I am the Crown Princess of Eldoria, and my father’s only child. When I was seven, my father, the King, selected four sons from the Four Great Houses of the realm. They were the most handsome, the most brilliant, and they were to be raised at court as my future consorts, groomed to one day help me rule. The people called them the “Four Lords of Eldoria.” None of them liked me. Even the one I adored, Lord Kaelan, had already given his heart to another. Now, with the King’s health failing, he asked me which of them I would choose to be my Prince Consort. I left my fate to the God, deciding with a simple drawing of lots. I never imagined I would draw the name of the most unreliable one of them all: Lord Lysander. On the day the royal decree was to be announced, Lord Kaelan fell to his knees and begged me not to leave him. 1 “Father, I choose Lysander.” I stared at the wooden token in my hand and gave a bitter smile. Perhaps this was fate. Kaelan and I were simply not meant to be. My father hesitated, his gaze searching mine. “Aurelia, are you certain? Once the royal decree is issued, there is no turning back.” Of course, I knew that. But Kaelan didn’t love me. Why should I force him into a miserable life? Besides him, it made no difference to me who I married. As the Crown Princess of Eldoria, I had duties that outweighed my own desires. I bowed my head. “Father, my mind is made up. I will not regret it.” The King sighed and wrote Lysander’s name upon the royal scroll. “In three days, I will proclaim to the kingdom that Lord Lysander is to be your Prince Consort.” I nodded. As I left my father’s chambers, I saw four strikingly handsome men walking towards me, each with a god-like grace. My four consorts-in-waiting. Gareth, my cousin, was the first to speak. “Your Highness,” he said, his curiosity getting the better of him, “we heard the King asked you to choose a consort. Who did you pick?” My eyes instinctively flickered to Kaelan. The fourth lord, Tristan, noticed and clapped Kaelan on the shoulder with a grin. “Is there any need to ask? It must be our Kaelan. Everyone in the palace knows the Princess has eyes only for him.” At his words, Kaelan’s face turned to stone. When he looked at me, his eyes burned with a mixture of resentment and bitterness. That single glance was a dagger in my heart. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t chosen him, to beg him not to look at me with such hatred. But then I thought, after all the years I’ve spent chasing after him, let him worry for a few days. Seeing my silence, Gareth nudged me. “Come now, Your Highness, don’t keep us in suspense. Who is it?” My gaze fell upon Lysander, who stood apart from the others, fanning himself languidly, saying nothing. “You will all find out in three days.” Lysander’s eyes met mine, and he raised a single, inquisitive eyebrow. I turned and walked back to my wing of the palace without another word. Tristan was right. Everyone knew I loved Kaelan. But he was a man of immense pride. He saw the idea of rising through marriage to a woman as a disgrace and hated that his life, even his choice of wife, was not his own to control. Besides, he was already in love with someone else, a woman he could never be with because of me. He met all my attempts at affection with cold disdain. He didn’t understand that my marriage was not a matter of the heart, but a political tool. My father was ill, and despite a harem of consorts, I was his only child. The consort program was a strategy to maintain balance and control over the Four Great Houses. My husband had to be one of them. Whether they wished it or not. Lost in thought, I was startled by a voice from behind me. “Your Highness, a moment.” 2 I turned. It was Kaelan. His fists were clenched, his expression dark. “Is there something you need, my lord?” He gave a stiff bow. “I have already given my heart to another. I pray you will grant us your blessing.” I laughed. “Kaelan, do you truly believe I would choose you?” He faltered. “You are the Princess. You have so many choices. Why must you insist on forcing someone who does not love you?” I looked down, a bitter smile touching my lips. “Rest assured, I will not bother you again. You are free to pursue your ambitions, to be with the woman you love.” He frowned. “Your Highness, what do you mean by that?” Just as I was about to tell him I had chosen Lysander, a clumsy figure stumbled and crashed into me. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. Before I could even react, Lady Seraphine was on her knees, begging for mercy. “Forgive me, Your Highness! I… I didn’t mean to! Please, forgive me!” I rubbed my bruised arm, looking at her in confusion. Seraphine was the niece of a powerful court duchess, from a prominent house. Yet every time she saw me, she acted like a mouse cornered by a cat, even when I had done nothing. Kaelan often shot me dirty looks because of it, assuming I had been bullying her. Seeing her knock her head on the stone floor until it was red, Kaelan rushed forward, his voice laced with pain. “That’s enough, Seraphine. It was a small accident. There’s no need for this.” He helped her up, then shot a warning glance in my direction. I watched the scene with a scornful silence. Seeing this, Seraphine immediately dropped to her knees again, tears streaming down her face. “Your Highness, I deserve to be punished. Please, just forgive me this once.” I pushed myself up from the ground and looked down at her. Kaelan, thinking I was deliberately tormenting her, lost all composure. “Aurelia! It was an accident! How can you abuse your power like this? How do you expect to rule this kingdom one day if you cannot even show basic decency?” Abuse my power? She was the one who had run into me. I hadn’t said a single word, and he was already accusing me. Had I been too kind to him for too long? Had he forgotten his place? He wanted to see me abuse my power? Fine. I would show him. I yanked Seraphine to her feet and slapped her, hard, across the face. “Remember this,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt. “This is what it means to abuse my power.” Kaelan’s eyes widened, but he was too slow to stop me. Seeing the red handprint blooming on Seraphine’s cheek, he pointed at me, his voice trembling with rage. “Aurelia…” CRACK! I slapped him too. “You will address me as Your Highness.” He was stunned into silence. I had spent years trying to win his affection. He had never imagined I would treat him like this. He gritted his teeth, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles cracked. “Fine,” he seethed. “Just fine.” “Seraphine, let’s go.” Watching them leave, a wave of melancholy washed over me. He hadn’t always been like this. When we were seven, I fell into the palace lake, and he saved me. After my cousin Gareth, he was the one I was closest to. He would help me with my lessons, encourage me when the Grand Tutor was harsh, and even share my punishments. It was only when we grew older and understood the meaning of our arrangement—that everything he learned, everything he did, was to prepare him to serve me—that he began to change. He couldn’t accept a life he hadn’t chosen. He felt trapped. Then, he met Seraphine at a poetry gala and was captivated by her. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. He would probably be thrilled to learn I had chosen Lysander. 3 The next day was the kingdom’s annual High Rite of Ascension. My father’s health was worsening, so I had to preside, with the Four Lords at my side. Kaelan was still furious about yesterday’s events and refused to even look at me. I couldn’t be bothered with him either. After the midday meal, I took a walk in the gardens. Suddenly, a familiar voice drifted to my ears. “Lord Kaelan, I made these honey cakes myself. Try one.” I followed the sound and saw Lady Seraphine, holding a small cake to Kaelan’s lips. He leaned in without hesitation and took a bite, a smile gracing his face—a smile I had never seen before. She laughed and gently wiped a crumb from the corner of his mouth. They were the very picture of devoted lovers. I fought down a wave of nausea and was about to leave when several figures in black dropped from the trees around me. “Who are you?” I demanded, my hand flying to the small dagger at my belt. “What do you want?” They exchanged a glance, then charged, their blades aimed at my heart. Though I had trained with the Four Lords, my skill was limited. Kaelan had already noticed the commotion. “Kaelan, help me!” I cried out. He took an instinctive step towards me, but Seraphine threw her arms around him, her voice a frightened whimper. “Kaelan, don’t go! I’m so scared!” He hesitated. In that single moment of hesitation, a blade sliced across my arm. The pain was so sharp it brought a cold sweat to my brow. I stared at him in disbelief. In a moment of mortal danger, he had chosen not to save me. I gritted my teeth. “Kaelan, what are you standing there for? Save me!” As the words left my mouth, Seraphine let out a piercing scream. “Aaaah!” One of the assassins had broken off and was now lunging towards them. Kaelan pushed her back, his entire focus on protecting Seraphine. He didn’t see another assassin raise his sword and charge at me from the side. I closed my eyes, bracing for the end. But the pain never came. My eyes flew open to see Lysander standing in front of me, his own sword having just sent the assassin’s blade flying. Gareth and Tristan arrived a second later, joining the fray. The assassins were quickly subdued. Seeing their failure, they all turned their blades on themselves, dying in a spray of blood that splattered across my gown. I stood frozen, a desolate chill spreading through me. I had thought that even if Kaelan didn’t love me, the bond of our shared childhood still meant something. But at the moment of truth, for Seraphine, he had left me to die. Gareth and Tristan had seen it all. Their expressions, when they looked at Kaelan, were complicated. My father was informed and ordered a full investigation. The House of Xie was too powerful to move against directly, but the King’s anger needed an outlet. He ordered Lady Seraphine to be confined to her family’s estate. That night, Kaelan stormed into my chambers, his face a mask of fury. “Aurelia, this had nothing to do with Seraphine. Why did you do it? This is nothing but petty revenge!” He actually believed I was behind her punishment. I looked at him, my voice as cold as ice. “Kaelan, do you have any idea how close I came to dying today?” He was unmoved. “But you’re fine, aren’t you?” “Besides,” he continued, “you are the Princess. You have countless guards to protect you. Seraphine only has me. You saw what happened today—she was nearly killed by those assassins as well. She is a victim too.” “Go to the King. Beg him to lift her confinement.” I clutched my wounded arm, the pain a dull throb. “Impossible.” My refusal sent him into a rage, his chest heaving. “And you call yourself a princess! You can’t even tell right from wrong! You are utterly unreasonable!” He spun on his heel and stormed out. He did not come to the palace for the next two days. He only returned, reluctantly, on the third day—the day the royal decree was to be announced.

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Do you know just how spineless parents can be? Have you ever seen people with wealth and power get pushed around and humiliated by their dirt-poor relatives? My name is Stella. My uncle is a small-town security guard, a man from the absolute bottom rung of society. My father is the chairman of a publicly traded company. My mother is the Chief of Medicine at a prestigious hospital. And yet, from 2009 to 2016, every single time I reached for food at the dinner table, my uncle would slap my hand. Four times. My parents saw it. They said nothing. This cast a long, dark shadow over my childhood. It’s why, all through middle and high school, I chose to live at a boarding school. This year, I graduated from college. I came home for a celebratory dinner. When I reached for a piece of food, my uncle raised his hand to strike me again, a grim replay of an old, familiar horror. But this time, I slammed my chopsticks right into his face. This time, I was done being silent. … To celebrate my graduation and welcome me home, my parents had invited a few relatives and friends over for dinner. “Stella, eat up. I made all your favorites,” my mother said with a warm smile, setting down the last dish, a fragrant seafood chowder. It had been so long since I’d been home, and my parents were clearly thrilled to have me back. Dad opened a bottle of expensive single-malt Scotch. “Go on, dig in. Your mother’s been in the kitchen since dawn getting ready for you.” I stared at the steaming, vibrant dishes spread across the table, a sense of unreality washing over me. So many years had passed, and the resentment I held for my family had been worn down by time, faded almost to nothing. I nodded, picking up my chopsticks to grab a piece of food. But just then, my uncle, who was sitting beside me, rapped his chopsticks sharply on the table twice. He stared at me, his face a mask of cold indifference. “Who said you could start eating?” My hand shot back as if I’d been burned, my heart instantly hammering against my ribs. To the outside world, my family was the picture of success and respectability. My father ran a successful company, and my mother was a renowned physician. It was no exaggeration to say we were powerful. My uncle, Rick, on the other hand, was a relic from a different world. All I knew was that he’d run with a gang in his youth, and in a fight that went too far, he’d killed someone. Manslaughter. He served twelve years, getting out in 2009. My mother, Eleanor, torn apart by a mix of pity and fear that he’d fall back into his old ways, brought him to the city to live with us. She even got him a job as my father’s driver. From his wedding to the birth of his children, he has been completely dependent on my mother’s charity. He’s been a fixture in our lives ever since. I was eight years old in 2009. That was when the ritual began. Every time we sat down to eat, he would slap my hand with his chopsticks. He’d always assume the posture of a disciplining elder, lecturing me with the same tired lines. Things like: “The adults haven’t even started. You dare take a bite? You think you’re better than us?” “I’m hitting you for your own good. So you don’t grow up offending people without even knowing it.” “Don’t think you can just coast on your parents’ money. You have to make your own way in this world.” I was just a kid. I didn’t understand what he meant, or why he was saying these things to me. So, I learned to wait. I wouldn’t touch my food until one of the adults had taken the first bite. But, predictably, he’d still hit me. I’d ask him, my voice trembling with unshed tears, why he still hit me. He wouldn’t answer directly, probably because he couldn’t find a new fault. Instead, he’d tap his empty plate. “Get me some food.” Other times it would be, “Bring me a glass for my drink.” I never understood why he singled me out, what I had done to deserve his relentless torment. But I had been raised to be polite, to never talk back to my elders. So, I would just lower my head in silence, picking at the rice in my bowl. My father, Mark, saw it all. And he remained silent. For a long time, I would ask him, “Dad, why does Uncle Rick always hit me?” Sometimes he wouldn’t answer at all. Other times, he’d just parrot the same excuses Rick used, telling me to just do as he said, so he’d have no reason to pick on me. But it never worked. The next time, Uncle Rick would always invent a new reason to strike me. Over time, it carved a deep wound into my psyche. Mealtimes became an ordeal, a source of profound anxiety. I became timid, jumpy, constantly walking on eggshells. It didn’t stop at the dinner table. He started finding fault with me everywhere, lecturing me in front of my parents for hours on end. From the day my uncle moved in, I never had another truly happy day. My life was a suffocating coil of tension and oppression. It wasn’t until I went away to boarding school for middle school that my mental state began to improve. The distance was a balm. As I grew older, I developed the ability to see things for what they were. A bitter resentment toward my parents began to fester. I couldn’t understand why they were so spineless. Why did they let him bully me? Why was it that this man, who lived off our family’s generosity, could treat us with such contempt, ordering me around like a servant? Even at boarding school, I still had to come home at least once a month. My animosity towards my uncle ran deep, and I did my best to avoid him. Sometimes he’d eat out, or my dad would take me to a restaurant, just the two of us. I’ll never forget the winter break of my eighth-grade year. I was running around on the lawn of our villa when I accidentally bumped into him. He hit me across the face with a ruler. My parents were right there, inside, watching TV in the living room. My first instinct was to run, but he grabbed the back of my down jacket, his grip like iron. “What do you have eyes for?” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “You stand right here. Don’t you move.” From the corner of my eye, I saw my parents glance in our direction through the large glass window. I was trembling, frozen with fear, as I watched my uncle walk back into the house. He reemerged moments later holding a long, thick plastic ruler. The color drained from my face. Tears streamed down my cheeks before I could stop them. I held out my hands, trembling, expecting the blow to land there. But the heavy ruler cracked across my face. I was thirteen. I was at that age where looks and pride mean everything. I couldn’t bear the humiliation, being beaten so viciously, so utterly without dignity, right in front of my own parents. The ruler fell on my left cheek, then my right, again and again. I cried, I begged, I stumbled backward. The pain was so sharp I instinctively tried to cover my face, but he just violently tore my hands away. I thought, surely, my parents would come out. They would at least try to stop him. But they didn’t. I screamed myself hoarse for what felt like an eternity, and they never even came to the window. I don’t know how many times he hit me. I only know that I felt the skin on my cheeks split open, the warm trickle of blood running down my face. My throat was raw. He spat on the ground, gave me one last shove that sent me sprawling, and walked away. I shattered. I lay on the cold grass and cried for a long, long time. When I finally ran out of tears, my gaze vacant and numb, I touched my swollen face and walked back into the living room. My parents were still on the sofa, still watching TV. But something about their posture was stiff, unnatural. “Mom,” I croaked. My mother’s eyes flickered toward me for a split second. When she saw the state of my face, she shot to her feet, a flash of anger in her expression. “Why does he always have to make such a scene over nothing? It’s so irritating!” Then she pulled me into a room to treat my wounds. My father never once looked at me. In the bedroom, as my mother dabbed antiseptic on my cuts, she muttered to herself. “How could he hit you like this? He’s so vicious.” “Your face is so swollen… this won’t go down for a while.” Her words only made the tears start again. “Mom,” I sobbed, “why didn’t you come out?” Her hand paused for a moment. “Come out for what?” “To tell him to stop.” My mother pressed her lips together. After a long silence, she finally said, “Next time, just be more careful. You know how he is. Just stay away from him.” It was a heart-chilling response. But it was also the first time she had ever verbally admitted that she didn’t approve of his actions. Most of the time, in stark contrast to my father’s silence, she would side with my uncle and criticize me, even if she didn’t believe it herself. Last year, my cousin Jessica stole over twenty thousand dollars from my credit card. Everyone begged me to let it go, but I was resolute and called the police. That was the first time I ever saw my uncle scared. He wept, he pleaded with me not to press charges. My parents joined in, begging me, saying, “We’re family, just drop it.” I felt a surge of helpless fury. The incident led to a massive fight, and I didn’t come home for a long time afterward. I thought that seeing my uncle so humbled might have taught him a lesson, that he might finally show some restraint. I was wrong. He hadn’t changed at all. If anything, he was worse. And now, here we were. At the dinner table. Not just with my parents and my aunt, but with two of my father’s old friends, important business partners. By humiliating me in front of outsiders, my uncle wasn’t just putting me in my place. He was emasculating my parents, reveling in the intoxicating thrill of inverted power. But this time, his pathetic little power trip was about to end.

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I was a queen for three years, and a Queen Dowager for twenty. When I died, I was surrounded by my children and grandchildren, and the lords of the court wept at my funeral. By all accounts, a life such as mine should have held no regrets. And yet, when I was granted a second life, and my grandmother asked me who I would choose for a husband, I did not choose the Crown Prince again. Instead, I chose the Duke who guarded the Northern Marches. Let the north be the north, and the capital be the capital. My only wish was that our paths would never cross again. 1 In the Willow Courtyard, the air was so still you could hear a pin drop. Tendrils of frankincense smoke rose from a bronze censer, blurring my grandmother’s sharp, assessing gaze. She studied me from head to toe, as if trying to see straight through to my soul. “You have always favored the Prince,” she said, her voice a low command. “Why not choose him?” I knelt on the cold stone floor, my voice steady. “It is precisely because I favor him, Grandmother, that I cannot marry him.” “I will not break my own heart, waiting for a man who will never truly return to me. I will not let my spirit wither. I beg you to grant my wish.” A long silence stretched, and my legs began to ache from kneeling. Finally, I heard my grandmother let out a long sigh, her voice softening. “Very well. I shall go to the palace tomorrow and inform His Majesty. I will ask him to decree the marriage for you.” I bowed my head to the floor, my forehead touching the cool stone in a final gesture of gratitude. In this life, I would not marry Prince Apollo again. 2 Two days later, the King’s Road was as bustling as ever, the streets thronged with people. I had gone out for my usual errands when my carriage was blocked by the Prince himself, riding out from the palace. He reined in his warhorse and leapt from the saddle, the motion as fluid and graceful as a dancer’s. He was, as always, devastatingly handsome. But his brow was furrowed in a deep scowl, and when he spoke, his voice was ice. “I heard you begged the King for a betrothal. Are you that desperate, Seraphina?” His cold, dismissive gaze stung my eyes. I turned my head slightly, avoiding his stare. “Rest assured, Your Highness,” I said softly. “The marriage has nothing to do with you.” His face grew even darker. He let out a chilling sneer. “Nothing to do with me? I am the one who held you, who saved you. Who else would have you now? Had I known you would be so clinging, I would have left you to the bandits all those years ago.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady my voice. “Your Highness, please do not be angry. It is truly not—” “Enough!” he snapped, cutting me off. His temper flared, and he vaulted back onto his horse, looking down at me from his superior height. “I will marry you. I will give you the title of Princess. But do not dare to dream of anything more.” With that, he glanced back at the modest green carriage trailing behind him, called out, “Let’s go,” and galloped away, leaving me to choke on the dust kicked up in his wake. As the green carriage passed, a pale, delicate hand lifted the curtain, revealing a familiar profile. It was my half-sister, Gladys. I shook my head with a bitter smile and turned to get back into my own carriage. We had been childhood friends, he and I. I didn’t know how we had come to this. He used to be the one who protected me most, always calling me his “dearest Sera.” At royal banquets, if he didn’t see me, he would pester my grandmother until he found me. When did it all change? I suppose it was after he saved me from those bandits. He had held me then, his voice tight with panic, terrified that I had been truly harmed. But when he heard the Queen suggest I be betrothed to him, his entire demeanor had shifted. From then on, whenever someone mentioned our unofficial engagement, his face would darken, and he would ignore me. At first, I didn’t understand why. It wasn’t until my past life, on the night my half-sister married the Duke of Ancora, that I finally understood. The Prince got drunk that night, and he spent the entire evening staring at a miniature portrait of Gladys. I finally realized he had already given his heart to someone else. It just wasn’t me. In my previous life, after the Duke died, my half-sister was sent to guard the royal tombs. The last time they saw each other, they stood on opposite ends of a grand hall during a court banquet, their roles and statuses a chasm between them, staring at each other in silent, heartbroken agony. Their love was truly a thing of profound depth. So, in this life, I decided to grant them their wish. 3 When I returned to the manor, my grandmother was already waiting for me. She was reclining with her eyes half-closed, a handmaiden kneading her shoulders with a gentle, rhythmic pressure. She looked no different than usual, but I knew. I knew my grandmother was in a foul mood. As I expected, she opened her eyes at the sound of my footsteps and gave me a thorough look-over. “Are you hurt anywhere?” A warmth spread through my chest. I shook my head. She sat up straight, her face hardening. “The Prince sent a messenger. He intends to take Gladys as his royal consort. The Queen Dowager has already given her blessing.” Gladys. My half-sister. I froze. This had not happened in my previous life. Where had I made a mistake? My grandmother was still smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I had intended to make her a proper wife, but she seems eager to throw herself away as a mere mistress. If I hadn’t promised the King to keep your betrothal a secret for now, I would love to see the look on her face when she finds out…” I remained silent. In my past life, my grandmother had married me to the Prince and Gladys to the Duke, making her a Duchess. In this life, knowing my grandmother’s cunning, if I married the Duke, she would have schemed to make Gladys the Crown Princess. But Gladys had chosen to be a consort instead. A lesser position. Her previous words sparked a thought. “Grandmother, do you know why His Majesty wants to keep the betrothal a secret? And for how long?” My grandmother considered this for a moment. “Since the Queen’s passing, the King has not looked upon the Prince with the same favor as before. I suspect he has grown wary.” She looked at me. “It won’t be for long. The Duke returns to the capital next month. The decree will be announced then.” I silently counted the days. It was only a couple of weeks. A relief. Gladys’s ceremony was set for three days’ time. The Prince, eager to have her by his side before his own grand wedding, wanted to both please his beloved and deliver a sharp blow to my pride. Because it was a rushed affair for a mere consort, the ceremony was far from grand. But the Prince came to escort her personally, even bringing a pair of wild geese he had hunted himself—a traditional and deeply personal betrothal gift. It was clear he was giving Gladys as much dignity as he could. The normally serene Willow Courtyard was adorned with lanterns and colorful silks, a festive air all around. But if you looked closely, you’d see that none of the fabrics, none of the chests of gifts or finery, were of the true, deep crimson reserved for a royal bride. Even the veil on Gladys’s head was a soft rose-pink. I watched the joy on the Prince’s face slowly crack, then force itself back into a smile. His gaze drifted down to their intertwined hands. One feigning festivity, the other feigning shyness. Noticing my gaze, he lifted his chin defiantly and squeezed the woman’s hand beside him even tighter. I coolly shifted my gaze away, ignoring his childish games. It wasn’t until we had left the courtyard, out of our grandmother’s sight, that the Prince pulled me viciously into a corner. “Seraphina, when did you become so jealous and petty? You wouldn’t even allow Gladys to wear crimson, afraid people wouldn’t know she is just a consort? Do you know how much this wounds her? How is she supposed to hold her head high?” My brow furrowed in anger. I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Your Highness, is it not proper for a consort to wear rose-pink?” “How could that be proper? Gladys is—” “She is what?” I stared at him, a half-smile on my lips. His face flushed a deep red, and he was rendered speechless. I knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to say that Gladys was the woman he cherished above all others, that she shouldn’t be treated like anyone else. I spoke slowly, deliberately. “If Your Highness feels she has been wronged, you are more than welcome to petition the King to make her your Princess.” It was common knowledge that consorts wore rose-pink. I didn’t know what he was making such a fuss about. If he was so worried about his precious love being slighted, why hadn’t he dared to ask the King to make her his wife sooner? In the end, it was simple fear. As I expected, he flew into a rage. “So this is the character of the great Duke’s daughter,” he sneered. “Since you refuse to give Gladys face, then on our wedding day, do not blame me for refusing to give you any.” I said nothing. Just then, Gladys came looking for him. I stepped aside, inviting him to leave. “Your Highness, please.” He snorted and stormed off. But Gladys did not follow him immediately. She stopped and looked at me, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “The Prince is blaming you because of me again, sister? I am truly sorry—” She leaned in close, her voice a ghost of a whisper. “Tell me, sister, who do you think will be queen in this life?” 4 So, Gladys was reborn, too. I closed my eyes and let out a soft sigh. In our last life, she had married the Duke of Ancora. He was a soldier, a cold man who knew nothing of tenderness. Every time Gladys saw me, she would glare at me with seething hatred, as if I had stolen her grand destiny. So, in this life, she contacted Prince Apollo ahead of time, securing her place as his consort. She wanted to enter the East Wing of the palace before me, to lay her plans early. The threads of fate had diverged. But little did she know, I had no intention of ever marrying the Prince. All her schemes against me were destined to fail. I didn’t leave the manor in the following days, instead staying home to prepare for my own wedding. I had always felt a pang of guilt for the Duke. He, the Prince, and I had all grown up together. But my heart had only been for Apollo, and the Duke was a man of few words, so I often overlooked him. I still remembered him standing in the gloom of the dungeons, his dark eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t comprehend. “Sera,” he had asked, “if I became king, would you marry me?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The Duke commanded a powerful army, and he was suspected of treason. Apollo had used my name to lure him to the capital, where he was ambushed and killed. That was his end in our previous life. I hope that this time, we can both have a better fate. I tied off the last stitch and unfolded the crimson bridal veil I had just finished embroidering with twin griffins and silver clouds. I blew on it gently. My grandmother always said my needlework was clumsy, so I had taken lessons from the master embroiderer at The Gilded Needle. This was my finest work. The Duke… he would like it, wouldn’t he? My heart was full of hope. I never imagined my creation, my heart’s blood, would be so utterly desecrated. When I went back to The Gilded Needle to retrieve the veil, the embroiderer smiled at me. “The Prince took it,” she told me. Seeing my face fall, she looked at me, confused. “His Highness heard you had embroidered a veil for him and was so delighted he wanted to see it. Is… is something wrong, my lady?” I closed my eyes, suppressing the rage that surged within me, and bolted out of the shop. After asking countless people, I finally found where Apollo was. A royal guard tried to stop me, cautiously explaining that the Prince and his consort were flying a kite and it would be inappropriate for me to intrude. I pushed him aside with a cold laugh. On a sprawling green lawn, a woman was flying a kite, her pale hand stretched high. Soon, another, larger hand covered hers, and the woman leaned into his embrace with a shy, coquettish laugh. My sudden appearance interrupted their flirtatious display. The Prince’s face soured. He eyed me warily. “What are you doing here?” I held out my hand, getting straight to the point. “The veil. Give it back to me.” His brow furrowed. “It’s gone. Just make a new one.” My eyes widened in fury. Before I could speak, Gladys let out a delicate laugh. She covered her mouth with a silk handkerchief, her beautiful eyes dancing as she pointed to the sky. “Sister, your veil is truly beautiful. It makes the most unique kite in the entire capital, doesn’t it?” Following her gaze, I felt a jolt, as if struck by lightning. The kite she held by a string was made from my bridal veil. The crimson silk was a stark slash against the brilliant blue sky. Even the silver clouds I had so painstakingly stitched were vividly clear. Apollo— He had used the work of my hands, the proof of my heart, to please his mistress. Blood rushed to my head. I felt as if I were drowning in a sea of fire, the grievances of this life and the last pouring out like a flood, threatening to crush me. Losing control, I shoved him with all my might, my voice nearly a scream. “That was mine! How could you?!” “Are you mad—?” He stumbled back, his angry question dying on his lips the moment he saw my crimson-rimmed eyes. He had never seen me so emotional. For a moment, he was stunned, at a loss. After a long pause, he scowled, his voice hard. “Fine. It was made for me anyway. As long as it pleased me, that’s all that matters. Why make such a scene? This one is gone. Just go and embroider a new one.” I trembled with rage, forcing back the tears that pricked my eyes. I choked back the lump in my throat and stared at him, my voice clipped. “Who told you… this veil was embroidered for you?” He froze. After a moment of hesitation, the flicker of guilt on his face was replaced by mockery. “So you’ve learned to play hard to get, Seraphina. The royal decree is imminent. Can’t you just behave? It’s just one veil. On our wedding day, you’ll still be begging me to lift it. Must you act as if this is the end of the world?” I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm in my chest. I turned, took the bow and arrow from a nearby guard, and in one swift motion, drew the string taut. With a whoosh, the arrow shrieked through the air. At almost the same instant, the kite dancing in the sky ripped apart. With the sound of a blade tearing through silk, the crimson veil was utterly destroyed. The Prince stared at me in disbelief, too shocked to speak. Gladys, beside him, shrieked and buried her face in his chest as if terrified. In the nearly frozen air, I stared at him, my face devoid of all expression. “Between you and I, Your Highness, we are like this silk. Severed and broken.” Without another word, I threw down the bow and turned to leave. Behind me, I heard Gladys’s tearful voice. “Your Highness, it’s all my fault. I thought sister would be happy to see you had turned her heartfelt gift into a kite… I didn’t realize… She seems so angry. Should you go and console her?” I felt a burning gaze locked on my back. After a brief silence, I heard a man’s hoarse, irritated voice. “Let her be. She’ll get over it once we’re married.”

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“Mr. Hawthorne, are you ready to sign?” Adrian Hawthorne stared blankly at the grand, echoing hall of City Hall. The clerk’s impatient voice finally pierced the fog in his mind, and the reality of the situation crashed down on him. He was reborn. And not just reborn—reborn on the very day he was supposed to marry Ella Sterling. He vividly remembered the last time, a lifetime ago. Joy had been a frantic pulse in his veins, waking him at dawn, compelling him to drag an impassive Ella here, impatient and eager, to be first in line. But now, his fingers traced the edges of the marriage certificate, his face a mask devoid of any happiness. The Sterlings were the premier family of New York City, a dynasty built on iron-clad rules and suffocating etiquette. As the heiress, Ella needed a husband who would be her unshakable support—a man who was gentle, devoted, and willing to orbit entirely around her and the Sterling empire, a man who would handle her every worry so she wouldn’t have to. So, in his previous life, to be that perfect husband, he had thrown it all away. He abandoned his career, his ambitions, his very self. He resigned from his post, managed the household, and sacrificed his entire existence for her. He hadn’t even reached fifty before the years of thankless toil had left him riddled with illness. It was during those last, agonizing days, confined to his bed, that he found the love letters she had written to his younger brother, Leo. “You are a free bird, meant to soar in the endless blue sky. Because I love you, I could never bear to see you caged.” “Your brother bears a striking resemblance to you. Every time I look at his face, I can numb myself and pretend it’s you I’m spending my life with. I’ll let him handle the children, the elders, the household chores. I only want you to be happy, free, and to live every day in brilliant splendor.” In that single, soul-crushing moment, he understood. Ella, the woman he had grown old with, had been in love with his brother, Leo Hawthorne, all along. Marrying him had been nothing more than a calculated means to an end. The truth shattered him. When his son found out, he rushed home not with comfort, but with a face alight with glee, eagerly pleading with him from his bedside. “Dad, since Mom’s always been in love with Uncle Leo, you should just divorce her already.” “You’ve never been his equal, not for a single day. Uncle Leo is a diplomat, a man of the world, and you… you’re just a stay-at-home husband. You’re not worthy of her. You’ve kept the family running smoothly all these years, so Uncle Leo never had to worry about a thing. Now they can finally be together. Why don’t you just let go and give them your blessing?” The rage and despair were a final, fatal blow. His world went black. When he opened his eyes again, he was here. Back at City Hall, on this very day. Love yourself before you love anyone else. This time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake. Just as he was about to speak, the phone in Ella’s clutch rang. It was Leo. The name on the screen transformed her icy expression into one of sudden, melting tenderness. She stepped away to take the call. He couldn’t hear what was said, but a minute later, she walked back, her tone clipped and businesslike. “Adrian, your brother sprained his ankle. As his future sister-in-law, I should go check on him. You can sign the papers and head home by yourself.” She didn’t wait for a reply, already striding toward the exit. Her assistant scurried after her. “Ms. Sterling, the board meeting is about to start! That contract is worth billions, you can’t—” “Cancel it.” With that, Ella floored the accelerator, and her car vanished into the stream of city traffic. Watching her disappear without a backward glance, Adrian felt only a chilling sorrow and a sharp, cutting irony. In his past life, his eyes and heart had been filled with nothing but Ella. He never knew that her eyes and heart had been filled with nothing but Leo. How had he been so blind to such an obvious devotion? He had wasted his entire life. At the counter, the clerk tapped on the glass partition. “Mr. Hawthorne, are you going to sign this or not?” A faint smile touched Adrian’s lips, but it never reached his eyes. “I am.” He picked up the pen. On the application form, where the groom’s name should be, he deliberately, stroke by stroke, wrote three words: Leo Hawthorne. Then, he took the family registry and handed over the page belonging to his brother. Ella, you love him so much. Then I’ll grant you your wish. Walking out of City Hall, he glanced at the marriage certificate in his hand and a genuine, sharp smirk tugged at his lips. Bride: Ella Sterling. Groom: Leo Hawthorne. He wondered what expression Ella would wear when she finally saw these documents. Just as he tucked the certificate into his briefcase, his phone buzzed. He answered, and the regret-tinged voice of his Director at the State Department came through the line. “Adrian, my boy, are you absolutely certain about resigning? The people in this department are one in a million, and you’re one of the brightest I’ve ever seen. Your potential is limitless. We have an overseas post opening up, and I was planning on giving it to you, but then you hand me your resignation.” “I know family is important to you, but I just have to say…” Before the Director could finish, Adrian’s voice cut through, firm and clear. “Director, my apologies. I was foolish before. I’m not resigning. I’ll take the overseas post.” In his last life, the moment he resigned, that very same overseas assignment had been handed to Leo. He had naively believed that sacrificing his dreams for love would earn him Ella’s devotion in return. Instead, he was imprisoned in the Sterling mansion for the rest of his days, his talent and spirit withering like a flower cut from its stem. Meanwhile, Leo, stationed abroad, had become a star, an icon for students and a source of national pride. This life, he would not be shackled by love. He would not sacrifice himself for Ella Sterling again. From this day forward, he would live for himself. He would live his own brilliant life. The Director on the other end of the line was stunned into silence for a moment, then his voice erupted with excitement and joy. “Excellent! That’s just excellent! I’ll submit your name immediately. Adrian, you can take a few days off. Prepare yourself at home. You’ll be departing in two weeks.” Adrian paused. Two weeks? That was the day of his… no. It was the day of Leo and Ella’s wedding. He smiled. “Understood.” Then he hung up. With those two monumental tasks completed, a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. He hailed a cab and headed for the Sterling residence. Outside the gates of the Sterling mansion, Adrian keyed in the code. As the door swung open, a concerned voice drifted from inside. “Sera, are you sure it was okay to leave my brother at City Hall all alone for me? That doesn’t seem right…” Ella was kneeling, gently massaging Leo’s ankle. Her usually cold voice was laced with a tenderness Adrian had never heard directed at him. “Don’t be silly. Your brother is always so understanding. He won’t be angry over something so small. That’s precisely why I agreed to marry him.” Standing in the doorway, Adrian let out a bitter, silent laugh. Understanding? Oh, yes. He was incredibly understanding. So understanding that this time, he’d arranged for her to marry the man she truly loved. He walked in without a word. Hearing his footsteps, Ella quickly withdrew her hands and stood up. She placed a tube of ointment on the coffee table. “You’re back,” she said, her voice a flat statement. “Leo twisted his ankle, so I was helping him with it. He’s having trouble walking, so he’ll be staying with us for a few days.” Adrian offered a placid smile. “Of course. I understand. Given your new relationship, that’s the least you could do. And as for him staying here, it’s perfectly appropriate.” The words sounded right, but they hung in the air with a strange, double-edged meaning. Before she could probe further, Leo grinned and slung an arm over Adrian’s shoulder. “Thanks for having me, bro. I even brought you a gift from my trip.” He brandished a designer shopping bag. “No offense, but you’re still young. Why do you always dress like an old man? I got you some stuff from Europe.” Adrian glanced down at his own attire—a simple, tailored black and white suit. It wasn’t flashy, but it was respectable, perfectly suited for his role as the son-in-law of the Sterling family. He was young, too. He used to love vibrant colors. But for the sake of a “respectable” image in his past life, he had let his youth fade to gray. Seeing Adrian’s downcast gaze, Leo assumed his words had hit their mark, and the smile on his face widened. “Go on, bro, try them on. You can wear them to work tomorrow.” This time, before Adrian could respond, Ella spoke up. “Leo, Adrian has already resigned. He’ll be a stay-at-home husband from now on. Those clothes aren’t suitable for him. They’d look better on you. You should keep them.” At her words, Leo’s eyes lit up. “Bro, you really quit?” The undisguised triumph and excitement in his voice caught Adrian off guard for a second. He knew exactly why Leo was so thrilled. In their past life, they had attended the same university, majored in the same subject, and even joined the State Department together. Yet Adrian had always managed to outperform him, to be one step ahead. Now that he had voluntarily stepped down, how could Leo not be ecstatic? Adrian said nothing, his silence allowing their assumptions to fester. Leo took his silence as confirmation and couldn’t contain his joy. A grin spread across his face as he tugged on Ella’s sleeve. “We’ve been talking for a while, Sera. I’m getting hungry. When’s dinner?” Ella immediately turned to Adrian. “It’s getting late. You should start cooking. And remember, Leo doesn’t eat onions or cilantro, so make sure not to add any.” It was a command spoken from habit, one Adrian had heard countless times before. But this was the first time it sounded so grating. In the past, he would have been in the kitchen before she even finished her sentence. But slaving away over a hot stove was predicated on one thing: his love for her. Now that his love was dead, his willingness to serve her had died with it. He looked up at the woman before him. “I’m not feeling well. Have one of the maids do it.” Ella’s brow furrowed slightly. “Adrian, you know I can only eat your cooking.” Habit. A bitter taste filled Adrian’s mouth. Yes, a habit he had painstakingly created. After learning about her frequent stomachaches and picky eating, he had spent countless hours researching recipes and mastering dishes that were gentle on her stomach. He had cured her ailment, but in doing so, had made her palate so discerning that even Michelin-starred chefs couldn’t satisfy her. She only wanted his food. He forced a thin smile. “You should get used to it. What if I’m not around someday?” She didn’t grasp his meaning. “Not around? Where would you be going?” Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Leo stepped in to play peacemaker. “Hey, how about I cook?” “No!” Ella’s rejection was instantaneous and sharp. “A man of your standing shouldn’t be in the kitchen. How could you be around all that grease and smoke?” Leo looked momentarily taken aback by her fierce protectiveness, then a smug smile played on his lips. Adrian, however, could only offer a grimace. Ignoring their tender moment, he threw a final sentence over his shoulder as he headed to his room. “Well, I’m not doing it.” The evening ended with Ella taking Leo out to a fancy restaurant. She seemed not to have noticed his strange behavior, or perhaps she just didn’t care. After all, she was utterly convinced of his undying love, certain he would never leave her. She probably assumed he was just sulking because she’d abandoned him at City Hall. So, the next day, in a rare gesture, she cleared her schedule to take him for his wedding suit fitting. The entire floor of the haute couture salon had been cleared for them. Twenty bespoke, handcrafted suits hung on gilded racks. When the curtain of the fitting room was drawn back, Adrian stood bathed in the glow of a crystal chandelier. He wore a stunning, ink-black, peak-lapel three-piece suit. Silver thread embroidered a delicate vine that crept from his shoulder to his waist, and a rose crafted from deep red jewels bloomed over his heart. The boutique staff gasped in awe. Standing to the side, a flicker of envy, swift and sharp, crossed Leo’s eyes. He stepped forward, circling Adrian. “Wow, bro, that suit is incredible. I almost want to try it on myself.” Adrian looked at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. “If you want to, then you should.” The staff, knowing it was bad luck for someone else to try on the groom’s suit, tried to intervene. But Adrian was insistent, his gaze fixed not on them, but on Ella. When he had first emerged in the suit, her expression had been placid, unmoved. But now, at the prospect of Leo trying it on, a flicker of light entered her cool eyes. A deep, unspoken longing. He understood. In her heart, she was marrying the wrong man, but she desperately wanted to see the man she loved dressed as a groom. The curtain was drawn again. When it reopened, Leo stood there, wearing the exact same suit. “Bro, this suit is amazing, but it just doesn’t look right on me.” He stood before the mirror, complaining that it was a bit too large, that it didn’t fit him properly. Adrian just smiled. He turned to the head tailor. “Please alter this suit. To his measurements.” The statement stunned everyone. Not just Leo, but even Ella, whose gaze had been glued to his brother, finally snapped back to reality. “What do you mean by that?” Adrian’s smile was infuriatingly calm. “Nothing. The wedding is still a few days away. I was thinking of losing a little weight.” He was lying. Thanks to his little switch at City Hall, the groom on the marriage certificate was now Leo. This wedding, therefore, was Leo’s. And the suit, naturally, had to be tailored for him. Later, when they were choosing the rings, Adrian bypassed the display and handed a massive, ten-carat diamond ring directly to Leo. “Try this on.” He showed no interest in what he himself liked, only asking Leo for his opinion. Once he saw that Leo loved it and that the size was right, he ordered that one. It was the same story with the shoes. This string of bizarre actions finally made Ella realize something was deeply wrong. As they left the shopping center, she was about to confront him, but Leo tugged on her sleeve. “Sera, I’m craving some mango ice cream.” As always, Leo’s needs took precedence. Ella swallowed her questions and turned to go. She returned moments later with two mango-flavored ice cream cones. When she offered one to Adrian, he didn’t take it. “I’m allergic to mango.” A flash of embarrassment crossed Ella’s face. “I’m sorry. I’ll go get you another one.” As her back receded into the crowd, Leo held up his ice cream, his expression a mask of smug triumph. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you, bro? That I’m the one she’s always loved. Why else would she remember my favorite flavor but forget you’re deathly allergic?” The taunt landed, but Adrian’s face remained a placid lake. This lack of reaction clearly irritated Leo. He stepped closer, his voice turning venomous. “I could never beat you at anything, my entire life. But this? In this, I’ve won. Completely.” He leaned in, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, Adrian. How does it feel? To know the woman you’ve loved for so long only has eyes for me? I’m ecstatic. You’ve always been the one on top, but now, finally, I get to watch you suffer.” A twisted, poisonous smile spread across Leo’s face, a serpent’s grin that sent a shiver of dread down Adrian’s spine. Before he could react, Leo gave him a violent shove. The world tilted. Sky and ground swapped places. Adrian’s body felt weightless as he plunged backward down the stone steps. In a desperate, reflexive move, he shot his hand out and grabbed onto Leo. THUD. CRACK. Two heavy impacts echoed as they both tumbled down the stairs. Adrian felt as if every bone in his body had been rattled loose. As he tried to push himself up, a violent, cramping pain exploded in his lower abdomen. A warm gush of fluid spread beneath him. He looked down, his hand trembling. It was blood. So much blood. His mind went white. Beside him, Leo had already started crying out in pain. “Leo!” From a distance, Ella saw the scene. The ice cream cones dropped from her hands, splattering on the pavement. Two men had fallen, but she ran to only one. She rushed to Leo’s side, her face a mask of panic, and helped him into the car, speeding off toward the hospital. From beginning to end, she never once glanced at Adrian, lying in a spreading pool of his own blood. As if on cue, the heavens turned against him. Dark clouds gathered and a sudden downpour began, the rain washing away the blood, mingling with it in crimson streams that flowed into the gutter. The pain in his abdomen was a sharp, relentless drill. His strength gave out, and as his consciousness faded, the world dissolved into blackness. When he woke up, he was in a hospital. A kind stranger, he learned, had called an ambulance for him. Ella, consumed with worry for the injured Leo, had probably never even realized he had fallen too. Or perhaps, she had seen, and simply hadn’t cared. He wasn’t the one she cherished, after all. It didn’t matter. The marriage certificate now legally bound her to Leo. His face was pale as he tried to get up to handle his discharge papers. Just then, the door opened and a doctor walked in, holding a report. “Mr. Hawthorne, that was a nasty fall. You’re lucky you were brought in so quickly. Any later, and we might not have been able to save your reproductive function.” The words buzzed in his ears like a swarm of angry hornets. How could he have forgotten? In his past life, he had taken the same fall. Back then, terrified he wouldn’t be able to have a child with Ella—a living symbol of their love—he had vowed to be the best father imaginable, to pour all his love into that child. And in the end, how had that precious son repaid him? By begging him on his deathbed to divorce his mother, to make way for her and Leo. A humorless smile twisted his lips. “Doctor,” he said, his voice firm. “I don’t want it. The ability to have children. Please, schedule the surgery.” The doctor looked surprised but didn’t press the issue. He simply handed Adrian a consent form for a vasectomy. “Before the procedure, we’ll need a signature from your legal next of kin.” That evening, Adrian returned to the Sterling mansion with the consent form. Ella was in the kitchen, a place she never entered, awkwardly trying to make soup for Leo, who had a minor fracture. She glanced up when Adrian walked in, a single, dismissive look that held no concern for his own injuries. He gave a sad, inward smile. He folded the paper to conceal most of its contents, then handed it to her. “Ella, the wedding planner called. The venue is almost ready. They just need your signature on this final approval form.” Ella, flustered by her unfamiliar kitchen duties and anxious to get back to Leo, waved a dismissive hand. “You can handle these things from now on.” Without even looking at the document, she snatched a pen and hastily scrawled her name across the bottom of the vasectomy consent form. The very next day, Adrian took the signed form and, without a moment’s hesitation, underwent the procedure. The surgery left him weak, forcing him to stay in the hospital for a few days to recover. During that time, his social media feed was a constant stream of Leo’s posts, all featuring Ella. Ella, who hated having her picture taken, was now smiling in countless selfies with Leo. Ella, who never set foot in amusement parks, was now a VIP pass holder at every theme park in the city with Leo. Ella, who would never touch street food, was now sitting on a tiny stool in a designer gown, eating grilled skewers with Leo. All the things she had refused to do with him, she was now doing with Leo. Leo even posted a special dedication: “So lucky to have such an amazing sister-in-law.” And beneath it, a single, silent “like” from Ella. Adrian closed his eyes and set his phone face down on the bedside table. It didn’t matter. He would be leaving soon. On the day of the Sterling family banquet, Adrian saw Ella again. And Leo, clinging to her arm. After their last confrontation, Leo had dropped all pretense of civility. And Ella, who claimed to see Leo as “just a brother,” seemed perfectly content with the arrangement. Adrian ignored them and walked straight into the house. But as soon as he entered the living room, a sharp voice cut through the air. “It’s been only a few days, and you’ve already forgotten your manners!” Adrian looked up to see Ella’s mother, Mrs. Sterling, glaring at him with icy disdain. His heart sank. The Sterlings were obsessed with propriety, and Mrs. Sterling was particularly vicious. She had never approved of him, her future son-in-law. Every time he visited, she found some new excuse to punish him, all under the guise of “teaching him the rules.” As expected, she immediately found fault. “Look at you! And how dare you walk ahead of Ella?” Adrian’s hands, hanging by his sides, clenched into fists. In his past life, to keep the peace and spare Ella any trouble, he had tolerated Mrs. Sterling’s every cruelty. No matter how insulting her words, he endured them. No matter how many ridiculous rules she imposed, he obeyed them. But he was done tolerating. After all, he wasn’t her son-in-law anymore. He ignored her and turned to head upstairs. “Have you no respect? Did you not hear me speaking to you!” Mrs. Sterling slammed her hand on the table. “Someone, bring the tea! He needs to be taught a lesson!” When Ella and Leo entered, they saw the maids forcing Adrian to his knees. Ella took one look and knew her mother was displeased with him. She said nothing, simply guiding Leo to a seat on the sofa. The sight sent a chill through Adrian’s heart. Past life or this one, she would never stand up for him. Scalding hot tea was poured into the cup he was forced to hold with both hands. It quickly overflowed, cascading over the rim and onto his skin. The pale flesh instantly turned an angry, blotchy red, blisters already beginning to form. A searing pain shot through him, and he instinctively tried to drop the cup. But a maid’s hand held his own in a vise-like grip. “Ah!” A pained cry—but it came from Leo. “That’s horrifying!” Mrs. Sterling’s expression changed instantly, her voice filled with concern. “What are you waiting for? Get Leo out of here! Do you want to frighten him?” Ella immediately covered Leo’s eyes and led him out, cooing softly, “It’s alright, don’t be scared. Mother is just teaching him some manners. It has nothing to do with you.” Only when the teapot was empty did the maid release Adrian’s hands. CRASH! The teacup slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor. Mrs. Sterling didn’t even spare him a glance as she stood up and walked away. Adrian looked at his scalded hands and gave a bitter smile. By the time he had treated his burns and made his way to the dining room, Ella, Leo, and Mrs. Sterling were already well into their meal. Mrs. Sterling was lovingly placing food on Leo’s plate, urging him to eat more. Leo nodded happily. Mrs. Sterling watched him with adoration. “If only you were my son-in-law,” she sighed. The words hung in the air, and everyone’s expression shifted. Ella finally spoke, her voice low and firm. “Mother, Adrian is still here.” But Mrs. Sterling paid her no mind, shooting a dismissive glare at Adrian, who stood silently by the wall. If Ella’s affection for Leo was a subtle, hidden current, Mrs. Sterling’s was a roaring, public declaration. She had said it countless times: she wished Leo were her son-in-law. If Ella hadn’t insisted on marrying Adrian, Mrs. Sterling would have had her wish long ago. For a fleeting moment, Adrian was tempted to tell her the truth—that Leo was now her son-in-law. But before he could speak, Mrs. Sterling’s cold voice cut him off. “What are you standing there for? Get over here and serve us!” Yes, serving the food. Another one of Mrs. Sterling’s “rules” for him. At every meal, he was expected to stand by and peel shrimp, debone fish, and attend to their every need. By the time he was allowed to eat, only scraps and cold leftovers remained. Adrian glanced at Leo, who was looking at him with a triumphant smirk. “Perhaps my brother should learn as well?” he suggested suddenly. After all, this time, it was Leo marrying into the Sterling family. The smile froze on Leo’s face. “He will never have to learn these things,” Ella said coolly, placing a peeled shrimp into Leo’s bowl. Adrian lowered his gaze, hiding the irony in his eyes. You’re wrong, Ella. In seven days, he will be your groom. After dinner, Leo started glancing at his phone incessantly. Ella leaned in, her voice a soft murmur of concern. “I almost forgot, I have concert tickets. But if I leave now, will your mother be upset?” “It’s fine, I’ll go with you,” Ella whispered back. She then stood up and addressed her mother. “Mom, I have some urgent work to take care of at the office. We have to go.” Mrs. Sterling, suspecting nothing, waved them off. Ella shot Leo a look, and he quickly stood up to say his goodbyes. In a moment, they were gone. Only Adrian, who had heard everything, was left with a hollow feeling of self-mockery. He had spent a lifetime with her, and all he ever heard about was her work. He never knew she went to concerts. He never knew she would lie to her own mother for Leo. It seemed her life as a Sterling daughter-in-law would go quite smoothly after all. With Ella gone, Adrian had no reason to stay. He turned and walked out, ignoring Mrs. Sterling’s angry shouts and the sound of another teacup shattering behind him. Mrs. Sterling despised him, so there was no car to take him home. Ella, of course, wouldn’t be coming for him. The mansion was in an exclusive, secluded area where cabs were nonexistent. So, Adrian walked. It took him three hours to get back. His heels were raw and blistered. He treated his own wounds and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Ella and Leo didn’t return until the next day. Leo was still wearing a light-up headband from the concert, his face beaming with joy. Ella walked over to Adrian and placed several different invitation samples on the table in front of him. “See if there’s a style you like.” Adrian didn’t answer. He randomly pointed to one and looked at Leo. “Do you like this one?” Leo, confused but obliging, nodded. “Yeah, it’s nice.” Adrian grunted his approval, pulled that invitation out, and handed it to Ella. “This one, then.” Ella didn’t take it. Her eyes narrowed, her gaze hardening. Why? Why does he always ask Leo? The suit, the ring, the shoes, the venue, and now even the invitations. He consulted Leo on everything. It was as if Leo were the groom, and Adrian was simply preparing to step aside. The thought had no sooner formed than she dismissed it. Adrian loved her too much. He would never hand her over to someone else. Once the invitation style was settled, Adrian volunteered to write them all out himself. His reason was sound enough. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime wedding. The invitations should be handwritten to be meaningful.” “There are over three thousand of them. Are you sure?” Ella felt she was understanding his bizarre behavior less and less. “I’m sure.” That night, Adrian sat at his desk, meticulously writing out the invitations. The main text was already printed. All he had to do was fill in the guest’s name, and the names of the bride and groom. His focus was absolute. Stroke by stroke, in the “Bride” section, he wrote: Ella Sterling. And then, in the “Groom” section, he wrote: Leo Hawthorne. In his past life, he had done the exact same thing, his heart filled with hopeful dreams of a happy future with Ella. But that marriage had brought him nothing but a lifetime of bitterness. Ella spent most of her time with Leo. A single phone call from his brother, and she would drop everything and leave him without a second thought. Even at home, she was constantly on the phone with him. He had fought with her, argued with her, but her only defense was always the same hollow excuse: “I only see him as a brother.” He never understood why she married him if she didn’t love him. Not until he was on his deathbed and read that letter. The regrets and sorrows of his past life were finally being severed by his own hand. Three days before the wedding, Adrian and Ella were on a private yacht for the final rehearsal. Usually, it was just the two of them. This time, Adrian insisted on bringing Leo along. After the rehearsal, Adrian went out on deck to feel the sea breeze. The weather was gloomy, the ocean a dark, churning gray. He disliked it. As he was about to head back inside, Leo’s voice came from behind him. “Adrian, what the hell have you been playing at lately? Why did you even drag me to the wedding rehearsal? Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your bride?” A wry smile touched Adrian’s lips. “Why would you need to steal her? She’s already yours.” Leo’s confusion turned to anger. He grabbed Adrian’s arm, demanding an explanation. Adrian scowled and tried to pull away. Just then, the weather took a violent turn. A furious gust of wind slammed a monstrous wave against the yacht. Thrown off balance, they stumbled in their struggle. And together, they plunged into the sea.

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My wife melted my parents’ gold memorial busts and gave the gold to a college student she sponsored. He posed with the gold bars, flashing a finger heart and a sickly sweet smile: “Got a golden gift! Kisses to my favorite angel investor~” I called Catherine, my voice icy. “You melted my parents’ memorials. Explain.” She replied flatly, “They’ve been dead for decades. The gold was better spent on Leo’s research than wasted on the dead.” I clenched the phone. “Return their ashes in ten minutes.” She scoffed. “That trash? I threw it out.” Ten minutes later, police arrested Leo for grand larceny, and he was expelled. Meanwhile, Cross Group’s stock crashed, wiping out billions. If she wanted to cross every line, I’d play her game—my way. 1 When my security team dragged Leo out, his handsome face was already a bruised, swollen mess, a smear of crimson staining the corner of his mouth. His bloodied fingers were still desperately clutching the last gold bar to his chest. The next second, my leather shoe ground down on his trembling hand. Taking the gold bar from my bodyguard, I studied the audacious college kid before me. “Adrian Blackwood! What the hell is wrong with you?” he howled, his eyes spitting defiance even as his body trembled uncontrollably. A choked scream escaped him. I crouched down, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me. The venomous hatred in his eyes was crystal clear. “Catherine gave these to me! What right do you have to take them?” he shrieked, struggling against my grip. A faint, tell-tale love bite was still visible on his throat. I tapped his pale cheek with the corner of the gold bar. “Yours?” I asked, my voice deceptively calm. “It seems Catherine forgot to mention who the real owner of these gold bars is.” The blood-streaked ingot landed in the safe with a heavy thud, the sound making him flinch. He still didn’t seem to understand that some things can’t be acquired just by being young and handsome. Things like this pile of gold. Things like… Catherine. Leo’s gaze faltered for a moment, but he quickly tilted his chin up again. “Catherine said she was giving them to me, so they’re mine! She always keeps her word!” he declared. “You just wait. She’ll make you pay for this!” I instantly lost interest. Wasting my breath on- a low-life fool like this was pointless. I turned away from him and gave a cold command to my bodyguards. “Take him downstairs. It’s time he sobered up.” They moved at once, seizing Leo without a word. “What are you doing? Get off me!” Leo yelled, his struggles futile. “Catherine! Help me!” My men remained impassive as they delivered another round of brutal punches and kicks. Before he could even process the pain, one of them grabbed him by the hair and dragged him before me like a sack of dead weight, forcing him to his knees. His face was ashen, no different from a cornered sewer rat. All the smug swagger from his social media post had vanished. “Stop!” A familiar female voice cut through the air. Catherine was rushing toward us, her stilettos clicking furiously on the pavement. Her perfectly applied makeup couldn’t hide the panic and rage on her face. She carefully helped Leo to his feet, then spun to face me, her eyes blazing. “Adrian, are you insane?” she seethed. “It’s just a pile of gold! You’re not short on cash. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” A pile of gold? That “pile of gold” contained the remains of my parents. She had desecrated their remains, and now she had the audacity to call me petty? It seemed lust had truly rotted her brain. I didn’t mind reminding her of a few things. “Catherine, it seems I’ve been far too lenient with you. You knew exactly what was inside those memorials, yet you dared to give them away,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You’ve completely forgotten my rules.” My tone was even, but Catherine’s face instantly went pale. Yet Leo, the fool, was still running his mouth. “What woman doesn’t love a handsome, caring guy?” he sneered. “You’re just pissed that Catherine likes me. You’re jealous!” My gaze turned glacial as I looked at Catherine. “You know what I’m capable of. Do I need to remind you again?” “The ashes,” Catherine stammered, her face tight with a fear I knew well. “I’ll return them to you immediately.” There was a story she knew. A cocky trust-fund kid once mouthed off to me. The next day, his body was found at the bottom of a ravine. “Leo, apologize. Now,” she commanded, her fists clenched. “But Catherine—” “I said, apologize!” The reality of the situation finally seemed to dawn on Leo. The powerful woman he saw as his protector was nothing more than an ant in my eyes. He finally bowed his head, his voice a sullen mumble. “Mr. Blackwood, I’m… sorry.” I let out a cold laugh and climbed into the waiting Cayenne. Through the window, I saw Catherine gently tending to Leo’s wounds, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. The look of tender concern in her eyes was one she once reserved only for me. Five years ago, the Cross Group had gone bankrupt. Her parents, facing ruin and prosecution, had taken their own lives, leaving behind a mountain of debt. Catherine had waited for me for three days and nights in a blinding snowstorm, her tears freezing on her face. “Mr. Blackwood, I’ll give you everything I have. Just please, save me.” In that moment, she had moved me. Not just with her tenacity, but with her rare and desperate courage. I offered her a deal: marry me. She accepted without hesitation. In the five years since, I had poured my resources and energy into rebuilding the Cross Group, transforming it into an industry titan and placing it at the top of the financial world. Catherine, in turn, had grown from a timid, broken girl into a formidable powerhouse in the business world. I had believed our bond was unbreakable. Until today. Until she crossed the ultimate line for another man. 2 When I arrived home, the ceramic urns containing my parents’ ashes were sitting on my desk. My fingertips gently traced the cool, smooth surface. Ultimately, I sent the unfiled lawsuit documents to Catherine’s email. If she had any sense left, she’d know what to do. It was my final warning. Five years of marriage. I was willing to give her one last chance to choose. All she had to do was come to her senses, cut her losses, and get rid of that repulsive boy. Everything could go back to the way it was. But she seemed determined to walk straight off a cliff. The next morning, my assistant knocked frantically on my office door. “Mr. Blackwood, the board just appointed Leo as the new Chief Technology Officer…” I stared at the arrogant eyes in the resume photo, and a chill spread across my face. In his headshot, Leo wore an ill-fitting designer suit, a provocative smirk on his lips. His resume was even more brazen: Expelled in junior year of university. Zero work experience. Position sought: CTO. The absurdity was staggering. The previous CTO was a company veteran, a top talent in the industry whom I had personally headhunted with a massive salary. And now he was being replaced by this… waste of space? A cold smile touched my lips. “Notify the board,” I said, my voice sharp. “Effective immediately, Catherine Cross is no longer the CEO of the Cross Group.” My assistant hesitated. “Sir, if you act so decisively, Mrs. Blackwood will be furious…” “Just do it,” I cut him off. As I stepped out of my office, I could hear Leo’s voice booming down the hall. “So what if I got expelled? I’ve got Catherine in my corner! She’s all the backing I need!” Someone immediately chimed in with fawning agreement. “The last guy was one of Mr. Blackwood’s handpicked men, and she still fired him for you! That’s never happened before!” another voice added. “She dotes on you. You’d better take good care of her…” Leo chuckled. “Of course. What woman could resist a perfect man like me?” My steps faltered. The look in my eyes turned to ice. Noticing my change in demeanor, my assistant strode forward and sent Leo sprawling with a swift kick. “Where did this piece of trash crawl out from?” Leo scrambled to his feet, his face a mask of disbelief. “I’m with the CEO! Do you want me to have her fire you right now?” I walked slowly towards him, looking down from my full height. “The CEO, you say?” I drawled. “As long as I’m here, she calls none of the shots.” His face drained of all color. “Adrian Blackwood, what gives you the right?!” “The fact that I own 80% of the Cross Group’s shares.” His eyes burned with impotent rage, but all he could do was bite his lip and glare at me. Just then, Catherine rushed out of her office. “Adrian, what is the meaning of this?” “I should be asking you that,” I replied coolly. “The lawsuit I sent you yesterday. Were you blind, or are you intentionally defying me?” She bit her lip, softening her tone. “Darling, Leo is still so young. If he gets caught up in a lawsuit, what will happen to his future? He was just being impulsive, he didn’t mean what he said. Don’t hold it against him.” She reached for my arm, her eyes pleading. “There’s nothing going on between us, I swear. You have to believe me.” I pulled my arm away, a humorless smile on my face. “Catherine, you swore to me once that you would always listen to me. And now, for this… thing… you’re going to fight me?” Her face went white, her lips trembling as she struggled for words. I turned to my assistant. “Release a public statement. Leo is terminated, effective immediately,” I commanded, my voice sharp as a razor’s edge. “And let it be known that any company in this city that hires him is making an enemy of Adrian Blackwood.” Leo’s eyes suddenly welled with tears. He lifted his chin defiantly, his voice thick with emotion. “Catherine, it’s all my fault. I hate that I have no power, no way to stay by your side and protect you,” he choked out. “Since Mr. Blackwood dislikes me so much, I’ll leave right away. Please, don’t let me come between you…” Seeing Leo, with his tear-streaked face, still trying to “protect” her, was the final straw. Catherine snapped like a cornered animal. She spun around, shielding Leo behind her. “Adrian! Do you have to be so cruel?” I turned and walked toward the conference room without a backward glance, my voice as cold as ice. “I gave you a choice, Catherine.” 3 A week passed, and Leo was still parading around the company. Catherine seemed to be deliberately provoking me. Not only did she give Leo another promotion, but she also transferred 5% of the company’s shares to him. Since she was so insistent on challenging my authority, I saw no reason to show her any more mercy. At the auction, the room erupted in applause as I signed the final share transfer agreement. Just then, Catherine burst in, her face a thunderous mask of rage. “The Cross Group is my family’s company! What right do you have to auction off all the shares?” she demanded. “Adrian, is this still about those damn ashes? Are you that jealous? Haven’t you made enough of a scene?” She took a breath, her voice dropping to a low threat. “If you keep this up, don’t blame me when I walk away for good.” I slowly raised my eyes, the coldness in them deepening. It seemed that over the years, I had truly spoiled her. Spoiled her so much that she’d forgotten what lines should never be crossed. “Catherine, my patience has its limits.” My voice was quiet, but each word was a dagger. “I gave you plenty of chances. You’re the one who threw them away.” Leo, who had been trailing behind her, suddenly rushed forward and dropped to his knees in front of me, his voice choked with sobs. “Mr. Blackwood, you can look down on me, you can humiliate me, I can take it. I’m just a nobody with no background. But Catherine is your wife! How can you be so cruel to her?” He cried as if his heart was breaking, yet he kept his head held high, a perfect portrait of defiance against tyranny. What a masterful performance. His act ignited the room. Flashbulbs went off like fireworks, and reporters shoved their microphones in my face. “Mr. Blackwood, do you admit to using your power to bully others?” “Is it true, as the rumors say, that you view ordinary people as ants to be crushed?!” The scene descended into chaos. Amid the pandemonium, I caught a glimpse of Leo. His head was bowed, but a triumphant smirk played on his lips. My assistant immediately had security clear the room. As the last reporter was escorted out, the heavy doors of the conference room closed with a solid boom. I turned slowly, my gaze piercing Catherine. “Three strikes, Catherine. This is the last one.” “Make your choice. Cut all ties with him, and you can remain the CEO of the Cross Group. Or, you can take your pet and get out of my sight.” Catherine flinched, but then a raw hatred I had never seen before flared in her eyes. “Adrian, you think I’m afraid of you? I know all your dirty little secrets! If you dare to touch Leo again, I can’t guarantee what might slip out.” I laughed. This little woman, who once trembled in my arms, was now baring her fangs at me for a pretty boy. “Are you threatening me?” I tapped my fingers on the table, a contemptuous smile on my face. “Catherine, do you really think that scares me?” “You!” she sputtered, her chest heaving with rage. But under my cold, unyielding stare, she finally broke. Grabbing Leo’s hand, she fled the room. BAM! The heavy oak door slammed shut. The sound was like a sledgehammer, shattering the last remnants of our five-year relationship. Fine, Catherine. If you choose to burn everything down for him, then don’t blame me for being the one to light the match.

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My husband died suddenly. Then, his first love showed up at my door, pregnant and holding his will, ready to claim her inheritance. My daughter told me to stand up for myself, to fight the other woman to the bitter end. But my in-laws pulled me aside. “Just let her have it,” they said. “After all, she’s carrying our family’s bloodline. Our son did you wrong, we know, but the family line has to continue.” I nodded and agreed to their request. Ignoring my daughter’s protests, I packed our bags and moved us abroad. When my daughter raged at me for being a doormat, I remained silent. But when I received a call from a familiar number, a satisfied smile spread across my face… 1 The funeral was crowded. Beyond our friends and family, many of my husband Nathan’s colleagues and business partners had come to pay their respects. When they saw Lila, Nathan’s first love, arrive with a swollen belly and a will in her hand, their faces became a fascinating medley of shock, pity, and morbid curiosity. Many of them shot furtive glances my way but said nothing, seemingly waiting to see how I would react. It was clear they were all ready for a show. “Clara, I know Nathan and I have wronged you,” Lila began, her voice trembling for effect. “But… I’m having his child. I have to think about the baby’s future. I know this isn’t right, but this is the last gift Nathan left for me and our child. You can’t be so cruel as to take that away from us, can you?” “Oh, spare me!” my daughter, Chloe, exploded. “You shameless, homewrecking parasite! You snuck around with my father behind my mother’s back, and now you have the nerve to show up here, pregnant, demanding his money? I have never seen anyone as disgusting as you!” Her face was flushed with rage, the veins in her neck bulging. She looked like she wanted to tear Lila limb from limb. “Chloe! Where are your manners? I don’t recall your mother raising you to be such a shrew!” The sharp words came from my mother-in-law, Eleanor. She shot me a glare. “Is this how you raise your child?” “Grandma… she destroyed my parents’ relationship. She wrecked their marriage. And you not only refuse to help Mom, but you’re siding with an outsider to attack us? What are we to you?!” Chloe, usually so well-behaved, stood in front of me like a fierce mother bird protecting her nest. The sight moved me deeply, but also filled me with a pang of shame. Eleanor was momentarily stunned by Chloe’s outburst, then her face contorted with fury. “Insolence! Utter insolence! A little girl daring to lecture her elders? The adults in this family are still alive, so it’s not your place to speak!” She then turned her venom on me. “I always said having a daughter was useless!” My father-in-law, George, stepped forward. “This is a conversation for adults. Children should stay out of it. If you don’t learn to be quiet, don’t blame me for teaching you a lesson!” He finished with a hard stare at Chloe. His gaze then shifted from Lila to me. “Clara, I know you’ve been a part of this family for thirteen years. We’ve seen the kind of person you are, and we’ve always considered you one of us. I hope you can try to see things from our perspective.” Hearing his words, I asked calmly, “And what is that?” “Well…” George hesitated, then pressed on. “Lila told us… the baby is a boy. Our family has only had one son for generations. We want her to have this child. But now that Nathan is gone, it will be hard for her to raise him alone. We hope you won’t fight her for the inheritance.” Eleanor immediately chimed in. “Just let her have it. She’s carrying our family’s bloodline. Our son did you wrong, we know, but the family line has to continue.” My daughter spoke before I could. “So I’m not his child? Am I not his legacy? What am I in your eyes?” Her eyes, red-rimmed, were fixed on her grandparents, her voice trembling. I knew my in-laws never truly valued my daughter, but I never imagined they would say such things to her face. I realized then that all the affection they’d ever shown her had been a performance. In their hearts, a granddaughter meant nothing. Hearing Chloe’s question, Eleanor dropped the act. “I never said you weren’t his child. But… you’re a girl. How can a girl carry on the Thorne family name? After all the love your father showed you over the years, you won’t even do this one thing for him? You’re a disgrace!” George’s face was grim. “We are speaking to your mother. A child should not interrupt!” He looked back at me. “Clara, for the sake of the years we’ve been family, I hope you’ll understand.” I looked at them, my voice flat. “So, you knew about my husband and Lila all along?” My question hung in the air. Both of them froze, their faces a mask of awkwardness as they exchanged guilty glances. Seeing this, Chloe’s expression turned to one of pure disgust. “Grandma, Grandpa, I can’t believe I respected you. You were always lecturing me about honor and decency, but it turns out… you’re both just as shameless as she is!” “You wretched girl, what did you just say?! Are you tired of living?!” Eleanor shrieked and lunged for Chloe, but I pulled my daughter behind me. “Why would you hit her? Was she wrong?” I asked, my voice ice-cold. Eleanor glared at me, then at Chloe hiding behind me. She let out a cold snort. “Fine. I see how it is. My son is gone, so now you two think you can disrespect your elders, that I mean nothing to you?” She threw herself dramatically in front of Nathan’s memorial portrait. “Oh, my son! You left us too soon! Now your wife and daughter are ganging up on us poor old people! They won’t listen to a word we say! All we wanted was to ensure your legacy lives on through Lila’s child… why can’t they understand our simple wish?” The guests watched her histrionics with varying expressions. Some looked disgusted, others nodded in agreement, and a few, sensing high drama, pulled out their phones to record. Eleanor’s sobs were gut-wrenching, a truly pathetic performance. George took his cue and approached me, his voice heavy with false sincerity. “Clara, I know our family has wronged you, but… we truly want to continue the Thorne family line. And we need Nathan’s estate to raise the child. Please, agree to our request.” “Mom! Don’t listen to them!” Chloe squeezed my hand tightly, trying to give me strength. Seeing my daughter trying so hard to protect me, tears welled in my eyes. I reached out and stroked her hair. “It’s okay, sweetie. Let Mom handle this. I’ve already made my decision.” 2 At my words, Chloe nodded obediently. I looked at my in-laws, then at Lila. “It’s the company Nathan left behind that you want, isn’t it?” “Lila used to work there,” Eleanor said. “She knows how to run it. And let’s be honest, even if you and Nathan started it together, you quit after you got married. The company… it’s really my son’s personal property.” I stared at her. “You even know that? So you’ve known about their affair for a long time? You all conspired with Nathan to hide it from me? By the way, why haven’t you mentioned the other house Nathan owned? Oh, that’s right, it’s registered in your names. I suppose you had that all planned out, too?” Eleanor coughed, her face flushed with embarrassment, and said no more. Lila looked away guiltily and gestured to her lawyer. “You go talk to her.” The lawyer, though visibly uncomfortable, stepped forward. “Ms. Thorne, we have a document here. If you are willing to voluntarily relinquish your claim, you can sign this agreement, which states you will not pursue this matter any further.” I looked at them all and nodded. “Fine. If this is what you want, I agree.” “Mom!!!” Chloe stared at me in disbelief. The crowd of onlookers gasped in surprise. My in-laws’ faces lit up with joy. “Really?!” Eleanor chirped. “You can’t go back on your word!” Lila and her lawyer also looked astonished, but their surprise quickly turned to suspicion, as if they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. “What are your terms?” Lila asked. I nodded. “Of course, I have terms. From this day forward, I and the Thorne family are finished. My daughter as well. You will never contact us again.” I turned to Chloe, seeking her approval. “You’ll come live with me, right? Okay?” Chloe looked at me with a heart-wrenching mix of anger and disappointment. “Mom, of course I’ll live with you, but… but we can’t just let that homewrecker have Dad’s money! Please, don’t be so weak! Toughen up! I’d rather we starve together than let them get away with this! If we’re going down, we should take them with us!” Her words enraged Eleanor again. “You little brat, you say that one more time! I told you girls were useless! All they do is cause trouble for their own family!” Looking at my daughter, I saw a reflection of my younger self—kind, impulsive, unable to keep anything bottled up. I felt both proud and deeply sorry. “Chloe, please, just do this for me, okay? Your father stopped loving us a long time ago. He even planned his will to leave everything to his first love, without a thought for us… and your grandparents are the same. Why should we cling to the inheritance of a man like that?” Chloe’s eyes were red. “Mom, even if you think his money is tainted, we should donate it to charity before we let her have it! Please, don’t be so foolish!” “You insolent child!” George raised his cane to strike my daughter, but I stepped in front of her. CRACK! The cane hit my back with such force that I winced, a sharp, biting pain shooting through me. It was clear he had no intention of sparing his own granddaughter. “You…” George stared at me, shocked. “You’ve hit me, you’ve cursed me. All you want is Nathan’s company, right? I’m giving it to you, isn’t that enough?” I sobbed. “Nathan betrayed me, you all helped him hide it, and now that he’s dead, you’re ganging up on a grieving widow and her child… Can’t you just let us go in peace?” I turned to the uneasy lawyer. “I’ll sign the agreement.”

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The night before our engagement party, my fiancé came home not with my gown, but with a plain, simple dress. “Wear this instead,” he said. I took it and put it away. A moment later, I was scrolling through his childhood friend’s social media. She had posted a photo of herself in the very gown that had been replaced, along with a caption: “All I did was look at it once, and he gave it to me. Someone’s a little too in love with me~” “And tomorrow, he’s insisting on coming to my dog’s birthday party. Said anything unimportant can just be postponed.” Right on cue, a message from my fiancé popped up on my phone: “Something came up at work. We’ll have to postpone the engagement party.” I gripped my phone, my voice cold as I typed back a reply. But it wouldn’t be a postponement. It would be a cancellation. … As Benjamin was about to leave, I was in the middle of packing, carefully ironing each of my clothes before placing them in my suitcase. He didn’t notice what I was doing, just breezily informed me, “There’s a last-minute meeting at the office today. We’ll have to push the engagement party back a day. Be reasonable and don’t make this difficult for me.” I continued packing in silence, not offering a reply. Benjamin faltered, the rest of his explanation catching in his throat. He expected me to do what I always did: complain that he never considered my feelings when he got wrapped up in work, but then quietly iron his suit and see him to the door. I used to think that’s how it would always be. Until I saw that gown on his childhood friend, Maya’s, social media feed. The gown that was supposed to be my engagement gown. Yesterday, I had spent hours carefully pressing it, arranging it on a mannequin, my heart filled with dreams of wearing it at our party. But I stepped out for a bit, and when I returned, the gown was gone. A flicker of hope ignited within me. The gown we had rented wasn’t my absolute favorite, just the most cost-effective. Benjamin knew which one I truly loved. I thought he had impulsively decided to surprise me. I cooked a feast, even opened a bottle of red wine, and waited for him. But all he brought back was a plain, simple dress. “Wear this instead.” When I asked him why, he just frowned with a hint of impatience. “I like this one better. Besides, that other gown is too flashy. It doesn’t suit your style. You look better in this.” But now, that gown, the one deemed too flashy for me, was shimmering beautifully on Maya. And the simple dress in my hands was just like his perception of me. Plain. Ordinary. Unremarkable. No matter how well I presented myself, I could never compete with a diamond-studded, exquisitely tailored masterpiece. So this was our respective value in his heart. Maya’s post had more: “All I did was look at it once, and he gave it to me. Someone’s a little too in love with me~ ;)” “And tomorrow, he’s insisting on coming to my dog’s birthday party. Said anything unimportant can just be postponed.” A knot of fury and disbelief tightened in my chest. I refused to believe Benjamin could belittle our relationship, belittle me, so completely. But reality delivered a sharp, stinging slap. Benjamin walked over to me and finally registered what I was doing. He spoke, not with concern, but with a note of reprimand. “Why are you only ironing your own clothes? What am I supposed to wear?” “Never mind, I’ll just grab something. Just remember to do mine first next time.” As he reached the door, he finally took in the full scene. “What are you doing, packing a suitcase? Are you really this mad just because I have to work late?” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I pulled out my phone and showed him the picture of Maya in the gown. “Maya, she…” But he cut me off the second he heard her name, his voice laced with annoyance. He didn’t even spare the photo a glance as he turned to leave. “I’m really just going to work. Why are you bringing Maya into this? Do you have to make a scene?” “After all these years, can’t you learn to be even half as understanding as she is?” The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. Just like our seven-year relationship, it ended abruptly. I stopped the recording on my phone. Then, I notified both of our families. I created a group chat and sent them the screenshot of Maya’s post and the audio of Benjamin’s parting words. I laid out the entire story, clear and concise. Benjamin had wronged me. We were done. The engagement was off. I wouldn’t suffer in silence. After I finished packing, my phone rang. It was my university professor. “Cynthia, are you really sure about studying abroad?” he asked. “I highly recommend the program, but you’ve turned it down so many times for Benjamin. I’m a little worried.” I managed a small laugh. “Don’t worry, professor. This time, I’ve made up my mind.” I’m a psychology major, and the university was offering a rare opportunity for an international research internship. My professor had urged me to apply several times, seeing it as a golden chance to advance my skills. I desperately wanted to go. It meant exposure to cutting-edge research and a much broader career path. The only thing holding me back was Benjamin. Benjamin suffered from severe separation anxiety. His parents were busy entrepreneurs who had shuttled him between relatives since he was a child. He was passed around like a parcel, from one resentful household to another. The experience had left deep psychological scars, making it nearly impossible for him to form stable relationships. By the time he transferred to my high school, it was his forty-second school. The loneliest time for him was always free period during gym class. Everyone else would be in pairs or groups, playing games or chatting. Benjamin would just sit in the shadows, watching them with envy. Seeing his guarded, longing eyes and remembering the rumors about his past, I felt a pang of kinship. His desolate expression mirrored a part of my own history. My heart softened. I walked over to him. “I’m stuck on a problem,” I said, steering him toward the classroom. “I hear you’re really smart. Could you help me with it?” He looked startled, but quickly got up and followed. From then on, we spent every gym class in the classroom, studying together. Gradually, the tension in his face eased, replaced by smiles. When it was time to reassign seats, I requested to be his desk partner. I started using the psychology I was teaching myself to help him. Our classmates whispered around us. “The drama queen and the ice princess are sitting together!” “One has no friends, the other wants no friends. They’re a perfect match.” One day, as I walked into class, a boy from the back row let out a long wolf-whistle. “Hey, Ice Princess, why are you so nice to him? Is he your boyfriend, or your lab rat?” “They say people who study psychology are messed up themselves. So, what’s your damage?” Before I could react, Benjamin launched himself from behind me. He, who had always tried so hard to get along with everyone, was in his first-ever fight. He beat those boys bloody, and ended up hospitalized for a month himself. We were inseparable after that. I remember the first time I mentioned the internship abroad. He couldn’t sleep for days. I’d wake up in the middle of the night to find him just watching me, his eyes bloodshot. “Cynthia, are you leaving me too? Will I be all alone again?” My resolve melted. I never brought it up again. But this time, I was the one being left behind. My phone buzzed. A message from my professor: The heart finds its vastness in distant horizons; the steps find their newness with the passing of time. Cynthia, everything is a part of growth. I’ve submitted your application. Prepare well. I believe in you. I smiled and replied with a simple, “Okay.” I had just stepped out of the apartment when Benjamin’s call came through. He was furious. “Cynthia! What the hell did you just tell everyone?” “Do you have any idea they’re all attacking Maya now? You need to go and clear this up right now and then publicly apologize to her!” My voice was ice. “Apologize for what? The fact that you two are having an affair isn’t exactly a secret, is it? You postponed our engagement to go to her dog’s birthday party and gave her my gown to wear.” “Even the dumbest asshole in a bad novel isn’t as stupid as you. When your mother gave birth, did she throw you out and raise the placenta instead?” “Cynthia!” Benjamin roared, his anger palpable. “Don’t you go too far! Maya just really liked the gown and wanted to try it on, that’s all.” “I never realized you were so petty. Are you really going to be jealous of a young girl?” Maya’s tearful sobs echoed through the phone. “It’s okay, Benjamin. Didn’t Cynthia have… psychological problems before? I should be more understanding. It’s all my fault. Don’t get upset with a… a mentally ill person.” My blood ran cold. It felt as if an invisible hand had clenched around my heart, squeezing so tightly I could barely breathe. It was my deepest, darkest secret. I felt he was the kindest person in the world. But as I grew older and started elementary school, I began to understand what his actions truly meant. So the next time he tried to get into my bed, I fought back with a knife. He was severely injured. In the end, it was ruled self-defense, and I was acquitted. But the memory of that old man’s hideous face was seared into my mind. For more than a decade afterward, the sight of any stranger would send my heart racing. I craved warmth but couldn’t escape that vicious cycle, and my mental state deteriorated. That’s why, when I saw the isolated, helpless Benjamin, I wanted to help him. But I never imagined that my most painful secret had become gossip he used to entertain his little friend. Panic seized me again. My first instinct was to run, to escape. The voice on the other end of the line faltered. I heard Benjamin’s panicked, scolding tone. “Why did you say that? I told you never to bring that up!” “Cynthia, she didn’t mean it like that…” I didn’t wait for him to finish. My hands were stiff as I hung up the phone. I grabbed my luggage and immediately checked into a hotel. I didn’t want to see either of them again. But the next morning, I found Benjamin waiting for me downstairs. He was holding a gift box, standing in the early autumn mist, looking at me with a cautious expression. “Cynthia, are you still mad?” “Maya’s been spoiled since she was a kid. She’s always been blunt, but she doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. Don’t hold it against her. If it bothers you, I’ll keep my distance from her from now on.” I frowned. “How did you know where I was?” “My family owns this hotel. I got a notification the moment you checked in.” Benjamin looked away, a guilty expression on his face, and pushed the gift box into my hands. “I rented a new gown for you. Don’t worry, it’s not the old one. It’s the style you like the most. Try it on, and if it fits, we can have the engagement party tomorrow, okay?” I laughed. So he was capable of remembering my favorite style. So he was capable of doing more than just fobbing me off with a plain dress. He had done it before simply because he thought I wasn’t worthy. Seeing my smile, Benjamin assumed everything was fine. He cheerfully pulled out a container of breakfast from his coat and handed it to me as if bestowing a great favor. “Cynthia, I made this myself. It used to be your favorite, remember? Eat up and stop making a fuss.” For a moment, I was transported back in time.

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The day my wife gave birth, I saw my own cousin swap our babies in the hospital nursery. I pretended I didn’t see a thing. I brought his son home and raised him as my own. Eighteen years later, the boy I raised was accepted into a top-tier university. My biological son, however, had been systematically abused by my cousin for years, leaving him permanently disabled. At the university acceptance party, my cousin showed up with my crippled son and a paternity test. “There was a mix-up at the hospital all those years ago,” he announced. “It’s time to switch them back.” I gave him a knowing, cryptic smile. “Of course.” “Evan, I brought some of that raw honey from back home. For you and Leo.” My cousin, Mark, knocked on my door, just as he always did. Ever since I’d brought his son home, he was always finding excuses to visit. Sometimes it was to “discuss parenting techniques.” Other times it was so “the boys could play together and keep each other company.” He’d even shown up in the middle of the night, claiming he’d had a nightmare that something had happened to Leo and he just had to check. It got to the point where my wife, Sarah, would complain that Mark came over more often than he clocked in at work. To make things easier, he even rented an apartment in my complex. “Family should stick together,” he’d said. “Don’t want to let the relationship fade.” I knew the real reason. He wanted to keep a close eye on his son, Leo. I never called him out on it. I just opened the door like I always did. He was dressed in an expensive, well-tailored suit, carrying a few jars of honey. Trailing behind him was a sallow, scrawny boy with a bruised face. That was my son. Mark had named him Damien. The moment he stepped inside, Mark set down the honey and went straight for Leo. “Leo, your birthday’s tomorrow! What do you want? Uncle Mark will get it for you!” He gently stroked Leo’s head, his affection overflowing. Leo flashed a sweet smile. “Anything from you is a great gift, Uncle!” Mark’s grin widened. “See? Our Leo is so smart and sweet. Not like that useless brat of mine. Dumb as a rock.” He shot a venomous glare at my son by the door, then marched over, grabbed him by the ear, and dragged him inside. “Get in here, you idiot! What are you, a guard dog? Just standing there?” “I don’t know who you take after, you worthless piece of trash. Just looking at you makes me sick!” Then, right in front of me, Mark kicked my son so hard he stumbled and fell. His head slammed against the coffee table, splitting his forehead open. Blood began to pour down his face. Leo, standing nearby, gasped in shock. But my son didn’t cry. He didn’t make a sound. He just quickly got to his feet, wiped the blood from his brow as if it were routine, and, wincing in pain, said meekly to Mark, “I’m sorry, Dad. I was wrong.” Apologizing after a beating was a daily ritual for him, one I had witnessed countless times in my own home. Sarah rushed to get the first-aid kit. As she staunched the bleeding, she shot Mark a disapproving look. “Mark, how can you be so rough with your own child? He’s your flesh and blood! Don’t you feel any pity?” “He was born worthless,” Mark said with a shrug. “He’s got the face of a corpse. Can’t even compare to Leo. I’m doing him a favor by not killing him.” He didn’t spare my son another glance, turning back to Leo with a beaming smile. “Leo, I ordered your favorite superhero cake. I’ll bring it over tomorrow for your birthday!” “Thank you, Uncle,” Leo replied politely. He was used to Mark’s blatant favoritism. Seeing this, my son mustered his courage and spoke up, his voice barely a whisper. “Dad, tomorrow is my birthday too. Could I… could I have a new pair of shoes?” My eyes fell to his feet. He was wearing a pair of dirty, torn sandals, the soles worn completely flat. They were a pair Leo had thrown out last year. Mark had picked them up, declaring that Damien deserved nothing more than Leo’s cast-offs. He had worn them for a full year, even now, in the dead of winter, his feet covered in chilblains. “You little bastard, you deserve to wear rags! A birthday? You think you’re worthy of a birthday?!” Mark launched into another vicious beating. The sounds of his curses and my son’s cries filled the room. I watched, my face a cold, emotionless mask. I said nothing. Sarah tried to intervene, and even Leo pleaded with his uncle to stop. Eventually, perhaps worried about frightening Leo further, Mark dragged my son out of the house. The next day was Leo’s birthday. Mark arrived early, gifts and cake in hand. Sarah noticed he was alone. “Where’s Damien?” she asked. “It’s his birthday too. Why isn’t he here?” Mark’s reply was casual, dismissive. “Oh, him? I broke his leg when we got home yesterday. He’s still unconscious.” He said it so lightly, a proud smirk even playing on his lips, as if crippling my son was a badge of honor. Ignoring Sarah’s horrified stare, he pushed his way inside, placing the gifts and cake in front of Leo with a flourish. “Happy birthday, my precious Leo! Uncle Mark won’t let anything ruin your special day!” As Leo took a gift, a small cut on the back of his hand became visible. Mark’s face instantly darkened. He rounded on me. “Evan, what is this? How did you let Leo get hurt?!” “Kids get bumps and bruises,” I replied, my voice flat. “Your son is covered in them every day.” Mark exploded. “How can you compare that worthless piece of—” He cut himself off, realizing he’d gone too far. He took a deep breath, composing himself. “What I mean is, Leo has been raised in comfort. He’s more precious than that waste of space I have at home. You need to be more careful with him!” Sarah frowned, her voice filled with reproach. “You have some nerve. If you hadn’t been beating your own son in our living room yesterday, leaving blood everywhere, Leo wouldn’t have tried to clean it up and hurt himself in the first place.” Mark turned to Leo for confirmation. “Leo, is that true?” Leo nodded seriously. “Yes. I wanted to help Mom and Dad.” Mark’s voice softened with pity. “Sometimes you’re too good, Leo. Let your dad handle the chores. Your only job in this house is to be happy, you understand?” He then busied himself with Leo’s party, cooking, decorating, doing everything himself. After they had eaten, he asked eagerly, “Leo, tell Uncle, what’s your birthday wish? I’ll make it come true.” Leo didn’t hesitate. “I want to get into a top university!” Mark beamed, patting his head. “That, I can’t help you with. But you’re smart enough to get in on your own. And when you do, I’ll have a surprise for you that you’ll never forget.” I saw the adoration in Mark’s eyes and allowed myself the faintest of smiles. A surprise he’ll never forget? My dear cousin. I have one for you, too. Every year, Mark was more enthusiastic about Leo’s birthday than Sarah or I were. As for my son, after his leg was broken, I never saw him again. Whenever Sarah asked, Mark would dismiss her with a wave of his hand. “Don’t talk to me about that unlucky animal. Just thinking about him makes me sick.” Because of Mark’s deliberate avoidance, it wasn’t until Leo was accepted into a prestigious university that I saw my son again. At the celebratory banquet I was hosting for Leo, Mark appeared, my son limping beside him. He pulled out a paternity test and, in front of all our friends and relatives, presented it to me. “Evan, Damien’s been having some health issues lately. I took him to the doctor and found out… he’s not my son. There was a mix-up at the hospital. Damien is your son, and Leo… Leo is mine.” “We’ve been separated for so long. It’s time for me to be reunited with my real son. We have to switch them back.” He even managed to squeeze out a few tears, his gaze fixed on Leo with a mixture of fatherly love and feigned guilt, as if he were the victim who had endured years of unimaginable suffering. The room erupted in gasps and whispers. “They worked so hard to raise such a brilliant student, and now they have to just give him up?” “Everyone knows how much Evan has done for Leo. He’s the reason Leo got into such a good school. You can’t just erase eighteen years of love and effort!” “Who could possibly bear it?” One was a smart, well-behaved, promising university student. The other was a disheveled, emaciated boy with a permanent limp. Anyone would choose the former. But amidst the murmurs, I smiled a cryptic smile. “Of course. Since there was a mistake, it’s only right to correct it.” My words stunned the room. Mark’s eyes widened in disbelief, shocked that I had agreed so readily. Even Sarah stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Evan, are you crazy? You’re just going to take his word for it, based on a piece of paper that could be fake, and give Leo away?” My mother-in-law chimed in, her voice frantic. “He’s right, Evan! This is a huge decision. How can you make it without investigating properly?” I met their protests with a firm, unwavering voice. “Leo is his son. I saw them switch the babies myself.” The room fell into a horrified silence. Sarah stamped her foot in desperation. “That’s impossible! The day you took me to the hospital, we were in a car accident. The windshield shattered, and you were impaled, but you ignored your own injuries and carried me to the hospital. The doctors said your organs were severely damaged, that you’d lost too much blood. They said if you had carried me for two more minutes, you would have died.” “But you just smiled and said that as long as the baby and I were safe, nothing else mattered. You said we were more important than your own life.”

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I am a master of traditional medicine, a healer so revered that Aaron Croft, the most eligible bachelor in the country, knelt at my door, begging for my help. Yet his childhood sweetheart called me a gold digger. She slapped me, accused me of carrying another man’s child, and had her friends pelt my stomach with stones. As I lay bleeding, she poked my head, her laughter deceptively innocent. “You just had to go after my Aaron. Who else was I supposed to teach a lesson to?” But later, it was she who knelt before me, begging for her life. 1 My family’s healing arts are an ancient lineage, and I am known as its greatest living master. The rich and powerful offer me fortunes for my services—power, status, wealth, all of it is mine for the taking if I so choose. Aaron Croft, the man they call the nation’s most desirable husband, made a pilgrimage to my mountain home, kneeling every few steps of the way, to plead with me to save his grandfather. His devotion moved me. I agreed, but on two conditions. First, my involvement was to be kept a complete secret. Second, I would receive fifty percent of the Croft family’s corporate shares. The terms were steep, but Aaron accepted without hesitation. He knew that if his grandfather died, the vast Croft empire would be torn apart by vultures. With my help, the old man could live for a few more years, and my name alone would be enough to deter those circling sharks. This way, Aaron could remain the prince of his dynasty, instead of a beggar on the street. On the journey down the mountain, Aaron was the picture of deference, bowing and scraping, all traces of his usual arrogance gone. He prepared the family’s finest riverside villa for me, dismissed all the staff, and posted a discreet security detail at the outermost perimeter. Aside from close family visiting his grandfather, no one else was to be admitted. I was satisfied with the arrangements. After dismissing him, I began the long, delicate process of treating his grandfather, fighting to keep the old man’s life tethered to this world. Aaron visited daily. As his grandfather’s health improved, the long-absent smile returned to Aaron’s face, and his reverence for me deepened. I never expected that, despite his meticulous precautions, the villa would be breached. And by a pack of shrill, vulgar women. They started their tirade at the gate, their voices shattering the morning calm. “Where did this little country tramp come from, trying to seduce my Aaron?” “Bella, darling, everyone in this city knows you’re Aaron’s girl, the future Mrs. Croft! This bitch is deliberately provoking you by moving in on your man!” “Exactly! You and Aaron are meant to be. Some brainless slut tries to steal him, you have to put her in her place.” I was about to have security remove them when— CRACK. A sharp, stinging slap landed on my cheek. “You little whore. We hadn’t even come in, and you dare to show your face!” 2 The blow left me stunned, my head ringing. When my vision cleared, a beautiful young woman in a designer dress was sneering at me. “Look at you, dressed like some hayseed. A creature like you thinks you can compete with me?” “So young and already a conniving little witch, playing the innocent to trap a rich man. It’s sluts like you who give women a bad name…” Their vicious insults rained down on me. Whore. Gold digger. It finally dawned on me that they were talking about… me. Gold digger? If I wanted money, I wouldn’t need to “dig” for it. It was the first time in my life I had ever been struck, ever been verbally assaulted. Fury rose in me. “Shut your filthy mouths,” I shot back. “I am here at Aaron’s…” Before I could finish, the woman they called Bella, the center of their little universe, kicked me hard in the stomach. “Insolent! Who do you think you are? You dare to even speak his name?” I staggered back, the pain doubling me over as I clutched my abdomen. One of the others saw my posture. “She’s protecting her stomach like that… could she be…” Bella’s eyes narrowed, her gaze fixed on my belly. She delivered another vicious kick. The pain was blinding. Though I lived in seclusion, I knew of the powerful Croft family, and I had heard the name Bella Vance. She was the city’s reigning socialite, Aaron’s childhood friend. She had parlayed her beauty and connections into a film career, becoming a top star despite a complete lack of talent, thanks to the vast sums of money the Croft and Vance families poured into her projects. She was infamous for her arrogance, once publicly declaring that all other actresses were trash, there only to make her look better by comparison. After all, she had a pretty face and Aaron Croft doting on her. Any woman who was even rumored to be close to Aaron would mysteriously disappear from the social scene. I had always thought the stories were exaggerated. The age of empresses was long over; who could possibly be so tyrannical? But looking at Bella now, kicking me, slandering me, her eyes filled with a murderous rage, I realized the rumors had been far too conservative. I clutched my stomach, my brow furrowed in pain. “I suggest you find out who I am before you continue. This is not your playground.” Bella threw her head back and laughed. “I’m going to marry Aaron. The Croft estate is as good as mine! Why can’t I do as I please here?” She sneered. “You think you can hide away in here, secretly pregnant, and I can’t touch you?” Her lackeys chimed in. “These women today are so devious.” “They’re all trying to get a ring by getting pregnant first. You can’t be too careful.” “Imagine, this little bastard gets born, she creates a media scandal, uses it to trash your reputation… even if she doesn’t marry into the family, she’ll be set for life!” Their minds, poisoned by jealousy, were truly fertile with delusion. In a few short sentences, they had painted me as a villain more wicked than any in the tabloids. My chest heaved with anger. “Get out!” I roared. Bella’s eyes narrowed into a sly smile. “What’s wrong? Did we hit a nerve? Feeling guilty and trying to chase us away? You think you have the right?” She raised a hand, admiring her freshly manicured nails. “Ladies,” she said, her voice sweet as poison, “let’s teach this animal some manners.” At her command, her friends exchanged knowing glances and swarmed me. I tried to run, but one of them grabbed me by the hair. It was eight against one. I was on the ground in seconds. I curled into a ball, trying to protect my head as the blows rained down. “Stop!” I yelled through the pain. “I am Dr. Reed, the healer who is treating Mr. Croft!” 3 The name “Dr. Reed” carried as much weight in this city as Aaron’s own. The first time I had come down from the mountain with my grandmother, I had saved a diamond tycoon who had been declared brain-dead. My words gave them pause. The beating stopped. Bella’s smile froze. She stared at me. “You… you said you’re Dr. Reed?” “You’d better call Aaron and ask him,” I said, my body aching, but my voice firm. “Ask him if I am the healer he knelt and begged to come down from the mountain, or the gold digger you think is trying to steal your man.” I thought that would be the end of it. “Oh, the famous Dr. Reed! I’m so scared!” Bella clutched her chest in mock terror, then burst out laughing. When her laughter died, she stomped on my hand, grinding her heel into my fingers. Her face was a mask of rage. “You’ll even make up a lie like that to protect the bastard in your belly. If my own grandfather hadn’t just been saved by Dr. Reed, if he hadn’t told me that she was a gray-haired old woman, I might have almost believed you. It seems you’re not just stupid enough to go after my man, you’re also shameless enough to use a respected healer’s name to run your scams.” Her friends, their fears allayed, descended on me again. I could see the jealousy had blinded Bella. “Is that so? Then you had better call your elders and ask them what I look like!” The word “elders” seemed to trigger her. “You want me to call them so you can tattle on me? Don’t worry. After I’m done with you, I’ll give them a full report on the kind of slut you are. You like seducing men? Let’s see how everyone likes the sight of you naked.” They were clearly practiced at this. At Bella’s word, they rushed forward. I screamed for them to call and verify my identity, but they wouldn’t listen. Their assault only intensified. My cries for help were useless. In the struggle, my case of silver needles fell from my clothes. Bella stopped filming and picked it up. “A con artist who does her homework,” she sneered. “You even have a set of needles, just like the real Dr. Reed. You like playing doctor? Fine. I’ll give you a treatment.” With a vicious smile, she pulled out a needle and plunged it deep into my fingernail. I screamed, a wave of pure panic washing over me. These hands, these hands that healed the sick and saved the dying, could not be destroyed by this… this imbecile. “If you won’t call, then let me!” I roared. But Bella ignored me. She ordered her friends to do the same. One by one, they drove the needles into my fingers. The pain was excruciating. My screams echoed through the villa, but they did not stop. In just five minutes, my clothes were in tatters, my hands a bloody, mangled mess. Bella looked at the video on her phone with satisfaction. “This is what happens when you seduce other women’s men. If you bitches would just learn your place, there would be more happy couples in the world.” The others nodded and laughed, a chorus of cruel delight. My hands trembled with rage. I bit my lip until it bled. My eyes were crimson. “You will all regret this!” I seared their ugly, gloating faces into my memory. Not a single one of them would escape. I would repay them for this, ten times over. Bella strolled over, grabbed me by the hair, and twisted my neck at an unnatural angle. “The word ‘regret’ is not in my vocabulary,” she hissed into my eyes. “Threatening me? That deserves another punishment.” 4 At Bella’s command, they dragged me out of the villa. My body left a trail of blood on the cobblestone path. They threw me into a rose garden, my near-naked body scratched and torn by the thorns. As I was about to pass out from the pain, they doused me with a bucket of filthy water. Bella continued to film, laughing. I tried to cover myself. “Tsk, tsk,” she clucked. “You have a sense of shame? A gold digger, pretending to be a pure, innocent maiden? If you’re not afraid to seduce a man, why are you afraid of being seen?” She ordered them to press the rose thorns deeper into my skin. “You like being a thorny rose to lure men? I’ll help you with that.” I was bleeding, in agony. I coughed up a mouthful of blood.

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The moment I caught my husband with a student again was the final straw. I tore the house apart in a blind rage. His mother said I was incompetent, unable to keep my own man in line. His sister said I deserved it. I demanded a divorce. But Mark threatened me with the children, and for their sake, I chose to endure it. I didn’t realize that one moment of endurance would stretch into a lifetime of misery. Mark was a philanderer his entire life, and I was his servant. In the end, he died peacefully in his sleep, a ripe old age. And me? After a lifetime of thankless labor, I was cast aside by my own children, left to die of sickness in a rented room. But God, in His mercy, gave me a second chance. I’ve woken up just before the day I first asked for that divorce. 1 I open my eyes to the spittle-flecked face of my mother-in-law, a woman who’s been dead for twenty years. “Chloe! You dare wreck my house? Who do you think you are?” she shrieks. “He was just talking to a student, and you act like a rabid dog. You have no class, no upbringing!” “It’s your own fault you can’t control your husband, yet you blame him. You deserve this,” she continues, her voice dripping with venom. “Go on, get a divorce if you have the guts! My son is a university professor. You’re just a housewife. Let’s see what man would want you, a piece of used goods.” My sister-in-law, Megan, chimes in, her face alight with malicious glee. “Don’t worry, Mom. She’d never dare leave him.” It was Megan who had encouraged her mother to slap me just moments before. “Still breaking things, are you? I’ll beat the defiance out of you!” my father-in-law, slumped in his wheelchair, slurs, his mouth twisted from the stroke. He’s telling Mark to hit me. My cheek is already swelling as I turn my head. Mark is sitting on the sofa, engrossed in the television. “Your mother wants me to divorce you,” I say, my voice flat. “Do you agree?” He doesn’t even look up. “I don’t care. If you want a divorce, fine.” “Good,” I say. “I agree. We’ll go to the courthouse tomorrow.” Mark scoffs. “A divorce is fine. But don’t even think about taking the children. And there are no joint savings. You won’t get a single penny.” There it is. The old threat. I, Chloe, used to be a fiery woman. The first time he cheated, I demanded a divorce without hesitation. But Mark always knew how to play me. He knew the children were my weakness. The children! My mother-in-law starts to say something, but Megan pulls her back. They all know. The moment the kids are mentioned, I fold. I’ll endure anything. But not anymore. I don’t care about the children anymore. God has been good to me, giving me this second life. This time, I will not sacrifice myself for anyone. Just like before, I say nothing more. I get up and walk back to my room. “See, Mom? I told you. She doesn’t have the guts.” I ignore Megan’s taunts, a cold smile playing on my lips as I start to move my things. My “room” isn’t really a room, but a tiny, cramped alcove partitioned off from my father-in-law’s bedroom. After his stroke, he needed constant care. The original plan was for me to look after him during the day and for my mother-in-law to take the night shift, giving me a chance to rest. But she claimed to be a light sleeper, that any little noise would keep her awake. She insisted I move into the alcove to be closer to him. The thought of it makes me want to laugh with rage. Mark gets the master bedroom all to himself, sleeping soundly every single night. Well, I’ve decided. Whoever’s father he is can be the one to take care of him. My mother-in-law loves to gossip to the neighbors about how unfilial I am? Fine. I’ll be unfilial. Let her precious son Mark be the dutiful one for a change. I quickly pack up my bedding and march straight into the master bedroom. Mark follows me in, his brow furrowed. “What are you doing, moving in here? What about Dad? What if he needs to use the bathroom at night, or needs water, or needs to be turned over?” 2 I start tossing Mark’s clothes onto the floor. “We’re getting a divorce. Your father is no longer my father. He’s your problem now.” “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you done with this tantrum or not?” I laugh. “A tantrum? What if I’m not done?” He calls it a tantrum. I used to believe him. Arguing with him was a tantrum. Smashing things in a hysterical fit was a tantrum. Going on a hunger strike was a tantrum. But I see it clearly now. Hurting myself isn’t a tantrum. Hurting them is. Look at him. All I did was move out of that miserable little alcove, and he’s already following me, desperate to talk. On a normal day, he barely speaks three sentences to me. So, this is how you make them uncomfortable. Good to know. Mark’s face is a dark cloud as he storms out of the room. I don’t care what they’re plotting out there. I change the sheets on the bed and then head into the bathroom for a long, hot shower. Usually, this would be the time I’d rush to pick up the kids from school. Then I’d have to cook dinner, clean up after everyone, help the kids with their homework, and then bathe them. After all that, it would be time to bathe my father-in-law and give him his medicine. Only when he was finally asleep would I get a moment to myself. I was nothing but a beast of burden in this house. After my shower, I start taking stock of my savings. I have a two-year degree and had only worked for a few years before getting married. After the wedding, Mark’s salary went directly to his mother. I had to submit a weekly report just to get grocery money. If I needed anything for myself, I had to ask my mother-in-law for permission. Mark would never give me money directly. But I wasn’t entirely without an income. My English is excellent, and I took on occasional freelance translation jobs, earning a few hundred dollars each time. Right now, I have just over ten thousand dollars saved. It’s not much, but it’s enough to tide me over until I find a job after the divorce. And I don’t have to worry about the house. This house was left to me by my parents. It’s large and spacious. It’s a pre-marital asset; Mark can’t touch it. The moment we got married, he moved his parents in. His sister Megan lived with us too, until she got married. I realize it now. Mark probably only married me for this house. They were a family of parasites, planning to bleed me dry from the very start. This time, I will not compromise. I will kick every single one of them out. Just then, my mother-in-law starts pounding on the door. “Chloe, what are you doing hiding in there? The kids will be out of school soon, go get them! And you haven’t cleaned up the living room, you lazy bum.” I swing the door open. “They don’t like it when I pick them up. Let Mark go.” She shrieks. “How could Mark do something like that?” “Why can’t he? They’re his children too.” “Fine! If you won’t go, then nobody will!” It’s another one of her classic moves. In the past, seeing that no one else would do it, I’d get angry but eventually give in, unable to bear the thought of the children waiting alone. I always ended up doing it myself. This time, I’m not playing her game. A moment later, I hear the front door slam. 3 She’s gone. She won’t be back until just before dinner. I open the bedroom door. The living room is empty except for the shattered remains of my outburst and my father-in-law in his wheelchair. I pretend not to see him. I walk into the study, power on the computer, and start looking for a job. My English skills are top-notch. I studied international trade in college and have always loved the language, so I never let it get rusty. I polish my resume and send it out to over a hundred companies. Once that’s done, I go straight back to the bedroom, lie down, and go to sleep. I’m so tired. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to care about anything. “Where’s dinner? Why hasn’t anyone cooked?” “Are you dead? You’re home all day and you don’t cook? You don’t clean up the floor?” “Mark, look at this woman you married! Lazy and useless! She’s just lying in bed instead of making dinner. Does she have a death wish? Is this a rebellion?” My mother-in-law’s screeching voice wakes me. I pull the comforter over my head in annoyance. “Get up.” Mark is in the room. My anger flares. I sit bolt upright. “Are you insane? Can’t you see I’m sleeping?” “Sleep, sleep, sleep! That’s all you do!” he seethes. “It’s dinnertime. Why didn’t you cook?” “I’m not eating.” “I’m not asking if you’re eating. Mom told you to cook. Why didn’t you?” I feign surprise. “Are you deaf or just stupid? I said I’m not eating. Whoever is hungry can cook for themselves.” “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? What did my mom ever do to you to deserve this drama? Chloe, don’t push it!” “I am pushing it. What are you going to do about it? Divorce me? Then get the hell out! Go find your precious Lily! Let her come and wait on your whole family, hand and foot.” Mark takes a few deep breaths. “Fine. You don’t cook, the kids can starve too.” I roll my eyes. He always pulls this card. So unoriginal. As we’re arguing, the children come home. Sophie and Leo are nine-year-old twins. The moment he walks in, Leo says, “Mom, why are you fighting with Dad again? Can’t you just be quiet for once?” Sophie nods in agreement. “Yeah, Mom, you’re being really loud. And you didn’t even pick me and Leo up from school today.” Mark’s face is grim. “Look at the state of your mother. Don’t you ever turn out like her. A classless shrew with no manners.” I almost choke on my own rage. I look at the two children I gave birth to, my eyes cold. Genetics are a powerful thing. Leo and Sophie have perfectly inherited the selfish streak of the Lee family. All they ever see is me, shouting and screaming. And every single time, they take Mark’s side. In my last life, when I was on my deathbed, their first thought was how to get rid of me, not how to get me to a doctor. I finally see it clearly. A husband like this? Children like these? I’d rather have none at all. I force a smile. “Alright, alright. I won’t fight with your dad anymore. Now, hurry up and take him out of here. I have a headache today. You two don’t bother me either.” The two little ones exchange a confused look, wondering why I’ve suddenly given in. Mark glares at me. “The kids are home. What are you still doing in bed? I told you to make dinner.” I completely ignore him. He raises his voice. “Chloe, did you hear me?!” He continues to shout when I don’t respond. “Are you deaf? I told you to go and cook! How long are you going to keep this up? I already told you I was just having a normal chat with a student. Why are you being so controlling? What will people think of me?” I sit up and gesture for the children to come closer. When Sophie and Leo are beside me, I say, “See? I’m not arguing now. It’s your father who’s yelling. Can you two please make him be quiet? He’s supposed to be a professor, but he has no self-control. Don’t be like him when you grow up. He’s acting like a lunatic.” The twins look up at Mark. “Dad, please stop fighting.” My mother-in-law bursts into the room, shoving the children aside. “What do you two know? Your father is just disciplining his wife.” Sophie, pushed off balance, falls to the floor and starts wailing. My mother-in-law shoots me a look from her beady, triangular eyes. “What are you crying for, you useless girl? All you do is cry. Did someone in this house die?” If this were the past, I would have rushed over, scooped Sophie into my arms, and started a screaming match with her mother. But not now. I’m not that stupid anymore. In the past, it only took a few words from my mother-in-law to win them over, making them forget everything. They’d even tell me to be more forgiving. Now, without my protection, let’s see if they still remember how “good” their grandmother is. Mark frowns at his mother. “That’s enough, Mom. Just go and make dinner.” Her eyes widen. “Me? What’s she doing then?” Mark sighs, exasperated. “She’s not feeling well today. You can cook this once.” I watch my mother-in-law with a cold smile. See? If your heart is hard enough, anything is possible. After she leaves, Mark leads the children out of the room. I call after him, “Don’t forget the courthouse tomorrow. To sign the papers.” Mark whips his head around. “Fine. Let’s go. Just don’t you regret it.” That night, I do nothing. My mother-in-law clatters and bangs around the kitchen, cursing under her breath as she cooks. She curses me, and she curses the children. I don’t help with their homework either. Mark has no choice but to do it himself. I can hear his roars of frustration from my room. It’s almost funny. When I used to help them, everyone said I had a bad temper and was a poor teacher. Now that it’s Mark’s turn, his mother doesn’t dare say a word. After what feels like an eternity, the kids are finally bathed. Then, my father-in-law starts banging his bamboo cane on the floor. It’s a special tool my mother-in-law made for him. Whenever he needs something, he bangs it, and I’m expected to come running. Tonight, of course, I’m not going anywhere. “Chloe, hurry up! Your father soiled himself! Get in here and clean him up!” “Did you hear me? Are you dead in there?!” My mother-in-law is pounding on my door so hard the frame is shaking. I walk out and state calmly, “Mark and I are getting a divorce. I have no obligation to take care of him. Mark is the dutiful son. Go find him.” “You black-hearted witch! It was the worst day of Mark’s life when he married you!” I retort coolly, “Regret it? Good. Then hurry up with the divorce. There are plenty of women lining up to marry your son.” It feels so good. Unwilling to make Mark do it, my mother-in-law has to clean up her husband herself, grumbling and cursing the whole time. The pulling and lifting and cleaning of his mess leaves her exhausted. The next morning, I get up and get dressed. I hear my mother-in-law complaining in the kitchen. “Son, are you really going to divorce her? My old bones were killing me last night. Who’s going to do all the housework?” “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m just scaring her with the divorce. Even after we sign, there’s a thirty-day cooling-off period, right? She’ll back out for sure. You’ll just have to tough it out for a while. Let her see that the house runs just fine without her.”

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