willing to part with it?” He was rarely home at this hour, usually finding comfort in some other woman’s bed. But there he was, leaning against the doorframe, a cigarillo smoldering between his fingers. It reminded me of the first time I caught him cheating, a year into our marriage. I had clawed at the other woman’s face, leaving bloody trails. Chris had watched from the doorway then, too, his expression just as detached and bored. “Go on,” he’d said with a lazy wave of his hand. “Get rid of this one. There will just be another.” I used to fear that version of Chris—the indifferent spectator who made me feel like a hysterical fool in his grand, detached play. But I didn’t care anymore. Ignoring him, I pulled a few changes of clothes from the closet and packed them into a suitcase. That finally got him to move. He crossed the room and grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?” There was a subtle tremor of panic in his voice that he couldn’t quite hide. Blood seeped through the fresh bandage on my wrist. “I’m not feeling well,” I said calmly. “Going on a trip with my friend for a few days.” Chris’s grip loosened. That night, he moved back into the master bedroom from the guest room, claiming it was his way of making up for hurting me. I gathered his pillows and duvet and threw them out into the hallway. “Go find your starlet,” I snapped. “I don’t want your pity.” Chris’s face darkened, a cold sneer twisting his lips. “Alright, Heidi, stop the theatrics. Is this what it’s about? Are you mad that I haven’t touched you in years? Fine. I’ll satisfy you right now!” He pinned me to the bed, his hand snaking under my nightgown. SMACK. “You animal, Chris!” I screamed, the scent of another woman’s perfume on him making me want to vomit. “Don’t you dare touch me. You’re disgusting!” He slammed his fist into the pillow next to my head. “Don’t you regret this, Heidi.” He stood, stormed out, and slammed the door behind him. Later that night, he brought Evelyn back again. I was in a hazy, half-asleep state when I heard them. The sounds carried from the study—a man’s ragged breaths mixed with a woman’s soft moans. The study shared a wall with our bedroom. He was doing this on purpose, punishing me. He never used to let his women stay the night. The study door was ajar. I stood in the doorway and saw them, two naked bodies entwined on the large leather sofa. A wave of nausea washed over me. Chris saw me standing there. He was watching my face, waiting for the tears, the rage. When he saw only a dead calm, a flash of fury crossed his face. He grabbed a pillow and hurled it at me. “Get out!” he roared. As I closed the study door, I felt a sharp, final pang in my chest. I dragged my suitcase to my best friend Carole’s apartment. Two more days. Then it would all be over. 4 I was deep in a much-needed sleep when Carole shook me awake. “Heidi, wake up! You have to see this!” I groggily looked at her phone. The top trending topics were all about the twisted love triangle between Chris, Evelyn, and me. #AstorCEOandHisStarletInSteamyStudySession #HeidiAstorFleesMansionAfterDevastatingBetrayal The entire internet was crucifying Evelyn, calling her a homewrecker. Her social media accounts were in flames. This had her fingerprints all over it. But I couldn’t understand her motive. Why would she intentionally throw herself into the fire? The answer arrived with Chris, who stormed into Carole’s apartment and slapped me across the face before I could even utter a word. “I can’t believe how vicious you are, Heidi,” he seethed. “No wonder you were so calm last night. You planned this, didn’t you? You set Evelyn up!” He grabbed my arm. “We’re going to the hospital to apologize. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? She has depression! The stress you caused made her try to kill herself! I got there just in time. Evelyn is a kind soul. You’ve ruined her career, and she doesn’t even blame you. All she wants is a public apology to clear her name.” Clear her name? I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “And what name is that, Chris? You were there. Don’t you know the truth?” But he wasn’t giving me a choice. He dragged me to the hospital. Evelyn was lying in a hospital bed, her wrist bandaged, looking as fragile as a wilting flower. The moment we arrived, reporters swarmed the room. “Mrs. Astor, are the photos online real? Or did you fabricate them?” “Mrs. Astor, is Miss Vance really a homewrecker?” I opened my mouth to speak, but Chris clamped his hand over my wrist, his grip like iron. He leaned in, his voice a low, menacing whisper in my ear. The cut on my wrist, still healing, screamed in protest, but I had gone numb to the pain. “Heidi,” he warned. “You know what to say and what not to say.” I wrenched my hand free, a mocking smile on my face. “Don’t worry, Mr. Astor. I’m here to set the record straight.” Facing the barrage of cameras, I bowed deeply to Evelyn. “Miss Vance, I am so sorry,” I began, my voice clear and steady. “You are not the other woman. Last night, you were simply at our home to discuss a business collaboration with my husband. I was the one who acted maliciously. I intentionally took misleading photos and hired bots to attack you online.” I bowed again. “Miss Vance, from the very beginning, your relationship with my husband has been completely professional and innocent. It was I who, consumed by jealousy, used these despicable tactics to frame you. Please, I beg you to forgive me.” With every word I spoke, the color drained from Evelyn’s face. A reporter, defending her, spoke up. “Mrs. Astor, that apology seems completely insincere! Look at Miss Vance, you’re terrifying her!” Evelyn, who had been scrambling for a way out of the corner I’d backed her into, seized the opportunity. She began to pull at her hair, curling into a ball, her voice trembling violently. “I’m not a homewrecker… I’m not… I just admire Mr. Astor… If it’s a crime to love someone, then just let me die…” Chris, fearing she would harm herself, rushed to her side and wrapped her in his arms. “Evelyn, it’s not a crime to love someone. Don’t blame yourself.” Then, he turned his gaze to me, his eyes filled with a chilling cold. “Heidi. Kneel and apologize to her properly.” 5 At the gala, Chris had forced me to kneel for Evelyn, making me the laughingstock of our entire social circle. Now, with the cameras of every major news outlet rolling, if I knelt, I would never be able to hold my head up again. Seeing my hesitation, Chris pulled out his phone and made a call. A moment later, a text from Carole lit up my screen. Heidi, they fired me! What do I do? It took me forever to get this job. My grandma’s in the hospital… I can’t lose this job… My fists clenched. I swallowed the burning humiliation. As I sank to my knees, a hundred camera flashes exploded in my face. Chris was still fussing over Evelyn, checking her bandages. “Didn’t they just say their relationship was innocent?” a reporter whispered. “They seem awfully close… maybe there really is something going on between them,” another murmured. A bold journalist finally asked the question on everyone’s mind. Chris opened his mouth to explain, but I cut him off. “Everyone,” I announced, my voice ringing with a strange clarity. “The truth is, Evelyn is Chris’s first love. She went abroad years ago to receive treatment for her depression. Before she left, they were legally married. She is his lawful wife.” I paused, letting the bombshell land. “I’m just the woman who once saved his sister’s life. As a reward, the Astor family allowed me to marry into their ranks. Chris was forced to marry me.” I looked directly at him. “Isn’t that right, Chris?” For the first time in his life, the sharp, domineering Chris Astor was speechless. His face was a mask of pure shock. He never imagined I could spin such an outrageous lie. But he didn’t deny it. He knew it was the perfect way to save Evelyn’s reputation. “So,” a reporter concluded, “that means Mrs. Astor… you’re the real homewrecker.” “Yes,” I said, tilting my head back with a self-deprecating laugh. “I am.” From this day forward, I owed the Astor family nothing. That night, Chris waited for me at the villa. He paced restlessly, his mind replaying the image of me kneeling before the cameras, calmly detonating our lives. Each word I’d spoken was so serene, yet laced with a profound, chilling despair. A knot of dread tightened in his stomach. Suddenly, his assistant burst in, his face pale. “Mr. Astor, it’s terrible news. Your wife… she jumped into the ocean!”

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1 On the seventh year of my blood bond with the vampire, the curse flared. My master, Silas, was nowhere to be found. He didn’t return until midnight, carrying an unconscious woman in his arms. He ignored me, curled in agony on my bed, and immediately carried the woman to his room, his voice tight with urgency as he called for the old butler. “Quick, check on her! See if she’s alright!” The butler, Alfred, tried to plead on my behalf, but Silas cut him off, his voice sharp with impatience. “I’m in no mood to feed from her right now! She just needs to ride it out. It’s not like she’s going to die.” My last hope shattered. I gritted my teeth, drew a blade across my own skin, and let the blood flow, my only means of saving myself. After what felt like an eternity of wracking convulsions, the curse finally subsided. I lay in a pool of my own blood, my consciousness fading. With the last of my strength, I sent out a mental message. “I accept your offer. Within three days, I will break my bond with him and bind myself to you.” When I awoke the next day, my wounds were bandaged. The thick, metallic scent of blood was gone, replaced by the faint, lingering smell of smoke. Alfred had helped me. A wave of dizziness washed over me as I struggled to sit up. I pulled on a coat to hide the patchwork of injuries and went to thank him. I ran into Silas the moment I stepped out of my room. He looked me over, his eyes cool and distant. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he gave a curt command. “Prepare a meal for me.” I nodded, another wave of dizziness forcing me to brace myself against the wall. Silas had already turned away. Following my usual routine, I prepared a bowl of animal blood and brought it to his room. The woman from the night before was lying on his bed. I averted my gaze and approached. But Silas only glanced at the bowl before his brow furrowed in disgust. With a sweep of his hand, he sent it crashing to the floor, splattering my coat with blood. “What are you doing? Get that out of here!” he hissed, his voice low. The noise, however, was enough to wake the woman. Silas was instantly at her side, his voice soft with concern as he asked if she was feeling alright. She seemed fine, but her stomach rumbled, and she let out an embarrassed little laugh. Silas’s features softened. He gently pinched her cheek, then turned to me, his voice once again sharp. “Hurry up and prepare a proper meal.” It was only then that I understood. The woman he had brought back was not a vampire. She was human, like me. I backed out of the room silently, but I could hear their conversation through the door. “Is she a vampire, like you?” a sweet voice—I now knew it as Cobie’s—asked, her tone laced with curiosity. “No,” Silas replied. “She’s just my blood servant.” “Because of our blood bond, I can only drink her blood. So you don’t have to worry. I would never harm you.” The bond between a human and a vampire was meant to last five years. I should have left long ago, but I had stayed for him, willingly. In his eyes, I was, and always had been, nothing more than a living blood bag. It had all been my own foolish delusion. I moved numbly back to the kitchen, stripped off my stained coat, removed the damp, sticky gauze from my wounds, and began to prepare a human meal. I heard footsteps behind me. The scent of my blood had drawn Silas. “Why is the smell so strong?” he asked. Then he saw the gruesome cuts on my arms. He grabbed me, his eyes a complex mixture of emotions. “Did you… do this to yourself last night?” When the curse takes hold, only the master feeding from the servant can break it. Otherwise, the servant must make seven deep cuts to bleed themselves out. The lucky ones survive. The unlucky ones die from shock. I was one of the lucky ones. Just as he’d said, I had ridden it out. I hadn’t died. The only thing that had died was my foolish hope for him. I pulled my arm away. “It’s nothing,” I said, my voice flat. My detached tone made his eyes go cold. “You’re blaming me for not saving you.” “I wouldn’t dare.” He stopped me from washing the vegetables, turning off the faucet. “Don’t get the wounds wet. Stop.” That same commanding tone. I stubbornly refused to let go. After a few seconds of tense silence, he scoffed. “Do whatever you want.” He turned to leave, but paused after a few steps. “Next time,” he said, his voice low, “I’ll save you.” I didn’t answer. Because there wasn’t going to be a next time. The castle was as dim as ever, lit only by a few scattered candelabras. I went around lighting them, checking the blackout curtains. Even a sliver of the harsh light from outside was jarring. 2 I had been here so long I was used to the darkness. But Cobie, clearly, was not. She told Silas she wanted to go outside, to feel the sun on her skin. Silas’s eyes softened with affection. “Of course,” he said. Years ago, when I first arrived, I had made a similar request. He had sternly reminded me that vampires couldn’t be in the sun, that following the rules was the only way to survive in this world. Reading his moods had become a survival instinct. I never asked again. It seemed now that it wasn’t about the rules, but about who was asking. Cobie pulled Silas over to me, a bright smile on her face. “Do you want to come with us?” I was taken aback for a moment, then lowered my head. “I’ll stay here and prepare your meals.” My refusal made her smile falter, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. Silas noticed her change in mood and turned to me, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re coming too. Just pack up the food and bring it with you.” I looked up at him, the candlelight flickering across my emotionless face. He finally seemed to notice my bloodless lips, and his tone softened slightly. “You’re injured. You don’t need to provide blood for a while. Just prepare animal blood for me.” Cobie enthusiastically grabbed the hand holding the candle, her warmth a startling contrast to my usual cold existence. “Come with us! You must not have seen the sun in ages!” The warmth of another human’s touch after so long was disorienting. I didn’t notice the hot wax dripping from the candle. Silas’s eyes flashed, and he quickly pulled her hand away. A sharp pain shot through my fingers. I glanced at their intertwined hands, then silently switched the candle to my other hand. “I’ll go get things ready,” I said. After running my burn under cold water, I marked a circle on the calendar. Three more circles, and my blood bond would be complete. I would have one chance to break it. I packed the food and opened the main doors. Sunlight flooded in. My first instinct, after years in the gloom, was to recoil. But Silas, clad in a black robe, let Cobie pull him outside. I took a tentative step behind them, mustering the courage to step into the long-forgotten light. As the warmth touched my skin, an unexpected urge to cry washed over me. My gaze, as always, sought him out. I saw Cobie stand on her tiptoes. “Can I see your fangs?” she asked, her healthy, vibrant figure a stark contrast to my own frail form. Her smile was full of life. Silas steadied her, pulling back the hood of his robe. He smiled gently, his pupils narrowing as he revealed his two sharp, vampiric fangs. He wasn’t worried about attacking her. My presence, my bond, ensured her safety. In a forgotten corner, I took two steps back, retreating into the shadows. I hid my sallow hair and gaunt hands in the darkness. As the sun began to set, my shift at the junction station approaching, I finally stepped out and told them I had to leave. Silas seemed surprised that I had been there all along. He opened his mouth to say something, but Cobie spoke first. “I should be going too. Will you walk me home?” Of course, he would. But then he turned to me. “I’ll walk you as well.” The junction station, a transit point between the human and vampire worlds, was where I worked my second job, a nightly patrol. In all my years here, Silas had never offered to see me off. I was tired. I refused his sudden whim. “There’s no need. You should take Miss Cobie home.” He sensed my mood and took a step closer, insisting, “I’ll walk you.” Cobie watched our interaction, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. She tightened her grip on Silas’s arm. “If it’s on the way, you should come with us,” she said to me. “I hear you’ve known Silas for a long time. I’d love to hear some stories about him.” Her words were a subtle, defensive wall. Silas patted her hand, clearly pleased by her possessiveness. I didn’t know him, not really. The man he was with her was a stranger to me. But I stopped resisting. I gave a servant’s bow. “Then I thank you, Master, Miss.” When I straightened, my eyes met his dark, intense gaze. I was just doing as he had always treated me—as a servant. Though, he had never actually required me to bow before. 3 When we arrived at the junction station, I was about to head to the staff room when Silas grabbed my arm. “Wait for me. I’ll take you back when I’m done.” Done? Would he be coming back tonight? I didn’t ask. Cobie’s eyes were fixed on his hand on my arm. My pager buzzed. My colleague was looking for me. I gave a quick nod and hurried away. They boarded the night train to the human world and disappeared from sight. My shift was uneventful. The station’s clock ticked on, the flow of vampires waxing and waning. By the time the last train arrived, Silas still hadn’t returned. I went back to the staff room and collapsed onto the desk, exhaustion pulling me into a deep sleep. I wouldn’t wait for someone who wasn’t coming. I wouldn’t hold on to a promise that was never meant to be kept. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a familiar ceiling. Silas was sitting by my bed. The air was filled with a sweet aroma. I followed the scent with my nose and saw a slice of cake on the nightstand. “It’s for you.” I met his gaze in the dim light. Then I looked away, my voice flat. “Thank you.” It clearly wasn’t the reaction he had hoped for. He pressed his lips into a thin line, a hint of frustration in his voice as he explained, “I had an emergency last night. I didn’t mean to make you wait. Cobie…” “It’s fine,” I cut him off, not wanting to hear any more. This was hardly the first time he had abandoned me. I hadn’t eaten in a while and felt dizzy. I reached for the cake. Silas, still annoyed at being interrupted, spoke again. “She was right. All women love this sugary stuff. What else do you humans like to eat?” My hand froze. The cake was a leftover, an afterthought from something he’d bought for Cobie. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? I pulled my hand back and lay down, feeling sick. “You should ask Miss Cobie directly.” “You…” He was at a loss for words, his brow furrowed. A chime sounded. An incoming message. His expression changed, and he stood up abruptly, leaving without another word. I drew another circle on the calendar. I gave the cake to Alfred, thanking him for tending to my wounds. After a small meal and a change of dressings, I headed back to the station. My colleague, also a blood servant, was surprised to see me so early. She told me she had just seen my master, Silas. “Some beautiful human girl wandered in here alone. The station was swarming with vampires. It almost caused a riot.” “If your master hadn’t shown up when he did, she would have been in real danger.” “I saw them hugging. What’s their relationship?” A pang of jealousy shot through me. I just shook my head and said I didn’t know. I gave her some cookies I’d baked and asked her to confirm the conditions for breaking a blood bond. That was the real reason I’d come in early. She had successfully broken her bond once before and now served a second master. She was about to ask why I was asking, but then she saw the wounds on my arms and fell silent. She just patted my shoulder knowingly and told me everything I needed to know. After saying goodbye, I quit my job at the station and returned to the castle under the cover of the thick night. I pushed open the door and knew something was wrong. Clothes were strewn across the floor. The sound of heavy, repressed breathing filled the air. I followed the faint light to a wide-open door. I saw Silas, his irises a deep, blood-red, his fangs embedded in Cobie’s neck. He was feeding from her. But Cobie wasn’t struggling. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, her body pliant and trusting. The bag in my hand slipped, making a noise. Silas’s head snapped in my direction, his gaze sharp and hostile. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a glass vase from the bedside table flying towards me. It struck my shoulder with a heavy thud before shattering on the floor. “Get out!” It hit me then what they were doing. The First Embrace—the process of turning a human into a vampire. The vampire would drain the human’s blood, marking them as their own, then feed them their own blood in return. As Silas’s furious roar echoed in my ears, I stood there for a moment, then bent down, picked up the bond chain he had carelessly tossed on the floor, and left the room. 4 The First Embrace was a long process. The sounds from the next room didn’t cease until the following night. I was tidying up my room when Silas kicked the door open. He was livid. He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging into the bruised, swollen flesh where the vase had hit me. “You gave her the bloodletting kit, didn’t you?!” His eyes were back to their normal black, but his rage was more potent than when he had been in his feeding frenzy. I winced, gritting my teeth against the pain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice steady. My denial only fueled his anger. He sneered, his grip tightening. “I only recognize the scent of your blood. If you hadn’t given her the kit, if it hadn’t been tainted with your scent, I never would have lost control. I never would have done that to her…” “Seraphina,” he hissed, his voice tight with rage, “I know what you were trying to do. But you had no right to harm her.” Looking at his contorted, furious face, a profound sense of weariness and disgust washed over me. “You were the one who lost control. You were the one who drank her blood. You were the one who turned her into one of your kind…” I lifted my head, a mocking smile playing on my lips. “You should be happy. At least no one else can drink her blood now.” Slap! My cheek stung, a burning heat spreading across my face. I blinked hard, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. “You bitch!” He wrenched my chin up, his eyes blazing with fury and disappointment. “I should never have saved you,” he spat. He was right. He never should have saved me. I let out a bitter, desolate laugh. All those years of companionship and devotion… it was all for nothing. “Blood!” a shriek came from the next room. “I need blood!” Silas’s face changed. Ignoring my pained struggles, he dragged me into the other room. Cobie, her hair a wild mess, was thrashing on the bed. When she saw Silas, she burst into tears. “Give me blood, Silas! Give me blood!” Her nails scraped across the blankets, leaving a trail of chaotic scratches. The scene was so horrifying it momentarily made me forget my own pain. There was animal blood in the fridge. That could save her. But in the next second, I was dragged in front of her. Silas ripped open my collar. I realized what he was about to do and began to struggle wildly. My flailing arms were quickly pinned behind my back, my exposed neck presented to Cobie. My veins pulsed with the fresh, human blood that vampires craved. Cobie didn’t hesitate. She sank her fangs into my neck, right where Silas’s own mark used to be. She drank greedily, like a woman possessed. The blood rushed from my body. I convulsed in agony. “Let… me… go…” The wounds on my back, which had just started to heal, tore open again as I struggled. The sticky wetness of blood soaked through my clothes. The metallic scent was overpowering, making me want to gag. As Silas reached over to steady my lolling head, I caught a glimpse of his bare neck. The bond chain in my pocket dug into my side, a painful reminder of my foolishness. Seven years ago, he had saved me. This would be the last time. I was repaying my debt. My vision blurred, my strength draining away. I closed my eyes, resigned. My hand slipped limply from behind my back. Silas felt the sudden weight and realized I had lost consciousness, my face as white as a sheet. He snapped out of his trance and pushed Cobie away. She, lost in her own bloodlust, was about to bite again, but the force of his push sent her tumbling back, unconscious. He pressed a hand to the two deep puncture wounds on my neck, but the blood wouldn’t stop. It streamed through his fingers. “Alfred! Alfred!” he shouted in a panic. There was no answer. He laid me on the bed, promising to be right back, and then ran from the room. I heard him searching, then the sound of the main doors being thrown open. I forced my eyes open, my hands trembling as I tore the bandages from my arm and pressed them to my neck. I stumbled out of the room, fighting a wave of intense dizziness, and fumbled through the drawer where the bloodletting kit was usually kept. It was gone. The grandfather clock chimed. Midnight. I tore the last page from the calendar, lit the fireplace that was never used, and, without a moment’s hesitation, tossed the bond chain, stained with a drop of my blood, into the flames. The fire roared to life. I turned and walked out of the castle, and I didn’t look back. 5 Every step I took through the darkness was heavy, my breathing growing shallow. Finally, my strength gave out. My vision went black, and I pitched forward. The last thing I remember was falling into an intensely cold embrace.

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I was treating my in-laws to dinner when my wife’s male assistant showed up at checkout. He saw my mother-in-law packing up the leftover fish soup and slapped the bag out of her hands. The soup splashed all over her. “If you can’t afford it, don’t eat here! How can a poor old hag like you be CEO Chan’s mother-in-law? Stop embarrassing her!” I asked the restaurant to prepare a fresh portion of the soup for us to take home. The assistant punched me to the ground. “This is a members-only restaurant. You’re using CEO Chan’s card, aren’t you? Can’t you earn your own money? You have to use her money to support your hick parents?” The stress sent my father-in-law to the hospital. I called my wife, Valerie, to come and sign the surgical consent forms. She just laughed. “Adrian told me everything. Your father gets sick and you try to trick me into paying for it? Has your whole family gone crazy for money?” “If he’s going to die, tell him to die quickly. And keep him away from me. It’s bad luck.” 1 “Valerie, your father is in the emergency room. You need to get to the hospital, now!” Her voice was casual, unconcerned. “Oh? What a coincidence. The moment I get to Adrian’s place, my dad suddenly has a problem? Thomas, next time you make up an excuse, can you curse yourself? Stop cursing my parents.” My father-in-law was downstairs in the ER, and my mother-in-law had fainted from the shock. I was by her bedside, completely overwhelmed. The doctor had already issued a critical condition notice for my father-in-law. Clinging to the last shred of our connection, I wanted Valerie to see her father one last time. I swallowed my anger and tried again. “I’m not lying. You can ask Adrian if you don’t believe me. I took your parents to dinner, and he was the one who kept provoking them until your father collapsed. Dad’s been declared critical. You need to come and sign the papers. If you wait any longer, you might not get to see him…” Valerie cut me off with a roar of fury. I heard her phone clatter to the floor, her shouts coming in broken waves. “Thomas, are you ever going to quit?! Adrian told me everything! Your hick parents came to town, and you used my money to treat them to a fancy dinner. I let that slide. Now the old man is sick, and you want me to come over? You just want me to be there to swipe my card, don’t you? You think I don’t know your little schemes?” “I told you before, Thomas! You only married me for my money, didn’t you? Well, you’ll never see a single cent of it, not even when you die!” I could hear Adrian murmuring comforts to her in the background. Then, his voice came on the line, sharp and mocking. “Thomas, I saw it with my own eyes. The old country woman is fine. Why don’t you put her on the phone? Don’t you think CEO Chan would recognize her own mother’s voice?” I fell silent. My mother-in-law had just fallen asleep in her hospital bed, an oxygen mask over her face. Waking her up now, just to prove to her own daughter that her husband was dying in the ER… I couldn’t imagine the pain it would cause her. After a long pause, I sighed. “Your mother just fell asleep. I don’t want to disturb her.” There was no response. I could hear the rustle of clothes, followed by the soft moans of two people lost in a passionate kiss. A long moment passed before Valerie’s voice, husky and intimate, came back on the line. “If you can’t provide any proof, then stop bothering me. Or would you rather listen to us get down to business?” Adrian laughed. “If you’re into that, Valerie, I don’t mind. But it does kind of kill the mood. Why don’t we just turn off the phone? Then no one can interrupt us.” “Okay~ Whatever you say.” The line went dead. The world returned to a suffocating silence. A lump of acid formed in my throat. My fingers clenched into a fist. My in-laws were good people. Even though my marriage to Valerie was a hollow shell, I still wished them health and longevity. But now, my father-in-law was fighting for his life, and his own daughter would rather fool around with her assistant than be by his side. They were educated, cultured people, too dignified to argue with Adrian in public. But their restraint had only emboldened him, letting him spew his venom until he’d literally pushed my father-in-law to the brink of death. 2 Two hours earlier, I was having dinner with my in-laws at The Lunar Court. The Lunar Court used to be my family’s restaurant. It was also their favorite, and Valerie’s. As we were leaving, my mother-in-law carefully packed up the leftover fish soup. “Valerie said she’s coming home for dinner tonight. She’s loved the fish soup here since she was a little girl. I’ll take it home and make her some noodles. A little taste of her childhood.” She was smiling, telling me stories about Valerie as a child, when a figure suddenly rushed forward and slapped the container out of her hands. The hot soup splashed all over her, getting in her eyes. My father-in-law and I forgot about everything else, scrambling to help her. But the man wasn’t finished. “Thomas, do you know where you are? This is The Lunar Court! Where did this poor trash come from, packing up leftover soup? You have the nerve to eat here?” He was decked out in designer clothes, clothes Valerie had bought him. He looked my in-laws up and down with disdain. “What are these old geezers wearing? If your parents are this poor, they should stick to street stalls. What are they doing at The Lunar Court? Valerie was right. You really are just after her money! Shameless!” My father-in-law understood. Adrian thought my in-laws were my parents and was mocking them for being poor. A man of dignity, he chose not to correct him, but to defend my parents instead. “Young man, how can you speak like that? It’s not your place to decide who is worthy of eating at The Lunar Court. Besides, we are your elders, and Thomas is older than you. You should not be so disrespectful. Please, apologize.” But Adrian didn’t apologize. He lifted his foot and aimed a vicious kick at my father-in-law. If I hadn’t pulled him back, he would have crashed to the floor. “Apologize?” Adrian sneered. “Do you know who I am? I’m the boyfriend of the CEO of the Chan Corporation! All I have to do is ask, and she’d give me this whole restaurant. What are you?” “You probably don’t know, but your useless son has already been kicked out of the family! He didn’t get a penny! And you’re here, enjoying a feast, expecting CEO Chan to foot the bill? Dream on!” As he spoke, a line of uniformed security guards from the restaurant appeared behind him. The staff had all been replaced since I last managed the place. My in-laws were always low-key, so no one recognized us. The guards bowed respectfully to Adrian, then, without a word, they forced the three of us to the ground. “How dare you poor filth eat at The Lunar Court! Do you know who you’ve offended? This is CEO Chan’s favorite. You’ve upset him. Let’s see how she deals with you!” My father-in-law already had bad legs. His knee hit the ground hard, and he couldn’t get back up. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Stop!” I yelled. “I am Thomas Qin, Valerie Chan’s husband! And these are her parents! Open your eyes and look! Get Mr. Chan to a hospital now! If anything happens to him, you will be held responsible!” The manager sneered and slapped me hard across the face. “I’ve seen this pathetic dine-and-dash trick a million times! People claim to be CEO Chan’s boyfriend every day to get a free meal. Funny how we’ve never seen her bring you here. So far, the only person she’s ever personally brought to dine here is Mr. Pitt. We only listen to Mr. Pitt.” Adrian beamed, his smile wide and predatory. “These people probably can’t pay. Take them to the kitchen. They can wash dishes to work off their bill.” The manager and his men ignored our protests. They confiscated our phones and threw us into the kitchen, forcing us to wash dishes and scrub floors under their watchful eyes. Any hesitation was met with a blow. It wasn’t until my father-in-law, locked in the sweltering garbage room, collapsed from lack of air that the manager realized he might have a death on his hands. They quickly threw us out the back door. As I was getting into the ambulance, my eyes met Adrian’s. He was standing at the restaurant entrance, his expression dark and menacing. “Thomas,” he said, his voice a low threat, “this was just a little lesson. This is what happens when you cross me.”

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1 It was time to exchange the rings, but the man who was supposed to be my husband refused to say, “I do.” He was silent. All because his old flame, the one that got away, had announced her breakup on social media an hour ago. The post was a picture of a plane ticket, with a landing time of one hour from now. My brother, Ron, strode to the altar and announced to our guests that the wedding was postponed. Just like that, the two of them, in perfect, unspoken agreement, abandoned me at the altar. I became the spectacle, the joke everyone was staring at. I held my head high, calmly managing the fallout, while my eyes were glued to my phone, watching her feed update. A new photo appeared: my brother and my husband, flanking her, offering her the world on a silver platter. A bitter smile touched my lips as I dialed the number for my birth parents. “Dad, Mom,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m ready to come home. I’ll agree to the marriage alliance with the Whitfield family.” “Laraine, are you absolutely sure?” The voices on the other end were laced with disbelief. Five years ago, my birth parents had found me. A DNA test confirmed that I, an orphan who had grown up with nothing, was the long-lost daughter of the Ashworths, one of New York’s most powerful families. But I hadn’t felt like I was lacking love. I had Ron and Elias, the two boys who had grown up with me in the orphanage. So, three years ago, I had flatly refused to return to the Ashworths. And now, the family I had chosen, the man I had chosen, had abandoned me on the most important day of my life. Mrs. Ashworth sighed, then her voice grew firm. “Don’t you worry, darling. Even if it is a marriage alliance, you are still our daughter, and we will protect you.” I looked out the window as the sky darkened, wiping a tear from my eye. “Dad, Mom, I’ll need about a week to handle things here.” “Of course. Take your time to say your goodbyes. And don’t you worry about the wedding. We’ll arrange everything. No matter what, the Ashworths will always have your back.” After I hung up, my eyes burned. Ron and Elias used to say the same thing. “Don’t be afraid, Laraine.” “We’re your family now. We’ll always be on your side.” I remembered Matron Lynn, the head of the orphanage, smiling at them. “You boys have to protect your little sister. A man’s word is his bond.” Elias, his cheeks flushing pink, had puffed out his chest. “I don’t want to be her brother! I’m going to marry Laraine when we grow up!” Their sincerity had won my heart. Ron was the steady, protective older brother. Elias saved every good thing he ever found, every small treasure, and presented it to me like a crown jewel. They were my family. My love. So when my birth parents found me, I never told them. The world of the ultra-rich was a labyrinth of schemes and false affections. The simple, warm happiness I had with them was too precious to leave behind. But that was before Cathy. I was so wrong. Cathy was the daughter of our old housekeeper, Mrs. Jiang. Her father had died when she was young, and Mrs. Jiang herself had passed away from an illness two years ago. We felt sorry for her, all alone in the world, so we invited her to spend the holidays with us. After that, she just… stuck around. She grew closer and closer to my brother and my fiancé. I finally took her aside and gently reminded her that Elias and I were getting married, hoping she would understand the need for some distance. I never expected her to leave a letter and disappear overseas. The letter was a masterpiece of passive aggression, filled with envy for my life and tearful goodbyes to the boys. Elias’s face had darkened the moment he read it. “Can’t you be a little more tolerant, Laraine?” And Ron, who had always doted on me, looked at me with pure disappointment. “Laraine, you are so incredibly selfish.” They were convinced that Cathy, the poor, tragic girl, needed their love more than I did. So they took all the love they had for me and gave it to her. This wedding was my childhood dream. The dress, the rings, even the floral pattern on the invitations—I had designed every detail myself. I closed my eyes, facing the sea of staring faces alone. The composure I’d maintained until now finally crumbled. “What’s going on? I’ve never seen a wedding cancelled halfway through!” “Did the groom just run out on her?” “Why did the bride’s brother leave too?” “Who knows? If her own family won’t even stand by her, she must have done something terrible!” “Look at her face. She just looks dishonest!” A tidal wave of vicious rumors swept over me. The two men who had sworn to protect me had become the daggers twisting in my heart. 2 After dealing with the mess, I returned to the new home Elias and I were supposed to share. I pushed open the door and froze. Someone was inside. “Laraine, long time no see!” Cathy stood there in a sheer nightgown, her body on full display. She emerged from my bedroom—our bedroom—with a look of cloying, provocative apology on her face. “Ron and Elias were worried about me, so they asked me to stay here.” I looked around the home I had so carefully decorated, now invaded by her. Everything we’d picked out together, all the matching sets, had been tossed carelessly into the study. In their place were her personal belongings. “Elias said this room gets the best light, and the air is fresh. I just had surgery overseas, you see. I need to recover.” A cold fury ignited within me. The room she was staying in was our marital bedroom. The door opened again. Ron and Elias walked in, carrying a cake and a bouquet of flowers. They looked at me, their eyes filled with annoyance. “What are you trying to do now? You’ve already driven Cathy away once,” Elias said, his tone sharp. “Cathy is our family now,” Ron stated coldly. “This is her home.” I stared at the small villa. It had been a gift from Ron. He had told me he would always be my family, that as long as he was here, I would always have a home. But then Cathy had moved in. Out of respect for her late mother, I’d agreed to let her stay temporarily, until she found her own place. But she had pushed every boundary, stealing my things and even ending up in bed with a drunk Elias, wrapped in his arms. That was the last straw. I slapped her. Elias had shoved me to the ground. “Cathy lost her family! She just sees us as brothers! You’ve had us your whole life, Laraine. She’s different. She’s suffered! You’re older than her, can’t you just treat her like a little sister?” I remembered staring at my bleeding palm, at the shards of a broken glass embedded in my skin, and feeling like I was looking at a stranger. And now, she was back, occupying my marital home, acting as if she were the lady of the house. “Laraine, you’ve eaten my food and lived under my roof for years. I raised you. You need to be grateful!” Ron warned. “Cathy is my sister now! You have no right to make her leave! If you hadn’t driven her overseas, her condition wouldn’t have gotten worse.” “You can sleep in the study. We’ll talk after Cathy recovers.” Elias glared at me, his face a mask of suspicion. “Cathy needs to be taken care of right now. We haven’t even signed the marriage license. If you keep acting like this, we can just call the whole thing off!” I looked at them, a bitter, ironic smile touching my lips. The old Laraine might have been heartbroken. But now, all I felt was a vast, empty disappointment. I wasn’t welcome here. It was time to go back to the home that was truly mine. Since my decision was made, I didn’t argue. I turned and walked into the study. My things were scattered everywhere, all the items I had carefully chosen and designed, each one a vessel for my hopes for the future. I silently gathered the broken wedding decorations Cathy had ruined and threw them in the trash. Elias nodded, satisfied. “Those things are cheap. We can just buy new ones for the wedding later.” A shadow crossed my face. It wasn’t just the things that were worthless. There would be no later. This was no longer my home. 3 Before I left, there was only one person I needed to say goodbye to. After that, I would have no attachments left. “Here to see Matron Lynn again, dear?” The cemetery groundskeeper recognized me and smiled. I came here every year, on the same day. I placed a bouquet of white chrysanthemums on her grave. “Matron Lynn, I’m leaving.” A gentle breeze rustled the leaves. Her picture on the headstone still held the same kind, warm smile. I left the cemetery and wandered the streets aimlessly. The sweet scent of buttercream drifted from a bakery, and I suddenly remembered the cheap cakes Ron and Elias used to buy for me. The cream was waxy, but the sweetness was real. My phone buzzed incessantly. “Happy Birthday.” It was a message from the Ashworths, followed by a large bank transfer. Even though I had refused to go back to them, they never missed a holiday or a birthday. Two hours ago, Cathy had updated her Instagram story: a picture of three movie tickets. Without realizing it, I had walked to the site of our old orphanage. It had been torn down and replaced with an amusement park, still bright and noisy even at night. “Laraine!” Cathy spotted me and ran over, a strange glint in her eye. “You’re here too! I was feeling a little down today, so Ron and Elias insisted on taking me out.” Her sudden proximity made me uncomfortable. A bizarre, twisted smile flickered across her face. She grabbed my hand and abruptly threw herself backward. An electric scooter sped towards us, hitting us both. From Ron and Elias’s perspective, it must have looked like I pushed her into its path. In the car, their faces grew darker and darker. Cathy’s forehead and leg were bleeding heavily. They paid no attention to me, my face pale with shock, my right hand crushed by the scooter. The pain was so immense it felt like my hand didn’t belong to me anymore. When we got to the hospital, a nurse informed Ron that there was only one doctor on duty. “Get Cathy into surgery first! A girl can’t have scars!” Elias shouted the moment we arrived. Cathy’s injuries looked dramatic, but anyone with a bit of sense could see they were superficial. A nurse looked at my twisted hand. “Sir, we can handle Miss Jiang’s wounds here. But this young lady’s injury is far more serious. If we don’t treat it immediately, her right hand…” “Arrange the surgery for Cathy now!” Ron and Elias were in perfect, cold agreement. My face was as white as a sheet. If I lost this hand, I would never be able to hold a paintbrush again. “Ron… Elias… please, let me have the surgery… my hand hurts so much!” “Laraine, why do you always have to target Cathy?!” “Don’t you forget you’re just an orphan! If I hadn’t taken you in, you would have starved to death on the streets!” “From this day forward, Cathy is my sister! You will not hurt her again!” “If it weren’t for you, Cathy wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all!” “You don’t even have a scratch on you! Stop pretending!” Ron slapped me, sending me stumbling to the floor. All the color drained from my face. It wasn’t until my hand was dangling at a sickeningly unnatural angle that he seemed to realize something was wrong. “Laraine… are you okay?”

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The scholarship student I’d sponsored for years crashed my birthday party and shoved a pregnancy test in my face. “Audrey is pregnant with my child,” he announced, his voice ringing with arrogance. “You better know your place and divorce her now!” I stared at the test, completely thrown. “Are you sure… you mean Audrey is pregnant with your child?” Wayne brandished the test strip like a trophy. “Of course, it is! We conceived on our cruise last month!” His words sent a ripple of shock through me and every guest at the party. Because my ex-wife, Audrey… died three years ago. 1. I stared at Wayne, my mind reeling. I had to ask again. “Do you even know who Audrey is?” He clutched the pregnancy test, his expression defiant. “Cut the crap, Connor. Just divorce Audrey and get out of the way. Stop making a fool of yourself.” This was a new Wayne. Dressed in an expensive, tailored suit, with a sharp, styled haircut, he was a world away from the scrawny, timid boy I’d met eight years ago. Despite his aggressive tone, a part of me still held out hope. “Wayne, stop joking around. It’s my birthday. Have some cake.” He shoved the plate I offered aside, slamming his hand on the table. “Screw the cake! Are you divorcing her or not? If you don’t, I have other ways to make you.” He jabbed a finger so close to my eye that my girlfriend, Anna, instinctively pulled me back. “Don’t you touch him!” she snapped. The room was buzzing with whispers, all eyes on us. As the host of the party, I could feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up my neck. “Wayne, if you don’t stop this nonsense, I’m cutting off all funding to you and your family tomorrow.” When I first decided to sponsor him, Wayne was wearing rags he’d pulled from a dumpster, his fingernails black with grime. A cockroach had crawled out of his matted hair. I learned that both his parents were paralyzed, and he was supporting them and his younger brother by scavenging while trying to study. His story moved me deeply. “Wayne,” I had told him that day, “I’ll pay for you to finish university. I’ll also support your family and help improve their living situation.” From that day on, I wired him two thousand dollars every month, without fail. On holidays, I’d send extra money and gifts. And this was how the boy I had poured so much into repaid me. He sneered. “You think I care about your charity?” He stepped closer, patting my cheek with a condescending rhythm. “Get it through your head. I’m the one who got your wife pregnant.” He pointed to his designer shoes, then flashed a diamond-encrusted watch on his wrist. “Audrey told me everything. Once she gives birth to our son, she’s buying me a mansion and moving my whole family in to live a life of luxury. Your pathetic two grand a month? Save that for your own tombstone.” He let out a sharp, cruel laugh, then snatched a bottle of wine and hurled it at my birthday cake. The four-tiered masterpiece, a custom gift from my friends, was instantly destroyed. A wave of outrage swept through the guests. “You’re a scholarship student! How dare you try to steal from the man who saved you? You have no shame!” “He’s worse than a leech. Selling himself for money and then biting the hand that feeds him. People like you make me sick!” But their condemnation only earned them a contemptuous eye-roll from Wayne. “You all think Connor is some kind of saint? You’ve all been fooled,” he declared, his voice ringing with self-righteous fury, as if he were about to reveal a grand conspiracy. “Connor’s just using Audrey’s money to build a reputation! He doesn’t spend a dime of his own, but he takes all the credit!” “He’s just trying to paint himself as a good person to morally blackmail Audrey so she can’t divorce him!” Wayne’s voice grew louder, his indignation mounting. He looked as if he were fighting for Audrey’s honor. “She has to support him, pay for his fake charity, and on top of it all, he won’t even let her have a child!” “He’s the toxic one, the one with no morals! Everything I’m doing is to save Audrey from him!” He portrayed himself as a white knight, a hero. But the crowd wasn’t buying it. “Are you insane? You’re spouting nonsense and knowingly wrecking a marriage…” The accusation clearly struck a nerve. Wayne grabbed a bowl and threw it at the speaker. “I’m not wrecking anything! I’m repaying a debt of gratitude!” he screamed. “When I found out Audrey was my true benefactor, I repaid her with my young, strong body!” The sheer shamelessness of it all left everyone speechless. Before I could respond, Wayne’s eyes landed on Anna, who was still holding my arm. A flash of discovery lit up his face. “Well, well, Connor. Not only are you using Audrey’s money to build your image, you’re using it to keep a mistress on the side.” Anna’s brow furrowed in disgust. “Show some respect. I am Connor’s girlfriend.” Wayne snorted. He pointed a finger at her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Connor is an old man who can’t even have kids. How could he land a beautiful young girlfriend like you? Don’t lie. You’re just his sugar baby!” He grinned and pulled out his phone, snapping pictures of us. “If you don’t divorce her willingly, I’ll make sure this cheating scandal goes public. You’ll be left with nothing, and you’ll have to pay Audrey damages!” I looked at the wreckage of my birthday party, a profound sense of weariness washing over me. Maybe the stress of his studies had finally broken him. Maybe he was having some kind of psychotic break. I decided not to fight back. Instead, I calmly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Wayne, just calm down and listen to me. You’ve made a mistake. I have always been your sole sponsor. All the money you received came from me.” I glanced at Anna, a helpless, almost amused look passing between us. “And the Audrey you’re talking about… she died in an avalanche three years ago. I saw it with my own…” Wayne didn’t let me finish. He leaped back, shouting, “Are you crazy, Connor? Spreading rumors that your own wife is dead? Do you have a conscience?!” I had been trying to be patient, remembering the boy I had watched grow up. But he was putting on a full-blown circus act at my birthday party, and even if I could tolerate it, Anna couldn’t. She held me tight and glared at Wayne. “Get out. Now. Or I’ll have security throw you out.” Wayne turned his smug grin on her. “So you’re going to flaunt this affair so openly, Connor? You’re finished! I’ll have Audrey’s family kick you to the curb by tomorrow!” At this point, besides thinking Wayne was truly insane, I started to feel a flicker of pity for him. Whoever’s pregnancy test he was holding, he deserved to know the truth. “Since you’re so insistent,” I said, “why don’t you come with me to see Audrey? Then you’ll know I’m not lying.” Wayne followed me, still boasting. “Hmph. Just wait until you see my Audrey. You’ll see how much she loves me!” I gave him a sympathetic look and asked Anna to arrange for a car. Soon, two luxury sedans were waiting for us. Many of the guests, eager to see the drama unfold, got in their own cars and followed our small convoy. When the car stopped, I had the driver let Wayne out. He took off his sunglasses, looked around, and exploded. “You brought me to a cemetery?! What the hell is your problem, Connor?” “Just calm down and follow me.” I guided him a few steps forward and stopped in front of a gravestone. “Take a good look. Whose name is on it?” Wayne glanced at the inscription and then threw his head back and laughed. “I admit, you’re willing to go to great lengths, Connor. Faking a tombstone to get out of a divorce. But it’s useless. No matter how many times you claim Audrey is dead, you can’t deny the fact that she is the mother of my child.” His patience seemed to wear thin. He gave me an ultimatum. “Divorce her now, and I’ll have Audrey leave you with a few thousand dollars. Keep this up, and your life is going to get very miserable.” Even Anna, who was usually so composed, was starting to lose her temper. She took out her phone, turned on the flashlight, and shone it directly on the tombstone. “Wayne, take a good, hard look at the photo on this stone. Is that the Audrey you’ve been sleeping with?” Wayne stared at the photograph. After a few seconds of silence, he pointed an accusing finger at me. “You’re a cruel bastard, Connor,” he seethed. “You actually put your wife’s picture on a tombstone just to sell this lie!” Seeing that he was still in denial, my friends finally stepped in. “Kid, are you having a breakdown? Connor’s wife really did die three years ago.” “There was a huge news story about a fatal avalanche at a ski resort three years back. Look it up.” Watching Wayne’s shocked and furious expression, a suspicion began to form in my mind. “The Audrey you know… does she like to ski?” He nodded, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Of course. She’s the one who taught me how.” “Three years ago,” I said, my voice heavy, “she went skiing at a resort overseas. There was a freak blizzard and an avalanche. She was buried under the snow. The rescue team searched for a week but never found her body. They concluded her body was swept off a cliff. No chance of survival.” I pulled out my phone and showed him photos from her funeral. Her parents were in the front row, their faces etched with grief. “Her parents accepted it. They chose this plot, this gravestone. Her legal status is deceased. I think you’ve been scammed, Wayne. The woman you’re with cannot be her.” Wayne’s expression shifted from confusion to shock, then to rage as he felt the weight of everyone’s pitying stares. “You’re lying, Connor! I just texted her on the way here. She said she’s coming to demand a divorce from you personally!” Anna had completely lost her patience. She took my hand. “He’s a psychopath, Connor. Let’s not waste any more time on him. Let’s go back and salvage your birthday.” Wayne started snapping pictures of us again, vowing to expose my “affair.” Just as I turned to leave with Anna, Wayne suddenly jumped up and down, waving frantically towards the cemetery entrance. “Audrey, you’re here! I knew you’d come for me!”

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The spotlight glared at the launch event for the Stellara Apex S8. This was supposed to be the moment my wife, Caroline—the CEO—finally told the world about us. But then he walked on stage, her old flame, Fred, just back from a long stint overseas, his smile dripping with smug satisfaction. “Caroline,” he announced, his voice booming through the auditorium, “I can finally love you out in the open, for everyone to see.” Caroline didn’t explain. She didn’t even glance my way. Instead, she leaned in and gave him a soft, lingering kiss right there on stage, then declared to the world that Fred was the new Lead Developer of the Apex S8 project. The reaction was instantaneous. Applause thundered through the hall, and online forums exploded with messages of congratulations. They were a power couple, a perfect match. Seeing my stony silence, Caroline’s eyes narrowed, flashing a warning. “Ethan, what’s with the long face? You got a problem?” I didn’t argue. I didn’t cause a scene. I just gave her a slight nod and, in front of everyone, tossed my Lead Developer badge into the nearest trash can. “Of course I have a problem,” I said, my voice calm but carrying. “A man of Fred’s talent deserves more than just a title. Why stop at an announcement? You two should get married right here, right now. Let us all share in the joy.” 1 A wave of shock rippled through my colleagues as they watched my badge clatter against the bottom of the bin. They knew. They all knew I’d bled for the Apex S8, run myself into the ground, a collection of stress-induced illnesses my only reward. But then, a flicker of understanding dawned on their faces. One by one, they gave me subtle nods, some even a thumbs-up, their expressions a mix of pity and admiration for my supposed “magnanimity.” Only Caroline, on her throne of a stage, looked ready to kill. I met her furious gaze without a shred of desire to explain myself. Caroline had always hated the idea of office romance. In our six years of marriage, my existence as her husband was the company’s best-kept secret. I’d pleaded with her, time and again, to go public, but she’d always shut me down, claiming a CEO had to set an example. She promised me that on the day the Apex S8 was successfully launched, she would finally acknowledge me. Now, with a casual smile, she had handed my life’s work, my identity, to another man. As the crowd’s whispers turned to Fred, their eyes filled with a new, speculative curiosity, Caroline’s patience finally snapped. “Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed into her mic. I managed a thin, bitter smile. “Who am I to stand in the way of true love?” My devotion had been worthless against the ghost of a past romance. I said no more, simply turned my back on the stage, and walked out. The Apex S8 was a triumph because of my sleepless nights and my network of top-tier industry contacts who’d helped me push the core technology to its limits. I had collapsed from exhaustion more times than I could count, all to build the pedestal she was standing on today. But now, the last embers of my love for her had turned to ash. I was done building a world for someone else to live in. The project was nearly complete, but I knew Fred. He was all style and no substance, a “visionary” with a fancy overseas degree who wouldn’t be able to finish my remaining work in three years, let alone three weeks. Outside, I unlocked the beat-up electric scooter Caroline had so “generously” provided for me. A hollow laugh escaped my lips. For six years, she controlled every penny. I’d asked for a simple car for my commute, just a used sedan, but she’d refused. “We already have a car,” she’d said, her voice sharp with disapproval. “Why waste the money? Do you have to compare yourself to everyone else?” But in six years, she’d never once let me ride in her car, always citing appearances. I’d accepted it, telling myself it was for the good of the company. I finally understood the truth the day Fred returned and she bought him a brand-new Maybach without a second thought. It was never about the company. It was just that she never had any room for me in her heart. My own heart felt like a dead weight in my chest. I was about to head home to pack my things when the gleaming black Maybach cut me off. Fred rolled down the window, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Ethan, you really think Caroline would ever go public with a broke-ass loser like you? You’re dreaming. Thank God she announced it was me today. Imagine the laughing stock the company would be if it were you.” He looked down on me, his words dripping with contempt. It was his favorite game: provoke me, then play the victim to drive a wedge between Caroline and me. Nearly every fight we’d ever had could be traced back to him. This time, I couldn’t be bothered to engage. Just then, Caroline appeared. In a flash, Fred gunned the engine and deliberately scraped the Maybach against a nearby utility pole. “Oh my God, Ethan, are you okay?” he cried, feigning panic. “It’s all my fault, I didn’t see you on your scooter!” He scrambled out of the car, rushing to my side with a look of theatrical concern. “I know you’re upset that I got the credit for your work, but you shouldn’t have swerved in front of me like that! What if you’d been seriously hurt? I’d feel guilty for the rest of my life.” I was done with the drama. I tried to ride away, but Caroline was faster. One swift, brutal kick sent me and the scooter crashing to the pavement. “If you want to die, go do it somewhere else!” she snarled, her face a mask of cold fury. “Don’t you dare try to pin this on Fred!” If she had just looked, just for a second, she would have seen who was truly at fault. But she didn’t want to see. In that moment, the last of my hope withered and died. Fred pretended to help me up. I shoved his hand away, and he immediately crumpled to the ground, wincing in fake pain. It was kindergarten-level acting, but for Caroline, it was an award-winning performance. Without a word, she slapped me hard across the face, then rushed to Fred, cradling him in her arms as if he were made of glass. She bundled him into the Maybach and sped away, running three red lights to get him to a hospital. The scene replayed in my mind: the time I’d been hospitalized with a bleeding stomach after a brutal networking dinner for the company. She’d shown up, handed me a bottle of water and some antacids, and told me to rest up. I let out a dry, bitter laugh, pulled my battered scooter upright, and went home. Later that night, Fred posted on his story. “Getting hurt isn’t so bad when the boss buys you a five-star dinner.” The picture was of Caroline, smiling sweetly as she fed him a bite of food. Expressionless, I typed a single comment: A match made in heaven. A moment later, my phone rang. It was Caroline. I expected her to yell at me for ruining their dinner. Instead, her voice was soft. “Ethan, you know how Fred is. He’s just… young. Give him a few years to mature, and then I’ll tell everyone about us. I promise.” “The Lead Developer title is just for show,” she continued. “Behind the scenes, you’ll still be in charge. The team still answers to you.” “Mhm,” I said, my voice flat. The classic one-two punch of cruelty and kindness. I’d been swallowing that bait for six years. Now, I was sick of it. Sensing my mood, she paused. “I left a gift for you in the drawer,” she said finally. “A little something to make up for today. Can we just… not fight about this?” I opened the drawer. Inside was a beautifully wrapped box. Printed on the gift tag, in elegant script, were the words: For my dearest Fred. So it was his gift. No wonder she sounded so conflicted giving it to me. I didn’t argue. I didn’t say another word. I just quietly ended the call. I didn’t even bother to open it. The box went straight into the trash. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed the number for a recruiter at Tesla, a man who’d been trying to poach me for years. “I’ve made my decision,” I said. “I can start next month.” 2 As one of the top EV companies in the world, Tesla had been sending me offers for years. Each year, the salary and benefits got better. But I had turned them down every time, without a moment’s hesitation, all to stay by Caroline’s side. On the other end of the line, the recruiter, fearing I might change my mind, immediately offered me the position of Director of R&D, complete with a company car and a fully furnished house. A knot tightened in my chest. In a single phone call, a stranger had shown me more value and respect than my own wife had in six years of marriage. I thought back to the beginning. It was Caroline’s offhand comment about wanting to be a CEO that made me give up a guaranteed executive position to start a company with her from scratch. I poured my life into it. Countless all-nighters, endless schmoozing for investors, a body wracked with chronic illnesses—that was the price I paid to put her, who had done nothing, on the CEO’s throne. I willingly became the ghost in the machine, the man behind the curtain. I had given her everything she ever wanted, only to watch her hand it all to someone else. From now on, I was living for myself. That night, I booked a flight and drafted my resignation letter. I also compiled all the final technical specifications, safety protocols, and a detailed pricing strategy for the Apex S8, and sent it all to Caroline’s email. Now, I owed her nothing. As I packed, I unearthed a trove of long-forgotten memories. Matching sweaters, his-and-hers bracelets, a photo album filled with snapshots of a happier time. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, a testament to how long they’d been neglected. It all started to change the day Fred came back. The cozy nights in our tiny apartment, the fireworks we watched on New Year’s Eve, the way she’d stay up with me whenever I was sick, the promises we whispered in the dark—all of it slowly faded. It was replaced by her all-nighters at the “office,” her weekend trips with Fred. Even when I was sick in bed, she no longer offered a single word of comfort. Love, I realized, could truly die. I had once asked her why, my heart aching with confusion. Her response was a cold wave of disdain. “We’ve been married for years, Ethan. How can you be so much less mature than Fred?” “Fred is a talent, a visionary. Of course I’m going to give him more resources. It’s for the future of our company. Can’t you be less petty for once?” Staring at the photo album, I felt a profound sense of foolishness. I tossed it into the trash can with the rest of the garbage. My phone buzzed. A message from Caroline. “Working late at the office. I can’t make it for our anniversary tonight. We’ll celebrate next year.” I didn’t reply. I just quietly canceled the flowers and the reservation I’d made for our candlelight dinner. In the past, she would have just ghosted me. This time, she at least bothered to make an excuse. Progress, I supposed. I scrolled mindlessly through my news feed. The top story featured a splashy headline: “Tech CEO and Her Old Flame Spotted on a Romantic Beach Getaway, Complete with Fireworks.” The faces in the photo were painfully familiar. Caroline and Fred. The comments were flooded with heart emojis and blessings. I added my own like to their happiness. Then, I took a long, hot shower, went out for a drink, and stopped by a print shop to get copies of a divorce petition. It was well past midnight when I stumbled back home. The first thing I saw was Caroline, standing in the living room, her face a thundercloud of fury. “So now you have the guts to go out carousing all night, do you?” 3 I yawned, a little surprised. She was actually home. Usually, whenever Fred was involved, she’d stay with him, glued to his side. I ignored her and started for the bedroom. She grabbed my arm, her grip like steel. “It’s our anniversary, and you go out drinking? And here I was, rushing back from work just to be with you.” Her voice was laced with accusation. “Ethan, is this how you fulfill your duties as a husband?” Duties? The woman could lie without blinking, and now she had the audacity to lecture me about responsibility? She spends our anniversary watching fireworks with another man, then comes home to blame me for being irresponsible. I remembered all the nights I’d waited up for her, only to be called “immature” and “clingy,” to be told I should focus my energy on work instead of bothering her. Now that I’d stopped caring, she couldn’t stand it. “Yeah, whatever,” I mumbled, just wanting to sleep. She yanked me back, her eyes cold and hard. “I haven’t showered. You can join me.” A year ago, an invitation like that would have sent my heart soaring. I would have dropped everything, all my anger and resentment, to wash her back and feel her close. Now, it just felt like another one of her games. I noticed the faint, dark mark on her neck—a kiss. A wave of nausea washed over me. I pushed her away, my voice rough with irritation. “I’ve already showered. You go.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Is this because I came home late on our anniversary? I told you, I was busy with work! Why are you being so unreasonable?” she demanded. “I didn’t say a word about you going out drinking, and this is the attitude I get?” With that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. In the past, I would have chased after her. I would have begged, apologized, and taken all the blame. Tonight, I just climbed into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed and made myself a single-portion breakfast. Just as I was about to eat, I noticed Caroline was still home. That was new. She never came back unless I groveled first. With a sigh, I pushed my plate across the table to her. Her expression softened slightly. Then I saw them. A set of Porsche keys sitting on the counter. My heart gave a painful lurch. It was my dream car, the one I’d told her about a hundred times, the one she always said we couldn’t afford. Noticing my gaze, Caroline had the grace to look uncomfortable. “They’re a birthday present for Fred,” she said quietly. “I’ll get yours next time.” The world plunged into an icy abyss. I laughed, a hollow, self-mocking sound. Of course. Why did I think for a second she might have changed? I nodded, forcing a smile. Then I slid two documents across the table toward her. “Just a couple of papers that need your signature.” She took them, her annoyance returning. “Give you an inch and you take a mile.” She signed the first document—my resignation letter—without even reading it. A sharp pain lanced through my chest, even though I’d expected it. She signed the second one, too. It wasn’t until she’d finished her signature that she looked at the title. Divorce Agreement.

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1 To save my boyfriend, the man with the failing heart, I worked myself to the point of collapse. I juggled multiple jobs, scrimping and saving every penny for his treatment. I was so broke I couldn’t even afford medicine when I got sick myself. So when I heard about the “Gold Dust Challenge”—a publicity stunt where you could literally scramble for gold flakes on the ground—I signed up without a second thought. I was on my hands and knees, scrambling through dirt and gravel like a feral dog, desperate to find enough “gold dust” to exchange for cash. For his life. I was led inside to a back office to cash in my findings. And through the thin wall, I heard his voice. A reporter was interviewing him. “Mr. Schwimmer, you spent over three million dollars on this event, all to bring a smile to Miss Isabelle Vance’s face. Your devotion is truly something to be admired.” A familiar, chillingly casual voice replied. “It’s nothing. If it makes Isabelle happy, then letting these desperate people grovel for it is the most value they’ll ever provide.” I clutched the three thousand dollars I had just earned, the irony a bitter pill in my throat. … My boyfriend, Patrick Schwimmer, was a poor kid with a congenital heart defect who couldn’t rub two pennies together. That’s what he’d told me. So my first reaction was denial. It couldn’t be him. The man who couldn’t afford a thirty-dollar co-pay couldn’t possibly be the one who just dropped three million on a party. Besides, my Patrick was in the hospital right now, his heart too weak to leave his bed. It had to be a coincidence. Someone who sounded like him, who also happened to be named Schwimmer. But the next sound shattered that fragile hope. A woman’s delicate laughter, a sound I recognized with a sickening jolt. “Oh, Patrick,” Isabelle Vance cooed, “they look just like little puppies, don’t they? It’s hysterical! Especially that one who looks a bit like your girlfriend, Leah. Look at how hard she’s trying. She must be desperate for the money.” I heard a sharp intake of breath. On the other side of the wall, Patrick’s eyes were glued to the monitor displaying the live feed of the event. He quickly typed something on his phone. A second later, my own phone buzzed. [Baby, where are you? Don’t push yourself too hard. Rest if you’re tired.] A bitter laugh escaped my lips. My hand trembled so badly I could barely hold the phone. [Don’t worry, I’m resting now. I found a great gig today, made a full three thousand!] He sent back a kissing emoji. [That’s my girl. Another few days of hospital bills covered.] How utterly laughable. A grotesque smile stretched my lips, but tears streamed down my face like pearls from a broken string. Convinced the pathetic creature on the screen wasn’t me, Patrick relaxed. He chuckled. “On all fours like that,” he said to Isabelle. “They really do look like dogs begging their master for a bone.” The room erupted in laughter. “Look at the way she’s sticking her butt in the air! It’s like she’s wagging her tail!” “People like that would do anything for money. I bet if you told her to lick your shoes, she’d do it without a second thought.” “Mr. Schwimmer’s shoes are custom-made, worth millions! Letting trash like her lick them would be an honor!” On my side of the wall, I stared down at my own worn-out sneakers, my big toe poking through a hole. In that moment, my dignity shattered into a million pieces. 2 I took the money and turned to leave, but I ran straight into Patrick. He saw me, and for a fleeting second, panic flashed in his eyes. Then his gaze fell to my tattered work uniform, and his expression soured with a subtle, unmistakable disgust. He rounded on the security guard. “How did a participant get in here? What are you people paid for?” The event coordinator quickly stepped in. “Mr. Schwimmer, my apologies. This participant needed cash immediately for a medical bill, so we brought her backstage. We’re leaving now.” I stared at Patrick, dumbfounded. He stood there, impossibly handsome and regal in his bespoke suit, looking nothing like a sick man. The fabric was so fine, woven with threads of gold that I could spend a lifetime scrambling for and never afford. My throat was raw. I couldn’t tell if my voice was trembling or if I just couldn’t speak at all. “Patrick,” I finally managed to whisper. “Are you going to pretend you don’t know me?” Before Patrick could answer, the people behind him, the same ones who had just been mocking me, looked horrified. “Is this the famous girlfriend? But… her clothes…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Everyone was thinking it. My face was sallow, my skin rough, my clothes practically rags. I was the woman who had just been crawling on the ground for money. I looked like I was one step away from starving. How could I possibly be Patrick Schwimmer’s girlfriend? Patrick’s face was a mask of fury, the veins on his arm bulging. He looked at me with cold, hard eyes, as if my very presence was a source of profound embarrassment. Isabelle, standing beside him, let out an exaggerated yawn. “Oh, not this again. Another desperate woman trying to get Patrick’s attention. I’ve heard this line so many times it’s boring.” It was the out Patrick needed. He stepped around me without a flicker of recognition. “A rather pathetic attempt at getting my attention,” he said coolly. The bitterness in my mouth was suffocating. My mind flashed back to college. Freshman year, the student council had hazed me, forcing me to run five miles. I refused, and they dumped a bucket of toilet water on my head. They made me stand in the blazing sun for two hours until I finally collapsed. The last thing I saw before I passed out was Patrick scooping me up and rushing me to the infirmary. He told me my defiance, the look in my eyes, shone like a star. From that day on, he was my protector. He stood up for me, even when it meant being punished and humiliated himself. He never cared if my clothes were dirty or if I was a mess. His love felt so real, so true. It was why I had chosen to stay with him, even after he told me about his “heart condition.” The man from my memories and the man standing before me now were two different people. I don’t know where the courage came from, but I lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve. The expensive fabric wrinkled, leaving white marks from the dust on my fingers. His eyes flashed with irritation. “I doubt you could afford to replace this if you sold everything you own.” I cut him off. “Since you’re not sick, and you’re not poor… can I have my money back?” Because I’m the one who’s sick now. With a single look from Patrick, the people behind him tactfully withdrew. “I faked being poor and sick to test you,” he said, his voice low and cold. “To see if you were like all the other women, just after my money.” “It seems you’re all the same.” I didn’t argue. I just looked at him and repeated my question. “Can I have my money back?” He yanked his arm away with such force that I stumbled and fell to the floor. “You dirtied my clothes, and you have the audacity to ask me for money?” 3 He saw my tear-filled eyes, and his tone softened slightly. “Don’t go to work for the next few days. Get some rest. I’ve scheduled some appointments with a few stylists. We’ll give you a makeover.” He paused, looking down at me. “Until then, let’s just pretend we don’t know each other, okay?” It was as if I hadn’t heard him. I enunciated each word with chilling clarity. “Give. Me. My. Money.” His patience snapped. His eyes darkened, and he ground out the words through clenched teeth. “If you just behave, I’ll give you any amount of money you want.” He said it as if he were making a great concession. “Even if you only got close to me for my money, fine. I accept it.” I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely. “Patrick, let’s break up.” He laughed, a smug, knowing sound. “Afraid I’ll think you’re a gold digger, so you’re preemptively breaking up with me? Is that the game?” “You knew my identity all along, didn’t you? You deliberately joined this event. Even crawling on the ground… you did that for us to see, didn’t you?” I stared at him in disbelief. I had never known him to be so delusional. “Patrick, how did I never realize how disgusting you are?” I spat. “If you hadn’t faked being sick, would I have had to work myself to the bone? My life would be better without you.” He sneered. “Still pretending?” “Without me, do you think you would have graduated? Without me, do you think you would have landed a job at a Fortune 500 company right out of college? You’re nothing without me!” I turned my back on him, no longer wanting to waste another breath. His voice, dripping with certainty, followed me. “You won’t last a week. You’ll come crawling back to me.” The next few days were a living hell. One by one, my part-time jobs suddenly “no longer needed me.” Then, my corporate job fired me, offering a generous severance package just to get me out the door. The moment the money hit my account, long-lost relatives I’d never met materialized, claiming my parents owed them money. After everything, all I had left was the three thousand dollars from the Gold Dust Challenge. I clutched my chest, each breath a struggle. Three years of sleeping only five hours a night had taken its toll. My body was shutting down. After buying my medication, I didn’t even have enough left for rent. Every company I applied to rejected me the second they heard my name. Just as I was about to lose all hope, I got an offer for a one-day gig. When I arrived, I realized my employer was Isabelle. She poured a glass of water on the floor and ordered me to clean it up on my hands and knees. One of her friends poked me with a stick, tsking theatrically. “You stink,” Isabelle said with a laugh. Then she kicked me into the swimming pool and watched me struggle to stay afloat, plastering hundred-dollar bills to my soaked, semi-sheer shirt. When I remained silent, she seemed to lose interest. “Don’t you have any dignity?” I gathered the wet bills, tucking them carefully into my pocket. “Dignity is a luxury for the rich. You’ve never been poor. You wouldn’t understand.” She smiled. “What about this? Does this mean anything to you?” I looked at the necklace in her hand, and my world stopped. It was the only thing my mother had ever given me. I had given it to Patrick on his birthday. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I lunged at her, but a strong hand caught me mid-air. Patrick held me back easily, looking at me like I was a misbehaving pet. “Isabelle has a weak heart,” he said calmly. “Just let it go. How much is the necklace worth? I’ll buy it from her for you.”

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1 I deleted my account. The one with a million followers. My followers were baffled, speculating that I’d been hacked. But Mary, my direct competitor in the beauty niche, cornered me. “Why did you just give up?” she demanded. “Are you insane?” I ignored the noise. I packed a bag and set off to see the world, alone. In my last life, my content and Mary’s were identical. The internet called me a clone, a cheap copycat destined to fade away. The hate flooded my DMs, and then it spilled into the real world. I tried to fight back. I posted screenshots of my creative briefs, my behind-the-scenes footage, time-stamped to prove I was the original creator. They called it all fake. The relentless cyberbullying pushed me into a deep depression, and one sunny afternoon, I slit my wrists and bled out on the floor of my cramped apartment. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the very first day Mary stole my video. My finger was hovering over the “Publish” button. One more centimeter, one more second, and I would make the mistake that would cost me my life. A violent shiver wracked my body, and I snatched my hand back as if from a fire. My chest heaved, and I gasped for air, like a drowning woman breaking the surface. The familiar room, the half-finished video on my screen… I was back. Reborn on the day I was supposed to launch my new style. After the initial shock subsided, I saved the video to my drafts and immediately searched for Mary’s social media. Her latest video popped up. It was a complete departure from her usual style. Her previous content was bland, the editing clumsy, barely scraping a few hundred likes. This new video, posted only thirty minutes ago, had already racked up tens of thousands. The comments were on fire. “Holy crap, that look would be a final boss in a survival horror story.” “A 10k account doing the work of a million-follower influencer. GO OFF, QUEEN.” “Is that even a human face? That’s illegal levels of gorgeous.” “WIFEY. OMG, someone stole my literal soulmate.” … The moody lighting, the bold makeup, the camera angles, the background music, even the caption—every single element was a perfect, horrifying mirror of the video sitting in my drafts. If I didn’t know for a fact that the idea came from a British drama I’d been binge-watching, that the script was the result of my own sleepless nights, I would have thought I was the copycat. But the reality was, Mary had beaten me to it. And she had gone viral overnight. Last time, this exact video was the start of my long, slow execution by a thousand digital cuts. I had published it, my heart swelling with pride, expecting praise and recognition. Instead, the comment section was a warzone. Accusations of plagiarism, with everyone tagging the “original” creator. I clicked the link they provided. And there it was. Mary’s video, posted just before mine. The similarity was 99.9%. But I knew I hadn’t copied anyone. Fury burned through me. To prove my innocence, I released my scripts and behind-the-scenes footage. It was useless. Mary produced her own “creative process” documentation, timestamped even earlier than mine. The internet mob turned on me with a vengeance. “Pretty sure she had this ‘proof’ ready from the start, just to slander Mary.” “SUPPORT CREATORS! BOYCOTT COPYCATS!” “Ava needs to get out of the beauty community. This isn’t the career for you, honey. Stop trying to force it.” “LMAO, talk about getting owned.” Then her management team and agency issued official statements, declaring their unwavering commitment to originality and outlining their collaborative creative process. I was just a solo creator. Everything, from concept to final cut, was done by me, and me alone. I had no one to vouch for me. And then, my own boyfriend, Joey, delivered the final, crushing blow. He posted a video publicly breaking up with me, claiming my past work was just a “Frankenstein’s monster” of ideas stitched together from other influencers. He called me a serial plagiarist. His betrayal was Thor’s hammer, shattering what little was left of my credibility. I was plunged into a deeper abyss. My comment sections became a cesspool of righteous indignation; my DMs were a gallery of horrors. The constant pressure choked my creativity. No brands would work with me. My savings dwindled. After a series of escalating self-harm incidents, I finally saw a psychiatrist and was diagnosed with severe depression. And on a bright, beautiful afternoon, I chose to end my own life. But I opened my eyes again. Back where it all began. Nothing has happened yet. This time, I have to figure out what the hell is going on. 2 Clinging to a sliver of hope, I switched to a burner account and dug through Mary’s other social media profiles. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the type to share her daily work life. Just as I was about to give up, I saw it. A familiar figure in the background of a group photo. I zoomed in on the live photo, my heart pounding. The image shifted, revealing the person’s left hand. On his finger was a ring I knew better than my own reflection. It was Joey’s hand. That ring was my first-anniversary gift to him. I’d had it custom-designed. There wasn’t another one like it in the world. So, at some point, Joey had been cheating on me with Mary. No wonder he had abandoned me so ruthlessly, throwing his support behind her the moment the scandal broke. There was no time to mourn the scumbag. My mind was already racing. I often vented to Joey about my work, sharing my half-formed ideas and flashes of inspiration. Could he have leaked my concepts to Mary? It was more than possible. But he was supposedly on a “business trip” and hadn’t been home in a while. And even if he were here, he’d never let me touch his phone. I had no hard evidence. But it was a start. I sent Joey the photo, told him we were done, and then blocked his number without a second thought. I immediately changed the passcodes on all the locks to my apartment, making sure he couldn’t get in while I was gone. With that loose end tied up, I turned my attention back to my work. I had to create something new. This time, there would be no mistakes. To be safe, I decided to pivot my style again. The stolen video was my first attempt at breaking out of my comfort zone, ditching the sweet, innocent, skinny-girl aesthetic for something more bold and confident. Since that concept had resonated so strongly, I was sure my next one would be even bigger. After hours of brainstorming, I finally finished the script. I looked at the concept on my screen and smiled, a real, satisfied smile. There was no way she could steal this one. To prevent any leaks, I shot the entire video inside my apartment, avoiding any public locations. As I watched the final cut, I felt a surge of pride. I was a natural-born content creator. To be extra cautious, I went to Mary’s latest video and left a comment from my burner account: “Can’t wait for your next video, queen! Please post soon!” She replied a short time later: “This last video took so much out of me, I think I’ll be taking a little break to recharge. Sorry!” I replied with a crying-cat emoji and breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed she had no plans to post anytime soon. My theory was likely correct. She had probably heard my idea from Joey and rushed to produce it. But could two people have the exact same idea, down to the last detail? For now, I had to chalk it up to a bizarre coincidence. Some people just have similar tastes. I uploaded my finished video to the platform’s backend, typed out the caption, and prepared to hit publish. Suddenly, a notification popped up from my burner account. I tapped on it. And my blood ran cold.

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