My best friend got divorced. When I said I wanted one too, everyone laughed. My husband, Blake, laughed the loudest. “Your friend has a career and a degree. She can be beautiful and independent without a man. Do you have a degree? Do you have your own money? And you dare to talk about divorce?” I dropped out of an Ivy League school to help him build his company from the ground up. Now, that was a stain on my record. He thought I was no longer good enough for him. Seeing my silence, Blake’s laughter grew louder, crueler. “So why are you even trying to keep up? What would you have without me? Could you even survive? You want to be like her? You’re not worthy.” “Yes,” I said quietly. “I can.” I thought Blake was hilarious. I could walk away with half his fortune. I could go anywhere, find any man I wanted. Why couldn’t I survive? 1 The laughter in the private lounge intensified. Even my best friend, Phoebe, was teasing me. “Zoe, you adore your Blake. You’d never leave him. Besides, where would you find a man as good as him?” Blake sipped his whiskey, his arm draped casually over the back of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other. He took a drag from his cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring. “She’s just getting ahead of herself. Thinks she can leave me and find someone with my kind of status.” One of Blake’s friends nearly fell off his chair laughing. “Zoe, if you actually divorce Blake, I’ll do a handstand and take a crap, I swear!” Another one chimed in immediately. “Hahaha! You’d have to take laxatives for that! I’ll be there to film it!” “Hahahaha!” Even the young hostess sitting next to Blake giggled. “Mrs. Thorne, we all know you’d never leave Mr. Thorne! A man like him? If you let him go, there’s a line of women waiting to take your place.” This was Hannah, the girl from the club who served the drinks. She knew perfectly well I was Blake’s wife, but she was still pressed up against him, her body practically draped over his. No one seemed to think anything of it. After her comment, the room erupted in another wave of laughter. I usually hated places like this. I only came tonight because Phoebe was celebrating her newfound freedom. I turned to Hannah first. “So, that line of women includes you, then?” The smile froze on her face. “Mrs. Thorne, I was just kidding! Mr. Thorne would never be interested in me!” She pouted and looked at Blake. “She can’t even take a joke!” Blake’s smile had vanished. His expression was unreadable. “I was joking too,” I said, my voice flat. “Why are you so worked up? Can’t you take a joke?” Hannah opened her mouth to retort, but a subtle shift in Blake’s expression stopped her. She lowered her head, her eyes red with fake tears, and started pouring drinks for everyone. Blake’s Friend #1, clearly feeling sorry for the hostess, grumbled at me, “It was a joke, Zoe! Everyone knows Blake is yours. No one’s trying to steal him! He’d never divorce you, you can relax!” I looked at him, my face a mask of calm. “So, when I do get a divorce, you’ll be here first thing to perform your spinning handstand shit, right?” He was speechless. Friend #2 slapped the table, laughing even harder. “Zoe, you’re hilarious! Hahaha! The way she says it with a straight face is so funny! Hahahaha!” I turned my calm gaze on him. “And when he starts his performance, please make sure you stand close. Get an even coating. Then send me the video. I’ll post it online so everyone can enjoy it.” He stared at me, dumbfounded. The jovial atmosphere evaporated, replaced by a strange, tense silence. This was Phoebe’s party. She tried to break the awkwardness. But I wasn’t done with her either. “He’s such a great man, my husband. Why don’t I give him to you? You’re single now. You two would make a perfect pair. What do you think?” Phoebe stared at me, a whole segment of orange in her mouth. She forgot to chew, swallowing it whole. “Cough, cough, cough…” Finally, I looked at Blake. Every eye in the room followed mine. His brow was furrowed so tightly it could have crushed a fly. “Zoe! Everyone is just joking. What is the point of making this so awkward? Apologize to them. Now.” “No, no, it’s fine!” Phoebe said quickly. “Zoe and I always talk like this. She was just kidding! Today is about celebrating my new life. Zoe, don’t be a spoilsport. Let’s raise a glass to me!” “To Phoebe!” “To being single!” Everyone stood up. Phoebe was trying to defuse the situation. So I smashed my glass on the floor, letting the “spoilsport” act play out to its conclusion. Blake exploded. He flipped the entire coffee table over. “Zoe! I’ve given you enough slack! Phoebe gave you an out, and you wouldn’t take it! What, you think you’re better than all of us? If you don’t apologize today, I’m divorcing you!” “Fine. Let’s do it.” I took out my phone and sent him the divorce agreement. “Read the terms. If you have no objections, I’ll print it out tonight, and you can sign.” Blake’s rage turned to shock, then to utter disbelief. He looked up, searching my face for any sign that I was joking. He must have seen it clearly—the date on the document was from six months ago. I grabbed my purse and left without a backward glance. I had long since grown sick of these self-important “high-society” gatherings. They always used me as the butt of their jokes, and Blake always laughed along with them. I had told him before, “Don’t invite me to these things anymore. I don’t like it.” He’d said, “They’re my business partners, my friends. You’re my wife. You need to get along with them. Besides, they’re just joking. Zoe, you’re not a child. Why can’t you take a joke? Don’t be so sensitive.” He always said that. Sometimes, I wondered if I really was too sensitive. I asked Phoebe once. She was a successful career woman; her opinion held weight. “Blake’s company is just getting started,” she’d said. “His friends are just teasing you to have some fun, to make conversation. It’s business. Don’t take it seriously. It’s all for Blake’s career.” Later, Blake’s company grew more and more successful. His “partners” became his clients. They depended on him for their livelihood. But they still used me as their favorite topic of conversation whenever I was around. Even the hostesses and waitstaff felt free to laugh at my expense. And Blake would still say, “Don’t be so petty. It’s just a joke.” Yes, they got used to joking. And I got used to being the joke. But I knew the reason they didn’t respect me was because Blake didn’t respect me. They were just trying to please him. 2 Blake’s Friend #1 brought him home. He was completely drunk. “Zoe, he’s all yours. I-I’m leaving!” He didn’t dare say another word and scurried away. See? Even a doormat can grow thorns if it stands up for itself just once. I had always held back for Blake’s sake, because I respected him and his degenerate friends. “Water… water…” Blake mumbled, leaning heavily on my shoulder. I helped him into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and aimed the spray at his mouth. He drank greedily, then slid down the wall and fell asleep on the tiled floor. I went back to our room and went to sleep. The next morning, I woke to the sound of Blake roaring. “Zoe! You just left me to sleep in the bathroom! Ah-choo! Where’s breakfast? Where’s my hangover cure? Why is there nothing to eat?” The doorbell rang. My takeout had arrived. I walked past the fuming Blake and grabbed my food. “Don’t even look. I ordered for one. If you’re hungry, order your own.” Blake’s chest heaved. He slapped the food out of my hands, sending it splattering across the floor. “You’ve been acting crazy since last night! Are you tired of this life or something?” “Yes.” He froze, seeing the calm on my face. A flicker of panic crossed his features, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Are you trying to start a rebellion?” “We’re a married couple, not a monarchy. It’s not a rebellion. It’s an irreconcilable difference.” I placed the printed divorce agreement in front of him. “Sign it.” His laugh was cold. “For seven years, every penny in this house was earned by me. What have you contributed, besides cooking my meals and washing my clothes? And you have the nerve to ask for a divorce? Have you no shame? Your friend Phoebe is an Ivy League graduate. She’s got money, looks, and a career. Her husband wasn’t good enough for her, so she could trade up. You? What do you have without me? You want to be like her? You’re not worthy. “Last night, everyone was just joking around. And you’re blowing it up into this? Have I ever mistreated you? Women your age are slaving away in corporate jobs, living in tiny apartments. You’re a pampered wife in a mansion with a luxury car. I don’t get it. What more could you possibly want? Do you know how many women are after me out there? How much temptation I face? But I’ve never cheated on you! Zoe, have things been too easy for you? Are you looking for trouble?” I couldn’t remember the last time he had said so much to me at once. “Stop having a meltdown,” I said calmly. “Just sign it, and we can go to the courthouse. It’s open by now. I’ll head over first. Don’t be late.” In an argument, the one who talks the most loses. At least, that’s how it was with us. It used to be me, always apologizing, trying to smooth things over, then making him dinner and running his bath. Blake saw that his long speech had earned him nothing but a flat, indifferent reply. He snapped. “Fine! Have it your way! Zoe, don’t you dare regret this! After the divorce, I’ll be a prime bachelor, and you’ll be a washed-up divorcée! We’ll see who remarries first!” 3 It turned out getting a divorce was more complicated than I thought. There was a mandatory one-month “cooling-off” period. If either party changed their mind, the whole process had to start over. As we left the municipal building, I asked him, “You’re not going to change your mind, are you? Because starting the cooling-off period all over again would be really inconvenient for me.” Blake’s face, which had just regained some composure, turned crimson with rage again. I had stolen his line. “Zoe! You are unbelievable! I can’t wait to see how you survive without me.” He pulled out his phone and sent a voice message to his group chat. “Boys, time to celebrate! I’m getting a divorce! Let the pre-bachelor party begin!” I was in that group, too. It was the one Phoebe had made last night. All his friends and the hostess, Hannah, were in it. Hannah was the first to reply with a fireworks emoji. The others followed suit. Only Phoebe sent a question mark. 【Wait, are you guys serious?】 Blake replied: 【Zoe insisted. I’m just giving her what she wants.】 Phoebe immediately tagged me: 【Zoe, they were just joking yesterday. Why are you taking it so seriously? Just apologize to Blake and let it go! Where would you even go without him, honey?】 Blake stood beside me, preening like a peacock. His expression said it all: See? You have no friends. Even your best friend is on my side. Just apologize, and we can call this whole thing off. I pressed the record button. “I get half his assets. I can go anywhere I want. And I can find any man I want.” The silence in the group chat was deafening. Blake stared at me, stunned. “Zoe,” he finally managed, “I dare you.” He threw the words at me like a gauntlet and stormed off. Despite his temper, Blake had never been stingy. He gave me a three-million-dollar monthly allowance, which I barely touched and deposited into our joint account. He had seen the divorce agreement and signed it. He had agreed to the terms, which clearly stated the division of assets. When the day came, he would give me my share. Phoebe, probably feeling guilty, came to my house to talk me out of it. “Blake isn’t cheating on you. At his level, women throw themselves at him. Hell, even at my level, young guys hit on me all the time, and I can’t always resist. But Blake just flirts a little. He never crosses the line! You’re being ridiculous. He gives you three million a month and he’s faithful to you. What are you complaining about? Are you seeing someone else?” That was her conclusion. What Phoebe didn’t realize was that I had stopped wanting to hang out with her a long time ago. Whenever she asked, I’d make excuses. We used to be inseparable. But after we got married, things changed. Phoebe’s husband was an underachiever from a poor background who couldn’t handle his wife’s success. She was always complaining about how useless he was. And after complaining, she’d always say, with a sigh of envy, “I wish I were as lucky as you, finding a man like Blake. If I had a husband like that to go to bed with every night, I’d be smiling in my sleep.” She said it to my face, and she said it in front of Blake. Over time, it made me more and more insecure. I was always afraid he would leave me. Blake was my high school sweetheart. He went to a state college, then started his own business after graduation. I was in my sophomore year at an Ivy League school. Blake told me that even the best education just leads to a life of corporate slavery. It was better to be your own boss. He asked me to drop out and join him. The day I left school, my parents’ world collapsed. They locked me in my room to keep me from him. I climbed out the window and took a bus to the city that night. During those early years, we lived in a basement, slept on park benches, and collected cans and bottles to survive. Life was hard, but I never once thought about leaving him. Later, when his company took off, he came back with me to see my parents. He knelt before them, offering them sacks of cash. He built them a luxury villa and donated generously to our hometown. At every donation ceremony, he would proudly declare, “This is my wife’s hometown, which means it’s my hometown. Without my wife, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” My parents were so proud. They thought I had married the perfect man. The whole town held me up as an example. “Marry a good man like Zoe,” they’d tell their daughters. Back then, Blake gave me all the respect and recognition I could ever want. I could see the love for me in his eyes. But now, he just sat there and laughed while his friends made a mockery of me. He had become arrogant, always looking down on me from his pedestal, as if I were nothing more than a kept woman. He didn’t respect me anymore. Maybe… he just didn’t love me anymore. And love, it seems, can disappear. After Phoebe left, my parents came. “What is all this nonsense? Is Blake not good to you? You’re a housewife with no degree, no skills, no career. What will you do without him? Phoebe told me he’s not even cheating on you. He’s done nothing wrong. For someone with your qualifications, a man like Blake is the best you can do. You’ll never find anyone better if you divorce him!” They were the ones who had tried to stop me from marrying him all those years ago. Now they were the ones trying to stop me from divorcing him. I really didn’t understand.

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I flash-married the brilliant, aloof professor I’ve known since we were kids. She practically lives in her lab, never coming home. So when the end-of-term faculty reviews came around, I decided to get some petty revenge. Anonymously, of course. 【Don’t be fooled by that slim waist and killer body. She’s totally frigid.】 【Seriously. The girl at the flower shop downstairs has more warmth.】 Except my cover got blown. That very night, she cornered me in the bathroom. “Frigid, am I?” “Louise, baby, I was wrong…” 1 As the semester drew to a close, Blackwood University launched its new faculty review platform. It was open to everyone, and you could post anonymously. 【OMG, Professor Reed, I LOVE YOU!】 【So gorgeous, and that body… when she wore glasses last week, I died! A total goddess!】 【I’m single, she’s single. Aren’t we a match made in heaven?】 Within an hour of going live, the platform was flooded with over a thousand comments for her. Dr. Louise Reed’s popularity shot straight to number one. I was huddled under my covers, scrolling through my phone, the screen casting a sickly green glow over my face. I could feel the jealousy churning in my gut. A soft sound came from outside my room. Louise must be home. This late again! Is quantum mechanics really that much more interesting than her own husband? Fuming, I tapped out two comments of my own: 【Don’t be fooled by that slim waist and killer body. She’s totally frigid.】 【Seriously. The girl at the flower shop downstairs has more warmth.】 Just then, the door to my room opened with a faint click. I slammed my phone shut, squeezed my eyes closed, and pretended to be asleep. The intruder seemed to stand by my bed for a long moment, the silence thick with unspoken words. Then, just as quietly, the door clicked shut again. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Strange. Does she check on me like this every night after I’ve fallen asleep? 2 My name is Leo Wallace, an associate professor at Blackwood University. A month ago, I got flash-married. My bride was Louise Reed, a woman I’ve known for over twenty years. She’s been the brilliant, intimidating shadow hanging over my entire life. A child prodigy who skipped grades, won national science competitions, and got a full scholarship to MIT before I was even out of middle school. By the time I was slogging through high school, she was already in a combined PhD program. She was the first person I’d ever met who’d done their undergrad, master’s, and PhD all at the same elite institution. Our marriage was sealed over a single dinner between our two families. My parents were over the moon about getting such an exceptional daughter-in-law. By all accounts, I was the one who’d lucked out. The strangest part? Louise actually agreed. But she had conditions. As our parents hammered out the details, Louise lifted her cool, indifferent eyes and gave me a clinical once-over. I’d been sneaking glances at her, and our eyes met for a split second. My heart leaped into my throat, and I straightened my back instinctively. “Fine,” she said, her voice even. “But no wedding for now. And… we keep it private.” A flicker of joy ignited in me when she said yes, only to be immediately extinguished by her terms. It sank to the pit of my stomach. If you despise me so much, why even agree to this? I shot her a confused look, but our eyes collided again. I quickly looked away, a fresh wave of panic washing over me. What if she mistook my confusion for displeasure and called the whole thing off? I felt like a thief, stealing the title of ‘husband’ first. I’d figure out the rest later. Because the pathetic truth was, I was hopelessly in love with her. 3 Everyone at Blackwood University knew that Louise Reed and I did not get along. To put it mildly, we were academic rivals of the highest order. Her domain was theoretical physics; mine was experimental. She was a full professor; I was still an associate. With her razor-sharp tongue, she could eviscerate my field of research, making it sound like I did nothing but trudge along behind her, mindlessly verifying her brilliant theories. “You’ll always just be following in my footsteps.” That was her assessment of my academic career. It felt more like a verdict on my entire life. And yet, after every bitter argument, a few days would pass, I’d see her face, and completely forget what we were even fighting about. I’d trail after her like a whipped puppy, only to get drawn into another debate I couldn’t win, leaving me seething with impotent rage. The department head, fearing we’d eventually come to blows, had strategically placed our offices at opposite ends of the hallway, separated by an entire staircase. If it weren’t for the occasional faculty meeting, we’d never have to see each other. I just never imagined that after moving into our new home, we’d see each other even less. The house, conveniently located near campus, was a wedding gift from our families, fully furnished and ready. We moved in together. In the master bedroom, the bed was made up with a ridiculously ornate red satin bedding set, the kind embroidered with swans or something equally cliché. It was so gaudy it made my ears burn. I stared at the matching slippers on the floor, avoiding her gaze. Then, Louise’s calm voice cut through the silence. “I’ll take the master. You can have any of the other rooms.” My heart plummeted. “We’re married,” I muttered under my breath, my voice laced with disappointment. “What are you so afraid of? That I’m going to do something to you?” “What was that?” Louise asked, not having caught my words. “Nothing,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just said it’s a good thing this house has so many rooms, or we’d be in real trouble.” She was silent for a half-second before her voice came out, low and tight. “Leo, back at that dinner, when our parents were deciding everything… you never said a word. So, what was your stance? Were you for it, or against it?” My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat I was sure she could hear. I shot a panicked glance at her, terrified she’d sense my turmoil. After a long pause, I managed to say, “In that situation… did it look like I had any say in the matter?” I couldn’t meet her eyes, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. I heard her jaw tighten. “Fine.” With that, she pushed open the master bedroom door, and it slammed shut with a deafening bang. Leaving me standing alone on the other side. Was she… angry? 4 I chose the bedroom right next to the master suite. In the month since we’d gotten our marriage license, the only time I’d seen Louise was the day we moved in. We saw each other less now than we did before we were married. My mornings started after she’d already left for the university. During the day, we were like two warring kings in the same castle, never crossing paths. And at night, she’d be holed up in her lab, wrestling with the mysteries of quantum mechanics. By the time she came home, I’d long since been asleep. She was a ghost in our own home, and I was too stubborn to reach out. It was a silent, childish standoff—no contact, no communication. Honestly, the cute, bubbly girl who worked at the flower shop downstairs gave me more emotional fulfillment than my own wife. At least her flowers were genuinely beautiful. 5 My internal clock woke me at seven a.m. sharp. As expected, Louise’s room was empty. On my way to campus, I couldn’t shake the feeling that people were staring at me. I’d catch them out of the corner of my eye, their gazes lingering a moment too long. It was unnerving. I turned to look, and a group of students—they looked like physics majors—quickly ducked their heads, whispering and snickering as they scurried away. The strange looks continued all the way to my lab. My colleagues were grinning at me, a mischievous glint in their eyes. Professor Miller from the lab next door came over, clutching his thermos. “Leo, my boy, you’ve really done it this time!” he said, a wide smile splitting his face. “Well, you know,” I said, puffing out my chest. I’d just had a paper published in a major journal, and the impact factor was something to be proud of. Miller chuckled. “You should have seen the look on Professor Reed’s face when she came in this morning. It was black as thunder.” “What? She was jealous?” I was floored. Louise was the queen of publications; you could probably wallpaper the physics building with her papers. Why would she be jealous of me? Miller adjusted his glasses. “She’s a competitive woman, you know that. Especially when it comes to you!” I started to wonder if my paper contained some groundbreaking discovery I’d overlooked, something that had truly rattled her. He clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. If she tries to hurt you, I’ll call the cops for you.” “Huh? It won’t come to that, will it?” I was dumbfounded. Even at the height of our worst arguments, Louise had never laid a hand on me. He nodded gravely. “Of course! You called her frigid and said she’s worse than the girl from the flower shop. How could she not take that as a declaration of war?” “Ah.” A cold, dawning horror washed over me. I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake. I fumbled for my phone and pulled up the review platform. There, on the crisp white screen, in bold black letters where the anonymous username should have been, it said: 【Leo Wallace】. 6 I grabbed my bag. I shot a quick text to my TA, telling him to cover my undergraduate lecture. Clutching my belongings, I made a break for the stairwell at my end of the hall. I couldn’t believe it. How could I have made such a stupid mistake? Forgetting to post anonymously when I was trash-talking Louise? I deserved whatever was coming to me. The stairwell was dim, the motion-sensor lights notoriously unreliable, plunging me into near-total darkness. I was staring down at my phone, not watching where I was going, when my foot missed a step. I pitched forward, hurtling into the blackness. I collided with someone who was coming up around the landing. The impact was surprisingly soft. They smelled incredible. Even in that brief, chaotic moment, I could tell they were in amazing shape. There was a hint of familiarity to them, too. We have someone this hot in our department? “Sorry about that! Thanks!” I said, steadying myself. But instead of letting go, the person grabbed my arm and pressed me against the wall. The force wasn’t rough, but it was so unexpected that I stumbled back, my body flush against the cool concrete. As their face drew closer, my eyes adjusted to the gloom. My brain short-circuited. Every alarm bell in my head started screaming. It was Louise. Her eyes were blazing with fury, her voice a low, dangerous purr. “Leo. Have I been too lenient with you?” “Lenient? No, not at all!” I said, playing dumb. “What’s this about you and the flower shop girl?” she asked, her voice tight with anger. Wait, that’s what she’s focused on? A tiny, hopeful spark ignited in the darkness of my panic. I looked up at her, my heart starting to race with a different kind of emotion. “Louise? Where are you?” A smooth, deep male voice echoed up from the bottom of the stairwell. My heart gave a painful lurch. I followed the sound and saw a tall, slender man with a refined, artistic air making his way slowly up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. It was Nathan Vance. The moment he saw us, Louise shoved me away. It was a frantic, reflexive movement, as if she were flinging away something dirty she’d accidentally touched. She pushed me. My back only brushed lightly against the wall, but a sharp pain shot through my entire body. What was she so afraid of? 7 As Nathan reached our landing, the faint light caught our faces. He was using a single crutch. His eyes flickered over my face for a second before a charming smile spread across his lips. “Louise, darling, don’t be angry. Leo was just teasing you. You know how easily he gets flustered.” Louise’s gaze never left Nathan’s face. Nathan Vance was a dance instructor in the arts department, a rising star in the dance world. He had to have heard about my disastrous comment on the review platform. This was a private matter between my wife and me, yet here he was, swooping in to defend me as if he were her closest confidant. Were we even that close? I stared at Louise, waiting for her reaction. “Hmph. I can’t be bothered,” she said, her voice low. She went along with Nathan’s excuse, and with her words, my heart sank a little deeper. Louise shot me a sideways glance, her voice laced with a faint, dismissive smile. “So childish.” My throat felt raw. I changed the subject. “Nathan, what happened to your leg?” “Sprained my ankle during rehearsal,” he said, his handsome brow furrowed in a mask of stoic pain. “Still hurts a bit.” Louise’s own brow furrowed in concern. “I told you to wait for me downstairs. Why did you come up?” “Oh, Louise,” Nathan said with a gentle smile. “I was hoping I could rest in your office for a bit.” I rolled my eyes so hard I’m surprised they didn’t get stuck. He managed to climb three flights of stairs on that “sprained” ankle? Give it five more minutes and he’d be miraculously healed. “Alright, come on then,” Louise sighed, her voice softening with resignation. “Do you want some coffee?” She didn’t spare me another glance. She just turned and helped Nathan the rest of the way up the stairs, heading toward her office. The sight of them, him leaning on her, her supporting him, was like a perfectly composed photograph. Nathan, the sophisticated, mature artist. And me? The childish fool. Clearly, I was no match for her composure. 8 Nathan, Louise, and I had all known each other since we were kids. His father was a minor shareholder on the board of her family’s corporation. But Louise’s grandfather had always been fond of Nathan, viewing him as a potential grandson-in-law. So, Nathan’s parents raised him with the specific goal of one day marrying into Louise’s family. The two of them had always been closer. While my parents were using Louise as the golden standard to push me through a grueling gauntlet of cram schools, competitions, and exams that left me breathless, Nathan was learning piano, ballet, and calligraphy. He cultivated an air of refined elegance, an artist to his core. And he was genuinely talented, winning international awards for his solo dance choreographies and amassing a legion of online fans. He’d always positioned himself as Louise’s closest male friend, her platonic soulmate. He probably had no idea that I had intercepted his grand prize. I used to envy his life. Louise was always gentle and kind to Nathan. But the moment she saw me, her brow would furrow, and she’d find a million things to criticize. Marrying me must have been a huge sacrifice for her. 9 Right before my last class of the day, a message from Louise lit up my phone: 【We’re talking tonight. You’re going to explain to me exactly what you mean by ‘frigid’.】 My hand trembled, and the phone nearly flew out of my grasp. What do I do? How can I possibly go home now? I’d be walking into a death trap. I spent the last few minutes of my lecture in a daze, barely aware of the words coming out of my mouth. Terrified, I accepted an invitation to a small get-together with a few colleagues from the physics department. My plan was to use it as an excuse to get home late. Maybe with a little liquid courage, I’d be brave enough to face her. I never, ever expected to see Louise at the same gathering. Professor Miller had invited me. Someone else had invited her. Clearly, they hadn’t coordinated. The moment we locked eyes across the private room of the Japanese restaurant, the air crackled with a palpable, suffocating awkwardness. Our colleagues looked like they wanted to bolt. I grabbed Professor Miller’s arm, hissing, “You didn’t tell me she was coming!” “It’s all Professor Thorne’s fault!” he whimpered, his face a mask of despair. When we sat down, I made sure to take the seat furthest from Louise. One of our colleagues, trying to break the tension, asked with a laugh, “Professor Reed, you never come to these things. What brings you out tonight?” Louise flashed a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just felt like joining the fun.” Her gaze, sharp and meaningful, landed directly on me. “After all,” she continued, drawing out each word, “it’s not like there’s anyone waiting at home.” I coughed, pretending I hadn’t seen her pointed stare. Everyone tacitly avoided the topic of our rivalry. But after a few rounds of drinks, things inevitably got messy. Dinner wound down, and the group decided to move on to a karaoke bar for round two. I raised my hand, announcing I was ready to head home. To my horror, Louise spoke up at the same time. “I’m a bit tired, too.” I panicked. Her next words would be “I’m going home too,” and that would be it. Here, surrounded by people, a direct confrontation was unlikely. But at home, just the two of us? I didn’t stand a chance. “On second thought,” I said quickly, “I think I’ll hang out with you guys a little longer.” Our colleagues howled their off-key songs while Louise and I occupied opposite ends of the long sofa, a silent buffer of people between us. After an hour of terrible singing, the novelty wore off, and someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. A group of middle-aged professors roared with excitement around an empty beer bottle. The bottle spun, slowing to a stop, its neck pointing directly at Louise. Before anyone could even ask, she said, “Truth.” Professor Thorne thought for a moment. “Professor Reed, do you have a boyfriend?” A wave of knowing smiles passed through our colleagues. They all knew that Louise, the untouchable ice queen of the department, kept everyone at arm’s length—except for Nathan Vance from the arts department. The entire campus assumed they were in a “will-they-won’t-they” romance. Louise looked up, her eyes shining in the dim, colorful lights of the karaoke room. A small, genuine smile touched her lips, as if sparked by a happy memory. She parted her lips and said, “No. But there is a guy I have a crush on.” A chorus of whoops and hollers erupted. Someone was on the verge of shouting Nathan’s name. Beside me, Professor Miller whispered excitedly, “I knew it! My ship is sailing!” I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. So that’s what it looked like when she smiled for real. It was because she was thinking of Nathan. And what did that make me? 10 Even though the bottle never landed on me, I drank anyway, matching every “dare” and “truth” with another glass of beer. One by one, the beers went down, until the world blurred and I could no longer make out Louise’s face across the room. Good. If I couldn’t see her, I couldn’t be tormented by her. But why, even in my drunken haze, did her face still haunt my dreams? By the end of the night, I was completely gone, my soul having ascended to another plane. I have no memory of how I got home. Through a thick fog, I heard Louise’s voice, flat and detached. “I live near him. I’ll take him home.” Someone else said something I couldn’t catch. A cold laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not that petty. He’ll live.” … Later, I felt a warm, damp cloth wiping my face. The sensation brought me back to a sliver of consciousness. I cracked my eyes open. In the soft, golden glow of the lamp, Louise’s beautiful, delicate features were softened, making her look breathtakingly gentle. She looked exactly like the Louise from my dreams. See? I thought. She’s so much nicer in dreams. My hand moved on its own, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “Who’s better looking,” I slurred, “me or Nathan?” Louise arched an eyebrow. “What a ridiculous question.” “You like him that much, huh?” She fell silent for a moment, then asked in a low voice, “Who told you that?” She was afraid. Afraid I knew about them and would tell her parents. Bolstered by alcohol, a surge of recklessness washed over me. “Give me a kiss,” I demanded, “and I won’t tell your mom and dad.” Under the soft lamplight, her expression was so unnervingly calm it made me want to run. The booze had ignited a fire in me. I pushed myself up, grabbed the back of her head with both hands, and pulled her down, tilting my own head up to meet her lips. The instant my lips brushed against hers, a powerful force shoved me backward. I landed hard on the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me. The ceiling fan spun wildly above me, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat. Louise’s voice, flat and laced with disgust, cut through the haze. “Leo, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” A volatile mix of ice and fire churned in my chest. My brain stalled for a half-second before I scrambled off the bed and lurched toward the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet and retching violently. The bitter, acidic bile burned my throat. My stomach cramped painfully. My eyes were red, my face streaked with tears. Perfect. Now she wouldn’t know that the tears weren’t just from being sick. I heard footsteps approach. A warm hand gently rubbed my back. It was Louise. I wanted to ask her if this was how she took care of Nathan when he was drunk. But I had no strength left to speak. I slumped to the floor and passed out. In that final moment before darkness took me, a single, lucid thought fought its way through the fog. In that split second, I finally understood why I was in so much pain. It wasn’t just the hangover. It was because I was completely, hopelessly in love with Louise.

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I was reborn into a world of mud and misery, a serf with a terrifyingly high chance of being sold into a brothel. My modern education hadn’t included soap-making or gunpowder formulation, and the invisible hand of the market wasn’t about to reach down and pull me out of the muck. Maybe if I’d been reborn as a member of the ruling class, I might have wanted to stay. But as it was, I knew one thing with absolute clarity: I just wanted to go home. 1 The moment I gained consciousness in this life, I saw the leaking thatch roof and the low, mud-caked walls of our hovel. I knew instantly that I’d been dealt the worst possible hand. As a tiny, scrawny child, there was nothing to do but endure. I’d just managed to reach the age of seven when the river flooded. When the waters receded, only my father and I were left from our family of six. My father wrapped the bodies of my mother and my little siblings in straw mats. Then, he took my hand, and we began our life as beggars on the road. The river of refugees grew with every passing day, a desperate tide of humanity where people fought to the death for a single mouthful of food. After three days of gnawing hunger, my father sold me for four hard, tasteless buns. His sunken eyes were too dry for tears. “Don’t hate me, girl,” he rasped. “Stay with me, and you’ll starve. You be good, listen to your new master, and maybe you’ll have a chance to live.” As I was led to the fleshmonger’s cart, I couldn’t bring myself to look back at him. He had no choice. The eyes of the other refugees were already glowing with a feral, green light. If we’d stayed any longer, I would have been the next meal on their fire. So much for a fresh start. My bowl was shattered, and my life was now bound by a contract of indenture. From now on, my life belonged to my master. That was the first lesson the fleshmonger taught me. 2 The wheels of the cart groaned, day after day. The collection of little girls in the cart grew steadily larger. Two months later, with a full cargo of cleaned-up, terrified children, he sold us to the estate of the Marquis Valerius. I admit, I complained about my nine-to-five job in my past life, but surely I hadn’t sinned enough to deserve this—a life as a literal serf with no rights to speak of. The matron who came to purchase us inspected us like livestock, checking our hands, feet, and teeth with a practiced, callous eye. She selected eight of us. The girls who were rejected wept uncontrollably. The Marquis’s estate was a good placement. The remaining destinations were places of unspeakable horror, where you weren’t even a beast of burden. You were just flesh. This accursed feudal society! But what could I do? I had no magic, no special skills. To survive, I had to accept the rules. I was one of the chosen eight. I clung to every word the fleshmonger had said, burning them into my memory. Learn the rules. Serve the master well. That was the only path to survival. 3 On my eighth birthday, I officially became a scullery maid at the Valerius Estate. That day, I was given a bowl of thin, almost translucent gruel, and it was the most blissful meal of my life. It was prepared by Matron Celia, the stern woman in charge of our training. Day by day, the gruel grew thicker. It wasn’t until the seventh day that we were each given half a loaf of bread. Though her face was like stone, Matron Celia was a good person. I knew she was being careful, easing our starved bodies back into eating, afraid that rich food would shock our systems and kill us. The House of Valerius was built on military glory, and it was run with iron discipline. The slightest mistake from a servant was punished with twenty lashes. On our third day, we were forced to watch as two indentured servants were beaten to death for a minor infraction. All eight of us were plagued by nightmares. Two of the more timid girls wet their beds in terror and were punished by being forced to wash laundry for two days straight. 4 I had no idea how to get home. All I could do was be a good, quiet maid. Just as I had been a diligent drone in my past life, I now poured all my energy into my new tasks. I swept the courtyards, stoked the fires, drew water, and fed the birds in the aviary, performing each duty with meticulous, repetitive precision. I tried to console myself. It wasn’t so different from drafting proposals, wrestling with spreadsheets, and creating PowerPoint presentations. A cubicle serf and a manor maid—just different kinds of labor. But I knew the truth. In my old life, labor laws might not have protected my overtime, but the civil code protected my life. A citizen’s rights were sacred. Here, my master could kill me as easily as swatting a fly, and no one would bat an eye. 5 Survival of the fittest. I was too afraid to die, so I had to endure. I had to claw and scrape for every breath. Four years passed. I was promoted from an unpaid apprentice to a scullery maid earning 100 coppers a month. Then, because the Dowager Marchioness praised how well I fed her birds, I was elevated to a second-rank maid in her personal service, with a monthly stipend of 400 coppers. 400 coppers wasn’t a small sum. One copper could buy a piece of flatbread; by modern standards, it was like making 800 a month. With money came motivation. I worked even harder. My degree was in management, a liberal art. The invisible hand of the market was useless to me here. I didn’t know the first thing about making soap or gunpowder, and I was clumsy with a needle and thread, the standard skills for women in this era. The only thing I truly excelled at was making pastries. So I poured my heart into it. If the old lady expressed even a flicker of interest in trying a new confection, I would spend a dozen hours perfecting it. In this household, the masters were the heavens. My performance review was whatever they said it was. Only by pleasing them could I hope for a better life. 6 In my fifteenth year, my superiors once again gave me a stellar review. The Dowager Marchioness herself praised me: “No one is more diligent or well-behaved. Her eyes see what needs to be done, and her heart is loyal to her masters. Promote her to a first-rank maid and send her to serve the Young Lord.” 7 The Young Lord, Lord Adrian, had been raised under the doting eye of the Dowager Marchioness. The century-old House of Valerius had but one heir, the Marquis’s only son. Compared to us, whose lives were worth less than dust, the Young Lord was a treasure beyond price. His new residence, the Jade Vine Pavilion, had been under construction for three years. It was a sprawling complex of layered courtyards, with carved balustrades, painted pillars, winding covered walkways, rock gardens, and ponds, beautiful in every season. The Dowager and the Marchioness spent two months carefully selecting a full staff to serve him. The inner court had two matrons, two first-rank maids, four second-rank maids, eight third-rank maids, and twelve scullery hands. Of the two matrons, Matron Celia was the Dowager’s old, trusted servant, sharp and capable. The other, Matron Willow, had been the Young Lord’s wet nurse, and she was gentle and attentive. The first-rank maids were Lyra, sent by the Marchioness—she was beautiful as a flower, with nimble fingers skilled at embroidery—and me. To complement Lyra’s name, the Young Lord named me Elara. My specialty was cooking and the art of tea. Lyra, with her beauty and quick, charming wit, soon grew familiar with the Young Lord, attending to his most personal needs. It was she who assisted him with his bathing and washing, she who was the “fragrant sleeve” by his side as he read. I, on the other hand, took over the tedious management of his three daily meals, his refreshments, social arrangements, and the inventory of his possessions. It was a thousand threads of trivial work, but I never complained. Every task is difficult at the start; only the dedicated succeed. A beast of burden must do every job to the best of its ability. Before long, I had a precise grasp of the Young Lord’s tastes and habits. He favored blue tunics, practiced calligraphy, enjoyed the sight of snow on green bamboo, preferred Lion’s Peak tea, and had a weakness for four-colored shortbread pastries. A slight shift of his eyes, a subtle lift of his brow, and I knew what he was thinking. He found me increasingly indispensable. 8 I had reached the pinnacle of my career path as a maid. It was time to find a new way forward. I was sixteen, the age when maids were typically matched for marriage. This meant that not only did I have no human rights, but I also had no say in who I would spend the rest of my life with. From here, there were only two paths. The first was to be married off to a footman or a guard. If my husband did well, I might become a housekeeper. I would spend my life as a serf, and then give birth to a new generation of serfs to continue serving the masters. The other path was to become a “bed-servant” for the master. If the future lady of the house was tolerant, I might be elevated to a mistress, becoming a semi-master myself. But if she was not, I wouldn’t even be able to keep my life. Lately, Matron Celia had been telling me in secret that the Dowager Marchioness had instructed her to choose a suitable girl for the Young Lord’s bed. “It is the custom of the house,” she whispered. “Before the heir weds, two maids are chosen for his chambers. It’s to… settle his heart, to prevent him from being corrupted by the women in the taverns and brothels. “These are hard times. Your indenture contract is unbreakable, but even if the master were merciful and freed you, what then? Another famine, and you’d see husbands selling their wives and children. It’s better to stay in the manor. And if you’re simply married off to some random footman, you’ll be a slave for the rest of your days. “The Dowager values your loyalty. She sent you here with the intention of making you one of the chosen. You’ve served her with all your heart. Now, turn that devotion to the Young Lord, and you might make something of yourself.” She was right. What would happen if I left? My parents were common folk, toiling their whole lives only to be torn apart by a single flood. Matron Celia had always looked out for me. This was the path she was laying out for me with all her heart. I had to consider it carefully. What was so bad about being a mistress? As long as I could live in peace. That night, I tossed and turned, tracing the Young Lord’s name on my palm. Adrian Valerius. A name as lofty and unreachable as a mountain peak. But it was better to take a gamble on a motorcycle than be shackled to a broken-down cart I didn’t choose. 9 Once my mind was made up, I slept soundly. When I awoke, I smoothed rouge onto my cheeks, applied color to my lips, and went out to conquer a new battlefield. Lyra must have heard the news as well. She had been dressing in brighter, more alluring clothes these past few days. The moment we saw each other, our intentions were laid bare in each other’s eyes. What little friendship we had evaporated in an instant. Her gaze was now sharp with suspicion. In the competition to win a place in the lord’s bed, we were now rivals. It was every woman for herself. The moment Lord Adrian returned, Lyra rushed to his side, pouring his tea, helping him change his clothes, fluttering around him like a moth to a flame, leaving me no room to get close. In response, I poured even more care into preparing his tea and pastries, inventing new variations on his favorite flavors that earned his constant praise. 10 The turning point came on a night when the Young Lord was out for a social engagement. Lyra and I were supposed to alternate night duty; it was my turn. When he returned, staggering from drink, she rushed forward, asking if he wanted some soup. Her dress was far more sheer than usual, her hair and makeup done with a provocative flair. I knew something was amiss, but Lord Adrian, his stomach churning from the wine, requested a light lotus-leaf porridge. I had no choice but to go and prepare it. After I left, he went to bathe. Lyra followed him in. They were in the bathing chamber for two hours. The wet nurse and Matron Celia slipped in to check, then hurried away to report to the Marchioness. When I brought the porridge, I snuck a peek. Lyra stood behind the Young Lord, her face flushed, her hair in disarray, her clothes askew. It was clear she had been taken by him. The very next day, the Young Lord began paying Lyra a monthly allowance of two silver pieces from his own purse—the stipend of a mistress. Although she couldn’t be formally recognized before he married, she already had the status of a woman of his chambers. A wave of disappointment washed over me. This was his first time; it would surely leave a deep impression, perhaps securing her for life. I had missed my chance. I scoffed at myself. If you’re going to be a mistress, what does it matter how you get there? The method that works is the one that matters. Years of full meals had made me forget. This place was far more brutal than any corporate office. The opportunities to change your fate were fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye. 11 Matron Celia saw my dejection. She pulled me aside and whispered in my ear. “A conquest won by such obvious means might not sit well with the Dowager and the Marchioness. You just do your job. It’s not over until it’s over. Don’t you dare lose hope.” Her words were a splash of cold water. It wasn’t hard to become the Young Lord’s bed-servant. The hard part was being accepted by the lady of the house. A clumsy, blatant maneuver would only make you a target. You could end up dead without ever knowing why. Like still water runs deep, I pushed all my bitterness and disappointment down and focused on serving the Young Lord with even greater care and attention. 12 The next year, the Dowager and the Marchioness began the search for a proper wife for the Young Lord. I heard that ever since the Midwinter Gala, the Marchioness’s desk was piled high with invitations to garden parties and social gatherings at other noble houses, the “flowers” on display being their eligible daughters. The Dowager was just as active, inviting old friends and relatives to bring their daughters for visits. Chewing on ginseng slices to keep her energy up, she would chat for hours, so busy that the maids in her wing had no time for idle gossip. The House of Valerius was at the height of its power, and the Young Lord was intelligent and well-mannered. There was no shortage of prospects. 13 In the Jade Vine Pavilion, Lyra’s night with the lord was like a stone tossed into a still pond, sending ripples through the entire staff. Lord Adrian was a reserved, serious man who rarely smiled. But since that night in the bath, a new warmth had appeared in his eyes. He started teasing Lyra, setting aside special treats and trinkets for her. His favor seemed to make Lyra forget she was still a servant. She began to subtly challenge the authority of the matrons, criticizing the other first- and second-rank maids. She was even more imperious with the junior maids, scolding and striking them at will. Matron Willow was not only the lord’s wet nurse but also a distant relative of the Marchioness, a woman of some standing. After being publicly contradicted by Lyra several times, she cursed in frustration, “She’s not even a proper mistress yet and she’s already this arrogant!” Seeing Lyra’s success, the other maids grew restless. Each tried to outdo the others, their minds consumed with fashioning themselves into beautiful flowers, plotting “accidental” encounters with the Young Lord. The courtyards went unswept, the birds unfed, the hearths cold. The maids’ dresses became more revealing and thinner by the day, and several of them caught colds. Matron Celia and Matron Willow scolded them repeatedly, but the feverish, ambitious undercurrent could not be stopped. 14 One day, I noticed a strange taste in the lunch a junior maid brought me. Without a word, I took the food into my room, scraped it into the chamber pot, and ate some of my own pastries to quell my hunger. That afternoon, Lyra began making repeated, frantic trips to the latrine. After several bouts, her face was pale as a sheet. I pretended to have a stomachache as well and retired to my room. That night, when Lord Adrian returned from an outing, two second-rank maids, Faye and Briar, dressed in flimsy gowns, approached him with a cup of tea. Before the cup reached his lips, Matron Celia and Matron Willow stormed in with guards and seized them. The tea had been drugged with an aphrodisiac. The incident that afternoon had seemed suspicious to more than just me. The two old matrons had seen the signs immediately. As Matron Celia put it, “It was only a matter of time before these restless fools caused a disaster!” The Dowager Marchioness was furious. Faye and Briar were given twenty lashes and sold off. All the servants of the Jade Vine Pavilion were made to watch the punishment. At first, the two girls screamed. After ten lashes, their cries faded to weak gasps. Lyra, still weak from her illness, was dragged out by two burly servants on the Dowager’s orders and forced to watch from the front row. The display—killing the chickens to scare the monkeys—was terrifyingly effective. The entire staff was cowed into submission, trembling with fear. 15 The Jade Vine Pavilion returned to a state of tense tranquility. The servants now attended to the Young Lord with renewed, fearful diligence. Not long after, the Young Lord’s uncle, who had married his aunt, completed his tenure as governor of a southern duchy and was promoted to a high position at court. The entire family returned to the capital. The Dowager Marchioness was overjoyed to be reunited with her long-absent daughter. But what delighted her even more was the celestial beauty her daughter brought with her: her granddaughter, Lady Seraphina. She was like an angel, a fairy from the painted screen in the Dowager’s own chambers. I was on duty at the family banquet that day. The moment Lord Adrian saw his cousin, he froze. Lady Seraphina, blushing, shyly lowered her gaze. The maids in the Dowager’s service whispered that the old woman and her daughter had already settled the matter. Preparations for the betrothal gifts were already underway. 16 With the Young Lord’s marriage settled, I became even more cautious, terrified of making a mistake. According to the house rules, the heir must have two bed-servants before his wedding. Lyra had already been taken, and the Young Lord pleaded with his mother to grant her an official, albeit lowly, title. With his support, the recently subdued Lyra became arrogant once more. On the day the betrothal was formally announced, Lord Adrian left early. I was in my room reviewing accounts when I heard Lyra ordering another maid, Briar, to water the flowers, then scolding her for dressing provocatively and having “no work in her eyes.” Briar endured it for a moment, then snapped back, “You’re one to talk! You seduced the master right into his bed!” Lyra flew into a rage. The two of them started pulling hair and tearing at each other’s clothes, fighting in the middle of the courtyard. The Dowager was furious. On such an auspicious day, to have such a shameful incident occur—it was a disgrace. She immediately ordered both girls to be given ten lashes and sold off. When Lord Adrian returned, he rushed to the Dowager’s chambers and knelt for a long time, pleading and begging until he had exhausted every flattering word to save Lyra. But poor Briar was not so lucky. As she was dragged away, beaten and limp as a dead dog, her desperate eyes found mine. But I couldn’t save her. Just as I couldn’t save myself. 17 After this, the Dowager strictly forbade Lyra from attending to the Young Lord. She then instructed Matron Celia, “We need another, more stable girl to serve by his side.” After the storm, a new path opened. Matron Celia came to me, her face alight with excitement. The Dowager wanted to see me. This was it. This was my chance to be formally presented to the Young Lord. In the preceding weeks, while the other maids had been a riot of color and flirtation, I had remained in my plain servant’s uniform, toiling in the small kitchen, managing the lord’s meals and expenses. Matron Celia had told me in private that on the day of the floggings, the Dowager had remarked before leaving, “In this entire courtyard, only Elara is still diligent and useful.” I checked my appearance. My clothes were clean but well-worn, not bright, but tidy. My hair was in a simple twin-bun style, adorned with a few small, inconspicuous pearl pins. I had been preparing for this moment since the day Lyra was punished. I entered the main hall and knelt properly to one side. The Dowager seemed not to see me, sipping her tea in silence. After what felt like an eternity, she finally nodded for the matron to let me rise. She said I was dutiful and honest, that I served well. Now, as was tradition, the Young Lord needed two women in his chambers before his marriage. Lyra had proven unsuitable. It was my turn now. I must not fail her. I kowtowed. The old lady bestowed upon me a set of hairpins and a new gown, a mark of her favor. I had passed the test. I had gotten what I wanted. But, if I could be so sentimental, I felt no relief. To place your fate in the hands of others, to constantly scheme and read their every mood—it was an exhausting, bitter existence. And besides, the path of a master’s companion was only just beginning. 18 That night, when Lord Adrian returned, I had already bathed and changed into the gown the Dowager had given me. In the mirror, the seventeen-year-old girl staring back was in the prime of her youth, with a natural, peach-like bloom. Dressed in a dazzling, eye-catching garment instead of my usual drab uniform, I looked… almost captivating. When Lord Adrian saw me, he paused, a look of genuine surprise and admiration in his eyes. “Elara, you so rarely wear such bright colors. This lavender is gentle, it sets off your skin like snow.” I lowered my gaze demurely and offered him a cup of tea. “It was a gift from the Dowager.” Lord Adrian was intelligent. With that one sentence, he understood. I was the new companion his grandmother had chosen for him. He took my hand and led me into the warm inner chamber. He sat on the couch and then pulled me onto his lap, looking at me with a gentle expression. I had served him for three years, but this was the first time we had ever been this close, so close I could see the individual lashes framing his eyes. “Elara,” he said softly, “all these years, you’ve served me with such care and propriety. I thought you had no interest in me. I would never force you. If you were unwilling, I was planning to arrange for your release from the estate in a few years.” A small tremor went through my heart, but my face remained a mask of calm. I had assumed I would never leave this place. Suddenly, he had offered me another path. But if I left, what would I do? No. The cart had reached the edge of the cliff. It was too late to turn back. I tilted my head up slightly, bit my lip, and looked at him with all the adoration I could muster. I had practiced this look in the mirror countless times. This was my most fetching expression. “My Lord, you are the finest man I have ever known. This house is my home. I never dared to overstep. As long as I could serve you, I would have been content to be a scullery maid my entire life. Now that the Dowager has given me this chance, how could I be unwilling? My only fear is that I am not worthy of you.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with pleasure. He pulled me closer, and his kiss said more than a thousand words ever could.

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Two days before my wedding, my best friend told me to test my fiancé. She didn’t believe a notorious playboy like Julian Whitney would ever truly change his ways. Her intuition was rarely wrong, so that night, I created a burner account and slid into his DMs, playing the part of a flirtatious stranger. Julian shot me down so hard I was left spinning. But just as I was caught between relief and amusement, he sent another message, and the world tilted on its axis. 【This little game of yours ends now.】 【Besides you two, I don’t play around with other women.】 【Vivi, next time you want to sext me, just use your real account.】 Vivi is my best friend’s nickname. 1 As my brain processed those three messages, the blood ran cold in my veins. I squeezed my eyes shut, pinching myself, desperate to wake up. But the frantic, drumming beat of my heart confirmed the horrifying truth: This wasn’t a dream. Julian was cheating on me. With Violet. But… how? Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? Violet always said Julian was nothing but a rich brat, completely unworthy of me. And Julian always called Violet a pest, the one who relentlessly told me to dump him every time we had a fight. The ringtone of a video call ripped me from my thoughts. Julian. I numbly declined the call. 【Why aren’t you answering?】 he texted. 【Don’t tell me you’re crying.】 【Come to Crestwood. I’ll make you feel better.】 【Don’t worry. Even after I’m married, I’ll still be good to you.】 【Everything Clara has, you’ll have too.】 【Including me.】 2 I stared at the screen, a roaring in my ears that seemed to pull my soul from my body. Tears, hot and heavy, began to fall. Through the blur, I remembered the first time I brought Violet to the villa Julian had bought for us. Every detail now seemed sinister. Without me saying a word, she knew exactly where my bedroom was, where the walk-in closet was. When I playfully snatched her phone, I noticed it was already connected to the Wi-Fi. She’d laughed it off, saying she’d just guessed my birthday or something. Julian’s Oriental Shorthair, a cat that was usually aloof even with me, had been inexplicably affectionate with her. She said it was probably because she smelled like me. But that cat barely tolerated me, even when I bribed it with toys and treats. Yet it had rolled over and exposed its belly to Violet, a complete stranger. And then there was Violet’s apartment, a mirror image of my own life. The same clothes, the same handbags, the same lipsticks and cosmetics. Some of it, Julian had given her through me, under the guise of “keeping my future toughest critic happy.” The rest, Violet claimed, were from an admirer. When I’d pressed her for details, excited for the gossip, she’d been evasive. I thought she was just being shy. It turns out, she was hiding a guilty conscience. I remembered all the times we’d gone shopping together, the two of them bickering in front of me, “competing” for my attention. A few times, their mock-hostility had broken, and they’d burst out laughing. And I, like a fool, had been happy that they were finally starting to get along. All this time, they’d been using me as a prop in their twisted flirtation. They’d been playing me for a complete idiot. 3 I cried until my eyes were swollen and my head throbbed. Grabbing my car keys, I floored it and drove to Crestwood. Crestwood was Julian’s other property, a sprawling estate where he was putting up his groomsmen. They were having a bachelor party tonight. Julian was there. And so was Violet. Through the wrought-iron fence, I saw them by the pool. Julian looked drunk, his handsome, sharp features flushed a pale red. His eyes were hazy as he draped an arm around Violet’s neck, whispering into her ear. Violet pouted, then playfully shoved him into the pool. The groomsmen roared with laughter, their cheers echoing in the night. Julian surfaced, shaking the water from his hair, a wicked grin on his face. He grabbed Violet’s ankle and pulled her in after him. As she shrieked, he caught her, lifting her against the pool wall and kissing her with a fierce, dominating passion. The crowd went wild. Someone popped a bottle of champagne; another set off a party popper. And then, someone jokingly mentioned me. “Julian, man, you’re marrying Clara in two days. Making out with her best friend isn’t a great look, is it?” “Hahaha, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. As long as we keep our mouths shut, Julian could be screwing Vivi right here, and Clara would never have a clue.” “There’s the Julian I know and love! All that time you spent chasing Clara, acting like she was the only one… was that all an act? I almost bought into that whole ‘reformed bad boy’ crap from the movies!” Julian finally broke the long, deep kiss. His voice was a magnetic, raspy drawl, laced with a lazy, roguish charm. “I do love Clara. She’s the only woman I’ll ever marry. I can spoil her, cherish her, grow old with her. But… to ask me to be completely faithful to her at this age…” Julian laughed, then planted a loud, wet kiss on Violet’s cheek as she gasped for air against his shoulder. “I can’t do it.” He lifted Violet out of the pool and set her down on a lounge chair. Someone rushed to hand him a towel, but he draped it over her instead. “Julian, you still heading back tonight?” one of his friends asked. Violet looked up at him, her eyes still red and swollen from the kiss. Julian crouched down, affectionately pinching her cheek. “Clara loves her Vivi more than anyone. I’m a distant second. And right now, Vivi’s upset. So of course, I’m staying to keep her company.” He waved a hand at the guy behind him. “Ethan, text your sister-in-law for me. Tell her I’m drunk and I’m crashing here tonight. I’ll pick her up for the rehearsal tomorrow.” Just as a fresh wave of tears began to fall, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan Kingsley, his best man. 【Clara, Julian’s had too much to drink, so he won’t be back tonight. Get some sleep. He’ll come get you for the rehearsal tomorrow.】 4 I stood there for a long time, frozen in place. My mind drifted. My parents died when I was very young, and I was sent to live with my uncle. My cousin bullied me constantly, and my aunt turned a blind eye. The complaints I was too scared to make, Violet made for me. The fights I was too scared to start, Violet started for me. In school, I was the sharper of the two of us. I split every scholarship prize I won with her. She was an only child and didn’t care much for studying. In our final year of high school, I dragged her through it, practically spoon-feeding her the knowledge she needed. I was her personal cheerleader, painting a picture of a bright future for us. We both got into the same university in the city. In our sophomore year, I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me. When Violet heard, she stormed into their hotel room, beat up the jerk, and tore into the other woman. After graduation, we shared a single room in a rented apartment, terrified and uncertain about the future. Every night, under the same blanket, we’d dream aloud, making endless promises to take care of each other once one of us made it big. “Ride or die.” “First, we share a bed. Then, we share a mansion.” We’d been inseparable since childhood. I considered her my family. Maybe blood family wouldn’t love me unconditionally, but I believed she would. That’s why, when faced with her betrayal, I couldn’t even summon the strength for a confrontation. The person who had once fought my battles for me was now my fiancé’s other woman. My absolute trust had been met with the cruelest form of treason. As I drove away from Crestwood, the moon hung high and cold in the sky, mirroring the chill in my bones. My mind drifted to Julian. At twenty-five, I had become the lead designer at ArtGrn, the city’s top wedding design firm. I was overseeing the setup for Ethan Kingsley’s lavish estate wedding. After pulling an all-nighter, my blood sugar crashed, and I fainted, tumbling headfirst into a shallow decorative fountain. Julian, who was just passing by, rescued me. The image of him carrying me in his arms, water dripping from his brow, his deep eyes locked on mine, was the moment I fell for him. I learned about his wealthy family, his reputation as a playboy, and I tried to keep my distance. But Julian gave up all his bad habits and pursued me earnestly for a whole year. His pursuit was respectful, polite, and deeply sincere. One New Year’s Eve, I went back to my hometown to visit my parents’ graves. My phone died midway. For three hours, I was unreachable. Terrified I had collapsed somewhere from low blood sugar, Julian drove hundreds of miles to find me. He stood on a narrow path between fields, wearing only a thin coat, desperately wiping away tears as he shouted my name into the empty air. In that moment, I thought: Mom, Dad, this is the one. For the rest of my life, I want him. In the three years we dated, I never felt his love wane. He would kneel in a crowded department store to help me try on shoes. He would find traditional herbal remedies for my cramps and personally watch over the pot as it simmered. Before I met his parents, he prepped them thoroughly, ensuring I wouldn’t face a single question or ounce of doubt. He proudly took me into his world of wealth and privilege, introducing me to everyone with unabashed pride. “This is my fiancée, Clara Lin, the chief designer at ArtGrn. You can call her Ms. Lin. She’s brilliant—won a ton of design awards. That royal wedding for the Duchess of York? That was her. The waiting list for her designs is booked solid for the next two years. Actually, no, it’s booked from the year after next, because next year, we’re getting married. A huge wedding. You’ll all be invited!” His love was so passionate, so perfect. Which made this one flaw feel so monstrous, so fatal. I checked into a hotel and cried my eyes out. I told myself over and over again: So you were backstabbed. So you were cheated on. The wedding hasn’t happened. The papers aren’t signed. There’s still time. I could just run away, get as far from this place, from these demons, as possible. But… I’m not the one who did something wrong. Why should I be the one to slink away in shame? I would get my revenge. And what needed re-evaluating was my judgment, my naivety—not my sincerity or my capacity for love. I did nothing wrong. I am a good person. 5 The next day, for the rehearsal, I returned to the villa early. When Julian arrived to pick me up, I had already composed myself. But he still noticed my swollen eyes. “Were you crying last night?” he asked, bending down to place a soft kiss on my eyelid. A wave of nausea washed over me. “I was thinking about my parents.” Julian smiled and knelt to help me with my shoes. “I’m sure they’re in heaven, blessing us.” I looked at the crown of his head and felt a sudden urge to ask: If you can’t be faithful, why did you want to marry me? Don’t you know I can’t tolerate betrayal? When you were sleeping with Violet behind my back, did it never once cross your mind how much it would hurt me, how it would shatter my heart, if I ever found out? In the end, I bit my tongue and swallowed the words. Julian had been happily telling the world that he was going to throw the most magnificent wedding for me. I was going to personally turn that magnificent wedding into an absurd tragicomedy. And Julian would be the clown, standing center stage. The rehearsal finished in the afternoon. As we were leaving, I told Julian and Violet to wait for me in the car. I went to find my assistant. I had designed this multi-million-dollar wedding, and she was the one coordinating everything. After I told her what I wanted, her face was a mask of worry. She hesitated, wanting to object. I ignored her. I knew my request was unreasonable. A last-minute change of this magnitude would have a domino effect. But I had managed over a hundred weddings. I’d dealt with brides far more demanding and capricious than this. Why couldn’t I be a little selfish, just this once? 6 When I got to the car, the driver was gone. Julian was in the passenger seat, Violet in the back. The atmosphere was, as always, painfully awkward. I looked at Violet’s slightly swollen lips and gave a scornful little smile. So this is what it was. All those times I saw them red-faced and flustered, it wasn’t because they were arguing. It was the thrill of sneaking kisses behind my back. And I, naively, thought they were just fighting. I sat down next to her in the back and closed my eyes, feigning exhaustion. “Where’s the driver?” “Bathroom,” Julian replied. “I’ll call him.” I hummed a soft “mm-hmm.” Julian turned around and handed me my thermos. The sweet scent of pear and rock sugar filled the air. “Tired?” he asked gently. Then he glared at Violet. “Violet, you come sit up front.” “Oh, no,” I said, my eyes fluttering open. I grabbed Violet’s hand and turned to her with a beaming smile. “Vivi and I have lots of secrets to share.” Julian frowned. “What secrets could you possibly have that I can’t hear?” My smile widened. “Your secrets, of course. If you heard them, you’d probably throw her out of the car.” Julian snorted. “My little critic, I don’t care how much you object to this marriage. Clara and I have made it. From now on, you’d better watch your mouth.” Violet, seeming to guess something was wrong, didn’t snap back as she usually would. Her face stiffened, and she glanced at me guiltily. I leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “I was at Crestwood last night.” She flinched, pulling her hand from mine as if she’d been electrocuted. I figured she must have gotten the story from Julian last night—that I had “tested” him. But she couldn’t be sure what I knew, so she’d been trying to get it out of me all day. I let out a soft laugh, fighting back the stabbing pain in my heart. My voice turned cruel. “I saw everything. Your sordid little affair, your betrayal. Oh, my dearest Vivi. My wonderful best friend. You’ve been so, so good to me.” Violet clutched at her skirt. She turned her face away, but I grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me. She tried to signal to Julian, but he wasn’t looking. An old acquaintance was greeting him from outside, and he’d gotten out of the car. Violet tried to follow, but I gripped her wrist. “Where are you running?” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Isn’t this all going according to your plan? I find out about your betrayal before the wedding, I call it off, and you step in. You weren’t afraid to expose yourself, so why are you so scared now that I’ve seen it with my own eyes? The outcome is the same, isn’t it?” She stopped struggling, turned back, and bit her lip, staring at me. I took a moment to compose myself. “You knew I tested Julian, and you still dared to show up at the rehearsal today. You wanted to see how I’d react, didn’t you? Well, I’ll tell you how I’m going to react. I’m not going to follow your script. I’m going to marry Julian. We’re going to get the license.” I watched the shock spread across her face and laughed. “You don’t believe a playboy can change. Well, neither do I. Which of these rich boys doesn’t have a wife at home and a string of mistresses on the side? You think I’d marry Julian without being prepared for that? The real question is about you. You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you? But does he really care about you? As anything more than a toy? You can’t possibly be foolish enough to believe his sweet talk. Do you want to bet that if I expose what happened last night, Julian will throw you out on the street and then get on his knees and beg for my forgiveness? He’ll feel so guilty, he’ll probably treat me even better for a few years. And you? What do you think he’ll do to you?” Tears welled up in Violet’s eyes. My heart constricted. I took a deep, shuddering breath, my own voice breaking. “You threw away twenty years of friendship… for a man like him?” Violet buried her head in her hands, covering her ears. I turned away, unable to stop my own tears. The pain. It was excruciating. Like something that had been rooted in my heart for decades, tangled and deep, was being ripped out, taking flesh and blood with it. It hurt so much I could barely breathe. “Why are you crying?” Julian was back in the passenger seat. He saw our state and his brow furrowed instantly. “Violet, what did you say to her? Why is she crying?” He got out of the car and squeezed into the back with us. His voice was stern. “Violet, go ride with the bridesmaids.” Her face went pale. She stared at him, her lips trembling in disbelief. “Didn’t you hear me?” Julian’s voice was sharp, a clear dismissal. Violet wiped her tears and slammed the car door as she left. Julian pulled me into his arms. “Baby,” he murmured, “tell me what you two were talking about.” Outside, I saw Violet flinch. “You misunderstood,” I choked out. “We were just… sharing some emotional best-friend secrets.” Julian’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong with her? Saying things like that at a time like this? What if it affects your mood? You have to get your makeup done tomorrow, what if your eyes are all swollen…” He said it loudly, his voice carrying through the window. It was like a dull knife, pressing into Violet’s back, urging her to walk away faster. 7 The day of the wedding. The castle was magnificent, the lawns sprawling and green. I wore a pristine white gown, arriving in a horse-drawn carriage adorned with flowers. The clip-clop of hooves, the beautiful melody of the string quartet. Julian stood on the lawn in a sharp, tailored suit, his eyes bright as he waited for me. I took his hand, stepped down from the carriage, and we walked together toward the altar. Petals rained down, butterflies fluttered by, and the applause was thunderous. After the officiant’s opening words, Julian went off-script, delivering a ten-minute declaration of his love for me. I could see his chin trembling, his hands shaking. By the end, his eyes were red and wet, his voice quivering. He talked about the first time we met. He talked about the day we made our relationship official. He talked about all the small, tender moments we had shared. But all I could hear was his voice from that night by the pool: “…but to ask me to be completely faithful to her, I can’t do it.” The moment a tear rolled down my cheek, Julian pulled me into a fierce hug. I could feel his heart hammering against his chest. He was so nervous, so incredibly happy. I think, in his own way, he did love me. His vows were real. His betrayal was also real. Somehow, those two contradictory things existed at the same time. The officiant gave his closing remarks. The vow exchange had been moved to the evening reception. This was different from the rehearsal. Julian shot a surprised look at the officiant. I tugged on his sleeve. “It was my idea,” I whispered. That evening, surrounded by flowers, under a canopy of sparkling lights, I met Julian’s ecstatic gaze and said the words: “I don’t.” The officiant was stunned. The guests gasped. The happiness in Julian’s eyes was instantly replaced by shock, which slowly hardened into fury. He stared at me, his gaze burning. I met it calmly. The clock tower struck eight. The lights above us went out, and across the lake, fireworks ignited the sky. A kaleidoscope of colors and shapes exploded across the night, beautiful and dazzling, their reflections shimmering on the water like a dream. I watched for a moment, then unfastened the train of my dress and gracefully descended the stage. The wedding I had so meticulously planned, every detail a labor of love, was finally over.

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I was the childhood friend. Wendy was the girl who fell from the sky. They say the girl next door never stands a chance against the one who appears out of nowhere. Not long after she transferred, someone saw them in the empty stairwell after school. My wild, untamable Bill, head bowed like a scolded puppy, was meekly apologizing to her. Later, after a small falling out between Wendy and me, he delivered the final blow with a single, careless sentence: “I don’t want to see Tessa Shaw at school anymore.” My parents, terrified of jeopardizing their ties to the Vances, immediately had me transferred. From that day on, I vanished from his world, not daring to even show my face where he might see it. But then, on his birthday, he showed up at my door, drenched and miserable, his face a mask of desperation and hurt. “You forgot it was my birthday, didn’t you?” 1 They say the girl next door never stands a chance against the one who appears out of nowhere. I used to scoff at that. But now, sitting in the school auditorium, watching Bill gaze at Wendy as she danced on stage, the undisguised adoration in his eyes told a different story. In that moment, I believed it. I also believed the rumors I’d heard—about Bill Vance, the boy who defied the world, surrendering to Wendy in that deserted stairwell. The confession I had been holding in my heart, waiting for the right moment to share, would now have to be buried forever. When the music ended, I joined the applause for the radiant girl on stage. Bill shot up from his seat, probably on his way to find her. I got up too and slipped out of the auditorium. Outside, I lifted my hand, a small, gourd-shaped wooden charm dangling from a string on my wrist, twisting in the evening breeze. “Tessa… for you.” I remember staring at it, confused. “What is it?” A seven-year-old Bill, having learned the term “token of love” from some soap opera his aunt was watching, had pressed it into my hand. “It’s for you, Tessa. So you’ll only ever like me.” “And I’ll protect you forever.” A bitter sting pricked my eyes. I unhooked the charm from my wrist and clenched it in my fist. A child’s promise, so easily broken. But I had believed it. Bill Vance, the untamable rebel, had been the secret joy of my entire youth. … Wendy Summers had transferred this semester. She was beautiful, a talented dancer, and her arrival caused an immediate stir. The girls in my class used to whisper that Wendy was like the protagonist of a teen novel—the sweet new girl who captures the heart of the school’s resident bad boy. The story always ends the same: the bad boy changes for the good girl. Plenty of guys were chasing after Wendy back then, and someone even joked that all she needed now was for Bill to fall for her too. Bill, who had been lounging lazily at his desk, just stretched and shot the speaker a dismissive look. “Her? Is she even worthy?” See? Such arrogance back then. I hadn’t believed the rumors that they were together. I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes or heard it from his own lips. I needed him to tell me he was with someone else. But now, I knew. It was time to pull back, to finally put some distance between us. I used to walk home with Bill every day. I can’t remember when it started, but he began making excuses, telling me to go on ahead. He could have just told me the truth. I wouldn’t have clung to him. After all, we were never really together in the first place. 2 On Sunday, we returned to school for the evening study hall, and homework was due. Bill was a notorious troublemaker. When the class representative came to collect his work, he’d just grunt, “Didn’t do it.” He used to listen to me, and everyone knew it. So whenever he pulled this stunt, they’d come and tattle to me. Tonight was no different, except they couldn’t find Bill anywhere. He had bolted the second class ended, no doubt to find Wendy. “Tessa, Bill didn’t do his homework again, and no one knows where he is. Could you…” “Just give the list of names to the teacher,” I said, shaking my head with a faint smile. “And from now on, you don’t need to tell me when he hasn’t done his work.” Hearing this, my classmates could only nod. The rumors about him having a girlfriend were starting to feel very real, and my attitude all but confirmed it. When the next class began, I buried my head in my exam papers. Before Wendy, my dream was for Bill and me to get into Brierfield University together. Now, my dream was just to get into Brierfield University. For myself. Bill didn’t return for the entire study hall. The teacher at the front of the room frowned, asking where he was. Every eye in the classroom turned to me, but I never once looked up. He finally reappeared during the second period. He slumped into his seat without a word. It wasn’t until a classmate told him the head teacher wanted to see him in the office that he snapped out of his daze. As he passed my desk, he paused for a fraction of a second. I didn’t look up. I was wrestling with the final, killer question on the math paper, the one where I could always solve the first part but my brain would seize up on the second. After I finally worked it out, my deskmate leaned in, whispering cautiously, “What’s going on with you and Bill?” “Nothing,” I replied. “Really? But you used to get more worked up than anyone when he skipped class or blew off his homework.” Her face was a mask of disbelief. I paused, then told her, “That was the past. I’m done looking out for him.” “Oh,” she gasped, covering her mouth. “So it’s true… he’s really dating Wendy Summers?” I lowered my eyes and said nothing. The bell for the end of the second study hall rang, and a few moments later, Bill sauntered back into the classroom. A small, folded note landed on my desk. “Go home without me after school.” I read it, my expression neutral, then tucked it away and went back to my work. The classroom was a chaotic mess of noise and motion as everyone packed up to leave. I sat at my desk, slowly gathering my things. Suddenly, a hush fell over the room. My deskmate let out a small gasp, and I followed her gaze. Wendy was standing in the doorway. She tilted her head, gave Bill a playful crook of her finger, and then turned and walked away. My eyes, against my will, darted to Bill. A helpless smile played on his lips as he got up and followed her out. The classroom erupted. “Holy crap, it’s actually true.” “I used to think Bill and Tessa were the perfect pair, you know? The bad boy and the straight-A good girl. But the bad boy and the ballerina… that just hits different.” “Don’t be such a gossip. Still… don’t you feel a little bad for Tessa?” “They’ve known each other since they were kids.” “Guess it’s true. The girl next door never stands a chance.” … My deskmate bit her lip, looking like she wanted to comfort me. I slung my backpack over my shoulder. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, but I forced a smile. I couldn’t let a single tear fall. If anyone saw how upset I was, I’d be the laughingstock of the school by tomorrow. “I’m fine. Bill and I were always just friends,” I said. “I’m heading out. See you tomorrow.” Worry still lingered in her eyes as she waved. “See you. Get home safe.” Once I was out of the noisy schoolyard, I gripped the straps of my backpack, my jaw clenched tight. But the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. A suffocating pain filled my chest. How could he fall for someone else, just like that? My vision blurred, and a boy’s voice, clear and full of arrogant pride, echoed in my ears. “Bill Vance can do anything, and Tessa Shaw is the girl I’ll protect for life.” 3 “Tessa, why didn’t you wait for me this morning?” Bill was late for school. After class, he strode over to my desk, his voice laced with a playful grievance, and set a carton of milk down in front of me. My hand, busy scribbling vocabulary words, froze. I glanced at the milk out of the corner of my eye. “I already ate. And I won’t be walking with you in the mornings anymore. I’m coming to school earlier now.” Bill slumped into the empty seat beside me, clearly confused. He propped his head on his hand. “I haven’t done anything to piss you off lately, have I? We’ve always walked together.” “Things are different now,” I said, putting my pen down. I took a deep breath and forced a smile. “You have a girlfriend. We should keep our distance.” His expression faltered for a moment before understanding dawned. “She won’t mind. She knows that…” “I mind.” My voice was quiet but firm. “I don’t want to be the one they point fingers at if something goes wrong between you two.” “Tessa…” Bill’s temper was notoriously short. The fact that he’d even entertained this conversation was a miracle. His patience, always thin, had finally snapped. His face hardened. He shot to his feet, the legs of his chair screeching against the floor. “Fine. Whatever you want.” I lowered my head, my eyes closing in silent resignation. I had spent all of last night on my balcony, the wind chilling me to the bone, wondering what to do. Should I keep playing the fool, hiding my feelings and staying by his side? Or should I let our lifelong friendship die right here? They say you can’t hide the love in your eyes. If I kept following him around, it would be unfair to me, and it would be unfair to Wendy. No girlfriend wants another girl who’s way too close hanging around her boyfriend. After that day, Bill never spoke to me again. If we passed each other in the hall, he’d look straight through me. The girl who was always by his side was no longer me; it was Wendy. He introduced her to his entire circle of friends. Wendy was his first love. The girl he cherished. I focused on my studies, quietly listening, like everyone else, to the stories of their romance whispered through the school. When Wendy’s stomach hurt from hunger in the middle of the night because of her strict dancer’s diet, Bill would bring her low-fat dinners specially prepared by his family’s nutritionist. When a jock from the rival high school cornered Wendy in an alley after school, Bill supposedly beat him so badly he ended up in the hospital. On this month’s exams, I reclaimed my spot as the top student in our year. My teachers had always told me to stop worrying about Bill, that it was bad for my studies. Bill’s family was wealthy; good grades were a luxury, not a necessity for him. That afternoon, as school let out, I rested my head on my hand and watched the spectacular sunset paint the sky. “Tessa, what college do you want to go to?” On a sweltering evening long ago, Bill had sat beside me, his long fingers toying with a strand of my hair as he asked the question nonchalantly. “Brierfield University,” I’d answered without hesitation. “That’s so far away.” I never told him the real reason. Brierfield wasn’t just a top-tier school; it was my escape. An escape from this city, and an escape from that house. My father was like so many men who find wealth—he found a new heart to go with it. My mother refused to divorce him, convinced it was her fault for not giving him a son. On her darkest nights, she would point a shaking finger at me, her voice a hysterical shriek, crying about why I couldn’t have been a boy, then her husband wouldn’t have strayed. Later, she did have a son. My father returned to the family, but only briefly. My mother, now with a son to dote on, poured all her attention into my little brother. She finally had her security, a son to care for her in her old age. “Hmm… well, I guess I’ll have to go to Brierfield too. You’re so clueless, you’d be a total mess without me there to look out for you.” The bragging boy in front of me was the only light in my broken world. I desperately wanted to hold onto that light. I was willing to waste all my time on him. Even if I didn’t get into Brierfield, as long as we ended up at the same college, that was enough. 4 A rumor started circulating that Wendy was a homewrecker who had stolen Bill from me. One afternoon, as my friend Maya and I were coming back from the restroom, Wendy ran past us, sobbing, her hand clapped over her mouth. Bill came charging after her, but when he saw me, he lunged, his hands closing around my throat. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to kill me. “Tessa Shaw! I thought you wanted to stay away from me! What the hell is this now?” I choked, struggling for air. Maya frantically tried to push him away. “Are you crazy? We were just in the restroom! Let her go, she can’t breathe!” Her words snapped him out of it. He yanked his hands back, and I collapsed, gasping for air. “You’re disgusting, Tessa.” “Tessa, are you okay?” I crouched on the floor, coughing, tears streaming down my face. Maya wrapped her arms around me, patting my back gently. “It’s okay, Tessa. I don’t know what’s wrong with him and his psycho girlfriend.” I wiped my tears, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. The raw hatred in Bill’s eyes had been that of a complete stranger. He had looked like he genuinely wanted to strangle me. The boy from my memories was gone. Utterly gone. Later, a classmate cautiously passed me a phone under the desk. Someone had posted an anonymous message on the Crestwood Confessions page, accusing Wendy of being the “other woman” who had destroyed my relationship with Bill. A lot of people believed it. The comments were a firestorm of vicious insults directed at her. The marks on my neck were already turning a raw, angry red. I decided I would post a clarification on the page as soon as I got home. But I never got the chance. When I walked through the front door, my parents were sitting on the sofa, their faces grim. They were waiting for me. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. A glass shattered at my feet. “What did you do at school to provoke Bill Vance?” my father roared, slamming his hand on the table, his eyes bulging. “Do you have any idea that our company’s entire future depends on our partnership with the Vance Corporation? Are you trying to ruin me? Huh?!” I stood there, frozen, as my mother’s shrill voice rained down insults, calling me a worthless daughter. My father demanded I go and apologize to Bill immediately. The sprawling, sterile villa felt like an icebox. I was shivering, cold to my very core. I don’t remember how the interrogation ended, or how I was dragged over to Bill’s house to apologize. I wanted to tell him I didn’t write the post, but that I would clear it up. But when he opened the door and looked down at me, his eyes were glacial. The words died in my throat. I lowered my head, bowed, and apologized. He just gave me a detached glance, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t want to see you at school again, Tessa Shaw.” My parents bobbed their heads, fawning and promising he would never have to lay eyes on me again. I lifted my head mechanically, staring at him. Under the cold, white light of the porch, I couldn’t seem to make out his expression, couldn’t even really see his face anymore. In that moment, my dignity was crushed, ground into the dust. It was then I finally realized we were never from the same world. We were never equals. The moon doesn’t lower itself from the sky just because someone on the ground wishes for it. A moon in a well is just a reflection. It’s all an illusion. And the kindness the young master had once shown me? It was nothing more than a passing whim of a privileged boy. I never should have let myself dream. It was all a mistake, right from the very beginning. That night, I packed my things while my parents made arrangements to transfer me to a new school. 5 It had been almost two weeks since I transferred. I was renting a small apartment near my new school. My parents, terrified Bill might see me and get angry again, had basically told me not to come home. Westwood and Crestwood. In the same city, but worlds apart. If you weren’t looking for someone, you’d never find them. “Hey, Tessa Shaw. Come watch me play basketball today.” The speaker was a boy in a black and white jersey, a playful glint in his sly, fox-like eyes. When I first arrived, a girl in my class had warned me about him. “That’s Leo Sterling. He’s as famous for being a player as he is for being handsome.” The other students pretended to be busy with their own things, but I could feel their eyes on us. I’d lost count of how many times Leo had approached me over the past few weeks. They said this was the first time he’d ever chased a girl for this long. At our age, everyone secretly hoped for a dramatic campus love story, either for themselves or for someone they knew. They were already whispering that Leo, the playboy, was finally ready to settle down. But a player reformed is still a player at heart. And his past was messy. I shook my head gently. “I can’t. I have homework.” He glanced at the workbook on my desk and raised an eyebrow. “You know I’ve been trying to get you to go out with me for two weeks, right, Tessa Shaw?” “And?” He let out a soft chuckle. “So why do you keep saying no?” The classroom was nearly empty now. Outside, the sun was beginning its descent, painting half the sky in shades of fiery orange. I remembered something I’d read once: the evening breeze is free, the sunset is free, and I am one of a kind. “Tessa Shaw, you know, there’s a very strange contradiction about you…” The sharp blast of a whistle from the basketball court cut through the twilight. I looked at him. He smirked. “It’s this weird mix of… like, a deathly stillness and this fierce, stubborn spark.” “It just makes me more interested.” I shot him a cold look. “The game’s starting,” I reminded him. “It’s against Crestwood High today,” he said, his voice a low, meaningful murmur. As if anyone cared. I looked back down at my textbook. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and walked away. Once he was gone, I glanced up at the silent clock on the wall. That post on the Confessions page… I had a pretty good guess who had written it. But what did he stand to gain from it? Unlike Crestwood, Westwood High cut the power to the classrooms on the dot. At six-thirty, the lights went out, leaving only the fading glow of the sunset. I packed my bag and headed downstairs. A gentle breeze rustled through the crabapple trees, sending a shower of petals to the ground. They scattered, then were swept away by the wind. I stood there for a a moment, watching them go. My short life felt a lot like those petals—powerless, adrift. “Hey, isn’t that Tessa Shaw?” The voice pulled me from my thoughts. I was about to walk away when they blocked my path. Two familiar faces, looking stunned to see me here. I knew them from when I used to trail after Bill; they were his friends. We’d always gotten along well enough. They were both holding bottles of water, probably just coming from the campus store. “Tessa, you really transferred here?” I glanced at him, not quite understanding the emphasis on “really,” but I nodded. The one with the slicked-back hair nudged his friend. “Look, Tessa, you and Bill grew up together. He’s here today for the game. This is the perfect chance for you two to clear up the misunderstanding.” Everyone seemed to think I was incapable of doing something so spiteful. Everyone except Bill, the one person who should have known me best. “There’s no…” Before I could finish, a cold voice cut through the air from a short distance away. “Does it take you two that long to buy water? Or are you just going to stand there talking to irrelevant people?” Bill stood there, his gaze sweeping over me with a dark, dismissive glint, as if I were a complete stranger. His friends looked at me, embarrassed and awkward. I managed a small smile. “I should get going. See you.” “Yeah, okay. See ya.”

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After the Archon and I brought twin dragon eggs into the world, I faked my death and fled with one of them. Three hundred years later, I had to venture out on business. I gave my fledgling, who had just recently mastered his human form, a final instruction. “My darling, you be good and wait for Mother. I’ll be right back.” He nodded obediently. The moment my back was turned, he secretly followed me into the mortal realm. When I found him, I had no choice but to bring him along. Until one day, I was leading him home by the hand. Just as we reached the entrance to our hidden vale, a figure hurtled towards us. “Mother! What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for a whole month!” I stared. My son was at home? Then who was this I was holding hands with? 1 Truth be told, I’d noticed something was off with Ash about two weeks ago. Normally, he was the unrivaled terror of Azurewood Vale. From the ancient sprites in the mountains to the smallest fish in the stream, nothing had escaped his brand of playful torment. But on this trip to the mortal realm, he was surprisingly well-behaved. He had even mastered the veiling charm I’d spent half a month trying to teach him, using it with flawless skill. “Oh, my sweet boy, if you’d told me you could hide your aura so well, I would have brought you out ages ago,” I said, overjoyed. I cupped his face in my hands, squishing his cheeks. Usually, he would squirm and protest, “Mother, don’t pinch my face!” But this time, he just let me have my way, his face flushing red as his eyes grew wide and bright. Strange. Very strange indeed. But I didn’t suspect a thing, assuming he’d finally taken my words to heart. And so, we spent a month in the mortal realm in a state of perfect, blissful harmony. 2 Until now. Staring at the two identical versions of “Ash” before me, I finally realized my mistake. “Mother! Who is he?!” my real son cried out, far less composed than I was. He stared at my hand, clasped around the other boy’s, a look of utter betrayal on his face. “When… when did you give me a little brother?!” “…” That over-the-top expression, that theatrical pose—it confirmed it in an instant. Yes. This one was mine. “What nonsense are you talking about? I was only gone a month! How could I possibly have a brother this big for you?” I cuffed him lightly on the head. Ash yelped in mock pain but didn’t back down. “Then why does he look exactly like me?” That… I didn’t know. At first, I’d assumed some sprite had taken his form. But thinking back, very few creatures outside of our vale had ever seen my son’s true face. What kind of being possessed magic so powerful it could fool even me? I was baffled. But our month together had shown me that this boy meant no harm. So, I simply cleared my throat. “Young one, is there some reason you’ve taken on my son’s appearance to follow me?” The “fake” Ash, who I now called “young one,” was still reeling from the shock of seeing his double. Hearing my question, he looked at me blankly. “I didn’t change my appearance. And that day… you were the one who called out to me first.” “…” I felt a dagger-like glare from my side. I gently pushed Ash’s face away, feeling a little embarrassed. 3 He was right. The day I left the vale, I’d just arrived in the mortal realm when I saw a child standing in front of a meat pie stall. He was the spitting image of Ash. My heart leaped into my throat. I rushed over and pulled him away. “You little rascal! Didn’t you promise Mother you’d stay in the vale? Why did you sneak out and follow me?” I was in the middle of a tirade, completely missing the look of confusion in his eyes. It was only after I’d finished scolding him that I heard his stomach rumble. “Hungry? Wait here.” I went back to the pie stall, bought two steaming pies, and pressed them into his hands. “Remember, don’t wander off,” I chattered on, taking his hand. “And keep your aura veiled. There are monsters here that snatch children.” The problem was, after he finished the pies, he never told me I had the wrong person. And he’d spent the entire month enjoying free food and lodging. At that thought, my sense of indignation returned. He, in turn, seemed to know he was in the wrong. He fidgeted with the hem of his tunic, his head bowed. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” “Is being sorry enough? You even claimed the wrong mother! This is my mother. Where’s your own?!” Ash demanded, hands on his hips as he glared at the other boy. The boy’s voice was a whisper. “I don’t have a mother.” “…” Ash, who had been so full of righteous fury just a moment ago, faltered. His hands dropped to his sides. He shot me a look that screamed, Mother, I messed up, what do I do now? So, he was a poor, lost child. That explained things. I sighed, forgetting for a moment to question why this boy was a perfect copy of Ash. I chalked it up to the world’s vastness—if nature could create similar landscapes, why not similar faces? “If you’re not Ash, what’s your name?” He looked up, his eyes shining. “Noel. My name is Noel!” Noel only told me his name. When I asked where he came from, he fell silent. I guessed he’d run away from home after a fight with his family. But what kind of parents wouldn’t be frantically searching for their child after a whole month? With a heavy heart, I realized I had no choice but to take Noel in for the time being, while I made inquiries about a missing child. 4 A few days passed. In that short time, Noel and Ash had forged a deep friendship. Ash had always been a mischievous child, but I knew he was lonely. Otherwise, he wouldn’t spend his days tormenting the vale’s inhabitants. With Noel by his side, Ash now had a partner in crime. One day, the Whisperwings returned from their journey beyond the vale. I asked them, “Well? Did you hear anything about a missing child?” “No, but…” one of the birds hesitated. “But what?” “But there is news from the Celestial Realm. One of the Archon’s young princes has gone missing. They’re sending out search parties.” It had been so long since I’d heard any news from that place. A nervous twitch started in my brow. “Which Archon?” “Archon Caelus of Aethelgard.” “…” Damn it. I should have known. In all the realms, the only one who could look identical to Ash—apart from some cosmic coincidence—was the other dragon egg I’d left behind. 5 I thought I would never see him again. To think… I’d stumbled upon him by chance, my other child in this world. “Mother!” My thoughts were interrupted as Ash came running over, holding Noel’s hand. I saw his grubby face and frowned in mild disgust. “Have you been rolling in the mud again?” Despite my grumbling, I pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face clean. As I did, another pair of bright, expectant eyes fixed on me. I looked down and saw it was Noel. “Mother, can you clean Noel’s face too?” Ash piped up. I would have done it even if he hadn’t asked. I beckoned Noel closer. As I wiped his face, I took the opportunity to study him properly. He and Ash weren’t exactly the same. Ash’s eyes and brow were the image of Caelus, but Noel’s were more like mine. That explained it. When Ash had first hatched, I’d been a little miffed. Why did the child I bore have to look so much like that heartless man? It turned out the one who looked like me was here all along. Still… I wondered how Caelus had raised him. He himself was as cold as an iceberg, and now he’d raised Noel to be so serious and mature for his age. I felt a surge of resentment. But then Noel spoke. “Thank you, Aunt Elara. I wish my mother were still here.” A wave of guilt washed over me. But before I could share in his sorrow, Ash clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be sad. You don’t have a mother, but I don’t have a father. It’s perfect! From now on, we’re brothers.” “Okay!” Noel nodded emphatically. “…” I watched, speechless, as the two of them forged their own little pact. If I didn’t intervene, they might just start a blood-brother ceremony right in front of me. “Alright, that’s enough.” I quickly pulled Ash away. “Stop your nonsense, you little rascal. I have something to say.” Two pairs of identical, shining eyes stared at me. Looking at their similar faces, a wave of tenderness washed over me. But the Whisperwings’ message forced me to push down my maternal feelings and adopt a serious tone. “Noel, I’ve found your family.” Noel’s small face froze. He was likely wondering how I’d discovered his identity so quickly, but after living with me, he must have had some inkling of my power. Ash’s eyes widened. “What? Does that mean Noel has to leave?” “Yes.” “I don’t want him to! Mother, I can’t bear to part with Noel! I want to stay with him!” Before I could say more, Ash had grabbed Noel’s hand. The two of them stared at me with tear-filled eyes, looking utterly pitiful. My heart ached, but I had to face reality. If Caelus discovered I was hiding here with Ash, I might not get to keep either of them. “Ash, Noel’s family is looking for him. Imagine how worried they must be.” I spoke gently. Ash wasn’t unreasonable. But for a child who had finally found a true friend, the thought of sudden separation was overwhelming. My resolve softened. I gave them time to say their goodbyes. When we reached the edge of the vale, Ash was still reluctant. Noel, though slightly more composed, also had red-rimmed eyes. Ash said, “Will you come back and play with me again?” “Of course. I’ll come whenever I can.” The two children bid each other a tearful farewell. 6 Once we left Azurewood Vale, I led Noel towards Aethelgard. “Noel.” “Hm?” The little boy, still lost in his sorrow, looked up at me. Seeing his face, so much like Ash’s, my heart filled with a thousand emotions. I knew when I left all those years ago that I was being unfair to one of my children. But it was the only way I could think of to secure our safety. “When you get back to Aethelgard, don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me or Ash, okay?” “Why?” “We’re just simple spirits from the vale. If the great Archon Caelus found out about us, it might cause… trouble.” If I wasn’t mistaken, Noel had also snuck out on his own. Caelus would surely question him upon his return. I couldn’t risk him discovering my existence, or Ash’s. I was just trying to avoid unnecessary complications. Noel understood. He nodded silently. Then, remembering his promise to Ash, he looked at me, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear. “Does that mean I can’t go play with Ash either?” It was as if my refusal would cause tears to spill from his eyes at any moment. I found I couldn’t bring myself to say the words, It’s for the best. 7 During my silence, we arrived at the borders of Aethelgard. I gazed at the celestial palace, wreathed in shimmering clouds and filled with the music of larks. So little has changed, I thought to myself. “Alright, this is as far as I can take you.” Noel hid the disappointment in his eyes. We had just landed and were about to say goodbye when a deep, cold voice echoed from behind us. “Noel!” “Father?” Surprise flickered across Noel’s face. He stood frozen, clearly not expecting to be caught by Caelus right at the gate. He wasn’t the only one. From what I remembered, Caelus was always either cultivating his power or in seclusion. He rarely set foot outside his palace, earning him the title of the “most reclusive Archon” in the Celestial Realm. He hadn’t changed much, though. His presence was still formidable, his aura one of cold, majestic authority. And yet, he possessed a face of serene, almost otherworldly beauty that could tempt anyone to covet him, while simultaneously intimidating them from ever acting on it. I, in my foolishness, had been the first to dare pluck that high-mountain flower. The consequences, of course, were well known. 8 Noel stared blankly as Caelus approached. The Archon’s gaze fell upon his son. “Where have you been?” The question was soft, yet it carried a heavy, oppressive weight. Caelus explained that Noel was supposed to be in a lesson with the Arch-Sage. When the time came and he was nowhere to be found, Caelus sent someone to inquire, only to learn the prince was missing. A missing prince was no small matter. They had searched high and low, never imagining he would be so bold as to sneak into the mortal realm on his own. “You’ve grown bold, haven’t you? Who taught you to behave this way?” Noel hung his head, muttering incoherently. Seeing him scolded so harshly, a pang of sympathy shot through me. Was Caelus always this strict with Noel? It didn’t seem right. He was always fair and measured. Could it be… because Noel looked like me? Was he taking out the anger he felt towards me on our son? That bastard. I should have never left him with a single egg! As I fumed, a gentle, melodic female voice drifted towards us. “His Highness has returned.” Caelus’s voice had done nothing to me, but hearing Fiora’s, my eyes narrowed instantly. Three hundred years, and her status seemed to have risen considerably. The number of acolytes behind her had doubled from four to eight. She carried herself with the authority of Aethelgard’s steward. Fiora glided forward gracefully. She had always been perceptive, and she immediately sensed the tension between father and son. She bent down and spoke softly to Noel. “Your Highness, you worried the Archon greatly by sneaking out. He even skipped the Council of Sages today just to find you.” At this, Noel looked up at Caelus. “I’m sorry, Father. It was my fault.” Caelus let out a slow breath. “Your punishment is five hours of sword practice.” “…Yes, Father.” Noel was led away by an acolyte. Fiora turned back to Caelus, her voice soft once more. “My Lord, now that His Highness has returned, you need not worry.” Caelus remained silent, his lips pressed into a thin line, but I could see the tension in his face had eased. Since my task was done, it was time for me to leave. I tried to slip away unnoticed, but as I turned, a sharp, cold gaze fell upon me. “Wait.” I froze. 9 I had assumed his attention was entirely on Noel. I was wrong. My feet felt nailed to the ground. “Who are you?” Caelus’s voice was deep and commanding. Fiora’s gaze followed his. She seemed to notice me for the first time, her eyes filling with scrutiny. Fortunately, I had veiled my aura and true form before arriving. My cultivation over the past few centuries, while no match for these celestial beings, was enough to prevent me from being exposed immediately. I kept my head bowed and spoke in a rough, low voice. “I am but a humble, nameless spirit-herb from the lower realms, Your Grace.” Fiora questioned, “Was it you who brought the young prince back?” “Yes.” She stared at me with suspicion. She was naturally sharp, but I had prepared for this, rehearsing the story of how I had found Noel. Finding no flaws in my tale, Fiora’s expression softened into one of faint arrogance. “In that case, we thank you. Do you know that the child you found is the son of Archon Caelus?” She had the same condescending air as always. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes, keeping a humble smile on my face. “I am overwhelmed, my lady.” “Mm. You may go.” That was what I was waiting for. I was about to retreat when the one who had remained silent all this time suddenly spoke. “You said you were from which mountain?” I couldn’t possibly give him the real name, so I invented one on the spot. After I answered, he said nothing more. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. The intense gaze fixed on me did not waver. Fiora noticed it too. “My Lord, is something amiss?” “…No.” Caelus finally retracted his gaze. Perhaps it was my imagination, but as he lowered his eyes, I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment. “Thank you for your help today,” Caelus said coolly. “I owe you a favor. Should you ever need my assistance, you may come and find me.” The words sounded familiar. I remembered him saying something similar before. Back then, I didn’t realize it was just a polite formality and had foolishly taken him at his word. Looking back, I was truly naive. “You are too kind, My Lord,” I said, feigning awe. Caelus said nothing more and turned to leave. Fiora followed, but not before casting one last, lingering glance in my direction. 10 Back in Azurewood Vale, I went to check on Ash. I had expected him to be as miserable as Noel, but I found him humming a tune while plucking feathers from a Whisperwing’s wing. “Ash?” “Mother, you’re back! This is for you.” I looked at the shuttlecock he’d made from the feathers, surprised. “You’re not sad anymore?” “Nah, it’s no big deal. If we’re fated to meet, we’ll meet again.” “…” So philosophical? I was surprised by his change of heart. But then I remembered he’d spent all these years hidden away with me. To finally find a friend he clicked with, only to be separated so soon… he must have been heartbroken. He was probably just hiding it so I wouldn’t feel guilty. The thought made me feel guilty anyway. I stroked his head. “Ash, my darling, I’m sorry. How about I take you to the mortal realm to play next time?” Ash nodded, looking exceptionally well-behaved. My heart swelled with relief, and I went about my business. But I had clearly underestimated my son. Given his talent for causing chaos, how could he possibly sit still for long? Sure enough, a few days later, I emerged from my den to find him gone. “Ash? Ash!” I searched the entire vale but couldn’t find him. Just as I was starting to panic, I saw words he had magically etched onto a leaf. “Mother, I’ve gone to play with Noel. Don’t worry.” I… Wha—?! That little rascal. So this was his plan all along. 11 I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A wave of worry washed over me. Ash’s magic wasn’t as refined as mine. What if he ran into someone from the Celestial Realm? The thought spurred me into action. I couldn’t worry about arousing suspicion by returning to Aethelgard so soon. Perhaps it was luck, but as soon as I reached Aethelgard’s borders, I ran into Noel. Except, at first, I got it wrong. “Ash!” “Aunt Elara?” The moment he said my name, I knew. This wasn’t Ash. It was Noel. Noel’s face lit up when he saw me. “Aunt Elara, what are you doing here? Did you come to see me?” I hated to disappoint him. “Ash said he was coming to find you. Have you seen him?” Noel looked confused. He shook his head, saying he hadn’t seen Ash. “I was with my father at the Council of Sages. He had other matters to attend to, so he sent me back first.” I see. My worry must have been written all over my face, because Noel took my hand and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Aunt Elara. I’m sure Ash is fine. I’ll help you look for him.” A warmth spread through my chest. I was about to say something when an attendant approached. “Your Highness, why are you here? Didn’t the Archon just ask you to go to the study?” “When did Father ask me to go to the study?” “Just now, Your Highness. I saw the Archon with you myself.” “…” Noel’s confused chatter stopped abruptly. He blinked his wide, round eyes and looked at me. I understood his meaning instantly. He hadn’t seen Caelus since he returned. So the one Caelus had summoned to the study… could it be Ash?

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After my family went bankrupt, I was sent back to my birth parents. When my new CEO brother saw my bright pink hair, the prayer beads he was holding scattered across the floor. “Are you here to collect protection money?” I blew a loud whistle, rolled up my sleeves, and revealed a temporary tattoo of a snarling wolf on one arm and a coiled serpent on the other. “Hey, man! My family’s broke. Spot me some cash, will ya?” My parents, who had cut their vacation short to race back, saw my nose ring and their faces went slack with horror. “Dear God! How did our daughter become a delinquent?” 1 My family went bankrupt because a rival sabotaged one of our contracts. The day the court seized our assets, my parents sat me down and told me, with grim faces, that I had been found in a dumpster and that my real parents had finally been located. They’d told me this a thousand times before, but I always thought it was a joke. After all, they also claimed my brother was a prize from a claw machine and my sister came free with a bulk purchase of scrap metal. It wasn’t until they dropped me off at my birth parents’ front door that I realized they were serious. My brother, Cole, clung to my hand, unwilling to let go. “It all makes sense now. My last name is Fisher, and our little sister’s is Finn, but yours is Crane. We’re not even the same species.” My younger sister, Coralie, looked at me with grave solemnity. “Don’t forget us when you’re rich.” Without a second’s hesitation, they abandoned me and sped off. I stood before a mansion at least ten times larger than our old apartment, completely bewildered. If I wasn’t mistaken, this was the Sterling estate. The Sterlings owned a multinational corporation worth billions. I never thought a family this wealthy would be so old-fashioned as to dump a baby girl in the trash just because of her gender. Tsk. I popped a piece of bubblegum into my mouth and glanced down at my outfit: ripped jeans, a skull-print t-shirt, hair bleached and dyed a shocking shade of neon pink, and a nose ring that glinted in the sunlight. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I tried again. Still nothing. I squatted down, ready to wait it out, and pulled out my phone to call my adoptive mom, hoping she might take me back for a little while. Just then, the door swung open. A ridiculously tall man in a bespoke black suit appeared before me. He was fiddling with a string of expensive-looking prayer beads, his features so sharp and defined they could have been carved from marble. The moment he saw me, the prayer beads clattered to the floor. Well, hello there. Wasn’t this the classic brooding, spiritual CEO from a romance novel? I was seeing one in the flesh! I’d heard these types were obsessed with their beads—fiddling with them while eating, sleeping, even on the toilet. They never stopped. And they were supposedly more cunning than a fox in a hen house. “Are you… here to collect protection money?” Asher Sterling’s voice was deep, laced with a mixture of confusion and shock. I blew a loud whistle, inflated a bubble with my gum, and let it pop with a satisfying snap. Then I rolled up my sleeves to show off the temporary tattoos I’d applied yesterday: a snarling wolf on my left arm, a coiled serpent on my right. “Hey, man! My family’s broke. Spot me some cash, will ya?” I said, affecting the most thuggish tone I could manage, and gave him a wink. His expression was thunderstruck, his lips moving silently as if reciting a prayer. “Ash, who is it?” A small, childish voice called from inside, breaking our staring contest. Ash? My eyes lit up again. Another classic trope. If there’s a long-lost daughter, there must be a replacement daughter. The replacement is always showered with love, while the real one is portrayed as vicious and stupid, destined for a tragic end. I narrowed my eyes, ready for a fight. But when the owner of the voice bounced into view, my jaw nearly hit the floor. This was the replacement daughter? I stared at the little girl in a pink tutu, her hair in two tiny pigtails. My brain short-circuited. She couldn’t be more than five. Lily Sterling was studying me with wide, curious eyes. She was way too young to be the evil replacement. Did that mean there was another one hidden inside? “Big sister? Ash, is this our big sister?” she asked, her eyes wide with astonishment. The atmosphere turned decidedly strange. 2 I decided to strike first. I pulled a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket and slapped it against Asher’s chest. “I’m not a fraud, you know!” Asher had completely forgotten about his fallen prayer beads. His face changed the instant he saw the paternity test. It clearly stated a 99.9% probability of a father-daughter relationship between me and Mr. Sterling. I had no idea my adoptive mom had done this behind my back, only stuffing it into my hand as she sent me on my way. I crossed my arms. “How about you just give me a lump sum? A severance package. I promise I’ll never show my face to you people again. My lips will be sealed.” Asher’s expression looked like he’d been punched. He slowly folded the report, his voice low. “No.” I blinked. What did he mean, no? No money? Was he that cheap? The Sterlings were supposed to be loaded. A little bit scraped from under their fingernails would be enough for me to pay off my adoptive parents’ debts. “A Sterling daughter cannot be left to fend for herself,” he said, his eyes turning a little red. “You were taken and abandoned by a nanny. A nanny who was hired by our rivals.” “Dad got into a car accident looking for you and was laid up for half a year. Mom almost… she almost didn’t make it. The company was on the verge of collapse.” He wasn’t the one who abandoned me? And their rivals were so vicious they’d resort to kidnapping a child? Not only did Asher refuse to let me leave, he immediately called his parents, who were on vacation abroad. He had the butler take me to my room to drop off my luggage. I wanted to refuse, but I couldn’t think of a reason. The second-floor hallway was long, lined with doors. The butler stopped at the very last one. “This is your room, Miss Nora.” I pushed the door open and my eyes went wide. This wasn’t a room; it was a princess’s chamber. The entire space was lavishly and exquisitely decorated. In the corner, a mountain of gift-wrapped boxes was piled from floor to ceiling. My worn-out backpack looked completely out of place. “Is… is this a mistake?” My throat felt tight. “The madam decorated this for you herself. It’s redecorated every year according to your age.” Every year? A jolt went through me. So, even though I was gone, they remembered me? Lily had appeared behind me at some point, clutching a stuffed bunny. She pointed to the mountain of gifts. “Mommy buys lots and lots of presents for you on your birthday every year. Even though you’re not here, I help you blow out the candles!” “You’re… you’re saying all of this is for me?” “Yep!” she nodded enthusiastically. “Mommy says you’ll come home one day, so we have to make up for all the missed birthdays!” A sudden tightness seized my chest, as if I’d been sucker-punched. They had really been looking for me all these years? “Lily. Tell me the truth. Is there… is there an adopted older sister in this house?” Lily blinked her big eyes. “An adopted sister?” “I mean…” I chose my words carefully. “While I was gone, did Mom and Dad adopt another girl to take my place?” Lily’s expression turned to one of pure confusion. “Mommy and Daddy do a lot of charity work, but why would they adopt another daughter?” I was stunned. No replacement? How could there be no replacement daughter? Then who was my enemy? Isn’t that how all the stories go? The real daughter returns, and the fake one starts causing trouble. 3 My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to see a dozen new messages in our family group chat. I opened it. The latest message was from Coralie: [@Nora Have you met the fake daughter yet? Remember, don’t be like those evil characters in novels. We’re modern, independent women!] I couldn’t help but laugh. That girl watched way too much TV. Cole followed up with a rolling-eyes emoji: [@Nora If you can’t make it there, just come back. We’re having pickles for dinner tonight. You won’t starve.] Then he tagged our adoptive parents: [@Dad @Mom When are you going to take me and Coralie for a paternity test? We want to experience the rich life too.] I was about to reply when my mom sent a voice message. I tapped it, and her booming voice filled the hallway. “You little brat, what paternity test? You’ve got my eyes, my cheeks, you look just like me! You’re obviously mine! What’s there to test?” Lily tilted her head curiously. “Is that your family, big sister?” I nodded, a little proud. My adoptive parents had always been good to me. There were even things Cole didn’t have that Coralie and I were sure to get. Cole sent a disappointed emoji. Coralie immediately followed up. “What about me? I’m so pretty. How could I have gotten Dad’s genes?” My mom sent another voice note. I could practically see her rolling her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourselves. Take a look in the mirror. One of you looks like me, the other like your dumb dad. Only Nora is tall and slender, with fair skin. She was the face of our family. Now all we have left are the crooked ones.” I snorted with laughter, then felt my eyes sting. This was the family dynamic I knew. Constant teasing, but with an undercurrent of affection. I typed a reply: [Mom, you’ll hurt their feelings.] Cole: [My path to riches is blocked! @Nora, set me up with a rich older woman. I’ll make my own way as a kept man!] Mom: [You ungrateful son! I’ll disown you!] Coralie: [Bro, if you’re gonna be a kept man, take me with you. My teeth aren’t so good either, can’t handle hard work. By the way! How are you doing over there, sis? Is there really no fake daughter?] I hesitated. [No, really. Just a five-year-old little sister.] Cole: [Oh no, does that mean you have to inherit the family fortune? Don’t forget us!] My dad suddenly chimed in: [@Nora How are they treating you?] How were they treating me? I had no idea. The Sterlings were still on a plane. So far, so good, I guess. I just replied, “Fine.” Cole was relentless: [What does ‘fine’ mean? Did they give you money? How much?] I rolled my eyes. [Can you have some dignity, bro?] Coralie jumped in: [Sis, if they bully you, just come back!] Just as I was about to reply, there was a soft knock on my door. Asher stood there, holding out a phone. “Nora, put your number in.” I raised an eyebrow and took the phone. It was already unlocked to the new contact screen. I deliberately typed my number slowly, and in the name field, I entered “Bro Crane.” Asher took the phone back. When he saw the name, his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. He calmly deleted it, re-entered “Nora,” and saved it. Then, he pulled a card from his suit pocket. It was black, with a matte finish, the gold lettering shimmering under the light. My eyes widened instantly. 4 Could this be the legendary black card? “Take it,” Asher said, holding it out. “A welcome gift from me.” I took the card, my fingers trembling slightly. Back home, my monthly allowance was three hundred bucks, max, and I had to beg for it. This card could supposedly buy a private jet, and he was just handing it to me? “How much is on this?” I asked, feeling a bit pathetic. “Enough to buy the entire downtown luxury villa district.” I immediately stuffed the card into my pocket, afraid he’d change his mind. Fireworks were going off in my head. This wasn’t just finding my birth family; this was winning the lottery. “Thanks, bro!” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I was stunned. Did I just call him bro? Asher obviously caught it too. His expression shifted subtly, but he quickly regained his composure. “Mom and Dad will be home at seven. Do you want to change your clothes first?” He left, leaving me standing at the door, clutching the black card in my pocket, my heart racing like I’d just run a marathon. Clothes? What was wrong with ripped jeans, a cropped black t-shirt, wolf and serpent tattoos, a shiny nose ring, and bright pink hair? It was cool! But, for the sake of the black card, I decided to make an effort. I took out one pair of my earrings and changed into a slightly more normal t-shirt. At least this one didn’t have a skull on it. The hair would have to stay; that wasn’t a quick fix. At 6:50 PM, I was bouncing my leg nervously on the living room sofa. Lily sat next to me, her short legs mimicking my movement. “Are you nervous, big sister?” she asked innocently. “Who’s—who’s nervous? I’m just… hungry!” Lily nodded and pulled a piece of candy from her pocket. “Here, for you!” I took the candy, my heart softening. How could this little thing be so adorable? The sound of a car and footsteps came from outside. She immediately jumped up. “Mommy and Daddy are home!” My leg started shaking even more violently. Mr. Sterling walked in first, in a crisp suit, his presence so commanding it made you afraid to breathe too loudly. Mrs. Sterling followed, elegant in a long dress, a designer bag in her hand. The moment they saw me, they both froze in the doorway. Mr. Sterling stumbled, nearly face-planting. Mrs. Sterling gasped and grabbed the doorframe for support. “This… this is…” Mr. Sterling’s voice trembled. Asher nodded. “Dad, Mom, this is Nora.” “Oh my god! My Nora… how did she become a delinquent?” Mrs. Sterling clutched her chest. I looked down at myself. Hadn’t I already cleaned up? Compared to my initial look, this was practically conservative! Lily ran over and hugged her mother’s leg. “Mommy! Big sister is super cool!” Mr. Sterling composed himself and gave me a thumbs-up. “She’s got my youthful spirit!” Excuse me? Mrs. Sterling and Asher both turned to him with identical expressions of shock. “Robert Sterling, you dyed your hair and got a nose ring when you were young? How come I never knew?” Mrs. Sterling’s voice went up an octave. Mr. Sterling coughed, looking slightly embarrassed. “Well, no, but I had long hair! And I was in a band!” I stared at the impeccably dressed man. It was hard to imagine my own father was a rock-and-roller in his youth. Mrs. Sterling took a deep breath, turning her attention back to me. “Nora,” she asked hesitantly, “how many… how many people have you killed?” I blinked, a mischievous idea popping into my head. 5 “One.” Mrs. Sterling’s eyes rolled back, and she started to faint. Asher, quick on his feet, caught her, shooting me a helpless look. “Just me,” I added slowly. Mrs. Sterling immediately revived, patting her chest to calm herself down. “You child! You scared me to death!” Mr. Sterling wiped the sweat from his brow. “Nora, the Sterling family is a prominent one. We’ve been law-abiding citizens for eighteen generations. We avoid any association with illegal activities.” “Alright, alright,” I waved my hand. “I just like this look. I haven’t killed anyone, or set any fires. I haven’t even jaywalked.” My new parents exchanged a look of palpable relief. “Good, that’s good,” Mrs. Sterling murmured. She took a few steps closer and tentatively touched my pink hair. “Actually, this color really suits your complexion.” “Right? I did it myself!” I said, tossing my hair proudly. Ever since I dyed it this color, no one at the fish market dared to ask for credit. Mr. Sterling came closer, an appreciative look on his face. “It’s got personality! Isn’t this what all the young people are into these days? What’s it called again?” “It’s a punk rock aesthetic,” Asher supplied from the side, his face impassive. I was surprised. A spiritual CEO knew about this stuff? “Right! Punk rock! Trendy!” Mr. Sterling slapped his thigh. I was completely baffled by this sudden change in attitude. One minute I was a delinquent, the next I was a trendsetter? “That hairstyle actually suits your face shape. Where did you get it done? Maybe you can take me to get the same cut tomorrow!” Mrs. Sterling said, enthusiastically fluffing my pink hair, her eyes sparkling. Lily bounced up and down. “Me too, me too!” A vein throbbed on Asher’s forehead. “Mom! How old are you? Stop being ridiculous! Lily! You’re not even an adult yet!” Mrs. Sterling pouted and winked at me. “Nora, will you go shopping with Mom tomorrow? What’s wrong with being fifty? Who says a fifty-year-old can’t be fashionable?” My mouth hung open. This was a whiplash-inducing turnaround. “Uh, okay,” I nodded mechanically, completely thrown by her antics. Asher rubbed his forehead and walked away, the prayer beads in his hand a blur of motion. The next morning, I was still dreaming when a frantic knocking woke me up. “Nora! Open up!” Mrs. Sterling’s voice was filled with barely contained excitement. I rubbed my eyes and opened the door, and was instantly wide awake. Standing in the doorway was a middle-aged version of me. My mother had not only dyed her hair the exact same shade of pink but was also wearing ripped jeans and a studded leather jacket. She looked like a rebellious middle-aged punk rocker. “M-mom?” My voice cracked. “Well? I had Tony the stylist copy your hairstyle exactly!” she said, twirling around. I then noticed the embarrassed butler and the utterly defeated-looking Asher standing behind her. “You… you actually did it?” I stammered. “Of course! Let’s go shopping! I’ve already had the driver bring the car around!” she said, grabbing my hand. Asher took a deep breath. “Mom, the board meeting is at ten…” “My dear son, what are you and your father for? Stop acting like those characters in TV dramas, always fiddling with those prayer beads. They’re getting grimy. Aren’t you worried about tendonitis?” she said, pulling me downstairs without a backward glance. “I’m spending the day with my daughter! Don’t forget to pick up Lily from school this afternoon!” And just like that, I was dragged into the car. In the rearview mirror, Asher stood at the door, unsure whether to fiddle with his beads or not, his brow so furrowed you could trap a fly in it. 6 He looked like a stuffy, old-fashioned father worried his daughter was going to turn out bad. At the mall, my mother turned heads everywhere we went. After all, who would have thought the wife of the Sterling Group’s CEO, usually seen in business magazines, would show up looking like a middle-aged rock star? “Nora, what about this one?” She held up a skull-print t-shirt against herself. “Does it look like yours?” My mouth twitched. “Mom, are you sure you want to wear that?” “Of course! It’s a mother-daughter thing!” she said matter-of-factly. Three hours later, we were back in the car, loaded with shopping bags. She had not only bought herself a whole new wardrobe of rebellious middle-aged fashion but had also gotten me several new outfits. They were still in my favorite street style, but the quality and price were on a whole different level. “Nora, this is for you.” On the way home, my mother suddenly pulled another black card from her designer bag. Another one? Asher had just given me one yesterday. “This is my supplementary card. Use it to pay off your adoptive parents’ debt,” she said gently. My hand trembled, and I almost dropped the card. “What… what did you say?” Before I came here, I had indeed planned to get some money to pay off their debt. “Your adoptive parents have had it rough,” she said. “Running a fish stall to raise three kids. Now that they’re in trouble, it’s only right that we help.” I was touched. It was true; my family owned a fish stall and a small fish pond. My dad raised the fish, my mom sold them at the stall, and I helped out after school. Cole handled deliveries, and Coralie was still in middle school. The stall was tiny, but they had officially registered it as a company called “The Silver Fin.” A rival fishmonger, who had been competing with my dad for ten years, resorted to a dirty trick. He snuck over and poisoned our pond, killing all the fish. This happened right after my dad had signed a big contract with a restaurant. With no fish to supply, we were facing a huge compensation claim that bankrupted us. Their debt was only a hundred thousand dollars, which I had already paid off with the black card yesterday. Still, my mother’s attitude was unexpected. She suddenly pulled me into a hug. “Silly girl, I’m so grateful they raised you so well.” I let her hold me, my body stiff. The scent of her expensive perfume was a world away from the fishy smell that always clung to my adoptive mom, but it was just as warm. When we got home, my father nearly fell down the stairs when he saw my mother’s new look. “Eleanor! Your… your hair!” She twirled proudly. “Well? Isn’t it fashionable?” Asher came out of his study, took one look at her, and immediately turned back around, muttering something about “out of sight, out of mind.” On Sunday, my mother took me for a spa day in her new red convertible. Since dyeing her hair, she had discovered a whole new world. Yesterday, she even asked me where I got my nose ring done. “Nora, I’ve booked us a full-body essential oil massage. I hear the therapists at this place are amazing,” she said excitedly as she drove, her pink hair shimmering in the sun, even more dazzling than mine. I was slouched in my seat, scrolling through my phone. In our family group chat, Cole was whining about not being allowed to come visit. He said our parents were afraid he’d embarrass them. [@Nora Are you too happy in your mansion to remember us? Mom and Dad are visiting in a few days, and they’re not even bringing me!] I was about to reply when I heard the screech of brakes. The car lurched to a stop, and my phone flew onto the floor. “What was that?” I looked up to see a silver sports car skewed across the road in front of us, having missed us by inches. 7 “Hey, who is this guy? Can’t he drive?” my mother muttered, honking the horn twice. The sports car’s door opened upwards like a wing, and a young man stepped out. He had short, spiky hair that looked sharp to the touch, which contrasted with his baby face, making him look rather cute. “Why is it him?” my mother suddenly whispered. “What’s wrong?” I bent down to pick up my phone. The screen wasn’t cracked. Lucky. “That’s the youngest son of the Lin family,” she said in a low voice. “Your former fiancé.” A shiver went down my spine, and I almost dropped my phone again. What? So, I had dodged the fake-daughter and evil-stepsister tropes only to run headfirst into the arranged-marriage plot? The young man had already walked up to my mother’s window and knocked politely. She rolled down the window, a polite social smile plastered on her face. “Liam, what a coincidence.” The man, Liam, bowed slightly. His voice was smooth as silk. “Hello, Mrs. Sterling. I’m so sorry about that. My brakes are acting up.” “It’s fine, it’s fine,” my mother waved it off. “Where are you headed?” Liam’s gaze shifted to me, his expression a mix of politeness and curiosity. “To a party. And this is?” “Oh, this is my daughter, Nora,” my mother introduced. “Nora, this is Liam.” I gave him a nod, deliberately putting on a nonchalant air. “Yo, the fiancé?” Liam was clearly taken aback, his eyes darting around awkwardly. “Uh, the former fiancé.” My mother faked a cough. “Yes, yes. We don’t believe in arranged marriages.” I narrowed my eyes. I had a feeling there was more to this story. After Liam apologized and left, I immediately turned to my mother. “Mom, he’s so handsome. Why didn’t you lock that down?” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” A lightbulb went off in my head. “Does he have a secret love, someone he’s madly in love with, but his family disapproves?” My mother looked at me in surprise. “How did you know?” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a classic! That’s how all the dramatic romance novels go! His family must think the girl isn’t good enough for him, right?” “It’s not just that they disapprove; they nearly disowned him.” Her expression grew even stranger. “Whoa, that serious?” I whistled, ready for the gossip. “How common could she be? Did she sell tacos from a food truck?” My mother took a deep breath. “Because his secret love is a man.” Record scratch. My brain blue-screened. What? A man? This plot was taking a weird turn. What happened to the star-crossed lovers and the class divide? “S-so the Lins objected because…?” I stammered. “Because old Mr. Lin was still alive then, and he was quite traditional. It’s better now. Liam’s boyfriend even came to his birthday party last year.” “But,” she added, trying to suppress a smile, “the person he was originally interested in was your brother.” My brother? Asher “the spiritual CEO” Sterling? When we got home, we found a girl standing at the door talking to Asher. She was wearing a simple dress, her long hair loose, looking pure and sweet. When she saw us, she quickly wiped her eyes and forced a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Sterling.” Her gaze lingered on me for a second before quickly darting away.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393028”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The year of my SATs, I fell head over heels for Julian Ashford. My downfall came swiftly after my scores weren’t good enough. He slapped my pregnancy test results down in front of my father. “Mr. Chen,” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom, “that daughter you were so proud of? I knocked her up. Congratulations, you’re going to be a grandfather.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air like a death sentence. “But don’t expect me to stick around.” Then he was gone, off to study abroad, leaving nothing but ruin in his wake. I learned the truth then. He believed my father was indirectly responsible for the death of his first love, and to avenge her, he would drag me down into the abyss. My father suffered a massive heart attack and died. My mother, shattered by grief, had a psychotic break and drove her car into a tree, leaving her a paraplegic. And me? I lost my spot at a top university and became a teenage single mother, a pariah in everyone’s eyes. Ten years later, I saw Julian Ashford again. He knelt before me, weeping, telling me he still loved me. 1 I had just tucked Chloe into bed when the text from Carter came through. It was blunt, as always: “The Onyx Lounge, 9 PM. Dress well, but not revealing. Important client.” I set my phone down and kissed my daughter’s forehead, whispering for her to go to sleep. Nine-year-old Chloe obediently closed her eyes, her small hand clutching the corner of my shirt, unwilling to let me go. When my patron gave an order, I obeyed. I quickly applied a light layer of makeup to hide the exhaustion etched onto my face. When I arrived at the lounge, I could hear voices from behind the private room door. “Carter, you old dog, your girl’s got a reputation. Hottest thing in this city,” a man boomed. “Heard she was a top student, too?” “You’re giving her too much credit, Vance,” Carter’s voice, laced with a smug sort of self-deprecation, replied. “She’s just got a high school diploma. Never went to college. If she had, I wouldn’t be able to afford her.” He chuckled. “But she is a looker, I’ll give her that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have kept her around for eight years.” “She’s just the right price,” Vance added crudely. “A hot little thing you can keep on a short leash for a bit of cash.” Carter’s ego was fragile, and he loved to use me as a trophy to polish it. After eight years as his mistress, I was used to his public posturing. I was about to push the door open, my expression carefully neutral, when Vance’s tone shifted, becoming a warning. “Hey, watch your mouth. Some of us brought family tonight. Aimee comes from a good family. Keep your sleazy talk to yourself. Don’t want to scare the girl.” I pushed the door open, and a different voice, a voice cold as ice, cut through the chatter, freezing me in place. “Aimee isn’t feeling well tonight, so she won’t be drinking. I’ll have a glass on her behalf…” He looked up, and our eyes met. The words died on his lips, his hand, holding a glass mid-air, frozen in time. Ten whole years, and this is how Julian Ashford and I were reunited. 2 Every eye in the room landed on me. I saw it all: admiration, amusement, contempt. Carter’s tie was crooked. I glided to his side, my movements fluid and practiced, and straightened it with an affectionate smile before sinking into the seat beside him. Julian’s shock morphed into a cold distance. The moment he understood my role in this room, his eyes filled with an undisguised, cutting mockery. Ten years. He was here in a tailored suit, a successful man with his respectable fiancée, Aimee, by his side. And I was the mistress of 48-year-old Carter, a plaything to be summoned and dismissed at will. “Sweetheart, I told you nine. You’re half an hour late,” Carter chided, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Think you’re a big shot, keeping these gentlemen waiting? Apologize.” I scanned the room. Besides Aimee, there was another young woman sitting beside Mr. Vance, clearly in the same position as me. Our purpose here was painfully obvious. I immediately plastered on a smile, offering a string of charming apologies and downing three glasses of wine as penance. “Carter, you’re too soft on her,” Vance jeered, his eyes raking over my body. “Just a few drinks for being this late? That’s not nearly enough.” Carter was a self-made man with no powerful connections in this city. It was clear he was the lowest man on the totem pole at this dinner. He hesitated for a second, then gestured for me to pour drinks for the table. I understood. With a sweet smile and a string of apologies, I made my way around the table, filling each glass. When I got to Vance, his hand brushed my thigh, a little too deliberately. I instinctively glanced at Carter, relieved to see he hadn’t noticed. If he had, it would be me, not Vance, who paid the price. I deftly sidestepped Vance’s leering gaze and moved on to the last person. Julian. He had watched the entire sordid display, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. As I poured his drink, our eyes met again, and his were filled with nothing but ice. I returned to Carter’s side, playing the part of the devoted lover, practically feeding him every bite. That’s when Carter’s wife walked in. 3 She was a vision of power, dressed in a designer suit, impeccably maintained. Lorraine. Carter’s wife. Her sudden appearance sucked the air out of the room. The men exchanged furtive, gleeful glances, anticipating a spectacle. I saw the color drain from Carter’s face, his body going rigid. I expected a scene straight out of a movie—screaming, accusations, a slap across my face. But she did none of that. She didn’t even spare me a glance, ignoring me completely, as if I were a piece of furniture, unworthy of notice. Lorraine sat down with practiced elegance, a polite smile fixed on her face as she greeted the men at the table. Her composure was absolute as she took command. “Darling, what are you gaping at?” she said to Carter, her voice smooth as silk. “We owe these gentlemen an apology.” She turned to the table. “It’s all my fault we’re late. Carter insisted on taking my car to see my parents yesterday, and the foolish thing broke down on him. Can you believe it?” Carter, snapping out of his stupor, quickly agreed, eagerly pouring drinks for everyone. Lorraine took a glass from him. “My sincerest apologies. My husband here is a bit of a softie, you see. Completely wrapped around my finger,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. She paused, her tone sharpening slightly. “But when it comes to business, you can trust him completely. And from now on, for anything he can’t handle, you can all contact me directly.” With that, she raised her glass and drained it. Then another, and another. Three full glasses of hard liquor, and her expression never changed. “Bravo, Lorraine! A true powerhouse!” Vance exclaimed, leading a round of applause. “With a wife like you, Carter, you’ve hit the jackpot!” The other men chimed in, a chorus of praise for the brilliant, formidable woman who had just masterfully asserted her dominance. I felt nothing. Not even a flicker of shame. I was the mistress. I didn’t deserve to feel anything. Throughout the entire ordeal, Lorraine granted me a single, sideways glance, and in it, I read her message loud and clear: You are nothing. 4 “I’m going to the ladies’ room.” Aimee suddenly stood up and, with a subtle nod, indicated for me to join her. I obeyed, following her out of the suffocating room. In the bathroom, her voice echoed off the cold tiles, her reflection meeting mine in the mirror. “You’re so young and beautiful,” she said, her tone gentle. “Why do this? Why sell yourself for… dirty money?” I was grateful for her kindness, for the escape she’d provided, but all I could manage was a bitter smile. “Because I have no skills and no education. This is the best way I know how to survive.” Aimee sighed. “That’s no excuse to debase yourself.” I studied Julian’s fiancée. She was serene, elegant, her every gesture radiating a lifetime of privilege. A person like her could never understand why someone with two hands and two feet would sell her body for a few thousand dollars a month. How could I explain it to her? How could I explain that I was a failure, that my mother’s exorbitant medical bills couldn’t be paid by delivering pizzas or waiting tables? After the dinner party dissolved, the room emptied until only Carter, Lorraine, and I remained. Only then did Lorraine drop her mask. A cold smile spread across her face as she slapped me, hard. “You filthy whore,” she hissed, her voice low and vicious. “Good for nothing but spreading your legs for men. Shameless bitch!” She screamed, kicking and punching me, a torrent of vile insults pouring from her lips. “Trash with no one to teach you manners.” I wanted to tell her that my father was dead and my mother was a paralyzed invalid, that yes, there was indeed no one left to teach me how to be a person. But the words wouldn’t come. I curled into myself, shielding my face as she beat me. Carter tried to intervene, but Lorraine stopped him with a single sentence. “You dare protect her? I’ll file for divorce tomorrow!” He hesitated, his attempts to hold her back becoming half-hearted and theatrical. Lorraine’s rage escalated. She snatched a heavy glass ashtray from the table and raised it, ready to bring it down on my head. Suddenly, an arm shot out, grabbing her wrist. “This is a public place,” a cold voice said. “Settle your personal affairs in private. I don’t want this turning into a scandal that affects our business.” Julian had returned. His face was a thundercloud as he held Lorraine back. 5 Carter shot Julian a grateful look, asked him to take me to a doctor, and then quickly escorted his raging wife out of the room. The car ride was suffocatingly silent. Julian’s jaw was clenched, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead. I sat in the back, only speaking when I realized we weren’t heading towards my apartment. “I don’t need a hospital. You can just drop me at the next corner, Mr. Ashford.” “I never realized you were this pathetic, Claire,” Julian suddenly bit out, his voice like shards of glass. “So you didn’t get into an Ivy League school. You still had a place at a top-tier state university. And you threw it all away for this? To degrade yourself like this? Didn’t your father, the great moral compass, teach you better? Or is he happily spending the money you earn on your back? I heard he was fired from the school, after all.” He spat out the words “Mr. Chen” with a mouthful of scorn. If I told him that, thanks to him, my father had been dead for ten years, would he laugh? “Mr. Ashford, I’m not going to the hospital. Please stop the car.” He ignored me, his taunts continuing. “What’s wrong? Too ashamed to tell the doctors your wounds are from your lover’s wife? So you do feel shame.” He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “You’ve been a mistress for eight years. Why pretend to have dignity now?” I was exhausted, physically and mentally. I ignored his words, my only thought on getting home to Chloe. “Mr. Ashford, let me out.” His eyes, a furious, mocking glare in the rearview mirror, met mine. “You didn’t fight back when she was hitting you, but you’ve got plenty of nerve with me.” He sneered. “I’m your patron’s biggest client. I suggest you put on that same ass-kissing smile you had at dinner.” I nodded, seeing his point. I forced a smile onto my bruised face. “You’re right, Mr. Ashford. I should know my place. When the wife wants to let off steam, I let her. But I made sure to protect my face. It would be harder to find a new client if I were scarred.” The car screeched to a halt as Julian slammed on the brakes. He whipped around, his eyes blazing with a terrifying intensity. “Get out,” he snarPEG. “Don’t dirty my car.” I opened the door without a word and stepped out, just as he’d commanded. It wasn’t that I had become numb, a person who felt nothing. It was that after ten years of being ground down by the sheer effort of survival, even feeling an emotion was exhausting. The time it would take to wallow in self-pity was better spent earning money. 6 When I got home, the scene that greeted me stole the breath from my lungs. Chloe’s small body was curled on the floor, her face a terrifying shade of blue. A choked gasp escaped her lips as her tiny hand reached helplessly towards the cabinet where I kept her asthma inhaler. Panic, cold and sharp, seized me. My daughter was the only thing that could shatter my composure. With trembling hands, I administered the medicine, holding her, rocking her, until her breathing finally evened out. Only then did I let the sobs wrack my body. Chloe, now cradled in my arms, patted my back with her small hand. “Don’t cry, Mommy,” she whispered. “I’m sorry… I’m being a bother.” She was comforting me, like I was the child. She was always so considerate. After she fell back asleep, I stared at my own wrecked reflection in the mirror and slapped myself, twice. The sting of Lorraine’s slaps was on my skin; the sting of my own was in my soul. In my rush to attend that humiliating dinner, I had carelessly left my daughter’s life-saving medicine just out of her reach. I returned to her side, the sight of her peaceful, sleeping face finally calming the storm inside me. If my father hadn’t been snatched away ten years ago, if my mother hadn’t been so broken by grief that she’d crashed her car in a daze… then Chloe would be nestled in her loving grandmother’s arms right now, eating fruit peeled for her by a grandfather who would have spoiled her rotten. But now, all she had was a disgraced mother and a grandmother who was a mad, paralyzed amputee. When our world fell apart ten years ago, Chloe was only three months in my womb. I was too consumed by grief and chaos to even think about an abortion. By the time I remembered I was pregnant, selling off our assets to pay for my mother’s treatment, my belly had already begun to swell. I fainted from exhaustion countless times while caring for my incontinent mother, yet the child inside me clung to life. The first time I felt her faint, determined heartbeat, I abandoned any thought of ending the pregnancy. I was young and foolish, thinking that life couldn’t possibly get any worse. If we had to die, I thought, we would all die together. My mother hated Julian, she hated me, and by extension, she hated our child. She refused to see Chloe, forcing me to split my time, my very soul, between caring for them both in two different places. The thought of not wanting to live became a concrete plan when Chloe was two. My mother’s mental state had deteriorated. In her madness, she saw me as the murderer of her husband, cursing me with the foulest language, striking me whenever I came near. She tried to kill herself in a dozen different ways. I was at the end of my rope. I brought my mother home, fed both her and Chloe milk laced with sleeping pills, and prepared to end it all with charcoal fumes. Perhaps it was a miracle. Through the thick smoke, it was Chloe who woke up first. She stumbled to my side and, mimicking something she’d seen on TV, began to press on my chest with clumsy, desperate hands. Her cries of “Mommy!” alerted a neighbor, and we were saved. After that day, no matter how hard life became, I never dared to entertain the thought of suicide again. Chloe and my mother had to live, and they had to outlive me. 7 To cover my mother’s thousands in monthly nursing home fees and Chloe’s expenses, I started working in a seedy karaoke bar, pouring drinks for men. Many times, I teetered on the edge of full-blown sex work; it paid so much more than just being a hostess. Then, when I was twenty, I met Carter, a man twenty years my senior. He was the first benefactor in my wretched life. He stopped me from being passed around, telling me I only needed to be with him. He took care of my mother’s nursing and medical bills. The relief was immense. Eight years ago, he started by giving me three hundred dollars a month. Now, it was a thousand. When I found out he was married, I tried to break it off. He just showed me a video of his wife with some young stud in a swimming pool and pulled me into an embrace. “Our finances are too entangled, Claire. We can’t divorce,” he’d said. “Besides, she can’t have children. We’ve had an understanding for years—we both do our own thing. You just stick with me. I’ll take care of you.” When survival itself is a luxury, dignity and morality become worthless. So I settled into my role as his mistress. I wasn’t afraid of retribution. My retribution had already begun the day I met Julian Ashford at sixteen, and it had never stopped, flaying me alive, piece by piece, for ten long years. 8 My tragedy began in my first year of high school, with a case of love at first sight for Julian Ashford. Back then, he had a shadow, a girl named Sylvia who followed him everywhere. The whole school assumed she was his girlfriend. I was the other star of our school—proud, confident, and secretly nursing a crush from afar. In our senior year, Sylvia transferred, and they broke up. My grades had never dropped from the top of our class; I was on track to be a top scholar in the state. That’s when Julian made his move, approaching me under the guise of needing help with his studies. My heart, already primed for love, was ecstatic. I fell headfirst into the web of affection he spun, believing it was real. We began a secret, whirlwind romance. Then, just before the final exams, I discovered I was pregnant. The panic and fear shattered my focus. My scores were a disaster, only good enough for a decent state university, not the Ivy League I had dreamed of. The night before the truth came out, he held me, promising we’d get married after a graduation trip. The next day, he threw my pregnancy test and my disappointing exam results in my father’s face. “Mr. Chen,” he’d snarled, “that daughter you were so proud of? I knocked her up. Congratulations, you’re going to be a grandfather.” He revealed everything, leaving no room for mercy, and was on a plane out of the country that same day. Only then did I understand the cruel joke of our “love,” built entirely on a foundation of revenge. My father had been Julian and Sylvia’s homeroom teacher their senior year. Sylvia had also been a brilliant student, but in the final, crucial year, her grades plummeted as she started showing up late and leaving early. My father blamed it on teenage romance, believing it was poisoning the academic atmosphere of the honors class. For an entire week, during morning assemblies, he made Sylvia and Julian stand in front of the entire school, publicly shaming them. The combination of public humiliation and private torment was too much. Sylvia, who was already struggling, developed severe depression and took her own life. The school, desperate to avoid a scandal, paid off Sylvia’s guardians and covered up the suicide, claiming she had simply transferred. Julian channeled all his hatred onto my father. It was from Julian’s venomous tirade that we learned the full story. Sylvia’s parents were dead, and she lived with her uncle, who resented her, and an aunt who made her life hell. After she started high school, her uncle became a gambling alcoholic, beating her and even threatening to pull her out of school to sell her body. Her tardiness, her absences—that was the reality of her desperate struggle. Julian had been her only lifeline. My father’s public punishments were the final straw that broke her. “Now I’ve knocked up your daughter,” Julian had spat at my father. “Don’t forget your principles now, you sanctimonious ‘educator.’ Make sure you punish her properly. And you’ll have to take your precious, proud daughter to some back-alley clinic for an abortion. Can’t have anyone knowing, can we? It would tarnish your spotless reputation.” “If anyone finds out Mr. Chen’s daughter got pregnant out of wedlock, you won’t be able to rest in your grave.” That night, my father hit me for the first time in my life. Then he held me, sobbing, an old man on the verge of retirement, apologizing over and over. “It’s my fault… I’ve ruined you…” Then he collapsed from a heart attack. He died in the hospital. My mother, lost in a fog of grief, got into a car accident that severed her spine.

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The moment my inner succubus awakened was the moment my boyfriend, Ethan, dumped me. I was a mess, crouched on the sidewalk and sobbing. But not over him. I was crying because of the ache—a deep, unfamiliar torment that had taken root in my very core. Ethan shot me an irritated look and grabbed his roommate. “Jax, can you handle her? I’ve got places to be.” Jax just grunted and nodded. He sauntered over, his shadow falling over me. “Lily,” he said, his voice low. “What’s it going to take to make you stop crying?” I clutched my skirt, terrified he’d see the fluffy white tail that had just sprouted at the base of my spine. Crap, my ears were starting to push through, too, a tingling heat spreading at my temples. Biting my lip, I could only whisper the one thing my body was screaming for. “A kiss.” Jax’s eyebrow shot up. “What kind of kiss?” I pressed my hands to my head, trying to keep my twitching ears hidden. “The kind,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “that makes everything… better.” 1 It was an agony. The newly sprouted rabbit tail was a constant, irritating presence. But worse, far worse, was the nameless, carnal tide surging within me. I wanted Ethan to kiss me, to hold me. To do… something more. But five minutes ago, he had suddenly broken up with me. At first, I was just stunned. It wasn’t until I saw Renee standing a short distance away that it all clicked into place. His unforgettable ex-girlfriend was back, ready to reclaim her territory. “Alright, Lily, I’ve said my piece. Let’s just leave it at that,” Ethan said, his patience wearing thin. He kept glancing back at Renee. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been forcing it for six months. This ‘cute’ thing you’ve got going on? It’s just not for me.” “Being with you is like… like babysitting.” “You’re adorable, you’re pretty, but you just don’t… spark that feeling for me. You know? The feeling of being in love.” “I still prefer someone like Renee. Someone with more… womanly charm.” 2 I stared at him, my mind blank, trying to find the words to defend myself. It was true, I had been childlike before. But that was because my kind—the succubi—don’t awaken into our true selves until we turn twenty. Until then, our development is almost completely arrested. Today, of all days, I had been planning to share the good news with him. I had finally grown up. I could finally wear the beautiful, sexy slip dresses I’d always dreamed of. I could finally develop the alluring curves of a woman. But I never got the chance to tell him. Instead, he’d cut me down with those hurtful words. A pang of real sadness hit me, and my eyes, true to my nature, turned red as a rabbit’s. Ethan’s frown deepened. “There you go again. Your eyes get red at the drop of a hat, like someone’s bullying you.” A fresh wave of indignation washed over me. My true form was a rabbit; we were born with red eyes. “Look, I’ve said what I needed to say. I’m leaving. You should head back to your dorm,” Ethan said, turning to go. But then, a wave of agony so intense buckled my knees. I collapsed onto the curb and started to cry. It wasn’t because of the breakup. It wasn’t because of his cruel words. It was the ache. An unbearable torment was consuming me from the inside out. The blood in my veins felt like it was boiling. My mouth was desert-dry, and my heart hammered against my ribs at a terrifying pace. My mother had told me that after a succubus comes of age, we need to feed on passion and desire to survive. The simple kisses and cuddles I’d known before were no longer enough. Our needs were ten times stronger than a normal human’s. That’s why, she’d said, it was best to be in a relationship. With, well, one or more steady, strong, and capable… boyfriends. 3 Through my tears, I looked at Ethan. He was tall and well-built. Both my mother and I had been quite satisfied with him. Just yesterday, she had given me a few… pamphlets. For my “education.” I’d studied them diligently, poring over the illustrations late into the night, which led to a series of chaotic, feverish dreams. I had woken up feeling completely drained. And now, the meal I’d been starving for had just flown the coop. Where was I supposed to find another ready-made, capable boyfriend on such short notice? Ethan watched me sob, his expression shifting from guilt to outright annoyance. He glanced back at Renee, who was losing her patience. “Ethan, are you done yet?” she yelled. “What are you doing, babysitting? Get a move on!” When Ethan spoke again, his voice was cold and hard. “Honestly, Lily, crying won’t work. I’m not going to feel sorry for you.” I bit the soft flesh of my lip, my red-rimmed eyes pleading with him. “Ethan, can we please just break up tomorrow?” Just let me get through tonight. I was terrified my rabbit ears would pop out any second. I could just imagine being captured and carted off to a lab for “live specimen research” by some shadow government agency. Ethan scoffed. “Wow, Lily. You’re really that desperate, huh?” My love for him was, in truth, quite shallow. It was purely about his looks and his physique. Time was slipping away. My body temperature was soaring, and my consciousness was starting to blur at the edges. “Ethan, I’m begging you.” “No chance.” He was clearly fed up. Just then, his eyes landed on a familiar figure, and an idea sparked. “Jax.” Ethan crossed the distance in a few strides and pulled the man over. 4 “Hey man, can you handle her for me? I’ve got a date.” Jax was wearing a hoodie, headphones around his neck. His face was stunningly handsome, but his expression was a mask of cold indifference. He was tall—taller than Ethan—with long legs and broad shoulders. As for his build… I remembered a time I went to find Ethan at his off-campus apartment. Jax had just come back from a run. He was bare-chested, wearing only a pair of light gray sweatpants. His muscles were sculpted perfection. And that… bulge. I couldn’t help but swallow. Maybe it’s just the gray fabric, I thought desperately. Maybe it just makes things look bigger. Jax took off his headphones and cast a cool, downward glance at me. My eyes immediately fixated on his hands, and I couldn’t look away. So long. I mean his fingers, of course. And so strong. I’m still talking about his fingers. That day in the apartment, I’d almost tripped and fallen off the sofa. Jax had caught me and lifted me back up with just one hand. And even though I hadn’t gone through my “second puberty” yet, I was still five-foot-three! “Never mind, forget I asked,” Ethan started, “I know you don’t like getting involved in other people’s business.” But then Jax surprised him. “Sure.” “You’ll do it?” Jax nodded, his face still an unreadable, almost ascetic mask. Ethan frowned again, but Renee was already fuming. “Ethan, if you don’t go now, I’m leaving without you!” “Alright, man, thanks. Just make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?” Ethan said hurriedly. As he walked away, he cast one last look back at me. But I didn’t notice. My gaze was completely glued to Jax. 5 Ethan and Renee drove off. Jax tucked his headphones into his pocket and walked over to me. I was still a small, huddled ball on the ground, my hands wrapped behind my back, trying to hide the little bump my tail made under my skirt. Jax stood very close. I could smell him. It was completely different from Ethan’s cologne. This was a potent wave of pure pheromones, an almost overwhelming scent that acted like an aphrodisiac for my kind. My head spun. Jax looked down at me. “Lily, what’s it going to take to make you stop crying?” Oh, his voice is incredible. How had I never noticed how good his voice sounded? My mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts. I loved the way he said my name. Would it sound huskier, more seductive, when we were kissing? I felt my ears starting to tingle, threatening to emerge. I quickly pressed my hands to the sides of my head. Oh god, I’m losing control. I bit my lip and begged him. “A kiss.” 6 Jax seemed to raise a single eyebrow. “What kind of kiss?” I gnawed on my lower lip, my teeth teasing the soft flesh as I tried to remember Ethan’s kisses, tried to recall the drawings and descriptions in the pamphlets. The only way to suppress my transformation was through… satisfaction. Even though I wasn’t human, I still felt a blush creep up my neck. Covering my ears, I whispered, “The kind that makes me feel… good. Okay?” A ghost of a smile seemed to play on Jax’s lips. He leaned down, his strong, straight nose almost touching mine. “Lily.” “Yes?” “Do you have any idea what it means to ‘make you feel good’?” I blinked my red, swollen eyes. My mind was a complete blank. I couldn’t think. He was too close. His breath brushed against the tip of my nose—scorching, intense. That intoxicating scent of his enveloped me like a thick fog. My blood was officially boiling, threatening to burst from my veins. And most importantly, seeing Jax this close… he was so handsome it made my heart flutter uncontrollably. I tilted my face up and kissed him. I didn’t forget to close my eyes. Ethan had always said my eyes were too big, too innocent. He claimed it gave him a guilty conscience when we kissed, so he’d made me promise to always keep them shut. I was a good girl; I remembered that rule perfectly. Jax didn’t push me away. Instead, after a brief, charged second, he pulled me up from the ground, pinned me against a nearby tree, and took complete control. 7 Jax, it turned out, wasn’t a very experienced kisser. A few times, he accidentally bit me. I let out a small whimper to signal him. “Jax, don’t bite.” “Have you, like, never kissed a girl before?” “You’re not doing it right. Just open your mouth…” “Lily.” Jax’s scorching palm suddenly cupped the back of my neck. His breathing was ragged, a soft pant against my ear. “Again.” This time, his kiss was deep and overwhelming, as if he meant to devour me whole. My tongue grew numb under his relentless assault. My mind went blank, and my body went so limp in his arms I could barely stand. Until his large hand moved down my back and pressed against my tail. “Lily?” The haze of desire in Jax’s eyes was tinged with a faint surprise. I almost screamed. My brain, for once, worked at lightning speed. “It’s a toy! Can you, um, not touch it, please?” Jax’s hand suddenly pressed down harder. I could feel his displeasure radiating off him. “Lily,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “You’re full of surprises.” He nipped my lip gently. “Turns out you’re not so innocent after all.” 8 I had no explanation, so I just mumbled incoherently and tried to distract him. I hooked my arms around his neck, kissing his lips, his jaw, the sharp line of his throat. My goal was to get him so lost in passion that he’d forget all about my tail. It worked. Jax pulled me flush against him, crushing me into his embrace, and responded with a fierce intensity of his own. It wasn’t until twenty minutes later that I finally pushed back. “Jax… no more.” “That’s enough, my head is spinning.” “Really, no more. I feel… better now. Really. Can you please stop?” The tail had vanished, and my ears were quiet again. I tried to push the man away, desperate to get back to my dorm. I needed a shower. I needed to change my clothes, from the inside out. Everything felt uncomfortably tight, like I was about to burst. “Um, thank you. For that,” I said, clutching my aching chest and giving him a sincere bow. It was a genuine thank you. “It’s getting late, and I have an early class tomorrow. I should get going.” I turned to flee, but Jax’s hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. “You’re just leaving?” I was surprised. “Is there something else?” “You got what you wanted,” Jax said, his voice now a husky rasp that was impossibly seductive. “I didn’t.” “So… what now?” “What do you think?” I thought about it carefully. My mother had said that for the first six months after awakening, the ‘heat’ would come every other day. I needed a regular partner. I bit my lip and gave Jax a serious, appraising look. Honestly, there probably wasn’t a more suitable man out there. “Well… how about we meet again tomorrow? Same time, same place?” Jax stared at me for a long moment before nodding. “Okay. Tomorrow night. Don’t be late.” 9 None of my old clothes fit anymore, including my underwear. Thankfully, my mom had prepared new clothes for me in a larger size. The next day, before our meeting, I showered and changed into one of the new outfits. It was a form-fitting dress that clung to my new curves. I looked in the mirror and felt a little shy. My roommate suddenly ran over and pinched my side. “Holy crap, you’re not flat-chested anymore!” she shrieked. “You little sneak, what have you been eating to suddenly get so… stacked?” I couldn’t explain, of course, so I just fumbled for an excuse. “Are you wearing makeup? What shades are your eyeshadow and blush? You look so… sultry.” “I’ll share when I get back!” I called over my shoulder. The truth was, I wasn’t wearing any makeup. After the awakening, a succubus naturally becomes more beautiful. Especially after… sampling the pleasures of the flesh. Our beauty would gradually reach its peak. This was just the beginning. But as I was about to head downstairs, I felt a strange shift in my body. It was still early. Why was the reaction so intense already? I quickly pulled out the pamphlet my mom had given me. After a succubus awakens, she feeds on passion and desire. For the first three months, in particular, the need is insatiable and grows daily. If it is not satisfied, she risks exposing her true form at any time. Therefore, it is best for her and her regular partner to… go all the way. As soon as possible. I froze. I rushed downstairs. It was still early, and Jax hadn’t arrived yet. I paced around anxiously, and in my distraction, I bumped into someone. “Lily?” It was Ethan’s voice, full of surprise. 10 I was just as surprised. I quickly stepped back. “Oh, sorry about that.” “Are you here for me?” Ethan asked, his eyes wide with unconcealed astonishment as he took in my new look. “You look… really good dressed like this.” “No, I’m not here for you.” As my anxiety spiked, my eyes started to turn red again. Ethan just smiled, shaking his head with a knowing look. “Lily, I hate clingy girls. Don’t be like this.” “I’m not! I’m waiting for someone.” “Right. You wait, then. I’m leaving.” He clearly didn’t believe me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Still stubborn, I see.” He took a call from Renee and walked away. By now, I could barely stand. The ache was back, fiercer than before. I had no choice but to squat on the ground and wait. When Jax finally arrived, I scrambled to my feet with a joyful cry. “You’re here!” But my legs gave out from under me, and I almost collapsed. He quickly reached out to steady me, but I stumbled forward, my face landing right against his waistband. Oh. So it wasn’t just the gray sweatpants. My cheeks burned, and a wave of heat washed through me. “Lily, are you okay?” “Jax,” I gasped, clutching his arm. My palm was slick with sweat, my fingertips trembling. “I… I want you.” He seemed to freeze for a second. But I was already throwing myself at him, pressing my body against his. We fit together like perfect puzzle pieces, a seamless lock and key. Jax’s entire body went rigid. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently, and his jawline clenched. “Lily.” He gripped my hand, his voice a low, hoarse whisper, trying to coax me. “Be good. We can’t do it here.” 11 I didn’t understand. I snuggled into his chest and tilted my head back, my face flushed with desire, my eyes misty and filled with confusion. “Why not here?” There were trees, there was grass, and the sky was getting dark. It seemed perfect. Jax’s long fingers brushed against the side of my face, intending to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. But his skin was so much cooler than mine. It felt incredible. And his scent… that faint, crisp smell of fresh grass that we rabbits loved so much. I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t stop myself. I turned my head and gently bit his finger, my tongue darting out to taste him. It was just as delicious as I had imagined. “Lily.” Jax’s voice dropped even lower, the end of the word trembling. He frowned, trying to pull his hand back, but I held on, sinking my teeth in a little deeper. A sharp, ragged breath escaped his lips, a low groan from deep in his throat. “You’re a girl,” he rasped. “You can’t… do this.” He finally managed to pull his hand free, his knuckles now marked with the faint imprint of my teeth. He glanced at it for a second before looking away, but I saw his throat work again, a hard swallow. The body pressed against mine grew even hotter, his muscles coiling tight. “Are you sick? Should I take you to a hospital?” he asked, his voice strained as he reached up to feel my forehead. “I’m not sick, Jax.” I grabbed his wrist, my voice a soft, pleading whisper. “What can’t a girl do?” He looked down at me, his deep eyes swirling with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. “You can’t just throw yourself at a man.” “You can’t chase after him, begging for kisses.” “And you definitely can’t press yourself against him like this.” “Why not?” I asked again. Animal instincts are simple. When you’re hungry, you eat. When you’re tired, you sleep. And when you’re in heat, you find a mate. Anytime, anywhere. Why were humans so complicated? “Lily, you’re a girl…” he started, frowning. I suddenly pushed him away. “I get it.” “What do you get?” “You don’t like me,” I said, a wave of frustration and disappointment washing over me. “You’re just like Ethan. You don’t want to kiss me or hold me.” I hated that my true form was a stupid, clumsy rabbit. Not like my sister, a glamorous and bewitching white fox. She could make any man in the world fall at her feet. Unfortunately, my sister was a rare anomaly in our clan—a hopeless romantic, completely and utterly lost to the idea of love. “Since you don’t like me, I won’t bother you anymore,” I said, my voice flat. 12 I took a step back. Looking at Jax, I felt a pang of regret. He really did look delicious. But you can’t force someone to want you. And I couldn’t wait. I didn’t have any more time. I had to find another guy. I remembered Ethan had a friend in a lower year. Every time he saw me, his eyes would light up. He definitely wouldn’t mind if I kissed and hugged him. Plus, he was a great athlete. Going all the way would surely be no problem for him. My mind made up, I decided to act immediately. “Well, I’m going to go find someone else. I’m sorry about yesterday and today.” I gave Jax a quick bow and turned to leave. But he was faster. His hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. “Lily.” He loomed over me, his handsome lips pressed into a thin, tight line. Why was he so angry all of a sudden? I looked up at him, confused. “Jax, is there something else?” “Who are you going to find?” he demanded. “Let me guess: if Ethan had dragged some other guy over yesterday, you would have asked him to kiss you until you felt better, too?” I immediately shook my head. “Of course not!” The harsh lines of his face seemed to soften, just a fraction. “He’d have to be tall and handsome, at least,” I added honestly. “I’m very superficial.” “Lily!” He was angry again, his expression frighteningly cold. I shrank back, intimidated. And just then, my tail popped out. Alarms blared in my head. Today’s dress was skintight; there was nothing to hide it. I was on the verge of tears. Without thinking, I threw myself back into Jax’s arms. “Jax, I’m out of time,” I cried, my voice desperate. “I’m just going to ask you one more time.” I bit my lip and looked up at him, my eyes shimmering with a raw, seductive plea. “Will you, or will you not, go all the way with me?” My veins are going to explode. Please. Don’t say no again. Honestly, I really didn’t want to find another guy. Jax slowly raised his hand. His long, elegant fingers cupped my scorching cheeks. In the twilight, his handsome face was like a beautifully carved piece of jade, glowing with a cool light. But the emotions churning in his eyes were dead serious. “I only do those things with my future wife.” “Then can I be your wife?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could even think. Jax stared at me for a long, silent moment. Then, a slow smile spread across his lips. “Okay.”

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My husband, Julian, is a name whispered in awe in the halls of science. During an interview about his life, the topic turned to his relationships. He stated, coolly: “I do not believe I am a suitable partner.” “Under no circumstances would I ever place sentiment first.” “I am only willing to dedicate my finite time to the pursuit of infinite science.” After the program aired, he was met with a chorus of praise for his fearless dedication. I, however, quietly folded away my latest medical report. I had cancer. Terminal. The days he would spend in London, accepting his award, would be my last on this earth. 1 The last thing I remember before my consciousness faded was the blinding glare of the surgical lamp. And when my spirit detached, able to see the entire operating room, I watched as the line on the heart monitor beside my bed went flat. That’s when it dawned on me. I was dead. 2 For some reason, I had become a spectral form, able to drift anywhere. It was strange; just this morning, I’d felt well enough to speak with Julian for a bit. He had a conference in London to present his latest findings, and his flight was at noon. I woke at seven to make him breakfast. Julian, for all his austerity, was a picky eater. The toast had to be burned just so, the milk heated to precisely eighty percent. As our son, Leo, would say, “Mom, you’ve completely spoiled Dad’s palate.” I never argued. After two or three decades of meticulous care, even the most troublesome tasks had become second nature. 3 “Julian, dear,” I began, “I heard the weather in England is going to take a sudden dip because of some air mass.” “I’ve packed an extra down vest for you.” “There’s gum in the left pocket of your backpack. Your ears always pop on the plane; chewing a piece should help.” “Don’t stay up too late. Hasn’t your heart been bothering you recently? Try to get some sleep—” “It’s a polar continental air mass.” His words cut me off. I looked up slowly, meeting his clear, sharp eyes. The saying “time is kind to the beautiful” was certainly true for Julian. His brow was still strong and defined; though he was nearing middle age, time seemed to have left no mark on him. Which meant the chill he’d carried since his youth could still pierce straight through to my heart. He was correcting the imprecision of my first sentence. The “some air mass” over England was a “polar continental air mass.” But I was just trying to show I cared. I lowered my eyes and straightened his tie. “I know, I know.” “Be safe on your trip, Julian.” He walked past me. He thought I had a quiet afternoon ahead of me. He was wrong. He was flying across the Atlantic for an academic conference. I had a conference of my own to attend. My pre-operative consultation. The doctor had told me the surgery had only a twenty percent chance of success. 4 The day the doctor told me my stomach cancer had been caught too late, that it had already spread throughout my body, I sat on a bench in the hospital corridor for the entire afternoon. A television mounted in the corner was replaying an episode of Today’s Focus, the interview Julian had given a few days prior. The cold-eyed man didn’t want to waste a moment on anything outside of his research. Even when asked about his wife, he was brief. “I am, for lack of a better word, a block of wood.” “I don’t understand love. My wife… to me, she is more of a responsibility.” “Do we celebrate anniversaries? That’s just formalism. I would rather spend that time running a few more experiments.” That sounded exactly like him. Forget anniversaries; he didn’t even celebrate birthdays. When I was younger, I used to pester him about it, hoping that one day he would appear before me holding a bouquet of radiant roses. But I never once received a single rose. The mind that could commit countless data points to memory simply refused to retain the four digits of my birthdate. Eventually, I learned to sit alone at the table with a bowl of noodles and call it a celebration. Julian was a stone tree that could never blossom. It took me over twenty years to finally accept that truth. In recent years, I’d started to feel that something was wrong with me, too. Call it exhaustion or surrender, it didn’t matter. It was laughable, really. He is he, and I am I. He had laid that simple truth before me decades ago, and only now did I finally understand it. I folded the diagnosis into a small square, tucked it into my pocket, and called my son. 5 Leo and I were close. Julian had never liked children, especially since his only son showed zero aptitude for science. After listening to my dispassionate explanation, Leo’s voice was thick with emotion. “Mom…” “Did you… did you tell Dad?” “I didn’t tell him,” I said, my gaze fixed on the granite floor beneath my feet. “I don’t want to tell him.” He is he, and I am I. Besides, what would he do if he knew I was sick? Would he put aside the research that consumed him day and night to take care of me? “Leo,” I said softly. “Mom doesn’t know how much longer she has.” “When the day comes that I’m gone, don’t tell your father.” I smoothed the hem of my clothes. Why bother him with something he cared so little about? “Okay,” Leo agreed on the other end of the line. “Honestly, Mom, he doesn’t deserve you. He never did.” … 6 My spirit drifted through the hospital’s corridors. I watched the doctor emerge from the operating room, shaking his head in regret. I watched Leo collapse beside my hospital bed, sobbing. He had brought me to the hospital at noon and had waited outside the OR all evening, but his mother wasn’t strong enough. She never opened her eyes again. He cried so hard. I circled him frantically, but he couldn’t see me. I ached to hold him, to tell him not to cry, just as I had when he was a little boy. Leo had tried so hard. He hadn’t become the scientist his father had hoped for, but his paintings were loved by many. He even had a solo exhibition scheduled in Italy for the fall. I sat beside him, looking up at the night stars, and sang to him like I used to when he was small. He couldn’t hear me, but I felt that somehow, he would know his mother was with him. … Suddenly, I was carried away by a gust of wind, transported to a place far, far away. The senses of a spirit are truly bizarre. On one hand, I could still perceive what was happening at the hospital after my death. On the other, I had arrived at the venue of Julian’s conference. The conference was scheduled to last for seven days. Dressed in a sharp suit, he was easily the center of attention. Young, handsome, with a résumé that was virtually unparalleled. The truth was, Julian had probably been the center of attention his entire life. In college, the girls who admired him were countless. It was an era that still held onto some traditional values, yet girls would brazenly chase him all the way to his dormitory. He would always look at them with that same dismissive gaze, dressed in a plain white shirt, clutching a textbook under his arm, his head bowed in a restrained, distant manner. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested in you.” His words were mercilessly blunt. The popularity that many men flaunted was, to him, merely a nuisance. Back then, he was already drowning in national awards. The professors constantly sang his praises. I was one of the many students who looked up to him, one of the most peripheral ones. I only dared to steal glances at the corner of his shirt as he left the cafeteria. Julian had no idea that I had secretly been in love with him for three or four years before our families set us up. And I could never have imagined that three years after graduation, the man my family arranged for me to meet would be him. “I will never be in love with anyone.” That was the first thing Julian ever said to me. “If I must say I love something, then I love running experiments, doing calculations—anything that doesn’t involve people.” He frowned slightly, a gesture that still couldn’t hide his dazzling good looks. He stated his position with stark clarity. “We are not discussing love.” “We are simply ensuring the continuation of a lineage. Do you understand?” … He had been so clear back then. It was I who thought I could accept it. It was I who chose to be with him. I always believed that time was on my side, that one day his clear, placid gaze would finally settle on me. I always believed that he— Would fall in love with me. Was it overconfidence? To pin all my tireless devotion on the flimsy hope of “love growing over time.” My spirit drifted to his side. I watched him engage in a serious discussion with a scholar across from him, his tall figure exuding a cool elegance. “Was I a fool?” I murmured, my hands in my pockets as I looked at him. “They say high-IQ individuals see normal people the way normal people see idiots.” On the other side of the world, my body was being loaded into a hearse. The academic conference buzzed with voices. “Julian, do you think I was a fool?” 7 Julian took a picture of the London nightscape and sent it to me. Of course, I would never be able to reply. Leo, true to his word, never told his father about my passing. He even blocked Julian from seeing the obituary he posted using my social media account. It was for the best. I had clung to him for so long in life; I was afraid of troubling him even in death, forcing him to change his flight. Besides, I didn’t think he would want to see me one last time anyway. The view of London at night was beautiful. But for some reason, he stood on the windswept terrace for a long time that night, staring at his phone. I drifted closer and realized why. In the past, whenever he sent me a message, I would almost always reply instantly. When he traveled abroad, he would occasionally send me a few photos, and I would respond with an emoji I’d saved from Leo—a thumbs-up, or two, with the words “Awesome!” written above. This time, he waited. And I never replied. “Professor Thorne,” a young woman’s voice said from behind him. “It’s starting to rain again. You should come back inside before you catch a cold.” It was one of his students. In academia, some things were an open secret. The girl moved closer, about to drape a coat over his shoulders, but he pushed it away. 8 “Fish and chips.” “Disgusting.” Julian sent me a picture from a restaurant. My body was pushed into the cremator. “It’s raining again.” Julian sent me a picture from the window of his hotel. Friends and family attended my burial service. “Presenting my findings tonight.” “Flight back is tomorrow.” Julian stood on the lecture stage, a sea of cameras flashing at him. My English was rusty, but I understood enough. His latest achievement was another monumental contribution to human progress. There he was, under the spotlight, in his element, shining with the brilliance everyone expected of him. I think that’s why I loved him for so many years. But that was me loving him, not the other way around. As the April rain fell and my ashes were interred beside a square headstone, I finally understood that simple truth. 9 That night, after the conference ended, Julian called my phone. When the third call went unanswered, he changed his flight to one departing in the dead of night. On the plane, his brows were knitted together, his face even colder than usual. I suppose it made sense. For so many years, I had been at his beck and call. For me to suddenly be unreachable must have been unsettling for him. Normally, whenever he returned from a trip, I would be at the airport to pick him up. I’d always arrive an hour or two early, just to wait. It was another one of those habits. You can’t bear to let the person you love suffer any inconvenience. I always did my best to make his life comfortable. But this time, he would have to walk through a deserted terminal alone and hail an overpriced taxi at four or five in the morning. He arrived home at six. He knocked first. No answer. He used his fingerprint to unlock the door and pushed it open. The house was empty. Everything was just as he had left it. The sink was spotless, the dining table bare. But my slippers, the ones I always wore, were still neatly placed by the entryway. He unbuttoned the coat he’d been in too much of a hurry to change out of and walked through the dark house, circling again and again. The bedroom. The balcony. The bathroom. Finally, he pulled open the washing machine door. … Finding nothing, he paused, took out his phone, and called me again. A long wait, then the busy signal. He took a deep breath, his thumb swiping to another number on his contact list. Leo’s. Their relationship had been strained even before Leo became an adult. For years, Leo only came home to see me, with no intention of acknowledging his father. Julian’s attitude was much the same—immersed in his work, he wanted nothing to do with raising a child. He was absent during the most crucial stages of his son’s development, so his son had never spoken to him with much warmth. “What do you want?” “Where is your mother?” Both their tones were sharp. But Leo paused. Then came a strange, hollow laugh, a sound impossible to describe, as he repeated the question in a mumble. “Where is my mother?” “My mother’s gone.” “Gone where?” Julian’s frown deepened, the first light of dawn landing right between his brows. I heard my son’s voice on the other end of the line, suddenly pale and thin. “Not gone where.” “She passed away, Dad.” 10 A long, heavy silence stretched between both ends of the phone line. From my vantage point, I could see the knuckles of the hand Julian held the phone with turning white. “You’re old enough to know better than to make such tasteless jokes,” he said, his tone scolding. He didn’t believe it. It seemed the idea that I could die, that my funeral could be held without him even being notified, was something that simply did not exist in Julian’s reality. Leo’s voice went hoarse on the other end. After a long moment, he let out a laugh that sounded almost like a release. “Dad,” he said. “I haven’t told you a single joke since I was twelve.” Leo hung up. The dial tone buzzed from the phone, but strangely, Julian seemed frozen, holding the phone in the same position, just standing there. Slowly, he sat down on the living room sofa. Julian was meticulous and rigorous in his academic life, but his personal life was the complete opposite. He was casual to an extreme. So, I was always the one cleaning the house. His study was often piled high with papers he wouldn’t let me touch. He had snapped at me more than once over things like that. Thinking back now, maybe I was never the right person for him. Perhaps he needed a fellow female scientist with whom he could traverse the vast, boundless universe of academia. Not a writer for a small publication who only knew how to wash the sofa covers until they were faded, who didn’t even know what a polar continental air mass was. Light began to seep into the room. I saw him touch the lace trim on the sofa cover. The lace that had already gathered a thin layer of dust. He rubbed it, over and over again. 11 The front door opened. Julian whipped his head around, the movement so abrupt I was afraid he’d sprain his neck. But it was Leo standing in the doorway, dangling a key from his finger. “Dad, good, you’re here.” “Where did Mom keep her ID and the household registration book?” “I need to go to the registrar’s office…” Julian’s fingers, still toying with the lace, froze. “…to cancel her registration.” … The cabinet under the television held some of our personal documents. Julian was the type to toss these things around carelessly, including some of his major award medals, so I always put them away for him with great care. He was indifferent to them, but I would always trace their engravings with a happy smile. “What’s the point?” he’d ask, not understanding why his awards made me so happy. I would just beam and link my arm through his. “Because you’re my husband, of course! I’m happy when my husband wins an award.” When I was younger, I used to be more clingy and affectionate. Over the years, I had toned it down considerably. Julian was now holding our marriage certificate, not letting go. The photo on it wasn’t very good. His lips weren’t turned up in the slightest, while I was smiling as if it were my own personal, grand wedding. Leo found my ID and turned to see his father holding the two red booklets, staring at them intently. “Don’t worry, Dad,” Leo said. “Now that Mom is gone, your marriage to her is naturally dissolved.” “You’re not her husband anymore. Not ever again.” “Happy? You’re free to pursue relationships with all those young female students you mentor now.” This was the kind of sharp, sarcastic tone that would usually make Julian furious. But this time, he didn’t react for a long time. In fact, he seemed to have been lost in a daze for a while. He just slowly stood up and picked up the trench coat hanging on the sofa. “I’ll go with you.” 12 They didn’t say a word to each other the entire way. To be honest, I had wondered what Julian’s reaction would be after I died. I imagined a simple “Oh” or “I see,” before he would dive back into his great research for the betterment of humanity. He didn’t love me. I knew that. So my departure would be, at most, an interlude for him—not too big, not too small, like a pebble dropped into a lake. The fact that he was personally going to cancel my registration… I didn’t know whether to thank him for old times’ sake. Watching my own existence being officially erased was a rather unique experience. Leo handed over the documents, and Julian sat on a chair in the waiting area. Even so, he was still a striking figure. Dressed in a teal coat, he stood out like a solitary pine tree. I could always spot him in a crowd. I didn’t know what he was thinking, his dark eyes quietly reflecting the bustling crowd. Just like that, Leo filled out my cancellation form. The clerk on the other side of the window confirmed the details. When the booklet was handed back, it had a new stamp on it. “DECEASED.” Julian stared at that word for a long, long time. So long that Leo snatched the booklet from his father’s hand. “I’ll come back in a few days to get Mom’s things.” “Who said you could?” Julian’s voice, unused for so long, was dry and raspy. “I’m her son. Why can’t I?” “I’m still her husband.” “You’re nothing,” Leo spat. After that, they both fell silent. Julian was still standing there, but I felt as if all the strength had been drained from him in an instant. He closed his eyes and said slowly, “Your mother never told me she was sick.” “Yeah,” Leo nodded. “What good would it have done?” Leo took the booklet stamped “DECEASED” and walked away. Julian was left standing alone at the entrance of the registrar’s office. I knew it all along. Julian was always just a passerby in my life. It was impossible to melt a man like him. He was forever rational, forever on his pedestal. The sun beat down mercilessly. He turned and walked down the street, the air thick with the sound of cicadas.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393025”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel