In my past life, my son Tony was in acute heart failure and desperately needed the only available biological valve. Yet, my husband, Richard, forced the hospital to give it to his first love’s son, Harry, to treat a minor heart murmur. I knelt before him, begging until my forehead was bloody and bruised, only to receive his cold, indifferent sneer. “Vivian’s son is sensitive, he cannot handle a fright. Can you stop being so malicious?” Later, Tony died of cardiac arrest on the operating table. In my absolute despair, I set fire to our home, dragging them all to hell with me. Reborn into this life, when Richard demanded the valve once again, I simply wiped my tears. I smiled and handed him the surgical consent form. “Fine. Give it to him. I won’t fight you for it.” But the moment he took the paper, Richard’s hand began to shake. 1 “Gwen, although Harry only has a congenital defect, he has always been sensitive and afraid of pain,” Richard’s voice echoed in the sterile, white hallway of the hospital, carrying a familiar, cold arrogance. “Tony’s heart is failing, yes, but he has always been a resilient boy. Besides, his rejection rate is incredibly high. Even if we gave him this valve, his body might not accept it. It is better to wait for the next batch.” “As my wife, can you try to show some basic compassion? Do you really have to fight a single mother over her child’s only lifeline?” The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway made my eyes burn. I blinked, staring at the man standing in front of me, his expression twisted with impatience. Richard. My husband, the man I once loved more than life itself, and the man I ultimately grew to despise with every fiber of my being. In his hand, he tightly gripped the surgical allocation slip. That slip represented the only highly compatible bio-active valve in the state, the final hope to save our son Tony’s life. In our past life, at this exact door of the pediatric intensive care unit, I had clawed at him like a wild animal when he suggested giving the valve to Vivian’s son. I had wept, screaming that Tony had been confined to that freezing hospital bed for three months, that his heart could stop beating at any second. But Richard had kicked me to the floor with utter disgust. My head had slammed against the hard marble, blood blurring my vision. He didn’t even look back at me as he turned and handed the allocation slip to a weeping Vivian. Looking down at me, he had said, “Gwen, the way you behave makes me sick. No wonder Tony is always so sickly under your care.” Ultimately, because he missed his critical surgical window, Tony’s tiny body grew cold in my arms on a stormy night. Before he drew his last breath, he clutched my finger and whispered, “Mom, it doesn’t hurt. Please don’t cry.” After my son’s death, I lost my mind. Richard claimed I was suffering from severe postpartum depression. To bury his own guilt, he committed me to a psychiatric hospital. On the day of Tony’s memorial, he took Vivian and Harry to Disneyland to celebrate Harry’s recovery. In that asylum, I found a box of matches and set the building on fire. The flames painted the night sky red. They didn’t kill that despicable couple, but they consumed me. The phantom pain of my flesh burning still seemed to linger in the depths of my soul. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to this very day. Seeing my silence, Richard assumed I was preparing to throw another tantrum. His expression darkened, his voice growing sharper. “Gwen, I am talking to you. Stop playing dead.” “Vivian is a single mother raising a child alone in this city. If anything happens to Harry, it will destroy her life.” “Besides, I was the one who pulled strings to get this valve. I have the right to decide who gets it.” 2 Not far away, Vivian stood leaning against the wall, dressed in a pale blue hospital gown. In her arms, Harry was playing a cartoon on an iPad at maximum volume, his cheeks flushed with healthy color. He looked nowhere near a state of critical illness. Seeing me look over, Vivian instantly put on a panicked expression, tears flowing on command. “Richard, Gwen, I am so sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have brought Harry to this hospital.” “If Gwen is unwilling, let it go. I will take Harry back and manage his condition with medication. At worst, he just won’t be able to play sports.” As she spoke, her body began to slide weakly toward the floor. Richard reacted instantly, catching her in his arms. He turned to glare at me. “Gwen! Will you only be satisfied when you have driven this poor mother and child to their graves?” Looking at this performance, I found it incredibly absurd. In my past life, I cared too much about Richard. I wanted so desperately to preserve my family. That was why I fought so hard, why I dragged my dignity through the mud, begging him on my knees. And what did I get? I lost my son’s only lifeline, and ultimately, I lost my son. In this life, I would not make the same mistake. I took a deep breath, forcing down the absolute hatred boiling in my chest. Then, I looked up, offering Richard a remarkably gentle smile. “Alright.” Richard froze. His brow furrowed, the lecture he had prepared suddenly trapped in his throat. “What did you say?” I looked at him calmly, my voice softer than it had ever been. “I said, since Harry’s condition is so delicate, let him have it.” “After all, a child’s life is at stake. I wouldn’t want to be malicious.” I pulled a pen from my bag and signed my name on the treatment waiver. The tip of the pen slid across the paper, making a sharp scratching sound. Richard took the signed waiver, a look of bewilderment crossing his face, as if he couldn’t believe I had surrendered so easily. “You are really okay with this?” he asked suspiciously. I nodded, looking through the glass window at Tony, who lay in the ICU bed, hooked up to various tubes. “Yes. I am okay with it.” “You were right. We shouldn’t be selfish. Sometimes, we have to let things go.” The doubt in Richard’s eyes vanished, replaced by the smug satisfaction of a man who had won. “I am glad you finally see sense.” “I knew those tantrums of yours were just cries for attention. Deep down, you know how to behave.” He handed the waiver to Vivian, his voice dripping with tenderness. “Go register for the procedure, Vivian. Let’s not delay Harry’s surgery.” Vivian took the paper, a spark of triumph flashing in her eyes, though she still kept up her fragile act. “Richard, won’t Gwen hold a grudge against me for this?” “She won’t.” Richard didn’t even look at me as he wrapped his arm around Vivian’s shoulders, leading her toward the administrative office. “She is being sensible now. She finally understands what matters.” Their figures disappeared down the long hallway. They looked exactly like a happy, devoted family of three. The smile vanished from my face, replaced by an icy, absolute coldness. I looked down at Tony’s pale little face, gently running my fingers over his bruised hand, scarred from constant intravenous lines. My tears fell silently onto the white sheets. Tony, I am so sorry. Mom is not giving up on you. It is because Mom knows that this valve is actually a death sentence. In my past life, after Harry received that valve, I uncovered the truth. That specific batch of biological valves carried a severe genetic defect. Because of a data error during the cultivation process, the valves triggered an extremely violent autoimmune rejection once inside the human body. After Harry received it, his heart murmur disappeared, but his kidneys and liver failed completely within six months. And my Tony, given his incredibly weak state, would have died right on the operating table if we had used it. So, Richard. Since you love that child so much, I am more than happy to let you have this poison. 3 The moment Richard left, I slipped into the emergency stairwell and dialed a number I had kept hidden for years. The phone rang three times before it was answered. A deep, quiet voice came through the line, carrying a hint of disbelief and suppressed hope. “Gwen?” Hearing his voice, my throat tightened, and my tears nearly spilled over. Austin. He was a world-class pediatric cardiothoracic surgeon, my childhood friend, the boy next door who had protected me growing up. In my past life, when Tony was in critical condition, I had wanted to beg him for help. But Richard, driven by toxic jealousy, had spread rumors that Austin and I were having an affair. He threatened to cut off all funding for Tony’s treatment if I ever contacted him. For the sake of Tony’s immediate bills, and to preserve my battered dignity, I had cut off all contact. It was only after Tony died that Austin found out. He flew back from Switzerland immediately. At the cemetery gates, his eyes were bloodshot as he grabbed my shoulders and yelled, “Gwen, why didn’t you call me? Just one word from you, and I would have carved out my own heart to save Tony!” In this life, I would never push away the one person who truly wanted to save my son. “Austin.” I tried to keep my voice steady, though it trembled slightly. “I remember you mentioned that your research center in Switzerland is running a clinical trial for pediatric stem-cell cardiac therapy.” Austin’s tone instantly shifted to professional urgency. “Yes. But there are only three slots globally, and the screening process is extremely rigorous. Is Tony’s condition worsening?” “Yes,” I replied, leaning against the cold concrete wall. “Our options here are exhausted. Richard gave his only matching valve to someone else. I want to bring Tony to Switzerland, to you.” The line went silent for a few seconds. Then, I heard the sound of something heavy falling, as if he had knocked his chair over as he stood up. “Is Richard out of his mind? Tony is his own flesh and blood!” “He lost his mind a long time ago,” I said with a cold laugh. “Austin, I have made up my mind. I will do whatever it takes to save Tony. I will divorce him, I will leave with absolutely nothing.” “Alright.” Austin’s voice was filled with an absolute, reassuring strength. “Leave the clinical slot to me. Even if I have to pull every favor I have, I will secure it for Tony. Your job right now is to protect him and gather all his medical records.” “I will arrange a private medical charter to pick you both up. I should be there in twenty-four hours.” I looked at my watch. “Twenty-four hours. Okay. I will be waiting.” Hanging up the phone, I let out a long, slow breath. One day. If I could just get through this one day, I could take Tony and escape this hell. As for Richard. I looked out the window at the dark, storm-filled sky, a cruel smile touching my lips. Our accounts are finally ready to be settled. That evening, Richard returned to the hospital. He seemed to be in an excellent mood, carrying a large, limited-edition Lego box in his hand. “Harry’s pre-op checks went perfectly today. The doctor says the success rate is very high.” He set the box on the table, glancing at Tony, who was still on oxygen. “Tony isn’t awake yet? This boy is just too weak, he doesn’t take after me at all.” I was wiping Tony’s brow with a damp cloth. My hand paused for a fraction of a second before I replied softly, “The doctor said he needs absolute quiet.” Richard frowned, clearly displeased by my cold reception. “Gwen, I know you are still upset. But today, Harry’s situation was simply more urgent. The doctor said the micro-procedure is much easier to recover from.” “Besides, I bought this for Tony. It is the Star Wars collector’s set he has been asking for. I had someone import it from Europe.” 4 His tone was entirely patronizing, as if I should be kneeling to thank him for his generosity. I looked at the box. It was indeed the Star Wars set. But it was a highly complex model rated for ages fourteen and up. Tony was only five years old. Because of his heart failure, his hands shook so badly he could barely hold a spoon, let alone assemble thousands of tiny plastic blocks. I had explained this to Richard dozens of times. But he never bothered to listen. In his mind, he only remembered that Harry loved complex assembly toys because it made him look intelligent. This toy had probably been bought in duplicate. One for Harry, and the spare tossed to my son. I didn’t expose him. I simply pushed the box to the corner of the table. “Tony cannot play with this right now. Keep it.” Richard’s expression immediately hardened. “Gwen, don’t be ungrateful. I went out of my way to buy this for him, and this is how you behave?” “Are you still bitter because I gave the valve to Harry? Do you think I don’t love Tony?” “I told you, Harry’s case was an exception! Besides, I am Tony’s father. Even a beast wouldn’t harm its own offspring. Do you honestly think I would hurt him?” Father? Hearing that word come out of his mouth was so nauseating it made my skin crawl. In our past life, while Tony was in the emergency room being resuscitated, Richard was at the aquarium with Harry, watching the whales. On the day Tony was cremated, he was hosting a celebration dinner for Harry’s recovery. He even allowed Harry to play with Tony’s urn, knocking it to the floor. When I screamed, he simply shrugged and said, “He is just a child, he didn’t mean it. Don’t be so dramatic.” That was his version of being a father. I turned around, looking him dead in the eye, my gaze cutting like glass. “Richard, do you truly love Tony?” Richard flinched slightly under my stare. He quickly looked away, his voice rising to cover his guilt. “Of course I do! If I don’t love him, who do I love? I work myself to the bone every day to support this family, to pay for his treatments!” “But look at you. Ever since Tony got sick, you have become completely unhinged. You are paranoid, suspicious, constantly complaining like a miserable shrew.” “If you had half of Vivian’s grace and understanding, this home wouldn’t be so cold.” Vivian, always Vivian. In his world, Vivian was the golden standard of perfection. She was gentle, elegant, and understanding, the eternal muse of his youth. And I was simply the bitter, nagging woman who did nothing but ask for money. I nodded, agreeing with him. “You are right. I am nothing like her.” “So from now on, I will learn from her.” “Whatever decisions you make, I will support them. I won’t argue with you anymore.” Richard was stunned. He clearly hadn’t expected such an easy submission. He studied my face suspiciously, but finding no trace of sarcasm, he let out a sigh of relief. He reached out to drape his arm over my shoulder, a satisfied smile returning to his face. “That is my girl. There is no reason for husband and wife to keep secrets.” “As long as you behave and stop making scenes, I will take good care of you both. Once Harry’s surgery is successful, I will take us all on a vacation.” I subtly stepped back, avoiding his arm, and went back to packing my things. “I am tired. You should go rest.” Richard’s hand hovered in the air, before he pulled it back with an awkward chuckle. “Alright. You should get some sleep too. I am going back to the office tonight to oversee a major project.” To the office? He was going to the hospital to stay with Vivian and her son. I didn’t call him out. I simply gave a quiet nod. “Okay. Drive safe.” It was perfect. His absence made my plans much easier to execute.

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I knew perfectly well that my boyfriend’s childhood best friend was practically legally blind. Yet, during a critical wilderness rescue operation, I willingly handed my customized tranquilizer rifle over to her. Then I pulled out my phone, leaned back against a pine tree, and booted up a mobile battle royale game. I did it because I remembered my past life. Back then, this exact same girl, a big-box store cashier, suddenly stepped up at our tactical training range and shot perfect bullseyes. When people questioned her impossible accuracy, Bella just shrugged and said that scanning barcodes at a cash register was the exact same muscle memory as pulling a trigger. She claimed it was just practice making perfect. From that day on, she replaced me as the core tactical marksman of our elite search and rescue squad. She soaked up all the glory, the media praise, and the massive bonuses. I was reduced to a glorified pack mule, enduring endless eye rolls and mockery from the very teammates I used to protect. It wasn’t until she retired to marry my boyfriend that she finally revealed the truth. She lured me to an empty shooting range, fired a few flawless shots, and laughed in my face. “Riley, I finally don’t have to drag you around like a pathetic shadow anymore,” she had sneered. “So what if you trained until your fingers bled for twenty years? In everyone’s eyes, I’m the only genius sniper around here.” That was when I finally understood. Every single time Bella looked down a scope, she was neurologically linking to my brain, perfectly leeching and replicating my hard-earned shooting skills. Then I blinked, and the world reset. I was reborn, standing right back on the very day Bella first claimed that scanning groceries was the same as firing a high-caliber weapon. This time, I was going to let them all burn. 1 “Fifty-yard stationary, nine points.” “Skeet shooting, twenty-two hits.” “Moving target, eight points.” “Riley, you took first place in the tactical assessment again. You really are the undisputed ace of this squad.” I stared at the crowd of teammates cheering around me. The midday sun glaring off their tactical gear felt entirely surreal. My boyfriend, Connor, jogged over with a polished marksman medal in his hands, flashing a brilliant smile. “Come on, Ry. Take your prize. You earned this.” My hand reached out entirely out of habit. Right at that moment, a loud, obnoxious scoff cut through the applause. My chest tightened. Here it comes. “You guys give out medals for scores like that? I mean, shouldn’t anyone with functioning hands be able to do that?” The squad went dead silent. Everyone turned to see who had the nerve to talk such garbage. When they realized it was Bella, a chorus of mocking laughter broke out. “Ignorance really is bliss,” one of the guys snickered. “A supermarket cashier with a barcode scanner thinks she can look down on elite rescue operatives.” Bella flushed bright red, visibly furious that her little comment had backfired. “It’s just pulling a trigger. What is the big deal? I come from a generational military family. I practically have gunpowder in my blood.” That only made the squad laugh harder. “Your dad is a local gun nut who shoots beer cans in the woods,” someone shouted. “What kind of military family is that? The discount aisle militia?” I watched Bella pout her lips, fully anticipating her next move. Just like in my past life, she was going to latch onto Connor and beg for a turn. Right on cue, Bella grabbed the sleeve of Connor’s tactical jacket and whined. “Connor, please just let me try. What, are you worried I’m going to waste a few dollars in ammo?” She paused, her eyes darting over to lock onto mine. “Or… are you worried Riley will get mad if my score is better than hers?” Connor and I had been a couple for years. We fought side by side in the harshest wilderness environments. He should have known I wasn’t the jealous type. But his reaction was just as disappointing as the last time. Connor furrowed his brow, looking at me with a hint of warning. “Riley, Bella is just acting like a kid. Treat it like a game to humor her. Don’t throw a tantrum over this, okay?” Without waiting for my response, he made the executive decision and guided Bella straight to the firing line. For someone supposedly from a military family, Bella held the rifle like it was a rotting fish. Her posture was stiff, awkward, and completely wrong. But the second the buzzer sounded, a phantom shift took over her body. Her movements became ruthlessly efficient. Her trigger pulls were completely devoid of hesitation. Whether it was a stationary paper target or a mechanical clay pigeon flying across the field, she tracked them with absolute perfection. When the final target popped up, Bella squeezed the trigger. A clean, devastating hit. “Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. Every single one is a dead center hit!” The squad could not hide their absolute shock. They swarmed her immediately, practically vibrating with excitement. “You just shattered Riley’s all-time record! You are an absolute natural. A total prodigy!” I looked over at Connor. He wasn’t even glancing in my direction. He ran straight to Bella and wrapped her in a massive bear hug. “Bella, when the hell did you learn to shoot like this? Why didn’t you tell me?” Bella soaked up the attention, her face glowing with smug satisfaction. “It really isn’t a big deal. You look at the target, you pull the trigger. The bullets go in a straight line. It’s not rocket science.” 2 The entire squad was already drunk on the fantasy of discovering a hidden tactical genius. “Bella, you have never touched a firearm in your life, and you didn’t even flinch. Riley comes from a family of elite marksmen, and she literally cried the first time she fired a gun.” Surrounded by a chorus of aggressive flattery, Bella was practically floating. “I really don’t know what to tell you guys. What is the difference between scanning a bag of chips and pulling a trigger? Maybe Riley is just a little too pampered and delicate.” Not a single guy on the squad cared about the blatant insult she just hurled at me. They were all talking over each other, demanding that Connor recruit Bella onto the team immediately. Connor’s face was plastered with absolute pride. That was when I stepped forward. “Captain. Bella has exceptional accuracy, but she has absolutely zero physical conditioning or field training. Throwing a civilian straight into live wilderness operations is a massive liability. She won’t know how to move with the unit.” In my past life, Bella joined the squad midway through the season. Her stamina was pathetic, and her survival instincts were nonexistent. Aside from stealing my shooting skills, her only contribution to the team was constantly dragging us down and putting lives at risk. I suggested she go through basic physical conditioning first. But Bella immediately twisted it, crying to the squad that I was purely jealous. She convinced them I wanted her gone so I could keep all the glory for myself. Because of that, Connor stripped me of my sniper designation. He forced me to become Bella’s personal pack mule, carrying her heavy rifle and tactical gear through miles of treacherous terrain just so she wouldn’t get tired. This time, the trap hadn’t been sprung yet. If Connor had a shred of actual leadership in him, he would know better than to throw an untrained civilian into the deep woods. Hearing my logic, Connor hesitated. Bella saw him wavering and immediately turned her crosshairs on me. “Riley, I promise I won’t try to steal your spotlight. Please, just give me a chance to change my life. Please?” She covered her face with her hands, letting out pathetic little sobs. “I know I’m just a nobody cashier. I don’t have a rich military pedigree like you do. But is it a crime to be born poor?” I kept my voice dead level, refusing to take the bait. “That is not what I said. Wilderness rescue means navigating cliffsides, ravines, and highly aggressive predators. One wrong step gets people killed. We cannot risk the lives of the team or the victims just to let you play soldier.” But Connor’s expression only darkened with every word I spoke. “That is enough, Riley! So what if you’ve held a rifle longer than she has? Stop acting so damn superior. We get it, you’ve never had a casualty on your watch. Do you want a gold star?” The words caught in my throat. I suddenly remembered that years ago, Connor’s personal negligence on a mission had cost one of our teammates their life. He had just weaponized his own guilt against me. “I am making the call right now. Bella is the new primary marksman for this unit.” A ripple of shock went through the squad. “Captain, if Bella is taking the lead shooter spot, what happens to Riley?” Connor’s tone left zero room for argument. “She just got outperformed by a girl who has never touched a gun before. What right does she have to hold the title? Riley will act as Bella’s support element and carry her gear.” The gavel had fallen. A few guys looked slightly worried about Bella’s lack of experience, but since the captain had made it an official order, they just clapped her on the shoulder and offered congratulations. Seeing that her scheme worked perfectly, Bella couldn’t hide her twisted grin. “Connor, does that mean we get to be partners for the rescue op this afternoon?” Connor stumbled back slightly as she threw her arms around his neck, shooting a rapid, guilty glance in my direction. “Don’t be crazy, Bella. Riley is standing right here. I can’t pair up with you.” Bella rested her chin on Connor’s shoulder, her eyes locked onto mine, dripping with pure provocation. “Riley, you wouldn’t say no to us teaming up, right?” I didn’t even blink. “Absolutely not.” Her face instantly morphed into a mask of deep, agonizing hurt. “Riley, I just want to team up with Connor so we can save lives. It is purely professional. Why does your mind always have to go to such dark, toxic places?” Connor looked at me like a stranger, his eyes full of disgust. “Bella’s only focus is saving people in danger. Why is your mind so filthy, Riley?” Even the rest of the guys chimed in, fully convinced I was acting out of bitter jealousy. “If your aim sucks, go to the range and fix it. Spreading trashy rumors about another girl just makes you look pathetic.” “Connor goes to her supermarket to hang out all the time, and you never threw a fit before. You’re just pissed she took your crown, Riley.” A stampede of absolute rage thundered through my skull. “I said absolutely not, because she cannot walk into a live rescue operation looking like that.” I gestured coldly at her outfit. “She needs properly fitted tactical gear. People project their own insecurities onto others, Bella. Out in the field, there is a lot more to learn than just how to start romantic rumors.” Bella ground her teeth together. “Right. Because when it comes to actual marksmanship, you clearly have absolutely nothing left to teach me.” 3 The squad dispersed. I ignored Bella entirely and began prepping my tactical vest for the afternoon op. The objective was to extract a group of amateur hikers trapped by a highly aggressive wolf pack in a rocky ravine. After we reached our designated overwatch position, I dropped my heavy pack and quickly assembled the customized tranquilizer rifle. We didn’t use lethal rounds. Everything was heavy-duty sedatives, and the rifles were heavily modified for maximum velocity and silence. The second I clicked the bipod into place, Bella shoved her way in front of me and wrapped her hand around the pistol grip. She glanced back over her shoulder, smiling like a venomous snake. “Sorry, Riley. I am the lead shooter now. Why don’t you just sit back and take notes?” I crossed my arms and watched her struggle to get comfortable on the dirt. “I thought you wanted to partner up with Connor?” Connor’s voice crackled through my earpiece. “Bella doesn’t have live combat experience yet. I ordered her to stay by your side so she can shadow your process. Next time, she takes full control of the nest.” I didn’t argue. I just silently pulled a secondary spotting scope out of my bag and set it up in the dirt. We baked under the blistering sun for three brutal hours before the wolf pack finally emerged from the tree line. Ignoring the stinging sweat pouring into my eyes, I immediately locked my scope onto the alpha wolf’s skull. Thwack. A perfect hit to the neck. But I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. My finger was hovering right over the guard when Bella turned her head, grinning ear to ear. “Oops, sorry Riley. You were just moving way too slow. I was terrified the alpha was going to bolt.” For the rest of the op, Bella didn’t give me a single chance to fire. Every single time I mentally locked onto a target, calculated the windage, and prepared to squeeze, her bullet would leave the chamber a split-second before mine. Shot after shot. Her performance was a flawless, terrifying display of lethal precision. She hit every target, bailing the ground team out of deadly corners and ensuring the hikers didn’t take a single scratch. When the dust finally settled and the op was called, the mood was electric. At the base camp celebration that night, we learned the rescued hiker was a billionaire’s son. He personally handed Bella a velvet box stuffed with diamond jewelry as a token of absolute gratitude. Staring at the millions of dollars glittering in the box, Bella couldn’t even pretend to hide the raw greed in her eyes. “I am so sorry, Riley. This was supposed to be your reward.” Connor grabbed Bella by the shoulders, practically glowing with pride. “You have nothing to apologize for. If Riley had been on the trigger today, there is zero chance the op would have gone that smoothly.” The regional director of the rescue company was at the party. He raised a glass to Bella, entirely ignoring me. “Bella, for a rookie on her first live op, your performance was completely unprecedented. I listened to the radio logs. You didn’t utter a single word on the comms, yet your synergy with the ground team was flawless. You were born for this squad.” Bella puffed her chest out. “True synergy doesn’t need to be spoken out loud. It just happens.” She shot me a side-eye. “The guys on the ground are fighting for their lives. Flooding the comms with useless chatter just distracts them and drags them down.” “I trust my aim. No matter what goes wrong, I know I can save them. I don’t need other people sacrificing themselves just to make up for my mistakes.” Standing in the corner of the tent, my head was throbbing. What an absolute load of garbage. A sniper sits at the highest elevation specifically to act as the eyes of the battlefield. Calling out targets and directing traffic is half the job. During the entire op, all Bella did was brain-leech my shooting mechanics. I was the one mentally tracking the wolves, calculating the drops, and quietly adjusting the spotting scope to feed her the angles. Without me doing the heavy mental lifting, she would have been shooting at dirt. But the director was already glaring at me. “Connor, the company’s annual Elite Marksman nomination is going to Bella this year. We have too many people taking up space on the payroll, acting like they own the place while stepping on their teammates’ hard work.” Without giving me a single second to defend myself, the director turned his back and walked away. For the rest of the night, Connor paraded Bella around the VIP tent, introducing her to the wealthy executives and politicians. He entirely forgot about his actual girlfriend. When we finally got back to the compound, Bella proudly announced that the billionaire had gifted her an all-expenses-paid, seven-day trip to Bora Bora. Connor told me it was a well-deserved reward for her heroism. “Oh, by the way, Ry. Bella gets a little spooked sleeping in new places. I want you to clear your stuff out of our room. I’m going to stay with her for a few nights until she gets comfortable. You can move back in later.” Every single bunk in the compound was full. I stared at the dusty, spider-infested storage closet at the end of the hall. I didn’t say a word. Lying on a damp, moldy mattress, I scrolled through social media. Bella had just posted a photo of her and Connor in matching swimwear on a white sand beach. My chest felt hollow, filled with a toxic mix of disgust and exhaustion. Over the next few months, Bella rinsed and repeated the exact same strategy. By parasitically draining my skills, she racked up flawless mission records. The legend of the prodigy sniper grew to astronomical heights. Every time the alarm rang, I carried her eighty-pound gear bags up mountainsides without a single complaint. The more she showed off, the more I willingly fed her the targets. Then came the red-alert call. The son of the country’s wealthiest tech mogul was trapped deep in a ravine, completely surrounded by a den of territorial grizzly bears. I was at the range doing extra conditioning drills when the guys walked by. “Still trying to steal your sniper spot back? You really think you can climb over our dead bodies just to get a shiny trophy on your desk?” Bella was standing there, wearing expensive silk hand-masks to protect her skin. “Real talent doesn’t come from having ugly calluses on your fingers, boys.” She covered her mouth, giggling softly. “Riley, seriously, you need to spend more time on your makeup and hair. Otherwise, when you finally get kicked to the curb, you won’t even be able to find a man.” She raised her left hand, flashing a blinding, massive diamond ring under the floodlights. The entire squad gasped. “Captain bought you a ring?! Holy hell, when is the wedding?” 4 Meeting Bella’s vicious, gloating stare, I calmly broke down my rifle and packed it into its hard case. “If that’s the case, I’m officially resigning tomorrow morning.” Bella froze instantly. “I’m never getting the sniper spot back anyway. My family already bought me a plane ticket home.” “You can’t leave!” Her frantic screech echoed across the asphalt. The squad looked at her, entirely confused as to why she was having a meltdown over me quitting. She forced herself to take a breath, trying to play it cool. “I… I just mean the billionaire is probably going to give us a massive cash bonus tomorrow. It would be a total waste for you to walk away from that.” “Don’t try to stop her. Let her walk.” Connor came striding out of the command center, his face twisted in annoyance. “If you want to quit, then pack your bags and leave quietly. Did you really think making a massive scene would make us beg you to stay? Stop desperate for attention, Riley.” I didn’t even flinch. But Bella was practically hyperventilating. “Tomorrow’s op is a code red! I don’t have enough field experience for grizzly bears. I need Riley out there with me. Connor, please, just order her to stay for one more run.” The squad looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. “Bella, with your aim, you’re virtually untouchable. Pure talent beats experience every single time.” “Yeah, Riley’s aim is garbage compared to yours. All she’s good for is wiping down the rifle barrels. Don’t let her dead weight drag you down.” Bella was trapped in a nightmare of her own making. She couldn’t tell them the truth, so she had to swallow the panic. She threw all her chips at Connor. “Connor, we agreed we were going to retire and get married after this final payout, right? The squad is going to need a marksman when I’m gone.” “Riley might not be as good as me, but she can hold the line for a while after I leave. Just look at it as a favor to the team.” Connor sighed, finally giving in to her pleading. “Fine. Riley, this is your absolute last chance. Do your job tomorrow and support Bella. If a single hair on her head gets messed up, I will personally throw you out of this compound.” When I gave a slow nod, Bella let out a massive, trembling exhale. The next morning on the tarmac, Bella’s eyes were bloodshot and swollen like she hadn’t slept a wink. “How are you supposed to look down a scope like that?” I asked coldly. “Captain, I should take the lead on this—” “Shut your mouth,” Connor snapped, cutting me off instantly. “This isn’t the first time Bella’s looked a little tired, and has she ever missed a shot? No.” “I didn’t think you’d stoop so low as to try and ruin Bella’s final retirement op. Are you really that desperate to see her fail?” I watched Connor carefully shield Bella as she climbed into the transport helicopter, and a frozen sneer formed in my chest. Back when I was the lead sniper, if my eyes were even slightly irritated, or if I had gotten less than eight hours of sleep, Connor would instantly bench me, preaching about safety protocols and team survival. Because of that, I spent ten years acting like a machine. I never played video games, never read late into the night, strictly monitored my diet, and sacrificed every shred of a normal life just to stay perfectly sharp. But with Bella, suddenly the lives of the men on the ground didn’t matter. I looked around at the squad. None of them cared. They were too busy making dirty jokes about how Connor kept Bella awake all night. I didn’t waste another breath trying to warn them. Every single person has to pay the tab for the choices they make. Connor tossed aside a woman who had bled and fought beside him for a decade, all for his manipulative childhood crush. The squad tossed aside a hardened, loyal veteran for a girl who had never fired a real weapon in her life. When the curtain finally dropped, I sincerely hoped none of them would cry about it. The chopper touched down at the edge of a massive, heavily forested canyon. This extraction was incredibly high-profile. A dozen corporate executives and rescue directors were crammed into the command tent, watching the drone feeds on massive monitors. When we reached the cliffside overwatch position, I quickly set up the heavy rifle on its bipod. Bella practically shoved me out of the way, throwing her soft, manicured hands over the grips. She pressed one of her large, doe eyes against the rubber rim of the scope. The other eye was wide open, blinking into the glaring sun. The director’s voice came over the radio. “Looking good, Apex squad. Not only is Bella a lethal shot, she looks great on the cameras. She really is the face of this company.” I had to bite my tongue to stop from laughing out loud. Real wilderness operatives sleep in the mud and hike through freezing rain. Nobody has flawless, porcelain skin out here. More importantly, a trained sniper does not keep their non-dominant eye wide open, exposed to the blinding glare, while tracking a target. It was such a glaring amateur mistake, yet nobody in the command tent seemed to care. But it wasn’t my problem anymore. Since Bella was their golden goose, they could deal with the mess. I retreated to the shade of a massive oak tree and pulled out my phone. Bella didn’t even glance back. As long as I was within proximity, she felt entirely invincible, assuming she could just siphon my mechanics. “Bella, the grizzlies are moving out of the cave. Get ready!” Connor yelled over the comms. Bella held her breath, radiating absolute arrogance. “Squad up, dropping in!” The words ripped out of Bella’s mouth without warning. The entire radio channel went dead silent. “Bella, what the hell are you doing?!” Connor demanded. Bella slapped a hand over her own mouth in sheer terror. But the side effect of her parasitic brain-link was brutal. She couldn’t just filter out what I was doing. Seconds later, she started blurting out more gamer slang. “Wiped on landing! Get me a medkit! Loot drop incoming!” She was spewing utter nonsense into a live tactical channel. Worse than her mouth were her hands. Her supposedly flawless sniper posture instantly deteriorated into the jerky, panicked movements of a teenager mashing a touchscreen. She yanked the trigger wildly. Tranquilizer darts flew into the dirt, bouncing off rocks. She didn’t just miss the massive charging bears; she nearly put a dart into the neck of our own breacher. “Have you lost your damn mind?!” The director was screaming into the radio, his voice cracking with rage. “Bella, is this a joke to you?!” Connor scrambled to do damage control. “I’m sorry, sir! Bella is just a little rattled by the bears! I’ll talk her down, just give me a second!” Then he switched to the private squad channel, his voice a furious roar. “Bella, this is not the time to play cute! Get your act together, right now!” I sat under the tree, comfortably swiping on my screen, racking up kills in my game. Bella looked like she had swallowed a mouthful of crushed glass. “Connor, I—” “Do not call me Connor! Do you have any idea how high the stakes are today?!” “If that kid gets a single scratch on him, the billionaire will bury this entire company! And he will bury us with it!” “I am asking you one last time. Can you take the shot?!”

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1 Matthew’s favorite phrase was “just wait a little longer.” Wait until his startup stabilized to get our marriage license; I waited two years. Wait until his mother’s attitude softened to have the wedding; I waited another three. In the fifth year, at Matthew’s thirtieth birthday dinner, his mother publicly slipped off the antique emerald bracelet from her wrist. Passing down the family bracelet to acknowledge the daughter-in-law was an old tradition in the Brandt family. I thought, finally, the waiting was over. “Here, give me your hand.” But Matthew’s mother bypassed my outstretched hand, sliding the heavy emerald piece firmly onto Mary’s wrist instead. The entire table went dead silent. Mrs. Brandt patted the back of Mary’s hand with a fond smile. “Mary grew up with our Matthew. We are all one family anyway.” My hands were still resting on the tablecloth, my fingertips turning icy. Someone at the table whispered, “But what about Nora?” Matthew leaned in close, lowering his voice. “My mother is sentimental, Norie. Don’t take it to heart.” “I’ll buy you a haute couture necklace on my business trip next month. Be good, just wait a little longer.” Mary held up her wrist right in front of my face, a smug smirk playing on her lips. “Be honest, Norie, isn’t it beautiful? Mrs. Brandt said this is a priceless family heirloom.” I said it was beautiful. Right then, my phone buzzed in my purse. “Have you made up your mind? When are you coming to Paris?” 2 “Why are you so quiet?” On the drive back, Matthew held the steering wheel with one hand, casting a quick glance at me. The streetlights cast flickering shadows across his handsome profile. I pulled my gaze back from the window, staring down at my bare wrist. “Nothing to say,” I murmured. Matthew sighed, braking at a red light. He reached over the console with his right hand, instinctively trying to squeeze the back of my neck. I tilted my head slightly, dodging his touch. His hand froze in midair for a second. Then he smoothly pulled it back, resting it on the steering wheel. “Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum over that bracelet?” His tone carried that familiar, weary indulgence used for a spoiled child. “You know how my mother is. She’s old-fashioned.” “Mary lost her parents when she was young and grew up in our house. My mother has always felt she owes her.” “It is just an emerald bracelet. If she wants to give it away, so be it. Was it really worth making a face at dinner?” Making a face? I had not said a single word. I had simply eaten my dinner in silence. But to him, my refusal to smile and play along with Mary’s boasting made me difficult. “Matthew,” I said, my voice flat. “Yeah?” “You told me five years ago that the bracelet would be mine.” The car went dead silent. A horn blared behind us; the light had turned green. Matthew hit the gas, and the car glided forward smoothly. “We were just starting the business back then. I didn’t have the money to buy you anything nice. It was just sweet talk to make you happy, and you’ve held onto it until now?” He let out a dry laugh, his tone casual and dismissive. “Do you really think the Brandt family can’t afford a better bracelet now?” “I’m going to Europe next month on business. I’ll bring you back a couture diamond necklace. It’ll look a hundred times better than that dusty old emerald.” “Be good, Norie. Stop sweating the small stuff.” He was always like this. Using the gentlest voice to effortlessly erase every hope I had for our future. Five years ago, Matthew bought me a cheap thirty-dollar silver band at a night market stall. With bloodshot eyes, he had slipped it onto my finger. “Norie, once I make it big, I’ll have my mom personally put our family’s heirloom emerald bracelet on you.” “I’m going to make you Mrs. Brandt, with all the bells and whistles.” I was still wearing that cheap silver band on my left hand. It had already tarnished to a dull, dark gray. The car rolled into our apartment complex’s underground garage. Matthew unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to look at me. “Tomorrow is the weekend. Where do you want to go? I’m all yours.” In the past, I would have happily researched itineraries, filling the day with plans. But now, I only felt an exhausting emptiness. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, pushing the door open. “I need to clean up the apartment tomorrow.” Matthew got out, locked the car, and caught up to me in a few quick strides. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Are you really mad at me?” His breath brushed against my ear, carrying the faint, rich scent of red wine. “Mary was so excited about the bracelet she couldn’t sleep. She wants me to take her to get a custom vintage dress tailored tomorrow to match it.” “You know she has terrible taste and has relied on me since we were kids.” “I’ll go with her in the morning, and I’ll be back to spend the afternoon with you, okay?” “Okay,” I said softly. Matthew smiled with satisfaction, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. “I knew my Norie was the sweetest.” When we got inside, Matthew headed straight for the bathroom. I walked to the entryway, hanging my bag on the coat rack. Unzipping it, I looked at the document lying quietly inside. An acceptance letter for an advanced study program at the National School of Fine Arts in Paris. At the very bottom was my signature, penned just this afternoon. I pulled it out and slipped it into the hidden compartment of my half-packed suitcase. The sound of rushing water echoed from the bathroom. I walked out to the balcony and texted my mentor in Paris. Hey, I’ve booked my flight for early Monday morning. She replied instantly: Finally came to your senses? Good for you! Forget that five-year waste of time. Get your ass to Paris. I’ll show you what real European gentlemen look like! I stared at the screen, a quiet, faint smile touching my lips. 3 The next morning. I was woken up by Matthew’s hushed, murmuring voice. He was standing on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. “You chipped it? Is it bad?” “It’s fine if the bracelet is chipped, as long as you aren’t hurt.” “Don’t cry, it’s just a bracelet. I’m coming over right now to check on you.” His voice carried an unmasked, raw panic and tenderness. I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Five minutes later, he pushed the bedroom door open. Seeing my eyes open, he startled slightly before quickly walking over. “Did I wake you?” He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke my face. I turned my head away and sat up. “Going out?” I asked. Matthew’s hand froze, and he awkwardly pulled it back. “Mary tried on the bracelet first thing this morning and accidentally banged it against the bathroom sink. She’s terrified and won’t stop crying.” “I need to go check on her. She lives alone, and I’m worried.” As he spoke, he swiftly shed his loungewear and threw on a crisp button-down. “Don’t wait up for breakfast. Make yourself something.” I watched him expertly knot his tie. “Matthew.” “Yeah?” He didn’t even turn around, adjusting his collar in the mirror. “I wanted to go look at the Southside townhouse today.” His hands paused on his collar. The Southside townhouse was a place we had picked out six months ago. He had called it our future home, promising we would put down the deposit right after his thirtieth birthday. Matthew turned around, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “We don’t have to look at houses today of all days.” “Mary is completely hysterical right now. I need to calm her down first.” “Once this crazy week is over, I’ll take you to look at an even better neighborhood. Southside is a bit out of the way anyway.” I looked at him, my expression entirely serene. “Okay.” Matthew let out a visible sigh of relief. He walked over and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Good girl. Wait for me to come back.” The door clicked shut. Silence swallowed the apartment once more. I got up and walked into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I saw it was packed with groceries. I pulled out two eggs and a carton of milk. As I fried the eggs, memories flooded my mind, completely unbidden. Back when we lived in that cramped, drafty rental. Matthew used to wake up thirty minutes before me every single morning to whip up creative breakfasts. Once, I offhandedly mentioned wanting those hot glazed donuts from the Westside bakery. He braved a torrential downpour, riding a rusty bicycle for half an hour just to get them for me. When he returned, the donuts were still warm, but he was soaked to the bone. “If my Norie wants something, I’ll get it even if it’s raining knives outside,” he had said, grinning through the drips. And now? Even taking a single hour to look at the house he promised me was too much of a chore. I slid the fried eggs onto a plate. As I poured the milk, my hand slipped, spilling it across the counter. Reaching for a rag, I accidentally knocked over a jar next to it. It was a jar of oyster sauce. The dark, thick liquid pooled onto the counter, releasing a heavy, briny scent. Staring at the mess, my stomach violently churned. I am severely allergic to seafood. Matthew had bought that jar two days ago. Because Mary had mentioned she was craving seafood noodles. Matthew had completely forgotten that even the smell of seafood could break me out in hives. I tossed the rag into the trash can, along with the plate of eggs and the jar of oyster sauce. Then, I walked back into the bedroom, dragged three large cardboard boxes from under the bed, and began packing. I didn’t actually own much. A few everyday clothes, some textbooks, my laptop. The rest were things Matthew had bought me. Expensive designer bags and jewelry that never fit my style. He had always dressed me according to Mary’s tastes. “Mary looks stunning in pink. You should try it.” “Mary says this perfume smells incredible, so I got you a bottle too.” I gathered all of those items and stacked them neatly at the very bottom of the walk-in closet. 4 At three in the afternoon, Matthew returned. He pushed the door open and froze at the sight of the three boxes stacked in the living room. “What are you doing?” He strode over, his brow knitting tight. “Packing away winter clothes?” I sealed the last box with heavy-duty tape. “Getting rid of old things.” Matthew’s gaze fell on an unsealed box. Inside were our matching college mugs and a stuffed animal he had won for me. His face darkened instantly. “Nora, are you seriously still doing this?” He yanked the mug out, slamming it onto the coffee table. “You’ve been throwing a tantrum since last night over a stupid bracelet!” “Now you’re throwing this stuff out? What’s next? Are you going to tell me you’re moving out?” I stood up straight, looking at him calmly. “Yes.” Matthew let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Unbelievable. You’ve really grown a spine, haven’t you?” He loosened his tie, sinking onto the sofa, glaring up at me. “And where do you think you’re going? To your friend Hazel’s place? Or back to that freezing hometown of yours?” “Nora, you are twenty-seven years old. Can you stop acting like a dramatic teenager playing the run-away-from-home card?” “Do you honestly think if you disappear for a few days, I’ll come crawling back begging you to return?” He was entirely convinced I could never leave him. He believed this was just a pathetic, desperate attempt to force his hand. I didn’t bother explaining. I simply placed the mug back into the box and taped it shut. “Think whatever you want.” Watching my quiet movements, a flicker of irritation crossed Matthew’s eyes. He stood up, walked over to me, and softened his tone. “Alright, enough. Stop playing around.” “Tomorrow is our fifth anniversary.” “I booked a table at that Michelin-starred restaurant you love. After dinner, we’ll go pick out a diamond ring.” “As for the Southside place, I’ll have my assistant send over the deposit tomorrow. We’ll put it under your name.” “Does that make you happy?” He spoke as if he were granting me the ultimate mercy, throwing me a bone. I looked at his face, once so familiar, now so utterly foreign, and smiled. “Okay.” I nodded. “See you tomorrow.” Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, ruffling my hair gently. “There’s my good girl.” He had no idea that nestled inside my suitcase was a plane ticket for tomorrow. Exactly fourteen hours until takeoff. Matthew left for the office early the next morning, kissing my forehead before he walked out. “I’ll pick you up at six tonight.” “Wear that pink dress. You look beautiful in it.” The moment the front door clicked shut, I turned and walked into the closet. The pink dress hung in the most prominent spot. It was the exact same design Mary had. I didn’t touch it. Instead, I put on a simple white shirt and washed-out blue jeans. It was the outfit I wore most often when I first met Matthew. I pushed the three sealed cardboard boxes out to the hallway and scheduled a local courier to pick them up. I sent them to a friend who ran a secondhand consignment shop. “Norie, these are practically brand new. Are you sure you don’t want them?” my friend asked over the phone. “I’m sure. Sell them or do whatever you want with them.” Hanging up, I took one last look around the apartment. This twelve-hundred-square-foot space had once been filled to the brim with my personal touches. The throw pillows on the couch were hand-embroidered by me. The succulents on the balcony had been nurtured by my hands, one by one. The ceramic mugs in the kitchen were hand-painted treasures I brought back from a workshop in Vermont. Now, they were all still in their places. But any trace of me, any proof of my existence, had been completely erased. It was as if I had never lived here at all. My phone vibrated. It was a text from Matthew. Norie, I’m so sorry, but we might have to cancel dinner tonight. Mary was clipped by a delivery bike right outside the office. Her ankle is badly swollen. I have to take her to the hospital for X-rays. We can look at rings in a couple of days, okay? I stared at the text on the screen and didn’t reply. A moment later, another message popped up. Are you mad? Don’t be. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise. Make it up to me. Always making it up to me. I set my phone to silent, tossed it onto the sofa, and went to the kitchen to boil a simple bowl of plain noodles. This would be my last meal in this country. Just as the noodles were done, the front door lock clicked. Matthew rushed in, looking frantic. Seeing me standing in the kitchen with a bowl of noodles, he stopped dead in his tracks. I placed the bowl on the dining table and pulled out a chair. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the hospital with Mary?” Matthew walked over, pouring himself a glass of water. “Mary said she was craving those crab dumplings from the West End diner. I just came back to grab my car keys to pick some up for her.” The West End. The very place he had braved a storm to buy me pastries years ago. Now, he was willing to cross the entire city just to satisfy Mary’s craving. “Nora, are you seriously throwing another silent tantrum?” Seeing my silence, his brows knit together again. “I already told you, Mary is hurt. I can’t just leave her stranded, can I?” “Can’t you show a little understanding for once?” I lifted a forkful of noodles and took a bite. Bland. Completely tasteless. “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I said quietly. “Go buy her food. Don’t keep her waiting.” Matthew shot me a suspicious look. My unusual calm seemed to catch him off guard. But he was in too much of a hurry to think deeper. “I’m heading out then. I might not come back tonight. Mary is terrified of being alone, so I’ll probably stay with her at the hospital.” “Get some sleep early.” He grabbed his keys and turned to leave. At the doorway, he suddenly froze, glancing at the empty shoe rack in the entryway. “Where are all your shoes?” I swallowed my noodles, never looking up. “They were old. I threw them out.” Matthew didn’t ask further. The door slammed shut behind him. I slowly finished my bowl of noodles. I washed the bowl and placed it upside down on the drying rack. Then, I slung my backpack over my shoulders and rolled my small, twenty-inch black suitcase out of the apartment. I didn’t look back. On the shuttle bus to the airport, I leaned against the window. I watched the neon-lit city where I had spent seven years of my life blur into a streak of fading lights. My phone lit up. It was a screenshot from Hazel. Mary’s social media post. The picture showed a box of steaming hot crab dumplings. The background was the white sheet of a hospital bed. A man’s hand, fingers elegant and long, held a pair of chopsticks, carefully feeding her. On his wrist was a Patek Philippe watch. I had saved up for six months to buy him that watch for his birthday last year. The caption read: My ankle hurts like hell, but having someone cross the entire city just to get my favorite food makes even a sprain feel like heaven. Below it was a comment from Matthew: Eat slowly. No one is going to steal it from you. Hazel’s angry text followed immediately. Nora! Tell me you aren’t sitting at home alone on your fifth anniversary! Matthew is an absolute bastard! Does he even view you as his girlfriend?! Staring at the string of furious emojis from Hazel, my fingers tapped lightly on the screen. Hazel, I’m leaving. I’m going to Paris. A long silence followed. Then, a voice note came through. Hazel’s voice was thick with tears. “Good for you, Norie. Go. And never look back.” I closed the app. I popped the SIM card out of my phone and dropped it through the cracked bus window, letting the howling wind sweep it away.

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1 As my due date drew closer, I kept having the exact same dream over and over. In the dream, a little girl was crying, begging me not to bring her into the world. “Please, Mom, just let me go.” “He cheated on you with his intern the moment you got pregnant. This family isn’t worth breaking yourself over!” “Without me, without him, you’ll finally be free!” I bolted upright in a cold sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs. Beside me, my husband immediately wrapped his arms around me. “Hey, sweetie, are you okay?” Nolan’s eyes were filled with pure worry. We had grown up together, knowing each other’s deepest secrets. Since our marriage, he had been the neighborhood’s poster child for the perfect husband. Him? Cheating? While he was in the kitchen pouring me a glass of warm water, I reached over and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The passcode used to be my birthday. Now, it had been changed. Before I could process the cold dread settling in my chest, the doorbell rang. Late at night, a heavily intoxicated woman was standing outside our door, slurring his name repeatedly. When she saw me, her smile grew even more unhinged. “Hey there. I’m just here to grab something from Nolan.” “Do me a favor and check under his pillow. Is there a pair of black lace stockings there?” I didn’t say a word, but my stomach suddenly tightened in a sharp, sudden spasm. It was her. Charlene, the intern from my nightmares. Charlene wanted to cause more of a scene, but Nolan had already hailed a cab and bundled her into it. By the time he came back into the bedroom, I was already tossing the covers aside, searching. “What are you looking for?” “You don’t seriously believe a drunk girl’s rambling, do you?” Nolan let out a casual, disbelieving chuckle and took the initiative to lift his pillow. “See? Nothing here.” He reached out to pull me into his arms, but I quietly stepped out of his reach. “A woman gets drunk in the middle of the night, calls you repeatedly, and then shows up at our doorstep.” “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” I stared at him, trying to find even a sliver of guilt on his face. But he only sighed, his expression a mix of gentle exhaustion and forced patience. “I get it. You’re pregnant, and your hormones are making you hyper-sensitive.” “Young people get drunk and do stupid, reckless things. It happens.” “Paige, let’s not let silly paranoia get between us, okay?” That night was the first time we slept in separate rooms. The next morning, I didn’t wake up early to make him breakfast as I always did. The atmosphere in our home slowly froze over. By the fourth day of our cold war, Nolan didn’t return home even after midnight. Restless and frustrated, I dialed his number over and over. When the call finally connected, it wasn’t his voice that answered. “Paige? Is something wrong?” I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. “I’m calling my own husband. Do I need to report to you?” “You sound so hostile, Paige. I didn’t mean anything by it.” “It’s just that Nolan is completely wasted. Since you have such a big belly, are you sure you want to come pick him up?” The line went dead. I threw on a coat, ordered a cab, and rode to a private lounge downtown. Before I even pushed the heavy double doors of the VIP suite open, the raucous cheering from inside hit my ears. “Chug! Chug!” Through the glass panel, I saw Charlene coyly holding a shot glass, leaning close to Nolan. His tall frame hovered over her. He cupped her face, tilted her head back, and shared a mouthful of wine, pressing his lips against hers in a sloppy, alcohol-fueled kiss. I kicked the door open with a resounding bang. The laughter died instantly. “Paige?” Nolan frowned, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. “What are you doing here?” I gestured toward the trembling woman beside him. “She already threw down the gauntlet. Did you really think I wouldn’t show up?” Charlene scrambled to defend herself. “Nolan, when you went to the restroom, she kept calling. I was just worried she’d be anxious, so I told her we were here for business networking.” Instead of getting angry at her, Nolan gently patted the back of her hand. “It’s not your fault.” He stood up, walking past her to face me. “Are you happy now that you’ve made us the laughingstock of the room?” Without waiting for my response, he pushed past me and stormed out of the suite. I wanted to chase after him, but a sudden, violent spasm racked my abdomen. I slid down against the wall, clutching my belly. “Nolan, it hurts…” I was admitted to the hospital that night for emergency observation to prevent preterm labor. Nolan ran around handling the paperwork and medical supplies, finally collapsing into the chair beside my bed just as the horizon began to turn gray. Exhausted, he tucked my hand back under the blanket. “Just listen to the doctor. Everything will be fine.” “Look at you, making such a mountain out of a molehill.” His dismissive tone set off a spark of pure rage in my chest. “A molehill?” “Nolan, if I hadn’t shown up tonight, would the two of you have ended up in bed?!” “Paige!” He roared, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, bloodshot anger. “Do you have any idea what business networking is?!” “I swear, you’ve got too much free time on your hands. Do you have any idea how exhausting my job actually is?!” Silence fell over the room. During my first trimester, the morning sickness had been brutal. I had spent weeks practically living on the bathroom floor, losing twenty pounds in a single month. He was the one who had begged me to quit. “Just stay home and let me take care of you. I can easily support us.” “Earning money is a man’s job. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” The sweet promises of yesterday had become the sharpest daggers of today. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to reach for my hand. “Sweetie, I didn’t mean it like that.” “What do you want to eat? I’ll go buy it.” I stared at him, extending an open palm. “Your phone.” He froze for a second, offering a strained laugh. “What? You don’t trust me?” I didn’t blink. “Your phone.” “Why did you change the passcode?” “What is on there that I’m not allowed to see?” Nolan shoved his hand into his pocket, his fingers tightly gripping the device. He glared at me, his jaw clenching. Suddenly, he pulled it out and smashed it onto the linoleum floor. The screen shattered into a million glittering pieces right before my eyes. “Are you happy now?” “Are you done throwing tantrums?” He turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving me entirely alone in the sterile white room. I stayed in the hospital for seven days, and Nolan never showed his face again. The nurses watched me with pity. Compared to the other pregnant women whose husbands hovered over them with endless warmth, I looked pathetic. When it was time to handle the discharge paperwork, a young nurse finally couldn’t help but ask, “Do you want me to call your emergency contact? There are a lot of post-discharge care instructions.” I remained quiet, which she took as a yes. Deep down, a small, foolish part of me still hoped. Unfortunately, after she tried calling him five times, Nolan still didn’t pick up. She looked at me awkwardly. “Maybe he’s in a meeting?” I forced a smile, thanked her, and called a cab myself. As the taxi pulled up to our building, I noticed the lights in our apartment were on. Nolan was home. So why hadn’t he answered the phone? Was he still playing his petty silent game? Anger flared in my chest. I marched upstairs, determined to demand answers. But the moment I unlocked the door, I froze. There was a pair of high heels sitting on the shoe rack. Loud music was pulsing through the apartment, so loud that neither of them had heard the door open. “Nolan, grab the bowls! Dinner is ready!” “Want a glass? I bought red wine today!” Charlene’s voice drifted from the kitchen. I walked forward like a zombie, only to see Nolan wrapping his arms around her waist from behind as she stood there in her apron. “Smells amazing.” “But honestly, I’d rather eat you first.” I stood there in a daze, watching them. They looked like a loving, happily married couple. I was the intruder. Charlene giggled, turning her head to kiss him, and that was when their eyes landed on me. I slowly walked toward them. Nolan instinctively stepped in front of Charlene, shielding her. Tears spilled over my cheeks, and when I spoke, my voice was raw and broken. “Nolan…” “Why?” My mind flashed back to a dusty afternoon during my childhood. I had come home early from school, eager to show my parents my report card. Instead, I found my father and another woman in the bedroom, behaving like animals. My mother had come home early that day too. She had been carrying two heavy bags of groceries, smiling warmly as she told me, “Go do your homework, sweetie. I’m making pork chops tonight!” We never got to eat those pork chops, because she spent the evening chasing my father with a kitchen knife while he scrambled to pull up his pants. I didn’t grab a knife. I just stood there like a statue, watching Charlene scramble to gather her things and flee. Shortly after she left, Nolan tried to slip past me carrying a heavy black trash bag. “Sweetie, I’m just going to take the trash out. I’ll be right back.” I snatched the bag from his hands. Before he could stop me, I ripped it open and dumped the contents onto the floor. Stockings, handcuffs, lipstick, a toothbrush, lace lingerie, remote-controlled toys… The air in the room turned ice-cold. Trembling, I locked the front door and took the key. “Starting today, you’re not going anywhere.” “If you dare cross that threshold, I’ll take both of us down.” On the first day of our confinement, Nolan acted completely normal. He knelt before me, weeping and begging for forgiveness, claiming it was just a temporary lapse in judgment. “You’ve been pregnant and we couldn’t do anything. Charlene just happened to be assigned to my team.” “I’m a man, Paige. I have needs!” “I promise it will never happen again, okay?” He repented like a devout sinner, hovering around me, cleaning every corner of the house, and cooking elaborate meals to appease me. On the third day, his phone rang incessantly. Finally, he looked at me with a strained, pleading expression. “There’s so much going on at the office.” “Let me go out just for a bit, sweetie. You can set a timer, track my location. You can monitor the office security cameras if you want!” I gripped his hand tightly, refusing to let go. “Charlene is at the office, isn’t she?” “You’re just going to see her!” Nolan sighed with exhaustion, running a hand over my hair. “Fine, fine. I won’t go.” “Stop overthinking. I’ll stay right here with you.” We managed to survive another day in fragile peace, until the early hours of the fifth morning. A soft rustling woke me. I got out of bed to find Nolan quietly trying to pick the lock on the front door. “What are you doing?” He jumped, startled, then rubbed his temples in sheer frustration. “Paige, you are seriously ruining my career.” “I promise you, the moment I finish this meeting, I’ll come straight back.” I lunged forward, grabbing his arm and shaking my head violently. “I won’t let you leave.” “You’re going to her, aren’t you? No!” Fear and hysteria consumed me. I blocked the door with my entire body, completely losing my mind. “Paige! You’re acting like a complete psycho!” Nolan shoved me, and when I kept fighting, his patience finally snapped. He raised his hand and slapped me across the face. The sting on my cheek was burning. His harsh, mocking words rang in my ears. “Now I see why your dad walked out on your family.” “Your mother was a psycho, and so are you!” “Why don’t you just go join her in the grave!” The front door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the dark. My mother had indeed gone mad. She had refused to get a divorce, spending her days screaming and crying, her face covered in saliva and tears. She would hit me and yell at me, and I had been too terrified to even cry out loud. Back then, Nolan would always find excuses to drag me to his house. He would share his snacks and let me read his comic books. “Don’t worry, Paige!” “I’ll protect you!” Later, when my mother committed suicide, he was the one who stayed by my side to handle the funeral, bowing to every guest who came to offer condolences. “Paige, from now on, I’m your family.” He had been the only light in my dark childhood, healing my deepest scars. Yet now, he was the one ripping those scars open and pouring salt into them. Nolan refused to answer my calls, and I didn’t sleep a wink. His friend was the one who finally called me. “Paige, you’ve gone way too far this time.” “What man doesn’t make a mistake? Did you really have to leak their private photos online? How is Nolan supposed to show his face again?” Confused, I hung up and opened my browser. I quickly found a trending post featuring explicit photos of Nolan and Charlene. The title was vicious: A Trashy Whore and a Dog Belong Together. There were uncensored photos and videos of them in the office, the bedroom, the car, the park. Nolan was pouring his desire into her, his eyes, which had once belonged only to me, filled with lust for another woman. But I hadn’t posted any of that. I frantically dialed Nolan’s number. When he still didn’t pick up, I left a voice message: “Tonight at eight. The Ferris wheel where you proposed. I’ll be waiting.” After a long time, he sent a short reply: “Fine. Eight o’clock.” Those few words calmed my racing heart. I even put on lipstick, something I hadn’t touched during my entire pregnancy. I arrived two hours early, sitting beneath the Ferris wheel. Watching the couples walking past, a deep, hollow ache settled in my chest. Many years ago, we had been one of them. When the Ferris wheel was first built, Nolan had dragged me there. “Paige, legend says that if a couple kisses at the very top of the Ferris wheel, they’ll stay together forever.” Blushing, he had gotten down on one knee in the high-altitude cabin, pulling out a diamond ring. “Will you marry me? I swear I’ll cherish you for the rest of my life!” The memory was so warm that by the time I snapped out of it, Nolan was already sitting silently beside me. “Nolan…” “Let’s go.” His voice was dead flat. I followed him, trying to reach for his hand, but he pointedly evaded my touch. We stepped into the cabin, and even then, he refused to look at me. After a long, agonizing silence, I finally spoke. “About the photos, I swear I didn’t do it…” “You didn’t?” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh, finally turning to glare at me. “Paige, stop acting.” “You wanted to ruin my life, didn’t you?” “Well, congratulations! You got exactly what you wanted!” “But let me tell you something. You ruined her reputation, so now I have to take responsibility for her!” His voice escalated, screaming in the very place where he had once promised to love me forever, telling me he had to take responsibility for another woman. It felt like a bucket of ice water poured over my head. I shook my head frantically. “It wasn’t me! I swear it wasn’t me!” “You said you only loved me, Nolan!” His face was contorted with anger as he violently shoved my hand away. “I absolutely despise you right now.” “Paige, you disgust me.” His words froze the blood in my veins. As the Ferris wheel cabin touched the ground, he quickly leaped out, slammed the door shut, and locked it from the outside. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Charlene. “Don’t you love the Ferris wheel?” “Then stay up there and enjoy it!” I looked toward the control booth; it was completely empty. Through the glass, I watched Nolan wrap his arm around Charlene’s waist as they walked away. Suddenly, a warm gush of fluid pooled between my thighs. I pounded frantically on the glass, screaming in sheer terror. “Help!” “Stop the wheel! I’m in labor!” By the time the ambulance arrived, I had already given birth to my daughter inside the cabin. With severe tearing and blood staining the floor, I used the last ounce of my strength to hand the baby to the paramedics. “Where is the father? What is his number?!” I weakly signaled that I would sign the forms myself, offering a faint, weary smile. “I don’t have any family. They’re all dead.”

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1 After two months of complete silence, Rain on a Sunny Day suddenly claimed the number one trending spot online. It began when a close friend of the author posted a brief statement on social media. “This book is a young woman’s private diary. Before she passed, she asked me to publish it, leaving me with only one request.” “She said, ‘I hope if he ever reads this, he’ll finally stop hating me.’” Will sat at the dining table, casually scrolling past the trending post. He didn’t even tap it, setting his phone aside face down. Across from him, Renee was meticulously studying the menu, her brow slightly furrowed as if she were solving a complex equation. “Is the wild mushroom soup good here?” “It is.” Renee nodded, satisfied, and looked up to smile at him. He closed the menu for her and smoothly reached out to slide her chair an inch closer to the table. Renee had her head down, arranging her napkin, so she didn’t notice. But I did. He used to do that exact same thing for me. Except back then, I was still alive. My name is Mamie. I have been dead for eight years. Before I died, I spent two years in prison. Not long after I was released, I slipped away. Leukemia, a damp, drafty cell, a scratchy wool blanket: a fever burned for three months before it finally consumed me. I have been tethered to Will’s side, a silent ghost, for eight long years. Will and I met in high school. That winter, the city was hit by the heaviest blizzard of the year. The school’s heating broke, and we could see our own breath inside the classroom. He sat directly behind me. During a break, he swiped the small metal hand warmer from my desk. When I turned around to demand it back, he said with utter seriousness, “Your hands aren’t cold. Mine are.” “How do you know my hands aren’t cold?” I asked. He reached out, squeezed my hand briefly, and let go. “See? Warmer than mine.” He handed the hand warmer back to me, but then rested his own hands on top of it to steal some heat. “You don’t mind, do you?” By the time he asked, he was already soaking up the warmth. “What’s the point of asking now?” I grumbled. He smiled, a quiet, boyish grin. “No point. Just polite.” Later, I realized he was just that kind of person. He would do things first and only ask if you minded afterward. He would barge into your life and then ask if he was welcome. Eventually, he left a folded slip of paper on my desk. It had only six words: I like you. Do you? I took my pen and wrote beneath it: I do too. He folded the paper carefully, slipping it into his chest pocket. For the rest of the afternoon, he sat incredibly straight, as if he were trying desperately to keep a burst of joy from bubbling out of him. Sitting in front of him, I couldn’t stop smiling. He had this habit: he always drank his soup incredibly slowly. Whenever I tried to rush him, he would say there was no hurry, and that burning your tongue was no fun. “It tastes terrible once it’s cold,” I would argue. And he would reply, “If it’s cold, I’ll drink it. If it’s hot, you drink it. It’s a perfect match.” He had an old injury on his left shoulder. Every time the weather turned damp and rainy, it would ache, though he never complained. I only found out one rainy day when I caught him secretly massaging his shoulder. I went to the pharmacy and bought medicated heat patches, but he refused to use them, calling it dramatic. “Are you going to put it on, or do I have to force you?” I demanded. He looked at me, then quietly submitted. “Put it on.” From that day on, whenever rain was in the forecast, I made sure to buy the patches in advance. One day, he asked, “How do you always remember?” “Because you never do,” I answered. He finished applying the patch, and after a quiet moment, he murmured, “Mamie.” “Yeah?” “Always remember.” I thought he was talking about the patches. It was only after I ended up in prison that I realized he wasn’t talking about the patches at all. He meant he wanted me to always be there. But I couldn’t stay. All I could do, as I lay burning with fever in that damp, dark cell, was hold onto every memory of him, keeping them safe before I had to leave this world ahead of him. The waiter served the mushroom soup. Renee leaned in to inhale the aroma, her eyes crinkling. “It smells absolutely amazing.” Will ladled a bowl for her, sliding it gently across the table. “Careful. It’s hot.” I stood by the table, watching them, and felt a dull, familiar ache swell in my chest. The restaurant was quiet. Outside, the streetlights stretched their shadows long across the floor. Renee suddenly spoke up. “Will, I’ve been reading this book lately called Rain on a Sunny Day. It’s a young woman’s diary, and it’s beautifully written. Would you like to read it too?” Will placed some food onto her plate, his voice completely flat. “You’re pregnant, sweetie. You shouldn’t read things like that. Emotional rollercoasters aren’t good for the baby.” Renee nodded and dropped the subject. I stared at his lowered eyelashes for a long time. He hadn’t even grasped the significance of the title. As their dinner neared its end, the voices of two women at the neighboring table drifted over. “Did you read Rain on a Sunny Day? That poor girl’s story is heartbreaking.” “I know, I cried so much. She was locked up for two years, and after she got out, she passed away before she could even see him one last time.” Will picked up his water glass and took a slow sip. I saw his knuckles whiten slightly against the glass. It was there for only a split second, then gone. After dinner, Will went to settle the bill, leaving Renee waiting alone at the table. She looked down at her phone, the trending post still open on her screen. In the photo, the girl’s smile was soft and faint. Renee stared at the picture, her brow furrowing slightly. She felt as if she had seen this girl somewhere before. Was it an illustration from the book, or was it something else? “All set. Let’s go.” Will returned from the register, snapping Renee out of her thoughts. She stood up, took his arm, and walked out. As she passed the spot where I stood, she suddenly turned her head, casting one final, lingering glance toward the photo on her screen. Then she pulled her gaze away, stepping with him into the cool night air. I watched her retreating back, a heavy dread settling in my chest. She had recognized me. 2 The next morning, Will accompanied Renee to her prenatal checkup. He held her hand the entire time, listening intently as the doctor explained every detail of the ultrasound. When the checkup ended, Will went to the front desk to handle the paperwork, leaving Renee to wait in the lounge area. The television in the waiting room was playing a morning show about literature. “The book we’re discussing today, Rain on a Sunny Day, is a diary written in prison by a young woman who served two years for someone else before passing away shortly after her release.” “The most heartbreaking part is that the person she saved still has no idea she went to prison in his place.” “She wrote in her diary that on the day she was released, she stood at the gates for a long time, debating whether to find him. Ultimately, she chose not to.” “She said: ‘He doesn’t know what happened. Telling him would only bring him pain, so it’s better to just leave it like this.’” I stood in the corner of the waiting room, not looking at Renee. Instead, my mind drifted back to the days before those two years. It happened eleven days after my leukemia diagnosis. Will’s company ran into severe legal trouble. It wasn’t his fault; his business partner had fled, leaving Will’s signature on a fraudulent document. He called me that night, his voice dangerously calm. “Mamie, I might have to go away for a while. The lawyer says it could be two years.” I sat in the hospital corridor for hours. The diagnosis was still tucked in my bag: Leukemia. Confirmed. Prognosis highly uncertain. I sat there thinking until the sun went down. Two years. If he went to prison for two years, his career and his company would be ruined, and he would come out only to face a girlfriend who was already dying. So I called his lawyer. “I have some information I want to discuss regarding the case.” I had a way to take the blame. The price was two years. The lawyer had asked me, “Does Will know about this?” “No,” I replied. “And he never will.” When Will called me later, saying there was a sudden turn of events and asking if I knew anything, I lied. “I don’t know. Maybe there was a problem with the evidence. Don’t worry about it, just wait for the outcome.” Hanging up, I stared at my medical report. In two years, I would likely be dead anyway. So he would never have to find out. I thought disappearing quietly was the kindest way to end it. I never realized that to him, my disappearance would be a wound that never healed. “I hope he knows she didn’t just run away,” the TV host said. I stood there, a heavy lump forming in my throat. Will. I didn’t run away. I just didn’t know how to tell you where I was going. Renee sat with her head lowered, her phone screen glowing, though she wasn’t looking at it. Will returned after finishing the paperwork, and they walked out together. As they passed the television, Will’s pace slowed. He turned his head, casting a brief glance at the screen. “I hope he knows she didn’t just run away.” He pulled his gaze back, pushing open the heavy glass doors of the clinic. His steps were steady. But I saw his hand linger on the door handle for a full second before he finally pushed it open. After lunch, Will drove Renee home, explaining that he had some urgent documents to handle at the office and would return by evening. Renee stood on her tiptoes to kiss him goodbye, then headed inside. He waited until the elevator doors closed before turning toward the parking garage. But halfway there, he stopped. He stood in the empty corridor for a very long time. Then he pulled out his phone, opening the search bar. I held my breath, watching his fingers hover over the keyboard. They stayed there, trembling slightly, for a long time. Ultimately, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and kept walking. That night, Will sat alone in the study. Renee was already asleep, and the house was dead silent. He reached into the very back of his desk drawer, pulling out a worn manila envelope. The edges were frayed, and the seal had a thin rip, as if it had been opened and then hastily pressed back down. He placed the envelope on the desk, staring at it. In the bottom right corner, my name was written in tiny, elegant script. It was my handwriting. Will reached out, his fingertips stopping just short of the envelope’s edge. Standing beside the desk, my heart hammered in my chest. Will, open it. It says I didn’t do those things. It says I didn’t run away. His hand hovered there for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he pulled his hand back. He placed the envelope back into the drawer, pushed it shut, and locked it. That letter was something I had written before going to prison, intending to mail it to him, but I never did. I didn’t know how he had gotten hold of it. I had written: Will, I didn’t do those things, but I can’t explain it. Don’t wait for me. I thought that by not sending it, he would never have to know. Yet he had kept that letter locked in his drawer for eight long years. He had never thrown it away. 3 Will had a close friend from high school named Jared. That afternoon, Jared came to visit, immediately sliding his phone across the desk the moment he sat down. “Have you seen this?” Will glanced down. It was the trending page for Rain on a Sunny Day. He pushed the phone back. “Not interested.” Jared frowned. “Will, don’t you want to know what actually happened back then?” “We are not discussing this.” The room fell quiet. The television on the wall was playing the news, reporting the weekly bestseller list. “In first place, Rain on a Sunny Day, a poignant memoir about…” Will picked up the remote and shut the television off. They drank in silence for a while, but Jared ultimately couldn’t hold back. “She didn’t leave you the way you think she did, Will. It’s all written in the book. If you just read it, you’ll understand.” “Understand what?” Will’s voice was entirely flat. “I waited for her for three months, Jared. She didn’t leave me a single word.” “But the story you believe is a lie.” “That’s enough.” He stood up, grabbing his coat. “She left, and that’s all that matters to me.” With that, he walked out. The night wind was howling, and he walked quickly, as if trying to outrun the thoughts chasing him. Reaching the parking lot, he leaned against the car door, looking up at the dark sky. Back when he was waiting for me, I was burning with fever in that damp cell, constantly dreaming of him standing in the cold, waiting. In those dreams, I tried to run to him, but my legs wouldn’t move. Only later did I realize those weren’t just dreams. He pulled his car keys from his pocket, holding them tightly, but didn’t open the door. He just stood there under the dim parking lot light, staring blankly into the distance. Finally, he lowered his head, whispering a single sentence into the dark. “Mamie, where did you go?” It wasn’t an angry accusation. It was just a lonely man asking a question to a ghost who couldn’t answer. I stood right beside him, my throat tight. Will. I’m right here. I’ve always been here. He got into the car and drove out of the lot. Passing a bookstore, he saw a display of Rain on a Sunny Day in the illuminated window. The car slowed down for a brief second. Only a second, before he accelerated again. When he got home, Renee was waiting on the sofa. She hung up his coat and led him to the kitchen. “I warmed up some soup for you. Drink it before you go to sleep.” Will sat down, watching her busy profile. Renee turned around with the bowl, freezing when she caught his gaze. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He lowered his head and took a sip. Renee sat across from him, hesitating. “Will, about that book…” “Let’s not talk about it,” he said softly. “Finish your soup and get some sleep.” Renee closed her mouth. Will walked into the bedroom. Renee remained at the table, motionless. Only after a long time did she pick up her phone, dialing a number and keeping her voice hushed. “Mom, he still doesn’t know about the book, but I’m afraid we can’t hide it much longer.” 4 The next day, Will went to his office to handle some paperwork. His assistant walked in to deliver coffee, placing a book on the corner of the desk. “Mr. Collins asked me to give this to you. He said it’s incredibly popular right now and highly recommended it.” It was Rain on a Sunny Day. He didn’t touch it. Throughout the entire morning, the book remained on the corner of the desk. He signed documents, held meetings, and made phone calls, never once letting his gaze drift toward it. As midday approached, he finally spoke. “Take this book away.” “But Mr. Collins said…” “Take it away.” After the afternoon meeting, two colleagues were chatting in the hallway. “The saddest part is when she wrote about standing outside the gates on her release day, wondering if she should find him, but ultimately deciding not to.” “Why didn’t she go?” “She said he had no idea what had happened to her. Telling him would only bring him pain, so she decided to let it go.” Will walked out of the conference room, passing right by them. His pace faltered for a fraction of a second. But he didn’t stop, continuing back to his office. Sitting in his chair, he didn’t immediately return to work. He just sat there, staring out the window. After a long time, he opened his drawer and pulled out the worn manila envelope. He placed it on the desk, staring at it. This time, his fingers touched the seal. He paused. I held my breath. Will, open it. His fingers slowly moved down, grasping the edge of the seal. Just then, his phone vibrated. It was a text from Renee. “Will, what do you want for dinner? I can come pick you up after work.” He stared at the screen for a long time. Finally, he placed the envelope back into the drawer and locked it. He picked up his phone to reply: “No need, I’ll drive home myself.” I watched the locked drawer, a heavy despair settling deep in my chest. So close. Every single time, it was so close. That evening, Will went to the grocery store alone. Renee had been craving strawberries, so he spent a long time carefully selecting two of the best cartons. While waiting in the checkout line, his eyes drifted to a display of bestsellers near the register. Rain on a Sunny Day was stacked in the most prominent spot, its cover facing out. Will reached over, picked up a copy, and flipped it open to the first page. “Today is my first day here. The cell is damp, and the blankets are stiff. I didn’t tell him where I am, and I don’t plan to. But I don’t know why, every time I close my eyes, I see him waiting for me.” Will’s finger trembled. The line moved forward. But he didn’t move. He kept reading. “Day 17. I heard it’s snowing outside. I wonder if anyone reminded him to use his heat patches. His old injury always flares up when it snows.” “Day 41. I have a fever. I was delirious and called his name out loud. My cellmates teased me for a long time.” His breathing slowed as he flipped the page. “Day 63. Someone visited me today and brought oranges. I ate one, but it wasn’t very sweet, which made me think of him. He hates oranges because they’re too sour, always lecturing me whenever I bought them. I wonder if anyone is eating dinner with him now.” The cashier called out, “Sir, you’re next.” Will didn’t hear. He kept flipping the pages. “Day 90. I’m out. The wind is freezing today. I stood at the gates for a long time, wondering if I should find him. Ultimately, I didn’t. He doesn’t know what happened these past two years, and I don’t plan on telling him. Let’s just leave it at this.” “Sir?” He ignored the cashier entirely, flipping to the final pages. The handwriting there was shaky and uneven, written with a trembling hand. “My health is failing; I don’t think I have much time left. I still don’t plan on telling him the truth. Not because I don’t want to, but because it’s pointless now. It would only make him miserable.” “Let it be.” “Will, I didn’t abandon you.” “I just couldn’t tell you where I was going.” Will stared at that final line. For a long time, he didn’t turn the page. Slowly, he flipped to the back cover. In the bottom left corner, the publisher had printed a tiny biography. “Author: Mamie Lin. Born… Died eight years ago in the spring, at the age of twenty-three.” The grocery store’s intercom continued to blare advertisements. Will stood there, completely frozen. I hovered beside him, watching him stare at those words for what felt like an eternity. Then, he raised his head. His gaze swept past the registers, past the bookshelves, locking directly onto the empty space where I was standing. I gasped. His eyes were entirely bloodshot. We were separated by eight years, by a truth he had never known, by all the words I had never gotten to say. Yet, he looked straight at me, his eyes locking with mine.

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The day Lexi left for college, she posted on Instagram: [Does it count as growing up if I finally stop relying on my big sister?] In the photo, she wore the Jordans I bought her, held the designer bag I paid for, and beamed at the campus gates. Half an hour earlier, she’d texted: “Hey, transfer another thousand.” “Mom and Dad said I need to treat my new roommates to dinner. You’re footing the bill.” I stared at the screen and let out a dry laugh. Growing up, when she broke something, I paid for it. When she cheated on a test, I went to the principal’s office to apologize. When she lost a classmate’s phone, my parents forced me to replace it with my scholarship money. Their excuse was always the same: “You’re the older sister. If you don’t look out for her, who will?” I had looked out for her for eighteen years. When I checked her post, my parents were already flooding the comments: [Our little girl is finally independent.] I closed the banking app, opened Instagram, and replied: [Since you’re all grown up now, starting today, you can pay your own tuition, earn your own spending money, and clean up your own messes.] A minute later, Lexi called. “Sloane, what the hell is your problem?” “It means your big sister is finally growing up, too,” I said calmly. 1 “Seriously, what is your problem?” Lexi’s voice hissed through the speaker, competing with a chaotic background noise. I could hear the clinking of expensive glassware, the hushed giggles of her roommates, and a waiter politely reminding them about the bill. I glanced at the automated text message that had just popped up on my screen. “Your supplementary credit card ending in 0716 has been frozen.” I swiped the notification away. “The first step to me growing up is securing my own financial independence.” A few seconds of dead silence passed before Lexi let out a forced, venomous laugh. “Are you mentally ill?” “I am sitting at The Grand Regent. My three roommates are staring right at me. Are you seriously going to humiliate me right now?” I raised an eyebrow even though she could not see me. “Didn’t you just announce to the world that you were done relying on me?” Lexi lowered her voice, completely dripping with disgust. “That was just for social media clout, you idiot. Did you actually take it seriously?” “I am your flesh and blood. What is the big deal if I spend a little of your money?” “You don’t even have a boyfriend. Who else are you hoarding all that cash for?” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. It wasn’t that I never wanted to date. I just couldn’t afford a decent dress, and I could never justify spending twenty bucks on a movie ticket. Every single time my paycheck hit my account, it immediately went toward Lexi’s tuition, her new iPhones, and filling the endless financial sinkholes she created. My entire existence had been reduced to discount ramen, dollar menus, and clipping digital coupons. Meanwhile, her social media feed looked like a luxury influencer’s mood board. “Figure out how to pay for your own dinner,” I said softly. I heard the harsh scrape of a chair pushing back against a marble floor on her end. “Sloane, don’t you dare!” I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of her tantrum. I just hung up. Less than thirty seconds later, my mother called. Since the day she was born, Lexi never had to solve a single problem on her own. All she had to do was shed a single tear, and my parents would violently bulldoze anyone in her path. Especially me. “You ungrateful brat! Are you bullying your sister again?!” my mother shrieked. “It is her first day of college. What is wrong with her treating her roommates to a nice meal?” “Transfer the money right now. Actually, send her an extra two thousand so she can take them out to a club afterward.” I looked down at the soggy, overcooked instant noodles in my cheap plastic bowl. “My entire paycheck this month went to her tuition. I am broke.” “If you don’t have cash, put it on credit!” my mother snapped without skipping a beat. “Max out your cards! Take out a cash advance! Just do it!” I let out a bitter, exhausted laugh. “Her social status is priceless, but my actual survival means nothing to you?” I heard my father’s heavy, aggressive breathing take over the receiver. “If we hadn’t given you life and fed you, you would have starved in the gutter years ago.” I had heard that exact phrase my entire life. They gave birth to me, which meant I owed them a blood debt until the day I died. Whatever Lexi wanted, I had to provide. And the justification was always the same. You are the older sister. But there was exactly one person in this world who never saw me that way. My Grams. Before she passed away, she transferred the deed of her house entirely into my name. “Sloane, this is the only safe harbor I can leave you,” she had told me, holding my hands in her frail ones. “From now on, if anyone tries to force your hand, if anyone tries to bully you, you come back here and lock the door.” That same afternoon, she looked me dead in the eye and said the words that saved my sanity. “You are a person, Sloane. Not a walking ATM.” Because of her, this small house was the only real home I had. I hung up on my parents and permanently blocked both of their numbers. A warm, furry head nudged against my knee. Biscuit, my golden retriever, looked up at me with huge, soulful eyes. I knelt down and buried my face in his soft fur. “It’s just going to be the two of us from now on, buddy.” Half an hour later, a violent pounding shook my front door. My father was outside, roaring at the top of his lungs. “Sloane! You worthless animal, get your ass out here right now!” 2 Biscuit crawled out from behind the sofa, planted himself in front of my legs, and started barking aggressively at the door. I gently pushed him behind me. “Whatever you want to say, say it tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?!” my father bellowed through the heavy wood. “Your sister is being held by hotel security because she can’t pay the bill, and you are hiding in there playing dead?!” I looked through the peephole. His face was twisted into a vicious, ugly snarl. My mother was standing right behind him. “Fine, you don’t have to open the door today,” her voice cut through the wood, entirely devoid of warmth. “But that house your grandmother left behind was never supposed to go to you in the first place.” My fingertips slowly slid off the deadbolt. “What are you talking about?” My mother completely dropped the act. “That old woman was always horribly biased toward you.” “Lexi is the one who needs to finish college, establish her career, and marry into a good family. You are a washed-up spinster who is never getting married. What right do you have to hoard a whole house to yourself?” I didn’t answer. A split second later, I heard the metallic click of a key turning in the lock. I stumbled back. The door swung open. My mother was holding a shiny spare key, a cold, triumphant smirk plastered across her face. It hit me like a physical blow. Last month, she had visited, claiming she just wanted to see if I was living comfortably. She had wandered into my bedroom alone. That was when she stole my emergency spare key. My father stormed into the living room and immediately backhanded me across the face. The slap echoed like a gunshot. A high-pitched ringing pierced my eardrums. The left side of my face instantly ignited in blistering heat, and the sharp, metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. He pointed a thick finger at my face. “You think you have the right to lock me out?!” Biscuit lunged forward, baring his teeth and barking fiercely to protect me. My father spun around, grabbing a heavy glass ashtray off the coffee table. “Shut up, you useless mutt!” I lunged to stop him, but I was a second too late. The solid glass smashed directly into Biscuit’s hind leg. The dog let out an agonizing, piercing yelp. His claws frantically scraped against the hardwood floor, but his back leg completely gave out. He couldn’t stand up. “Biscuit!” I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around his trembling body. My father just marched over to my work desk and swept his arm across the surface. My company laptop crashed onto the floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of dead pixels. It held the final, unsaved draft of a massive project I had spent the last three months agonizing over. I reached out to salvage the pieces, but my fingertip grazed the broken glass, slicing open a deep, bleeding gash. My mother just stood in the doorway, watching me bleed with absolute indifference. “Don’t blame us for this, Sloane.” “If you had just listened and behaved, Lexi wouldn’t have been humiliated at that hotel tonight.” I looked up at her, my vision blurry with tears of pure rage. “So you smash up my home, break my dog’s leg, and then demand I behave?” “Your home?” My father stomped his heavy boot directly onto the shattered laptop screen. The plastic casing let out a sickening crunch. “You have my blood in your veins. Everything you own belongs to me.” “Bring your ID and the deed to the county clerk’s office tomorrow at ten in the morning. We are transferring the title to Lexi.” My mother had already walked into my bedroom. I heard drawers being yanked open and the annoyed clicking of her tongue as she rummaged through my things. A few minutes later, she walked out holding my old iPad. She shoved it roughly into her designer tote bag. “You care so much about your pride, right?” she sneered. “Let’s see what your coworkers think of you tomorrow when I show them what kind of monster you really are.” Before stepping out into the hallway, my father slipped the stolen house key into his jacket pocket. “Ten o’clock tomorrow. If you don’t show up, I am going to your office building with a megaphone and a protest banner.” The front door slammed shut. The only sound left in the ruined apartment was Biscuit’s suppressed, agonizing whimpers. I gently scooped him into my arms and walked out the door. Grams had told me to lock the door when people tried to bully me. But this time, closing the door wasn’t going to be enough. I was going to throw them out of my life entirely. 3 I sat in the sterile waiting room of the emergency veterinary clinic until three in the morning. “He has a severe fracture in his hind leg, along with deep soft tissue contusions.” Biscuit was lying flat on the stainless steel examination table. The anesthesia hadn’t fully worn off, and his eyes were only half-open. When he saw me, his tail gave a weak, pathetic thump against the metal table. I stroked his golden head, my tears dropping silently onto his fur. After bringing a heavily medicated Biscuit back to the apartment, I walked into my office building the next morning with the left side of my face still visibly swollen. The second I stepped into the bullpen, every single pair of eyes locked onto me. I walked to my cubicle. Sarah, the senior analyst sitting across from me, quietly slid her phone across the desk. “Sloane, your mother is dragging your name through the mud in the company Slack channel.” I tapped the screen. The messages were coming from my own account. Technically, it was my mother typing on my stolen iPad. [To all management and colleagues. I am Sloane’s mother.] [I am reaching out here because I am completely out of options and desperate for help.] [Sloane refuses to support her elderly parents, financially abuses her little sister by cutting off her food money, and is trying to illegally embezzle a house left behind by her grandmother.] [Her personal life is completely degenerate, and as her parents, we simply cannot control her anymore.] She attached several photos to the diatribe. The first photo was my completely trashed living room. Caption: [Sloane threw a violent tantrum and destroyed our home.] The second was a photo of Lexi crying outside The Grand Regent hotel. Caption: [My youngest daughter’s first day of college, humiliated because her cruel sister refused to pay for a simple meal.] The third was a cropped snapshot of the official property deed. Caption: [An inheritance meant for the whole family, hoarded entirely by her.] I stared at that third photo for a very long time. Before Grams died, she was absolutely terrified that I wouldn’t be able to protect the house from my parents. Even though she could barely walk, she forced herself to go down to the notary office. The clerk had asked her, “Ma’am, are you absolutely certain this property is to be transferred solely to your granddaughter, Sloane?” Grams was sitting in a wheelchair. Her voice was incredibly slow, but every single syllable was forged in steel. “I am certain.” “This child has never known a day of real love in that house. This property is her armor. No one is allowed to take it from her.” That was the last time she ever left the house. On the cab ride home, she leaned against the window, looked at me with a soft smile, and asked, “Sloane, are you happy you finally have a home of your own?” I had cried so hard I could only nod. Now, my mother had taken that sacred gift and publicly labeled it as ’embezzlement.’ The HR assistant walked up to my desk, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Sloane, Greg wants to see you in his office.” Inside the glass-walled office, an official suspension notice was already sitting on Greg’s desk. “Your personal drama has severely impacted the company’s professional image,” my manager said coldly. “We are reassigning your current project to Justin.” I stared at the piece of paper. That project was the result of three months of agonizing overtime. I had rewritten the core proposal seventeen times. Now, he was just handing it over to a junior employee. “Greg, this is a coordinated smear campaign,” I kept my voice steady. “I can provide full documentation to prove it.” He clicked his expensive pen and tossed it onto the desk. “I have zero interest in playing referee for your toxic family disputes. Please leave my office.” I grabbed the suspension notice and walked out of the building. Standing right outside the lobby’s revolving doors was Lexi. She was wearing a pristine white sundress, expensive strappy heels, and carrying the newest season Chanel bag I had paid for. The second she saw me, she jogged over, her eyes perfectly rimmed with red like she had been weeping. “Sloane, please don’t be mad at Mom and Dad anymore.” A few of my coworkers purposely slowed their pace as they walked past us, eavesdropping. Lexi grabbed my sleeve, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you just go to the clerk’s office and transfer the deed to my name today, I will make Mom go into your company chat and clear everything up.” “She’ll just say it was all a big misunderstanding.” I looked down at her completely flawless makeup. “That is Grams’ house. She left it to me.” Lexi furrowed her brow, looking genuinely annoyed. “You live alone. Keeping a house that big is a complete waste of space.” “Mom and Dad said that house is much better suited for me.” I calmly pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit record on the voice memo app. “So, what you just said is… as long as I sign my house over to you, you will clear my name at work. Is that correct?” Lexi’s eye twitched. She lunged forward, trying to snatch the phone out of my hand. “You’re recording me?! Sloane, you are literally psychotic!” I sidestepped her easily. “Go back and tell Mom and Dad.” “I am not giving up a single square inch of that property.” “And none of you will ever see another dime of my money as long as you live.” Lexi stood frozen in front of the glass lobby doors, her voice rising to a hysterical screech. “You are going to regret this! Mom and Dad are going to ruin you!” I didn’t even look back. But when I finally got back to my apartment complex that evening and slid my key into the deadbolt, it wouldn’t turn. I looked closer. The entire lock cylinder was brand new. I could hear the television blaring inside my living room, mixed with the loud, abrasive laughter of my parents. I pounded my fists against the door. The apartment went dead silent for two seconds. Then, my father’s smug voice drifted through the heavy wood. “Ready to go sign the transfer papers?” 4 I stood in the cold hallway, my fingers gripping the original key Grams had given me until the metal teeth dug into my palm. “This is my property,” I yelled through the door. “What right do you have to change the locks?!” My father just laughed from the other side. “You have my blood in your veins. Everything you own is mine by right.” My mother chimed in immediately. “Sloane, stop being so incredibly stubborn.” “Just give the house to Lexi, and we’ll let you move back into the guest room. You are the older sister. Fighting your baby sister over real estate is absolutely humiliating for everyone.” I closed my eyes, forcing down the panic rising in my chest. “Where is Biscuit?” No one answered. I kicked the door as hard as I could. “Where is my dog?!” My mother let out an annoyed sigh. “That useless mutt? Your father threw him downstairs hours ago.” I spun around and sprinted down the stairwell. I checked the landscaping bushes by the lobby. I ran down the ramp into the underground parking garage. I screamed Biscuit’s name until my throat was raw. Nothing. Finally, I ran to the far edge of the complex, where the massive industrial dumpsters were kept. I found him. He had been violently stuffed into a soggy cardboard box next to a pile of rotting garbage. His beautiful golden fur was matted into dark, filthy clumps. Fresh blood was caked around his muzzle. His broken hind leg was twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle. The only sign he was even alive was the incredibly shallow rise and fall of his chest. I dropped to my knees in the puddles of filthy rainwater. When I reached out to touch him, my hands were shaking so violently I was terrified of hurting him worse. “Biscuit…” He didn’t open his eyes. Only the very tip of his black nose twitched faintly. I scooped him into my arms, ignoring the blood and garbage water soaking through my clothes, and sprinted for the street. “Don’t go to sleep. Biscuit, please, stay awake.” When I finally reached the emergency vet, the technicians took one look and rushed him straight into the trauma bay. When those double doors swung shut, my legs completely gave out. I slid down the waiting room wall and buried my face in my hands. My phone started vibrating endlessly in my pocket. I pulled it out. Lexi had just posted a new viral video on social media. [My older sister cut off my food money, stole my house, and kicked our elderly parents out onto the street—all because I wanted to be independent. I guess growing up really does come with a price.] She uploaded a carousel of photos with the video. A selfie showing her violently sobbing with red eyes outside the hotel. Screenshots of my mother’s smear campaign in my company’s Slack channel. And a photo of my trashed living room, entirely devoid of context. The comment section was an absolute bloodbath. [What a psychotic control freak. The second her sister stops obeying her, she cuts off her money.] [Kicking her own parents out onto the street? What a total sociopath.] Even people from my graduating class were blowing up my direct messages. [Sloane, is that video real?] [Your sister is a freshman. You don’t need to be so aggressive with her.] Even an old college roommate, someone I used to consider a close friend, sent a single text: [Whatever happened, she is still your flesh and blood, Sloane.] I stared at the flashing cursor in the text box. I typed out half a sentence explaining the truth, then slowly deleted it, letter by letter. I closed the app and didn’t reply to a single person. The doors to the trauma bay finally opened. The vet pulled down his surgical mask, his expression incredibly grim. “It doesn’t look good. We’re going to have to monitor him through the night.” When I signed the authorization forms, my hands were trembling so badly my signature was completely illegible. The receptionist handed me the invoice. Four thousand, eight hundred dollars. My debit account had exactly two hundred bucks in it, because I had drained it paying for Lexi’s tuition a week ago. I stood in front of the billing counter, pulled out my last remaining credit card, and handed it over. When the transaction approved, a dark, hollow laugh escaped my chest. I left the clinic and walked straight to my apartment complex’s property management office. The young girl working the front desk took one look at me and her entire demeanor shifted. She quickly placed her phone face down on the desk. The screen had been paused on Lexi’s crying video. “I need you to pull the security footage for my floor,” I demanded. Her voice was instantly dripping with icy judgment. “We do not release security footage to anyone who isn’t a verified property owner.” I pulled up a high-res photo of the deed on my phone and shoved it in her face. “I am the owner.” She barely glanced at it before pushing my phone away. “You still have to file a formal request through the proper channels.” The security guard lingering by the water cooler decided to chime in. “Look, lady, just drop it. Your parents raised you. So what if they crash at your place for a few days?” “Calling the cops and demanding security tapes? Do you know how psychotic that makes you look?” I stared at the two of them. The sheer ignorance was suffocating. I couldn’t even force words past my teeth. I left the office and drove straight to the county clerk’s public records division. The clerk handed me a freshly stamped, certified copy of the deed and the notarized will. Grams’ signature was a little shaky, but it was the ultimate shield she had forged just for me. I sat on a bench in the government building lobby for a very long time, clutching the paperwork to my chest. My phone buzzed. A new friend request from Lexi. [Transfer the house, and I’ll delete the videos.] I tucked the certified documents into my bag and drove back to my complex. Looking up from the street, I could see the lights blazing in my living room windows. My parents were probably sitting on my couch, watching my television, completely unbothered. I stood in the freezing wind, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911. “Hello? I need to report a home invasion.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “457268”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A new intern joined James’s company last month. Armed with a so-called “System,” she quickly wrapped everyone around me around her little finger. My older brother turned into her loyal lapdog. My in-laws basically adopted her as their own. Even my husband, James, started taking her on secret business trips. She stood in front of me, her lips curling into a sneer of pure disdain. “Give it three months. James will divorce you for me. A useless woman like you deserves to be wiped out by the System.” She expected me to scream. She wanted jealousy, twisted rage, a desperate vow of revenge. Instead, I slowly folded the terminal illness notification in my hand and tucked it away. I looked at her, my eyes filled with nothing but genuine pity. “Run. This is your last chance.” 1 James and I were childhood sweethearts. Our families had been close for three generations. We were each other’s first loves. Married for two years, we never had a single argument. That was, until the new intern showed up at his corporate headquarters. Lindsay. The first time I saw her was at the cemetery on the outskirts of the city. She was young, dressed in a flowing white sundress, her hair tied in a simple ponytail. Her eyes were wide and innocent as she timidly hid behind my father. My father led her to my mother’s gravestone and offered a bouquet of white roses. His voice was heavy with grief. “Sylvia, your mother has passed, and you’ve moved out to start your own family. The estate feels too empty. I’ve decided to bring Lindsay home to live with us.” I gave him a sharp, incredulous look. “You’re a grown man, Dad. Have you not figured out how to sleep in an empty house yet? Mom hasn’t even been gone a year, and you’re already replacing her?” My father faltered, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. It was Lindsay who stepped forward. “Sylvia, I am the illegitimate daughter of the Sinclair family. I know you look down on me. But we are all born equal. In the eyes of the law, we share the exact same inheritance rights.” I let out a dry laugh. Before I could even formulate a reply, a strange, echoing voice filled my head. [System, are you absolutely sure my identity as the illegitimate daughter is flawless?] A robotic chime responded. [Affirmative, Host. I have directly replicated the female lead’s DNA. No matter what tests they run, you are a blood-relative of the Sinclair family.] Lindsay’s inner voice dripped with mockery. [Tsk. And here I thought her parents had this grand, epic romance. Turns out, all it takes is a single piece of paper from a DNA lab to make Arthur’s affection for me skyrocket from zero to one hundred percent.] The System replied. [Congratulations, Host! As long as you successfully conquer everyone close to the female lead, you will perfectly replace her.] Female lead? Me? I kept my face completely blank, quietly lowering my gaze to the grass. Lindsay’s confident thoughts continued. [Aside from being born lucky, the female lead is utterly useless. Are you sure that once I replace her, everyone’s memories of her will be completely erased?] [Guaranteed. You have my word.] Under the sleeve of my black coat, my thumb brushed against the plastic of my hospital wristband. My heart pounded a slow, heavy rhythm against my ribs. Just then, Lindsay’s gaze shifted to someone standing a few yards away. My older brother. “He’s my next target,” she whispered under her breath. [Host, scanning target Tristan. Current affection level is negative two hundred percent.] A faint smile touched the corners of my mouth. My brother was a man of rigid principles. An Ivy League law graduate with a moral compass made of iron. If there was one thing he despised, it was the exact kind of scandal Lindsay represented. Later that evening, back at the Sinclair estate. Lindsay immediately demanded my old bedroom. “Sylvia doesn’t even live here anymore. It’s a waste to leave it empty.” I flat-out refused. We exchanged a few heated words at the top of the staircase. Suddenly, she threw herself backward, tumbling down the carpeted steps with a dramatic cry. Tristan happened to be walking through the foyer. He paused, his cold, sharp eyes sweeping over her. A look of profound disgust crossed his face. Lindsay scrambled to her feet, looking perfectly pathetic. A scrape on her forehead beaded with fresh, bright red blood. She looked up at my father with tear-filled eyes. “I know Sylvia didn’t push me on purpose. And I know I don’t deserve such a beautiful room. It’s just… before I found you, Dad, I spent nights sleeping in my car. I used to dream of having a real canopy bed of my own.” Tristan stared at her in dead silence for three agonizing seconds. His lips barely moved. “Get lost.” The robotic voice chimed in my head again. [Host, Tristan’s affection level has dropped by another one hundred points. Current level is negative three hundred percent.] Lindsay bit her lip, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. 2 Her acting was incredibly sloppy. Did she really think she could fool a top-tier corporate litigator like my brother? Tristan took the stairs two at a time and grabbed my hands. His brow furrowed in genuine concern. “Sylvia, you look terrible. You’re so pale. Is James not taking care of you? If that bastard is neglecting you, tell me right now. I’ll break his jaw.” I gently shook my head. “James is in Paris on business. He won’t be back until tonight.” Whenever James traveled, he called me at least ten times a day. If I took longer than five minutes to text back, he would panic. Just to make sure I got to eat the fresh croissants from my favorite bakery in Montmartre, he was flying back on his private jet tonight. Night fell. James’s Maybach pulled up to the driveway of the Sinclair estate. The heavy door swung open, and he stepped out. His tailored suit clung perfectly to his frame, and the moment his eyes found me, a hopelessly indulgent smile broke across his handsome face. Standing nearby, Lindsay was mentally screaming. [System, is this the male lead?! He is gorgeous! He is exactly my type! I hate to admit it, but the female lead really hit the jackpot.] [Do not underestimate the male lead, Host,] the System warned. [His mind is dark and incredibly complex. He is not what he seems.] Lindsay scoffed internally. [What is there to be afraid of? Look at Sylvia. She’s a spineless coward who doesn’t even have the guts to tell her own husband she’s dying. All I need to do is plant a tiny seed of misunderstanding, and they’ll tear each other apart.] James walked straight past her and stopped in front of me. He handed me a beautifully wrapped bakery box. “Baby, the pastry isn’t as warm as it was out of the oven. Promise me you’ll come with me next time?” Tristan glared at him from the porch. “Flying across the Atlantic just to drag my sister to your boring meetings? Leave her alone.” James ignored him, wrapping his arms securely around my waist. He ducked his head, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. He shot Tristan a provocative look over my shoulder. “I missed my wife. I can’t sleep when she’s not in my bed.” Tristan gritted his teeth, utterly helpless against James’s shamelessness. He looked at me. “Don’t listen to him, Sylvia. He’s been clingy since he was ten years old. He has no boundaries.” James smirked. “Sylvia and I are actual family. You, brother-in-law, are just an extended relative at this point.” They had hated each other since childhood. Tristan guarded me from James like he was fending off a thief. On my wedding day, my tough, stoic brother locked himself in the bathroom and cried until he hyperventilated. He hated James even more after that. I tugged on James’s sleeve, silently pleading with him to dial it back. But as I did, I noticed his eyes drift. He was looking at Lindsay. Lindsay’s inner voice shrieked with joy. [System! He looked at me! Oh my god, those eyes could make anyone melt. Is he interested?!] [Apologies, Host. Current scan shows the male lead’s affection for you is negative one thousand percent.] Lindsay refused to accept it. [But my DNA is identical to Sylvia’s! I look at least seventy percent like her, and I’m younger. No man can resist a younger version of his first love!] [Sylvia is only two years older than you,] the System stated flatly. Then, it hitched. […Wait. Alert. The male lead’s affection is rapidly rising. Negative eight hundred… negative five hundred… zero… positive one percent. Host, what did you just do? In less than a minute, his affection is in the green!] Lindsay puffed her chest out with pride. [What’s so surprising? I’m fresher, newer. They’ve been together for seven years and married for two. He’s probably bored out of his mind by now.] 3 My fingers tightened around the bakery box. James had only ever had eyes for me. He secretly bought a diamond ring when we were eighteen. The day we turned twenty-two, he practically dragged me to the courthouse to sign the marriage papers. In the early days of our marriage, he was insatiable. Even if my fingers just accidentally brushed against his arm, his eyes would darken with a heat that made my breath catch. But… it had been a long time since we shared a bed properly. Three months? Maybe longer? I couldn’t even remember. I forced my heart to slow down and kept my voice perfectly casual. “Let’s go home, James.” He took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. As he did, his fingertips accidentally pressed against the plastic hospital band hidden beneath my cuff. His entire body went rigid. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a single word. A week passed in quiet routine. James was drowning in work. This time, his business trip was to London. Before he left, dressed in a sleek charcoal suit, he pinned me against the wall in the entryway, kissing me breathless. He kissed me over and over, like he was afraid I would vanish. “Be a good girl, Sylvia. Wait for me to come home.” I nodded, just like I always did. He lingered, his voice dropping low. “If anyone upsets you, you tell me immediately. Understand?” My fingers twitched. I thought about the post Lindsay had uploaded to her social media a few days ago. Just started my new job! My direct boss is painfully gorgeous. I want him so bad. The photo attached was her new corporate badge. The department listed was the Executive Office of Kensington Holdings. In the blurry background of the photo, you could clearly make out James’s broad shoulders as he stood looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. James had never allowed female assistants in his inner circle before. He always said he hated the drama, hated the rumors, and mostly, hated having to coax me if I ever got the wrong idea. I looked up at him. “Are you flying out alone this time?” James gave a soft “Mm.” Then he sighed, resting his forehead against mine. “Baby, you never come with me anymore. I wanted to take you to see the fireworks over the Thames.” I pinched his cheek gently. “Next time.” The moment his car pulled out of the driveway, I grabbed my keys and drove straight to the Sinclair estate. I pushed the door to my old bedroom open. Everything—my books, my clothes, my childhood memories—was gone. Replaced by Lindsay’s cheap perfumes and fast fashion. I slowly turned to look at Tristan, who had followed me upstairs. I waited for an explanation. Tristan looked incredibly guilty. He rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet my eyes. “Sylvia, you hardly ever stay here anyway. Since Lindsay liked the room, I figured it was easier to just let her have it. She’s a Sinclair, after all. She’s spent years struggling out in the world… it’s quite pitiful, really.” A hollow laugh escaped my lips. “Since when did you become the patron saint of charity, Tristan?” He didn’t have an answer. Just then, Lindsay walked out of the guest bathroom. She was wearing a sharp pencil skirt and carrying a small designer suitcase. I blocked her path. “Where are the things from my room?” She looked at me and offered a sickeningly sweet, mocking smile. “The maids threw them in the storage room downstairs. Now move, please. I have a flight to catch for a business trip. We can’t all sit around doing nothing like you.” Tristan stood right there. He watched my face carefully, evaluating my reaction. But he didn’t say a single word in my defense. The System’s voice echoed in my mind. [Host, Tristan’s affection level is now at one hundred percent. Congratulations, your progress is halfway complete! Once you conquer the Kensington family, you will successfully replace the female lead.] After Lindsay left, I turned my gaze to my brother. “Did you know she got a job at Kensington Holdings? As James’s personal assistant?” Tristan walked over and reached out to pat my head, just like he used to do when we were kids. “I pulled the strings to get her in, Sylvia. Kensington is a massive corporation. It’s completely normal for them to have female employees. You need to be more generous. Stop being so paranoid. Look, if having her around bothers you, just tell me what you want. I’ll buy you anything to make up for it.” My hands curled into tight fists, my nails biting into my palms. The Tristan standing before me—completely brainwashed by Lindsay’s System—was a stranger. The betrayal settled in my bones like ice. “And what if she wants to sleep with my husband?” I asked softly, a bitter smile on my lips. “What exactly are you going to buy me to make up for that?” Tristan’s face instantly darkened. His mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. After a long, tense silence, his voice turned uncompromising. “You’re overthinking this. James would never allow something like that to happen. Lindsay interning at Kensington Holdings was a family decision. It is not up for debate.” 4 I was in a daze all the way to the hospital. Dr. Aris stared at my lab results, his brow deeply furrowed. “Sylvia, you need dialysis twice a week. You are constantly missing your appointments. This is your body, your life. How can you be so reckless? …Are you even listening to me?” I blinked, pulling myself back to reality. I offered him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I know I’m making things difficult.” He let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. “Your file says you are married. Why does your husband never come with you? Where is your family? If we miraculously find a kidney match, we need a family member to sign the consent forms for the transplant.” I hadn’t told a single soul that I was dying. I only snuck into the hospital when James was out of town or buried in board meetings. “I don’t need a transplant,” I said softly, but firmly. “Conservative treatment is fine.” He looked at me like I was insane. “Without a transplant, your life expectancy is three months. At most.” “I know.” I forced the corners of my mouth up into a smile. “I don’t like taking things that belong to other people. Kidneys included.” The old doctor looked ready to throw his pen at me. The truth was, I was just too tired to fight. My mother died on an operating table during a transplant due to severe organ rejection. I refused to let my final days be a mirror image of her suffering. I had been agonizing over how to break the news to my family. But now… it was fine. Lindsay had arrived. Once her conquest was complete, the System would wipe me from existence. It would erase every trace of me from the minds of everyone I loved. That was perfect. They wouldn’t have to grieve. I lay back in the chair as the dialysis machine began to hum. I stared out the window at the gray sky. It suddenly occurred to me that James hadn’t sent me a single text all day. I unlocked my phone and opened my feed. Lindsay had just posted an update. So clumsy! Sprained my ankle out here. Attached was a photo taken inside a luxury private clinic. A man in a bespoke suit was kneeling in front of her, gently holding an ice pack against her bare ankle.

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My husband is practically useless when it comes to basic survival. He mixed bleach and ammonia toilet cleaner, gassed himself, and ended up in a vegetative state. The internet hailed me as an absolute saint for refusing to leave his side. But they have no idea. I just could not bear to abandon my own masterpiece. 1 My phone rang while I was at the local organic market haggling over the price of jumbo shrimp. Zane had texted me his mandatory menu for the day. He demanded a medium rare ribeye steak, garlic butter fried shrimp, and a delicate asparagus soup. Dessert was supposed to be homemade tiramisu. My plan was to grab the shrimp, hit the supermarket for espresso powder, and pick up that specific brand of cold pressed orange juice he liked. I absolutely despised this daily grocery run. But I had no choice. Zane refused to eat anything that wasn’t bought fresh that exact morning. The last time I caught a fever and dared to serve him frozen fish fillets, he locked me in the pitch black basement for two days to think about my mistakes. Right as I was bagging the shrimp, my screen lit up. “Hello, is this Olivia? This is Memorial General Hospital. Your husband…” A loud ringing drowned out the rest of the sentence. I dropped the groceries. Ignoring the vendor yelling at me to pay, I hailed a cab straight to the emergency room. By the time I arrived, Zane had already been wheeled into the resuscitation bay. Standing awkwardly by the double doors was Jason, his newly recruited gaming sidekick. “What happened? He gets regular checkups. How could he just pass out?” I grabbed Jason by the sleeves, shaking him with wide, panicked eyes. “Ma’am, please try to breathe. Let the kid explain.” I turned around to see two uniformed police officers walking toward us. I put on my best face of utter confusion. “Why are the cops here? Was Zane attacked?” Jason gently patted my back. “Liv, take a breath. I was the one who called 911.” He wore a mask of sorrow, but I caught the briefest flicker of cunning in his eyes before he looked down. I wiped a dry hand over my face. “Tell me what happened.” Jason explained that he showed up at our house at eight in the morning for their usual streaming session. He knocked for ten minutes. No answer. He called. Voicemail. “I figured he just overslept, so I called you, Liv. You gave me the garage keypad code.” I nodded, confirming the story. I originally told him to wait in his car since Zane hated people in his space, but Jason claimed he was about to wet himself, so I let him inside. The moment Jason opened the door, a thick, burning chemical stench hit him. Covering his mouth, he followed the smell to the master bathroom. “Zane was just lying there dead still on the tiles. I freaked out and called the cops. That is all I know.” 2 I looked away from Jason and stared blankly at the closed doors of the emergency room. Honestly, I was tearing myself apart inside. Half of me was terrified the doors would open and Zane would walk out completely fine. The other half was worried he would just drop dead on the table. After an eternity of waiting, the red light above the doors finally shut off. They wheeled Zane out. I stumbled forward, my face twisted into a perfect portrait of agony and desperation. Anyone watching would have sworn I was a woman deeply, madly in love. In reality, I just needed to know exactly how the rest of my life was going to play out. The doctor pulled down his mask. “We did everything we could. But he inhaled a massive amount of toxic gas. The lack of oxygen to the brain was severe. He will likely remain in a vegetative state.” Vegetative state. Those two words struck me like a bolt of pure electricity. I threw myself over Zane’s unconscious body and wailed. “Zane! It is all my fault. Why wasn’t it me? Please wake up!” One of the officers stepped forward to comfort me. “Olivia, his life is saved. The doctor said he might stay in this state, but medical science does miracles every day. There is still hope.” I nodded vigorously, keeping my mouth shut. I did not dare speak a single word. I knew if I opened my mouth, a wild, hysterical laugh would burst out. A vegetative state. This was absolutely perfect. Rest easy, my sweet husband. I promise to take exceptionally good care of you. 3 After filling out the endless admission paperwork, the police pulled me aside for a formal statement. “Our forensics team checked the scene. Someone mixed bleach with an ammonia based toilet cleaner. It created a massive cloud of chloramine gas, which dropped your husband instantly.” I nodded slowly. It sounded exactly like the tragic accident it was. Detective Harrison leaned against the wall, his sharp eyes locking onto mine. “Except… it is common sense not to mix bleach and ammonia. Did your husband really not know that?” He was probing. He was suspecting me. It made sense. Whenever a spouse nearly dies under weird circumstances, the partner is always suspect number one. Especially when the victim brings in the kind of money Zane did. I sniffled loudly, wiping my nose with a tissue. “He is utterly clueless about real life. His brain only has room for video games. I am not even joking, Detective. Whenever he uses the bathroom, he leaves the toilet brush for me. He does not know how to clean a single thing in that house.” “So he is a giant toddler?” a younger cop muttered under his breath. People outside our world could never fathom this kind of dynamic. Detective Harrison shot the rookie a glare before turning back to me. “He cannot even clean a toilet? Does he have a physical disability?” “Of course not!” Jason chimed in, eager to defend his idol. “Zane is one of the top gaming streamers on the platform. The guy pulls in six figures a month. Why would a guy like that scrub his own toilet?” Jason puffed out his chest. “You have no idea how jealous his fans are of Liv. If I could marry a guy with that kind of bank account, I would gladly wipe his ass for him!” Zane had used those exact words on me. He used to tell me that if I did not want to do the chores, I could pack my bags. He had a line of girls wrapped around the block begging for the chance to scrub his floors. Under the shocked gaze of the two cops, I offered a pathetic, embarrassed nod. Zane had no outside vices. He did not drink or party. His entire existence consisted of sleeping and screaming at his monitors. Every dime he made went straight into a joint bank account with my name on it. Unlike the toxic gamer bros online, Zane built his brand on being the ultimate romantic. He loved showing me off on stream. Whenever chat called me average or asked why he was with me, he would pull me into the frame and kiss my cheek. He would tell thousands of people, “My wife is the most perfect woman on earth. I would be nothing without her.” He wasn’t lying. He would literally be nothing without me. We met back in college. I spent my evenings studying in a dingy local gaming lounge where he worked the front desk. We were both broke kids from the boondocks, which drew us together instantly. Zane was incredibly handsome. Girls threw themselves at him constantly, but they only wanted his looks and the thrill of a bad boy. They always vanished after a few weeks. Then we got together. He told me I was the only girl who didn’t care about money, and he promised to give me the world once he made it big. During my junior year, I secretly recorded a clip of him landing an impossible sniper shot and uploaded it to social media. His ridiculous good looks combined with top tier mechanics made him go viral overnight. Once he tasted that ad revenue, the obsession began. He streamed day and night. At first, the goal was sweet. He wanted to buy a house in the city and marry me. But slowly, buried under a daily avalanche of people calling him a gaming god, he completely lost his mind. Right after graduation, he locked me away in his fortress. He proposed, handed me his bank card, and told me he owed his life to me. He said he wanted me to live like royalty. He said I never had to work a miserable office job or take orders from a boss ever again. He wanted me to be his little princess. He repeated this fairy tale on stream constantly. To his millions of followers, he was the wealthy, devoted, flawless husband. They thought I was the luckiest girl on the planet. “But what about reality?” Detective Harrison asked, his voice cutting through my memories. 4 I froze, genuinely caught off guard by the question. “Behind closed doors. Were you two really that in love?” Harrison pressed. Behind closed doors? Behind closed doors was a living nightmare. There was no princess. I was an unpaid slave. I served him like a dog. When he ate, I had to sit on the floor beside his chair in case he dropped his napkin. If he woke up thirsty at 3 AM, I had to have ice water ready before he even asked. He constantly sent me screenshots of toxic forum posts about how miserable other men’s wives were. He made his streamer friends complain on voice comms about their nagging girlfriends just so I could hear it. He brainwashed me into believing that taking care of his every bodily need was a privilege. He devolved into a monstrous infant. Sometimes, I would watch videos of exhausted women working two jobs just to feed their deadbeat husbands, and I would actually feel a sick sense of relief. I convinced myself I was lucky. Sure, Zane was lazy and demanding. But at least he wasn’t cheating on me. At least he didn’t hit me. We existed in that suffocating bubble until the afternoon I accidentally overheard his Discord call with Jason. Jason was hyping him up. “Bro, you have the cash, the fame, and you are insanely loyal. You are literally the perfect guy.” Zane snorted, a wet, ugly sound. Jason kept pushing. “Man, with all the IG models sliding into your DMs, do you really not get tempted? What exactly does Liv have that makes you so obsessed?” I heard the flick of Zane’s expensive lighter. He took a long drag. “Because she is obedient. And she is stupid.” My blood turned to ice. “What is the difference between Liv and those club girls? They all spread their legs the same way. Plus, who knows how many guys those models have been through. At least Liv is clean. Maybe those other chicks know a few more tricks, but whatever I want, Liv does it. Nurse, flight attendant, whatever messed up thing I ask for, she obeys.” Then came a dark, vulgar laugh that made my skin crawl. My face burned with a fiery shame. I felt like I had been stripped naked and thrown onto a busy intersection for strangers to laugh at. Zane kept talking. “And get this. She is incredibly dumb. I put all my stream money into that account, and she thinks I love her to death. But the PIN code? She only knows the first three digits. I changed the backend password months ago. She has zero access. Besides, the stupid bitch never leaves the house anyway. It is not like she has anywhere to spend it.” I stood in the hallway, completely paralyzed. The grand romance I had sacrificed my youth for was nothing but a cheap, calculated cage. But he was right about one thing. I never left the house. He claimed his gaming lifestyle made him out of shape, and he was terrified that if I went out, I would find a better looking guy. He weaponized his own insecurities to trap me inside. To make him feel “secure,” I was banned from buying nice clothes. I only wore the cheap, trashy lingerie he ordered online. At the same time, he demanded I stay perfectly thin. He said my weight gain would make me depressed, and he just cared about my mental health. So he bought a treadmill and forced me to run every morning while he slept. He said growing up poor made him paranoid about money, so he gave me a strict, humiliating weekly allowance for groceries and forced me to haggle over pennies at the market. Standing in the police station, I wiped a single, genuine tear from my eye. The only thing he ever calculated was how to break me. When I heard that conversation, I felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to my ribs. I couldn’t hear the rest of their chat over the deafening ringing in my ears. That was the first day I ever rebelled. At exactly three in the afternoon, the time I was supposed to serve his daily dessert, I was sitting on a dirty curb a mile away, just watching the cars go by. I realized I had spent years existing as a mindless drone. I had no thoughts of my own. My entire universe revolved around Zane’s moods. If he smiled, I smiled. If he raged, I scrambled to fix it. I felt like the tragic female lead in a bad novel who suddenly gains sentience. For the very first time, I knew with absolute certainty that I could not live like this anymore. 5 That night, I declined every single call Zane made to my phone. I went to a noisy sports bar, ate a massive plate of spicy wings, and went to a late night movie completely alone. When I finally unlocked the front door, Zane was sitting in the dark on the living room sofa. The air in the room was heavy and toxic. “Did you lose your phone or get kidnapped? Why the hell didn’t you answer me?” I glanced at him. The words I want to get a real job were right on the tip of my tongue. Before I could speak, his hand cracked across my jaw. The force sent me stumbling backward. “Are you deaf or just retarded?” he roared, his face twisting into something demonic. “I pay for your pathetic life! I keep a roof over your head! You cannot even do one simple task right. What is the point of you breathing?” Pure instinct took over. I swung back and scratched his neck. He did not expect me to fight back. His eyes widened in shock before pure rage took over. He kicked me square in the stomach, sending me crashing to the hardwood floor. He knew he had a live sponsor stream the next day and needed me to bring him drinks on camera, so he expertly avoided my face. He aimed his boots at my ribs and thighs. “You ungrateful bitch! You are nothing without me! I own you!” He only stopped when the doorbell rang. It was the pizza delivery guy. Zane froze, staring at his own trembling hands. Then he collapsed to his knees, crawling toward me with tears streaming down his face. “Liv… oh god, baby, I am so sorry. I do not know what came over me. I am a monster. Please forgive me.” He started aggressively slapping his own face. “I am garbage. Hit me, Liv. Punish me. I am so sorry.” I lay on the floor, staring blankly at the man sobbing over my bruised body. I thought about a stray dog my dad took in when I was a kid. The dog was sweet for years. Then one day, it snapped and bit my dad’s hand down to the bone. My dad didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his shotgun and put the animal down right there in the yard. I cried and asked him why he did it. My dad looked at me with cold, hard eyes. “Once a beast tastes blood, it will bite again. It is easier to just kill it and save yourself the trouble.” But Zane wasn’t a dog. If I shot him, I would spend the rest of my life in a concrete cell. That was a terrible trade. I needed a flawless plan. Something that would strip away his power, silence him forever, but keep his heart beating just long enough for me to take everything. I reached out, gently grabbing his wrists to stop him from hitting himself. I forced a wet sob out of my throat. “It is okay. I know you didn’t mean it. Just promise you will never do it again.” The very next day, he bragged to Jason on Discord that I was completely broken in. He said I didn’t even flinch anymore when he raised his hand. Of course I didn’t flinch. He was never going to get the chance to raise his hand at me again.

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1 “Mom, I cannot breathe. Ms. Melinda made me eat a peanut butter cookie…” The smartwatch speaker crackled with my daughter’s weak groans. Underneath her tiny voice was a high pitched, terrifying wheeze. I glanced at my phone screen. Exactly six minutes had passed since she was force fed that peanut cookie! For severe anaphylaxis, the golden window for emergency resuscitation is only fifteen minutes! I shoved the conference room doors open and sprinted toward the stairwell like a madwoman. My department head was still shouting my name from the head of the table. My husband David was on a business trip. My mother in law was completely useless and could not even tell the difference between a common cold and a severe allergy. I could not rely on anyone else. I was the only one who could save her. The preschool was only three traffic lights away. I slammed my foot onto the gas pedal and dialed the teacher’s number, roaring into the Bluetooth mic. “Stab her with the EpiPen right now! It is in the front pocket of her backpack!” A condescending giggle echoed through the car speakers. “Oh please, Rachel. Are you auditioning for a soap opera? It is just psychosomatic. She is throwing a tantrum. Let her drink some warm water and she will be perfectly fine.” “Shut up!” I screamed. My eyes were completely bloodshot. “If my daughter suffers permanent brain damage from oxygen deprivation, I will make sure you rot in a prison cell for the rest of your miserable life!” Without waiting for her to respond, I dialed emergency services. “911, what is your emergency?” “Southwood Avenue, Sunflower Academy! A teacher force fed my daughter peanuts. She is going into anaphylactic shock right now!” I jammed my wireless earbud into my ear and jerked the steering wheel hard. The Range Rover tires shrieked against the asphalt. I cut off a black sedan with a violent brake check. The other driver leaned out his window and cursed at me, but I could not hear the outside world. My brain was completely consumed by the sound of my daughter’s fading breath. The dispatcher remained professionally calm. “Ma’am, please take a deep breath. Does your daughter have a documented allergy history? What are her exact symptoms?” “Severe peanut allergy! I signed a medical waiver and a strict dietary restriction form the day she enrolled!” I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted copper. “She is suffocating! The teacher is actively refusing to administer her EpiPen! This is medical negligence! This is attempted murder!” “Copy that. I am dispatching paramedics to your location right now.” The rapid clacking of a keyboard echoed over the line. “Officers from the local precinct should arrive on scene within five minutes. Please drive safely.” The moment the call disconnected, my dashboard screen lit up with an incoming call from my boss. The second I answered, he unleashed a barrage of corporate rage. “Rachel, have you completely lost your mind? Where the hell are you going? The international pitch is at two thirty!” “The entire executive board is sitting in this room waiting for you. Get your ass back here right now!” The traffic light ahead flipped to red. I did not even touch the brake. I pressed the accelerator all the way to the floorboards. “Cancel the pitch. My kid is dying at preschool. I am going to save her.” “Dying? Stop giving me these pathetic excuses!” my boss sneered over the line. “You called out sick last month because she had a fever. What is the game this time? Do you even want this job anymore?” The heavy SUV launched through the intersection. A chaotic symphony of car horns blared from both sides. I stared at the congested traffic ahead with absolute ice in my veins. “Do whatever you want. Fire me. Dock my pay. Just leave me alone.” I cut the call and immediately blocked his number. Nothing in this universe mattered more than Deborah’s life. The smartwatch control app was still broadcasting live audio. Through the static, I heard Jessica Melinda’s shrill, nasty voice. “Stop playing dead! Get up off the floor.” “All the other kids ate my homemade cookies and they are perfectly fine. Why are you acting like such a fragile little brat?” “Oh, you are going to fake a panic attack now? Is this how your mother lets you act at home?” A loud screech of a chair being dragged across the tiles followed. “Deborah!” I screamed into the phone, my voice cracking. “Deborah, do not be afraid! Mommy is almost there. Just hold on!” There was no response from my sweet girl. Only a heavy, agonizing wheeze that sounded like someone was crushing her throat. “Jessica!” I yelled the teacher’s name, my entire body violently shaking. “Open her backpack right now! Take the red pen and stab it directly into her thigh!” “If you do not want to go to jail, you will do exactly what I say!” Jessica seemed slightly startled by the sheer ferocity in my voice. But a second later, she let out a scoff dripping with arrogant contempt. “Rachel, do you suffer from some sort of persecution complex?” “I took a child psychology seminar. This is a classic somatic symptom disorder. She just wants adult attention.” “The more you coddle her, the worse this behavior gets.” “I am going to cure her little princess syndrome today. She needs to learn that this classroom is not her personal kingdom!” My vision went black at the edges. My fingernails dug so deeply into the leather steering wheel they almost drew blood. This self righteous, ignorant fool had absolutely no idea how fast anaphylactic shock could kill. “I am going to say this one last time. Give her the shot.” My voice dropped into a terrifyingly calm, dead register. “If she dies, I will tear your entire world apart.” The line went dead silent for two seconds. Jessica was clearly rattled by the pure malice in my words. But her deep rooted arrogance prevented her from admitting a mistake. “Stop threatening me. I am going to take her to the washroom to splash some cold water on her face. That will wake her up.” Her footsteps faded away. The smartwatch only picked up the faint buzz of static. I checked the dashboard clock. Eight minutes had passed since the allergic reaction triggered. Ahead of me was a long, narrow one way street. Two massive delivery trucks were driving side by side, blocking the entire road at a snail’s pace. I laid on the horn. The truck driver just lazily tapped his brakes in response. Every single second of that fifteen minute window was slipping through my fingers. I caught a glimpse of my own bloodshot eyes in the rearview mirror. I whipped the steering wheel to the right. The Range Rover hopped the curb and plowed directly onto the pedestrian sidewalk. The undercarriage scraped against the concrete with a deafening screech. Pedestrians screamed and dove into the bushes. I kept my foot pinned on the gas, squeezing the massive vehicle between two thick oak trees. The entire right side of the car was violently scraped. The passenger side mirror shattered and snapped off completely. I did not care. As long as the engine was running, I was going to get there. I blasted out of the bottleneck. There was only one traffic light left before the academy. The smartwatch picked up the sound of running tap water. Then came Jessica’s impatient voice. “Are you done washing your face? Stop pretending you are dying. Nobody is buying it.” “Cough… Ms. Melinda… it hurts…” Deborah’s voice was a microscopic whisper. She sounded like she was fading away. “What hurts? You just want to skip afternoon gym class.” I heard a sharp smack. Jessica was physically slapping something. “Stand up straight! Stop sliding onto the floor!” Listening to those sounds felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to my heart. She was abusing my daughter. My child was collapsing from asphyxiation, and this monster was physically punishing her. “Jessica, if you touch her one more time, I swear to God!” I roared at the microphone. Jessica snorted dismissively. “Look, Rachel. If you bring your kid to our academy, you need to trust our educational methods.” “We are building her resilience.” “Your toxic coddling is going to ruin this child.” She reached out and manually severed the smartwatch connection. The car cabin plunged into a suffocating silence. Only the sound of my own ragged breathing echoed off the glass. The traffic light ahead turned red. The countdown timer displayed a full sixty seconds. Cross traffic began to flow into the intersection. I never touched the brake. I pressed the gas pedal flat against the floor. The engine roared, and I launched the car straight into the crossfire. A massive dump truck loaded with gravel was barreling in from the side. The driver slammed his horn in panic. The giant steel grill of the truck missed my rear bumper by an inch. The pure kinetic force whipped my body sideways. My head slammed against the driver side window. A sharp burst of pain exploded across my forehead, and warm liquid began to drip down my eyebrow. I did not even wipe it away. My eyes were locked onto the brightly colored building sitting on the corner block. Sunflower Academy. Before the car even came to a full stop, I shoved the door open. The seatbelt dug painfully into my chest as I scrambled to unbuckle it. Because the car was still rolling, I basically tumbled out of the driver seat. My knees slammed brutally onto the concrete pavement. My sheer tights shredded instantly. A blinding pain shot up my legs. Blood and gravel mixed on my skin. I crawled up using my hands and feet, stumbling frantically toward the academy’s main entrance. The automatic sliding glass doors were locked tight. Inside the lobby, a young receptionist was looking down, endlessly scrolling on her phone. “Open the door!” I threw myself against the glass, pounding on it with both hands. “My daughter is dying! Open the fucking door!” The receptionist jumped in her chair. She looked up, her face twisting into a scowl when she saw a disheveled woman covered in blood banging on the glass. She walked over slowly, standing safely behind the glass. She tapped a printed sign taped to the window. “Ma’am, it is two thirty. This is not a designated pickup time.” “According to campus protocol, parents are not permitted inside.” I glared at her. My eyes were completely bloodshot and feral. “My daughter is in anaphylactic shock! Her rescue window is closing!” “Unlock this door right now! I will take full legal responsibility!” The receptionist rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, lady, do not try that dramatic nonsense with me.” “Every single day, parents make up ridiculous excuses to pull their kids out early.” “If it is really an emergency, scan the QR code on that podium outside.” “Fill out the digital release form, wait for the homeroom teacher to approve it, and then I will unlock the door.” She pointed a manicured finger at a dusty sign sitting on the sidewalk. Looking at her cold, bureaucratic face, every last thread of my sanity snapped. “Screw your protocol!” I took two steps back and threw my entire body weight against the glass doors. My shoulder slammed into the tempered glass with a heavy thud. The glass did not break, but my entire left side went numb. The receptionist stepped back in shock. All the color drained from her face. “What are you doing? That is destruction of private property!” “If you do not stop, I am calling security!” She grabbed her walkie talkie and started calling for the guards. I ignored her entirely. Through the transparent doors, I looked deep into the main corridor. At the very end of the hall, right outside the children’s washroom, a tiny, familiar figure slowly slid down the wall and collapsed onto the floor. It was my Deborah. She was wearing the little pink sundress I had put on her this morning. Now, she was lying completely motionless on the cold ceramic tiles. Jessica was standing over her. The teacher actually used her foot to nudge my baby’s lifeless body. “Stop playing dead. Get up!” Her muffled voice drifted through the corridor. I lost my mind. I completely lost my mind. “Deborah!” I let out a bloodcurdling scream. I clawed at the seam of the glass doors with my bare hands. My fingernails bent backward and snapped. Blood smeared across the pristine glass. Seeing me act like a wild animal, the receptionist did not open the door. Instead, she pressed her entire body against the glass to ensure the magnetic lock held firm. “Where is security? Get to the front lobby right now! There is a crazy woman trying to break in!” She screamed into her radio, looking at me with pure disgust. “I am warning you! These doors are custom imported! You cannot afford to replace them!” I stood there panting heavily, staring at her through the glass. “Move away… my daughter is in there… she is dying…” My voice was hoarse and broken, laced with a despairing sob. A few other parents who had just dropped off paperwork stopped on the sidewalk. They stood a few feet away, whispering and pointing at me. I turned around, my knees buckling as I dropped to the ground in front of them. “Please. Please help me.” I grabbed the pant leg of a well dressed father. “Help me smash this door open. My daughter is in shock in there. We are running out of time.” “Please have some mercy…” The man quickly took a massive step backward. He aggressively yanked his leg out of my grip and brushed off his expensive slacks. “Lady, do not touch me.” “The school has security rules for a reason. You cannot just break in like a maniac.” A woman next to him with perfectly curled hair chimed in. “Seriously. Parents these days are so dramatic.” “What could possibly happen inside a premium academy? The teachers know what they are doing.” “If you keep screaming, you are going to terrify the children inside!” They stared at me with completely dead eyes. Not a single one of them was willing to help. Not a single one of them thought a child’s life was worth more than a glass door. I looked at them, then turned back to look at the receptionist leaning against the glass. A crushing wave of despair swallowed me whole. I slowly pushed myself up from the pavement. The blood on my knees had already mixed with the gravel and begun to clot. I was done begging. Expecting strangers to care was a death sentence. I turned my head and scanned the exterior of the building. Within seconds, my eyes locked onto a bright red emergency fire cabinet mounted on the brick wall. Behind the glass doors, the receptionist was still yapping. “You need to leave right now. Security is on the way. You are going to get arrested…” I ripped the designer high heel off my foot. I held it upside down, exposing the solid steel stiletto heel. I aimed for the four corners of the fire cabinet glass and swung with every ounce of strength I had left. Smash! Smash! The impact tore the skin on my palms. Blood splattered across the cabinet. With a loud crash, the reinforced glass spiderwebbed and collapsed onto the pavement. A few jagged shards sliced deep into the back of my hand and forearm. Bright red blood instantly welled up and dripped onto the concrete. I did not even flinch. I reached my bleeding arm straight into the jagged opening of the cabinet. I pulled out the heavy, solid steel fire ax. The red handle and the gleaming silver blade caught the afternoon sunlight, reflecting a cold, merciless shine. The surrounding parents let out terrified shrieks and scattered in every direction. The woman with the curled hair tripped over her own feet and scrambled away on all fours. I dragged the ax along the ground and walked back to the glass doors. The smug superiority on the receptionist’s face completely vanished, replaced by sheer, unadulterated terror. Her legs shook uncontrollably as she tried to back away, only to realize she was cornered against the security desk. “What… what are you doing?” She stuttered, her voice cracking in panic. “That is a felony! I am calling the cops!” I stared at her through the glass. My eyes were completely dead. “You make minimum wage. Do not throw your life away for this.” I raised both hands and lifted the heavy fire ax high above my head. “Go find your security guards.” The receptionist let out a piercing scream and abandoned her post. She scrambled away toward the back corridors, leaving her phone sitting on the desk. I took a deep breath, channeling every drop of adrenaline and fury in my body into my arms. I aimed the heavy steel blade directly at the U shaped metal lock connecting the two glass panels. I swung down with absolute brutal force. Crack.

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I bought a mini-fridge out of the goodness of my heart to help a student store her medication. Two weeks later, the medicine spoiled. She collapsed in the classroom, leaving her permanently disabled. Her parents protested at the school gates, weeping and hoisting banners that read, “Heartless teacher ruined our daughter!” I took care of her for ten agonizing years, but it was never enough. They demanded I marry her and support her for the rest of her life. I had a girlfriend whom I was forced to leave behind. On the way to her wedding, I suffered a sudden heart attack. When I opened my eyes again, I was back ten years in the past. Amy stood right in front of me, looking fragile and helpless. “Mr. Mercer, my medicine needs to be refrigerated, but there isn’t a fridge in the classroom…” I looked at her and said, “That sounds like a question for Facilities.” 1 I was reborn. I woke up at the exact moment Amy first claimed she needed a refrigerator for her medication. Behind her stood her three roommates, all of them my students. Four pairs of eyes stared up at me, wide and pleading. I was twenty-four, fresh out of a top-tier master’s program in philosophy. Hoping to eventually secure a tenure-track position, I had taken a temporary assistant job at this private university to build up my resume, all thanks to my mentor’s recommendation. In my past life, I was fueled by nothing but naive idealism. Hearing a student in need, I ran myself ragged trying to help. But when the administration told me to just submit a formal request and wait, I couldn’t bear to let her suffer. I paid out of my own pocket for a small fridge to speed things up. Two weeks later, she collapsed during a break. Only at the hospital did the truth come out. She didn’t have diabetes, and she wasn’t refrigerating insulin. She suffered from osteogenesis imperfecta, commonly known as brittle bone disease. It was incurable, requiring lifelong medication. An investigation revealed her medication had degraded because the fridge’s plug had slipped from the outlet, cutting off the cooling. Her parents demanded answers from the school, but the administration washed their hands of the matter, claiming the appliance wasn’t university property. They threw me under the bus. The public backlash was suffocating. My family was relentlessly doxxed and harassed online. Broken and desperate, I surrendered and took on the burden of caring for her. I carried that cross for ten years. But her family’s greed was bottomless. They demanded I marry her and support her parents too. I had a girlfriend whom I loved with all my heart. She waited for me for a decade. Realizing I would never escape this nightmare, I forced myself to be cruel, pushing her away so she could find a real life. She went back home to settle down. The night before her wedding, Amy had a flare-up, and I stayed up all night taking care of her. The next morning, as I drove toward the wedding venue just to catch a glimpse of her in her dress, my chest seized. A massive heart attack. My emergency medication was sitting right in the cup holder, but I didn’t reach for it. I didn’t call 911 either. Instead, a strange, profound peace washed over me. My only regret was for my girl. Today was supposed to be her happiest day, and here I was, ruining it one last time. 2 Now, I was back. Looking at these four hopeful faces, my chest burned with nothing but cold hatred and disgust. “Is the applicant Amy?” I asked, my voice flat. “If you require a refrigerator, you need to download the medical accommodation form online. Detail your condition, the storage requirements of the medication, fill it out, and submit it to Facilities. They will forward it to administration for procurement.” Her roommate, Maddie, a loud and self-righteous girl, frowned. “That sounds incredibly tedious. Won’t that take forever? Amy has diabetes. She needs insulin shots before every meal, right, Amy?” Exactly. Amy had never actually stated what her illness was. The diabetes rumor started because people saw her giving herself injections, and she simply let the rumor run wild without ever correcting anyone. Just like how she had never explicitly asked me to buy the fridge. In my past life, her roommates and I had made that decision for her. In my previous life, when her parents protested at the gates and made the evening news, the internet came for my throat. My parents, both respected high school teachers on the verge of a proud retirement, were forced into early resignation because of the scandal. Stripped of their pensions and forced to support me, they hid their own failing health from me to spare me the worry. Within a few years, they both passed away. I knew that even in death, my name would remain dragged through the mud. And the heroes of that story would be the four young ladies standing before me. Amy was the delicate princess, and the other three were her loyal handmaidens, eager to charge into battle on her behalf. In my past life, they were the ones who posted online, fabricated testimonies, and painted me as a creepy predator who bought the fridge to hit on his student. This time, I was going to sit back and watch who got burned. “The bureaucracy is what it is,” I said, gathering my lecture materials. “If you have any questions, take it up with your academic advisor.” I turned and walked away, feeling lighter than I had in a decade. I hadn’t even cleared the hallway before Amy’s whimpering voice drifted after me. “What’s wrong with Mr. Mercer today? He was so cold.” Maddie scoffed, comforting her. “Just dodging responsibilities. He’s just a green intern who can’t make a real decision to save his life. Don’t worry, babe, I’ll handle this.” 3 I was just a teaching assistant, barely two months into my internship. Aside from teaching, I was burdened with every scrap of administrative grunt work, and I didn’t even have my own desk. Back in my dorm, I pulled up the resignation portal, but my finger hovered over the submit button. First, my mentor had gone out of his way to secure this position for me to build my resume, and I hated to throw his kindness back in his face. Second, in my past life, I had tried to resign, but the university HR rejected the immediate release. By contract, even if I quit, I had to give a thirty-day notice. A month was more than enough time for everything to go to hell. If I couldn’t quit gracefully, I would have to get myself fired. Right then, my phone buzzed with a message in the family group chat. My uncle wrote: “Your grandmother hasn’t been feeling well. Her blood pressure spiked to 200 today, and the doctor is admitting her.” I had chosen this college because it was barely sixty miles from my hometown. I was about to reply that I would drive back tonight, but my cousin Mike, who worked as a doctor in the city, messaged back: “I’m heading home in a bit. Silas, someone gifted me two crates of fresh lychees. I’ll drop them off at your campus on my way out.” An idea sparked in my mind. I hurried back to my room, threw off my cheap teaching clothes, and changed into a high-end designer outfit that accentuated my height and sharp jawline. I looked ten times sharper than usual. My roommate, noticing the upgrade, raised an eyebrow. “Who’s the hot date? Is your girl coming to town?” I just smirked, offering no explanation. In my past life, when the walls closed in on me, not a single colleague spoke up for me, including this roommate. After all, we were both interns competing for the same permanent slot. I grabbed a designer leather bag worth thousands, the prominent luxury logo practically blinding him. His jaw dropped. “Silas, since when are you loaded?” Ignoring him, I swept out of the dorm and strode toward the campus gates like a peacock in full display, turning heads all along the way. 4 From a distance, I spotted Mike’s luxury SUV. I stood at an even six feet, but he was taller, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and exuding an effortless, scholarly charm. He was dressed in a similar style. In fact, most of my nice clothes were gifts from him, and the bag I held was one of his hand-me-downs. It was perfectly normal for an older, established cousin to help dress his younger, broke relative, right? Mike stepped out and popped the trunk to haul out the crates of lychees. Without warning, I threw myself onto his back, wrapping my arms around his shoulders just like we used to do when we were kids. He nearly stumbled into the trunk under my weight, but he caught himself, hooking his hands under my thighs to support me. “You absolute menace! You’re not ten years old anymore. You weigh a hundred and sixty pounds, you’re going to snap my spine!” He was a gym rat with solid muscle beneath his shirt, so I wasn’t worried. Instead of climbing down, I clung tighter. “Is Grandma going to be okay?” Mike sighed, adjusting his grip. “Don’t listen to my dad. Her blood pressure was fine when I checked her last week. He’s just using her as bait to drag me home for a blind date.” “Oh, I see.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed several students slowing down, whispering and pointing their phone cameras at us. I finally slid off his back, but immediately looped my arm snugly through his elbow. Mike handed me the crates, then reached over to ruffle my hair affectionately. “How’s the new gig? Colleagues treating you well? Are the kids behaving?” I flashed him a bright smile. “Everything is perfect. Don’t worry about me.” 5 After his car disappeared down the avenue, I stood there waving for a long moment before carrying the crates back to my room. The moment I walked in, my roommate met me with a bizarre, loaded look. “What?” I asked. He let out a strained, awkward chuckle. “Oh, wow. Lychees this early in the season? Those are my absolute favorite.” Usually, he would have helped himself without asking. But this time, I pointedly loaded them into my personal locker and clicked the padlock shut. “Sorry, these are special. None for you.” His expression shifted from awkward to outright disgusted. He grabbed a box of tissues he had previously borrowed and slid it back over to his side of the desk, clearly trying to draw a line between us. I opened the campus forum on my laptop. Sure enough, several threads had already popped up featuring “intimate” photos of Mike and me at the gate. I systematically saved every single screenshot. That afternoon, during roll call, the whispers followed me. Rumors that I was keeping a sugar daddy and showing off his wealth spread like wildfire. I didn’t offer a single word of defense, letting the gossip mutate. That was when I saw Amy and her entourage again. Maddie rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “Mr. Mercer, we went to Facilities during lunch. They said the university doesn’t buy individual appliances for students. We have to file a petition with administration. In the meantime, they suggested using the cafeteria freezer, but the kitchen staff told us it violates health codes and turned us away. Then we tried to buy a mini-fridge for the dorm, but the resident advisor threatened to write us up for a fire hazard!” I shrugged indifferently. “Well, looks like you’re out of options.” Amy looked up, her eyes wide and watery. “Mr. Mercer, could we keep a small one in your office? Or maybe your dorm room?” I shook my head. “I don’t have an office, and my dorm has the same strict utility policy.” Tears welled up in Amy’s eyes, trembling right on the edge of her eyelashes. Maddie, fiercely protective, patted her on the back. “Don’t cry, babe. I’ll buy one myself and put it in the student lounge. We’ll put a lock on it. It’ll be fine.” Yet Amy didn’t look comforted. Her gaze remained locked on me. Honestly, she was beautiful in a fragile, tragic way that naturally triggered people’s protective instincts. In my past life, I had gone out of my way to help her out of professional duty, never realizing it would feed a dark, twisted obsession. Maddie sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “Some educator you are. Dressing up like a runway model while ignoring a sick student in need. You don’t deserve this job. I’m filing a formal complaint against you today!” I rolled my eyes right back at her. “Oh, heavens, I’m absolutely trembling. Please, go right ahead. If you don’t file it by five, you’re a coward.” The four girls froze, utterly stunned. As an intern, I had always been desperate for a good evaluation, catering to every student whim. I was famous for being a pushover. This sudden hostility was completely out of character. Once they recovered from the shock, they aggressively whipped out their phones to draft emails to the dean. Instead of panic, I let out a dry laugh. “Look at you, acting like entitled toddlers. You think the universe revolves around you just because you’re pathetic? Do you ever look in a mirror?” Amy burst into tears. The other two roommates looked close to crying too, while Maddie stared at me like a raging bull. “You’re going to regret this,” she spat. I crossed my arms. “I’ll be right here. Give it your best shot.” Trembling with rage, Maddie jabbed a manicured nail in my direction. “Fine! Enjoy getting fired!” I believed her. These girls were failing students and terrible human beings, but when it came to character assassination and online harassment, they were absolute professionals. 6 By that evening, dozens of complaints flooded the dean’s inbox. The accusations were a wild, colorful mix: homosexuality, flaunting wealth, unprofessional conduct, and emotional abuse of students. The next morning, the department head called me into his office. He sat behind his mahogany desk, the campus forum pulled up on his monitor. On the screen was the photo of me clinging to Mike’s back, a bright smile on my face. He tapped the glass. “Silas, is this you?” “Yes.” “And who is this man?” “A friend.” The department head paused, adjusting his glasses. “Are you gay, Silas?” “That is personal, and it has no bearing on my job.” His expression hardened. “I asked you a direct question. I expect a proper answer.” “And I gave you one. It is irrelevant to my work.” The door clicked open, and the dean strolled in. My roommate trailed behind him like a loyal lapdog, casting a smug, victorious look my way. If I got booted, he would secure the permanent position automatically. Sometimes, this world feels like a cheap theater production run by amateurs. In my past life, I let people like this ruin me. It was pathetic. Let them burn. The dean looked down his nose at me. “Silas, I will ask you one more time. Are you homosexual?” “No comment.” “Then explain these photos.” “I am under no obligation to do so.” He let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “Who do you think you are? You haven’t even finished your internship, and you’re carrying this attitude?” I scoffed. He glared at me. “One final time. Are you gay?” “Are you discriminating against sexual orientation?” “That’s enough,” the dean interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “His roommate already told us everything we need to know. We can’t have someone like you corrupting our students.” He straightened his tie. “You’re fired.” He delivered the verdict as if he were a medieval king handing down an execution. Yet his eyes betrayed his pettiness, lingering greedily on the designer logo of my bag. I spun on my heel and walked out. Minutes later, an official termination email from HR popped up on my phone. According to my contract, a termination without cause entitled me to a month’s severance. But HR claimed I wasn’t getting a dime, not even my final paycheck. An intern’s monthly pay was barely a few hundred dollars, which normally wouldn’t be worth fighting over. But wage theft is a sin, and I fully intended to make them beg me to take it later. For the first time in ten years, I was completely free. Before leaving, I went to the student lounge. I ripped out the water dispenser, the surge protectors, and the water jugs I had purchased with my own money, smashing them and throwing them into the dumpster. “Mr. Mercer, you took the water cooler! What are we supposed to drink?” a student complained. I stomped hard on the plastic jug, cracking it in half. “I bought this with my own money, and you’ve been freeloading off me for months. If some lunatic decides to poison the water and blame me, I’d rather smash it now.” As I tossed the last piece into the bin, I turned around to find Amy standing a few yards away, biting her lip and staring at me with tear-filled eyes. Every hair on my body stood on end. She didn’t look like a fragile young girl; she looked like a venomous viper ready to strike. I took an involuntary step back. It wasn’t cowardice; it was the sheer trauma of my past life screaming in my ears. She stepped closer, her eyes glittering with an obsessive, unsettling intensity. It wasn’t the look of a student for her teacher, or even a woman for a man. It was a spider sizing up a fat fly caught in its web. “Mr. Mercer,” she whispered. My stomach turned, and I spun to run. “Don’t go!” she cried out. I stopped and slowly looked back. The hatred inside me burned so hot my bones ached. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my hands around her neck. But I couldn’t. I had fought too hard for this second chance, and a bright future lay ahead. She closed the distance, tears cascading down her pale face in the dim corridor light. “I’ll talk to Maddie. I’ll make her withdraw the complaint. Everything will go back to normal. Please, don’t leave. If you stay, I’ll do whatever you want.” Her voice was soft, but her words carried a heavy, desperate weight, as if she were offering a sacred vow. I remembered my past life. During my second year of caring for her, she had taken my hand in the dead of night, dragging it onto her blanket, whispering, “Mr. Mercer, marry me. I’ll be so good to you.” At the time, I thought it was just dependency, a drowning girl grasping at her only lifeline, or perhaps a mind warped by chronic pain. I never realized that she had been spinning this web from the very beginning, and I had walked right into it. “Amy,” I said, dropping any pretense of professionalism, “you absolutely disgust me.” She froze, tears still wet on her cheeks. Slowly, her innocent mask melted away into a chillingly confident grin. “Oh, Mr. Mercer,” she giggled softly. “You’ll be back. I know you will.” I smiled right back. “I’ll be back, alright. For your funeral.” Leaving her standing there, I went back to my room, packed my bags, and checked out. I didn’t waste a single second escaping the place that had been my living hell for half a lifetime.

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